the history of mind

THE

STORY OF THE MIND

I

BY

JAMES MARK BALDWIN

Py/TH ILLUSTRATIONS

NEW YORKD. APPLETON AND COMPANY

1899

Copyright, 1898,By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.

PREFACE.

In this little book I have endeavoured tomaintain the simplicity which is the ideal ofthis series. It is more difficult, however, to besimple in a topic which, even in its illustrations,demands of the reader more or less facility in theexploration of his own mind. I am persuadedthat the attempt to make the matter of psychologymore elementary than is here done, would onlyresult in making it untrue and so in defeating itsown object.

In preparing the book I have secured the rightand welcomed the opportunity to include certainmore popular passages from earlier books and ar-ticles. It is necessary to say this, for some peo-ple are loath to see a man repeat himself. Whenone has once said a thing, however, about as wellas he can say it, there is no good reason that heshould be forced into the pretence of sayingsomething different simply to avoid using thesame form of words a second time. The question,of course, is as to whether he should not then re-sign himself to keeping still, and letting others dothe further speaking. There is much to be saidfor such a course. But if one have the right toprint more severe and difficult things, and thinkhe really has something to say which would in-struct the larger audience, it would seem only fair

THE STORY OF THE MIND.

to allow him to speak in the simpler way also, eventhough all that he says may not have the merit ofescaping the charge of infringing his own copy-rights !

I am indebted to the proprietors of the follow-ing magazines for the use of such passages : ThePopular Science Monthly, The Century Maga-zine, The Inland Educator; and with them I alsowish to thank The Macmillan Company and theowners of Johnson's Universal Cyclopaedia.

As to the scope and contents of the Story, Ihave aimed to include enough statement of meth-ods and results in each of the great departmentsof psychological research to give the reader anintelligent idea of what is being done, and to whethis appetite for more detailed information. Inthe choice of materials I have relied frankly onmy own experience and in debatable matters givenmy own opinions. This gives greater reality tothe several topics, besides making it possible, bythis general statement, at once to acknowledge it,and also to avoid discussion and citation of au-thorities in the text. At the same time, in theexposition of general principles I have endeav-oured to keep well within the accepted truth andterminology of psychology.

It will be remarked that in several passagesthe evolution theory is adopted in its applicationto the mind. While this great theory can not bediscussed in these pages, yet I may say that, inmy opinion, the evidence in favour of it is aboutthe same, and about as strong, as in biology,where it is now made a presupposition of scien-tific explanation. So far from being unwelcome,I find it in psychology no less than in biology agreat gain, both from the pomt of view of scien-

PREFACE. Vll

tific knowledge and from that of philosophicaltheory. Every great law that is added to ourstore adds also to our conviction that the universeis run through with Mind. Even so-called Chance,which used to be the " bogie

" behind Natural Se-lection, has now been found to illustratein thelaw of Probabilitiesthe absence of Chance. AsProfessor Pearson has said : " We recognise thatour conception of Chance is now utterly differentfrom that of yore. . . . What we are to under-stand by a chance distribution is one in accord-ance with law, and one the nature of which can,for all practical purposes, be closely predicted."^f the universe be pregnant with purpose, as weall wish to believe, why should not this purposework itself out by an evolution process underlaw ?and if under law, why not the law of Proba-

'bilities? We who have our lives insured providefor our children through our knowledge and useof this law

;and our plans for their welfare, in

most of the affairs of life, are based upon therecognition of it. Who will deny to the GreatPurpose a similar resource in producing the uni-verse and in providing for us all ?

I add in a concluding section on Literaturesome references to various books in English,classified under the headings of the chapters ofthe text. These works will further enlighten thereader, and, if he persevere, possibly make a psy-chologist of him.

J. Mark Baldwin.Princeton, April, i8g8.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Science of the MindPsychology . iII. What our Minds have in CommonIntro-

spective Psychology 8III. The Mind of the Animal Comparative

Psychology 24IV. The Mind of the ChildChild Psychol-

ogy 51V. The Connection of Body with Mind

Physiological PsychologyMental Dis-eases lOI

VI. How WE experiment on the MindEx-perimental Psychology . . . .122

VII. Suggestion and Hypnotism . . ..148

VIII. The Training of the MindEducationalPsychology 166

IX. The Individual Mind and SocietySocialPsychology 200

X. The Genius and his Environment . .211XI. Literature 233

ix

THE STORY OF THE MIND.

CHAPTER I.

THE SCIENCE OF THE MINDPSYCHOLOGY.

Psychology is the science of the mind. Itaims to find out all about the mindthe wholestoryjust as the other sciences aim to find outall about the subjects of which they treatas-tronomy, of the stars ; geology, of the earth ;physiology, of the body. And when we wish totrace out the story of the mind, as psychologyhas done it, ^we find that there are certain generaltruths with which we should first acquaint our-selves; truths which the science has been a verylong time finding out, but which we can now re-alize without a great deal of explanation. Thesegeneral truths, we may say, are preliminary to'the story itself; they deal rather with the needof defining, first of all, the subject or topic ofwhich the story is to be told.

I. The first such truth is that the mind is notthe possession of man alone. Other creatures haveminds. Psychology no longer confines itself, as itformerly did, to the human soul, denying to theanimals a place in this highest of all the sciences.It finds itself unable to require any test or evi-dence of the presence of mind which the animalsdo not meet, nor does it find any place at whichthe story of the mind can begin higher up than

- Rapport. This is shown by the factthat when such a patient is hypnotized, the oper-ator en rapport ^\i\\ him can transfer the so-calledcontrol to any one else simply by suggesting tothe patient that this third party can also hypno-tize him. Rapport, therefore, and all the amazingclaims of charlatans to powers of charming, steal-ing another's personality, controlling his will at a

l62 THE STORY OF THE MIND.

distanceall such claims are explained, so far asthey have anything to rest upon, by suggestionunder conditions of mental hyperaesthesia or ex-altation.

I may now add certain practical remarks onthe subject.

In general, any method which fixes the atten-tion upon a single stimulus long enough is prob-ably sufficient to produce Hypnosis; but the resultis quick and profound in proportion as the patienthas the idea that it is going to succeed, i. e., getsthe suggestion of sleep. It may be said, there-fore, that the elaborate performances, such aspasses, rubbings, mysterious incantations, etc.,often resorted to, have no physiological effectwhatever, and only serve to work in the way ofsuggestion upon the mind of the subject. In viewof this it is probable that any person in normalhealth can be hypnotized, provided he is not toosceptical of the operator's knowledge and power ;and, on the contrary, any one can hypnotize an-other, provided he do not arouse too great scepti-cism, and is not himself wavering and clumsy. Itis probable, however, that susceptibility variesgreatly in degree, and that race exerts an impor-tant influence. Thus in Europe the French seemto be most susceptible, and the English and Scan-dinavians least so. The impression that weak-minded persons are most available is quite mis-taken. On the contrary, patients in the insaneasylums, idiots, etc., are the most refractory. Thisis to be expected, from the fact that in these casespower of strong, steady attention is wanting.The only class of pathological cases which seempeculiarly open to the hypnotic influence is thatof the hystero-epileptics, whose tendencies are

SUGGESTION IN CHILDREN AND ADULTS. 163

toward extreme suggestibility. Further, one mayhypnotize himselfwhat we have called aboveAuto-suggestionespecially after having beenput into the trance more than once by others.When let alone after being hypnotized, the pa-tient usually passes into a normal sleep andwakes naturally.

It is further evident that frequent hypnotiza-tion is very damaging if done by the same opera-tor, since then the patient contracts a habit of

responding to the same class of suggestions; andthis may influence his normal life. A further dan-ger arises from the possibility that all suggestionshave not been removed from the patient's mindbefore his awaking. Competent scientific observ-ers always make it a point to do this. It is pos-sible also that damaging effects result directly toa man from frequent hypnotizing; and this is insome degree probable, simply from the fact that,while it lasts, the state is abnormal. Consequent-ly, all general exhibitions in public, as well as allindividual hypnotizing by amateurs, should beprohibited by law, and the whole practical appli-cation as well as observation of Hypnosis shouldbe left in the hands of physicians or experts w^honave proved their fitness by an examination andsecured a certificate of licence. In Russia a de-cree (summer, 1893) permits physicians to practisehypnotism for purposes of cure under official cer-tificates. In France public exhibitions are for-bidden.

So-called Criminal Suggestions may be made,with more or less effect, in the hypnotic state.Cases have been tried in the French courts, inwhich evidence for and against such influence of athird person over the criminal has been admitted.

164 THE STORY OF THE MIND.

The reality of the phenomenon, however, is indispute. The Paris school claim that criminalacts may be suggested to the hypnotized subject,which are just as certain to be performed by himas any other acts. Such a subject will dischargea blank-loaded pistol at one, when told to do so,or stab him with a paper dagger. While admit-ting the facts, the Nancy theorists claim that thesubject knows the performance to be a farce;gets suggestions of the unreality of it from the ex-perimenters, and so acquiesces. This is probablytrue, as is seen in frequent cases in which patientshave refused, in hypnotic sleep, to perform sug-gested acts which shocked their modesty, veracity,etc. This goes to show that the Nancy school areright in saying that while in Hypnosis suggesti-bility is exaggerated to an enormous degree, stillit has limits in the more well-knit habits, moralsentiments, social opinions, etc., of the subject.And it further shows that Hypnosis is probably,as they claim, a temporary disturbance, rather thana pathological condition of mind or body.

There have been many remarkable and sensa-tional cases of cure of disease by hypnotic sug-gestion, reported especially in France. That hys-teria in many of its manifestations has been re-lieved is certainly true ; but that any organic,structural disease has ever been cured by hypno-tism is unproved. It is not regarded by medicalauthorities as an agent of much therapeutic value,and is rarely employed ; but it is doubtful, inview of the natural prejudice caused by the pre-tensions of charlatans, whether its merits havebeen fairly tested. On the European Continent ithas been successfully applied in a great variety ofcases ; and Bernheim has shown that minor nerv-

SUGGESTION IN CHILDREN AND ADULTS. 165

ous troubles, insomnia, migraines, drunkenness,lighter cases of rheumatism, sexual and digestivedisorders, together with a host of smaller tempo-rary causes of paincorns, cricks in back andside, etc.may be cured or very materially alle-viated by suggestions conveyed in the hypnoticstate. In many cases such cures are permanentlyeffected with aid from no other remedies. In anumber of great city hospitals patients of recog-nised classes are at once hypnotized, and sugges-tions of cure made. Liebeault, the founder ofthe Nancy school, has the credit of having firstmade use of hypnosis as a remedial agent. It isalso becoming more and more recognised as amethod of controlling refractory and violent pa-tients in asylums and reformatory institutions.It must be added, however, that psychologicaltheory rather than medical practice is seriouslyconcerning itself with this subject.

Theory.Two rival theories are held as to thegeneral character of Hypnosis. The Paris schoolalready referred to, led by the late Dr. Charcot,hold that it is a pathological condition which ismost readily induced in patients already mentallydiseased or having neuropathic tendencies. Theyclaim that the three stages described above area discovery of great importance. The so-calledNancy school, on the other hand, led by Bern-heim, deny the pathological character of Hypnosisaltogether, claiming that the hypnotic conditionis nothing more than a special form of ordinarysleep brought on artificially by suggestion. Hyp-notic suggestion, say they, is only an exaggera-tion of an influence to which all persons are nor-mally subject. All the variations, stages, curiousphenomena, etc., of the Paris school, they claim,

12


can be explained by this"

suggestion"

hypothe-sis. The Nancy school must be considered com-pletely victorious apart from some facts which notheory has yet explained.

Hypnotism shows an intimacy of interactionbetween mind and body to which current psychol-ogy is only beginning to do justice ; and it is thisaspect of the whole matter which should be em-phasized in this connection. The hypnotic con-dition of consciousness may be taken to representthe working of Suggestion most remarkably.

CHAPTER Vni.THE TRAINING OF THE MIND EDUCATIONAL

PSYCHOLOGY.

A GREAT deal has been said and written aboutthe physical and mental differences shown by theyoung ; and one of the most oft-repeated of allthe charges which we hear brought against thecurrent methods of teaching is that all childrenare treated alike. The point is carried so far thata teacher is judged from the way he has or hasnot of getting at the children under him as indi-viduals. All this is a move in the right direction ;and yet the subject is still so vague that many ofthe very critics who declaim against the similartreatment which diverse pupils get at school haveno clear idea of what is needed ; they merelymake demands that the treatment shall suit thechild. How each child is to be suited, and theinquiry still back of that, what peculiarity it is inthis child or that which is to be " suited "thesethings are left to settle themselves.

THE TRAINING OF THE MIND. 167

It is my aim in this chapter to indicate someof the variations which are shown by differentchildren

;and on the basis of such facts to en-

deavour to arrive at a more definite idea of whatvariations of treatment are called for in the sev-eral classes into which the children are divided.I shall confine myself at first to those differenceswhich are more hereditary and constitutional.

First PeriodEarly Childhood.The first andmost comprehensive distinction is that based onthe division of the life of man into the two greatspheres of reception and action. The

"

sensory"

and the " motor " are becoming the most commondescriptive terms of current psychology. Wehear all the while of sensory processes, sensorycontents, sensory centres, sensory attention, etc. ;and, on the other hand, of motor processes, motorcentres, motor ataxy, motor attention, motor con-sciousness, etc. And in the higher reaches ofmental function, the same antithesis comes out inthe contrast of sensory and motor aphasia, alexia,sensory and motor types of memory and imagina-tion, etc. Indeed the tendency is now strong tothink that when we have assigned a given func-tion of consciousness to one or other side of thenervous apparatus, making it either sensory ormotor, then our duty to it is done. Be that as itmay, there is no doubt that the distinction isthrowing great light on the questions of mindwhich involve also the correlative questions ofthe nervous system. This is true of all questionsof educational psychology.

This first distinction between childrenas hav-ing general applicationis that which I maycover by saying that some are more active, ormotile, while others are more passive, or recep-


tive. This is a common enough distinchon ; butpossibly a word or two on its meaning in the con-stitution of the child may give it more actualvalue.

The " active " person to the psychologist isone who is very responsive to what we have calledSuggestions. Suggestions may be described inmost general terms as any and all the influencesfrom outside, from the environment, both phys-ical and personal, which get a lodgment in con-sciousness and lead to action. A child who is"

suggestible"

to a high degree shows it in whatwe call " motility." The suggestions which takehold of him translate themselves very directlyinto action. He tends to act promptly, quickly,unreflectively, assimilating the newer elements ofthe suggestions of the environment to the waysof behaviour fixed by his earlier habits. Generallysuch a person, child or adult, is said to *'jump"at conclusions; he is anxious to know in order toact

;he acts in some way on all events or sug-

gestions, even when no course of action is ex-plicitly suggested, and even when one attemptsto keep him from acting.

Psychologically such a person is dominatedby habit. And this means that his nervous sys-tem sets, either by its hereditary tendencies orby the undue predominance of certain elementsin his education, quickly in the direction of motordischarge. The great channels of readiest out-pouring from the brain into the muscles have be-come fixed and pervious ; it is hard for the pro-cesses once started in the sense centres, such asthose of sight, hearing, etc., to hold in their ener-

gies. They tend to unstable equilibrium in thedirection of certain motor combinations, which in


their turq represent certain classes of acts. Thisis habit ; and the person of the extreme motortype is always a creature of habit.

Now what is the line of treatment that such achild should have ? The necessity for getting ananswer to this question is evident from what wassaid above i. e., that the very rise of the condi-tion itself is due, apart from heredity, oftenerthan not to the fact that he has not had propertreatment from his teachers.

The main point for a teacher to have in mindin dealing with such a boy or girlthe impulsive,active one, always responsive, but almost alwaysin error in what he says and does is that hereis a case of habit. Habit is good ; indeed, if weshould go a little further we should see that alleducation is the forming of habits ; but here, inthis case, what we have is not habits, but habit.This child shows a tendency to habit as such : tohabits of any and every kind. The first care ofthe teacher in order to the control of the forma-tion of habits is in some way to bring about alittle inertia of habit, so to speaka short periodof organic hesitation, during which the reasonspro and con for each habit may be brought intothe consciousness of the child.

The means by which this tendency to crude,inconsiderate action on the part of the child is tobe controlled and regulated is one of the mosttypical questions for the intelligent teacher. Itsanswer must be different for children of differentages. The one thing to do, in general, however,from the psychologist's point of view, is in someway to bring about greater complications in themotor processes which the child uses most habit-ually, and with this complication to get greater

lyo THE STORY OF THE MIND.

inhibition along the undesirable lines of his ac-tivity. Inhibition is the damming up of the pro-cesses for a period, causing some kind of a " set-back " of the energies of movement into thesensory centres, or the redistribution of this en-ergy in more varied and less habitual discharges.With older children a rational method is to ana-lyze for them the mistakes they have made, show-ing the penalties they have brought upon them-selves by hasty action. This requires greatwatchfulness. In class work, the teacher mayprofitably point out the better results reached bythe pupil who " stops to think." This will bringto the reform of the hasty scholar the added mo-tive of semi-public comparison with the more de-liberate members of the class. Such procedure isquite unobjectionable if made a recognised partof the class method

; yet care should be takenthat no scholar suffer mortification from suchcomparisons. The matter may be " evened up

"

by dwelling also on the merit of promptness whichthe scholar in question will almost always befound to show.

For younger pupils as well as older more in-direct methods of treatment are more effective.The teacher should study the scholar to find thegeneral trend of his habits. Then oversight shouldbe exercised over both his tasks and his sportswith certain objects in view. His habitual actionsshould be made as complicated as his ability cancope with ; this in order to educate his habits andkeep them from working back into mere mechan-ism. If he shows his fondness for drawing bymarking his desk, see that he has drawing mate-rials at hand and some intelligent tasks in this lineto do

;not as tasks, but for himself. Encourage


him to make progress always, not simply to repeathimself. If he has awkward habits of movementwith his hands and feet, try to get him interestedin games that exercise these members in regularand skilful ways.

Furthermore, in his intellectual tasks such apupil should be trained, as far as may be, on themore abstract subjects, which do not give imme-diate openings for action. Mathematics is thebest possible discipline for him. Grammar alsois good; it serves at once to interest him, if it iswell taught, in certain abstract relationships, andalso to send out his motor energies in the exer-cise of speech, which is the function which al-ways needs exercise, and which is always underthe observation of the teacher. Grammar, in fact,is one of the very best of primary-school subjects,because instruction in it issues at once in the verymotor functions which embody the relationshipswhich the teacher seeks to impress. The teacherhas in his ear, so to speak, the evidence as towhether his instruction is understood or not.This gives him a valuable opportunity to keephis instruction well ahead of its motor expres-sion thus leading the pupil to think ratherthan to act without thinkingand at the sametime to point out the errors of performancewhich follow from haste in passing from thoughtto action.

These indirect methods of reaching the impul-sive pupil should never be cast aside for the directeffort to " control " such a scholar. The very worstthing that can be done to such a boy or girl is tocommand him or her to sit still or not to act;and a still worse thingto make a comparativeagain on the head of the superlativeis to affix


to the command painful penalties. This is a di-rect violation of the principle of Suggestion.Such a command only tends to empty the pupil'smind of other objects of thought and interest, andso to keep his attention upon his own movements.This, then, amounts to a continual suggestion tohim to do just what you want to keep him fromdoing. On the contrary, unless you give himsuggestions and interests which lead his thoughtaway from his acts, it is impossible not to aggra-vate his bad tendencies by your very efforts. Thisis the way, as I intimated above, that many teach-ers create or confirm bad habits in their pupils,and so render any amount of well-intended posi-tive instruction abortive. It seems well estab-lished that a suggestion of the negativethat is,not to do a thinghas no negative force; but,on the contrary, in the early period, it amountsonly to a stronger suggestion in the positivesense, since it adds emphasis, to the thing whichis forbidden. The "not" in a prohibition is noaddition to the pictured course to which it isattached, and the physiological fact that the at-tention tends to set up action upon that which isattended to comes in to put a premium on dis-obedience. Indeed, the philosophy of all punish-ment rests in this consideration, i. e., that unlessthe penalty tends to fill the mind with some objectother than the act punished, it does more harmthan good. The punishment must be actual andits nature diverting; never a threat which termi-nates there, nor a penalty which fixes the thoughtof the offence more strongly in mind. This is tosay, that the permanent inhibition of a movementat this period is best secured by establishing somedifferent movement.


The further consideration of the cases of greatmotility would lead to the examination of thekinds of memory and imagination and their treat-ment

;to that we return below. We may now

take up the instances of the sensory type consid-ered with equal generality.

The sensory children are in the main thosewhich seem more passive, more troubled withphysical inertia, more contemplative when a littleolder, less apt in learning to act out new move-ments, less quick at taking a hint, etc.

These children are generally further distin-guished as beingand here the antithesis to themotor ones is very markedmuch less suggesti-ble. They seem duller when young. Boys oftenget credit for dulness compared with girls on thisaccount. Even as early as the second year canthis distinction among children be readily ob-served in many instances. The motor child willshow sorrow by loud crying and vigorous action,while the sensory child will grieve in quiet, andcontinue to grieve when the other has forgottenthe disagreeable occurrence altogether. The mo-tor one it is that asks a great many questions andseems to learn little from the answers

;while the

sensory one learns simply from hearing the ques-tions of the other and the answers given to them.The motor child, again, gets himself hurt a greatmany times in the same way, without developingenough self-control to restrain himself from thesame mistake again and again ; the sensory childtends to be timid in the presence of the unknownand uncertain, to learn from one or a few experi-ences, and to hold back until he gets satisfactoryassurances that danger is absent. The formertends to be more restless in sitting, standing, etc.,


more demonstrative in affection, more impulsivein action, more forgiving in disposition.

As to the treatment of the sensory child, it is aproblem of even greater difficulty and danger thanthat of his motor brother. The very nature ofthe distinction makes it evident that while themotor individual " gives himself away," so tospeak, by constantly acting out his impressions,and so revealing his progress and his errors, withthe other it is not so. All knowledge that weare ever able to get of the mental condition ofanother individual is through his movements, ex-pressive, in a technical sense, or of other kinds,such as his actions, attitudes, lines of conduct, etc.We have no way to read thought directly. So justin so far as the sensory individual is less active,to that degree he is less expressive, less self-revealing. To the teacher, therefore, he is moreof an enigma. It is harder to tell in his case whatinstruction he has appreciated and made his own;and what, on the other hand, has been too hardfor him

;what wise, and what unwise. Where the

child of movement spieaks out his impulsive inter-pretations, this one sinks into himself and givesno answer. So we are deprived of the best wayof interpreting himthat afforded by his own in-terpretation of himself.

A general policy of caution is thereforestrongly to be recommended. Let the teacherwait in every case for some positive indication ofthe child's real state of mind. Even the directionsgiven the child may not have been understood, orthe quick word of admonition may have woundedhim, or a duty which is so elementary as to be acommonplace in the mental life of the motor childmay yet be so vaguely apprehended that to insist


upon its direct performance may cost the teacherall his influence with the pupil of this type. It isbetter to wait even at the apparent risk of losingvaluable days than to proceed a single step upona mistaken estimate of the child's measure ofassimilation. And, further, the effect of wrongtreatment upon this boy or girl is very differentfrom that of a similar mistake in the other case.He becomes more silent, retired, even secretive,when once an unsympathetic relationship is sug-gested between him and his elder.

Then more positivelyhis instruction shouldbe well differentiated. He should in every pos-sible case be given inducements to express him-self. Let him recite a great deal. Give himsimple verses to repeat. Keep him talking allyou can. Show him his mistakes with the utmostdeliberation and kindliness of manner

;and mduce

him to repeat his performances in your hearingafter the correction has been suggested. Culti-vate the imitative tendency in him ; it is the hand-maid to the formation of facile habits of action.In arranging the children's games, see that hegets the very active parts, even though he bebackward and hesitating about assuming them.Make him as far as possible a leader, in order tocultivate his sense of responsibility for the doingof things, and to lead to the expression of hisunderstanding of arrangements, etc. In it all, theessential thing is to bring him out in some kindof expression ; both for the sake of the improvedbalance it gives himself, and as an indication tothe observant teacher of his progress and of thenext step to be taken in his development.

It is for the sensory child, I think, that the

kindergarten has its great utility. It gives him


facility in movement and expression, and alsosome degree of personal and social confidence.But for the same reasons the kindergarten over-stimulates the motor scholars at the correspond-ing age. There should really be two kindergartenmethodsone based on the idea of deliberation,the other on that of expression.

The task of the educator here, it is evident,is to help nature correct a tendency to one-sideddevelopment; just as the task is this also in theformer case; but here the variation is on the sideof idiosyncrasy ultimately, and of genius imme-diately. For genius, I think, is the more oftendeveloped from the contemplative mind, with therelatively dammed-up brain, of this child, thanfrom the smooth-working machine of the motorone. But just for this reason, if the damming-up be liberated, not in the channels of healthyassimilation, and duly correlated growth, but inthe forced discharges of violent emotion, fol-lowed by conditions of melancholy and by certainunsocial tendencies, then the promise of geniusripens into eccentricity, and the blame is possi-bly ours.

It seems truealthough great caution is neces-sary in drawing inferencesthat here a certain dis-tinction may be found to hold also between thesexes. It is possible that the apparent precociousalertness of girls in their school years, and earlier,may be simply a predominance among them ofthe motor individuals. This is borne out by theexamination of the kinds of performance in whichthey seem to be more forward than boys. It re-solves itself, so far as my observation goes, intogreater quickness of response and greater agilityin performance ; not greater constructiveness, nor


greater power of concentrated attention. Theboys seem to need more instruction because theydo not learn as much for themselves by actingupon what they already know. In later years, thedistinction gets levelled off by the common agen-cies of education, and by the setting of tasks re-quiring more thought than the mere spontaneitiesof either type avail to furnish. Yet all the waythrough, I think there is something in the ordi-nary belief that woman is relatively more impul-sive and more prone to the less reflective formsof action.

What has now been said may be sufficient togive some concrete force to the common opinionthat education should take account of the individ-ual character at this earliest stage. The generaldistinction between sensory and motor has, how-ever, a higher application in the matter of memoryand imagination at later stages of growth, to whichwe may now turn.

Second Period.The research is of course moredifficult as the pupil grows older, since the influ-ences of heredity tend to become blurred by themore constant elements of the child's home, school,and general social environment. The child whomI described just above as sensory in his type isconstantly open to influences from the stimulat-ing behaviour of his motor companion, as well asfrom the direct measures which parent and teachertake to overcome his too-decided tendencies andto prevent one-sided development. So, too, themotor child tends to find correctives in his envi-ronment.

The analogy, however, between the more or-ganic and hereditary differences in individuals, andthe intellectual and moral variations which they


tend to develop with advance in school age, isvery marked ; and we find a similar series of dis-tinctions in the later period. The reason that thereis a correspondence between the variations givenin heredity and those due in the main to the edu-cative influences of the single child's social envi-ronment is in itself very suggestive, but spacedoes not permit its exposition here.

The fact is this : the child tends, under the in-fluence of his home, school, social surroundings,etc., to develop a marked character either in thesensory or in the motor direction, in his memory,imagination, and general type of mind.

Taking up the " motor"

child first, as before,we find that his psychological growth tends to con-firm him in his hereditary type. In all his socialdealing with other children he is more or less dom-ineering and self-assertive ; or at least his conductleads one to form that opinion of him. He seemsto be constantly impelled to act so as to showhimself off. He " performs

" before people, showsless modesty than may be thought desirable inone of his tender years,. impresses the forms of hisown activity upon the other children, who come tostand about him with minds constrained to followhim. He is an object lesson in both the advan-tages and the risks of an aggressive life policy.He has a suggestion to make in every emergency,a line of conduct for each of his company, allmarked out or supplied on the spur of the mo-ment by his own quick sense of appropriate ac-tion

;and for him, as for no one else, to hesitate

is to be lost.Now what this general policy or method of

growth means to his consciousness is becomingmore and more clear in the light of the theory of


-mental types. The reason a person is motor isthat his mind tends always to be filled up mosteasily with memories or revived images of thetwitchings, tensions, contractions, expansions, ofthe activities of the muscular system. He is amotor because the means of his thought generally,the mental coins which pass current in his thoughtexchange, are muscular sensations or the traceswhich such sensations have left in his memory.The very means by which he thinks of a situation,an event, a duty, is not the way it looked, or theway it sounded, or the way it smelt, tasted, or feltto the touchin any of the experiences to whichthese senses are involvedbut the means, therepresentatives, the instruments of his thought,are the feelings of the way he has acted. He hasa tendencyand he comes to have it more andmore to get a muscular representation of every-thing ; and his gauge of the value of this or thatis this muscular measure of it, in terms of the ac-tion which it is calculated to draw out.

It is then this preference for one particularkind of mental imagery, and that the motor, or.muscular kind, which gives this type of child his[peculiarity in this more psychological period.When we pass from the mere outward and organicdescription of his peculiarities, attempted abovein the case of very young children, and aim toascertain the mental peculiarity which accom-panies it and carries on the type through the in-dividual's maturer years, we see our way to itsmeaning. The fact is that a peculiar kind ofmental imagery tends to swell up in consciousnessand monopolize the theatre of thought. This isonly another way of saying that the attention ismore or less educated in the direction represented

l8o THE STORY OF THE MIND.

by this sort of imagery. Every time a movementis thought of, in preference to a sound or a sightwhich is also available, the habit of giving the at-tention to the muscular equivalents of things be-comes more firmly fixed. This continues untilthe motor habit of attention becomes the onlyeasy and normal way of attending ; and then theperson is fixed in his type for one, many, or all ofhis activities of thinking and action.

So now it is no longer difficult to see, I trust,why it is that the child or youth of this sort hasthe characteristics which he has. It is a familiar

ri^rinciple that attention to the thought of a move-I

ment tends to start that very movement. I defy', any of my readers to think hard and long of wink-ing the left eye and not have an almost irresisti-ble impulse to wink that eye. There is no betterway to make it difficult for a child to sit still thanto tell him to sit still

;for your words fill up his

attention, as I had occasion to say above, with thethought of movements, and these thoughts bringon the movements, despite the best intentions ofthe child in the way of obedience. Watch an au-dience of little childrenand children of an oldergrowth will also dowhen an excited speakerharangues them with many gestures, and see thecomical reproduction of the gestures by the chil-dren's hands. They picture the movements, theattention is fixed on them, and appropriate actionsfollow.

It is only the generalizing of these phenomenathat we find realized in the boy or girl of the mo-tor type. Such a child is constantly thinking ofthings by their movement equivalents. Muscularsensations throng up in consciousness at everypossible signal and by every train of association ;

THE TRAINING OF THE MIND. i8l

SO it is not at all surprising that all informations,instructions, warnings, reproofs, suggestions, passright through such a child's consciousness and ex-press themselves by the channels of movement.Hence the impulsive, restless, domineering, un-meditative character of the child. We may nowendeavour to describe a little more closely hishigher mental traits.

1. In the first place the motor mind tends tovery quick generalization. Every teacher knows theboys in school who anticipate their conclusions,on the basis of a single illustration. They reachthe general notion which is most broad in extent,in application, but most shallow in intent, in rich-ness, in real explaining or descriptive meaning.For example, such a boy will hear the story ofNapoleon, proceed to define heroism in terms ofmilitary success, and then go out and try the Na-poleon act upon his playfellows. This tendencyto generalize is the mental counterpart of the tend-ency to act seen in his conduct. The reason hegeneralizes is that the brain energies are not heldback in the channels of perception, but pour them-selves right out toward the motor equivalents offormer perceptions which wxre in any way simi-lar

;then the present perceptions are lost in the

old ones toward which attention is held by habit,and action follows. To the child all heroes areNapoleons because Napoleon was the first hero,and the channels of action inspired by him sufficenow for the appropriate conduct.

2. Such a scholar is \ery poor at noting and re-membering distinctions. This follows naturally fromthe hasty generalizations which he makes. Hav-ing once identified a new fact as the same as anold one, and having so reached a defective sense

13

1 82 THE STORY OF THE MIND.

of the general class, it is then more and more hardfor him to retrace his steps and sort out the expe-riences more carefully. Even when he discovershis mistake, his old impulse to act seizes himagain,and he rushes to some new generalization where-with to replace the old, again falling into error byhis stumbling haste to act. The teacher is oftenerperhaps brought to the verge of impatience byscholars of this class than by any others.

3. Following, again, from these characteristics,there is a third remark to be made about the youthof this type ; and it bears upon a peculiarity whichit is very hard for the teacher to estimate and con-trol. These motor boys and girls have what I maycharacterize as fluidity of the attention. By this ismeant a peculiar quality of mind which all expe-

l^ienced teachers are in some degree familiar with,[ and which they find baffling and unmanageable.

By " fluidity"

of the attention I mean the stateoi hurry, rush, inadequate inspection, quick transi-tion, all-too-ready-assimilation, hear-but-not-heed,in-one-ear-and-out-the-other habit of mind. Thebest way to get an adequate sense of the state isto recall the pupil who has it to the most markeddegree, and picture his mode of dealing with yourinstructions. Such a pupil hears your words, says*'

yes," even acts appropriately so far as your im-mediate instructions go ; but when he comes tothe same situation again, he is as virginly inno-cent of your lesson as if his teacher had neverbeen born. Psychologically, the state differs frompreoccupation, which characterizes quite a differ-ent type of mind. The motor boy is not preoccu-pied. Far from that, he is quite ready to attend toyou. But when he attends, it is with a momentaryconcentrationwith a rush like the flow of a


mountain stream past the point of the bank onwhich you sit. His attention is flowing, alwaysin transition, leaping from

** it to that," with su-

perb agility and restlessness. But the exercise itgains from its movements is its only reward. Itsacquisitions are slender in the extreme. It illus-

trates, on the mental plane, the truth of the"

roll-

ing stone." It corresponds, as a mental charac-ter, to the muscular restlessness which the sametype of child shows in the earlier period previouslyspoken of.

The psychological explanation of this "fluidattention

"

is more or less plain, but I can not takespace to expound it. Suffice it to say that theattention is itself, probably, in its brain seat, amatter of the motor centres ; its physical seat both"gives and takes" in co-operation with the pro-cesses which shed energy out into the muscles.So it follows that, in the ready muscular revivals,discharges, transitions, which we have seen to beprominent in the motor temperament the atten-tion is carried along, and its " fluidity

"

is only anincident to the fluidity of the motor symbols ofwhich this sort of a mind continually makes use.

Coming a little closer to the pedagogical prob-lems which this type of pupil raises before us, wefind, in the first place, that it is excessively diffi-cult for this scholar to give continuous or ade-quate attention to anything of any complexity.The movements of attention are so easy, the out-lets of energy, to use the physical figure, so largeand well used, that the minor relationships of thething are passed over. The variations of the ob-ject from its class are swept away in the onrushof his motor tendencies. He assumes the factswhich he does not understand, and goes right on


to express himself in action on these assumptions.So while he seems to take in what is told him,with an intuition that is surprisingly swift, aAd apersonal adaptation no less surprising, the disap-pointment is only the more keen when the in-structor finds the next day that he has not pene-trated at all into the inner current of this scholar'smental processes.

Again, as marked as this is in its early stages,the continuance of it leads to results which arenothing short of deplorable. When such a stu-dent has gone through a preparatory school with-out overcoming this tendency to "fluid atten-tion " and comes to college, the instructors in thehigher institutions are practically helpless beforehim. We say of him that " he has never learnedto study," that he does not know "how to applyhimself," that he has no "power of assimilation."All

.of which simply means that his channels ofreaction are so formed already that no instruc-tion can get sufficient lodgment in him to bringabout any modification of his

"

apperceptive sys-tems." The embarrassment is the more markedbecause such a youth, all through his educa-tion period, is willing, ready, evidently receptive,prompt, and punctual in all his tasks.

N^ow what shall be done with such a studentin his early school years ? This is a question forthe secondary teacher especially, apart from themore primary measures recommended above. Itis in the years between eight and fifteen that thistype of mind has its rapid development; beforethat the treatment is mainly preventive, and con-sists largely in suggestions which aim to makethe muscular discharges more deliberate and thegeneral tone less explosive. But when the boy

THE TRAINING OF THE MIND, 185

or girl comes to school with the dawning capa-city for independent self-direction and personalapiMication, then it is that the problem of the mo-tor scholar becomes critical. The '* let-alone "

method puts a premium upon the development ofhis tendencies and the eventual playing out ofhis mental possibilities in mere motion. Certain

positive ways of giving some indirect disciplineto the mind of this type may be suggested.

Give this student relatively difficult and com-plex tasks. There is no way to hinder his ex-uberant self-discharges except by measures whichembarrass and baffle him. We can not " lead himinto all truth "; we have to drive him back fromall error. The lessons of psychology are to theeffect that the normal way to teach caution anddeliberation is the way of failure, repulse, andunfortunate, even painful, consequences. Per-sonal appeals to him do little good, since it is apart of his complaint that he is too ready to hearall appeals; and also, since he is not aware of hisown lack nor able to carry what he hears into ef-fect. So keep him in company of scholars a lit-tle more advanced than he is. Keep him out ofthe concert recitations, where his tendency tohaste w^ould work both personal and social harm.Refrain from giving him assistance in his tasksuntil he has learned from them something of thereal lesson of discouragement, and then help himonly by degrees, and by showing him one step ata time, with constant renewals of his own efforts.Shield him with the greatest pains from distrac-tions of all kinds, for even the things and eventsabout him may carry his attention off at the mostcritical moments. Give him usually the second-ary parts in the games of the school, except when


real planning, complex execution, and more orless generalship are required ; then give him theleading parts : they exercise his activities in newways not covered by habit, and if he do not riseto their complexity, then the other party to thesport will, and his haste will have its own punish-ment, and so be a lesson to him.

Besides these general checks and regulations,there remains the very important question as towhat studies are most available for this type ofmind. I have intimated already the general an-swer that ought to be given to this question. Theaim of the studies of the motor student should bediscipline in the direction of correct generaliza-tion, and, as helpful to this, discipline in carefulobservation of concrete facts. On the other hand,the studies which involve principles simply of adescriptive kind should have little place in hisdaily study. They call out largely the more me-chanical operations of memory, and their com-mand can be secured for the most part by mererepetition of details all similar in character andof equal value. The measure of the utility tohim of the different studies of the schoolroom isfound in the relative demand they make uponhim to modify his hasty personal reactions, tosuspend his thoughtless rush to general results,and back of it all, to hold the attention long enoughupon the facts as they arise to get some sense ofthe logical relationships which bind them togeth-er. Studies which do not afford any logical rela-tionships, and which tend, on the contrary, to fos-ter the habit of learning by repetition, only tendto fix the student in the quality of attention whichI have called " fluidity."

In particular, therefore : give this student all


the mathematics he can absorb, and pass him fromarithmetic into geometry, leaving his algebra tilllater. Give him plenty of grammar, taught in-ductively. Start him early in the elements ofphysics and chemistry. And as opposed to this,keep him out of the classes of descriptive botanyand zoology. Rather let him join exploring par-ties for the study of plants, stones, and animals.A few pet animals are a valuable adjunct to anyschool museum. If there be an industrial schoolor machine shop near at hand, try to get him in-terested in the way things are made, and encour-age him to join in such employments. A falsegeneralization in the wheels of a cart supplies itsown corrective very quickly, or in the rigging andsails of a toy boat. Drawing from models is afine exercise for such a youth, and drawing fromlife, as soon as he gets a little advanced in thecontrol of his pencil. All this, it is easy to see,trains his impulsive movements into some degreeof subjection to the deliberative processes.

With this general line of treatment in mind,the details of which the reader will work out inthe light of the boy's type, space allows me onlytwo more points before I pass to the sensoryscholar.

First, in all the teaching of the type of mindnow in question, pursue a method which proceedsfrom the particular to the general. The discus-sion of pedagogical method with all its ins andouts needs to take cognizance of the differencesof students in their type. The motor studentshould never, in normal cases, be given a generalformula and told to work out particular instances ;that is too much his tendency alreadyto ap-proach facts from the point of view of their re-

1 88 THE STORY OF THE MIND.

semblances. What he needs rather is a sense ofthe dignity of the single fact, and of the neces-sity of giving it its separate place, before hasten-

ing on to lose it in the flow of a general state-ment. So whether the teacher have in hand math-ematics, grammar, or science, let him disclose theprinciples only gradually, and always only so faras they are justified by the observations whichthe boy has been led to make for himself. Forthe reason that such a method is practically im-possible in the descriptive sciences, and someother branches, as taught in the schoolbooks

botany, zoology, and, worse than all, history andgeographywe should restrict their part in thediscipline studies of such a youth. They requiresimple memory, without observation, and put apremium on hasty and temporary acquisition.

As I have said, algebra should be subordinatedto geometry. Algebra has as its distinctive meth-od the principle of substitution, whereby symbolsof equal and, for the most part, absolute general-ity are substituted for one another, and the re-sults stand for one fact as well as for another, in-disregard of the worth of the particular in thescheme of nature. For the same reason, deduct-ive logic is not a good discipline for these stu-dents; empirical psychology, or political econo-my, is a better introduction to the moral sciencesfor them when they reach the high school. Thisexplains what was meant above in the remark asto the method of teaching grammar. As to lan-guage study generally, I think the value of it, atthis period, and later, is extraordinarily overrated.The proportion of time given to language studyin our secondary schools is nothing short of apublic crime in its effect upon students of this


typeand indeed of any type. This, however, isa matter to which we return below. The averagestudent comes to college with his sense of explo-ration, his inductive capacity, stifled at its birth.He stands appalled when confronted with the un-assimilated details of any science which does notgive him a ''key

"

in the shape of general formu-las made up beforehand. Were it not that hisenlarging experience of life is all the whilerunning counter to the trend of his so-callededucation, he would probably graduate readyfor the social position in which authority takesthe place of evidence, and imitation is the methodof life.

Second, the teacher should be on the lookoutfor a tendency which is very characteristic of astudent of this type, the tendency, i. e., to fallinto elaborate guessing at results. Take a littlechild of about seven or eight years of age, espe-cially one who has the marks of motor heredity,and observe the method of his acquisition of newwords in reading. First he speaks the word whichhis habit dictates, and, that being wrong, he rollshis eyes away from the text and makes a guessof the first word that comes into his mind; thishe keeps up as long as the teacher persists in ask-ing him to try again. Here is the same tendencythat carries him later on in his education to ageneral conclusion by a short cut. He has notlearned to interpret the data of a deliberate judg-ment, and his attention does not dwell on thenecessary details. So with him all through histraining; he is always ready with a guess. Here,again, the teacher can do him good only by pa-tiently employing the inductive method. Leadhim back to the simplest elements of the problem


in hand, and help him gradually to build up a re-sult step by step.

I think in this, as in most of the work withthese scholars, the association with children ofthe opposite type is one of the best correctives,provided the companionship is not made altogeth-er one-sided by the motor boy's perpetual monop-olizing of all the avenues of personal expression.When he fails in the class, the kind of social les-son which is valuable may be taught him by sub-mitting the same question to a pupil of the plod-ding, deliberate kind, and waiting for the latterto work it out. Of course, if the teacher haveany supervision over the playground, similar treat-ment can be employed there.

Coming to consider the so-called "sensory"youth of the age between eight, let us say, andsixteenthe age during which the training of thesecondary school presents its great problemswefind certain interesting contrasts between thistype and that already characterized as

"motor."

The study of this type of youth is the more press-ing for reasons which I have already hinted inconsidering the same type in the earlier childhoodperiod. It is necessary, first, to endeavour to geta fairly adequate view of the psychological char-acteristics of this sort of pupil.

The current psychological doctrine of mental"

types"

rests upon a great mass of facts, drawnin the first instance from the' different kinds ofmental trouble, especially those which involvederangements of speechthe different kinds ofAphasia. The broadest generalization which isreached from these facts is that which marks thedistinction, of which I have already said so much,between the motor and the sensory types. But


besides this general distinction there are manyfiner ones; and in considering the persons of thesensory type, it is necessary to inquire into thesefiner distinctions. Not only do men and childrendiffer in the matter of the sort of mental materialwhich they find requisite, as to whether it is pic-tures of movements on the one hand, or picturesfrom the special senses on the other hand ; butthey differ also in the latter case with respect towhich of the special senses it is, in this case orthat, which gives the particular individual hisnecessary cue, and his mast perfect function. Sowe find inside of the general group called "sen-sory" several relatively distinct cases, all of whichthe teacher is likely to come across in varying num-bers in a class of pupils. Of these the "visual

"

and the"auditory

"

are most important.There are certain aspects of the case which

are so common to all the cases of sensory minds,whether they be visual, auditory, or other, that Imay set them out before proceeding further.

First, in all these matters of type distinction,one of the essential things to observe is the be-haviour of the Attention. We have already seenthat the attention is implicated to a remarkabledegreein what I called

" fluid attention " abovein the motor scholar. The same implication ofthe attention occurs in all the sensory cases, butpresents very different aspects; and the commonfact that the attention is directly involved affordsus one of the best rules of judgment and distinc-tion. We may say, generally, of the sensorychildren, that the attention is best, most facile,most interest-carrying for some one preferredsense, leading for this sense into preoccupationand ready distraction. This tendency manifests


itself, as we saw above, in the motor persons also,taking effect in action, speed, vivacity, hasty gen-eralization, etc. ; but in the sensory one it takeson varying forms. This first aspect of our typicaldistinction of minds we may call "the relation ofthe ' favoured function ' to the attention."

Then, second, there is another and somewhatcontrasted relation which also assumes importancewhen we come to consider individual cases; andthat is the relation of the " favoured function "

say movement, vision, hearing, etc.to Habit.It is a common enough observation, that habitrenders functions easy, and that habits are hardto break

; indeed, all treatment of habits is likelyto degenerate into the commonplace. But, whenlooked at as related to the attention, certaintruths emerge from the consideration of habit.

In general, we may say that habit bears a two-fold relation to attention : on the one hand, /


back, uses his attention under the lead of habit.It is largely the teacher's business in his case, aswe saw, to get him to hold, conserve, and directhis attention steadily to the novel and the com-plex. The sensory person, on the other hand,shows the attention obstructed by details, hin-dered by novelties, unable to pass smoothly overits acquisitions, and in general lacking the regu-lar influence of habit in leading him to summarizeand utilize his mental store in general ways.

The third general aspect of the topic is this :the person of the sensory type is more likely to bethe one in whom positive derangement occurs inthe higher levels, and in response to the more re-fined social and personal influences. This, forthe reason that this type represents brain pro-cesses of greater inertia and complexity, withgreater liability to obstruction. They are slower,and proceed over larger brain areas.

With these general remarks, then, on the wideraspects of the distinction of types, we may nowturn to one of the particular cases which occursamong sensory individuals. This is all that ourspace will allow.

The Visual Type.The so-called " visuals," or"eye-minded

"

people among us, are numericallythe largest class of the sensory population. Theyresort to visual imagery whenever possible, eitherbecause that is the prevailing tendency with them,or because, in the particular function in questionin any special act, the visual material comes most

readily to mind. The details of fact regardingthe "visuals" are very interesting; but I shallnot take space to dwell upon them. The spherein which the facts regarding the pupil of this typeare important to the teacher is that of language,


taken with the group of problems which ariseabout instruction in language. The question ofhis symbolism, and its relation to mathematics,logic, etc., is important. And finally, the sphereof the pupil's expression in all its forms. Then,from all his discoveries in these things, the teacheris called upon to make his method of teachingand his general treatment suitable to this student.

The visual pupil usually shows himself to beso predominately in his speech and languagefunctions; he learns best and fastest from copieswhich he sees. He delights in illustrations putin terms of vision, as when actually drawn out onthe blackboard for him to see. He understandswhat he reads better than what he hears; and heuses his visual symbols as a sort of common coininto which to convert the images which come tohim through his other senses. In regard to themovements of attention, we may say that this boyor girl illustrates both the aspects of the attention-function which I pointed out above ; he attendsbestthat is, most effectivelyto visual instruc-tion provided he exert himself; but, on the otherhand, it is just here that the drift of habit tendsto make him superficial. As attention to the vis-ual is the most easy for him, and as the details ofhis visual stock are most familiar, so he tends topass too quickly over the new matters which arepresented to him, assimilating the details to theold schemes of his habit. It is most importantto observe this distinction, since it is analogousto the " fluid attention " of the motor scholar

;

and some of the very important questions regard-ing correlation of studies, the training of atten-tion, and the stimulation of interest depend uponits recognition. Acquisition best just where it is

THE TRAINLNG OF THE MIND. 195

most likely to go wrong ; that is the state of things.The voluntary use of the visual function givesthe best results; but the habitual, involuntary,slipshod use of it gives bad results, and tends tothe formation of injurious habits.

For example, I set a strongly visual boy a'*

copy"

to draw. Seeing this visual copy he willquickly recognise it, take it to be very easy, dashit off quickly, all under the lead of habit; but hisresult is poor, because his habit has taken the placeof effort. Once get him to make effort upon it,however, and his will be the best result of all thescholars, perhaps, just because the task calls himOut in the line of his favoured function. Thesame antithesis comes out in connection with'other varieties of sensory scholars.

We may say, therefore, in regard to two ofthe general aspects of mental typesthe relationof the favoured function to attention, on the onehand, and to habit, on the otherthat they bothfind emphatic illustration in the pupil of the vis-ual type. He is, more than any other sensorypupil, a special case. His mental processes set de-cidedly toward vision. He is the more important,ralso, because he is so common. Statistics are lack-ing, but possibly half of the entire human familyin civilized life are visual in their type for most ofthe language functions. This is due, no doubt, tothe emphasis that civilization puts upon sight asthe means of social acquisition generally, and toour predominantly visual methods of instruction.

The third fact mentioned is also illustrated bythis type ; the fact that mental instruction andderangement may come easily, through the stresslaid upon vision in the person's mental economy.I need not enlarge upon the different forms of


special defect which come through impairment ofsight by central lesion or degeneration of thevisual centers and connections. Suffice it to saythat they are very common, and very difficult ofrecovery. The visual person is often so com-pletely a slave to his sight that when that failseither in itself or through weakness of attentionhe becomes a wreck off the shore of the ocean ofintellect. When we consider the large proportionjust mentioned of pupils of this type, the carewhich should be exercised by the school authori-ties in the matter of favourable conditions oflight, avoidance of visual fatigue, proper distance-adjustments in all visual application as regardsfocus, symmetry, size of objects, copies, prints,etc., becomes at once sufficiently evident to thethoughtful teacher, as it should be still earlier tothe parent. There should be a medical examina-tion, by a competent oculist, before the childgoes to school, and regular tests afterward.School examiners and boards should have quali-fications for reporting on the hygienic conditionsof the school as regards lighting. The brightglare of a neighbouring wall before a windowtoward which children with weak eyes face whenat their desks may result not only in commondefects of vision but also in resulting mental andmoral damage ; and the results are worse to thosewho depend mainly on vision for the food, drink,and exercise, so to speak, of their growing minds.

As to the methods of teaching these and alsothe other sensory pupils, the indications alreadygiven must suffice. The statement of some ofthese far-reaching problems of educational psy-chology, and of the directions in which theiranswers are to be sought, exhausts the purpose of


this chapter. In general it may be said that therecommendations made for the treatment of sen-sory children at the earlier stage may be extendedto later periods also, and that the treatmentshould be, for the most part, in intelligent con-trast to that which the motor pupils receive.

Language Study.From this general considera-tion of the child's training it becomes evident thatthe great subjects which are most useful for disci-pline in the period of secondary education are themathematical studies on the one hand, which exer-cise the faculty of abstraction, and the positivesciences, which train the power of observation andrequire truth to detail. If we should pursue thesubject into the collegiate period, we should findmental and moral science, literature, and historycoming to their rights. If this be in the mainpsychological, we see that language study, assuch, should have no great place in secondaryeducation. The study of grammar, as has beenalready said, is very useful in the early periodsof development if taught vocally ; it brings thechild out in self-expression, and carries its owncorrectives, from the fact that its results are al-ways open to social control. These are, in mymind, the main functions of the study of language.

What, then, is the justification for devoting tenor twelve years of the youth's time to study of adead language, as is commonly done in the caseof Latin ? The utility of expression does not enterinto it, and the discipline of truth to elegant liter-ary copy can be even so well attained from thestudy of our own tongue, which is lamentablyneglected. In all this dreary language study, theyouth's interest is dried up at its source. He isfed on formulas and rules; he has no outlet for

14


invention or discovery ; lists of exceptions tothe rules destroy the remnant of his curiosityand incentive; even reasoning from analogy isstrictly forbidden him; he is shut up from Natureas in a room with no windows; the dictionary ishis authority as absolute and final as it is flat andsterile. His very industry, being forced ratherthan spontaneous, makes him mentally, no lessthan physically, stoop-shouldered and near-sight-ed. It seems to be one of those mistakes of thepast still so well lodged in tradition and classrivalry that soundness of culture is artificiallyidentified with its maintenance. Yet there is noreason that the spirit of classical culture and thedurable elements of Greek and Roman life shouldnot be as well acquirednay, betterfrom thestudy of history, archaeology, and literature. Forthis language work is not study of literature.Not one in one hundred of the students who areforced through the periodical examinations in theselanguages ever gets any insight into their aesthet-ic quality or any inspiration from their form.

But more than this. At least one positivelyvicious effect follows from language study withgrammar and lexicon, no matter what the languagebe. The habit of intellectual guessing grows withthe need of continuous effort in putting togetherelements which go together for no particular rea-son. When a thing can not be reasoned out, itmay just as well be guessed out. The guess isalways easier than the dictionary, and, if suc-cessful, it answers just as well. Moreover, theteacher has no way of distinguishing the pupil'sreplies which are due to the guess from those dueto honest work. I venture to say, from personalexperience, that no one who has been through the


usual classical course in college and before it hasnot more than once staked his all upon the happy-guess at the stubborn author's meaning. Thisshallow device becomes a substitute for honeststruggle. And it is more than shallow ; to guessis dishonest. It is a servant to unworthy inertia;and worse, it is a cloak to mental unreadiness andto conscious moral cowardice. The guess is abluff to fortune when the honest gauntlet of ig-norance should be thrown down to the issue.

The effects of this show themselves in a habitof mind tolerated in persons of a literary bent,which is a marked contrast to that demanded andexemplified by science. I think that much of ourliterary impressionism and sentimentalism revealthe guessing habit.

Yet why guess ? Why be content with an im-pression ? Why hint of a "certain this and acertain that" when the

"certain," if it meananything, commonly means the uncertain ?Things worth writing about should be formulatedclearly enough to be understood. Why let thepersonal reaction of the individual's feeling suf-fice ? Our youth need to be told that the guessis immoral, that hypothesis is the servant of re-search, that the private impression instructs no-body, that presentiment is usually wrong, thatscience is the best antidote to the fear of ghosts,and that the reply " I guess so

"

betrays itself,whether it arise from bravado, from cowardice,or from literary finesse ! I think that the greatneed of our life is honesty, that the bulwark ofhonesty in education is exact knowledge with thescientific habit of mind, and, furthermore, thatthe greatest hindrance to these things is the train-ing which does not, with all the sanctions at its


command, distinguish the real, with its infallibletests, from the shadowy and vague, but whichcontents itself with the throw of the intellectualdice box. Any study which tends to make thedifference between truth and error pass with thethrowing of a die, and which leads the student tobe content with a result he can not verify, hassomewhat the function in his education of thepuzzle in our society amusements or the game ofsliced animals in the nursery.

CHAPTER IX.

THE INDIVIDUAL MIND AND SOCIETYSOCIALPSYCHOLOGY.

The series of questions which arise when weconsider the individual as a member of societyfall together under the general theory of whathas been called, in a figure, Social Heredity.

L- The treatment of this topic will show some-thing of the normal relation of the individual'smind to the social environment

;and the chapter

I following will give some hints as to the nature' and position of that exceptional man in whom weare commonly so much interested the Genius.

The theory of social heredity has been workedup through the contributions, from different points

'

of view, of several authors. What, then, is social-

heredity ?This is a very easy question to answer, since

the group of facts which the phrase describes areextremely familiarso much so that the readermay despair, from such a commonplace beginning,

THE INDIVIDUAL MIND AND SOCIETY. 201

of getting any novelty from it. The social heri-tage is, of course, all that a man or woman getsfrom the accumulated wisdom of society. Allthat the ages have handed downthe literature,the art, the habits of social conformity, the experi-ence of social ills, the treatment of crime, the re-lief of distress, the eaucation of the young, theprovision for the oldall, in fact, however de-scribed, that we men owe to the ancestors whomwe reverence, and to the parents whose presencewith us perhaps we cherish still. Their struggles,the orator has told us, have bought our freedom ;we enter into the heritage of their thought andwisdom and heroism. All true; we do. We allbreathe a social atmosphere ; and our growth isby this breathing-in of the tradition and exampleof the past.

Now, if this be the social heritage, we may goon to ask : Who are to inherit it ? To this wemay again add the further question : How doesthe one who is born to such a heritage as thiscome into his inheritance? And with this yetagain : How may he use his inheritanceto whatend and under what limitations ? These questionscome so readily into the mind that we naturallywish the discussion to cover them.

Generally, then, who is eligible for the socialinheritance? This heir to society we are, all ofus. Society does not make a will, it is true; norIdoes society die intestate. To say that it is wewho inherit the riches of the social past of therace, is to say that we are the children of the pastin a sense which comes upon us with all the forcethat bears in upon the natural heir when he findshis name in will or law. But there are exceptions.And before we seek the marks of the legitimacy


of our claim to be the heirs of the hundreds ofyears of accumulated thought and action, it maybe well to advise ourselves as to the poor creatureswho do not enter into the inheritance with us.They are those who people our asylums, our re-formatories, our jails and penitentiaries; thosewho prey upon the body of our social life by de-mands for charitable support, or for the moreradical treatment by isolation in institutions ; in-deed, some who are born to fail in this inheritanceare with us no more, even though they were ofour generation ; they have paid the penalty whichtheir effort to wrest the inheritance from us hascost, and the grave of the murderer, the burglar,the suicide, the red-handed rebel against the lawof social inheritance, is now their resting place.Society then is, when taken in the widest sense,made up of two classes of peoplethe heirs whopossess and the delinquents by birth or conductwho have forfeited the inheritance.

We may get a clear idea of the way a man at-tains his social heritage by dropping figure for thepresent and speaking in the terms of plain naturalscience. Ever since Darwin propounded the lawof Natural Selection the word Variation has beencurrent in the sense explained on an earlier page.

The student in natural science has come tolook for variations as the necessary preliminaryto any new step of progress and adaptation inthe sphere of organic life. Nature, we now know,is fruitful to an extraordinary degree. She pro-duces many specimens of everything. It is ageneral fact of reproduction that the offspring ofplant or animal is quite out of proportion in num-bers to the parents that produce them, and oftenalso to the means of living which await them.


One plant produces seeds which are carried farand nearto the ocean and to the desert rocks,no less than to the soil in which they may takeroot and grow. Insects multiply at a rate whichis simply inconceivable to our limited capacity forthinking in figures. Animals also produce moreabundantly, and man has children in numberswhich allow him to bury half his offspring yearlyand yet increase the adult population from year toyear. This means, of course, that whatever theinheritance is, all do not inherit it ; some must gowithout a portion whenever the resources of na-ture, or the family, are in any degree limited andwhen competition is sharp.

Now Nature solves the problem among theanimals in the simplest of ways. All the youngborn in the same family are not exactly alike;" variations " occur. There are those that arebetter nourished, those that have larger muscles,those that breathe deeper and run faster. So thequestion who of these shall inherit the earth, thefields, the air, the waterthis is left to itself. Thebest of all the variations live, and the others die.Those that do live have thus, to all intents andpurposes, been

"selected " for the inheritance,

just as really as if the parents of the species hadleft a will and had been able to enforce it. Thisis the principle of

" Natural Selection.'"Now, this way of looking at problems which

involve aggregates of individuals and their distri-bution is becoming a habit of the age. Whereverthe application of the principles of probability donot explain a statistical resultthat is, whereverthere seem to be influences which favour particularindividuals at the expense of othersmen turn atonce to the occurrence of Variations for the justifi-


cation of this seeming partiality of Nature. Andwhat it means is that Nature is partial to individ-uals/;/ making them^ in their natural heredity, ratherthan after they are born.

The principle of heredity with variations is asafe assumption to make also in regard to man-kind

;and we see at once that in order to come in

for a part in the social heritage of our fathers wemust be born fit for it. We must be born so en-dowed for the race of social life that we assimi-late, from our birth up, the spirit of the societyinto which we are reared. The unfittest, socially,are suppressed. In this there is a distinction be-tween this sphere of survival and that of the ani-mal world. In it the fittest survive, the othersare lost

;but in society the unfittest are lost, all

the others survive. Social selection weeds out theunfit, the murderer, the most unsocial man, and saysto him: "You must die"; natural selection seeksout the most fit and says : " You alone are to live."The difference is important, for it marks a primeseries of distinctions, when the conceptions drawnfrom biology are applied to social phenomena ;but for the understanding of variations we neednot now pursue it further. The contrast may beput, however, in a sentence : in organic evolutionwe have the natural selection of the fit; in socialprogress we have the social suppression of the unfit.

Given social variations, therefore, differencesamong men, what becomes of this man or that ?We see at once that if society is to live there mustbe limits set somewhere to the degree of variationwhich a given man may show from the standardsof society. And we may find out something ofthese limits by looking at the evident, and markeddifferences which actually appear about us.


First, there is the idiot. He is not available,from a social point of view, because he varies toomuch on the side of defect. He shows from in-fancy that he is unable to enter into the socialheritage because he is unable to learn to do socialthings. His intelligence does not grow with hisbody. Society pities him if he be without naturalprotection, and puts him away in an institution.So of the insane, the pronounced lunatic; hevaries too much to sustain in any way the widesystem of social relationships which society re-quires of each individual. Either he is unable totake care of himself, or he attempts the life ofsome one else, or he is the harmless, unsocialthing thai wanders among us like an animal orstands in his place like a plant. He is not afactor in social life

;he has not come into the in-

heritance.Then there is the extraordinary class of peo-

ple whom we may describe by a stronger termthan those already employed. We find not onlythe unsocial, the negatively unfit, those whomsociety puts away with pity in its heart ; thereare also the antisocial, the class whom we usuallydesignate as criminals. These persons, like theothers, are variations; but they seem to be varia-tions in quite another way. They do not repre-sent lack on the intellectual side always or alone,but on the moral side, on the social side, as such.The least we can say of the criminals is that theytend, by heredity or by evil example, to violatethe rules which society has seen fit to lay downfor the general security of men living together inthe enjoyment of the social heritage. So far,then, they are factors of disintegration, of de-struction

;enemies of the social progress which

2o6 THE STORY OF THE MIND.

proceeds from generation to generation by justthis process of social inheritance. So societysays to the criminal also :

" You must per-ish." We kill off the worst, imprison the badfor life, attempt to reform the rest. They, too,then, are excluded from the heritage of thepast.

So our lines of eligibility get more and morenarrowly drawn. The instances of exclusion nowcited serve to give us some insight into the realqualities of the man who lives a social part, andthe way he comes to live it.

Passing on to take up the second of the in-formal topics suggested, we have to find the bestdescription that we can of the social manthe onewho is fitted for the social life. This questionconcerns the process by which any one of uscomes into the w^ealth of relationships which thesocial life represents. For to say that a man doesthis is in itself to say that he is the man society islooking for. Indeed, this is the only way to describethe manto actually find him. Society is essen-tially a growing, shifting thing. It changes fromage to age, from country to country. The Greekshad their social conditions, and the Romanstheirs. Even the criminal lines are drawn dif-ferently, somewhat, here and there; and in a lowstage of civilization a man may pass for normalwho, in our time, would be described as weak inmind. This makes it necessary that the standardsof judgment of a given society should be deter-mined by an actual examination of the society,and forbids us to say that the limits of varia-tion which society in general will tolerate mustbe this or that.

We may say, then, that the man who is fit for


social life must he born to learn. The need of learn-ing is his essential need. It comes upon him fromhis birth. Speech is the first great social functionwhich he must learn, and with it all the varietiesof verbal accomplishmentreading and writing.This brings to the front the great method of allhis learningimitation. In order to be social hemust be imitative, imitative, imitative. He mustrealize for himself by action the forms, conven-tions, requirements, co-operations of his socialgroup. All is learning; and learning not byhimself and at random, but under the leading ofthe social conditions which surround him. Plas-ticity is his safety and the means of his progress.So he grows into the social organization, takeshis place as a Socius in the work of the world, andlays deep the sense of values, upon the basis ofwhich his own contributionsif he be destined tomake contributionsto the wealth of the worldare to be wrought out. This great fact that he isopen to the play of the personal mfluences whichare about him is just the " suggestibleness

"

whichwe have already described in an earlier chapter;and the influences themselves are

'suggestions"social suggestions. These influences differ indifferent communities, as we so often remark.The Turk learns to live in a very different systemof relations of " give and take

" from ours, andours differ as much from those of the Chinese.All that is characteristic of the race or tribe orgroup or familyall this sinks into the child andyouth by his simple presence there in it, with thecapacity to learn by imitation. He is suggest-ible, and here are the suggestions; he is madeto inherit and he inherits. So it makes no differ-ence what his tribe or kindred be; let him be a

2o8 THE STORY OF THE MIND.

learner by imitation, and he becomes in turn pos^sessor and teacher.

The case becomes more interesting still whenwe give the matter another turn, and say that inthis learning all the members of society agree;all must be born to learn the same things. Theyenter, if so be that they do, into the same socialinheritance. This again seems like a very com-monplace remark ; but certain things flow fromit. Each member of society gives and gets thesame set of social suggestions ; the differencesbeing the degree of progress each has made, andthe degree of variation which each one gives towhat he has before received. This last differenceis treated below where we consider the genius.

There grows up, in all this give and take, inall the interchange of suggestions among you,me, and the other, an obscure sense of a certainsocial understanding about ourselves generallya Zeitgeist^ an atmosphere, a taste, or, in minormatters, a style. It is a very peculiar thing, thissocial spirit. The best way to understand thatyou have it, and something of what it is, is to getinto a circle in which it is different. The com-mon phrase "fish out of water

"

is often -heard inreference to it. But that does not serve for sci-ence. The next best thing that I can do in theway of rendering it is to appeal to another wordwhich has a popular sense, the word Judgment.Let us say that there exists in every society a

general system of values, found in social usages,conventions, institutions, and formulas, and thatour judgments of social life are founded on ourhabitual recognition of these values, and of thearrangement of them which has become more orless fixed in our society. Tor example, to be cor-


dial to a disagreeable neighbour shows good so-cial judgment in a small matter; not to quarrelwith the homoeopathic enthusiast who meets youin the street and wishes to doctor your rheuma-tism out of a symptom bookthat is good judg-ment. In short, the man gets to show more andmore, as he grows up from childhood, a certaingood judgment; and his good judgment is alsothe good judgment of his social set, community,or nation. The psychologist might prefer to saythat a man " feels

"

this; perhaps it would be

better for psychological readers to say simplythat he has a " sense " of it; but the popular useof the word "judgment" fits so accurately intothe line of distinction we are now making that wemay adhere to it. So we reach the generalposition that the eligible candidate for social lifemust have good judgment as represented by thecommon standards of judgment of his people.

It may be doubted, however, by some of myeaders whether this sense of social values calledjudgment is the outcome of suggestions operatingthroughout the term of one's social education.This is an essential point, and I must just assumeit. It follows from what we said in an earlierchapter to be the way of the child's learning byimitation. It will appear true, I trust, to any onewho may take the pains to observe the child's ten-tative endeavours to a

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