The Mind and Its Education - George Herbert Betts

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Title: The Mind and Its Education

Author: George Herbert Betts

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THE MIND AND ITS

EDUCATION

BY

GEORGE HERBERT BETTS,Ph.D.

PROFESSOR OF PSYCHOLOGYIN CORNELL COLLEGE

emblem

REVISED AND ENLARGEDEDITION

NEW YORK

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

Copyright, 1906, 1916, byD. APPLETON AND COMPANY

Printed in the United States of America

PREFACE TO THEREVISED EDITION

Authors, no doubt, are alwaysgratified when their works findfavorable acceptance. The writer of thistext has been doubly gratified, however,at the cordial reception and widespreaduse accorded to the present volume. Thisfeeling does not arise from any narrowpersonal pride or selfish interest, butrather from the fact that the warmapproval of the educational public hasproved an important point; namely, thatthe fundamental truths of psychology,when put simply and concretely, can bemade of interest and value to students ofall ages from high school juniors up, andto the general public as well. Moreencouraging still, it has beendemonstrated that the teachings of

psychology can become immediatelyhelpful, not only in study or teaching, butalso in business or profession, in thecontrol and guidance of the personal life,and in the problems met in the routine ofthe day's work or its play.

In effecting the present revision, thesalient features of the original editionhave been kept. The truths presented arethe most fundamental and important inthe field of psychology. Disputedtheories and unsettled opinions areexcluded. The subject matter is madeconcrete and practical by the use ofmany illustrations and throughapplication to real problems. The stylehas been kept easy and familiar to

facilitate the reading. In short, there hasbeen, while seeking to improve thevolume, a conscious purpose to omitnone of the characteristics whichsecured acceptance for the formeredition.

On the other hand, certain changesand additions have been made which, itis believed, will add to the strength ofthe work. First of all, the laterpsychological studies and investigationshave been drawn upon to insure that thematter shall at all points be abreast ofthe times in scientific accuracy. Becauseof the wide use of the text in the trainingof teachers, a more specific educational

application to schoolroom problems hasbeen made in various chapters.Exercises for the guidance ofobservation work and personalintrospection are freely used. Thechapter on Sensation and Perception hasbeen separated into two chapters, andeach subject given more extensivetreatment. A new chapter has been addedon Association. The various chaptershave been subdivided into numberedsections, and cut-in paragraph topicshave been used to facilitate the study andteaching of the text. Minor changes andadditions occur throughout the volume,thus adding some forty pages to thenumber in the original edition.

Many of the modifications made inthe revision are due to valuablesuggestions and kindly criticismsreceived from many teachers of the textin various types of schools. To all whohave thus helped so generously by freelygiving the author the fruits of theirjudgment and experience he gladlyrenders grateful thanks.

Cornell College,Iowa.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ITHE MIND, ORCONSCIOUSNESS How the mind is to be known:Personal character ofconsciousness—Introspection theonly means of discovering nature ofconsciousness—How we introspect—Studying mental states of othersthrough expression—Learning tointerpret expression. 2. The natureof consciousness: Inner nature ofthe mind not revealed by

introspection—Consciousness as aprocess or stream—Consciousnesslikened to a field—The "piling up"of consciousness is attention. 3.Content of the mental stream: Whywe need minds—Content ofconsciousness determined byfunction—Three fundamentalphases of consciousness. 4. Whereconsciousness resides:Consciousness works through thenervous system. 5. Problems inobservation and introspection

1

CHAPTER IIATTENTION 1. Nature of attention: The nature of

attention—Normal consciousnessalways in a state of attention. 2.The effects of attention: Attentionmakes its object clear and definite—Attention measures mentalefficiency. 3. How we attend:Attention a relating activity—Therhythms of attention. 4. Points offailure in attention: Lack ofconcentration—Mentalwandering. 5. Types of attention:The three types of attention—Interest and nonvoluntary attention—The will and voluntary attention—Not really different kinds ofattention—Making different kindsof attention reënforce each other—The habit of attention

15

CHAPTER IIITHE BRAIN AND NERVOUSSYSTEM

1. The relations of mind and brain:Interaction of mind and brain—Thebrain as the mind's machine. 2. Themind's dependence on the externalworld: The mind at birth—Thework of the senses. 3. Structuralelements of the nervous system:The neurone—Neurone fibers—Neuroglia—Complexity of thebrain—"Gray" and "white" matter.4. Gross structure of the nervoussystem: Divisions of the nervoussystem—The central system—The

30

cerebellum—The cerebrum—Thecortex—The spinal cord. 5.Localization of function in thenervous system: Division of labor—Division of labor in the cortex.6. Forms of sensory stimuli: Theend-organs and their response tostimuli—Dependence of the mindon the senses

CHAPTER IVMENTAL DEVELOPMENT ANDMOTOR TRAINING 1. Factors determining theefficiency of the nervous system:Development and nutrition—Undeveloped cells—Development

of nerve fibers. 2. Development ofnervous system through use:Importance of stimulus andresponse—Effect of sensory stimuli—Necessity for motor activity—Development of the associationcenters—The factors involved in asimple action. 3. Education and thetraining of the nervous system:Education to supply opportunitiesfor stimulus and response—Orderof development in the nervoussystem. 4. Importance of health andvigor of the nervous system: Theinfluence of fatigue—The effects ofworry—The factors in goodnutrition. 5. Problems forintrospection and observation

50

CHAPTER VHABIT

1. The nature of habit: The physicalbasis of habit—All living tissueplastic—Habit a modification ofbrain tissue—We must form habits.2. The place of habit in theeconomy of our lives: Habitincreases skill and efficiency—Habit saves effort and fatigue—Habit economizes moral effort—The habit of attention—Habitenables us to meet the disagreeable—Habit the foundation ofpersonality—Habit saves worryand rebellion. 3. The tyranny ofhabit: Even good habits need to be

66

modified—The tendency of "ruts."4. Habit-forming a part ofeducation: Youth the time for habit-forming—The habit ofachievement. 5. Rules for habit-forming: James's three maxims forhabit-forming—The preponderanceof good habits over bad

CHAPTER VISENSATION 1. How we come to know theexternal world: Knowledge throughthe senses—The unity of sensoryexperience—The sensoryprocesses to be explained—Thequalities of objects exist in the

mind—The three sets of factors. 2.The nature of sensation: Sensationgives us ourworld of qualities—The attributesof sensation. 3. Sensory qualitiesand their end-organs: Sight—Hearing—Taste—Smell—Varioussensations from the skin—Thekinæsthetic senses—The organicsenses. 4. Problems in observationand retrospection

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CHAPTER VIIPERCEPTION

1. The function of perception: Needof knowing the material world—

The problem which confronts thechild. 2. The nature of perception:How a percept is formed—Thepercept involves all relations of theobject—The content of the percept—The accuracy of perceptsdepends on experience—Notdefinitions, but first-hand contact.3. The perception of space: Theperceiving of distance—Theperceiving of direction. 4. Theperception of time: Nature of thetime sense—No perception ofempty time. 5. The training ofperception: Perception needs to betrained—School training inperception. 6. Problems inobservation and introspection

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CHAPTER VIIIMENTAL IMAGES AND IDEAS 1. The part played by pastexperience: Present thinkingdepends on past experience—Thepresent interpreted by the past—The future also depends on the past—Rank determined by ability toutilize past experience. 2. How pastexperience is conserved: Pastexperience conserved in bothmental and physical terms—Theimage and the idea—All our pastexperience potentially at ourcommand. 3. Individual differencesin imagery: Images to be viewed byintrospection—The varied imagery

suggested by one'sdining table—Power of imageryvaries in different people—Imagerytypes. 4. The function of images:Images supply material forimagination and memory—Imageryin the thought processes—The useof imagery in literature—Pointswhere images are of greatestservice. 5. The cultivation ofimagery: Images depend on sensorystimuli—The influence of frequentrecall—The reconstruction of ourimages. 6. Problems inintrospection and observation

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CHAPTER IXIMAGINATION

1. The place of imagination inmental economy: Practical nature ofimagination—Imagination in theinterpretation of history, literature,and art—Imagination and science—Everyday uses of imagination—Thebuilding of ideals and plans—Imagination and conduct—Imagination and thinking. 2. Thematerial used by imagination:Images the stuff of imagination—The two factors in imagination—Imagination limited by stock ofimages—Limited also by ourconstructive ability—The need of apurpose. 3. Types of imagination:Reproductive imagination—Creative imagination. 4. Training

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the imagination: Gathering ofmaterial for imagination—We mustnot fail to build—We should carryour ideals into action. 5. Problemsfor observation and introspection

CHAPTER XASSOCIATION 1. The nature of association: Theneural basis of association—Association the basis of memory—Factors determining direction ofrecall—Association in thinking—Associationand action. 2. The types ofassociation: Fundamental law ofassociation—Association by

contiguity—At the mercy of ourassociations—Association bysimilarity and contrast—Partial, orselective, association—Theremedy. 3. Training in association:The pleasure-pain motive inassociation—Interest as a basis forassociation—Association andmethods of learning. 4. Problems inobservation and introspection

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CHAPTER XIMEMORY

1. The nature of memory: What isretained—The physical basis ofmemory—How we remember—Dependence of memory on brain

quality. 2. The four factorsinvolved in memory: Registration—Retention—Recall—Recognition. 3. The stuff ofmemory: Images as the material ofmemory—Images vary as to type—Other memory material. 4. Lawsunderlying memory: The law ofassociation—The law of repetition—The law of recency—The law ofvividness. 5. Rules for using thememory: Wholes versus parts—Rate of forgetting—Dividedpractice—Forcing the memory toact—Not a memory, but memories.6. What constitutes a good memory:A good memory selects its material—A good memory requires good

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thinking—Memory must bespecialized. 7. Memory devices:The effects of cramming—Remembering isolated facts—Mnemonic devices. 8. Problems inobservation and introspection

CHAPTER XIITHINKING 1. Different types of thinking:Chance, or idle thinking—Uncritical belief—Assimilativethinking—Deliberativethinking. 2. The function ofthinking: Meaning depends onrelations—The function of thinkingis to discover relations—Near andremote relations—Child and adult

thinking. 3. The mechanism ofthinking: Sensations and perceptsas elements in thinking. 4. Theconcept: The concepts serve togroup and classify—Growth of aconcept—Definition of concept—Language and the concept—Thenecessity for growing concepts. 5.Judgment: Nature of judgment—Judgment used in percepts andconcepts—Judgment leads togeneral truths—The validity ofjudgments. 6. Reasoning: Nature ofreasoning—How judgmentsfunction in reasoning—Deductionand the syllogism—Induction—Thenecessity for broad induction—Theinterrelation of induction and

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deduction. 7. Problems inobservation and introspection

CHAPTER XIIIINSTINCT 1. The nature of instinct: The babe'sdependence on instinct—Definitionof instinct—Unmodified instinct isblind. 2. Law of the appearance anddisappearance of instincts: Instinctsappear in succession as required—Many instincts are transitory—Seemingly useless instincts—Instincts to be utilized when theyappear—Instincts as starting points—The more important humaninstincts. 3. The instinct ofimitation: Nature of imitation—

Individuality in imitation—Conscious and unconsciousimitation—Influence ofenvironment—The influence ofpersonality. 4. The instinct of play:The necessity for play—Play indevelopment and education—Workand play are complements. 5. Otheruseful instincts: Curiosity—Manipulation—The collectinginstinct—The dramatic instinct—The impulse to form gangs andclubs. 6. Fear: Fear heredity—Fearof the dark—Fear of being leftalone. 7. Other undesirableinstincts: Selfishness—Pugnacity,or the fighting impulse. 8. Problemsin observation and introspection

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CHAPTER XIVFEELING AND ITS FUNCTIONS 1. The nature of feeling: Thedifferent feeling qualities—Feelingalways present in mental content—The seeming neutral feeling zone. 2.Mood and disposition: How moodis produced—Mood colors all ourthinking—Mood influences ourjudgments and decisions—Moodinfluences effort—Disposition aresultant of moods—Temperament.3. Permanent feeling attitudes, orsentiments: How sentimentsdevelop—The effect of experience—The influence of sentiment—

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Sentiments as motives. 4. Problemsin observation and introspection

CHAPTER XVTHE EMOTIONS 1. The producing and expressing ofemotion: Physiological explanationof emotion—Origin ofcharacteristic emotional reactions—The duration of an emotion—Emotions accompanying crises inexperience. 2. The control ofemotions: Dependence onexpression—Relief throughexpression—Relief does not followif image is held before the mind—Growing tendency toward 239

emotional control—The emotionsand enjoyment—How emotionsdevelop—The emotional factor inour environment—Literature andthe cultivation of the emotions—Harm in emotional overexcitement.4. Emotions as motives: How ouremotions compel us—Emotionalhabits. 5.Problems in observation andintrospection

CHAPTER XVIINTEREST 1. The nature of interest: Interest aselective agent—Interest supplies asubjective scale of values—Interest

dynamic—Habit antagonistic tointerest. 2. Direct and indirectinterest: Interest in the end versusinterest in the activity—Indirectinterest as a motive—Indirectinterest alone insufficient. 3.Transitoriness of certain interests:Interests must be utilized when theyappear—The value of a stronginterest. 4. Selection among ourinterests: The mistake of followingtoo many interests—Interests maybe too narrow—Specializationshould not come too early—Aproper balance to be sought. 5.Interest fundamental in education:Interest not antagonistic to effort—Interest and character. 6. Order of

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development of our interests: Theinterests of early childhood—Theinterests of later childhood—Theinterests of adolescence. 7.Problems in observation andintrospection

CHAPTER XVIITHE WILL 1. The nature of the will: Thecontent of the will—The function ofthe will—How the will exerts itscompulsion. 2. The extent ofvoluntary control over our acts:Simple reflex acts—Instinctive acts—Automatic, or spontaneous acts—The cycle from volitional toautomatic—Volitional action—Volition acts in the making of

decisions—Types of decision—The reasonable type—Accidentaltype: External motives—Accidentaltype: Subjective motives—Decision under effort. 3. Strong andweak wills: Not a will, but wills—Objective tests a false measureof will power. 4. Volitional types:The impulsive type—Theobstructed will—The normal will.5. Training the will: Will to betrained in common round of duties—School work and will-training.6. Freedom of the will, or the extentof its control: Limitations of thewill—These limitations andconditions of freedom. 7. Problemsin observation and introspection

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CHAPTER XVIIISELF-EXPRESSION ANDDEVELOPMENT

1. Interrelation of impression andexpression: The many sources ofimpressions—All impressions leadtoward expression—Limitations ofexpression. The place ofexpression in development:Intellectual value of expression—Moral value of expression—Religious value of expression—Social value of expression. 3.Educational use of expression:Easier to provide for theimpression side of education—The

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school to take up the handicrafts—Expression and character—Twolines of development. Problems inintrospection and observation

Index

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THE MIND AND ITSEDUCATION

CHAPTER I

THE MIND, ORCONSCIOUSNESS

We are to study the mind and itseducation; but how? It is easy tounderstand how we may investigate thegreat world of material things about us;for we can see it, touch it, weigh it, ormeasure it. But how are we to discoverthe nature of the mind, or come to knowthe processes by which consciousnessworks? For mind is intangible; wecannot see it, feel it, taste it, or handle it.Mind belongs not to the realm of matterwhich is known to the senses, but to the

realm of spirit, which the senses cannever grasp. And yet the mind can beknown and studied as truly and asscientifically as can the world of matter.Let us first of all see how this can bedone.

1. HOW MIND IS TO BE KNOWN

The Personal Character ofConsciousness.—Mind can be observedand known. But each one can knowdirectly only his own mind, and notanother's. You and I may look into eachother's face and there guess the meaningthat lies back of the smile or frown orflash of the eye, and so read something

of the mind's activity. But neitherdirectly meets the other's mind. I maylearn to recognize your features, knowyour voice, respond to the clasp of yourhand; but the mind, the consciousness,which does your thinking and feels yourjoys and sorrows, I can never knowcompletely. Indeed I can never knowyour mind at all except through yourbodily acts and expressions. Nor is thereany way in which you can reveal yourmind, your spiritual self, to me exceptthrough these means.

It follows therefore that only you canever know you and only I can ever knowI in any first-hand and immediate way.Between your consciousness and mine

there exists a wide gap that cannot bebridged. Each of us lives apart. We arelike ships that pass and hail each other inpassing but do not touch. We may worktogether, live together, come to love orhate each other, and yet our inmostselves forever stand alone. They mustlive their own lives, think their ownthoughts, and arrive at their own destiny.

Introspection the Only Means ofDiscovering Nature ofConsciousness.—What, then, is mind?What is the thing that we callconsciousness? No mere definition canever make it clearer than it is at thismoment to each of us. The only way to

know what mind is, is to look in uponour own consciousness and observewhat is transpiring there. In the languageof the psychologist, we must introspect.For one can never come to understandthe nature of mind and its laws ofworking by listening to lectures orreading text books alone. There is nopsychology in the text, but only in yourliving, flowing stream of thought andmine. True, the lecture and the book maytell us what to look for when weintrospect, and how to understand whatwe find. But the statements anddescriptions about our minds must beverified by our own observation andexperience before they become vitaltruth to us.

How We Introspect.—Introspectionis something of an art; it has to belearned. Some master it easily, somewith more difficulty, and some, it is tobe feared, never become skilled in itsuse. In order to introspect one must catchhimself unawares, so to speak, in thevery act of thinking, remembering,deciding, loving, hating, and all the rest.These fleeting phases of consciousnessare ever on the wing; they never pause intheir restless flight and we must catchthem as they go. This is not so easy as itappears; for the moment we turn to lookin upon the mind, that momentconsciousness changes. The thing we

meant to examine is gone, and somethingelse has taken its place. All that is left usthen is to view the mental object while itis still fresh in the memory, or to catch itagain when it returns.

Studying Mental States of Othersthrough Expression.—Although I canmeet only my own mind face to face, Iam, nevertheless, under the necessity ofjudging your mental states and knowingwhat is taking place in yourconsciousness. For in order to worksuccessfully with you, in order to teachyou, understand you, control you or obeyyou, be your friend or enemy, orassociate with you in any other way, I

must know you. But the real you that Imust know is hidden behind the physicalmask that we call the body. I must,therefore, be able to understand yourstates of consciousness as they arereflected in your bodily expressions.Your face, form, gesture, speech, thetone of voice, laughter and tears, thepoise of attention, the droop of grief, thetenseness of anger and start of fear,—allthese tell the story of the mental state thatlies behind the senses. These variousexpressions are the pictures on thescreen by which your mind reveals itselfto others; they are the language by whichthe inner self speaks to the worldwithout.

Learning to InterpretExpression.—If I would understand theworkings of your mind I must thereforelearn to read the language of physicalexpression. I must study human natureand learn to observe others. I must applythe information found in the texts to aninterpretation of those about me. Thisstudy of others may be uncritical, as inthe mere intelligent observation of thoseI meet; or it may be scientific, as when Iconduct carefully planned psychologicalexperiments. But in either case itconsists in judging the inner states ofconsciousness by their physicalmanifestations.

The three methods by which mindmay be studied are, then: (1) text-bookdescription and explanation; (2)introspection of my own consciousprocesses; and (3) observation ofothers, either uncritical or scientific.

2. THE NATURE OFCONSCIOUSNESS

Inner Nature of the Mind NotRevealed by Introspection.—We arenot to be too greatly discouraged if, evenby introspection, we cannot discoverexactly what the mind is. No one knowswhat electricity is, though nearlyeveryone uses it in one form or another.

We study the dynamo, the motor, and theconductors through which electricitymanifests itself. We observe its effectsin light, heat, and mechanical power, andso learn the laws which govern itsoperations. But we are almost as farfrom understanding its true nature aswere the ancients who knew nothing ofits uses. The dynamo does not create theelectricity, but only furnishes theconditions which make it possible forelectricity to manifest itself in doing theworld's work. Likewise the brain ornervous system does not create the mind,but it furnishes the machine throughwhich the mind works. We may study thenervous system and learn something ofthe conditions and limitations under

which the mind operates, but this is notstudying the mind itself. As in the case ofelectricity, what we know about themind we must learn through the activitiesin which it manifests itself—these wecan know, for they are in the experienceof all. It is, then, only by studying theseprocesses of consciousness that wecome to know the laws which govern themind and its development. What it is thatthinks and feels and wills in us is toohard a problem for us here—indeed, hasbeen too hard a problem for thephilosophers through the ages. But thethinking and feeling and willing we canwatch as they occur, and hence come toknow.

Consciousness as a Process orStream.—In looking in upon the mindwe must expect to discover, then, not athing, but a process. The thing forevereludes us, but the process is alwayspresent. Consciousness is like a stream,which, so far as we are concerned withit in a psychological discussion, has itsrise at the cradle and its end at the grave.It begins with the babe's first faintgropings after light in his new world ashe enters it, and ends with the man's lastblind gropings after light in his oldworld as he leaves it. The stream is verynarrow at first, only as wide as the fewsensations which come to the babe whenit sees the light or hears the sound; itgrows wider as the mind develops, and

is at last measured by the grand sum totalof life's experience.

This mental stream is irresistible.No power outside of us can stop it whilelife lasts. We cannot stop it ourselves.When we try to stop thinking, the streambut changes its direction and flows on.While we wake and while we sleep,while we are unconscious under ananæsthetic, even, some sort of mentalprocess continues. Sometimes the streamflows slowly, and our thoughts lag—we"feel slow"; again the stream flowsfaster, and we are lively and ourthoughts come with a rush; or a feverseizes us and delirium comes on; thenthe stream runs wildly onward, defying

our control, and a mad jargon of thoughtstakes the place of our usual orderlyarray. In different persons, also, themental stream moves at different rates,some minds being naturally slow-moving and some naturally quick in theiroperations.

Consciousness resembles a streamalso in other particulars. A stream is anunbroken whole from its source to itsmouth, and an observer stationed at onepoint cannot see all of it at once. He seesbut the one little section which happensto be passing his station point at thetime. The current may look much thesame from moment to moment, but the

component particles which constitute thestream are constantly changing. So it iswith our thought. Its stream is continuousfrom birth till death, but we cannot seeany considerable portion of it at onetime. When we turn about quickly andlook in upon our minds, we see but thelittle present moment. That of a fewseconds ago is gone and will neverreturn. The thought which occupied us amoment since can no more be recalled,just as it was, than can the particlescomposing a stream be re-collected andmade to pass a given point in its coursein precisely the same order and relationto one another as before. This means,then, that we can never have preciselythe same mental state twice; that the

thought of the moment cannot have thesame associates that it had the first time;that the thought of this moment willnever be ours again; that all we canknow of our minds at any one time is thepart of the process present inconsciousness at that moment.

The Wave in the Stream ofConsciousness.—The surface of ourmental stream is not level, but is brokenby a wave which stands above the rest;which is but another way of saying thatsome one thing is always moreprominent in our thought than the rest.Only when we are in a sleepy reverie, ornot thinking about much of anything, does

the stream approximate a level. At allother times some one object occupies thehighest point in our thought, to the moreor less complete exclusion of otherthings which we might think about. Athousand and one objects are possible toour thought at any moment, but all exceptone thing occupy a secondary place, orare not present to our consciousness atall. They exist on the margin, or else areclear off the edge of consciousness,while the one thing occupies the center.We may be reading a fascinating booklate at night in a cold room. The charmof the writer, the beauty of the heroine,or the bravery of the hero so occupiesthe mind that the weary eyes andchattering teeth are unnoticed.

Consciousness has piled up in a highwave on the points of interest in thebook, and the bodily sensations are forthe moment on a much lower level. Butlet the book grow dull for a moment, andthe make-up of the stream changes in aflash. Hero, heroine, or literary style nolonger occupies the wave. They forfeittheir place, the wave is taken by thebodily sensations, and we are consciousof the smarting eyes and shivering body,while these in turn give way to the nextobject which occupies the wave. Figs.1-3 illustrate these changes. Fig. 1Fig. 1Fig. 2Fig. 2

Fig. 3Fig. 3

Consciousness Likened to aField.—The consciousness of anymoment has been less happily likened toa field, in the center of which there is anelevation higher than the surroundinglevel. This center is whereconsciousness is piled up on the objectwhich is for the moment foremost in ourthought. The other objects of ourconsciousness are on the margin of thefield for the time being, but any of themmay the next moment claim the centerand drive the former object to themargin, or it may drop entirely out ofconsciousness. This moment a nobleresolve may occupy the center of the

field, while a troublesome tooth begetssensations of discomfort which lingerdimly on the outskirts of ourconsciousness; but a shooting pain fromthe tooth or a random thought crossingthe mind, and lo! the tooth holds sway,and the resolve dimly fades to themargin of our consciousness and is gone.

The "Piling Up" of Consciousnessis Attention.—This figure is not so trueas the one which likens our mind to astream with its ever onward currentanswering to the flow of our thought; butwhichever figure we employ, the truthremains the same. Our mental energy isalways piled up higher at one point than

at others. Either because our interestleads us, or because the will dictates,the mind is withdrawn from the thousandand one things we might think about, anddirected to this one thing, which for thetime occupies chief place. In otherwords, we attend; for this piling up ofconsciousness is nothing, after all, butattention.

3. CONTENT OF THE MENTALSTREAM

We have seen that our mental lifemay be likened to a stream flowing nowfaster, now slower, ever shifting, neverceasing. We have yet to inquire what

constitutes the material of the stream, orwhat is the stuff that makes up the currentof our thought—what is the content ofconsciousness? The question cannot befully answered at this point, but ageneral notion can be gained which willbe of service.

Why We Need Minds.—Let us firstof all ask what mind is for, why doanimals, including men, have minds?The biologist would say, in order thatthey may adapt themselves to theirenvironment. Each individual frommollusc to man needs the amount andtype of mind that serves to fit itspossessor into its particular world of

activity. Too little mind leaves theanimal helpless in the struggle forexistence. On the other hand a mind farabove its possessor's station wouldprove useless if not a handicap; amollusc could not use the mind of a man.

Content of ConsciousnessDetermined by Function.—How muchmind does man need? What range andtype of consciousness will best serve toadjust us to our world of opportunity andresponsibility? First of all we mustknow our world, hence, our mind mustbe capable of gathering knowledge.Second, we must be able to feel itsvalues and respond to the great motives

for action arising from the emotions.Third, we must have the power to exertself-compulsion, which is to say that wepossess a will to control our acts. Thesethree sets of processes, knowing,feeling, and willing, we shall, therefore,expect to find making up the content ofour mental stream.

Let us proceed at once to test ourconclusion by introspection. If we aresitting at our study table puzzling over adifficult problem in geometry, reasoningforms the wave in the stream ofconsciousness—the center of the field. Itis the chief thing in our thinking. Thefringe of our consciousness is made upof various sensations of the light from

the lamp, the contact of our clothing, thesounds going on in the next room, somebit of memory seeking recognition, a"tramp" thought which comes along, anda dozen other experiences not strongenough to occupy the center of the field.

But instead of the study table and theproblem, give us a bright fireside, aneasy-chair, and nothing to do. If we areaged, memories—images from out thepast—will probably come thronging inand occupy the field to such extent thatthe fire burns low and the room growscold, but still the forms from the pasthold sway. If we are young, visions ofthe future may crowd everything else to

the margin of the field, while the "castlesin Spain" occupy the center.

Our memories may also beaccompanied by emotions—sorrow,love, anger, hate, envy, joy. And, indeed,these emotions may so completelyoccupy the field that the imagesthemselves are for the time driven to themargin, and the mind is occupied withits sorrow, its love, or its joy.

Once more, instead of the problemor the memories or the "castles inSpain," give us the necessity of makingsome decision, great or small, wherecontending motives are pulling us now in

this direction, now in that, so that thequestion finally has to be settled by asupreme effort summed up in the words,I will. This is the struggle of the willwhich each one knows for himself; forwho has not had a raging battle ofmotives occupy the center of the fieldwhile all else, even the sense of time,place and existence, gave way in theface of this conflict! This strugglecontinues until the decision is made,when suddenly all the stress and straindrop out and other objects may againhave place in consciousness.

The Three Fundamental Phases ofConsciousness.—Thus we see that if we

could cut the stream of consciousnessacross as we might cut a stream of waterfrom bank to bank with a huge knife, andthen look at the cut-off section, weshould find very different constituents inthe stream at different times. We shouldat one time find the mind manifestingitself in perceiving, remembering,imagining, discriminating, comparing,judging, reasoning, or the acts by whichwe gain our knowledge; at another infearing, loving, hating, sorrowing,enjoying, or the acts of feeling; at stillanother in choosing, or the act of thewill. These processes would make upthe stream, or, in other words, these arethe acts which the mind performs indoing its work. We should never find a

time when the stream consists of but oneof the processes, or when all thesemodes of mental activity are notrepresented. They will be found invarying proportions, now more ofknowing, now of feeling, and now ofwilling, but some of each is alwayspresent in our consciousness. The natureof these different elements in our mentalstream, their relation to each other, andthe manner in which they all worktogether in amazing perplexity yet inperfect harmony to produce thewonderful mind, will constitute thesubject-matter we shall considertogether in the pages which follow.

4. WHERE CONSCIOUSNESSRESIDES

I—the conscious self—dwellsomewhere in this body, but where?When my finger tips touch the object Iwish to examine, I seem to be in them.When the brain grows weary fromoverstudy, I seem to be in it. When theheart throbs, the breath comes quick, andthe muscles grow tense from nobleresolve or strong emotion, I seem to bein them all. When, filled with thebuoyant life of vigorous youth, everyfiber and nerve is a-tingle with healthand enthusiasm, I live in every part ofmy marvelous body. Small wonder thatthe ancients located the soul at one time

in the heart, at another in the pinealgland of the brain, and at another made itcoextensive with the body!

Consciousness Works through theNervous System.—Later science hastaught that the mind resides in andworks through the nervous system,which has its central office in thebrain. And the reason why I seem to bein every part of my body is because thenervous system extends to every part,carrying messages of sight or sound ortouch to the brain, and bearing in returnorders for movements, which set the feeta-dancing or the fingers a-tingling. Butmore of this later.

This partnership between mind andbody is very close. Just how it happensthat spirit may inhabit matter we may notknow. But certain it is that they interacton each other. What will hinder thegrowth of one will handicap the other,and what favors the development ofeither will help both. The methods oftheir coöperation and the laws thatgovern their relationship will develop asour study goes on.

5. PROBLEMS IN OBSERVATIONAND INTROSPECTION

One should always keep in mind thatpsychology is essentially a laboratoryscience, and not a text-book subject. Thelaboratory material is to be found inourselves and in those about us. Whilethe text should be thoroughly mastered,its statements should always be verifiedby reference to one's own experience,and observation of others. Especiallyshould prospective teachers constantlycorrelate the lessons of the book with theobservation of children at work in theschool. The problems suggested forobservation and introspection will, ifmastered, do much to render practicaland helpful the truths of psychology.

1. Think of your home as you last left

it. Can you see vividly just how itlooked, the color of the paint on theoutside, with the familiar form of theroof and all; can you recall the perfumein some old drawer, the taste of afavorite dish, the sound of a familiarvoice in farewell?

2. What illustrations have youobserved where the mental content of themoment seemed chiefly thinking(knowledge process); chiefly emotion(feeling process); chiefly choosing, orself-compulsion (willing process)?

3. When you say that you remember acircumstance that occurred yesterday,

how do you remember it? That is, do yousee in your mind things just as they were,and hear again sounds which occurred,or feel again movements which youperformed? Do you experience oncemore the emotions you then felt?

4. What forms of expression mostcommonly reveal thought; what revealemotions? (i.e., can you tell what a childi s thinking about by the expression onhis face? Can you tell whether he isangry, frightened, sorry, by his face? Isspeech as necessary in expressingfeeling as in expressing thought?)

5. Try occasionally during the next

twenty-four hours to turn quickly aboutmentally and see whether you canobserve your thinking, feeling, or willingin the very act of taking place.

6. What becomes of our mind orconsciousness while we are asleep?How are we able to wake up at a certainhour previously determined? Can aperson have absolutely nothing in hismind?

7. Have you noticed any childrenespecially adept in expression? Haveyou noticed any very backward? If so, inwhat form of expression in each case?

8. Have you observed any instancesof expression which you were at a lossto interpret (remember that "expression"includes every form of physical action,voice, speech, face, form, hand, etc.)?

CHAPTER II

ATTENTION

How do you rank in mental ability,and how effective are your mind's graspand power? The answer that must begiven to these questions will depend notmore on your native endowment than onyour skill in using attention.

1. NATURE OF ATTENTION

It is by attention that we gather andmass our mental energy upon the criticaland important points in our thinking. In

the last chapter we saw thatconsciousness is not distributed evenlyover the whole field, but "piled up,"now on this object of thought, now onthat, in obedience to interest ornecessity. The concentration of themind's energy on one object of thoughtis attention.

The Nature of Attention.—Everyone knows what it is to attend. Thestory so fascinating that we cannot leaveit, the critical points in a game, theinteresting sermon or lecture, thesparkling conversation—all thesecompel our attention. So completely isour mind's energy centered on them and

withdrawn from other things that we arescarcely aware of what is going on aboutus.

We are also familiar with anotherkind of attention. For we all have readthe dull story, watched the slow game,listened to the lecture or sermon thatdrags, and taken part in conversation thatwas a bore. We gave these things ourattention, but only with effort. Ourmind's energy seemed to center onanything rather than the matter in hand. Athousand objects from outside enticed usaway, and it required the frequent"mental jerk" to bring us to the subject inhand. And when brought back to ourthought problem we felt the constant

"tug" of mind to be free again.

Normal Consciousness Always in aState of Attention.—But this veryeffort of the mind to free itself from oneobject of thought that it may busy itselfwith another is because attention issolicited by this other. Some object inour field of consciousness is alwaysexerting an appeal for attention; and toattend to one thing is always to attendaway from a multitude of other thingsupon which the thought might rest. Wemay therefore say that attention isconstantly selecting in our stream ofthought those aspects that are to receiveemphasis and consideration. From

moment to moment it determines thepoints at which our mental energy shallbe centered.

2. THE EFFECTS OF ATTENTION

Attention Makes Its Object Clearand Definite.—Whatever attentioncenters upon stands out sharp and clearin consciousness. Whether it be a bit ofmemory, an "air-castle," a sensationfrom an aching tooth, the reasoning on analgebraic formula, a choice which weare making, the setting of an emotion—whatever be the object to which we areattending, that object is illumined andmade to stand out from its fellows as the

one prominent thing in the mind's eyewhile the attention rests on it. It is likethe one building which the searchlightpicks out among a city full of buildingsand lights up, while the remainder areleft in the semilight or in darkness.

Attention Measures MentalEfficiency.—In a state of attention themind may be likened to the rays of thesun which have been passed through aburning glass. You may let all the rayswhich can pass through your windowpane fall hour after hour upon the paperlying on your desk, and no markedeffects follow. But let the same amountof sunlight be passed through a lens and

converged to a point the size of yourpencil point, and the paper will at onceburst into flame. What the diffused rayscould not do in hours or in ages is nowaccomplished in seconds. Likewise themind, allowed to scatter over manyobjects, can accomplish but little. Wemay sit and dream away an hour or a dayover a page or a problem withoutsecuring results. But let us call in ourwits from their wool-gathering and"buckle down to it" with all our might,withdrawing our thoughts fromeverything else but this one thing, andconcentrating our mind on it. More cannow be accomplished in minutes thanbefore in hours. Nay, things whichcould not be accomplished at all before

now become possible.

Again, the mind may be compared toa steam engine which is constructed torun at a certain pressure of steam, sayone hundred and fifty pounds to thesquare inch of boiler surface. Once I ransuch an engine; and well I remember amorning during my early apprenticeshipwhen the foreman called for power torun some of the lighter machinery, whilemy steam gauge registered but seventy-five pounds. "Surely," I thought, "if onehundred and fifty pounds will run all thismachinery, seventy-five pounds shouldrun half of it," so I opened the valve. Butthe powerful engine could do but littlemore than turn its own wheels, and

refused to do the required work. Notuntil the pressure had risen above onehundred pounds could the engineperform half the work which it could atone hundred and fifty pounds. And sowith our mind. If it is meant to do itsbest work under a certain degree ofconcentration, it cannot in a given timedo half the work with half the attention.Further, there will be much which itcannot do at all unless working underfull pressure. We shall not beoverstating the case if we say that asattention increases in arithmetical ratio,mental efficiency increases ingeometrical ratio. It is in large measurea difference in the power of attentionwhich makes one man a master in

thought and achievement and another hishumble follower. One often hears it saidthat "genius is but the power of sustainedattention," and this statement possesses alarge element of truth.

3. HOW WE ATTEND

Someone has said that if ourattention is properly trained we shouldbe able "to look at the point of a cambricneedle for half an hour without winking."But this is a false idea of attention. Theability to look at the point of a cambricneedle for half an hour might indicate avery laudable power of concentration;but the process, instead of enlightening

us concerning the point of the needle,would result in our passing into ahypnotic state. Voluntary attention to anyone object can be sustained for but abrief time—a few seconds at best. It isessential that the object change, that weturn it over and over incessantly, andconsider its various aspects andrelations. Sustained voluntary attentionis thus a repetition of successive effortsto bring back the object to the mind.Then the subject grows and develops—itis living, not dead.

Attention a Relating Activity.—When we are attending strongly to oneobject of thought it does not mean that

consciousness sits staring vacantly atthis one object, but rather that it uses itas a central core of thought, and thinksinto relation with this object the thingswhich belong with it. In working outsome mathematical solution the centralcore is the principle upon which thesolution is based, and concentration inthis case consists in thinking the variousconditions of the problem in relation tothis underlying principle. In theaccompanying diagram (Fig. 4) let A bethe central core of some object ofthought, say a patch of cloud in a picture,and let a, b, c, d, etc., be the relatedfacts, or the shape, size, color, etc., ofthe cloud. The arrows indicate thepassing of our thought from cloud to

related fact, or from related fact tocloud, and from related fact to relatedfact. As long as these related facts leadback to the cloud each time, that long weare attending to the cloud and thinkingabout it. It is when our thought fails to goback that we "wander" in our attention.Then we leave a, b, c, d, etc., which arerelated to the cloud, and, flying off to x,y, and z, finally bring up heaven knowswhere. Fig. 4Fig. 4

The Rhythms of Attention.—Attention works in rhythms. This is tosay that it never maintains a constantlevel of concentration for any

considerable length of time, butregularly ebbs and flows. Theexplanation of this rhythmic actionwould take us too far afield at this point.When we remember, however, that ourentire organism works within a greatsystem of rhythms—hunger, thirst, sleep,fatigue, and many others—it is easy tosee that the same law may apply toattention. The rhythms of attention varygreatly, the fluctuations often being onlya few seconds apart for certain simplesensations, and probably a much greaterdistance apart for the more complexprocess of thinking. The seemingvariation in the sound of a distantwaterfall, now loud and now faint, iscaused by the rhythm of attention and

easily allows us to measure the rhythmfor this particular sensation.

4. POINTS OF FAILURE INATTENTION

Lack of Concentration.—There aretwo chief types of inattention whosedanger threatens every person. First, wemay be thinking about the right things,but not thinking hard enough. We lackmental pressure. Outside thoughts whichhave no relation to the subject in handmay not trouble us much, but we do notattack our problem with vim. The currentin our stream of consciousness is movingtoo slowly. We do not gather up all our

mental forces and mass them on thesubject before us in a way that meansvictory. Our thoughts may be sufficientlyfocused, but they fail to "set fire." It islike focusing the sun's rays while aneclipse is on. They lack energy. Theywill not kindle the paper after they havepassed through the lens. This kind ofattention means mental dawdling. Itmeans inefficiency. For the individual itmeans defeat in life's battles; for thenation it means mediocrity andstagnation.

A college professor said to hisfaithful but poorly prepared class,"Judging from your worn and tiredappearance, young people, you are

putting in twice too many hours onstudy." At this commendation the classbrightened up visibly. "But," hecontinued, "judging from yourpreparation, you do not study quite halfhard enough."

Happy is the student who, starting inon his lesson rested and fresh, can studywith such concentration that an hour ofsteady application will leave himmentally exhausted and limp. That is onehour of triumph for him, no matter whatelse he may have accomplished or failedto accomplish during the time. He canafford an occasional pause for rest, fordifficulties will melt rapidly away

before him. He possesses one key tosuccessful achievement.

Mental Wandering.—Second, wemay have good mental power and beable to think hard and efficiently on anyone point, but lack the power to think ina straight line. Every stray thought thatcomes along is a "will-o'-the-wisp" tolead us away from the subject in handand into lines of thought not relating to it.Who has not started in to think on someproblem, and, after a few moments, beensurprised to find himself miles awayfrom the topic upon which he started! Orwho has not read down a page and,turning to the next, found that he did not

know a word on the preceding page, histhoughts having wandered away, hiseyes only going through the process ofreading! Instead of sticking to the a, b, c,d, etc., of our topic and relating them allup to A, thereby reaching a solution ofthe problem, we often jump at once to x,y, z, and find ourselves far afield withall possibility of a solution gone. Wemay have brilliant thoughts about x, y, z,but they are not related to anything inparticular, and so they pass from us andare gone—lost in oblivion because theyare not attached to something permanent.

Such a thinker is at the mercy ofcircumstances, following blindly theleadings of trains of thought which are

his master instead of his servant, andwhich lead him anywhere or nowherewithout let or hindrance from him. Hisconsciousness moves rapidly enough andwith enough force, but it is like a shipwithout a helm. Starting for theintellectual port A by way of a, b, c, d,he is mentally shipwrecked at last on therocks x, y, z, and never reaches harbor.Fortunate is he who can shut outintruding thoughts and think in a straightline. Even with mediocre ability he mayaccomplish more by his thinking than thebrilliant thinker who is constantly havinghis mental train wrecked by straythoughts which slip in on his right ofway.

5. TYPES OF ATTENTION

The Three Types of Attention.—Attention may be secured in three ways:(1) It is demanded by some sudden orintense sensory stimulus or insistentidea, or (2) it follows interest, or (3) itis compelled by the will. If it comes inthe first way, as from a thunderclap or aflash of light, or from the persistentattempt of some unsought idea to secureentrance into the mind, it is calledinvoluntary attention. This form ofattention is of so little importance,comparatively, in our mental life that weshall not discuss it further.

If attention comes in the second way,following interest, it is callednonvoluntary or spontaneous attention;if in the third, compelled by the will,voluntary or active attention.Nonvoluntary attention has its motive insome object external to consciousness,or else follows a more or lessuncontrolled current of thought whichinterests us; voluntary attention iscontrolled from within—we decide whatwe shall attend to instead of lettinginteresting objects of thought determineit for us.

Interest and NonvoluntaryAttention.—In nonvoluntary attention

the environment largely determines whatwe shall attend to. All that we have todo with directing this kind of attention isin developing certain lines of interest,and then the interesting things attractattention. The things we see and hear andtouch and taste and smell, the things welike, the things we do and hope to do—these are the determining factors in ourmental life so long as we are givingnonvoluntary attention. Our attentionfollows the beckoning of these things asthe needle the magnet. It is no effort toattend to them, but rather the effortwould be to keep from attending to them.Who does not remember reading a story,perhaps a forbidden one, so interestingthat when mother called up the stairs for

us to come down to attend to some duty,we replied, "Yes, in a minute," and thenwent on reading! We simply could notstop at that place. The minute lengthensinto ten, and another call startles us."Yes, I'm coming;" we turn just one moreleaf, and are lost again. At last comes athird call in tones so imperative that itcannot be longer ignored, and we lay thebook down, but open to the place wherewe left off, and where we hope soon tobegin further to unravel the delightfulmystery. Was it an effort to attend to thereading? Ah, no! it took the combinedforce of our will and of mother'sauthority to drag the attention away. Thisis nonvoluntary attention.

Left to itself, then, attention simplyobeys natural laws and follows the lineof least resistance. By far the largerportion of our attention is of this type.Thought often runs on hour after hourwhen we are not conscious of effort orstruggle to compel us to cease thinkingabout this thing and begin thinking aboutthat. Indeed, it may be doubted whetherthis is not the case with some personsfor days at a time, instead of hours. Thethings that present themselves to themind are the things which occupy it; thecharacter of the thought is determined bythe character of our interests. It is thisfact which makes it vitally necessary thatour interests shall be broad and pure ifour thoughts are to be of this type. It is

not enough that we have the strength todrive from our minds a wrong or impurethought which seeks entrance. To standguard as a policeman over our thoughtsto see that no unworthy one enters,requires too much time and energy. Ourinterests must be of such a nature as tolead us away from the field of unworthythoughts if we are to be free from theirtyranny.

The Will and VoluntaryAttention.—In voluntary attention thereis a conflict either between the will andinterest or between the will and themental inertia or laziness, which has tobe overcome before we can think with

any degree of concentration. Interestsays, "Follow this line, which is easyand attractive, or which requires butlittle effort—follow the line of leastresistance." Will says, "Quit that line ofdalliance and ease, and take this harderway which I direct—cease the line ofleast resistance and take the one ofgreatest resistance." When day dreamsand "castles in Spain" attempt to lureyou from your lessons, refuse to follow;shut out these vagabond thoughts andstick to your task. When intellectualinertia deadens your thought and clogsyour mental stream, throw it off andcourt forceful effort. If wrong or impurethoughts seek entrance to your mind,close and lock your mental doors to

them. If thoughts of desire try to driveout thoughts of duty, be heroic and insistthat thoughts of duty shall have right ofway. In short, see that you are the masterof your thinking, and do not let it alwaysbe directed without your consent byinfluences outside of yourself.

It is just at this point that the strongwill wins victory and the weak willbreaks down. Between the ability tocontrol one's thoughts and the inability tocontrol them lies all the differencebetween right actions and wrong actions;between withstanding temptation andyielding to it; between an inefficientpurposeless life and a life of purposeand endeavor; between success and

failure. For we act in accordance withthose things which our thought restsupon. Suppose two lines of thoughtrepresented by A and B, respectively, liebefore you; that A leads to a course ofaction difficult or unpleasant, butnecessary to success or duty, and that Bleads to a course of action easy orpleasant, but fatal to success or duty.Which course will you follow—therugged path of duty or the easier one ofpleasure? The answer depends almostwholly, if not entirely, on your power ofattention. If your will is strong enough topull your thoughts away from the fatalbut attractive B and hold them resolutelyon the less attractive A, then A willdictate your course of action, and you

will respond to the call for endeavor,self-denial, and duty; but if your thoughtsbreak away from the domination of yourwill and allow the beckoning of yourinterests alone, then B will dictate yourcourse of action, and you will follow theleading of ease and pleasure. For ouractions are finally and irrevocablydictated by the things we think about.

Not Really Different Kinds ofAttention.—It is not to be understood,however, from what has been said, thatthere are really different kinds ofattention. All attention denotes an activeor dynamic phase of consciousness. Thedifference is rather in the way we secure

attention; whether it is demanded bysudden stimulus, coaxed from us byinteresting objects of thought withouteffort on our part, or compelled by forceof will to desert the more interesting andtake the direction which we dictate.

6. IMPROVING THE POWER OFATTENTION

While attention is no doubt partly anatural gift, yet there is probably nopower of the mind more susceptible totraining than is attention. And withattention, as with every other power ofbody and mind, the secret of itsdevelopment lies in its use. Stated

briefly, the only way to train attention isby attending. No amount of theorizing orresolving can take the place of practicein the actual process of attending.

Making Different Kinds ofAttention Reënforce Each Other.—Avery close relationship andinterdependence exists betweennonvoluntary and voluntary attention. Itwould be impossible to hold ourattention by sheer force of will onobjects which were forever devoid ofinterest; likewise the blind following ofour interests and desires would finallylead to shipwreck in all our lives. Eachkind of attention must support and

reënforce the other. The lessons, thesermons, the lectures, and the books inwhich we are most interested, and henceto which we attend nonvoluntarily andwith the least effort and fatigue, are theones out of which, other things beingequal, we get the most and remember thebest and longest. On the other hand, thereare sometimes lessons and lectures andbooks, and many things besides, whichare not intensely interesting, but whichshould be attended to nevertheless. It isat this point that the will must step in andtake command. If it has not the strengthto do this, it is in so far a weak will, andsteps should be taken to develop it. Weare to "keep the faculty of effort alive inus by a little gratuitous exercise every

day." We are to be systematically heroicin the little points of everyday life andexperience. We are not to shrink fromtasks because they are difficult orunpleasant. Then, when the test comes,we shall not find ourselves unnerved anduntrained, but shall be able to stand inthe evil day.

The Habit of Attention.—Finally,one of the chief things in training theattention is to form the habit ofattending. This habit is to be formedonly by attending whenever andwherever the proper thing to do is toattend, whether "in work, in play, inmaking fishing flies, in preparing for an

examination, in courting a sweetheart, inreading a book." The lesson, or thesermon, or the lecture, may not be veryinteresting; but if they are to be attendedto at all, our rule should be to attend tothem completely and absolutely. Not byfits and starts, now drifting away andnow jerking ourselves back, but all thetime. And, furthermore, the one who willdeliberately do this will often find thedull and uninteresting task become moreinteresting; but if it never becomesinteresting, he is at least forming a habitwhich will be invaluable to him throughlife. On the other hand, the one who failsto attend except when his interest iscaptured, who never exerts effort tocompel attention, is forming a habit

which will be the bane of his thinkinguntil his stream of thought shall end.


1. Which fatigues you more, to giveattention of the nonvoluntary type, or thevoluntary? Which can you maintainlonger? Which is the more pleasant andagreeable to give? Under which can youaccomplish more? What bearing havethese facts on teaching?

2. Try to follow for one or twominutes the "wave" in your

consciousness, and then describe thecourse taken by your attention.

3. Have you observed one class alertin attention, and another lifeless andinattentive? Can you explain the causeslying back of this difference? Estimatethe relative amount of workaccomplished under the two conditions.

4. What distractions have youobserved in the schoolroom tending tobreak up attention?

5. Have you seen pupils inattentivefrom lack of (1) change, (2) pure air, (3)

enthusiasm on the part of the teacher, (4)fatigue, (5) ill health?

6. Have you noticed a difference inthe habit of attention in different pupils?Have you noticed the same thing forwhole schools or rooms?

7. Do you know of children too muchgiven to daydreaming? Are you?

8. Have you seen a teacher rap thedesk for attention? What type of attentionwas secured? Does it pay?

9. Have you observed any instancein which pupils' lack of attention shouldbe blamed on the teacher? If so, whatwas the fault? The remedy?

10. Visit a school room or arecitation, and then write an account ofthe types and degrees of attention youobserved. Try to explain the factorsresponsible for any failures in attention,and also those responsible for the goodattention shown.

CHAPTER III

THE BRAIN ANDNERVOUS SYSTEM

A fine brain, or a good mind. Theseterms are often used interchangeably, asif they stood for the same thing. Yet thebrain is material substance—so manycells and fibers, a pulpy protoplasmicmass weighing some three pounds andshut away from the outside world in acasket of bone. The mind is a spiritualthing—the sum of the processes bywhich we think and feel and will,mastering our world and accomplishingour destiny.

1. THE RELATIONS OF MIND ANDBRAIN

Interaction of Mind and Brain.—How, then, come these two widelydifferent facts, mind and brain, to be sorelated in our speech? Why are the termsso commonly interchanged?—It isbecause mind and brain are so vitallyrelated in their processes and soinseparably connected in their work. Nomovement of our thought, no bit ofsensation, no memory, no feeling, no actof decision but is accompanied by itsown particular activity in the cells of thebrain. It is this that the psychologist has

in mind when he says, no psychosiswithout its corresponding neurosis.

So far as our present existence isconcerned, then, no mind ever worksexcept through some brain, and a brainwithout a mind becomes but a mass ofdead matter, so much clay. Mind andbrain are perfectly adapted to eachother. Nor is this mere accident. Forthrough the ages of man's past historyeach has grown up and developed intoits present state of efficiency by workingin conjunction with the other. Each hashelped form the other and determine itsqualities. Not only is this true for therace in its evolution, but for everyindividual as he passes from infancy to

maturity.

The Brain as the Mind'sMachine.—In the first chapter we sawthat the brain does not create the mind,but that the mind works through thebrain. No one can believe that the brainsecretes mind as the liver secretes bile,or that it grinds it out as a mill doesflour. Indeed, just what their exactrelation is has not yet been settled. Yet itis easy to see that if the mind must usethe brain as a machine and work throughit, then the mind must be subject to thelimitations of its machine, or, in otherwords, the mind cannot be better than thebrain through which it operates. A brain

and nervous system that are poorlydeveloped or insufficiently nourishedmean low grade of efficiency in ourmental processes, just as a poorlyconstructed or wrongly adjusted motormeans loss of power in applying theelectric current to its work. We will,then, look upon the mind and the brain ascounterparts of each other, eachperforming activities which correspondto activities in the other, bothinextricably bound together at least sofar as this life is concerned, and eachgetting its significance by its union withthe other. This view will lend interest toa brief study of the brain and nervoussystem.

2. THE MIND'S DEPENDENCE ONTHE EXTERNAL WORLD

But can we first see how in a generalway the brain and nervous system areprimarily related to our thinking? Let usgo back to the beginning and considerthe babe when it first opens its eyes onthe scenes of its new existence. What isin its mind? What does it think about?Nothing. Imagine, if you can, a personborn blind and deaf, and without thesense of touch, taste, or smell. Let such aperson live on for a year, for five years,for a lifetime. What would he know?What ray of intelligence would enter hismind? What would he think about? Allwould be dark to his eyes, all silent to

his ears, all tasteless to his mouth, allodorless to his nostrils, all touchless tohis skin. His mind would be a blank. Hewould have no mind. He could not getstarted to think. He could not get startedto act. He would belong to a lower scaleof life than the tiny animal that floatswith the waves and the tide in the oceanwithout power to direct its own course.He would be but an inert mass of fleshwithout sense or intelligence.

The Mind at Birth.—Yet this is thecondition of the babe at birth. It is bornpractically blind and deaf, withoutdefinite sense of taste or smell. Bornwithout anything to think about, and no

way to get anything to think about untilthe senses wake up and furnish somematerial from the outside world. Bornwith all the mechanism of muscle andnerve ready to perform the countlesscomplex movements of arms and legsand body which characterize everychild, he could not successfully startthese activities without a message fromthe senses to set them going. At birth thechild probably has only the senses ofcontact and temperature present with anydegree of clearness; taste soon follows;vision of an imperfect sort in a few days;hearing about the same time, and smell alittle later. The senses are waking up andbeginning their acquaintance with theoutside world.

Fig. 5.--A Neurone from a Human SpinalCord. The central portion represents thecell body. N, the nucleus; P, a pigmentedor colored spot; D, a dendrite, orrelatively short fiber,—which branchesfreely; A, an axon or long fiber, whichbranches but little.Fig. 5.—A Neurone from a Human Spinal Cord. Thecentral portion represents the cell body. N, the nucleus;P, a pigmented or colored spot; D, a dendrite, orrelatively short fiber,—which branches freely; A, anaxon or long fiber, which branches but little.

The Work of the Senses.—Andwhat a problem the senses have to solve!On the one hand the great universe ofsights and sounds, of tastes and smells,of contacts and temperatures, andwhatever else may belong to the material

world in which we live; and on the otherhand the little shapeless mass of grayand white pulpy matter called the brain,incapable of sustaining its own shape,shut away in the darkness of a bony casewith no possibility of contact with theoutside world, and possessing no meansof communicating with it except throughthe senses. And yet this universe ofexternal things must be brought intocommunication with the seeminglyinsignificant but really wonderful brain,else the mind could never be. Here wediscover, then, the two great factorswhich first require our study if wewould understand the growth of the mind—the material world without, and thebrain within. For it is the action and

interaction of these which lie at thebottom of the mind's development. Let usfirst look a little more closely at thebrain and the accompanying nervoussystem.

3. STRUCTURAL ELEMENTS OFTHE NERVOUS SYSTEM

It will help in understanding both thestructure and the working of the nervoussystem to keep in mind that it containsbut one fundamental unit of structure.This is the neurone. Just as the house isbuilt up by adding brick upon brick, sobrain, cord, nerves and organs of senseare formed by the union of numberless

neurones. Fig. 6.--Neurones in different stages ofdevelopment, from a to e. In a, theelementary cell body alone is present; inc, a dendrite is shown projecting upwardand an axon downward.—AfterDonaldson.Fig. 6.—Neurones in different stages of development,from a to e. In a, the elementary cell body alone ispresent; in c, a dendrite is shown projecting upwardand an axon downward.—After Donaldson.

The Neurone.—What, then, is aneurone? What is its structure, itsfunction, how does it act? A neurone is aprotoplasmic cell, with its outgrowingfibers. The cell part of the neurone is ofa variety of shapes, triangular,

pyramidal, cylindrical, and irregular.The cells vary in size from 1/250 to1/3500 of an inch in diameter. In generalthe function of the cell is thought to be togenerate the nervous energy responsiblefor our consciousness—sensation,memory, reasoning, feeling and all therest, and for our movements. The cellalso provides for the nutrition of thefibers. Fig. 7.--Longitudinal (A) and transverse(B) section of nerve fiber. The heavyborder represents the medullary, orenveloping sheath, which becomesthicker in the larger fibers.—AfterDonaldson.Fig. 7.—Longitudinal (A) and transverse (B) section ofnerve fiber. The heavy border represents the

medullary, or enveloping sheath, which becomesthicker in the larger fibers.—After Donaldson.

Neurone Fibers.—The neuronefibers are of two kinds, dendrites andaxons. The dendrites are comparativelylarge in diameter, branch freely, like thebranches of a tree, and extend but arelatively short distance from the parentcell. Axons are slender, and branch butlittle, and then approximately at rightangles. They reach a much greaterdistance from the cell body than thedendrites. Neurones vary greatly inlength. Some of those found in the spinalcord and brain are not more than 1/12 ofan inch long, while others which reachfrom the extremities to the cord, measureseveral feet. Both dendrites and axons

are of diameter so small as to beinvisible except under the microscope.

Neuroglia.—Out of this simplestructural element, the neurone, the entirenervous system is built. True, theneurones are held in place, and perhapsinsulated, by a kind of soft cement calledneuroglia. But this seems to possess nostrictly nervous function. The number ofthe microscopic neurones required tomake up the mass of the brain, cord andperipheral nervous system is far beyondour mental grasp. It is computed that thebrain and cord contain some 3,000millions of them.

Complexity of the Brain.—Something of the complexity of the brainstructure can best be understood by anillustration. Professor Stratton estimatesthat if we were to make a model of thehuman brain, using for the neurone fiberswires so small as to be barely visible tothe eye, in order to find room for all thewires the model would need to be thesize of a city block on the base andcorrespondingly high. Imagine atelephone system of this complexityoperating from one switch-board!

"Gray" and "White" Matter.—The "gray matter" of the brain and cordis made up of nerve cells and their

dendrites, and the terminations of axons,which enter from the adjoining whitematter. A part of the mass of gray matteralso consists of the neuroglia whichsurrounds the nerve cells and fibers, anda network of blood vessels. The "whitematter" of the central system consistschiefly of axons with their enveloping ormedullary, sheath and neuroglia. Thewhite matter contains no nerve cells ordendrites. The difference in color of thegray and the white matter is causedchiefly by the fact that in the gray massesthe medullary sheath, which is white, islacking, thus revealing the ashen gray ofthe nerve threads. In the white massesthe medullary sheath is present.

4. GROSS STRUCTURE OF THENERVOUS SYSTEM

Divisions of the NervousSystem.—The nervous system may beconsidered in two divisions: (1) Thecentral system, which consists of thebrain and spinal cord, and (2) theperipheral system, which comprises thesensory and motor neurones connectingthe periphery and the internal organswith the central system and thespecialized end-organs of the senses.The sympathetic system, which is foundas a double chain of nerve connectionsjoining the roots of sensory and motornerves just outside the spinal column,does not seem to be directly related to

consciousness and so will not bediscussed here. A brief description ofthe nervous system will help us better tounderstand how its parts all worktogether in so wonderful a way toaccomplish their great result.

The Central System.—In the brainwe easily distinguish three majord i v i s i o n s — t h e cerebrum, thecerebellum and the medulla oblongata.The medulla is but the enlarged upperpart of the cord where it connects withthe brain. It is about an inch and aquarter long, and is composed of bothmedullated and unmedullated fibers—that is of both "white" and "gray" matter.

In the medulla, the unmedullatedneurones which comprise the center ofthe cord are passing to the outside, andthe medullated to the inside, thus takingthe positions they occupy in thecerebrum. Here also the neurones arecrossing, or changing sides, so that thosewhich pass up the right side of the cordfinally connect with the left side of thebrain, and vice versa.

The Cerebellum.—Lying just backof the medulla and at the rear part of thebase of the cerebrum is the cerebellum,or "little brain," approximately as largeas the fist, and composed of a complexarrangement of white and gray matter.

Fibers from the spinal cord enter thismass, and others emerge and pass oninto the cerebrum, while its two halvesalso are connected with each other bymeans of cross fibers. Fig. 8.--View of the under side of thebrain. B, basis of the crura; P, pons; Mo,medulla oblongata; Ce, cerebellum; Sc,spinal cord.Fig. 8.—View of the under side of the brain. B, basisof the crura; P, pons; Mo, medulla oblongata; Ce,cerebellum; Sc, spinal cord.

The Cerebrum.—The cerebrumoccupies all the upper part of the skullfrom the front to the rear. It is dividedsymmetrically into two hemispheres, theright and the left. These hemispheres are

connected with each other by a smallbridge of fibers called the corpuscallosum. Each hemisphere is furrowedand ridged with convolutions, anarrangement which allows greatersurface for the distribution of the graycellular matter over it. Besides theseirregularities of surface, eachhemisphere is marked also by two deepclefts or fissures—the fissure ofRolando, extending from the middleupper part of the hemisphere downwardand forward, passing a little in front ofthe ear and stopping on a level with theupper part of it; and the fissure ofSylvius, beginning at the base of thebrain somewhat in front of the ear andextending upward and backward at an

acute angle with the base of thehemisphere. Fig. 9.--Diagrammatic side view ofbrain, showing cerebellum (CB) andmedulla oblongata (MO). F' F'' F''' areplaced on the first, second, and thirdfrontal convolutions, respectively; AF,on the ascending frontal; AP, on theascending parietal; M, on the marginal;A, on the angular. T' T'' T''' are placedon the first, second, and third temporalconvolutions. R-R marks the fissure ofRolando; S-S, the fissure of Sylvius; PO,the parieto-occipital fissure.Fig. 9.—Diagrammatic side view of brain, showingcerebellum (CB) and medulla oblongata (MO). F' F''F''' are placed on the first, second, and third frontalconvolutions, respectively; AF, on the ascending

frontal; AP, on the ascending parietal; M, on themarginal; A, on the angular. T' T'' T''' are placed onthe first, second, and third temporal convolutions. R-Rmarks the fissure of Rolando; S-S, the fissure ofSylvius; PO, the parieto-occipital fissure.

The surface of each hemisphere maybe thought of as mapped out into fourlobes: The frontal lobe, which includesthe front part of the hemisphere andextends back to the fissure of Rolandoand down to the fissure of Sylvius; theparietal lobe, which lies back of thefissure of Rolando and above that ofSylvius and extends back to the occipitallobe; the occipital lobe, which includesthe extreme rear portion of thehemisphere; and the temporal lobe,which lies below the fissure of Sylvius

and extends back to the occipital lobe.

The Cortex.—The gray matter ofthe hemispheres, unlike that of the cord,lies on the surface. This gray exteriorportion of the cerebrum is called thecortex, and varies from one-twelfth toone-eighth of an inch in thickness. Thecortex is the seat of all consciousnessand of the control of voluntarymovement. Fig. 10.--Different aspects of sections ofthe spinal cord and of the roots of thespinal nerves from the cervical region:1, different views of anterior medianfissure; 2, posterior fissure; 3, anteriorlateral depression for anterior roots; 4,

posterior lateral depression forposterior roots; 5 and 6, anterior andposterior roots, respectively; 7,complete spinal nerve, formed by theunion of the anterior and posterior roots.Fig. 10.—Different aspects of sections of the spinalcord and of the roots of the spinal nerves from thecervical region: 1, different views of anterior medianfissure; 2, posterior fissure; 3, anterior lateraldepression for anterior roots; 4, posterior lateraldepression for posterior roots; 5 and 6, anterior andposterior roots, respectively; 7, complete spinal nerve,formed by the union of the anterior and posterior roots.

The Spinal Cord.—The spinal cordproceeds from the base of the braindownward about eighteen inches througha canal provided for it in the vertebræ ofthe spinal column. It is composed ofwhite matter on the outside, and gray

matter within. A deep fissure on theanterior side and another on theposterior cleave the cord nearly intwain, resembling the brain in thisparticular. The gray matter on theinterior is in the form of two crescentsconnected by a narrow bar.

T h e peripheral nervous systemconsists of thirty-one pairs of nerves,with their end-organs, branching offfrom the cord, and twelve pairs that havetheir roots in the brain. Branches ofthese forty-three pairs of nerves reach toevery part of the periphery of the bodyand to all the internal organs. Fig. 11.--The projection fibers of the

brain. I-IX, the first nine pairs of cranialnerves.Fig. 11.—The projection fibers of the brain. I-IX, thefirst nine pairs of cranial nerves.

It will help in understanding theperipheral system to remember that anerve consists of a bundle of neuronefibers each wrapped in its medullarysheath and sheath of Schwann. Aroundthis bundle of neurones, that is aroundthe nerve, is still another wrapping,silvery-white, called the neurilemma.The number of fibers going to make up anerve varies from about 5,000 to100,000. Nerves can easily be identifiedin a piece of lean beef, or even at theedge of a serious gash in one's ownflesh!

Bundles of sensory fibersconstituting a sensory nerve root enterthe spinal cord on the posterior sidethrough holes in the vertebræ. Similarbundles of motor fibers in the form of amotor nerve root emerge from the cordat the same level. Soon after theiremergence from the cord, these twonerves are wrapped together in the samesheath and proceed in this way to theperiphery of the body, where the sensorynerve usually ends in a specialized end-organ fitted to respond to some certainstimulus from the outside world. Themotor nerve ends in minute filaments inthe muscular organ which it governs.Both sensory and motor nerves connect

with fibers of like kind in the cord andthese in turn with the cortex, thus givingevery part of the periphery directconnection with the cortex. Fig. 12.--Schematic diagram showingassociation fibers connecting corticalcenters with each other.--After Jamesand Starr.Fig. 12.—Schematic diagram showing associationfibers connecting cortical centers with each other.—After James and Starr.

T h e end-organs of the sensorynerves are nerve masses, some of them,as the taste buds of the tongue, relativelysimple; and others, as the eye or ear,very complex. They are all alike in oneparticular; namely, that each is fitted for

its own particular work and can do noother. Thus the eye is the end-organ ofsight, and is a wonderfully complexarrangement of nerve structure combinedwith refracting media, and arranged torespond to the rapid ether waves oflight. The ear has for its essential partthe specialized endings of the auditorynerve, and is fitted to respond to thewaves carried to it in the air, giving thesensation of sound. The end-organs oftouch, found in greatest perfection in thefinger tips, are of several kinds, all verycomplicated in structure. And so on witheach of the senses. Each particular sensehas some form of end-organ speciallyadapted to respond to the kind ofstimulus upon which its sensation

depends, and each is insensible to thestimuli of the others, much as thereceiver of a telephone will respond tothe tones of our voice, but not to thetouch of our fingers as will the telegraphinstrument, and vice versa. Thus the eyeis not affected by sounds, nor touch bylight. Yet by means of all the sensestogether we are able to come in contactwith the material world in a variety ofways.

5. LOCALIZATION OF FUNCTIONIN THE NERVOUS SYSTEM

Division of Labor.—Division oflabor is the law in the organic world as

in the industrial. Animals of the lowesttype, such as the amœba, do not haveseparate organs for respiration,digestion, assimilation, elimination, etc.,the one tissue performing all of thesefunctions. But in the higher forms eachorgan not only has its own specificwork, but even within the same organeach part has its own particular functionassigned. Thus we have seen that the twoparts of the neurone probably performdifferent functions, the cells generatingenergy and the fibers transmitting it.

It will not seem strange, then, thatthere is also a division of labor in thecellular matter itself in the nervoussystem. For example, the little masses of

ganglia which are distributed at intervalsalong the nerves are probably for thepurpose of reënforcing the nerve current,much as the battery cells in the localtelegraph office reënforce the currentfrom the central office. The cellularmatter in the spinal cord and lower partsof the brain has a very important work toperform in receiving messages from thesenses and responding to them indirecting the simpler reflex acts andmovements which we learn to executewithout our consciousness being calledupon, thus leaving the mind free fromthese petty things to busy itself in higherways. The cellular matter of the cortexperforms the highest functions of all, forthrough its activity we have

consciousness. Fig. 13.--Side view of left hemisphereof human brain, showing the principallocalized areas.Fig. 13.—Side view of left hemisphere of human brain,showing the principal localized areas.

The gray matter of the cerebellum,the medulla, and the cord may receiveimpressions from the senses and respondto them with movements, but theirresponse is in all cases whollyautomatic and unconscious. A personwhose hemispheres had been injured insuch a way as to interfere with theactivity of the cortex might still continueto perform most if not all of the habitualmovements of his life, but they would be

mechanical and not intelligent. He wouldlack all higher consciousness. It isthrough the activity of this thin coveringof cellular matter of the cerebrum, thecortex, that our minds operate; here arereceived stimuli from the differentsenses, and here sensations areexperienced. Here all our movementswhich are consciously directed havetheir origin. And here all our thinking,feeling, and willing are done.

Division of Labor in the Cortex.—Nor does the division of labor in thenervous system end with this assignmentof work. The cortex itself probablyworks essentially as a unit, yet it is

through a shifting of tensions from onearea to another that it acts, now giving usa sensation, now directing a movement,and now thinking a thought or feeling anemotion. Localization of function is therule here also. Certain areas of thecortex are devoted chiefly to sensations,others to motor impulses, and others tohigher thought activities, yet in such away that all work together in perfectharmony, each reënforcing the other andmaking its work significant. Thus thefront portion of the cortex seems to bedevoted to the higher thought activities;the region on both sides of the fissure ofRolando, to motor activities; and therear and lower parts to sensoryactivities; and all are bound together and

made to work together by the associationfibers of the brain.

In the case of the higher thoughtactivities, it is not probable that onesection of the frontal lobes of the cortexis set apart for thinking, one for feeling,and one for willing, etc., but rather thatthe whole frontal part of the cortex isconcerned in each. In the motor andsensory areas, however, the case isdifferent; for here a still further divisionof labor occurs. For example, in themotor region one small area seemsconnected with movements of the head,one with the arm, one with the leg, onewith the face, and another with theorgans of speech; likewise in the sensory

region, one area is devoted to vision,one to hearing, one to taste and smell,and one to touch, etc. We must bear inmind, however, that these regions are notmapped out as accurately as are theboundaries of our states—that no part ofthe brain is restricted wholly to eithersensory or motor nerves, and that no partworks by itself independently of the restof the brain. We name a tract from thepredominance of nerves which endthere, or from the chief functions whichthe area performs. The motorlocalization seems to be the mostperfect. Indeed, experimentation on thebrains of monkeys has been successful inmapping out motor areas so accuratelythat such small centers as those

connected with the bending of oneparticular leg or the flexing of a thumbhave been located. Yet each area of thecortex is so connected with every otherarea by the millions of association fibersthat the whole brain is capable ofworking together as a unit, thus unifyingand harmonizing our thoughts, emotions,and acts.

6. FORMS OF SENSORY STIMULI

Let us next inquire how thismechanism of the nervous system isacted upon in such a way as to give ussensations. In order to understand this,we must first know that all forms of

matter are composed of minute atomswhich are in constant motion, and byimparting this motion to the air or theether which surrounds them, areconstantly radiating energy in the form ofminute waves throughout space. Thesewaves, or radiations, are incrediblyrapid in some instances and rather slowin others. In sending out its energy in theform of these waves, the physical worldis doing its part to permit us to form itsacquaintance. The end-organs of thesensory nerves must meet this advancehalf-way, and be so constructed as to beaffected by the different forms of energywhich are constantly beating upon them. Fig. 14.--The prism's analysis of a

bundle of light rays. On the right areshown the relation of vibration rates totemperature stimuli, to light and tochemical stimuli. The rates are given inbillions per second.--After Witmer.Fig. 14.—The prism's analysis of a bundle of light rays.On the right are shown the relation of vibration rates totemperature stimuli, to light and to chemical stimuli.The rates are given in billions per second.—AfterWitmer.

The End-organs and TheirResponse to Stimuli.—Thus theradiations of ether from the sun, ourchief source of light, are so rapid thatbillions of them enter the eye in a secondof time, and the retina is of such a naturethat its nerve cells are thrown intoactivity by these waves; the impulse is

carried over the optic nerve to theoccipital lobe of the cortex, and thesensation of sight is the result. Thedifferent colors also, from the red of thespectrum to the violet, are the result ofdifferent vibration rates in the waves ofether which strike the retina; and inorder to perceive color, the retina mustbe able to respond to the particularvibration rate which represents eachcolor. Likewise in the sense of touch theend-organs are fitted to respond to veryrapid vibrations, and it is possible thatthe different qualities of touch areproduced by different vibration rates inthe atoms of the object we are touching.When we reach the ear, we have theorgan which responds to the lowest

vibration rate of all, for we can detect asound made by an object which isvibrating from twenty to thirty times asecond. The highest vibration rate whichwill affect the ear is some forty thousandper second.

Thus it is seen that there are greatgaps in the different rates to which oursenses are fitted to respond—a suddendrop from billions in the case of the eyeto millions in touch, and to thousands oreven tens in hearing. This makes onewonder whether there are not manythings in nature which man has neverdiscovered simply because he has notthe sense mechanism enabling him tobecome conscious of their existence.

There are undoubtedly "more things inheaven and earth than are dreamt of inour philosophy."

Dependence of the Mind on theSenses.—Only as the senses bring in thematerial, has the mind anything withwhich to build. Thus have the senses toact as messengers between the greatoutside world and the brain; to be theservants who shall stand at the doorwaysof the body—the eyes, the ears, thefinger tips—each ready to receive itsparticular kind of impulse from natureand send it along the right path to thepart of the cortex where it belongs, sothat the mind can say, "A sight," "A

sound," or "A touch." Thus does themind come to know the universe of thesenses. Thus does it get the material outof which memory, imagination, andthought begin. Thus and only thus doesthe mind secure the crude material fromwhich the finished superstructure isfinally built.

CHAPTER IV

MENTAL DEVELOPMENTAND MOTOR TRAINING

Education was long looked upon asaffecting the mind only; the body waseither left out of account or neglected.Later science has shown, however, thatthe mind cannot be trained except as thenervous system is trained anddeveloped. For not sensation and thesimpler mental processes alone, butmemory, imagination, judgment,reasoning and every other act of themind are dependent on the nervoussystem finally for their efficiency. The

little child gets its first mentalexperiences in connection with certainmovements or acts set up reflexly by thepre-organized nervous system. From thistime on movement and idea are soinextricably bound together that theycannot be separated. The mind and thebrain are so vitally related that it isimpossible to educate one withoutperforming a like office for the other;and it is likewise impossible to neglectthe one without causing the other tosuffer in its development.

1. FACTORS DETERMINING THEEFFICIENCY OF THE NERVOUS

SYSTEM

Development and Nutrition.—Ignoring the native differences innervous systems through the influence ofheredity, the efficiency of a nervoussystem is largely dependent on twofactors: (1) The development of the cellsand fibers of which it is composed, and(2) its general tone of health and vigor.The actual number of cells in thenervous system increases but little if atall after birth. Indeed, it is doubtfulwhether Edison's brain and nervoussystem has a greater number of cells in itthan yours or mine. The differencebetween the brain of a genius and that ofan ordinary man is not in the number ofcells which it contains, but rather in thedevelopment of the cells and fibers

which are present, potentially, at least,in every nervous system. The histologisttells us that in the nervous system ofevery child there are tens of thousands ofcells which are so immature andundeveloped that they are useless;indeed, this is the case to some degree inevery adult person's nervous system aswell. Thus each individual has inherentin his nervous system potentialities ofwhich he has never taken advantage, theutilizing of which may make him agenius and the neglecting of which willcertainly leave him on the plane ofmediocrity. The first problem ineducation, then, is to take the unripe andinefficient nervous system and sodevelop it in connection with the

growing mind that the possibilitieswhich nature has stored in it shallbecome actualities.

Undeveloped Cells.—ProfessorDonaldson tells us on this point that: "Atbirth, and for a long time after, many[nervous] systems contain cell elementswhich are more or less immature, notforming a functional part of the tissue,and yet under some conditions capableof further development.... For the cellswhich are continually appearing in thedeveloping cortex no other source isknown than the nuclei or granules foundthere in its earliest stages. Theseelements are metamorphosed neuroblasts

—that is, elementary cells out of whichthe nervous matter is developed—whichhave shrunken to a volume less than thatwhich they had at first, and whichremain small until, in the subsequentprocess of enlargement necessary fortheir full development, they expand intowell-marked cells. Elementsintermediate between these granules andthe fully developed cells are alwaysfound, even in mature brains, andtherefore it is inferred that the latter arederived from the former. Theappearances there also lead to theconclusion that many elements whichmight possibly develop in any givencase are far beyond the number thatactually does so.... The possible number

of cells latent and functional in thecentral system is early fixed. At any agethis number is accordingly representedby the granules as well as by the cellswhich have already undergone furtherdevelopment. During growth theproportion of developed cells increases,and sometimes, owing to the failure torecognize potential nerve cells in thegranules, the impression is carried awaythat this increase implies the formationof new elements. As has been shown,such is not the case."[1]

Development of Nerve Fibers.—The nerve fibers, no less than the cells,must go through a process of

development. It has already been shownthat the fibers are the result of abranching of cells. At birth many of thecells have not yet thrown out branches,and hence the fibers are lacking; whilemany of those which are already grownout are not sufficiently developed totransmit impulses accurately. Thus it hasbeen found that most children at birth areable to support the weight of the bodyfor several seconds by clasping thefingers around a small rod, but it takesabout a year for the child to become ableto stand. It is evident that it requiresmore actual strength to cling to a rodthan to stand; hence the conclusion is thatthe difference is in the earlierdevelopment of the nerve centers which

have to do with clasping than of thoseconcerned in standing. Likewise thechild's first attempts to feed himself ordo any one of the thousand little thingsabout which he is so awkward, arepartial failures not so much because hehas not had practice as because hisnervous machinery connected with thosemovements is not yet developedsufficiently to enable him to be accurate.His brain is in a condition whichFlechsig calls "unripe." How, then, shallthe undeveloped cells and system ripen?How shall the undeveloped cells andfibers grow to full maturity andefficiency?

2. DEVELOPMENT OF NERVOUSSYSTEM THROUGH USE

Importance of Stimulus andResponse.—Like all other tissues of thebody, the nerve cells and fibers aredeveloped by judicious use. The sensoryand association centers require theconstant stimulus of nerve currentsrunning in from the various end-organs,and the motor centers require theconstant stimulus of currents runningfrom them out to the muscles. In otherwords, the conditions upon which bothmotor and sensory development dependare: (1) A rich environment of sights andsounds and tastes and smells, andeverything else which serves as proper

stimulus to the sense organs, and toevery form of intellectual and socialinterest; and (2) no less important, anopportunity for the freest and mostcomplete forms of response and motoractivity. Fig. 15.--Schematic transverse sectionof the human brain showing theprojection of the motor fibers, theircrossing in the neighborhood of themedulla, and their termination in thedifferent areas of localized function inthe cortex. S, fissure of Sylvius; M, themedulla; VII, the roots of the facialnerves.Fig. 15.—Schematic transverse section of the humanbrain showing the projection of the motor fibers, theircrossing in the neighborhood of the medulla, and their

termination in the different areas of localized functionin the cortex. S, fissure of Sylvius; M, the medulla; VII,the roots of the facial nerves.

An illustration of the effects of thelack of sensory stimuli on the cortex iswell shown in the case of LauraBridgman, whose brain was studied byProfessor Donaldson after her death.Laura Bridgman was born a normalchild, and developed as other childrendo up to the age of nearly three years. Atthis time, through an attack of scarletfever, she lost her hearing completelyand also the sight of her left eye. Herright eye was so badly affected that shecould see but little; and it, too, becameentirely blind when she was eight. Shelived in this condition until she was sixty

years old, when she died. ProfessorDonaldson submitted the cortex of herbrain to a most careful examination, alsocomparing the corresponding areas onthe two hemispheres with each other. Hefound that as a whole the cortex wasthinner than in the case of normalindividuals. He found also that thecortical area connected with the left eye—namely, the right occipital region—was much thinner than that for the righteye, which had retained its sight longerthan the other. He says: "It is interestingto notice that those parts of the cortexwhich, according to the current view,were associated with the defective senseorgans were also particularly thin. Thecause of this thinness was found to be

due, at least in part, to the small size ofthe nerve cells there present. Not onlywere the large and medium-sized cellssmaller, but the impression made on theobserver was that they were also lessnumerous than in the normal cortex."

Effect of Sensory Stimuli.—Nodoubt if we could examine the brain of aperson who has grown up in anenvironment rich in stimuli to the eye,where nature, earth, and sky havepresented a changing panorama of colorand form to attract the eye; where all thesounds of nature, from the chirp of theinsect to the roar of the waves and themurmur of the breeze, and from the

softest tones of the voice to the mightiestsweep of the great orchestra, havechallenged the ear; where many andvaried odors and perfumes have assailedthe nostrils; where a great range of tasteshave tempted the palate; where manyvarieties of touch and temperaturesensations have been experienced—nodoubt if we could examine such a brainwe should find the sensory areas of thecortex excelling in thickness because itscells were well developed and full sizedfrom the currents which had beenpouring into them from the outsideworld. On the other hand, if we couldexamine a cortex which had lacked anyone of these stimuli, we should findsome area in it undeveloped because of

this deficiency. Its owner thereforepossesses but the fraction of a brain, andwould in a corresponding degree findhis mind incomplete.

Necessity for Motor Activity.—Likewise in the case of the motor areas.Pity the boy or girl who has beendeprived of the opportunity to use everymuscle to the fullest extent in theunrestricted plays and games ofchildhood. For where such activities arenot wide in their scope, there some areasof the cortex will remain undeveloped,because unused, and the person will behandicapped later in his life from lack ofskill in the activities depending on these

centers. Halleck says in this connection:"If we could examine the developingmotor region with a microscope ofsufficient magnifying power, it isconceivable that we might learn whereinthe modification due to exerciseconsists. We might also, under suchconditions, be able to say, 'This is themotor region of a piano player; themodifications here correspond preciselyto those necessary for controlling suchmovements of the hand.' Or, 'This is themotor tract of a blacksmith; this, of anengraver; and these must be the cellswhich govern the vocal organs of anorator.'" Whether or not the microscopewill ever reveal such things to us, thereis no doubt that the conditions suggested

exist, and that back of every inefficientand awkward attempt at physical controllies a motor area with its cellsundeveloped by use. No wonder that ourprocesses of learning physicaladjustment and control are slow, for theyare a growth in the brain rather than asimple "learning how."

The training of the nervous systemconsists finally, then, in the developmentand coördination of the neurones ofwhich it is composed. We have seen thatthe sensory cells are to be developed bythe sensory stimuli pouring in upon them,and the motor cells by the motorimpulses which they send out to themuscles. The sensory and the motor

fibers likewise, being an outgrowth oftheir respective cells, find theirdevelopment in carrying the impulseswhich result in sensation and movement.Thus it is seen that the neurone is, in itsdevelopment as in its work, a unit.

Development of the AssociationCenters.—To this simpler type ofsensory and motor development whichwe have been considering, we must addthat which comes from the more complexmental processes, such as memory,thought, and imagination. For it is inconnection with these that theassociation fibers are developed, andthe brain areas so connected that they

can work together as a unit. A simpleillustration will enable us to see moreclearly how the nervous mechanism actsto bring this about.

Suppose that I am walking along acountry road deeply engaged inmeditation, and that I come to a puddleof water in my pathway. I may turn asideand avoid the obstruction without myattention being called to it, and withoutinterruption of my train of thought. Theact has been automatic. In this case thenerve current has passed from the eye(S) over an afferent fiber to a sensorycenter (s) in the nervous system belowthe cortex; from there it has beenforwarded to a motor center (m) in the

same region, and on out over a motorfiber to the proper muscles (M), whichare to execute the required act. The acthaving been completed, the sensorynerves connected with the musclesemployed report the fact back that thework is done, thus completing thecircuit. This event may be taken as anillustration of literally thousands of actswhich we perform daily without theintervention of consciousness, and hencewithout involving the hemispheres. Fig. 16.--Diagram illustrating the pathsof association.Fig. 16.—Diagram illustrating the paths of association.

If, however, instead of avoiding thepuddle unconsciously, I do so from

consideration of the danger of wet feetand the disagreeableness of soiled shoesand the ridiculous appearance I shallmake, then the current cannot take theshort circuit, but must pass on up to thecortex. Here it awakens consciousnessto take notice of the obstruction, andcalls forth the images which aid indirecting the necessary movements. Thissimple illustration may be greatlycomplicated, substituting for it one of themore complex problems which arecontinually presenting themselves to usfor solution, or the associated trains ofthought that are constantly occupying ourminds. But the truth of the illustrationstill holds. Whether in the simple or thecomplex act, there is always a forward

passing of the nerve current through thesensory and thought centers, and on outthrough the motor centers to the organswhich are to be concerned in the motorresponse.

The Factors Involved in a SimpleAction.—Thus it will be seen that in thesimplest act which can be consideredthere are the following factors: (1) Thestimulus which acts on the end-organ;(2) the ingoing current over an afferentnerve; (3) the sensory or interpretingcells; (4) the fibers connecting thesensory with a motor center; (5) themotor cells; (6) the efferent nerve tocarry the direction for the movement

outward to the muscle; (7) the motorresponse; and, finally, (8) the reportback that the act has been performed.With this in mind it fairly bewilders oneto think of the marvelous complexity ofthe work that is going on in our nervousmechanism every moment of our life,even without considering the higherthought processes at all. How, with theseadded, the resulting complexity allworks out into beautiful harmony isindeed beyond comprehension.

3. EDUCATION AND THETRAINING OF THE NERVOUS

SYSTEM

Fortunately, many of the bestopportunities for sensory and motortraining do not depend on schools orcourses of study. The world is full ofstimuli to our senses and to our socialnatures; and our common lives are madeup of the responses we make to thesestimuli,—the movements, acts and deedsby which we fit ourselves into our worldof environment. Undoubtedly the mostrapid and vital progress we make in ourdevelopment is accomplished in theyears before we have reached the age togo to school. Yet it is the business ofeducation to see that we do not lack anyessential opportunity, to make sure thatnecessary lines of stimuli or of motortraining have not been omitted from our

development.

Education to Supply Opportunitiesfor Stimulus and Response.—The greatproblem of education is, on the physicalside, it would seem, then, to provide forourselves and those we seek to educateas rich an environment of sensory andsocial stimuli as possible; one whoseimpressions will be full of suggestionsto response in motor activity and thehigher thought processes; and then togive opportunity for thought and forexpression in acts and deeds in thelargest possible number of lines. Andadded to this must be frequent and clearsensory and motor recall, a living over

again of the sights and sounds and odorsand the motor activities we have onceexperienced. There must also be theopportunity for the forming of worthyplans and ideals. For in this way thebrain centers which were concerned inthe original sensation or thought ormovement are again brought intoexercise, and their developmentcontinued. Through recall andimagination we are able not only greatlyto multiply the effects of the immediatesensory and motor stimuli which come tous, but also to improve our power ofthinking by getting a fund of materialupon which the mind can draw.

Order of Development in theNervous System.—Nature has set theorder in which the powers of thenervous system shall develop. And wemust follow this order if we wouldobtain the best results. Stated intechnical terms, the order is fromfundamental to accessory. This is to saythat the nerve centers controlling thelarger and more general movements ofthe body ripen first, and those governingthe finer motor adjustments later. Forexample, the larger body muscles of thechild which are concerned with sittingup come under control earlier than thoseconnected with walking. The armmuscles develop control earlier than thefinger muscles, and the head and neck

muscles earlier than the eye muscles. Soalso the more general and less highlyspecialized powers of the mind ripensooner than the more highly specialized.Perception and observation precedepowers of critical judgment andassociation. Memory and imaginationripen earlier than reasoning and thelogical ability.

This all means that our educationalsystem must be planned to follow theorder of nature. Children of the primarygrades should not be required to writewith fine pencils or pens which demanddelicate finger adjustments, since thebrain centers for these finercoördinations are not yet developed.

Young children should not be set at worknecessitating difficult eye control, suchas stitching through perforatedcardboard, reading fine print and thelike, as their eyes are not yet ready forsuch tasks. The more difficult analyticalproblems of arithmetic and relations ofgrammar should not be required ofpupils at a time when the associationareas of the brain are not yet ready forthis type of thinking. For such methodsviolate the law of nature, and the child issure to suffer the penalty.

4. IMPORTANCE OF HEALTH ANDVIGOR OF THE NERVOUS

SYSTEM

Parallel with opportunities forproper stimuli and response the nervoussystem must possess good tonicity, orvigor. This depends in large degree ongeneral health and nutrition, withfreedom from overfatigue. Nofavorableness of environment norexcellence of training can result in anefficient brain if the nerve energy has runlow from depleted health, want ofproper nourishment, or exhaustion.

The Influence of Fatigue.—Histologists find that the nuclei of nervecells are shrunk as much as fifty per centby extreme fatigue. Reasonable fatiguefollowed by proper recuperation is not

harmful, but even necessary if the bestdevelopment is to be attained; but fatiguewithout proper nourishment and rest isfatal to all mental operations, and indeedfinally to the nervous system itself,leaving it permanently in a condition oflow tone, and incapable of rallying tostrong effort. For rapid and completerecuperation the cells must have not onlythe best of nourishment but opportunityfor rest as well.

Extreme and long-continued fatigueis hostile to the development andwelfare of any nervous system, andespecially to that of children. Not onlydoes overfatigue hinder growth, but italso results in the formation of certain

toxins, or poisons, in the organism,which are particularly harmful tonervous tissue. It is these fatigue toxinsthat account for many of the nervous andmental disorders which accompanybreakdowns from overwork. On thewhole, the evil effects from mentaloverstrain are more to be feared thanfrom physical overstrain.

The Effects of Worry.—There is,perhaps, no greater foe to brain growthand efficiency than the nervous andworn-out condition which comes fromloss of sleep or from worry.Experiments in the psychologicallaboratories have shown that nerve cells

shrivel up and lose their vitality underloss of sleep. Let this go on for anyconsiderable length of time, and the lossis irreparable; for the cells can neverrecuperate. This is especially true in thecase of children or young people. Manyschool boys and girls, indeed manycollege students, are making slowprogress in their studies not because theyare mentally slow or inefficient, noteven chiefly because they lose time thatshould be put on their lessons, butbecause they are incapacitating theirbrains for good service through latehours and the consequent loss of sleep.Add to this condition that of worry,which often accompanies it from the factof failure in lessons, and a naturally

good and well-organized nervous systemis sure to fail. Worry, from whatevercause, should be avoided as one wouldavoid poison, if we would bringourselves to the highest degree ofefficiency. Not only does worrytemporarily unfit the mind for its bestwork, but its evil results are permanent,since the mind is left with a poorlydeveloped or undone nervous systemthrough which to work, even after thecause for worry has been removed andthe worry itself has ceased.

Not only should each individual seekto control the causes of worry in his ownlife, but the home and the school shouldforce upon childhood as few causes for

worry as may be. Children's worry overfears of the dark, over sickness anddeath, over prospective but delayedpunishment, over the thousand and onereal or imaginary troubles of childhood,should be eliminated so far as possible.School examinations that prey on thepeace of mind, threats of failure ofpromotion, all nagging and sarcasm, andwhatever else may cause continued painor worry to sensitive minds should bebarred from our schoolroom methodsand practice. The price we force thechild to pay for results through their useis too great for them to be tolerated. Wemust seek a better way.

The Factors in Good Nutrition.—For the best nutrition there is necessityfirst of all plenty of nourishing andhealthful food. Science and experiencehave both disproved the supposition thatstudents should be scantily fed. O'Sheaclaims that many brain workers are farshort of their highest grade of efficiencybecause of starving their brains frompoor diet. And not only must the food beof the right quality, but the body must bein good health. Little good to eat the bestof food unless it is being properlydigested and assimilated. And little goodif all the rest is as it should be, and theright amount of oxidation does not go onin the brain so as to remove the worn-outcells and make place for new ones. This

warns us that pure air and a strongcirculation are indispensable to the bestworking of our brains. No doubt manystudents who find their work too hard forthem might locate the trouble in theirstomachs or their lungs or the food theyeat, rather than in their minds.

5. PROBLEMS FORINTROSPECTION AND

OBSERVATION

1. Estimate the mental progress madeby the child during the first five yearsand compare with that made during thesecond five years of its life. To do thismake a list, so far as you are able, of the

acquisitions of each period. What do youconclude as to the importance of playand freedom in early education? Why notcontinue this method instead of sendingthe child to school?

2. Which has the better opportunityfor sensory training, the city child or thecountry child? For social training? Formotor development through play? It issaid by specialists that country childrenare not as good players as city children.Why should this be the case?

3. Observe carefully some group ofchildren for evidences of lack of sensorytraining (Interest in sensory objects, skill

in observation, etc.). For lack of motortraining (Failure in motor control,awkwardness, lack of skill in play, etc.).Do you find that general mental abilityseems to be correlated with sensory andmotor ability, or not?

4. What sensory training can be hadfrom (1) geography, (2) agriculture, (3)arithmetic, (4) drawing? What lines ofmotor training ought the school to afford,(1) in general, (2) for the hand, (3) in thegrace and poise of carriage or bearing,(4) in any other line? Make observationtests of these points in one or moreschool rooms and report the results.

5. Describe what you think must bethe type of mental life of Helen Keller.(Read "The World I Live In," by HelenKeller.)

6. Study groups of children for signsof deficiency in brain power from lackof nutrition. From fatigue. From worry.From lack of sleep.

CHAPTER V

HABIT

Habit is our "best friend or worstenemy." We are "walking bundles ofhabits." Habit is the "fly-wheel ofsociety," keeping men patient and docilein the hard or disagreeable lot whichsome must fill. Habit is a "cable whichwe cannot break." So say the wise men.Let me know your habits of life and youhave revealed your moral standards andconduct. Let me discover yourintellectual habits, and I understand yourtype of mind and methods of thought. Inshort, our lives are largely a daily round

of activities dictated by our habits in thisline or that. Most of our movements andacts are habitual; we think as we haveformed the habit of thinking; we decideas we are in the habit of deciding; wesleep, or eat, or speak as we have growninto the habit of doing these things; wemay even say our prayers or performother religious exercises as matters ofhabit. But while habit is the veriesttyrant, yet its good offices far exceed thebad even in the most fruitless ordepraved life.

1. THE NATURE OF HABIT

Many people when they speak or

think of habit give the term a verynarrow or limited meaning. They have inmind only certain moral or personaltendencies usually spoken of as one's"habits." But in order to understand habitin any thorough and complete way wemust, as suggested by the precedingparagraph, broaden our concept toinclude every possible line of physicaland mental activity. Habit may bedefined as the tendency of the nervoussystem to repeat any act that has beenperformed once or many times.

The Physical Basis of Habit.—Habit is to be explained from thestandpoint of its physical basis. Habits

are formed because the tissues of ourbrains are capable of being modified byuse, and of so retaining the effects of thismodification that the same act is easierof performance each succeeding time.This results in the old act being repeatedinstead of a new one being selected, andhence the old act is perpetuated.

Even dead and inert matter obeys thesame principles in this regard as doesliving matter. Says M. Leon Dumont:"Everyone knows how a garment, havingbeen worn a certain time, clings to theshape of the body better than when itwas new; there has been a change in thetissue, and this change is a new habit ofcohesion; a lock works better after

having been used some time; at the outsetmore force was required to overcomecertain roughness in the mechanism. Theovercoming of this resistance is aphenomenon of habituation. It costs lesstrouble to fold a paper when it has beenfolded already. This saving of trouble isdue to the essential nature of habit,which brings it about that, to reproducethe effect, a less amount of the outwardcause is required. The sounds of a violinimprove by use in the hands of an ableartist, because the fibers of the wood atlast contract habits of vibrationconformed to harmonic relations. This iswhat gives such inestimable value toinstruments that have belonged to greatmasters. Water, in flowing, hollows out

for itself a channel, which growsbroader and deeper; and, after havingceased to flow, it resumes when it flowsagain the path traced for itself before.Just so, the impressions of outer objectsfashion for themselves in the nervoussystem more and more appropriatepaths, and these vital phenomena recurunder similar excitements from without,when they have been interrupted for acertain time."[2]

All Living Tissue Plastic.—What istrue of inanimate matter is doubly true ofliving tissue. The tissues of the humanbody can be molded into almost anyform you choose if taken in time. A child

may be placed on his feet at too early anage, and the bones of his legs form thehabit of remaining bent. The FlatheadIndian binds a board on the skull of hischild, and its head forms the habit ofremaining flat on the top. Wrong bodilypostures produce curvature of the spine,and pernicious modes of dress deformthe bones of the chest. The muscles maybe trained into the habit of keeping theshoulders straight or letting them droop;those of the back, to keep the body wellup on the hips, or to let it sag; those oflocomotion, to give us a light, springystep, or to allow a shuffling carriage;those of speech, to give us a clear-cut,accurate articulation, or a careless,halting one; and those of the face, to give

us a cheerful cast of countenance, or aglum and morose expression.

Habit a Modification of BrainTissue.—But the nervous tissue is themost sensitive and easily molded of allbodily tissues. In fact, it is probable thatthe real habit of our characteristic walk,gesture, or speech resides in the brain,rather than in the muscles which itcontrols. So delicate is the organizationof the brain structure and so unstable itsmolecules, that even the perfume of theflower, which assails the nose of achild, the song of a bird, which strikeshis ear, or the fleeting dream, whichlingers but for a second in his sleep, has

so modified his brain that it will neveragain be as if these things had not beenexperienced. Every sensory currentwhich runs in from the outside world;every motor current which runs out tocommand a muscle; every thought thatwe think, has so modified the nervestructure through which it acts, that atendency remains for a like act to berepeated. Our brain and nervous systemis daily being molded into fixed habitsof acting by our thoughts and deeds, andthus becomes the automatic register ofall we do.

The old Chinese fairy story hits upona fundamental and vital truth. Thesecelestials tell their children that each

child is accompanied by day and bynight, every moment of his life, by aninvisible fairy, who is provided with apencil and tablet. It is the duty of thisfairy to put down every deed of thechild, both good and evil, in an indeliblerecord which will one day rise as awitness against him. So it is in very truthwith our brains. The wrong act may havebeen performed in secret, no livingbeing may ever know that we performedit, and a merciful Providence mayforgive it; but the inexorable monitor ofour deeds was all the time beside uswriting the record, and the history of thatact is inscribed forever in the tissues ofour brain. It may be repented of bitterlyin sackcloth and ashes and be

discontinued, but its effects can never bequite effaced; they will remain with us ahandicap till our dying day, and in somecritical moment in a great emergency weshall be in danger of defeat from thatlong past and forgotten act.

We Must Form Habits.—We must,then, form habits. It is not at all in ourpower to say whether we will formhabits or not; for, once started, they goon forming themselves by day and night,steadily and relentlessly. Habit is,therefore, one of the great factors to bereckoned with in our lives, and thequestion becomes not, Shall we formhabits? but What habits we shall form.

And we have the determining of thisquestion largely in our own power, forhabits do not just happen, nor do theycome to us ready made. We ourselvesmake them from day to day through theacts we perform, and in so far as wehave control over our acts, in that far wecan determine our habits.

2. THE PLACE OF HABIT IN THEECONOMY OF OUR LIVES

Habit is one of nature's methods ofeconomizing time and effort, while at thesame time securing greater skill andefficiency. This is easily seen when it isremembered that habit tends towards

automatic action; that is, towards actiongoverned by the lower nerve centers andtaking care of itself, so to speak, withoutthe interference of consciousness.Everyone has observed how much easierin the performance and more skillful inits execution is the act, be it playing apiano, painting a picture, or driving anail, when the movements involved haveceased to be consciously directed andbecome automatic.

Habit Increases Skill andEfficiency.—Practically all increase inskill, whether physical or mental,depends on our ability to form habits.Habit holds fast to the skill already

attained while practice or intelligencemakes ready for the next step in advance.Could we not form habits we shouldimprove but little in our way of doingthings, no matter how many times we didthem over. We should now be obliged togo through the same bungling process ofdressing ourselves as when we firstlearned it as children. Our writingwould proceed as awkwardly in the highschool as the primary, our eating asadults would be as messy and wide ofthe mark as when we were infants, andwe should miss in a thousand ways themotor skill that now seems so easy andnatural. All highly skilled occupations,and those demanding great manualdexterity, likewise depend on our habit-

forming power for the accurate andautomatic movements required.

So with mental skill. A great portionof the fundamentals of our educationmust be made automatic—must becomematters of habit. We set out to learn thesymbols of speech. We hear words andsee them on the printed page; associatedwith these words are meanings, or ideas.Habit binds the word and the ideatogether, so that to think of the one is tocall up the other—and language islearned. We must learn numbers, so wepractice the "combinations," and with4×6, or 3×8 we associate 24. Habitsecures this association in our minds,and lo! we soon know our "tables." And

so on throughout the whole range of ourlearning. We learn certain symbols, orfacts, or processes, and habit takes holdand renders these automatic so that wecan use them freely, easily, and withskill, leaving our thought free for mattersthat cannot be made automatic. One ofour greatest dangers is that we shall notmake sufficiently automatic, enough ofthe necessary foundation material ofeducation. Failing in this, we shall atbest be but blunderers intellectually,handicapped because we failed to makeproper use of habit in our development.

For, as we have seen in an earlierchapter, there is a limit to our mental

energy and also to the number of objectsto which we are able to attend. It is onlywhen attention has been freed from themany things that can always be thoughtor done in the same way, that the mindcan devote itself to the real problemsthat require judgment, imagination orreasoning. The writer whose spellingand punctuation do not take care ofthemselves will hardly make a successof writing. The mathematician whosenumber combinations, processes andformulæ are not automatic in his mindcan never hope to make progress inmathematical thinking. The speaker who,while speaking, has to think of hisgestures, his voice or his enunciationwill never sway audiences by his logic

or his eloquence.

Habit Saves Effort and Fatigue.—We do most easily and with least fatiguethat which we are accustomed to do. It isthe new act or the strange task that tiresus. The horse that is used to the farmwearies if put on the road, while theroadster tires easily when hitched to theplow. The experienced penman worksall day at his desk without undue fatigue,while the man more accustomed to thepick and the shovel than to the pen, isexhausted by a half hour's writing at aletter. Those who follow a sedentary andinactive occupation do not tire by muchsitting, while children or others used to

freedom and action may find it awearisome task merely to remain stillfor an hour or two.

Not only would the skill and speeddemanded by modern industry beimpossible without the aid of habit, butwithout its help none could stand thefatigue and strain. The new workmanplaced at a high-speed machine is readyto fall from weariness at the end of hisfirst day. But little by little he learns toomit the unnecessary movements, thenecessary movements become easier andmore automatic through habit, and hefinds the work easier. We may conclude,then, that not only do consciouslydirected movements show less skill than

the same movements made automatic byhabit, but they also require more effortand produce greater fatigue.

Habit Economizes Moral Effort.—To have to decide each time the questioncomes up whether we will attend to thislecture or sermon or lesson; whether wewill persevere and go through this pieceof disagreeable work which we havebegun; whether we will go to the troubleof being courteous and kind to this orthat poor or unlovely or dirty fellow-mortal; whether we will take this roadbecause it looks easy, or that onebecause we know it to be the one weought to take; whether we will be strictly

fair and honest when we might just aswell be the opposite; whether we willresist the temptation which dares us;whether we will do this duty, hardthough it is, which confronts us—to haveto decide each of these questions everytime it presents itself is to put too large aproportion of our thought and energy onthings which should take care ofthemselves. For all these things shouldearly become so nearly habitual that theycan be settled with the very minimum ofexpenditure of energy when they arise.

The Habit of Attention.—It is anoble thing to be able to attend by sheerforce of will when the interest lags, or

some more attractive thing appears, butfar better is it so to have formed thehabit of attention that we naturally fallinto that attitude when this is thedesirable thing. To understand what Imean, you only have to look over a classor an audience and note the differentways which people have of finallysettling down to listening. Some with anattitude which says, "Now here I am,ready to listen to you if you will interestme, otherwise not." Others with amanner which says, "I did not reallycome here expecting to listen, and youwill have a large task if you interest me;I never listen unless I am compelled to,and the responsibility rests on you."Others plainly say, "I really mean to

listen, but I have hard work to controlmy thoughts, and if I wander I shall notblame you altogether; it is just my way."And still others say, "When I amexpected to listen, I always listenwhether there is anything much to listento or not. I have formed that habit, and sohave no quarrel with myself about it.You can depend on me to be attentive,for I cannot afford to weaken my habit ofattention whether you do well or not."Every speaker will clasp these lastlisteners to his heart and feed them onthe choicest thoughts of his soul; they arethe ones to whom he speaks and towhom his address will appeal.

Habit Enables Us to Meet theDisagreeable.—To be able to perseverein the face of difficulties and hardshipsand carry through the disagreeable thingin spite of the protests of our naturesagainst the sacrifice which it requires, isa creditable thing; but it is morecreditable to have so formed the habit ofperseverance that the disagreeable dutyshall be done without a struggle, orprotest, or question. Horace Manntestifies of himself that whatever successhe was able to attain was made possiblethrough the early habit which he formedof never stopping to inquire whether heliked to do a thing which needed doing,but of doing everything equally well andwithout question, both the pleasant and

the unpleasant.

The youth who can fight out a moralbattle and win against the allurements ofsome attractive temptation is worthy thehighest honor and praise; but so long ashe has to fight the same battle over andover again, he is on dangerous groundmorally. For good morals must finallybecome habits, so ingrained in us that theright decision comes largely withouteffort and without struggle. Otherwisethe strain is too great, and defeat willoccasionally come; and defeat meansweakness and at last disaster, after thespirit has tired of the constant conflict.And so on in a hundred lines. Goodhabits are more to be coveted than

individual victories in special cases,much as these are to be desired. Forgood habits mean victories all along theline.

Habit the Foundation ofPersonality.—The biologist tells us thatit is the constant and not the occasionalin the environment that impresses itselfon an organism. So also it is thehabitual in our lives that builds itselfinto our character and personality. In avery real sense we are what we are inthe habit of doing and thinking.

Without habit, personality could notexist; for we could never do a thing

twice alike, and hence would be a newperson each succeeding moment. Theacts which give us our own peculiarindividuality are our habitual acts—thelittle things that do themselves momentby moment without care or attention, andare the truest and best expression of ourreal selves. Probably no one of us couldbe very sure which arm he puts into thesleeve, or which foot he puts into theshoe, first; and yet each of us certainlyformed the habit long ago of doing thesethings in a certain way. We might not beable to describe just how we hold knifeand fork and spoon, and yet each has hisown characteristic and habitual way ofhandling them. We sit down and get upin some characteristic way, and the very

poise of our heads and attitudes of ourbodies are the result of habit. We getsleepy and wake up, become hungry andthirsty at certain hours, through force ofhabit. We form the habit of liking acertain chair, or nook, or corner, or path,or desk, and then seek this to theexclusion of all others. We habituallyuse a particular pitch of voice and typeof enunciation in speaking, and thisbecomes one of our characteristic marks;or we form the habit of using barbarismsor solecisms of language in youth, andthese cling to us and become aninseparable part of us later in life.

On the mental side the case is nodifferent. Our thinking is as

characteristic as our physical acts. Wemay form the habit of thinking things outlogically, or of jumping to conclusions;of thinking critically and independently,or of taking things unquestioningly on theauthority of others. We may form thehabit of carefully reading good, sensiblebooks, or of skimming sentimental andtrashy ones; of choosing elevating,ennobling companions, or the opposite;of being a good conversationalist anddoing our part in a social group, or ofbeing a drag on the conversation, andneeding to be "entertained." We mayform the habit of observing the thingsabout us and enjoying the beautiful in ourenvironment, or of failing to observe orto enjoy. We may form the habit of

obeying the voice of conscience or ofweakly yielding to temptation without astruggle; of taking a reverent attitude ofprayer in our devotions, or of merelysaying our prayers.

Habit Saves Worry andRebellion.—Habit has been called the"balance wheel" of society. This isbecause men readily become habituatedto the hard, the disagreeable, or theinevitable, and cease to battle against it.A lot that at first seems unendurableafter a time causes less revolt. A sorrowthat seems too poignant to be borne inthe course of time loses some of itssharpness. Oppression or injustice that

arouses the fiercest resentment and hatemay finally come to be accepted withresignation. Habit helps us learn that"what cannot be cured must be endured."

3. THE TYRANNY OF HABIT

Even Good Habits Need to BeModified.—But even in good habitsthere is danger. Habit is the opposite ofattention. Habit relieves attention ofunnecessary strain. Every habitual actwas at one time, either in the history ofthe race or of the individual, a voluntaryact; that is, it was performed underactive attention. As the habit grew,attention was gradually rendered

unnecessary, until finally it droppedentirely out. And herein lies the danger.Habit once formed has no way of beingmodified unless in some way attention iscalled to it, for a habit left to itselfbecomes more and more firmly fixed.The rut grows deeper. In very few, ifany, of our actions can we afford to havethis the case. Our habits need to beprogressive, they need to grow, to bemodified, to be improved. Otherwisethey will become an incrusting shell,fixed and unyielding, which will limitour growth.

It is necessary, then, to keep ourhabitual acts under some surveillance ofattention, to pass them in review for

inspection every now and then, that wemay discover possible modificationswhich will make them more serviceable.We need to be inventive, constantly tofind out better ways of doing things.Habit takes care of our standing,walking, sitting; but how many of uscould not improve his poise and carriageif he would? Our speech has becomelargely automatic, but no doubt all of usmight remove faults of enunciation,pronunciation or stress from ourspeaking. So also we might better ourhabits of study and thinking, our methodsof memorizing, or our manner ofattending.

The Tendency of "Ruts."—But thiswill require something of heroism. Forto follow the well-beaten path of customis easy and pleasant, while to break outof the rut of habit and start a new line ofaction is difficult and disturbing. Mostpeople prefer to keep doing things asthey always have done them, to continuereading and thinking and believing asthey have long been in the habit of doing,not so much because they feel that theirway is best, but because it is easier thanto change. Hence the great mass of ussettle down on the plane of mediocrity,and become "old fogy." We learn to dothings passably well, cease to thinkabout improving our ways of doing them,and so fall into a rut. Only the few go on.

They make use of habit as the rest do,but they also continue to attend at criticalpoints of action, and so make habit anally in place of accepting it as a tyrant.

4. HABIT-FORMING A PART OFEDUCATION

It follows from the importance ofhabit in our lives that no small part ofeducation should be concerned with thedevelopment of serviceable habits. SaysJames, "Could the young but realize howsoon they will become mere walkingbundles of habits, they would give moreheed to their conduct while in the plasticstate. We are spinning our own fates,

good or evil, and never to be undone.Every smallest stroke of virtue or ofvice leaves its never-so-little scar." Anyyouth who is forming a large number ofuseful habits is receiving no meaneducation, no matter if his knowledge ofbooks may be limited; on the other hand,no one who is forming a large number ofbad habits is being well educated, nomatter how brilliant his knowledge maybe.

Youth the Time for Habit-forming.—Childhood and youth is thegreat time for habit-forming. Then thebrain is plastic and easily molded, and itretains its impressions more indelibly;

later it is hard to modify, and theimpressions made are less permanent. Itis hard to teach an old dog new tricks;nor would he remember them if youcould teach them to him, nor be able toperform them well even if he couldremember them. The young child will,within the first few weeks of its life,form habits of sleeping and feeding. Itmay in a few days be led into the habitof sleeping in the dark, or requiring alight; of going to sleep lying quietly, orof insisting upon being rocked; of gettinghungry by the clock, or of wanting itsfood at all times when it finds nothingelse to do, and so on. It is whollyoutside the power of the mother or thenurse to determine whether the child

shall form habits, but largely within theirpower to say what habits shall beformed, since they control his acts.

As the child grows older, the rangeof his habits increases; and by the timehe has reached his middle teens, thegreater number of his personal habits areformed. It is very doubtful whether a boywho has not formed habits of punctualitybefore the age of fifteen will ever beentirely trustworthy in matters requiringprecision in this line. The girl who hasnot, before this age, formed habits ofneatness and order will hardly make atidy housekeeper later in her life. Thosewho in youth have no opportunity tohabituate themselves to the usages of

society may study books on etiquette andemploy private instructors in the art ofpolite behavior all they please later inlife, but they will never cease to beawkward and ill at ease. None are at agreater disadvantage than the suddenly-grown-rich who attempt late in life tosurround themselves with articles of artand luxury, though their habits were allformed amid barrenness and want duringtheir earlier years.

The Habit of Achievement.—Whatyouth does not dream of being great, ornoble, or a celebrated scholar! And howfew there are who finally achieve theirideals! Where does the cause of failure

lie? Surely not in the lack of high ideals.Multitudes of young people have"Excelsior!" as their motto, and yetnever get started up the mountain slope,let alone toiling on to its top. They haveput in hours dreaming of the glory fartherup, and have never begun to climb. Thedifficulty comes in not realizing that theonly way to become what we wish ordream that we may become is to formthe habit of being that thing. To formthe habit of achievement, of effort, ofself-sacrifice, if need be. To form thehabit of deeds along with dreams; toform the habit of doing.

Who of us has not at this momentlying in wait for his convenience in the

dim future a number of things which hemeans to do just as soon as this term ofschool is finished, or this job of work iscompleted, or when he is not so busy asnow? And how seldom does he ever getat these things at all! Darwin tells that inhis youth he loved poetry, art, and music,but was so busy with his scientific workthat he could ill spare the time to indulgethese tastes. So he promised himself thathe would devote his time to scientificwork and make his mark in this. Then hewould have time for the things that heloved, and would cultivate his taste forthe fine arts. He made his mark in thefield of science, and then turned again topoetry, to music, to art. But alas! theywere all dead and dry bones to him,

without life or interest. He had passedthe time when he could ever form thetaste for them. He had formed his habitsin another direction, and now it wasforever too late to form new habits. Hisown conclusion is, that if he had his lifeto live over again, he would each weeklisten to some musical concert and visitsome art gallery, and that each day hewould read some poetry, and therebykeep alive and active the love for them.

So every school and home should bea species of habit-factory—a placewhere children develop habits ofneatness, punctuality, obedience,politeness, dependability and the othergraces of character.

5. RULES FOR HABIT-FORMING

James's Three Maxims for Habit-forming.—On the forming of new habitsand the leaving off of old ones, I knowof no better statement than that of James,based on Bain's chapter on "MoralHabits." I quote this statement at somelength: "In the acquisition of a new habit,or the leaving off of an old one, we musttake care to launch ourselves with asstrong and decided an initiative aspossible. Accumulate all the possiblecircumstances which shall reënforceright motives; put yourself assiduously inconditions that encourage the new way;

make engagements incompatible with theold; take a public pledge, if the caseallows; in short, develop your resolutionwith every aid you know. This will giveyour new beginning such a momentumthat the temptation to break down willnot occur as soon as it otherwise might;and every day during which abreakdown is postponed adds to thechances of its not occurring at all.

"The second maxim is: Never sufferan exception to occur until the newhabit is securely rooted in your life.Each lapse is like letting fall a ball ofstring which one is carefully winding up;a single slip undoes more than a greatmany turns will wind again. Continuity

of training is the great means of makingthe nervous system act infallibly right....The need of securing success nerves oneto future vigor.

"A third maxim may be added to thepreceding pair: Seize the very firstpossible opportunity to act on everyresolution you make, and on everyemotional prompting you mayexperience in the direction of thehabits you aspire to gain. It is not in themoment of their forming, but in themoment of their producing motor effects,that resolves and aspirationscommunicate the new 'set' to thebrain."[3]

The Preponderance of GoodHabits Over Bad.—And finally, let noone be disturbed or afraid because in alittle time you become a "walking bundleof habits." For in so far as your goodactions predominate over your bad ones,that much will your good habitsoutweigh your bad habits. Silently,moment by moment, efficiency isgrowing out of all worthy acts welldone. Every bit of heroic self-sacrifice,every battle fought and won, every gooddeed performed, is being irradicablycredited to you in your nervous system,and will finally add its mite towardachieving the success of your ambitions.


1. Select some act which you haverecently begun to perform and watch itgrow more and more habitual. Noticecarefully for a week and see whetheryou do not discover some habits whichyou did not know you had. Make acatalog of your bad habits; of the mostimportant of your good ones.

2. Set out to form some new habitswhich you desire to possess; also tobreak some undesirable habit, watching

carefully what takes place in both cases,and how long it requires.

3. Try the following experiment andrelate the results to the matter ofautomatic control brought about by habit:Draw a star on a sheet of cardboard.Place this on a table before you, with ahand-mirror so arranged that you can seethe star in the mirror. Now trace theoutline of the star with a pencil, lookingsteadily in the mirror to guide your hand.Do not lift the pencil from the paperfrom the time you start until you finish.Have others try this experiment.

4. Study some group of pupils for

their habits (1) of attention, (2) ofspeech, (3) of standing, sitting, andwalking, (4) of study. Report on yourobservations and suggest methods ofcuring bad habits observed.

5. Make a list of "mannerisms" youhave observed, and suggest how theymay be cured.

6. Make a list of from ten to twentyhabits which you think the school and itswork should especially cultivate. Whatones of these are the schools you knowleast successful in cultivating? Wheredoes the trouble lie?

CHAPTER VI

SENSATION

We can best understand the problemsof sensation and perception if we firstthink of the existence of two greatworlds—the world of physical naturewithout and the world of mind within.On the one hand is our materialenvironment, the things we see and hearand touch and taste and handle; and onthe other hand our consciousness, themeans by which we come to know thisouter world and adjust ourselves to it.These two worlds seem in a sense tobelong to and require each other. For

what would be the meaning or use of thephysical world with no mind to know oruse it; and what would be the use of amind with nothing to be known orthought about?

1. HOW WE COME TO KNOW THEEXTERNAL WORLD

There is a marvel about our comingto know the external world which weshall never be able fully to understand.We have come by this knowledge sogradually and unconsciously that it nowappears to us as commonplace, and wetake for granted many things that itwould puzzle us to explain.

Knowledge through the Senses.—For example, we say, "Of course I seeyonder green tree: it is about ten rodsdistant." But why "of course"? Whyshould objects at a distance from us andwith no evident connection between usand them be known to us at all merely byturning our eyes in their direction whenthere is light? Why not rather say withthe blind son of Professor Puiseaux ofParis, who, when asked if he would liketo be restored to sight, answered: "If itwere not for curiosity I would ratherhave long arms. It seems to me that myhands would teach me better what ispassing in the moon than your eyes or

telescopes."

We listen and then say, "Yes, that isa certain bell ringing in the neighboringvillage," as if this were the most simplething in the world. But why should onepiece of metal striking against another amile or two away make us aware thatthere is a bell there at all, let alone thatit is a certain bell whose tone werecognize? Or we pass our fingers overa piece of cloth and decide, "That issilk." But why, merely by placing ourskin in contact with a bit of material,should we be able to know its quality,much less that it is cloth and that itsthreads were originally spun by aninsect? Or we take a sip of liquid and

say, "This milk is sour." But why shouldwe be able by taking the liquid into themouth and bringing it into contact withthe mucous membrane to tell that it ismilk, and that it possesses the qualitywhich we call sour? Or, once more, weget a whiff of air through the openwindow in the springtime and say,"There is a lilac bush in bloom on thelawn." Yet why, from inhaling aircontaining particles of lilac, should webe able to know that there is anythingoutside, much less that it is a flower andof a particular variety which we calllilac? Or, finally, we hold a heatedflatiron up near the cheek and say, "Thisis too hot! it will burn the cloth." Butwhy by holding this object a foot away

from the face do we know that it is there,let alone knowing its temperature?

The Unity of SensoryExperience.—Further, our senses comethrough experience to have the power offusing, or combining their knowledge, soto speak, by which each expresses itsknowledge in terms of the others. Thuswe take a glance out of the window andsay that the day looks cold, although wewell know that we cannot see cold. Orwe say that the melon sounds green, orthe bell sounds cracked, although acrack or greenness cannot be heard. Orwe say that the box feels empty, althoughemptiness cannot be felt. We have come

to associate cold, originally experiencedwith days which look like the one wenow see, with this particularappearance, and so we say we see thecold; sounds like the one coming fromthe bell we have come to associate withcracked bells, and that coming from themelon with green melons, until we sayunhesitatingly that the bell soundscracked and the melon sounds green.And so with the various senses. Eachgleans from the world its own particularbit of knowledge, but all are finally in apartnership and what is each one'sknowledge belongs to every other one inso far as the other can use it.

The Sensory Processes to BeExplained.—The explanation of theultimate nature of knowledge, and howwe reach it through contact with ourmaterial environment, we will leave tothe philosophers. And battles enoughthey have over the question, and stillothers they will have before the matter issettled. The easier and more importantproblem for us is to describe theprocesses by which the mind comes toknow its environment, and to see how ituses this knowledge in thinking. Thismuch we shall be able to do, for it isoften possible to describe a process anddiscover its laws even when we cannotfully explain its nature and origin. Weknow the process of digestion and

assimilation, and the laws which governthem, although we do not understand theultimate nature and origin of life whichmakes these possible.

The Qualities of Objects Exist inthe Mind.—Yet even in the relativelysimple description which we haveproposed many puzzles confront us, andone of them appears at the very outset.This is that the qualities which weusually ascribe to objects really exist inour own minds and not in the objects atall. Take, for instance, the commonqualities of light and color. Thephysicist tells us that what we see aslight is occasioned by an incredibly

rapid beating of ether waves on theretina of the eye. All space is filled withthis ether; and when it is light—that is,when some object like the sun or otherlight-giving body is present—the ether isset in motion by the vibrating moleculesof the body which is the source of light,its waves strike the retina, a current isproduced and carried to the brain, andwe see light. This means, then, thatspace, the medium in which we seeobjects, is not filled with light (thesensation), but with very rapid waves ofether, and that the light which we seereally occurs in our own minds as themental response to the physical stimulusof ether waves. Likewise with color.Color is produced by ether waves of

different lengths and degrees of rapidity.

Thus ether waves at the rate of 450billions a second give us the sensation ofred; of 472 billions a second, orange; of526 billions a second, yellow; of 589billions a second, green; of 640 billionsa second, blue; of 722 billions a second,indigo; of 790 billions a second, violet.What exists outside of us, then, is theseether waves of different rates, and notthe colors (as sensations) themselves.The beautiful yellow and crimson of asunset, the variegated colors of alandscape, the delicate pink in the cheekof a child, the blush of a rose, theshimmering green of the lake—thesereside not in the objects themselves, but

in the consciousness of the one who seesthem. The objects possess but the qualityof reflecting back to the eye ether wavesof the particular rate corresponding tothe color which we ascribe to them.Thus "red" objects, and no others, reflectback ether waves of a rate of 450billions a second: "white" objectsreflect all rates; "black" objects reflectnone.

The case is no different with regardto sound. When we speak of a soundcoming from a bell, what we really meanis that the vibrations of the bell have setup waves in the air between it and ourear, which have produced corresponding

vibrations in the ear; that a nerve currentwas thereby produced; and that a soundwas heard. But the sound (i.e.,sensation) is a mental thing, and existsonly in our own consciousness. Whatpassed between the sounding object andourselves was waves in the interveningair, ready to be translated through themachinery of nerves and brain into thebeautiful tones and melodies andharmonies of the mind. And so with allother sensations.

The Three Sets of Factors.—Whatexists outside of us therefore is astimulus, some form of physical energy,of a kind suitable to excite to activity a

certain end-organ of taste, or touch, orsmell, or sight, or hearing; what existswithin us is the nervous machinerycapable of converting this stimulus into anerve current which shall produce anactivity in the cortex of the brain; whatresults is the mental object which wecall a sensation of taste, smell, touch,sight, or hearing.

2. THE NATURE OF SENSATION

Sensation Gives Us Our World ofQualities.—In actual experiencesensations are never known apart fromthe objects to which they belong. This isto say that when we see yellow or red it

is always in connection with somesurface, or object; when we taste sour,this quality belongs to some substance,and so on with all the senses. Yet bysensation we mean only the simplequalities of objects known inconsciousness as the result ofappropriate stimuli applied to end-organs. We shall later see how byperception these qualities fuse orcombine to form objects, but in thepresent chapter we shall be concernedwith the qualities only. Sensations are,then, the simplest and most elementaryknowledge we may get from the physicalworld,—the red, the blue, the bitter, thecold, the fragrant, and whatever otherqualities may belong to the external

world. We shall not for the present beconcerned with the objects or sourcesfrom which the qualities may come.

To quote James on the meaning ofsensation: "All we can say on this pointis that what we mean by sensations arefirst things in the way of consciousness.They are the immediate results uponconsciousness of nerve currents as theyenter the brain, and before they haveawakened any suggestions orassociations with past experience. But itis obvious that such immediatesensations can be realized only in theearliest days of life."

The Attributes of Sensation.—Sensations differ from each other in atleast four respects; namely, quality,intensity, extensity, and duration.

It is a difference in quality thatmakes us say, "This paper is red, andthat, blue; this liquid is sweet, and that,sour." Differences in quality aretherefore fundamental differences inkind. Besides the quality-differences thatexist within the same general field, as oftaste or vision, it is evident that there isa still more fundamental differenceexisting between the various fields. Onecan, for example, compare red with blueor sweet with sour, and tell which

quality he prefers. But let him try tocompare red with sweet, or blue withsour, and the quality-difference is soprofound that there seems to be no basisfor comparison.

Differences in intensity of sensationare familiar to every person who preferstwo lumps of sugar rather than one lumpin his coffee; the sweet is of the samequality in either case, but differs inintensity. In every field of sensation, theintensity may proceed from the smallestamount to the greatest amountdiscernible. In general, the intensity ofthe sensation depends on the intensity ofthe stimulus, though the condition of thesense-organ as regards fatigue or

adaptation to the stimulus has its effect.It is obvious that a stimulus may be tooweak to produce any sensation; as, forexample, a few grains of sugar in a cupof coffee or a few drops of lemon in aquart of water could not be detected. Itis also true that the intensity of thestimulus may be so great that an increasein intensity produces no effect on thesensation; as, for example, the additionof sugar to a solution of saccharinewould not noticeably increase itssweetness. The lowest and highestintensity points of sensation are calledthe lower and upper limen, or threshold,respectively.

B y extensity is meant the space-differences of sensations. The touch ofthe point of a toothpick on the skin has adifferent space quality from the touch ofthe flat end of a pencil. Low tones seemto have more volume than high tones.Some pains feel sharp and others dulland diffuse. The warmth felt fromspreading the palms of the hands out tothe fire has a "bigness" not felt fromheating one solitary finger. The extensityof a sensation depends on the number ofnerve endings stimulated.

The duration of a sensation refers tothe time it lasts. This must not beconfused with the duration of thestimulus, which may be either longer or

shorter than the duration of the sensation.Every sensation must exist for somespace of time, long or short, or it wouldhave no part in consciousness.

3. SENSORY QUALITIES ANDTHEIR END-ORGANS

All are familiar with the "fivesenses" of our elementary physiologies,sight, hearing, taste, smell, and touch. Amore complete study of sensationreveals nearly three times this number,however. This is to say that the body isequipped with more than a dozendifferent kinds of end-organs, eachprepared to receive its own particular

type of stimulus. It must also beunderstood that some of the end-organsyield more than one sense. The eye, forexample, gives not only visual butmuscular sensations; the ear not onlyauditory, but tactual; the tongue not onlygustatory, but tactual and cold andwarmth sensations.

Sight.—Vision is a distance sense;we can see afar off. The stimulus ischemical in its action; this means that theether waves, on striking the retina, causea chemical change which sets up thenerve current responsible for thesensation.

The eye, whose general structure issufficiently described in all standardphysiologies, consists of a visualapparatus designed to bring the imagesof objects to a clear focus on the retinaat the fovea, or area of clearest vision,near the point of entrance of the opticnerve.

The sensation of sight coming fromthis retinal image unaided by othersensations gives us but two qualities,light and color. The eye can distinguishmany different grades of light frompurest white on through the various graysto densest black. The range is greaterstill in color. We speak of the sevencolors of the spectrum, violet, indigo,

blue, green, yellow, orange, and red. Butthis is not a very serviceableclassification, since the average eye candistinguish about 35,000 color effects. Itis also somewhat bewildering to findthat all these colors seem to be producedfrom the four fundamental hues, red,green, yellow, and blue, plus the varioustints. These four, combined in varyingproportions and with different degreesof light (i.e., different shades of gray),yield all the color effects known to thehuman eye. Herschel estimates that theworkers on the mosaics at Rome musthave distinguished 30,000 differentcolor tones. The hue of a color refers toits fundamental quality, as red or yellow;t h e chroma, to its saturation, or the

strength of the color; and the tint, to theamount of brightness (i.e., white) itcontains.

Hearing.—Hearing is also adistance sense. The action of its stimulusis mechanical, which is to say that thevibrations produced in the air by thesounding body are finally transmitted bythe mechanism of the middle ear to theinner ear. Here the impulse is conveyedthrough the liquid of the internal ear tothe nerve endings as so many tiny blows,which produce the nerve current carriedto the brain by the auditory nerve.

The sensation of hearing, like that of

sight, gives us two qualities: namely,tones with their accompanying pitch andtimbre, and noises. Tones, or musicalsounds, are produced by isochronous orequal-timed vibrations; thus C of thefirst octave is produced by 256vibrations a second, and if this tone isprolonged the vibration rate willcontinue uniformly the same. Noises, onthe other hand, are produced byvibrations which have no uniformity ofvibration rate. The ear's sensibility topitch extends over about seven octaves.The seven-octave piano goes down to27-1/2 vibrations and reaches up to3,500 vibrations. Notes of nearly 50,000vibrations can be heard by an averageear, however, though these are too

painfully shrill to be musical. Takinginto account this upper limit, the range ofthe ear is about eleven octaves. The ear,having given us loudness of tones, whichdepends on the amplitude of thevibrations, pitch, which depends on therapidity of the vibrations, and timbre, orquality, which depends on thecomplexity of the vibrations, has nofurther qualities of sound to reveal.

Taste.—The sense of taste islocated chiefly in the tongue, over thesurface of which are scattered manyminute taste-bulbs. These can be seen assmall red specks, most plentifullydistributed along the edges and at the tip

of the tongue. The substance tasted mustbe in solution, and come in contact withthe nerve endings. The action of thestimulus is chemical.

The sense of taste recognizes thefour qualities of sour, sweet, salt, andbitter. Many of the qualities which weimproperly call tastes are in reality acomplex of taste, smell, touch, andtemperature. Smell contributes solargely to the sense of taste that manyarticles of food become "tasteless" whenwe have a catarrh, and many nauseatingdoses of medicine can be taken withoutdiscomfort if the nose is held. Probablynone of us, if we are careful to excludeall odors by plugging the nostrils with

cotton, can by taste distinguish betweenscraped apple, potato, turnip, or beet, orcan tell hot milk from tea or coffee of thesame temperature.

Smell.—In the upper part of thenasal cavity lies a small brownish patchof mucous membrane. It is here that theolfactory nerve endings are located. Thesubstance smelled must be volatile, thatis, must exist in gaseous form, and comein direct contact with the nerve endings.Chemical action results in a nervecurrent.

The sensations of smell have notbeen classified so well as those of taste,

and we have no distinct names for them.Neither do we know how many olfactoryqualities the sense of smell is capable ofrevealing. The only definiteclassification of smell qualities is thatbased on their pleasantness or theopposite. We also borrow a few termsand speak of sweet or fragrant odorsand fresh or close smells. There is someevidence when we observe animals, oreven primitive men, that the human racehas been evolving greater sensibility tocertain odors, while at the same timethere has been a loss of keenness of whatwe call scent.

Various Sensations from the

Skin.—The skin, besides being aprotective and excretory organ, affords alodging-place for the end-organs givingus our sense of pressure, pain, cold,warmth, tickle, and itch. Pressure seemsto have for its end-organ the hair-bulbsof the skin; on hairless regions smallbulbs called the corpuscles of Meissnerserve this purpose. Pain is thought to bemediated by free nerve endings. Colddepends on end-organs called the bulbsof Krause; and warmth on the Ruffiniancorpuscles.

Cutaneous or skin sensation mayarise from either mechanicalstimulation, such as pressure, a blow, or

tickling, from thermal stimulation fromhot or cold objects, from electricalstimulation, or from the action of certainchemicals, such as acids and the like.Stimulated mechanically, the skin givesus but two sensation qualities, pressureand pain. Many of the qualities whichwe commonly ascribe to the skinsensations are really a complex ofcutaneous and muscular sensations.Contact is light pressure. Hardness andsoftness depend on the intensity of thepressure. Roughness and smoothnessarise from interrupted and continuouspressure, respectively, and requiremovement over the rough or smoothsurface. Touch depends on pressureaccompanied by the muscular sensations

involved in the movements connectedwith the act. Pain is clearly a differentsensation from pressure; but any of thecutaneous or muscular sensations may,by excessive stimulation, be made topass over into pain. All parts of the skinare sensitive to pressure and pain; butcertain parts, like the finger tips, and thetip of the tongue, are more highlysensitive than others. The skin variesalso in its sensitivity to heat and cold. Ifwe take a hot or a very cold pencil pointand pass it rather lightly and slowly overthe skin, it is easy to discover certainspots from which a sensation of warmthor of cold flashes out. In this way it ispossible to locate the end-organs oftemperature very accurately.

Fig. 17.--Diagram showing distributionof hot and cold spots on the back of thehand. C, cold spots; H, hot spots.Fig. 17.—Diagram showing distribution of hot and coldspots on the back of the hand. C, cold spots; H, hotspots.

The Kinæsthetic Senses.—Themuscles, tendons, and joints also giverise to perfectly definite sensations, butthey have not been named as have thesensations from most of the other end-organs . Weight is the most clearlymarked of these sensations. It is throughthe sensations connected withmovements of muscles, tendons, andjoints that we come to judge form, size,and distance.

The Organic Senses.—Finally, tothe sensations mentioned so far must beadded those which come from theinternal organs of the body. From thealimentary canal we get the sensations ofhunger, thirst, and nausea; from theheart, lungs, and organs of sex comenumerous well-defined but unnamedsensations which play an important partin making up the feeling-tone of ourdaily lives.

Thus we see that the senses may belooked upon as the sentries of the body,standing at the outposts where nature andourselves meet. They discover thequalities of the various objects with

which we come in contact and hand themover to the mind in the form ofsensations. And these sensations are theraw material out of which we begin toconstruct our material environment. Onlyas we are equipped with good organs ofsense, especially good eyes and ears,therefore, are we able to enter fully intothe wonderful world about us andreceive the stimuli necessary to ourthought and action.


1. Observe a schoolroom of childrenat work with the aim of discovering any

that show defects of vision or hearing.What are the symptoms? What is theeffect of inability to hear or see wellupon interest and attention?

2. Talk with your teacher abouttesting the eyes and ears of the childrenof some school. The simpler tests forvision and hearing are easily applied,and the expense for material almostnothing. What tests should be used?Does your school have the test card forvision?

3. Use a rotator or color tops formixing discs of white and black toproduce different shades of gray. Fix in

mind the gray made of half white andhalf black; three-fourths white and one-fourth black; one-fourth-white and three-fourths black.

4. In the same way mix the twocomplementaries yellow and blue toproduce a gray; mix red and green in thesame way. Try various combinations ofthe four fundamental colors, anddiscover how different colors areproduced. Seek for these same colors innature—sky, leaves, flowers, etc.

5. Take a large wire nail and push itthrough a cork so that it can be handledwithout touching the metal with the

fingers. Now cool it in ice or very coldwater, then dry it and move the pointslowly across the back of the hand. Doyou feel occasional thrills of cold as thepoint passes over a bulb of Krause?Heat the nail with a match flame or overa lamp, and perform the sameexperiment. Do you feel the thrills ofheat from the corpuscles of Ruffini?

6. Try stopping the nostrils withcotton and having someone give youscraped apple, potato, onion, etc., andsee whether, by taste alone, you candistinguish the difference. Why cannotsulphur be tasted?

CHAPTER VII

PERCEPTION

No young child at first sees objectsas we see them, or hears sounds as wehear them. This power, the power ofperception, is a gradual development. Itgrows day by day out of the learner'sexperience in his world of sights andsounds, and whatever other fields hissenses respond to.

1. THE FUNCTION OFPERCEPTION

Need of Knowing the MaterialWorld.—It is the business of perceptionto give us knowledge of our world ofmaterial objects and their relations inspace and time. The material worldwhich we enter through the gateways ofthe senses is more marvelous by far thanany fairy world created by the fancy ofstory-tellers; for it contains the elementsof all they have conceived and muchmore besides. It is more marvelous thanany structure planned and executed bythe mind of man; for all the wonders andbeauties of the Coliseum or of St. Peter'sexisted in nature before they werediscovered by the architect and throwntogether in those magnificent structures.The material advancement of civilization

has been but the discovery of theobjects, forces, and laws of nature, andtheir use in inventions serviceable tomen. And these forces and laws ofnature were discovered only as theywere made manifest through objects inthe material world.

The problem lying before eachindividual who would enter fully intothis rich world of environment, then, isto discover at first hand just as large apart of the material world about him aspossible. In the most humbleenvironment of the most uneventful lifeis to be found the material fordiscoveries and inventions yetundreamed of. Lying in the shade of an

apple tree under the open sky, Newtonread from a falling apple thefundamental principles of the law ofgravitation which has revolutionizedscience; sitting at a humble tea tableWatt watched the gurgling of the steamescaping from the kettle, and evolved thesteam engine therefrom; with his simplekite, Franklin drew down the lightningfrom the clouds, and started the scienceof electricity; through studying a ball, theancient scholars conceived the earth tobe a sphere, and Columbus discoveredAmerica.

The Problem Which Confronts theChild.—Well it is that the child, starting

his life's journey, cannot see themagnitude of the task before him. Castamid a world of objects of whose veryexistence he is ignorant, and whosemeaning and uses have to be learned byslow and often painful experience, heproceeds step by step through the sensesin his discovery of the objects abouthim. Yet, considered again, weourselves are after all but a step inadvance of the child. Though we aresomewhat more familiar with the use ofour senses than he, and know a few moreobjects about us, yet the knowledge ofthe wisest of us is at best pitifullymeager compared with the richness ofnature. So impossible is it for us toknow all our material environment, that

men have taken to becoming specialists.One man will spend his life in the studyof a certain variety of plants, while thereare hundreds of thousands of varietiesall about him; another will study aparticular kind of animal life, perhapstoo minute to be seen with the naked eye,while the world is teeming with animalforms which he has not time in his shortday of life to stop to examine; anotherwill study the land forms and read theearth's history from the rocks andgeological strata, but here again nature'svolume is so large that he has time toread but a small fraction of the whole.Another studies the human body andlearns to read from its expressions thesigns of health and sickness, and to

prescribe remedies for its ills; but in thisfield also he has found it necessary todivide the work, and so we havespecialists for almost every organ of thebody.

2. THE NATURE OF PERCEPTION

How a Percept is Formed.—How,then, do we proceed to the discovery ofthis world of objects? Let us watch thechild and learn the secret from him. Givethe babe a ball, and he applies everysense to it to discover its qualities. Hestares at it, he takes it in his hands andturns it over and around, he lifts it, hestrokes it, he punches it and jabs it, he

puts it to his mouth and bites it, he dropsit, he throws it and creeps after it. Heleaves no stone unturned to find out whatthat thing really is. By means of thequalities which come to him through theavenues of sense, he constructs theobject. And not only does he come toknow the ball as a material object, buthe comes to know also its uses. He isforming his own best definition of a ballin terms of the sensations which he getsfrom it and the uses to which he puts it,and all this even before he can name itor is able to recognize its name when hehears it. How much better his methodthan the one he will have to follow alittle later when he goes to school andlearns that "A ball is a spherical body of

any substance or size, used to play with,as by throwing, kicking, or knocking,etc.!"

The Percept Involves All Relationsof the Object.—Nor is the case in theleast different with ourselves. When wewish to learn about a new object ordiscover new facts about an old one, wedo precisely as the child does if we arewise. We apply to it every sense towhich it will afford a stimulus, andfinally arrive at the object through itsvarious qualities. And just in so far aswe have failed to use in connection withit every sense to which it can minister,just in that degree will we have an

incomplete perception of it. Indeed, justso far as we have failed finally toperceive it in terms of its functions oruses, in that far also have we failed toknow it completely. Tomatoes were formany years grown as ornamental gardenplants before it was discovered that thetomatoes could minister to the taste aswell as to the sight. The clothing ofcivilized man gives the same sensationof texture and color to the savage that itdoes to its owner, but he is so far fromperceiving it in the same way that hepacks it away and continues to go naked.The Orientals, who disdain the use ofchairs and prefer to sit cross-legged onthe floor, can never perceive a chair justas we do who use chairs daily, and to

whom chairs are so saturated with socialsuggestions and associations.

The Content of the Percept.—Thepercept, then, always contains a basis ofsensation. The eye, the ear, the skin orsome other sense organ must turn in itssupply of sensory material or there canbe no percept. But the percept containsmore than just sensations. Consider, forexample, your percept of an automobileflashing past your windows. You reallysee but very little of it, yet you perceiveit as a very familiar vehicle. All thatyour sense organs furnish is a more orless blurred patch of black of certainsize and contour, one or more objects of

somewhat different color whom youknow to be passengers, and varioussounds of a whizzing, chugging orroaring nature. Your former experiencewith automobiles enables you toassociate with these meager sensorydetails the upholstered seats, thewhirling wheels, the swaying movementand whatever else belongs to the fullmeaning of a motor car.

The percept that contained onlysensory material, and lacked all memoryelements, ideas and meanings, would beno percept at all. And this is the reasonwhy a young child cannot see or hearlike ourselves. It lacks the associativematerial to give significance and

meaning to the sensory elementssupplied by the end-organs. Thedependence of the percept on materialfrom past experience is also illustratedin the common statement that what onegets from an art exhibit or a concertdepends on what he brings to it. He whobrings no knowledge, no memory, noimages from other pictures or music willsecure but relatively barren percepts,consisting of little besides the meresensory elements. Truly, "to him thathath shall be given" in the realm ofperception.

The Accuracy of PerceptsDepends on Experience.—We must

perceive objects through our motorresponse to them as well as in terms ofsensations. The boy who has hisknowledge of a tennis racket fromlooking at one in a store window, orindeed from handling one and looking itover in his room, can never know atennis racket as does the boy who playswith it on the court. Objects get theirsignificance not alone from theirqualities, but even more from their useas related to our own activities.

Like the child, we must get ourknowledge of objects, if we are to get itwell, from the objects themselves at firsthand, and not second hand throughdescriptions of them by others. The fact

that there is so much of the materialworld about us that we can never hopeto learn it all, has made it necessary toput down in books many of the thingswhich have been discovered concerningnature. This necessity has, I fear, ledmany away from nature itself to books—away from the living reality of things tothe dead embalming cases of words, inwhose empty forms we see so little ofthe significance which resides in thethings themselves. We are in danger ofbeing satisfied with the forms ofknowledge without its substance—withdefinitions contained in words instead ofin qualities and uses.

Not Definitions, But First-handContact.—In like manner we come toknow distance, form and size. If we havenever become acquainted with a mile byactually walking a mile, running a mile,riding a bicycle a mile, driving a horse amile, or traveling a mile on a train, wemight listen for a long time to someonetell how far a mile is, or state thedistance from Chicago to Denver,without knowing much about it in anyway except word definitions. In order tounderstand a mile, we must come toknow it in as many ways as possiblethrough sense activities of our own.Although many children have learnedthat it is 25,000 miles around the earth,probably no one who has not encircled

the globe has any reasonably accuratenotion just how far this is. For wordscannot take the place of perceptions ingiving us knowledge. In the case ofshorter distances, the same rule holds.The eye must be assisted by experienceof the muscles and tendons and joints inactually covering distance, and learn toassociate these sensations with those ofthe eye before the eye alone can be ableto say, "That tree is ten rods distant."Form and size are to be learned in thesame way. The hands must actually touchand handle the object, experiencing itshardness or smoothness, the way thiscurve and that angle feels, the amount ofmuscular energy it takes to pass the handover this surface and along that line, the

eye taking note all the while, before theeye can tell at a glance that yonderobject is a sphere and that this surface istwo feet on the edge.

3. THE PERCEPTION OF SPACE

Many have been the philosophicalcontroversies over the nature of spaceand our perception of it. Thepsychologists have even quarreledconcerning whether we possess aninnate sense of space, or whether it is aproduct of experience and training.Fortunately, for our present purpose weshall not need to concern ourselves witheither of these controversies. For our

discussion we may accept space forwhat common sense understands it to be.As to our sense of space, whatever ofthis we may possess at birth, it certainlyhas to be developed by use andexperience to become of practical value.In the perception of space we must cometo perceive distance, direction, size,and form. As a matter of fact, however,size is but so much distance, and form isbut so much distance in this, that, or theother direction.

The Perceiving of Distance.—Unquestionably the eye comes to be ourchief dependence in determiningdistance. Yet the muscle and joint senses

give us our earliest knowledge ofdistance. The babe reaches for the moonsimply because the eye does not tell itthat the moon is out of reach. Only as thechild reaches for its playthings, creepsor walks after them, and in a thousandways uses its muscles and joints inmeasuring distance, does the perceptionof distance become dependable.

At the same time the eye is slowlydeveloping its power of judgingdistance. But not for several years doesvisual perception of distance become inany degree accurate. The eye'sperception of distance depends in parton the sensations arising from themuscles controlling the eye, probably in

part from the adjustment of the lens, andin part from the retinal image. If onetries to look at the tip of his nose heeasily feels the muscle strain caused bythe required angle of adjustment. Wecome unconsciously to associatedistance with the muscle sensationsarising from the different angles ofvision. The part played by the retinalimage in judging distance is easilyunderstood in looking at two trees, onethirty feet and the other three hundredfeet distant. We note that the nearer treeshows the detail of the bark and leaves,while the more distant one lacks thisdetail. The nearer tree also reflects morelight and color than the one fartheraway. These minute differences,

registered as they are on the retinalimage, come to stand for so much ofdistance.

The ear also learns to perceivedistance through differences in thequality and the intensity of sound.Auditory perception of distance is,however, never very accurate.

The Perceiving of Direction.—Themotor senses probably give us our firstperception of direction, as they do ofdistance. The child has to reach this wayor that way for his rattle; turn the eyes orhead so far in order to see an interestingobject; twist the body, crawl or walk to

one side or the other to secure his bottle.In these experiences he is gaining hisfirst knowledge of direction.

Along with these muscle-jointexperiences, the eye is also beingtrained. The position of the image on theretina comes to stand for direction, andthe eye finally develops so remarkable apower of perceiving direction that apicture hung a half inch out of plumb is asource of annoyance. The ear developssome skill in the perception of direction,but is less dependable than the eye.

4. THE PERCEPTION OF TIME

The philosophers and psychologistsagree little better about our sense of timethan they do about our sense of space. Ofthis much, however, we may be certain,our perception of time is subject todevelopment and training.

Nature of the Time Sense.—Howwe perceive time is not so wellunderstood as our perception of space. Itis evident, however, that our idea oftime is simpler than our idea of space—it has less of content, less that we candescribe. Probably the most fundamentalpart of our idea of time is progression,or change, without which it is difficult tothink of time at all. The question then

becomes, how do we perceive change,or succession?

If one looks in upon his thoughtstream he finds that the movement ofconsciousness is not uniformlycontinuous, but that his thought moves inpulses, or short rushes, so to speak.When we are seeking for some fact orconclusion, there is a moment ofexpectancy, or poising, and then the leapforward to the desired point, orconclusion, from which an immediatestart is taken for the next objective pointof our thinking. It is probable that oursense of the few seconds of passing timethat we call the immediate presentconsists of the recognition of the

succession of these pulsations ofconsciousness, together with certainorganic rhythms, such as heart beat andbreathing.

No Perception of Empty time.—Our perception does not therefore actupon empty time. Time must be filledwith a procession of events, whetherthese be within our own consciousnessor in the objective world without. Alllonger periods of time, such as hours,days, or years, are measured by theevents which they contain. Time filledwith happenings that interest and attractus seems short while passing, but longerwhen looked back upon. On the other

hand, time relatively empty of interestingexperience hangs heavy on our hands inpassing, but, viewed in retrospect,seems short. A fortnight of travel passesmore quickly than a fortnight of illness,but yields many more events for thememory to review as the "filling" fortime.

Probably no one has any veryaccurate feeling of the length, that is, theactual duration of a year—or even of amonth! We therefore divide time intoconvenient units, as weeks, months,years and centuries. This allows us tothink of time in mathematical termswhere immediate perception fails in itsgrasp.

5. THE TRAINING OFPERCEPTION

In the physical world as in thespiritual there are many people who,"having eyes, see not and ears, hear not."For the ability to perceive accuratelyand richly in the world of physicalobjects depends not alone on good senseorgans, but also on interest and the habito f observation. It is easy if we areindifferent or untrained to look at abeautiful landscape, a picture or acathedral without seeing it; it is easy ifwe lack interest or skill to listen to anorchestra or the myriad sounds of nature

without hearing them.

Perception Needs to BeTrained.—Training in perception doesnot depend entirely on the work of theschool. For the world about us exerts aconstant appeal to our senses. Athousand sights, sounds, contacts, tastes,smells or other sensations, hourly throngin upon us, and the appeal is irresistible.We must in some degree attend. We mustobserve.

Yet it cannot be denied that most ofus are relatively unskilled in perception;we do not know how, or take the troubleto observe. For example, a stranger was

brought into the classroom andintroduced by the instructor to a class offifty college students in psychology. Theclass thought the stranger was to addressthem, and looked at him with mildcuriosity. But, after standing before themfor a few moments, he suddenlywithdrew, as had been arranged by theinstructor. The class were then asked towrite such a description of the strangeras would enable a person who had neverseen him to identify him. But so poor hadbeen the observation of the class thatthey ascribed to him clothes of fourdifferent colors, eyes and hair each ofthree different colors, a tie of manydifferent hues, height ranging from fivefeet and four inches to over six feet, age

from twenty-eight to forty-five years,and many other details as wide of themark. Nor is it probable that thisparticular class was below the averagein the power of perception.

School Training in Perception.—The school can do much in training theperception. But to accomplish this, thechild must constantly be brought intoimmediate contact with the physicalworld about him and taught to observe.Books must not be substituted for things.Definitions must not take the place ofexperiment or discovery. Geography andnature study should be taught largely outof doors, and the lessons assigned

should take the child into the open forobservation and investigation. All thingsthat live and grow, the sky and clouds,the sunset colors, the brown of upturnedsoil, the smell of the clover field, or thenew mown hay, the sounds of a summernight, the distinguishing marks by whichto identify each family of common birdsor breed of cattle—these and a thousandother things that appeal to us from thesimplest environment afford a richopportunity for training the perception.And he who has learned to observe, andwho is alert to the appeal of nature, hasno small part of his education alreadyassured.


1. Test your power of observation bywalking rapidly past a well-filled storewindow and then seeing how many ofthe objects you can name.

2. Suppose a tailor, a bootblack, aphysician, and a detective are standingon the street corner as you pass by. Whatwill each one be most likely to observeabout you? Why?

3. Observe carefully green trees at adistance of a few rods; a quarter of amile; a mile; several miles. Describe

differences (1) in color, (2) inbrightness, or light, and (3) in detail.

4. How many common birds can youidentify? How many kinds of trees? Ofwild flowers? Of weeds?

5. Observe the work of anelementary school for the purpose ofdetermining:

a. Whether the instruction ingeography, nature study, agriculture, etc.,calls for the use of the eyes, ears andfingers.

b. Whether definitions are used inplace of first-hand information in anysubjects.

c. Whether the assignment of lessonsto pupils includes work that wouldrequire the use of the senses, especiallyout of doors.

d. Whether the work offered inarithmetic demands the use of the sensesas well as the reason.

e. Whether the language lessonsmake use of the power of observation.

CHAPTER VIII

MENTAL IMAGES ANDIDEAS

As you sit thinking, a company ofyou together, your thoughts run in manydiverse lines. Yet with all this diversity,your minds possess this commoncharacteristic: Though your thinking alltakes place in what we call the presentmoment, it goes on largely in terms ofpast experiences.

1. THE PART PLAYED BY PASTEXPERIENCE

Present Thinking Depends on PastExperience.—Images or ideas of thingsyou have seen or heard or felt; of thingsyou have thought of before and whichnow recur to you; of things youremember, such as names, dates, places,events; of things that you do notremember as a part of your past at all,but that belong to it nevertheless—theseare the things which form a large part ofyour mental stream, and which givecontent to your thinking. You may thinkof a thing that is going on now, or of onethat is to occur in the future; but, afterall, you are dependent on your pastexperience for the material which youput into your thinking of the present

moment.

Indeed, nothing can enter yourpresent thinking which does not linkitself to something in your pastexperience. The savage Indian in theprimeval forest never thought aboutkilling a deer with a rifle merely bypulling a trigger, or of turning a batteryof machine guns on his enemies toannihilate them—none of these thingswere related to his past experience;hence he could not think in such terms.

The Present Interpreted by thePast.—Not only can we not think at allexcept in terms of our past experience,

but even if we could, the present wouldbe meaningless to us; for the present isinterpreted in the light of the past. Thesedate man of affairs who decriesathletic sports, and has never taken partin them, cannot understand the wildenthusiasm which prevails between rivalteams in a hotly contested event. Thefine work of art is to the one who hasnever experienced the appeal whichcomes through beauty, only so much ofcanvas and variegated patches of color.Paul says that Jesus was "unto theGreeks, foolishness." He wasfoolishness to them because nothing intheir experience with their own gods hadbeen enough like the character of Jesusto enable them to interpret Him.

The Future Also Depends on thePast.—To the mind incapable of usingpast experience, the future also would beimpossible; for we can look forwardinto the future only by placing in itsexperiences the elements of which wehave already known. The savage whohas never seen the shining yellow metaldoes not dream of a heaven whosestreets are paved with gold, but rather ofa "happy hunting ground." If you willanalyze your own dreams of the futureyou will see in them familiar picturesperhaps grouped together in new forms,but coming, in their elements, from yourpast experience nevertheless. All that

would remain to a mind devoid of a pastwould be the little bridge of time whichwe call the "present moment," a series ofunconnected nows. Thought would beimpossible, for the mind would havenothing to compare and relate.Personality would not exist; forpersonality requires continuity ofexperience, else we should be a newperson each succeeding moment, withoutmemory and without plans. Such a mindwould be no mind at all.

Rank Determined by Ability toUtilize Past Experience.—Soimportant is past experience indetermining our present thinking and

guiding our future actions, that the placeof an individual in the scale of creationis determined largely by the ability toprofit by past experience. The scientisttells us of many species of animals nowextinct, which lost their lives andsuffered their race to die out becausewhen, long ago, the climate began tochange and grow much colder, they wereunable to use the experience of sufferingin the last cold season as an incentive toprovide shelter, or move to a warmerclimate against the coming of the nextand more rigorous one. Man was able tomake the adjustment; and, providinghimself with clothing and shelter andfood, he survived, while myriads of thelower forms perished.

The singed moth again and againdares the flame which tortures it, and atlast gives its life, a sacrifice to its folly;the burned child fears the fire, and doesnot the second time seek the experience.So also can the efficiency of anindividual or a nation, as compared withother individuals or nations, bedetermined. The inefficient are thosewho repeat the same error or useless actover and over, or else fail to repeat achance useful act whose repetition mightlead to success. They are unable to learntheir lesson and be guided byexperience. Their past does notsufficiently minister to their present, andthrough it direct their future.

2. HOW PAST EXPERIENCE ISCONSERVED

Past Experience Conserved inBoth Mental and Physical Terms.—Ifpast experience plays so important a partin our welfare, how, then, is it to beconserved so that we may secure itsbenefits? Here, as elsewhere, we findthe mind and body working in perfectunison and harmony, each doing its partto further the interests of both. Theresults of our past experience may beread in both our mental and our physicalnature.

On the physical side past experienceis recorded in modified structure throughthe law of habit working on the tissuesof the body, and particularly on thedelicate tissues of the brain and nervoussystem. This is easily seen in its outwardaspects. The stooped shoulders and bentform of the workman tell a tale ofphysical toil and exposure; the bloodlesslips and pale face of the victim of thecity sweat shop tell of foul air, longhours, and insufficient food; the rosycheek and bounding step of childhoodspeak of fresh air, good food and happyplay.

On the mental side past experience isconserved chiefly by means of images,

ideas, and concepts. The nature andfunction of concepts will be discussed ina later chapter. It will now be ourpurpose to examine the nature of imagesand ideas, and to note the part they playin the mind's activities.

The Image and the Idea.—Tounderstand the nature of the image, andthen of the idea, we may best go back tothe percept. You look at a watch which Ihold before your eyes and secure apercept of it. Briefly, this is whathappens: The light reflected from theyellow object, on striking the retina,results in a nerve current which sets up acertain form of activity in the cells of the

visual brain area, and lo! a percept ofthe watch flashes in your mind.

Now I put the watch in my pocket, sothat the stimulus is no longer present toyour eye. Then I ask you to think of mywatch just as it appeared as you werelooking at it; or you may yourself chooseto think of it without my suggesting it toyou. In either case the cellular activityin the visual area of the cortex isreproduced approximately as itoccurred in connection with the percept,and lo! an image of the watch flashes inyour mind. An image is thus anapproximate copy of a former percept(or several percepts). It is arousedindirectly by means of a nerve current

coming by way of some other braincenter, instead of directly by thestimulation of a sense organ, as in thecase of a percept.

If, instead of seeking a more or lessexact mental picture of my watch, youonly think of its general meaning andrelations, the fact that it is of gold, that itis for the purpose of keeping time, that itwas a present to me, that I wear it in myleft pocket, you then have an idea of thewatch. Our idea of an object is,therefore, the general meaning ofrelations we ascribe to it. It should beremembered, however, that the termsimage and idea are employed rather

loosely, and that there is not yet generaluniformity among writers in their use.

All Our Past ExperiencePotentially at Our Command.—Imagesmay in a certain sense take the place ofpercepts, and we can again experiencesights, sounds, tastes, and smells whichwe have known before, without havingthe stimuli actually present to the senses.In this way all our past experience ispotentially available to the present. Allthe objects we have seen, it ispotentially possible again to see in themind's eye without being obliged to havethe objects before us; all the sounds wehave heard, all the tastes and smells and

temperatures we have experienced, wemay again have presented to our mindsin the form of mental images without thevarious stimuli being present to the end-organs of the senses.

Through images and ideas the totalnumber of objects in our experience isinfinitely multiplied; for many of thethings we have seen, or heard, orsmelled, or tasted, we cannot again havepresent to the senses, and without thispower we would never get them again.And besides this fact, it would beinconvenient to have to go and secureafresh each sensation or percept everytime we need to use it in our thought.While habit, then, conserves our past

experience on the physical side, theimage and the idea do the same thing onthe mental side.

3. INDIVIDUAL DIFFERENCES INIMAGERY

Images to Be Viewed byIntrospection.—The remainder of thedescription of images will be easier tounderstand, for each of you can knowjust what is meant in every case byappealing to your own mind. I beg of younot to think that I am presentingsomething new and strange, a curiosityconnected with our thinking which hasbeen discovered by scholars who have

delved more deeply into the matter thanwe can hope to do. Every day—no, morethan that, every hour and every moment—these images are flitting through ourminds, forming a large part of our streamof consciousness. Let us see whether wecan turn our attention within anddiscover some of our images in theirflight. Let us introspect.

I know of no better way to proceedthan that adopted by Francis Galtonyears ago, when he asked the Englishmen of letters and science to think oftheir breakfast tables, and then describethe images which appeared. I am aboutto ask each one of you to do the samething, but I want to warn you beforehand

that the images will not be so vivid asthe sensory experiences themselves.They will be much fainter and morevague, and less clear and definite; theywill be fleeting, and must be caught onthe wing. Often the image may fadeentirely out, and the idea only be left.

The Varied Imagery Suggested byOne's Dining Table.—Let each onenow recall the dining table as you lastleft it, and then answer questionsconcerning it like the following:

Can I see clearly in my "mind's eye"the whole table as it stood spread beforeme? Can I see all parts of it equally

clearly? Do I get the snowy white andgloss of the linen? The delicate coloringof the china, so that I can see where thepink shades off into the white? Thegraceful lines and curves of the dishes?The sheen of the silver? The brown ofthe toast? The yellow of the cream? Therich red and dark green of the bouquet ofroses? The sparkle of the glassware?

Can I again hear the rattle of thedishes? The clink of the spoon againstthe cup? The moving up of the chairs?The chatter of the voices, each with itsown peculiar pitch and quality? Thetwitter of a bird outside the window?The tinkle of a distant bell? The chirp ofa neighborly cricket?

Can I taste clearly the milk? Thecoffee? The eggs? The bacon? Therolls? The butter? The jelly? The fruit?Can I get the appetizing odor of thecoffee? Of the meat? The oranges andbananas? The perfume of the lilac bushoutside the door? The perfume from ahandkerchief newly treated to a spray ofheliotrope?

Can I recall the touch of my fingerson the velvety peach? On the smoothskin of an apple? On the frettedglassware? The feel of the fresh linen?The contact of leather-covered or cane-seated chair? Of the freshly donned

garment? Can I get clearly thetemperature of the hot coffee in themouth? Of the hot dish on the hand? Ofthe ice water? Of the grateful coolnessof the breeze wafted in through the openwindow?

Can I feel again the strain of muscleand joint in passing the heavy dish? CanI feel the movement of the jaws inchewing the beefsteak? Of the throat andlips in talking? Of the chest anddiaphragm in laughing? Of the musclesin sitting and rising? In hand and arm inusing knife and fork and spoon? Can Iget again the sensation of pain whichaccompanied biting on a tender tooth?From the shooting of a drop of acid from

the rind of the orange into the eye? Thechance ache in the head? The pleasantfeeling connected with the exhilarationof a beautiful morning? The feeling ofperfect health? The pleasure connectedwith partaking of a favorite food?

Power of Imagery Varies inDifferent People.—It is more thanprobable that some of you cannot getperfectly clear images in all these lines,certainly not with equal facility; for theimagery from any one sense variesgreatly from person to person. Acelebrated painter was able, afterplacing his subject in a chair and lookingat him attentively for a few minutes, to

dismiss the subject and paint a perfectlikeness of him from the visual imagewhich recurred to the artist every timehe turned his eyes to the chair where thesitter had been placed. On the otherhand, a young lady, a student in mypsychology class, tells me that she isnever able to recall the looks of hermother when she is absent, even if theseparation has been only for a fewmoments. She can get an image of theform, with the color and cut of the dress,but never the features. One person maybe able to recall a large part of a concertthrough his auditory imagery, andanother almost none.

In general it may be said that the

power, or at least the use, of imagerydecreases with age. The writer has madea somewhat extensive study of theimagery of certain high-school students,college students, and specialists inpsychology averaging middle age.Almost without exception it was foundthat clear and vivid images played asmaller part in the thinking of the oldergroup than of the younger. More or lessabstract ideas and concepts seemed tohave taken the place of the concreteimagery of earlier years.

Imagery Types.—Although there issome difference in our ability to useimagery of different sensory types,

probably there is less variation here thanhas been supposed. Earlier pedagogicalworks spoke of the visual type of mind,or the audile type, or the motor type, asif the possession of one kind of imagerynecessarily rendered a person short inother types. Later studies have shownthis view incorrect, however. Theperson who has good images of one typeis likely to excel in all types, while onewho is lacking in any one of the moreimportant types will probably be foundshort in all.[4] Most of us probably makemore use of visual and auditory than ofother kinds of imagery, while olfactoryand gustatory images seem to play aminor rôle.

4. THE FUNCTION OF IMAGES

Binet says that the man who has notevery type of imagery almost equallywell developed is only the fraction of aman. While this no doubt puts the mattertoo strongly, yet images do play animportant part in our thinking.

Images Supply Material forImagination and Memory.—Imagerysupplies the pictures from whichimagination builds its structures. Given arich supply of images from the varioussenses, and imagination has the materialnecessary to construct times and eventslong since past, or to fill the future with

plans or experiences not yet reached.Lacking images, however, imagination ishandicapped, and its meager productsreveal in their barrenness and their lackof warmth and reality the poverty ofmaterial.

Much of our memory also takes theform of images. The face of a friend, thesound of a voice, or the touch of a handmay be recalled, not as a mere fact, butwith almost the freshness and fidelity ofa percept. That much of our memorygoes on in the form of ideas instead ofimages is true. But memory is often bothaided in its accuracy and rendered morevital and significant through the presenceof abundant imagery.

Imagery in the ThoughtProcesses.—Since logical thinkingdeals more with relations and meaningsthan with particular objects, imagesnaturally play a smaller part in reasoningthan in memory and imagination. Yetthey have their place here as well.Students of geometry or trigonometryoften have difficulty in understanding atheorem until they succeed in visualizingthe surface or solid involved. Thinkingin the field of astronomy, mechanics, andmany other sciences is assisted at certainpoints by the ability to form clear andaccurate images.

The Use of Imagery inLiterature.—Facility in the use ofimagery undoubtedly adds much to ourenjoyment and appreciation of certainforms of literature. The great writerscommonly use all types of images intheir description and narration. If we arenot able to employ the images they used,many of their most beautiful pictures arelikely to be to us but so many wordssuggesting prosaic ideas.

Shakespeare, describing certainbeautiful music, appeals to the sense ofsmell to make himself understood:

... it came o'er my ear like the

sweet soundThat breathes upon a bank ofviolets,Stealing and giving odor!

Lady Macbeth cries:

Here's the smell of the bloodstill:All the perfumes of Arabia will notsweeten this little hand.

Milton has Eve say of her dream ofthe fatal apple:

... The pleasant sav'ry smell

... The pleasant sav'ry smellSo quickened appetite, that I,methought,Could not but taste.

Likewise with the sense of touch:

... I take thy hand, this handAs soft as dove's down, and aswhite as it.

Imagine a person devoid of delicatetactile imagery, with senseless fingertips and leaden footsteps, undertaking tointerpret these exquisite lines:

Thus I set my printless feet

Thus I set my printless feetO'er the cowslip's velvet head,That bends not as I tread.

Shakespeare thus appeals to themuscular imagery:

At last, a little shaking of minearmAnd thrice his head thus waving upand down,He raised a sigh so piteous andprofoundAs it did seem to shatter all hisbulkAnd end his being.

Many passages like the followingappeal to the temperature images:

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,Thou dost not bite so nighAs benefits forgot!

To one whose auditory imagery ismeager, the following lines will losesomething of their beauty:

How sweet the moonlightsleeps upon this bank!Here we will sit and let the soundsof musicCreep in our ears; soft stillness and

the nightBecome the touches of sweetharmony.

Note how much clear images willadd to Browning's words:

Are there not two moments inthe adventure of a diver—one whena beggar he prepares to plunge, andone, when a prince he rises with hispearl?

Points Where Images Are ofGreatest Service.—Beyond question,many images come flooding into our

minds which are irrelevant and of noservice in our thinking. No one hasfailed to note many such. Further, weundoubtedly do much of our best thinkingwith few or no images present. Yet weneed images. Where, then, are they mostneeded? Images are needed whereverthe percepts which they representwould be of service. Whatever onecould better understand or enjoy orappreciate by seeing it, hearing it, orperceiving it through some other sense,he can better understand, enjoy orappreciate through images than by meansof ideas only.

5. THE CULTIVATION OF

IMAGERY

Images Depend on SensoryStimuli.—The power of imaging can becultivated the same as any other ability.

In the first place, we may put downas an absolute requisite such anenvironment of sensory stimuli as willtempt every sense to be awake and atits best, that we may be led into a largeacquaintance with the objects of ourmaterial environment. No one's stock ofsensory images is greater than the sumtotal of his sensory experiences. No oneever has images of sights, or sounds, ortastes, or smells which he has never

experienced.

Likewise, he must have had thefullest and freest possible liberty inmotor activities. For not only is themotor act itself made possible throughthe office of imagery, but the motor actclarifies and makes useful the images.The boy who has actually made a table,or a desk, or a box has ever afterward adifferent and a better image of one ofthese objects than before; so also whenhe has owned and ridden a bicycle, hisimage of this machine will have adifferent significance from that of theimage founded upon the visualperception alone of the wheel helongingly looked at through the store

window or in the other boy's dooryard.

The Influence of FrequentRecall.—But sensory experiences andmotor responses alone are not enough,though they are the basis of goodimagery. There must be frequent recall.The sunset may have been never sobrilliant, and the music never soentrancing; but if they are never thoughtof and dwelt upon after they were firstexperienced, little will remain of themafter a very short time. It is by repeatingthem often in experience through imagerythat they become fixed, so that they standready to do our bidding when we neednext to use them.

The Reconstruction of OurImages.—To richness of experience andfrequency of the recall of our images wemust add one more factor; namely, thatof their reconstruction or working over.Few if any images are exact recalls offormer percepts of objects. Indeed, suchwould be neither possible nor desirable.The images which we recall are recalledfor a purpose, or in view of some futureactivity, and hence must be selective, ormade up of the elements of several ormany former related images.

Thus the boy who wishes toconstruct a box without a pattern to

follow recalls the images of numerousboxes he may have seen, and from themall he has a new image made over frommany former percepts and images, andthis new image serves him as a workingmodel. In this way he not only gets acopy which he can follow to make hisbox, but he also secures a new productin the form of an image different fromany he ever had before, and is thereforeby so much the richer. It is this workingover of our stock of old images into newand richer and more suggestive ones thatconstitutes the essence of constructiveimagination.

The more types of imagery intowhich we can put our thought, the more

fully is it ours and the better our images.The spelling lesson needs not only to betaken in through the eye, that we mayretain a visual image of the words, butalso to be recited orally, so that the earmay furnish an auditory image, and theorgans of speech a motor image of thecorrect forms. It needs also to bewritten, and thus given into the keepingof the hand, which finally needs most ofall to know and retain it.

The reading lesson should be takenin through both the eye and the ear, andthen expressed by means of voice andgesture in as full and complete a way aspossible, that it may be associated with

motor images. The geography lessonneeds not only to be read, but to bedrawn, or molded, or constructed. Thehistory lesson should be made to appealto every possible form of imagery. Thearithmetic lesson must be not onlycomputed, but measured, weighed, andpressed into actual service.

Thus we might carry the illustrationinto every line of education andexperience, and the same truth holds.What we desire to comprehendcompletely and retain well, we mustapprehend through all available sensesand conserve in every possible type ofimage and form of expression.

6. PROBLEMS ININTROSPECTION AND

OBSERVATION

1. Observe a reading class and try todetermine whether the pupils picture thescenes and events they read about. Howcan you tell?

2. Similarly observe a history class.Do the pupils realize the events asactually happening, and the personagesas real, living people?

3. Observe in a similar way a classin geography, and draw conclusions. Apupil in computing the cost of plastering

a certain room based the figures on theroom filled full of plaster. How mightvisual imagery have saved the error?

4. Imagine a three-inch cube. Paint it.Then saw it up into inch cubes, leavingthem all standing in the original form.How many inch cubes have paint onthree faces? How many on two faces?How many on one face? How many haveno paint on them? Answer all thesequestions by referring to your imageryalone.

5. Try often to recall images in thevarious sensory lines; determine in whatclasses of images you are least

proficient and try to improve in theselines.

6. How is the singing teacher able,after his class has sung through severalscores, to tell that they are flatting?

7. Study your imagery carefully for afew days to see whether you candiscover your predominating type ofimagery.

CHAPTER IX

IMAGINATION

Everyone desires to have a goodimagination, yet not all would agree asto what constitutes a good imagination. IfI were to ask a group of you whether youhave good imaginations, many of youwould probably at once fall toconsidering whether you are capable oftaking wild flights into impossiblerealms of thought and evolvingunrealities out of airy nothings. Youwould compare yourself with greatimaginative writers, such as Stevenson,Poe, De Quincey, and judge your power

of imagination by your ability to producesuch tales as made them famous.

1. THE PLACE OF IMAGINATIONIN MENTAL ECONOMY

But such a measure for theimagination as that just stated is far toonarrow. A good imagination, like a goodmemory, is the one which serves itsowner best. If DeQuincey and Poe andStevenson and Bulwer found the typewhich led them into such dizzy flights thebest for their particular purpose, welland good; but that is not saying that theirtype is the best for you, or that you maynot rank as high in some other field of

imaginative power as they in theirs.While you may lack in their particulartype of imagination, they may have beenshort in the type which will one daymake you famous. The artisan, thearchitect, the merchant, the artist, thefarmer, the teacher, the professional man—all need imagination in their vocationsnot less than the writers need it in theirs,but each needs a specialized kindadapted to the particular work which hehas to do.

Practical Nature of Imagination.—Imagination is not a process of thoughtwhich must deal chiefly with unrealitiesand impossibilities, and which has for

its chief end our amusement when wehave nothing better to do than to followits wanderings. It is, rather, acommonplace, necessary process whichillumines the way for our everydaythinking and acting—a process withoutwhich we think and act by haphazardchance or blind imitation. It is theprocess by which the images from ourpast experiences are marshaled, andmade to serve our present. Imaginationlooks into the future and constructs ourpatterns and lays our plans. It sets up ourideals and pictures us in the acts ofachieving them. It enables us to live ourjoys and our sorrows, our victories andour defeats before we reach them. Itlooks into the past and allows us to live

with the kings and seers of old, or itgoes back to the beginning and we seethings in the process of the making. Itcomes into our present and plays a partin every act from the simplest to the mostcomplex. It is to the mental stream whatthe light is to the traveler who carries itas he passes through the darkness, whileit casts its beams in all directions aroundhim, lighting up what otherwise wouldbe intolerable gloom.

Imagination in the Interpretationof History, Literature, and Art.—Letus see some of the most common uses ofthe imagination. Suppose I describe toyou the battle of the Marne. Unless you

can take the images which my wordssuggest and build them into struggling,shouting, bleeding soldiers; into fortsand entanglements and breastworks; intoroaring cannon and whistling bullet andscreaming shell—unless you can take allthese separate images and out of themget one great unified complex, then mydescription will be to you only so manywords largely without content, and youwill lack the power to comprehend thehistorical event in any complete way.Unless you can read the poem, and out ofthe images suggested by the wordsreconstruct the picture which was in themind of the author as he wrote "TheVillage Blacksmith" or "Snowbound,"the significance will have dropped out,

and the throbbing scenes of life andaction become only so many deadwords, like the shell of the chrysalisafter the butterfly has left its shroud.Without the power of imagination, thehistory of Washington's winter at ValleyForge becomes a mere formal recital,and you can never get a view of thesnow-covered tents, the wind-sweptlandscape, the tracks in the snow markedby the telltale drops of blood, or theform of the heartbroken commander ashe kneels in the silent wood to pray forhis army. Without the power to constructthis picture as you read, you may committhe words, and be able to recite them,and to pass examination upon them, butthe living reality of it will forever

escape you.

Your power of imaginationdetermines your ability to interpretliterature of all kinds; for theinterpretation of literature is nothing,after all, but the reconstruction on ourpart of the pictures with their meaningswhich were in the mind of the writer ashe penned the words, and theexperiencing of the emotions whichmoved him as he wrote. Small useindeed to read the history of thecenturies unless we can see in it living,acting people, and real events occurringin actual environments. Small use toread the world's great books unless theircharacters are to us real men and women

—our brothers and sisters, interpreted tous by the master minds of the ages.Anything less than this, and we are nolonger dealing with literature, but withwords—like musical sounds which dealwith no theme, or like picture frames inwhich no picture has been set. Nor is thecase different in listening to a speaker.His words are to you only so manysensations of sounds of such and suchpitches and intensities and quality,unless your mind keeps pace with hisand continually builds the pictures whichfill his thought as he speaks. Lackingimagination, the sculptures of MichaelAngelo and the pictures of Raphael areto you so many pieces of curiouslyshaped marble and ingeniously colored

canvas. What the sculptor and the painterhave placed before you must suggest toyou images and thoughts from your ownexperience, to fill out and make alive themarble and the canvas, else to you theyare dead.

Imagination and Science.—Nor isimagination less necessary in other linesof study. Without this power of buildingliving, moving pictures out of images,there is small use to study sciencebeyond what is immediately present toour senses; for some of the mostfundamental laws of science rest uponconceptions which can be grasped onlyas we have the power of imagination.

The student who cannot get a picture ofthe molecules of matter, infinitely closeto each other and yet never touching, allin vibratory motion, yet each within itsown orbit, each a complete unit in itself,yet capable of still further division intosmaller particles,—the student whocannot see all this in a clear visualimage can never at best have more than amost hazy notion of the theory of matter.And this means, finally, that theexplanations of light and heat and sound,and much besides, will be to him largelya jumble of words which linger in hismemory, perchance, but which nevervitally become a possession of his mind.

So with the world of the telescope.

You may have at your disposal all themagnificent lenses and the accuratemachinery owned by modernobservatories; but if you have not withinyourself the power to build what thesereveal to you, and what the books tellyou, into the solar system and still largersystems, you can never study astronomyexcept in a blind and piecemeal sort ofway, and all the planets and satellitesand suns will never for you formthemselves into a system, no matter whatthe books may say about it.

Everyday Uses of Imagination.—But we may consider a still morepractical phase of imagination, or at

least one which has more to do with thehumdrum daily life of most of us.Suppose you go to your milliner and tellher how you want your spring hat shapedand trimmed. And suppose you havenever been able to see this hat in toto inyour mind, so as to get an idea of how itwill look when completed, but have onlya general notion, because you like redvelvet, white plumes, and a turned-uprim, that this combination will look welltogether. Suppose you have never beenable to see how you would look in thisparticular hat with your hair done in thisor that way. If you are in this helplessstate shall you not have to depend finallyon the taste of the milliner, or accept the"model," and so fail to reveal any taste

or individuality on your own part?

How many times have you beendisappointed in some article of dress,because when you planned it you wereunable to see it all at once so as to getthe full effect; or else you could not seeyourself in it, and so be able to judgewhether it suited you! How many homeshave in them draperies and rugs andwall paper and furniture which are inconstant quarrel because someone couldnot see before they were assembled thatthey were never intended to keepcompany! How many people who plantheir own houses, would build them justthe same again after seeing themcompleted? The man who can see a

building complete before a brick hasbeen laid or a timber put in place, whocan see it not only in its details one byone as he runs them over in his mind, butcan see the building in its entirety, is theonly one who is safe to plan thestructure. And this is the man who isdrawing a large salary as an architect,for imaginations of this kind are indemand. Only the one who can see in his"mind's eye," before it is begun, the thinghe would create, is capable to plan itsconstruction. And who will say thatability to work with images of thesekinds is not of just as high a type as thatwhich results in the construction of plotsupon which stories are built!

The Building of Ideals and Plans.—Nor is the part of imagination lessmarked in the formation of our life'sideals and plans. Everyone who is notliving blindly and aimlessly must havesome ideal, some pattern, by which tosquare his life and guide his actions. Atsome time in our life I am sure that eachof us has selected the person who filledmost nearly our notion of what weshould like to become, and measuredourselves by this pattern. But therecomes a time when we must idealizeeven the most perfect individual; whenwe invest the character with attributeswhich we have selected from some otherperson, and thus worship at a shrinewhich is partly real and partly ideal.

As time goes on, we drop out moreand more of the strictly individualelement, adding correspondingly more ofthe ideal, until our pattern is largely aconstruction of our own imagination,having in it the best we have been ableto glean from the many characters wehave known. How large a part theseever-changing ideals play in our liveswe shall never know, but certainly thepart is not an insignificant one. Andhappy the youth who is able to look intothe future and see himself approximatingsome worthy ideal. He has caught avision which will never allow him to lagor falter in the pursuit of the flying goalwhich points the direction of his efforts.

Imagination and Conduct.—Another great field for imagination iswith reference to conduct and ourrelations with others. Over and overagain the thoughtless person has to say,"I am sorry; I did not think." The "did notthink" simply means that he failed torealize through his imagination whatwould be the consequences of his rashor unkind words. He would not beunkind, but he did not imagine how theother would feel; he did not put himselfin the other's place. Likewise withreference to the effects of our conduct onourselves. What youth, taking his firstdrink of liquor, would continue if he

could see a clear picture of himself inthe gutter with bloated face andbloodshot eyes a decade hence? Or whatboy, slyly smoking one of his earlycigarettes, would proceed if he couldsee his haggard face and nerveless handa few years farther along? Whatspendthrift would throw away his moneyon vanities could he vividly see himselfin penury and want in old age? Whatprodigal anywhere who, if he could takea good look at himself sin-stained andbroken as he returns to his "father'shouse" after the years of debauchery inthe "far country" would not hesitate longbefore he entered upon his downwardcareer?

Imagination and Thinking.—Wehave already considered the use ofimagination in interpreting the thoughts,feelings and handiwork of others. Let usnow look a little more closely into thepart it plays in our own thinking.Suppose that, instead of reading a poem,we are writing one; instead of listeningto a description of a battle, we aredescribing it; instead of looking at thepicture, we are painting it. Then ourobject is to make others who may readour language, or listen to our words, orview our handiwork, construct themental images of the situation whichfurnished the material for our thought.

Our words and other modes ofexpression are but the description of theflow of images in our minds, and ourproblem is to make a similar streamflow through the mind of the listener; butstrange indeed would it be to makeothers see a situation which weourselves cannot see; strange if wecould draw a picture without being ableto follow its outlines as we draw. Orsuppose we are teaching science, andour object is to explain the compositionof matter to someone, and make himunderstand how light, heat, etc., dependon the theory of matter; strange if thelistener should get a picture if weourselves are unable to get it. Or, oncemore, suppose we are to describe some

incident, and our aim is to make itsevery detail stand out so clearly that noone can miss a single one. Is it notevident that we can never make any ofthese images more clear to those wholisten to us or read our words than theyare to ourselves?

2. THE MATERIAL USED BYIMAGINATION

What is the material, the mentalcontent, out of which imagination buildsits structures?

Images the Stuff of Imagination.—

Nothing can enter the imagination theelements of which have not been in ourpast experience and then been conservedin the form of images. The Indians neverdreamed of a heaven whose streets arepaved with gold, and in whose centerstands a great white throne. Theirexperience had given them noknowledge of these things; and so,perforce, they must build their heavenout of the images which they had atcommand, namely, those connected withthe chase and the forest. So their heavenwas the "happy hunting ground,"inhabited by game and enemies overwhom the blessed forever triumphed.Likewise the valiant soldiers whosedeadly arrows and keen-edged swords

and battle-axes won on the bloody fieldof Hastings, did not picture a far-off daywhen the opposing lines should kill eachother with mighty engines hurling deathfrom behind parapets a dozen milesaway. Firearms and the explosivepowder were yet unknown, hence therewere no images out of which to buildsuch a picture.

I do not mean that your imaginationcannot construct an object which hasnever before been in your experience asa whole, for the work of the imaginationis to do precisely this thing. It takes thevarious images at its disposal and buildsthem into wholes which may never haveexisted before, and which may exist now

only as a creation of the mind. And yetwe have put into this new product not asingle element which was not familiar tous in the form of an image of one kind oranother. It is the form which is new; thematerial is old. This is exemplifiedevery time an inventor takes the twofundamental parts of a machine, the leverand the inclined plane, and puts themtogether in relations new to each otherand so evolves a machine whosecomplexity fairly bewilders us. Andwith other lines of thinking, as inmechanics, inventive power consists inbeing able to see the old in newrelations, and so constantly build newconstructions out of old material. It isthis power which gives us the daring and

original thinker, the Newton whosefalling apple suggested to him theplanets falling toward the sun in theirorbits; the Darwin who out of the thighbone of an animal was able to constructin his imagination the whole animal andthe environment in which it must havelived, and so add another page to theearth's history.

The Two Factors in Imagination.—From the simple facts which we havejust been considering, the conclusion isplain that our power of imaginationdepends on two factors; namely, (1) thematerials available in the form ofusable images capable of recall, and

( 2 ) our constructive ability, or thepower to group these images into newwholes, the process being guided bysome purpose or end. Without this lastprovision, the products of ourimagination are daydreams with their"castles in Spain," which may bepleasing and proper enough onoccasions, but which as an habitualmode of thought are extremelydangerous.

Imagination Limited by Stock ofImages.—That the mind is limited in itsimagination by its stock of images maybe seen from a simple illustration:Suppose that you own a building made

of brick, but that you find the old one nolonger adequate for your needs, and sopurpose to build a new one; andsuppose, further, that you have nomaterial for your new building exceptthat contained in the old structure. It isevident that you will be limited inconstructing your new building by thematerial which was in the old. You maybe able to build the new structure in anyone of a multitude of different forms orstyles of architecture, so far as thematerial at hand will lend itself to thatstyle of building, and providing, further,that you are able to make the plans. Butyou will always be limited finally by thecharacter and amount of materialobtainable from the old structure. So

with the mind. The old building is yourpast experience, and the separate bricksare the images out of which you mustbuild your new structure through theimagination. Here, as before, nothing canenter which was not already on hand.Nothing goes into the new structure sofar as its constructive material isconcerned except images, and there isnowhere to get images but from theresults of our past experience.

Limited Also by Our ConstructiveAbility.—But not only is our imaginativeoutput limited by the amount of materialin the way of images which we have atour command, but also and perhaps not

less by our constructive ability. Manypersons might own the old pile of bricksfully adequate for the new structure, andthen fail to get the new because theywere unable to construct it. So, manywho have had a rich and variedexperience in many lines are yet unableto muster their images of theseexperiences in such a way that newproducts are obtainable from them.These have the heavy, draft-horse kindof intellect which goes plodding on, verypossibly doing good service in its owncircumscribed range, but destined afterall to service in the narrow field with itslow, drooping horizon. They are neverable to take a dash at a two-minute clipamong equally swift competitors, or

even swing at a good round pace alongthe pleasant highways of an experiencelying beyond the confines of the narrowhere and now. These are the mindswhich cannot discover relations; whichcannot think. Minds of this type cannever be architects of their own fate, oreven builders, but must contentthemselves to be hod carriers.

The Need of a Purpose.—Nor arewe to forget that we cannot intelligentlyerect our building until we know thepurpose for which it is to be used. Nomatter how much building material wemay have on hand, nor how skillful anarchitect we may be, unless our plans

are guided by some definite aim, weshall be likely to end with a structurethat is fanciful and useless. Likewisewith our thought structure. Unless ourimagination is guided by some aim orpurpose, we are in danger of driftinginto mere daydreams which not only areuseless in furnishing ideals for theguidance of our lives, but often becomepositively harmful when grown into ahabit. The habit of daydreaming is hardto break, and, continuing, holds ourthought in thrall and makes it unwillingto deal with the plain, homely things ofeveryday life. Who has not had theexperience of an hour or a day spent in afairyland of dreams, and awakened at theend to find himself rather dissatisfied

with the prosaic round of duties whichconfronted him! I do not mean to say thatwe should never dream; but I know of nomore pernicious mental habit than that ofdaydreaming carried to excess, for itends in our following every will-o'-the-wisp of fancy, and places us at the mercyof every chance suggestion.

3. TYPES OF IMAGINATION

Although imagination enters everyfield of human experience, and busiesitself with every line of human interest,yet all its activities can be classed undertwo different types. These are (1)reproductive, and (2) creative

imagination.

Reproductive Imagination.—Reproductive imagination is the type weuse when we seek to reproduce in ourminds the pictures described by others,or pictures from our own pastexperience which lack the completenessand fidelity to make them true memory.

The narration or description of thestory book, the history or geography text;the tale of adventure recounted bytraveler or hunter; the account of a newmachine or other invention; fairy talesand myths—these or any other matterthat may be put into words capable of

suggesting images to us are the field forreproductive imagination. In this use ofthe imagination our business is to followand not lead, to copy and not create.

Creative Imagination.—But wemust have leaders, originators—else weshould but imitate each other and theworld would be at a standstill. Indeed,every person, no matter how humble hisstation or how humdrum his life, shouldbe in some degree capable of initiativeand originality. Such ability depends inno small measure on the power to usecreative imagination.

Creative imagination takes the

images from our own past experience orthose gleaned from the work of othersand puts them together in new andoriginal forms. The inventor, the writer,the mechanic or the artist who possessesthe spirit of creation is not satisfied withmere reproduction, but seeks to modify,to improve, to originate. True, manyimportant inventions and discoverieshave come by seeming accident, bybeing stumbled upon. Yet it holds thatthe person who thus stumbles upon thediscovery or invention is usually onewhose creative imagination is actively atwork seeking to create or discover inhis field. The world's progress as awhole does not come by accident, but bycreative planning. Creative imagination

is always found at the van of progress,whether in the life of an individual or anation.

4. TRAINING THE IMAGINATION

Imagination is highly susceptible ofcultivation, and its training shouldconstitute one of the most important aimsof education. Every school subject, butespecially such subjects as deal withdescription and narration—history,literature, geography, nature study andscience—is rich in opportunities for theuse of imagination. Skillful teaching willnot only find in these subjects a means oftraining the imagination, but will so

employ imagination in their study as tomake them living matter, throbbing withlife and action, rather than so many deadwords or uninteresting facts.

Gathering of Material forImagination.—Theoretically, then, it isnot hard to see what we must do tocultivate our imagination. In the firstplace, we must take care to secure alarge and usable stock of images fromall fields of perception. It is not enoughto have visual images alone or chiefly,for many a time shall we need to buildstructures involving all the other sensesand the motor activities as well. Thismeans that we must have a first-hand

contact with just as large an environmentas possible—large in the world ofNature with all her varied forms suitedto appeal to every avenue of sense; largein our contact with people in all phasesof experience, laughing with those wholaugh and weeping with those whoweep; large in contact with books, theinterpreters of the men and events of thepast. We must not only let all these kindsof environment drift in upon us as theymay chance to do, but we mustdeliberately seek to increase our stockof experience; for, after all, experiencelies at the bottom of imagination as ofevery other mental process. And not onlymust we thus put ourselves in the way ofacquiring new experience, but we must

by recall and reconstruction, as we sawin an earlier discussion, keep ourimagery fresh and usable. For whateverserves to improve our images, at thesame time is bettering the veryfoundation of imagination.

We Must Not Fail to Build.—In thesecond place, we must not fail to build.For it is futile to gather a large supply ofimages if we let the material lie unused.How many people there are who put inall their time gathering material for theirstructure, and never take time to do thebuilding! They look and listen and read,and are so fully occupied in absorbingthe immediately present that they have no

time to see the wider significance of thethings with which they deal. They arelike the students who are too busystudying to have time to think. They areso taken up with receiving that theynever perform the higher act ofcombining. They are the plodding factgatherers, many of them doing goodservice, collecting material which theseer and the philosopher, with theirconstructive power, build together intothe greater wholes which make oursystems of thought. They are the oneswho fondly think that, by reading booksfull of wild tales and impossible plots,they are training their imagination. Forthem, sober history, no matter howheroic or tragic in its quiet movements,

is too tame. They have not the patienceto read solid and thoughtful literature,and works of science and philosophy area bore. These are the persons who put inall their time in looking at and admiringother people's houses, and never get timeto do any building for themselves.

We Should Carry Our Ideals intoAction.—The best training for theimagination which I know anything aboutis that to be obtained by taking our ownmaterial and from it building our ownstructure. It is true that it will help tolook through other people's housesenough to discover their style ofbuilding: we should read. But just as it

is not necessary for us to put in all thetime we devote to looking at houses, ininspecting doll houses and Chinesepagodas, so it is not best for us to get allour notions of imaginative structuresfrom the marvelous and the unreal; weget good training for the imaginationfrom reading "Hiawatha," but so can wefrom reading the history of the primitiveIndian tribes. The pictures in"Snowbound" are full of suggestion forthe imagination: but so is the history ofthe Puritans in New England. But evenwith the best of models before us, it isnot enough to follow others' building.We must construct stories for ourselves,must work out plots for our own stories;we must have time to meditate and plan

and build, not idly in the daydream, butpurposefully, and then make our imagesreal by carrying them out in activity, ifthey are of such a character that this ispossible; we must build our ideals andwork to them in the common course ofour everyday life; we must think forourselves instead of forever followingthe thinking of others; we must initiateas well as imitate.

5. PROBLEMS FOROBSERVATION AND

INTROSPECTION

1. Explain the cause and the remedyin the case of such errors as the

following:

Children who defined mountainas land 1,000 or more feet in heightsaid that the factory smokestackwas higher than the mountainbecause it "went straight up" andthe mountain did not.

Children often think of thehorizon as fastened to the earth.

Islands are thought of asfloating on the water.

2. How would you stimulate theimagination of a child who does notseem to picture or make real thedescriptions in reading, geography, etc.?Is it possible that such inability maycome from an insufficient basis inobservation, and hence in images?

3. Classify the school subjects,including domestic science and manualtraining, as to their ability to train (1)reproductive and (2) creativeimagination.

4. Do you ever skip the descriptive

parts of a book and read the narrative?As you read the description of a bit ofnatural scenery, does it rise before you?As you study the description of a battle,can you see the movements of thetroops?

5. Have you ever planned a house asyou think you would like it? Can you seeit from all sides? Can you see all therooms in their various finishings andfurnishings?

6. What plans and ideals have youformed, and what ones are you at presentfollowing? Can you describe the processby which your plans or ideals change?

Do you ever try to put yourself in theother person's place?

7. Take some fanciful unrealitywhich your imagination has constructedand see whether you can select from itfamiliar elements from actualexperiences.

8. What use do you make ofimagination in the common round ofduties in your daily life? What are youdoing to improve your imagination?

CHAPTER X

ASSOCIATION

Whence came the thought thatoccupies you this moment, and whatdetermines the next that is to follow?Introspection reveals no more interestingfact concerning our minds than that ourthoughts move in a connected andorderly array and not in a hit-and-missfashion. Our mental states do not throngthe stream of consciousness like so manypieces of wood following each other atrandom down a rushing current, now thisone ahead, now that. On the contrary, ourthoughts come, one after the other, as

they are beckoned or caused. Thethought now in the focal point of yourconsciousness appeared because itsprouted out of the one just preceding it;and the present thought, before itdeparts, will determine its successor andlead it upon the scene. This is to say thatour thought stream possesses not only acontinuity, but also a unity; it hascoherence and system. This coherenceand system, which operates inaccordance with definite laws, isbrought about by what the psychologistcalls association.

1. THE NATURE OF ASSOCIATION

We may define association, then, asthe tendency among our thoughts to formsuch a system of bonds with each otherthat the objects of consciousness arevitally connected both (1) as they exist atany given moment, and (2) as they occurin succession in the mental stream.

The Neural Basis of Association.—The association of thoughts—ideas,images, memory—or of a situation withits response, rests primarily on a neuralbasis. Association is the result of habitworking in neurone groups. Itsfundamental law is stated by James asfollows: "When two elementary brain-processes have been active together or

in immediate succession, one of them, onrecurring, tends to propagate itsexcitement into the other." This is but atechnical statement of the simple fact thatnerve currents flow most easily over theneurone connections that they havealready used.

It is hard to teach an old dog newtricks, because the old tricks employfamiliar, much-used neural paths, whilenew tricks require the connecting up ofgroups of neurones not in the habit ofworking together; and the flow of nerveenergy is more easily accomplished inthe neurones accustomed to workingtogether. One who learns to speak aforeign language late in life never attains

the facility and ease that might have beenreached at an earlier age. This isbecause the neural paths for speech arealready set for his mother-tongue, and,with the lessened plasticity of age, thenew paths are hard to establish.

The connections between the variousbrain areas, or groups of neurones, are,as we have seen in an earlier chapter,accomplished by means of associationfibers. This function requires millions ofneurones, which unite every part of thecortex with every other part, thus makingit possible for a neural activity going onin any particular center to extend to anyother center whatsoever. In the relatively

unripe brain of the child, the associationfibers have not yet set up most of theirconnections. The age at which memorybegins is determined chiefly by thedevelopment of a sufficient number ofassociation fibers to bring about recall.The more complex reasoning, whichrequires many different associativeconnections, is impossible prior to theexistence of adequate neuraldevelopment. It is this fact that makes itfutile to attempt to teach young childrenthe more complicated processes ofarithmetic, grammar, or other subjects.They are not yet equipped with therequisite brain machinery to grasp thenecessary associations.

Fig. 18.--Diagrammatic scheme ofassociation, in which V stands for thevisual, A for the auditory, G for thegustatory, M for the motor, and T for thethought and feeling centers of the cortex.Fig. 18.—Diagrammatic scheme of association, inwhich V stands for the visual, A for the auditory, G forthe gustatory, M for the motor, and T for the thoughtand feeling centers of the cortex.

Association the Basis ofMemory.—Without the machinery andprocesses of association we could haveno memory. Let us see in a simpleillustration how association works inrecall. Suppose you are passing anorchard and see a tree loaded withtempting apples. You hesitate, thenclimb the fence, pick an apple and eat it,

hearing the owner's dog bark as youleave the place. The accompanyingdiagram will illustrate roughly thecenters of the cortex which wereinvolved in the act, and the associationfibers which connect them. (See Fig.18.) Now let us see how you mayafterward remember the circumstancethrough association. Let us suppose thata week later you are seated at yourdining table, and that you begin to eat anapple whose flavor reminds you of theone which you plucked from the tree.From this start how may the entirecircumstance be recalled? Rememberthat the cortical centers connected withthe sight of the apple tree, with ourthoughts about it, with our movements in

getting the apple, and with hearing thedog bark, were all active together withthe taste center, and hence tend to bethrown into activity again from itsactivity. It is easy to see that we may (1)get a visual image of the apple tree andits fruit from a current over thegustatory-visual association fibers; (2)the thoughts, emotions, or deliberationswhich we had on the former occasionmay again recur to us from a currentover the gustatory-thought neurones; (3)we may get an image of our movementsin climbing the fence and picking theapple from a current over the gustatory-motor fibers; or (4) we may get anauditory image of the barking of the dogfrom a current over the gustatory-

auditory fibers. Indeed, we are sure toget some one or more of these unless thepaths are blocked in some way, or ourattention leads off in some otherdirection.

Factors Determining Direction ofRecall.—Which of these we get first,which of the images the taste perceptcalls to take its place as it drops out ofconsciousness, will depend, other thingsbeing equal, on which center was mostkeenly active in the original situation,and is at the moment most permeable. If,at the time we were eating the stolenfruit, our thoughts were keenly self-accusing for taking the apples without

permission, then the current willprobably discharge through the pathgustatory-thought, and we shall recallthese thoughts and their accompanyingfeelings. But if it chances that thebarking of the dog frightened us badly,then more likely the discharge from thetaste center will be along the pathgustatory-auditory, and we shall get theauditory image of the dog's barking,which in turn may call up a visual imageof his savage appearance over theauditory-visual fibers. It is clear,however, that, given any one of theelements of the entire situation back, therest are potentially possible to us, andany one may serve as a "cue" to call upall the rest. Whether, given the starting

point, we get them all, depends solely onwhether the paths are sufficiently openbetween them for the current todischarge between them, granting that thefirst experience made sufficientimpression to be retained.

Since this simple illustration may bemade infinitely complex by means of themillions of fibers which connect everycenter in the cortex with every othercenter, and since, in passing from oneexperience to another in the round of ourdaily activities, these various areas areall involved in an endless chain ofactivities so intimately related that eachone can finally lead to all the others, wehave here the machinery both of

retention and of recall—the mechanismby which our past may be made to servethe present through being reproduced inthe form of memory images or ideas.Through this machinery we are unable toescape our past, whether it be good orbad; for both the good and the bad alikeare brought back to us through itsoperations.

When the repetition of a series ofacts has rendered habit secure, theassociation is relatively certain. If Irecite to you A-B-C-D, your thought atonce runs on to E, F, G. If I repeat, "Tellme not in mournful numbers,"association leads you to follow with

"Life is but an empty dream." Yourneurone groups are accustomed to act inthis way, so the sequence follows.Memorizing anything from themultiplication table to the most beautifulgems of poetic fervor consists, therefore,in the setting up of the right associativeconnections in the brain.

Association in Thinking.—Allthinking proceeds by the discovery orrecognition of relations between theterms or objects of our thought. Thescience of mathematics rests on therelations found to exist between numbersand quantities. The principles and lawsof natural science are based on the

relations established among the differentforms of matter and the energy thatoperates in this field. So also in therealm of history, art, ethics, or any otherfield of human experience. Each fact orevent must be linked to other facts orevents before it possesses significance.Association therefore lies at thefoundation of all thinking, whether thatof the original thinker who is creatingour sciences, planning and executing theevents of history, evolving a system ofethics, or whether one is only learningthese fields as they already exist bymeans of study. Other things being equal,he is the best thinker who has hisknowledge related part to part so that thewhole forms a unified and usable

system.

Association and Action.—Association plays an equally importantpart in all our motor responses, the actsby which we carry on our daily lives, doour work and our play, or whatever elsemay be necessary in meeting andadapting ourselves to our environment.Some sensations are often repeated, anddemand practically the same responseeach time. In such cases the associationssoon become fixed, and the responsecertain and automatic. For example, wesit at the table, and the response ofeating follows, with all its complex acts,as a matter of course. We lie down in

bed, and the response of sleep comes.We take our place at the piano, and ourfingers produce the accustomed music.

It is of course obvious that theinfluence of association extends to moralaction as well. In general, our conductfollows the trend of establishedassociations. We are likely to do in greatmoral crises about as we are in the habitof doing in small ones.

2. THE TYPES OF ASSOCIATION

Fundamental Law ofAssociation.—Stated on the

physiological side, the law of habit asset forth in the definition of associationin the preceding section includes all thelaws of association. In different phrasingwe may say: (1) Neurone groupsaccustomed to acting together have thetendency to work in unison. (2) Themore frequently such groups act togetherthe stronger will be the tendency for oneto throw the other into action. Also, (3)the more intense the excitement ortension under which they act together thestronger will be the tendency for activityin one to bring about activity in theother.

The corresponding facts may beexpressed in psychological terms as

follows: (1) Facts accustomed to beingassociated together in the mind have atendency to reappear together. (2) Themore frequently these facts appeartogether the stronger the tendency for thepresence of one to insure the presence ofthe other. (3) The greater the tension,excitement or concentration when thesefacts appear in conjunction with eachother, the more certain the presence ofone is to cause the presence of the other.

Several different types ofassociation have been differentiated bypsychologists from Aristotle down. It isto be kept in mind, however, that allassociation types go back to the

elementary law of habit-connectionsamong the neurones for theirexplanation.

Association by Contiguity.—Therecurrence in our minds of many of theelements from our past experience is dueto the fact that at some time, possibly atmany times, the recurring facts werecontiguous in consciousness with someother element or fact which happens nowto be again present. All have had theexperience of meeting some personwhom we had not seen for severalmonths or years, and having a wholeseries of supposedly forgotten incidentsor events connected with our former

associations flood into the mind. Thingswe did, topics we discussed, trips wetook, games we played, now recur at therenewal of our acquaintance. For theseare the things that were contiguous in ourconsciousness with our sense of thepersonality and appearance of ourfriend. And who has not in similarfashion had a whiff of perfume or thestrains of a song recall to him hischildhood days! Contiguity is again theexplanation.

At the Mercy of OurAssociations.—Through the law thusoperating we are in a sense at the mercyof our associations, which may be bad

as well as good. We may form certainlines of interest to guide our thought, andattention may in some degree direct it,but one's mental make-up is, after all,largely dependent on the character of hisassociations. Evil thoughts, evilmemories, evil imaginations—these allcome about through the association ofunworthy or impure images along withthe good in our stream of thought. Wemay try to forget the base deed andbanish it forever from our thinking, butlo! in an unguarded moment the nervecurrent shoots into the old path, and theimpure thought flashes into the mind,unsought and unwelcomed. Every youngman who thinks he must indulge in alittle sowing of wild oats before he

settles down to a correct life, and sodeals in unworthy thoughts and deeds, isputting a mortgage on his future; for hewill find the inexorable machinery of hisnervous system grinding the hatedimages of such things back into his mindas surely as the mill returns to the sackof the miller what he feeds into thehopper. He may refuse to harbor thesethoughts, but he can no more hinder theirseeking admission to his mind than hecan prevent the tramp from knocking athis door. He may drive such imagesfrom his mind the moment they arediscovered, and indeed is guilty if hedoes not; but not taking offense at thisrebuff, the unwelcome thought againseeks admission.

The only protection against the returnof the undesirable associations is tochoose lines of thought as little relatedto them as possible. But even then, dothe best we may, an occasional"connection" will be set up, we knownot how, and the unwelcome imagestands staring us in the face, as thecorpse of Eugene Aram's victimconfronted him at every turn, though hethought it safely buried. A minister of myacquaintance tells me that in the holiestmoments of his most exalted thought,images rise in his mind which heloathes, and from which he recoils inhorror. Not only does he drive themaway at once, but he seeks to lock and

bar the door against them by firmlyresolving that he will never think of themagain. But alas! that is beyond hiscontrol. The tares have been sownamong the wheat, and will persist alongwith it until the end. In his boyhood theseimages were given into the keeping ofhis brain cells, and they are only beingfaithful to their trust.

Association by Similarity andContrast.—All are familiar with thefact that like tends to suggest like. Onefriend reminds us of another friend whenhe manifests similar traits of character,shows the same tricks of manner, or hasthe same peculiarities of speech or

gesture. The telling of a ghost or burglarstory in a company will at once suggest asimilar story to every person of thegroup, and before we know it theconversation has settled down to ghostsor burglars. One boastful boy is enoughto start the gang to recounting their realor imaginary exploits. Good andbeautiful thoughts tend to call up othergood and beautiful thoughts, while evilthoughts are likely to produce after theirown kind; like produces like.

Another form of relationship is,however, quite as common as similars inour thinking. In certain directions wenaturally think in opposites. Blacksuggests white, good suggests bad, fat

suggests lean, wealth suggests poverty,happiness suggests sorrow, and so on.

The tendency of our thought thus togroup in similars and opposites is clearwhen we go back to the fundamental lawof association. The fact is that we morefrequently assemble our thoughts in theseways than in haphazard relations. Wehabitually group similars together, orcompare opposites in our thinking; hencethese are the terms between whichassociative bonds are formed.

Partial, or Selective,Association.—The past is never whollyreinstated in present consciousness.

Many elements, because they had formedfewer associations, or because they findsome obstacle to recall, are permanentlydropped out and forgotten. In otherwords, association is always selective,favoring now this item of experience,now that, above the rest.

It is well that this is so; for to beunable to escape from the great mass ofminutiæ and unimportant detail in one'spast would be intolerable, and would socumber the mind with useless rubbish asto destroy its usefulness. We have surelyall had some experience with the type ofpersons whose associations are socomplete and impartial that all theirconversation teems with unessential and

irrelevant details. They cannot recountthe simplest incident in its essentialpoints but, slaves to literalness, makethemselves insufferable bores byentering upon every lane and by-path ofcircumstance that leads nowhere andmatters not the least in their story.Dickens, Thackeray, George Eliot,Shakespeare, and many other writershave seized upon such characters andmade use of them for their comic effect.James, in illustrating this mental type,has quoted the following from MissAusten's "Emma":

"'But where could you hear it?' criedMiss Bates. 'Where could you possibly

hear it, Mr. Knightley? For it is not fiveminutes since I received Mrs. Cole'snote—no, it cannot be more than five—or at least ten—for I had got my bonnetand spencer on, just ready to come out—I was only gone down to speak to Pattyagain about the pork—Jane was standingin the passage—were not you, Jane?—for my mother was so afraid that we hadnot any salting-pan large enough. So Isaid I would go down and see, and Janesaid: "Shall I go down instead? for Ithink you have a little cold, and Patty hasbeen washing the kitchen." "Oh, mydear," said I—well, and just then camethe note.'"

The Remedy.—The remedy for suchwearisome and fruitless methods ofassociation is, as a matter of theory,simple and easy. It is to emphasize,intensify, and dwell upon the significantand essential in our thinking. The personwho listens to a story, who studies alesson, or who is a participant in anyevent must apply a sense of value,recognizing and fixing the important andrelegating the trivial and unimportant totheir proper level. Not to train one's selfto think in this discriminating way ismuch like learning to play a piano bystriking each key with equal force!

3. TRAINING IN ASSOCIATION

Since association is at bottomnothing but habit at work in the mentalprocesses, it follows that it, like otherforms of habit, can be encouraged orsuppressed by training. Certainly, nopart of one's education is of greaterimportance than the character of hisassociations. For upon these will largelydepend not alone the content of hismental stream, the stuff of his thinking,but also its organization, or the usemade of the thought material at hand. Infact, the whole science of educationrests on the laws and principlesinvolved in setting up right systems ofassociative connections in theindividual.

The Pleasure-Pain Motive inAssociation.—A general law seems toobtain throughout the animal world thatassociative responses accompanied bypleasure tend to persist and growstronger, while those accompanied bypain tend to weaken and fall away. Thelittle child of two years may notunderstand the gravity of the offense intearing the leaves out of books, but if itshands are sharply spatted whenever theytear a book, the association between thesight of books and tearing them willsoon cease. In fact, all punishmentshould have for its object the use of painin the breaking of associative bondsbetween certain situations and wrongresponses to them.

On the other hand, the dog that isbeing trained to perform his tricks isrewarded with a tidbit or a pat when theright response has been made. In thisway the bond for this particular act isstrengthened through the use of pleasure.All matter studied and learned under thestimulus of good feeling, enthusiasm, ora pleasurable sense of victory andachievement not only tends to set upmore permanent and valuableassociations than if learned underopposite conditions, but it also exerts astronger appeal to our interest andappreciation.

The influence of mental attitude onthe matter we study raises a question asto the wisdom of assigning thecommitting of poetry, or Bible verses, orthe reading of so many pages of aliterary masterpiece as a punishment forsome offense. How many of us havecarried away associations of dislike andbitterness toward some gem of verse orprose or Scripture because of having ourlearning of it linked up with the thoughtof an imposed task set as penance forwrong-doing! One person tells me that tothis day she hates the sight of Tennysonbecause this was the volume from whichshe was assigned many pages to commitin atonement for her youthfuldelinquencies.

Interest as a Basis forAssociation.—Associations establishedunder the stimulus of strong interest arerelatively broad and permanent, whilethose formed with interest flagging aremore narrow and of doubtfulpermanence. This statement is, ofcourse, but a particular application ofthe law of attention. Interest brings thewhole self into action. Under its urgingthe mind is active and alert. The newfacts learned are completely registered,and are assimilated to other facts towhich they are related. Many associativeconnections are formed, hence the newmatter is more certain of recall, and

possesses more significance andmeaning.

Association and Methods ofLearning.—The number and quality ofour associations depends in no smalldegree on our methods of learning. Wemay be satisfied merely to impress whatwe learn on our memory, committing ituncritically as so many facts to be storedaway as a part of our education. We maygo a step beyond this and grasp thesimplest and most obvious meanings, butnot seek for the deeper and morefundamental relations. We may learnseparate sections or divisions of asubject, accepting each as a more or less

complete unit, without connecting thesesections and divisions into a logicalwhole.

But all such methods are a mistake.They do not provide for the associativebonds between the various facts orgroups of facts in our knowledge,without which our facts are in danger ofbecoming but so much lumber in themind. Meanings, relations, definitelyrecognized associations, should attach toall that we learn. Better far a smalleramount of usable knowledge than anyquantity of unorganized and undigestedinformation, even if the latter sometimesallows us to pass examinations andreceive honor grades. In short, real

mastery demands that we think, that isrelate and associate, instead of merelyabsorbing as we learn.


1. Test the uncontrolled associationsof a group of pupils by pronouncing tothe class some word, as blue, and havingthe members write down 20 words insuccession as rapidly as they can, takingin each instance the first word thatoccurs to them. The difference in thescope, or range, of associations, caneasily be studied by applying this test to,say, a fourth grade and an eighth grade

and then comparing results.

2. Have you ever been puzzled bythe appearance in your mind of some factor incident not thought of before foryears? Were you able to trace out theassociative connection that caused thefact to appear? Why are we sometimesunable to recall, when we need them,facts that we perfectly well know?

3. You have observed that it ispossible to be able to spell certainwords when they occur in a spellinglesson, but to miss them when employingthem in composition. It is possible tolearn a conjugation or a declension in

tabular form, and then not be able to usethe correct forms of words in speech orwriting. Relate these facts to the laws ofassociation, and recommend a method ofinstruction that will remove thediscrepancy.

4. To test the quickness ofassociation in a class of children, copythe following words clearly in a verticalcolumn on a chart; have your class allready at a given signal; then display thechart before them for sixty seconds,asking them to write down on paper theexact opposite of as many words aspossible in one minute. Be sure that allknow just what they are expected to do.

Bad, inside, slow, short, little,soft, black, dark, sad, true, dislike,poor, well, sorry, thick, full, peace,few, below, enemy.

Count the number of correctopposites got by each pupil.

5. Can you think of garrulous personsamong your acquaintance the explanationof whose tiresomeness is that theirassociation is of the complete instead oft h e selective type? Watch for suchillustrations in conversation and inliterature (e.g., Juliet's nurse).

6. Observe children in theschoolroom for good and poor trainingin association. Have you ever hadanything that you otherwise presumablywould enjoy rendered distastefulbecause of unpleasant associations?Pass your own methods of learning inreview, and also inquire into themethods used by children in study, todetermine whether they are resulting inthe best possible use of association.

CHAPTER XI

MEMORY

Every hour of our lives we call uponmemory to supply us with some fact ordetail from out our past. Let memorywholly fail us, and we find ourselveshelpless and out of joint in a world wefail to understand. A poor memoryhandicaps one in the pursuit ofeducation, hampers him in business orprofessional success, and puts him at adisadvantage in every relation of life.On the other hand, a good memory is anasset on which the owner realizes aneweach succeeding day.

1. THE NATURE OF MEMORY

Now that you come to think of it, youcan recall perfectly well that Columbusdiscovered America in 1492; that yourhouse is painted white; that it rained aweek ago today. But where were theseonce-known facts, now remembered soeasily, while they were out of yourmind? Where did they stay while youwere not thinking of them? The commonanswer is, "Stored away in my memory."Yet no one believes that the memory is awarehouse of facts which we pack awaythere when we for a time have no use forthem, as we store away our old furniture.

What is Retained.—The truth is thatthe simple question I asked you is by nomeans an easy one, and I will answer itmyself by asking you an easier one: Aswe sit with the sunlight streaming intoour room, where is the darkness whichfilled it last night? And where will allthis light be at midnight tonight? Answerthese questions, and the ones I askedabout your remembered facts will beanswered. While it is true that,regardless of the conditions in our littleroom, darkness still exists whereverthere is no light, and light still existswherever there is no darkness, yet forthis particular room there is no

darkness when the sun shines in, andthere is no light when the room is filledwith darkness. So in the case of aremembered fact. Although the fact thatColumbus discovered America somefour hundred years ago, that your houseis of a white color, that it rained a weekago today, exists as a fact regardless ofwhether your minds think of these thingsat all, yet the truth remains as before: forthe particular mind which remembersthese things, the facts did not existwhile they were out of the mind.

It is not the remembered fact whichis retained, but the power to reproducethe fact when we require it.

The Physical Basis of Memory.—The power to reproduce a once-knownfact depends ultimately on the brain.This is not hard to understand if we goback a little and consider that brainactivity was concerned in everyperception we have ever had, and inevery fact we have ever known. Indeed,it was through a certain neural activity ofthe cortex that you were able originallyto know that Columbus discoveredAmerica, that your house is white, andthat it rained on a day in the past.Without this cortical activity, these factswould have existed just as truly, but youwould never have known them. Withoutthis neural activity in the brain there isno consciousness, and to it we must look

for the recurrence in consciousness ofremembered facts, as well as for thosewhich appear for the first time.

How We Remember. —Now, if weare to have a once-known fact repeatedin consciousness, or in other wordsremembered, what we must do on thephysiological side is to provide for arepetition of the neural activity whichwas at first responsible for the fact'sappearing in consciousness. The mentalaccompaniment of the repeated activityis the memory. Thus, as memory is theapproximate repetition of once-experienced mental states or facts,together with the recognition of their

belonging to our past, so it isaccomplished by an approximaterepetition of the once-performed neuralprocess in the cortex which originallyaccompanied these states or facts.

The part played by the brain inmemory makes it easy to understand whywe find it so impossible to memorize orto recall when the brain is fatigued fromlong hours of work or lack of sleep. Italso explains the derangement inmemory that often comes from an injuryto the brain, or from the toxins ofalcohol, drugs or disease.

Dependence of Memory on Brain

Quality.—Differences in memoryability, while depending in part on thetraining memory receives, rest ultimatelyon the memory-quality of the brain.James tells us that four distinct types ofbrains may be distinguished, and hedescribes them as follows:

Brains that are:

(1) Like marble to receive and likemarble to retain.(2) Like wax to receive and like wax toretain.(3) Like marble to receive and like waxto retain.(4) Like wax to receive and like marble

to retain.

The first type gives us those whomemorize slowly and with much heroiceffort, but who keep well what they havecommitted. The second type representsthe ones who learn in a flash, who cancram up a lesson in a few minutes, butwho forget as easily and as quickly asthey learn. The third type characterizesthe unfortunates who must labor hard andlong for what they memorize, only to seeit quickly slipping from their grasp. Thefourth type is a rare boon to itspossessor, enabling him easily to stockhis memory with valuable material,which is readily available to him upondemand.

The particular type of brain wepossess is given us through heredity, andwe can do little or nothing to change thetype. Whatever our type of brain,however, we can do much to improveour memory by obeying the laws uponwhich all good memory depends.

2. THE FOUR FACTORSINVOLVED IN MEMORY

Nothing is more obvious than thatmemory cannot return to us what hasnever been given into its keeping, whathas not been retained, or what for any

reason cannot be recalled. Further, if thefacts given back by memory are notrecognized as belonging to our past,memory would be incomplete. Memory,therefore, involves the following fourfactors: (1) registration, (2) retention,(3) recall, (4) recognition.

Registration.—By registration wemean the learning or committing of thematter to be remembered. On the brainside this involves producing in theappropriate neurones the activitieswhich, when repeated again later, causethe fact to be recalled. It is this processthat constitutes what we call "impressingthe facts upon the brain."

Nothing is more fatal to goodmemory than partial or faultyregistration. A thing but half learned issure to be forgotten. We often stop in themastery of a lesson just short of the fullimpression needed for permanentretention and sure recall. We sometimessay to our teachers, "I cannotremember," when, as a matter of fact, wehave never learned the thing we seek torecall.

Retention.—Retention, as we havealready seen, resides primarily in thebrain. It is accomplished through the lawof habit working in the neurones of the

cortex. Here, as elsewhere, habit makesan activity once performed more easy ofperformance each succeeding time.Through this law a neural activity onceperformed tends to be repeated; or, inother words, a fact once known inconsciousness tends to be remembered.That so large a part of our past is lost inoblivion, and out of the reach of ourmemory, is probably much more largelydue to a failure to recall than to retain.We say that we have forgotten a fact or aname which we cannot recall, try as hardas we may; yet surely all have had theexperience of a long-striven-for factsuddenly appearing in our memory whenwe had given it up and no longer had usefor it. It was retained all the time, else it

never could have come back at all.

An aged man of my acquaintance layon his deathbed. In his childhood he hadfirst learned to speak German; but,moving with his family when he waseight or nine years of age to an English-speaking community, he had lost hisability to speak German, and had beenunable for a third of a century to carry ona conversation in his mother tongue. Yetduring the last days of his sickness helost almost wholly the power to use theEnglish language, and spoke fluently inGerman. During all these years his brainpaths had retained the power toreproduce the forgotten words, eventhough for so long a time the words

could not be recalled. James quotes astill more striking case of an agedwoman who was seized with a feverand, during her delirious ravings, washeard talking in Latin, Hebrew andGreek. She herself could neither readnor write, and the priests said she waspossessed of a devil. But a physicianunraveled the mystery. When the girlwas nine years of age, a pastor, whowas a noted scholar, had taken her intohis home as a servant, and she hadremained there until his death. Duringthis time she had daily heard him readaloud from his books in these languages.Her brain had indelibly retained therecord made upon it, although for yearsshe could not have recalled a sentence,

if, indeed, she had ever been able to doso.

Recall.—Recall depends entirely onassociation. There is no way to arrive ata certain fact or name that is eluding usexcept by means of some other facts,names, or what-not so related to themissing term as to be able to bring it intothe fold. Memory arrives at any desiredfact only over a bridge of associations. Ittherefore follows that the moreassociations set up between the fact tobe remembered and related facts alreadyin the mind, the more certain the recall.Historical dates and events should whenlearned be associated with important

central dates and events to which theynaturally attach. Geographical names,places or other information should beconnected with related material alreadyin the mind. Scientific knowledge shouldform a coherent and related whole. Inshort, everything that is given over to thememory for its keeping should be linkedas closely as possible to material of thesame sort. This is all to say that weshould not expect our memory to retainand reproduce isolated, unrelated facts,but should give it the advantage of asmany logical and well groundedassociations as possible.

Recognition.—A fact reproduced by

memory but not recognized as belongingto our past experience would impress usas a new fact. This would mean thatmemory would fail to link the present tothe past. Often we are puzzled to knowwhether we have before met a certainperson, or on a former occasion told acertain story, or previously experienceda certain present state of mind whichseems half familiar. Such baffling mentalstates are usually but instances of partialand incomplete recognition. Recognitionno longer applies to much of ourknowledge; for example, we say weremember that four times six is twenty-four, but probably none of us can recallwhen and where we learned this fact—we cannot recognize it as belonging to

our past experience. So with tenthousand other things, which we knowrather than remember in the strict sense.

3. THE STUFF OF MEMORY

What are the forms in which memorypresents the past to us? What are theelements with which it deals? What isthe stuff of which it consists?

Images as the Material ofMemory.—In the light of our discussionupon mental imagery, and with the aid ofa little introspection, the answer is easy.I ask you to remember your home, and at

once a visual image of the familiarhouse, with its well-known rooms andtheir characteristic furnishings, comes toyour mind. I ask you to remember thelast concert you attended, or the chorusof birds you heard recently in the woods;and there comes a flood of images,partly visual, but largely auditory, fromthe melodies you heard. Or I ask you toremember the feast of which you partookyesterday, and gustatory and olfactoryimages are prominent among the otherswhich appear. And so I might keep onuntil I had covered the whole range ofyour memory; and, whether I ask you forthe simple trivial experiences of yourpast, for the tragic or crucialexperiences, or for the most abstruse and

abstract facts which you know and canrecall, the case is the same: much ofwhat memory presents to you comes inthe form of images or of ideas of yourpast.

Images Vary as to Type. —We donot all remember what we call the samefact in like images or ideas. When youremembered that Columbus discoveredAmerica in 1492, some of you had animage of Columbus the mariner standingon the deck of his ship, as the old pictureshows him; and accompanying thisimage was an idea of "long agoness."Others, in recalling the same fact, had animage of the coast on which he landed,

and perchance felt the rocking of theboat and heard it scraping on the sand asit neared the shore. And still others sawon the printed page the words stating thatColumbus discovered America in 1492.And so in an infinite variety of images orideas we may remember what we callthe same fact, though of course the fact isnot really the same fact to any two of us,nor to any one of us when it comes to uson different occasions in differentimages.

Other Memory Material.—Butsensory images are not the only materialwith which memory has to deal. We mayalso recall the bare fact that it rained a

week ago today without having imagesof the rain. We may recall that Columbusdiscovered America in 1492 withoutvisual or other images of the event. As amatter of fact we do constantly recallmany facts of abstract nature, such asmathematical or scientific formulæ withno imagery other than that of the wordsor symbols, if indeed these be present.Memory may therefore use as its stuffnot only images, but also a wide range offacts, ideas and meanings of all sorts.

4. LAWS UNDERLYING MEMORY

The development of a good memorydepends in no small degree on the

closeness with which we follow certainwell-demonstrated laws.

The Law of Association.—The lawof association, as we have already seen,is fundamental. Upon it the wholestructure of memory depends. Statingthis law in neural terms we may say:Brain areas which are active together atthe same time tend to establishassociative paths, so that when one ofthem is again active the other is alsobrought into activity. Expressing thesame truth in mental terms: If two factsor experiences occur together inconsciousness, and one of them is laterrecalled, it tends to cause the other to

appear also.

The Law of Repetition.—The lawof repetition is but a restatement of thelaw of habit, and may be formulated asfollows: The more frequently a certaincortical activity occurs, the more easilyis its repetition brought about. Statingthis law in mental terms we may say:The more often a fact is recalled inconsciousness the easier and morecertain the recall becomes. It is upon thelaw of repetition that reviews and drillsto fix things in the memory are based.

The Law of Recency.—We maystate the law of recency in physiological

terms as follows: The more recentlybrain centers have been employed in acertain activity, the more easily are theythrown into the same activity. This, onthe mental side, means: The morerecently any facts have been present inconsciousness the more easily are theyrecalled. It is in obedience to this lawthat we want to rehearse a difficultlesson just before the recitation hour, orcram immediately before anexamination. The working of this lawalso explains the tendency of allmemories to fade out as the years passby.

The Law of Vividness.—The law of

vividness is of primary importance inmemorizing. On the physical side it maybe expressed as follows: The higher thetension or the more intense the activityof neural centers the more easily theactivity is repeated. The counterpart ofthis law in mental terms is: The higherthe degree of attention or concentrationwhen the fact is registered the morecertain it is of recall. Better far oneimpression of a high degree of vividnessthan several repetitions with theattention wandering or the brain toofatigued to respond. Not drill alone, butdrill with concentration, is necessary tosure memory,—in proof of whichwitness the futile results on the part ofthe small boy who "studies his spelling

lesson over fifteen times," the while heis at the same time counting his marbles.

5. RULES FOR USING THEMEMORY

Much careful and fruitfulexperimentation in the field of memoryhas taken place in recent years. Thescientists are now able to give us certainsimple rules which we can employ inusing our memories, even if we lack thetime or opportunity to follow all theirtechnical discussions.

Wholes Versus Parts.—Probably

most people in setting to work to committo memory a poem, oration, or other suchmaterial, have a tendency to learn it firstby stanzas or sections and then put theparts together to form the whole. Manytests, however, have shown this to be aless effective method than to go over thewhole poem or oration time after time,finally giving special attention to anyparticularly difficult places. The onlyexception to this rule would seem to bein the case of very long productions,which may be broken up into sections ofreasonable length. The method ofcommitting by wholes instead of partsnot only economizes time and effort inthe learning, but also gives a better senseof unity and meaning to the matter

memorized.

Rate of Forgetting.—The rate offorgetting is found to be very much morerapid immediately following the learningthan after a longer time has elapsed. Thisis to say that of what one is going toforget of matter committed to memoryapproximately one-half will fall awaywithin the first twenty-four hours andthree-fourths within the first three days.Since it is always economy to fix afreshmatter that is fading out before it hasbeen wholly forgotten, it will manifestlypay to review important memorymaterial within the first day or two afterit has once been memorized.

Divided Practice.—If to commit acertain piece of material we must goover it, say, ten different times, theresults are found to be much better whenthe entire number of repetitions are nothad in immediate succession, but withreasonable intervals between. This isdue, no doubt, to the well-known factthat associations tend to take form andgrow more secure even after we haveceased to think specifically of the matterin hand. The intervals allow time for theassociations to form their connections. Itis in this sense that James says we "learnto swim during the winter and to skateduring the summer."

Forcing the Memory to Act.—Incommitting matter by reading it, thememory should be forced into activityjust as fast as it is able to carry part ofthe material. If, after reading a poemover once, parts of it can be repeatedwithout reference to the text, the memoryshould be compelled to reproduce theseparts. So with all other material. Re-reading should be applied only at suchpoints as the memory has not yetgrasped.

Not a Memory, But Memories.—Professor James has emphasized thefact, which has often been demonstrated

by experimental tests, that we do notpossess a memory, but a collection ofmemories. Our memory may be verygood in one line and poor in another.Nor can we "train our memory" in thesense of practicing it in one line andhaving the improvement extend equallyto other lines. Committing poetry mayhave little or no effect in strengtheningthe memory for historical or scientificdata. In general, the memory must betrained in the specific lines in which it isto excel. General training will not serveexcept as it may lead to better modes oflearning what is to be memorized.

6. WHAT CONSTITUTES A GOOD

MEMORY

Let us next inquire what are thequalities which enter into what we call agood memory. The merchant orpolitician will say, "Ability to rememberwell people's faces and names"; theteacher of history, "The ability to recallreadily dates and events"; the teacher ofmathematics, "The power to recallmathematical formulæ"; the hotel waiter,"The ability to keep in mind half-a-dozen orders at a time"; the manager of acorporation, "The ability to recall all thenecessary details connected with therunning of the concern." While theseanswers are very divergent, yet they mayall be true for the particular person

testifying; for out of them all thereemerges this common truth, that the bestmemory is the one which best serves itspossessor. That is, one's memory notonly must be ready and exact, but mustproduce the right kind of material; itmust bring to us what we need in ourthinking. A very easy corollary at oncegrows out of this fact; namely, that inorder to have the memory return to us theright kind of matter, we must store itwith the right kind of images and ideas,for the memory cannot give back to usanything which we have not first giveninto its keeping.

A Good Memory Selects Its

Material.—The best memory is notnecessarily the one which impartiallyrepeats the largest number of facts ofpast experience. Everyone has manyexperiences which he never needs tohave reproduced in memory; usefulenough they may have been at the time,but wholly useless and irrelevant later.They have served their purpose, andshould henceforth slumber in oblivion.They would be but so much rubbish andlumber if they could be recalled.Everyone has surely met that particulartype of bore whose memory is so faithfulto details that no incident in the story hetells, no matter however trivial, is everomitted in the recounting. Hisassociations work in such a tireless

round of minute succession, without everbeing able to take a jump or a short cut,that he is powerless to separate thewheat from the chaff; so he dumps thewhole indiscriminate mass into our long-suffering ears.

Dr. Carpenter tells of a member ofParliament who could repeat long legaldocuments and acts of Parliament afterone reading. When he was congratulatedon his remarkable gift, he replied that,instead of being an advantage to him, itwas often a source of greatinconvenience, because when he wishedto recollect anything in a document hehad read, he could do it only byrepeating the whole from the beginning

up to the point which he wished torecall. Maudsley says that the kind ofmemory which enables a person "to reada photographic copy of formerimpressions with his mind's eye is not,indeed, commonly associated with highintellectual power," and gives as areason that such a mind is hindered bythe very wealth of material furnished bythe memory from discerning the relationsbetween separate facts upon whichjudgment and reasoning depend. It islikewise a common source of surpriseamong teachers that many of the pupilswho could outstrip their classmates inlearning and memory do not turn out tobe able men. But this, says Whately, "isas reasonable as to wonder that a cistern

if filled should not be a perpetualfountain." It is possible for one to be solost in a tangle of trees that he cannot seethe woods.

A Good Memory Requires GoodThinking.—It is not, then, mere re-presentation of facts that constitutes agood memory. The pupil who canreproduce a history lesson by the pagehas not necessarily as good a memory asthe one who remembers fewer facts, butsees the relations between thoseremembered, and hence is able tochoose what he will remember. Memorymust be discriminative. It must fasten onthat which is important and keep that for

us. Therefore we can agree that "the artof remembering is the art of thinking."Discrimination must select the importantout of our mental stream, and theseimages must be associated with as manyothers as possible which are alreadywell fixed in memory, and hence aresure of recall when needed. In this waythe old will always serve as a cue tocall up the new.

Memory Must Be Specialized.—And not only must memory, if it is to bea good memory, omit the generallyworthless, or trivial, or irrelevant, andsupply the generally useful, significant,and relevant, but it must in some degree

be a specialized memory. It mustminister to the particular needs andrequirements of its owner. Smallconsolation to you if you are a Latinteacher, and are able to call up thebinomial theorem or the date of the fallof Constantinople when you are in direneed of a conjugation or a declensionwhich eludes you. It is much better forthe merchant and politician to have agood memory for names and faces thanto be able to repeat the succession ofEnglish monarchs from Alfred the Greatto Edward VII and not be able to tellJohn Smith from Tom Brown. It is muchmore desirable for the lawyer to be ableto remember the necessary details of hiscase than to be able to recall all the

various athletic records of the year; andso on.

In order to be a good memory for us,our memory must be faithful in dealingwith the material which constitutes theneeds of our vocations. Our memorymay, and should, bring to us many thingsoutside of our immediate vocations, elseour lives will be narrow; but its chiefconcern and most accurate work must bealong the path of our everydayrequirements at its hands. And thisworks out well in connection with thephysiological laws which were stated alittle while since, providing that ourvocations are along the line of ourinterests. For the things with which we

work daily, and in which we areinterested, will be often thought oftogether, and hence will become wellassociated. They will be frequentlyrecalled, and hence more easilyremembered; they will be vividlyexperienced as the inevitable result ofinterest, and this goes far to insurerecall.

7. MEMORY DEVICES

Many devices have been inventedfor training or using the memory, and nota few worthless "systems" have beenimposed by conscienceless fakers uponuninformed people. All memorizing

finally must go back to the fundamentallaws of brain activity and the rulesgrowing out of these laws. There is no"royal road" to a good memory.

The Effects of Cramming.—Not afew students depend on cramming formuch of their learning. If this method ofstudy would yield as valuable permanentresults, it would be by far the mostsensible and economical method to use;for under the stress of necessity we oftenare able to accomplish results muchfaster than when no pressure is restingupon us. The difficulty is, however, thatthe results are not permanent; the factslearned do not have time to seek out and

link themselves to well-establishedassociates; learned in an hour, theirretention is as ephemeral as theapplication which gave them to us.

Facts which are needed buttemporarily and which cannot become apart of our body of permanentknowledge may profitably be learned bycramming. The lawyer needs manydetails for the case he is trying, whichnot only are valueless to him as soon asthe case is decided, but would positivelybe in his way. He may profitably cramsuch facts. But those facts which are tobecome a permanent part of his mentalequipment, such as the fundamentalprinciples of law, he cannot cram. These

he must have in a logical chain whichwill not leave their recall dependentupon a chance cue. Crammed facts mayserve us during a recitation or anexamination, but they never reallybecome a part of us. Nothing can take theplace of the logical placing of facts ifthey are to be remembered with facility,and be usable in thinking when recalled.

Remembering Isolated Facts.—Butafter all this is taken into considerationthere still remain a large number of factswhich refuse to fit into any connected orlogical system. Or, if they do belongwith some system, their connection is notvery close, and we have more need for

the few individual facts than for thesystem as a whole. Hence we must havesome means of remembering such factsother than by connecting them with theirlogical associations. Such facts as maybe typified by the multiplication table,certain dates, events, names, numbers,errands, and engagements of variouskinds—all these need to be rememberedaccurately and quickly when theoccasion for them arises. We must beable to recall them with facility, so thatthe occasion will not have passed bybefore we can secure them and we havefailed to do our part because of thelapse.

With facts of this type the means of

securing a good memory are the same asin the case of logical memory, exceptthat we must of necessity forego thelinking to naturally related associates.We can, however, take advantage of thethree laws which have been given. Ifthese methods are used faithfully, thenwe have done what we can in the way ofinsuring the recall of facts of this type,unless we associate them with someartificial cue, such as tying a threadaround our finger to remember anerrand, or learning the multiplicationtable by singing it. We are not to be tooready to excuse ourselves, however, ifwe have forgotten to mail the letter ordeliver the message; for our attentionmay have been very lax when we

recorded the direction in the first place,and we may never have taken the troubleto think of the matter between the time itwas given into our keeping and the timewe were to perform the errand.

Mnemonic Devices.—Manyingenious devices have been invented toassist the memory. No doubt each one ofyou has some way of your own ofremembering certain things committed toyou, or some much-needed fact whichhas a tendency to elude you. You maynot tie the traditional string around yourfinger or place your watch in the wrongpocket; but if not, you have inventedsome method which suits your

convenience better. While many bookshave been written, and many lecturesgiven exploiting mnemonic systems, theyare, however, all founded upon the samegeneral principle: namely, that ofassociation of ideas in the mind. Theyall make use of the same basis formemory that any of us use every time weremember anything, from the commonestevent which occurred last hour to themost abstruse bit of philosophy whichwe may have in our minds. They all tiethe fact to be remembered to some otherfact which is sure of recall, and thentrust the old fact to bring the new alongwith it when it again comes into themind.

Artificial devices may bepermissible in remembering the class offacts which have no logical associates inwhich we can relate them; but even thenI cannot help feeling that if we shoulduse the same care and ingenuity incarefully recording the seeminglyunrelated facts that we do in working outthe device and making the association init, we should discover hidden relationsfor most of the facts we wish toremember, and we should be able toinsure their recall as certainly and in abetter way than through the device. Then,also, we should not be in danger ofhanding over to the device various factsfor which we should discover relations,thus placing them in the logical body of

our usable knowledge where theybelong.


1. Carefully consider your ownpowers of memory and see whether youcan decide which of the four types ofbrain you have. Apply similar tests toyour classmates or a group of schoolchildren whom you have a chance toobserve. Be sure to take into account theeffects of past training or habits ofmemory.

2. Watch in your own memorizingand also that of school children forfailures in recall caused by lack ofproper associations. Why is itparticularly hard to commit what onedoes not understand?

3. Observe a class in a recitation oran examination and seek to discoverwhether any defects of memory revealedare to be explained by lack of (1)repetition, (2) recency, (3) vividness inlearning.

4. Make a study of your own classand also of a group of children in schoolto discover their methods of memorizing.

Have in mind the rules for memorizinggiven in section 5 of this chapter.

5. Observe by introspection yourmethod of recall of historical events youhave studied, and note whether imagesform an important part of your memorymaterial; or does your recall consistchiefly of bare facts? In how far doesthis depend on your method of learningthe facts in the first place?

6. Carefully consider yourexperience from cramming your lessons.Does the material learned in this waystay with you? Do you understand it andfind yourself able to use it as well as

stuff learned during a longer interval andwith more time for associations to form?

CHAPTER XII

THINKING

No word is more constantly on ourlips than the word think. A hundredtimes a day we tell what we think aboutthis thing or that. Any exceptional powerof thought classes us among the efficientof our generation. It is in their ability tothink that men stand preëminently abovethe animals.

1. DIFFERENT TYPES OFTHINKING

The term think, or thinking, isemployed in so many different sensesthat it will be well first of all to come toan understanding as to its various uses.Four different types of thinking whichwe shall note are:[5] (1) chance, or idle,thinking; (2) thinking in the form ofuncritical belief; (3) assimilativethinking; and (4) deliberative thinking.

Chance or Idle Thinking.—Ourthinking is of the chance or idle kindwhen we think to no conscious end. Noparticular problem is up for solution,and the stream of thought drifts along inidleness. In such thinking, immediateinterest, some idle fancy, the impulse of

the moment, or the suggestions from ourenvironment determine the train ofassociations and give direction to ourthought. In a sense, we surrender ourmental bark to the winds of circumstanceto drive it whithersoever they willwithout let or hindrance from us. Sinceno results are sought from our thinking,none are obtained. The best of us spendmore time in these idle trains of thoughtthan we would like to admit, whileinferior and untrained minds seldom riseabove this barren thought level. Notinfrequently even when we are studyinga lesson which demands our best thoughtpower we find that an idle chain ofassociations has supplanted the morerigid type of thinking and appropriated

the field.

Uncritical Belief.—We often saythat we think a certain thing is true orfalse when we have, as a matter of fact,done little or no thinking about it. Weonly believe, or uncritically accept, thecommon point of view as to the truth oruntruth of the matter concerned. Theancients believed that the earth was flat,and the savages that eclipses werecaused by animals eating up the moon.Not a few people today believe thatpotatoes and other vegetables should beplanted at a certain phase of the moon,that sickness is a visitation ofProvidence, and that various "charms"

are potent to bring good fortune or wardoff disaster. Probably not one in athousand of those who accept suchbeliefs could give, or have ever tried togive, any rational reason for their pointof view.

But we must not be too harsh towardsuch crude illustrations of uncriticalthinking. It is entirely possible that notall of us who pride ourselves on ourtrained powers of thought could givegood reasons discovered by our ownthinking why we think our politicalparty, our church, or our socialorganization is better than some otherone. How few of us, after all, reallydiscover our creed, join a church, or

choose a political party! We adopt thepoints of view of our nation or our groupmuch as we adopt their customs anddress—not because we are convinced bythinking that they are best, but becausethey are less trouble.

Assimilative Thinking.—It is thistype of thinking that occupies us whenwe seek to appropriate new facts orideas and understand them; that is, relatethem to knowledge already on hand. Wethink after this fashion in much of ourstudy in schools and textbooks. Theproblem for our thought is not so muchone of invention or discovery as of graspand assimilation. Our thinking is to

apprehend meanings and relations, andso unify and give coherence to ourknowledge.

In the absence of this type of thinkingone may commit to memory many factsthat he does not understand, gather muchinformation that contains little meaningto him, and even achieve very creditablescholastic grades that stand for a smallamount of education or development.For all information, to become vital andusable, must be thought into relation toour present active, functioning body ofknowledge; therefore assimilativethinking is fundamental to true masteryand learning.

Deliberative Thinking.—Deliberative thinking constitutes thehighest type of thought process. In orderto do deliberative thinking there isnecessary, first of all, what Dewey callsa "split-road" situation. A traveler goingalong a well-beaten highway, says Dr.Dewey, does not deliberate; he simplykeeps on going. But let the highway splitinto two roads at a fork, only one ofwhich leads to the desired destination,and now a problem confronts him; hemust take one road or the other, butwhich? The intelligent traveler will atonce go to seeking for evidence as towhich road he should choose. He willbalance this fact against that fact, andthis probability against that probability,

in an effort to arrive at a solution of hisproblem.

Before we can engage indeliberative thinking we must beconfronted by some problem, some such"split-road" situation in our mentalstream—we must have something tothink about. It is this fact that makes onewriter say that the great purpose of one'seducation is not to solve all hisproblems for him. It is rather to help him(1) to discover problems, or "split-road" situations, (2) to assist him ingathering the facts necessary for theirsolution, and (3) to train him in theweighing of his facts or evidence, that is,in deliberative thinking. Only as we

learn to recognize the true problems thatconfront us in our own lives and insociety about us can we become thinkersin the best sense. Our own plans andprojects, the questions of right andwrong that are constantly arising, thesocial, political and religious problemsawaiting solution, all afford theopportunity and the necessity fordeliberative thinking. And unhappy is thepupil whose school work does not setthe problems and employ the methodswhich will insure training in this as wellas in the assimilative type of thinking.Every school subject, besides supplyingcertain information to be "learned,"should present its problems requiringtrue deliberative thinking within the

range of development and ability of thepupil, and no subject—literature,history, science, language—is withoutmany such problems.

2. THE FUNCTION OF THINKING

All true thinking is for the purpose ofdiscovering relations between the thingswe think about. Imagine a world inwhich nothing is related to anything else;in which every object perceived,remembered, or imagined, standsabsolutely by itself, independent andself-sufficient! What a chaos it wouldbe! We might perceive, remember, andimagine all the various objects we

please, but without the power to thinkthem together, they would all be totallyunrelated, and hence have no meaning.

Meaning Depends on Relations.—To have a rational meaning for us, thingsmust always be defined in terms of otherthings, or in terms of their uses. Fuel isthat which feeds fire. Food is what iseaten for nourishment. A locomotive isa machine for drawing a train. Booksare to read, pianos to play, balls tothrow, schools to instruct, friends toenjoy, and so on through the whole listof objects which we know or can define.Everything depends for its meaning onits relation to other things; and the more

of these relations we can discover, themore fully do we see the meaning. Thusballs may have other uses than to throw,schools other functions than to instruct,and friends mean much more to us thanmere enjoyment. And just in the degreein which we have realized thesedifferent relations, have we defined theobject, or, in other words, have we seenits meaning.

The Function of Thinking is toDiscover Relations.—Now it is bythinking that these relations arediscovered. This is the function ofthinking. Thinking takes the variousseparate items of our experience and

discovers to us the relations existingamong them, and builds them togetherinto a unified, related, and usable bodyof knowledge, threading each little bit onthe string of relationship which runsthrough the whole. It was, no doubt, thisthought which Tennyson had in mindwhen he wrote:

Flower in the crannied wall,I pluck you out of the crannies,I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,Little flower—but if I could understandWhat you are, root and all, and all in all,I should know what God and man is.

Starting in with even so simple a

thing as a little flower, if he coulddiscover all the relations which everypart bears to every other part and to allother things besides, he would finallyreach the meaning of God and man. Foreach separate thing, be it large or small,forms a link in an unbroken chain ofrelationships which binds the universeinto an ordered whole.

Near and Remote Relations.—Therelations discovered through our thinkingmay be very close and simple ones, aswhen a child sees the relation betweenhis bottle and his dinner; or they may bevery remote ones, as when Newton sawthe relation between the falling of an

apple and the motion of the planets intheir orbits. But whether simple orremote, the seeing of the relationships isin both cases alike thinking; for thinkingis nothing, in its last analysis, but thediscovering of the relationships whichexist between the various objects in ourmental stream.

Thinking passes through all grades ofcomplexity, from the first faint dawningsin the mind of the babe when it sees therelation between the mother and itsfeeding, on to the mighty grasp of thesage who is able to "think God's thoughtsafter Him." But it all comes to the sameend finally—the bringing to light of newmeanings through the discovery of new

relations. And whatever does this isthinking.

Child and Adult Thinking.—Whatconstitutes the difference in the thinkingof the child and that of the sage? Let ussee whether we can discover thisdifference. In the first place the relationsseen by the child are immediaterelations: they exist between simplepercepts or images; the remote and thegeneral are beyond his reach. He has nothad sufficient experience to enable himto discover remote relations. He cannotthink things which are absent from him,or which he has never known. The childcould by no possibility have seen in the

falling apple what Newton saw; for thechild knew nothing of the planets in theirorbits, and hence could not see relationsin which these formed one of the terms.The sage, on the other hand, is notlimited to his immediate percepts ortheir images. He can see remoterelations. He can go beyond individuals,and think in classes. The falling apple isnot a mere falling apple to him, but oneof a class of falling bodies. Besides arich experience full of valuable facts, thetrained thinker has acquired also thehabit of looking out for relations; he haslearned that this is the method parexcellence of increasing his store ofknowledge and of rendering effective theknowledge he has. He has learned how

to think.

The chief business of the child is thecollection of the materials of thought,seeing only the more necessary andobvious relations as he proceeds; hischief business when older grown is toseek out the network of relations whichunites this mass of material, and throughthis process to systematize and give newmeanings to the whole.

3. THE MECHANISM OFTHINKING

It is evident from the foregoing

discussion that we may include under theterm thinking all sorts of mentalprocesses by which relations areapprehended between different objectsof thought. Thus young children think assoon as they begin to understandsomething of the meaning of the objectsof their environment. Even animals thinkby means of simple and directassociations. Thinking may therefore goon in terms of the simplest and mostimmediate, or the most complex anddistant relationships.

Sensations and Percepts asElements in Thinking.—Relations seenbetween sensations would mean

something, but not much; relations seenbetween objects immediately present tothe senses would mean much more; butour thinking must go far beyond thepresent, and likewise far beyondindividual objects. It must be able toannihilate both time and space, and todeal with millions of individualstogether in one group or class. Only inthis way can our thinking go beyond thatof the lower animals; for a wise rat,even, may come to see the relationbetween a trap and danger, or a horsethe relation between pulling with histeeth at the piece of string on the gatelatch, and securing his liberty.

But it takes the farther-reaching mind

of man to invent the trap and the latch.Perception alone does not go far enough.It is limited to immediately presentobjects and their most obvious relations.The perceptual image is likewise subjectto similar limitations. While it enablesus to dispense with the immediatepresence of the object, yet it deals withseparate individuals; and the world istoo full of individual objects for us todeal with them separately. It is inconception, judgment, and reasoningthat true thinking takes place. Our nextpurpose will therefore be to study thesesomewhat more closely, and see howthey combine in our thinking.

4. THE CONCEPT

Fortunately for our thinking, the greatexternal world, with its millions uponmillions of individual objects, is soordered that these objects can begrouped into comparatively few greatclasses; and for many purposes we candeal with the class as a whole instead ofwith the separate individuals of theclass. Thus there are an infinite numberof individual objects in the world whichare composed of matter. Yet all thesemyriads of individuals may be classedunder the two great heads of inanimateand animate. Taking one of these again:all animate forms may be classed asei ther plants or animals. And these

classes may again be subdividedindefinitely. Animals include mammals,birds, reptiles, insects, mollusks, andmany other classes besides, each classof which may be still further separatedinto its orders, families, genera,species, and individuals. Thisarrangement economizes our thinking byallowing us to think in large terms.

The Concepts Serve to Group andClassify.—But the somewhatcomplicated form of classification justdescribed did not come to man ready-made. Someone had to see therelationship existing among the myriadsof animals of a certain class, and group

these together under the general termmammals. Likewise with birds, reptiles,insects, and all the rest. In order toaccomplish this, many individuals ofeach class had to be observed, thequalities common to all members of theclass discriminated from those notcommon, and the common qualitiesretained as the measure by which to testthe admission of other individuals intothis class. The process of classificationis made possible by what thepsychologist calls the concept. Theconcept enables us to think birds as wellas bluebirds, robins, and wrens; itenables us to think men as well as Tom,Dick, and Harry. In other words, theconcept lies at the bottom of all

thinking which rises above the seeingof the simplest relations betweenimmediately present objects.

Growth of a Concept.—We canperhaps best understand the nature of theconcept if we watch its growth in thethinking of a child. Let us see how thechild forms the concept dog, underwhich he is able finally to class theseveral hundred or the several thousanddifferent dogs with which his thinkingrequires him to deal. The child's firstacquaintance with a dog is, let ussuppose, with a pet poodle, white incolor, and named Gyp. At this stage inthe child's experience, dog and Gyp are

entirely synonymous, including Gyp'scolor, size, and all other qualities whichthe child has discovered. But now lethim see another pet poodle which is likeGyp except that it is black in color. Herecomes the first cleavage between Gypa nd dog as synonyms: dog no longermeans white, but may mean black. Nextlet the child see a brown spaniel. Notonly will white and black now no longeranswer to dog, but the roly-poly poodleform also has been lost; for the spanielis more slender. Let the child go on fromthis until he has seen many different dogsof all varieties: poodles, bulldogs,setters, shepherds, cockers, and a host ofothers. What has happened to his dog,which at the beginning meant the one

particular little individual with which heplayed?

Dog is no longer white or black orbrown or gray: color is not an essentialquality, so it has dropped out; size is nolonger essential except within verybroad limits; shagginess or smoothnessof coat is a very inconstant quality, sothis is dropped; form varies so muchfrom the fat pug to the slender hound thatit is discarded, except within broadl i mi t s ; good nature, playfulness,friendliness, and a dozen other qualitiesare likewise found not to belong incommon to all dogs, and so have had togo; and all that is left to his dog is four-footedness, and a certain general form,

and a few other dog qualities of habit oflife and disposition. As the term dog hasbeen gaining in extent, that is, as moreindividuals have been observed andclassed under it, it has correspondinglybeen losing in content, or it has beenlosing in the specific qualities whichbelong to it. Yet it must not be thoughtthat the process is altogether one ofelimination; for new qualities which arepresent in all the individuals of a class,but at first overlooked, are continuallybeing discovered as experience grows,and built into the developing concept.

Definition of Concept.—A concept,then, is our general idea or notion of a

class of individual objects. Its functionis to enable us to classify ourknowledge, and thus deal with classes oruniversals in our thinking. Often thebasis of a concept consists of an image,as when you get a hazy visual image of amass of people when I suggest mankindto you. Yet the core, or the vital,functioning part of a concept is itsmeaning. Whether this meaning attachesto an image or a word or standsrelatively or completely independent ofeither, does not so much matter; but ourmeanings must be right, else all ourthinking is wrong.

Language and the Concept.—We

think in words. None has failed to watchthe flow of his thought as it is carriedalong by words like so many little boatsmoving along the mental stream, eachwith its freight of meaning. And no onehas escaped the temporary balking of histhought by failure to find a suitable wordto convey the intended meaning. Whatthe grammarian calls the common nounsof our language are the words by whichwe name our concepts and are able tospeak of them to others. We define acommon noun as "the name of a class,"and we define a concept as the meaningor idea we have of a class. It is easy tosee that when we have named these classideas we have our list of common nouns.The study of the language of a people

may therefore reveal much of their typeof thought.

The Necessity for GrowingConcepts.—The development of ourconcepts constitutes a large part of oureducation. For it is evident that, sincethinking rests so fundamentally onconcepts, progress in our mental lifemust depend on a constant growth in thenumber and character of our concepts.Not only must we keep on adding newconcepts, but the old must not remainstatic. When our concepts stop growing,our minds have ceased to grow—we nolonger learn. This arrest of developmentis often seen in persons who have settled

into a life of narrow routine, where thedemands are few and of a simple nature.Unless they rise above their routine, theyearly become "old fogies." Theirconcepts petrify from lack of use and theconstant reconstruction which growthnecessitates.

On the other hand, the person whohas upon him the constant demand tomeet new situations or do better in oldones will keep on enriching his oldconcepts and forming new ones, or else,unable to do this, he will fail in hisposition. And the person who keeps onsteadily enriching his concepts hasdiscovered the secret of perpetual youthso far as his mental life is concerned.

For him there is no old age; his thoughtwill be always fresh, his experiencealways accumulating, and his knowledgegrowing more valuable and usable.

5. JUDGMENT

But in the building up of perceptsand concepts, as well as in making useof them after they are formed, anotherprocess of thinking enters; namely, theprocess of judging.

Nature of Judgment.—Judgingenters more or less into all our thinking,from the simplest to the most complex.

The babe lies staring at his bottle, andfinally it dawns on his sluggish mind thatthis is the object from which he gets hisdinner. He has performed a judgment.That is, he has alternately directed hisattention to the object before him and tohis image of former nursing, discoveredthe relation existing between the two,and affirmed to himself, "This is whatgives me my dinner." "Bottle" and"what-gives-me-my-dinner" areessentially identical to the child.Judgment is, then, the affirmation ofthe essential identity of meaning of twoobjects of thought. Even if theproposition in which we state ourjudgment has in it a negative, thedefinition will still hold, for the mental

process is the same in either case. It isas much a judgment if we say, "The dayis not-cold," as if we say, "The day iscold."

Judgment Used in Percepts andConcepts.—How judgment enters intothe forming of our percepts may be seenfrom the illustration just given. The actby which the child perceived his bottlehad in it a large element of judging. Hehad to compare two objects of thought—the one from past experience in the formof images, and the other from the presentobject, in the form of sensations from thebottle—and then affirm their essentialidentity. Of course it is not meant that

what I have described consciously takesplace in the mind of the child; but somesuch process lies at the bottom of everyperception, whether of the child oranyone else.

Likewise it may be seen that theforming of concepts depends onjudgment. Every time that we meet a newobject which has to be assigned its placein our classification, judgment isrequired. Suppose the child, with hisimmature concept dog, sees for the firsttime a greyhound. He must compare thisnew specimen with his concept dog, anddecide that this is or is not a dog. If hediscovers the identity of meaning in theessentials of the two objects of thought,

his judgment will be affirmative, and hisconcept will be modified in whateverextent greyhound will affect it.

Judgment Leads to GeneralTruths.—But judgment goes muchfarther than to assist in building perceptsand concepts. It takes our concepts afterthey are formed and discovers andaffirms relations between them, thusenabling us finally to relate classes aswell as individuals. It carries ourthinking over into the realm of theuniversal, where we are not hamperedby particulars. Let us see how this isdone. Suppose we have the concept manand the concept animal, and that we

think of these two concepts in theirrelation to each other. The mind analyzeseach into its elements, compares them,and finds the essential identity ofmeaning in a sufficient number towarrant the judgment, man is an animal.This judgment has given a new bit ofknowledge, in that it has discovered tous a new relation between two greatclasses, and hence given both, in so far,a new meaning and a wider definition.And as this new relation does not pertainto any particular man or any particularanimal, but includes all individuals ineach class, it has carried us over intouniversals, so that we have a generaltruth and will not have to test eachindividual man henceforth to see

whether he fits into this relation.

Judgments also, as we will see later,constitute the material for our reasoning.Hence upon their validity will dependthe validity of our reasoning.

The Validity of Judgments.—Now,since every judgment is made up of anaffirmation of relation existing betweentwo terms, it is evident that the validityof the judgment will depend on thethoroughness of our knowledge of theterms compared. If we know but few ofthe attributes of either term of thejudgment, the judgment is clearly unsafe.Imperfect concepts lie at the basis of

many of our wrong judgments. A youngman complained because his friend hadbeen expelled from college for allegedmisbehavior. He said, "Mr. A—— wasthe best boy in the institution." It is veryevident that someone had made amistake in judgment. Surely no collegewould want to expel the best boy in theinstitution. Either my complainant or theauthorities of the college had failed tounderstand one of the terms in thejudgment. Either "Mr. A——" or "thebest boy in the institution" had beenwrongly interpreted by someone.Likewise, one person will say, "Jones isa good man," while another will say,"Jones is a rascal." Such a discrepancyin judgment must come from a lack of

acquaintance with Jones or a lack ofknowledge of what constitutes a goodman or a rascal.

No doubt most of us are prone tomake judgments with too littleknowledge of the terms we arecomparing, and it is usually those whohave the least reason for confidence intheir judgments who are the most certainthat they cannot be mistaken. The remedyfor faulty judgments is, of course, inmaking ourselves more certain of theterms involved, and this in turn sends usback for a review of our concepts or theexperience upon which the termsdepend. It is evident that no two personscan have just the same concepts, for all

have not had the same experience out ofwhich their concepts came. The conceptsmay be named the same, and may benearly enough alike so that we canusually understand each other; but, afterall, I have mine and you have yours, andif we could each see the other's in theirtrue light, no doubt we should save manymisunderstandings and quarrels.

6. REASONING

All the mental processes which wehave so far described find theirculmination and highest utility inreasoning. Not that reasoning comes lastin the list of mental activities, and cannot

take place until all the others have beencompleted, for reasoning is in somedegree present almost from the dawn ofconsciousness. The difference betweenthe reasoning of the child and that of theadult is largely one of degree—of reach.Reasoning goes farther than any of theother processes of cognition, for it takesthe relations expressed in judgments andout of these relations evolves still otherand more ultimate relations.

Nature of Reasoning.—It is hard todefine reasoning so as to describe theprecise process which occurs; for it isso intermingled with perception,conception, and judgment, that one can

hardly separate them even for purposesof analysis, much less to separate themfunctionally. We may, however, definereasoning provisionally as thinking bymeans of a series of judgments with thepurpose of arriving at some definiteend or conclusion. What does thismean? Professor Angell has stated thematter so clearly that I will quote hisillustration of the case:

"Suppose that we are about to makea long journey which necessitates thechoice from among a number of possibleroutes. This is a case of the genuinelyproblematic kind. It requires reflection,a weighing of the pros and cons, andgiving of the final decision in favor of

one or other of several alternatives. Insuch a case the procedure of most of usis after this order. We think of one routeas being picturesque and wholly novel,but also as being expensive. We think ofanother as less interesting, but also asless expensive. A third is, we discover,the most expedient, but also the mostcostly of the three. We find ourselvesconfronted, then, with the necessity ofchoosing with regard to the relativemerits of cheapness, beauty, and speed.We proceed to consider these points inthe light of all our interests, and thedecision more or less makes itself. Wefind, for instance, that we must, under thecircumstances, select the cheapestroute."

How Judgments Function inReasoning.—Such a line of thinking isvery common to everyone, and one thatwe carry out in one form or another athousand times every day we live. Whenwe come to look closely at the stepsinvolved in arriving at a conclusion, wedetect a series of judgments—often notvery logically arranged, to be sure, butyet so related that the result is safelyreached in the end. We compare ourconcept of, say, the first route and ourconcept of picturesqueness, decide theyagree, and affirm the judgment, "Thisroute is picturesque." Likewise wearrive at the judgment, "This route is

also expensive, it is interesting, etc."Then we take the other routes and formour judgments concerning them. Thesejudgments are all related to each other insome way, some of them being moreintimately related than others. Whichjudgments remain as the significant ones,the ones which are used to solve theproblem finally, depends on whichconcepts are the most vital for us withreference to the ultimate end in view. Iftime is the chief element, then the formof our reasoning would be somethinglike this: "Two of the routes requiremore than three days: hence I must takethe third route." If economy is theimportant end, the solution would be asfollows: "Two routes cost more than

$1,000; I cannot afford to pay more than$800; I therefore must patronize the thirdroute."

In both cases it is evident that theconclusion is reached through acomparison of two or more judgments.This is the essential difference betweenjudgment and reasoning. Whereasjudgment discovers relations betweenconcepts, reasoning discovers relationsbetween judgments, and from thisevolves a new judgment which is theconclusion sought. The example givenwell illustrates the ordinary method bywhich we reason to conclusions.

Deduction and the Syllogism.—Logic may take the conclusion, with thetwo judgments on which it is based, andform the three into what is called asyllogism, of which the following is aclassical type:

All men are mortal;Socrates is a man,

Therefore

Socrates is mortal.

The first judgment is in the form of aproposition which is called the majorpremise, because it is general in its

nature, including all men. The second isthe minor premise, since it deals with aparticular man. The third is theconclusion, in which a new relation isdiscovered between Socrates andmortality.

This form of reasoning is deductive,that is, it proceeds from the general tothe particular. Much of our reasoning isan abbreviated form of the syllogism,and will readily expand into it. Forinstance, we say, "It will rain tonight, forthere is lightning in the west." Expandedinto the syllogism form it would be,"Lightning in the west is a sure sign ofrain; there is lightning in the west thisevening; therefore, it will rain tonight."

While we do not commonly think incomplete syllogisms, it is oftenconvenient to cast our reasoning in thisform to test its validity. For example, afallacy lurks in the generalization,"Lightning in the west is a sure sign ofrain." Hence the conclusion is ofdoubtful validity.

Induction.—Deduction is a valuableform of reasoning, but a moment'sreflection will show that something mustprecede the syllogism in our reasoning.The major premise must be accountedfor. How are we able to say that all menare mortal, and that lightning in the westis a sure sign of rain? How was this

general truth arrived at? There is onlyone way, namely, through theobservation of a large number ofparticular instances, or throughinduction.

Induction is the method ofproceeding from the particular to thegeneral. Many men are observed, and itis found that all who have been observedhave died under a certain age. It is truethat not all men have been observed todie, since many are now living, andmany more will no doubt come and livein the world whom we cannot observe,since mortality will have overtaken usbefore their advent. To this it may beanswered that the men now living have

not yet lived up to the limit of their time,and, besides, they have within them thecauses working whose inevitable effecthas always been and always will bedeath; likewise with the men yet unborn,they will possess the same organism aswe, whose very nature necessitatesmortality. In the case of the premonitionsof rain, the generalization is not so safe,for there have been exceptions. Lightningin the west at night is not alwaysfollowed by rain, nor can we findinherent causes as in the other casewhich necessitates rain as an effect.

The Necessity for BroadInduction.—Thus it is seen that our

generalizations, or major premises, areof all degrees of validity. In the case ofsome, as the mortality of man, millionsof cases have been observed and noexceptions found, but on the contrary,causes discovered whose operationrenders the result inevitable. In others,as, for instance, in the generalizationonce made, "All cloven-footed animalschew their cud," not only had theexamination of individual cases not beencarried so far as in the former case whenthe generalization was made, but therewere found no inherent causes residingin cloven-footed animals which make itnecessary for them to chew their cud.That is, cloven feet and cud-chewing donot of necessity go together, and the case

of the pig disproves the generalization.

In practically no instance, however,is it possible for us to examine everycase upon which a generalization isbased; after examining a sufficientnumber of cases, and particularly if thereare supporting causes, we are warrantedin making the "inductive leap," or inproceeding at once to state ourgeneralization as a working hypothesis.Of course it is easy to see that if wehave a wrong generalization, if ourmajor premise is invalid, all thatfollows in our chain of reasoning will beworthless. This fact should render uscareful in making generalizations on toonarrow a basis of induction. We may

have observed that certain red-hairedpeople of our acquaintance are quick-tempered, but we are not justified fromthis in making the general statement thatall red-haired people are quick-tempered. Not only have we notexamined a sufficient number of cases towarrant such a conclusion, but we havefound in the red hair not even a cause ofquick temper, but only an occasionalconcomitant.

The Interrelation of Induction andDeduction.—Induction and deductionmust go hand in hand in building up ourworld of knowledge. Induction gives usthe particular facts out of which our

system of knowledge is built, furnishesus with the data out of which generaltruths are formed; deduction allows us tostart with the generalization furnished usby induction, and from this vantageground to organize and systematize ourknowledge and, through the discovery ofits relations, to unify it and make itusable. Deduction starts with a generaltruth and asks the question, "What newrelations are made necessary amongparticular facts by this truth?" Inductionstarts with particulars, and asks thequestion, "To what general truth do theseseparate facts lead?" Each method ofreasoning needs the other. Deductionmust have induction to furnish the factsfor its premises; induction must have

deduction to organize these separatefacts into a unified body of knowledge."He only sees well who sees the wholein the parts, and the parts in the whole."


1. Watch your own thinking forexamples of each of the four typesdescribed. Observe a class of childrenin a recitation or at study and try todecide which type is being employed byeach child. What proportion of the timesupposedly given to study is given overt o chance or idle thinking? Toassimilative thinking? To deliberative

thinking?

2. Observe children at work inschool with the purpose of determiningwhether they are being taught to think, oronly to memorize certain facts. Do youfind that definitions whose meaning isnot clear are often required of children?Which should come first, the definitionor the meaning and application of it?

3. It is of course evident from therelation of induction and deduction thatthe child's natural mode of learning asubject is by induction. Observe theteaching of children to determinewhether inductive methods are

commonly used. Outline an inductivelesson in arithmetic, physiology,geography, civics, etc.

4. What concepts have you nowwhich you are aware are very meager?What is your concept of mountain? Howmany have you seen? Have you anyconcepts which you are working veryhard to enrich?

5. Recall some judgment which youhave made and which proved to be false,and see whether you can now discoverwhat was wrong with it. Do you find thetrouble to be an inadequate concept?What constitutes "good judgment"?

"poor judgment"? Did you ever make amistake in an example in, say,percentage, by saying "This is the base,"when it proved not to be? What was thecause of the error?

6. Can you recall any instance inwhich you made too hasty ageneralization when you had observedbut few cases upon which to base yourpremise? What of your reasoning whichfollowed?

7. See whether you can show thatvalidity of reasoning rests ultimately oncorrect perceptions. What are you doingat present to increase your power of

thinking?

8. How ought this chapter to helpone in making a better teacher? A betterstudent?

CHAPTER XIII

INSTINCT

Nothing is more wonderful thannature's method of endowing eachindividual at the beginning with all theimpulses, tendencies and capacities thatare to control and determine the outcomeof the life. The acorn has the perfect oaktree in its heart; the complete butterflyexists in the grub; and man at his highestpowers is present in the babe at birth.Education adds nothing to what hereditysupplies, but only develops what ispresent from the first.

We are a part of a great unbrokenprocession of life, which began at thebeginning and will go on till the end.Each generation receives, throughheredity, the products of the longexperience through which the race haspassed. The generation receiving the gifttoday lives its own brief life, makes itsown little contribution to the sum totaland then passes on as millions have donebefore. Through heredity, theachievements, the passions, the fears,and the tragedies of generations longsince moldered to dust stir our bloodand tone our nerves for the conflict oftoday.

1. THE NATURE OF INSTINCT

Every child born into the world hasresting upon him an unseen handreaching out from the past, pushing himout to meet his environment, and guidinghim in the start upon his journey. Thisimpelling and guiding power from thepast we call instinct. In the words ofMosso: "Instinct is the voice of pastgenerations reverberating like a distantecho in the cells of the nervous system.We feel the breath, the advice, theexperience of all men, from those wholived on acorns and struggled like wildbeasts, dying naked in the forests, downto the virtue and toil of our father, thefear and love of our mother."

The Babe's Dependence onInstinct.—The child is born ignorantand helpless. It has no memory, noreason, no imagination. It has neverperformed a conscious act, and does notknow how to begin. It must get started,but how? It has no experience to directit, and is unable to understand or imitateothers of its kind. It is at this point thatinstinct comes to the rescue. The racehas not given the child a mind readymade—that must develop; but it hasgiven him a ready-made nervous system,ready to respond with the propermovements when it receives the touch ofits environment through the senses.

And this nervous system has been sotrained during a limitless past that itsresponses are the ones which arenecessary for the welfare of its owner. Itcan do a hundred things without havingto wait to learn them. Burdette says ofthe new-born child, "Nobody told himwhat to do. Nobody taught him. Heknew. Placed suddenly on the guest listof this old caravansary, he knew his wayat once to two places in it—his bedroomand the dining-room." A thousandgenerations of babies had done the samething in the same way, and each hadmade it a little easier for this particularbaby to do his part without learninghow.

Definition of Instinct.—Instinctsare the tendency to act in certaindefinite ways, without previouseducation and without a conscious endin view. They are a tendency to act; forsome movement, or motor adjustment, isthe response to an instinct. They do notrequire previous education, for none ispossible with many instinctive acts: theduck does not have to be taught to swimor the baby to suck. They have noconscious end in view, though the resultmay be highly desirable.

Says James: "The cat runs after themouse, runs or shows fight before the

dog, avoids falling from walls and trees,shuns fire and water, etc., not because hehas any notion either of life or death, orof self, or of preservation. He hasprobably attained to no one of theseconceptions in such a way as to reactdefinitely upon it. He acts in each caseseparately, and simply because hecannot help it; being so framed that whenthat particular running thing called amouse appears in his field of vision hemust pursue; that when that particularbarking and obstreperous thing called adog appears he must retire, if at adistance, and scratch if close by; that hemust withdraw his feet from water andhis face from flame, etc. His nervoussystem is to a great extent a pre-

organized bundle of such reactions. Theyare as fatal as sneezing, and exactlycorrelated to their special excitants as itto its own."[6]

You ask, Why does the lark rise onthe flash of a sunbeam from his meadowto the morning sky, leaving a trail ofmelody to mark his flight? Why does thebeaver build his dam, and the oriolehang her nest? Why are myriads ofanimal forms on the earth today doingwhat they were countless generationsago? Why does the lover seek the maid,and the mother cherish her young?Because the voice of the past speaks tothe present, and the present has no

choice but to obey.

Instincts Are Racial Habits.—Instincts are the habits of the race whichit bequeaths to the individual; theindividual takes these for his start, andthen modifies them through education,and thus adapts himself to hisenvironment. Through his instincts, theindividual is enabled to short-cut racialexperience, and begin at once on lifeactivities which the race has been agesin acquiring. Instinct preserves to uswhat the race has achieved inexperience, and so starts us out wherethe race left off.

Unmodified Instinct is Blind.—Many of the lower animal forms act oninstinct blindly, unable to use pastexperience to guide their acts, incapableof education. Some of them carry outseemingly marvelous activities, yet theiracts are as automatic as those of amachine and as devoid of foresight. Aspecies of mud wasp carefully selectsclay of just the right consistency, finds asomewhat sheltered nook under theeaves, and builds its nest, leaving oneopen door. Then it seeks a certain kindof spider, and having stung it so as tobenumb without killing, carries it intothe new-made nest, lays its eggs on thebody of the spider so that the youngwasps may have food immediately upon

hatching out, then goes out and plastersthe door over carefully to exclude allintruders. Wonderful intelligence? Notintelligence at all. Its acts were dictatednot by plans for the future, but bypressure from the past. Let the supply ofclay fail, or the race of spiders becomeextinct, and the wasp is helpless and itsspecies will perish. Likewise the raceof bees and ants have done wonderfulthings, but individual bees and ants arevery stupid and helpless whenconfronted by any novel conditions towhich their race has not beenaccustomed.

Man starts in as blindly as the loweranimals; but, thanks to his higher mental

powers, this blindness soon gives wayto foresight, and he is able to formulatepurposeful ends and adapt his activitiesto their accomplishment. Possessing alarger number of instincts than the loweranimals have, man finds possible agreater number of responses to a morecomplex environment than do they. Thisadvantage, coupled with his ability toreconstruct his experience in such a waythat he secures constantly increasingcontrol over his environment, easilymakes man the superior of all theanimals, and enables him to exploit themfor his own further advancement.

2. LAW OF THE APPEARANCE

AND DISAPPEARANCE OFINSTINCTS

No child is born with all its instinctsripe and ready for action. Yet eachindividual contains within his own innernature the law which determines theorder and time of their development.

Instincts Appear in Succession asRequired.—It is not well that we shouldbe started on too many different lines ofactivity at once, hence our instincts donot all appear at the same time. Only asfast as we need additional activities dothey ripen. Our very earliest activitiesare concerned chiefly with feeding,

hence we first have the instincts whichprompt us to take our food and to cry forit when we are hungry. Also we finduseful such abbreviated instincts, calledreflexes, as sneezing, snuffling, gagging,vomiting, starting, etc.; hence we havethe instincts enabling us to do thesethings. Soon comes the time for teething,and, to help the matter along, the instinctof biting enters, and the rubber ring is indemand. The time approaches when weare to feed ourselves, so the instinctarises to carry everything to the mouth.Now we have grown strong and mustassume an erect attitude, hence theinstinct to sit up and then to stand.Locomotion comes next, and with it theinstinct to creep and walk. Also a

language must be learned, and we musttake part in the busy life about us and doas other people do; so the instinct toimitate arises that we may learn thingsquickly and easily.

We need a spur to keep us up to ourbest effort, so the instinct of emulationemerges. We must defend ourselves, sothe instinct of pugnacity is born. Weneed to be cautious, hence the instinct offear. We need to be investigative, hencethe instinct of curiosity. Much self-directed activity is necessary for ourdevelopment, hence the play instinct. Itis best that we should come to know andserve others, so the instincts ofsociability and sympathy arise. We need

to select a mate and care for offspring,hence the instinct of love for the othersex, and the parental instinct. This is farfrom a complete list of our instincts, andI have not tried to follow the order oftheir development, but I have givenenough to show the origin of many of ourlife's most important activities.

Many Instincts Are Transitory. —Not only do instincts ripen by degrees,entering our experience one by one asthey are needed, but they drop out whentheir work is done. Some, like theinstinct of self-preservation, are neededour lifetime through, hence they remainto the end. Others, like the play instinct,

serve their purpose and disappear or aremodified into new forms in a few years,or a few months. The life of the instinctis always as transitory as is the necessityfor the activity to which it gives rise. Noinstinct remains wholly unaltered inman, for it is constantly being made overin the light of each new experience. Theinstinct of self-preservation is modifiedby knowledge and experience, so that thedefense of the man against threateneddanger would be very different from thatof the child; yet the instinct to protectoneself in some way remains. On theother hand, the instinct to romp and playis less permanent. It may last into adultlife, but few middle-aged or old peoplecare to race about as do children. Their

activities are occupied in other lines,and they require less physical exertion.

Contrast with these two examplessuch instincts as sucking, creeping, andcrying, which are much more fleetingthan the play instinct, even. Withdentition comes another mode of eating,and sucking is no more serviceable.Walking is a better mode of locomotionthan creeping, so the instinct to creepsoon dies. Speech is found a better waythan crying to attract attention to distress,so this instinct drops out. Many of ourinstincts not only would fail to beserviceable in our later lives, but wouldbe positively in the way. Each serves itsday, and then passes over into so

modified a form as not to be recognized,or else drops out of sight altogether.

Seemingly Useless Instincts.—Indeed it is difficult to see that someinstincts serve a useful purpose at anytime. The pugnacity and greediness ofchildhood, its foolish fears, thebashfulness of youth—these seem to beeither useless or detrimental todevelopment. In order to understand theworkings of instinct, however, we mustremember that it looks in two directions;into the future for its application, andinto the past for its explanation. Weshould not be surprised if theexperiences of a long past have left

behind some tendencies which are notvery useful under the vastly differentconditions of today.

Nor should we be too sure that anactivity whose precise function inrelation to development we cannotdiscover has no use at all. Each instinctmust be considered not alone in the lightof what it means to its possessor today,but of what it means to all his futuredevelopment. The tail of a polliwogseems a very useless appendage so faras the adult frog is concerned, yet if thepolliwog's tail is cut off a perfect frognever develops.

Instincts to Be Utilized WhenThey Appear. —A man may set thestream to turning his mill wheels todayor wait for twenty years—the power isthere ready for him when he wants it.Instincts must be utilized when theypresent themselves, else they disappear—never, in most cases, to return. Birdskept caged past the flying time neverlearn to fly well. The hunter must trainhis setter when the time is ripe, or thedog can never be depended upon. Duckskept away from the water until fullgrown have almost as little inclinationfor it as chickens.

The child whom the pressure of

circumstances or unwise authority ofparents keeps from mingling withplaymates and participating in theirplays and games when the social instinctis strong upon him, will in later life findhimself a hopeless recluse to whomsocial duties are a bore. The boy whodoes not hunt and fish and race andclimb at the proper time for these things,will find his taste for them fade away,and he will become wedded to asedentary life. The youth and maidenmust be permitted to "dress up" when theimpulse comes to them, or they are likelyever after to be careless in their attire.

Instincts as Starting Points.—Most

of our habits have their rise in instincts,and all desirable instincts should beseized upon and transformed into habitsbefore they fade away. Says James in hisremarkable chapter on Instinct: "In allpedagogy the great thing is to strikewhile the iron is hot, and to seize thewave of the pupils' interest in eachsuccessive subject before its ebb hascome, so that knowledge may be got anda habit of skill acquired—a headway ofinterest, in short, secured, on whichafterwards the individual may float.There is a happy moment for fixing skillin drawing, for making boys collectorsin natural history, and presentlydissectors and botanists; then forinitiating them into the harmonies of

mechanics and the wonders of physicaland chemical law. Later, introspectivepsychology and the metaphysical andreligious mysteries take their turn; and,last of all, the drama of human affairsand worldly wisdom in the widest senseof the term. In each of us a saturationpoint is soon reached in all these things;the impetus of our purely intellectualzeal expires, and unless the topic isassociated with some urgent personalneed that keeps our wits constantlywhetted about it, we settle into anequilibrium, and live on what welearned when our interest was fresh andinstinctive, without adding to the store."

There is a tide in the affairs of

menWhich, taken at the flood, leads onto fortune;Omitted, all the voyage of their lifeIs bound in shallows and inmiseries.

The More Important HumanInstincts.—It will be impossible in thisbrief statement to give a completecatalogue of the human instincts, muchless to discuss each in detail. We mustcontent ourselves therefore with namingthe more important instincts, and finallydiscussing a few of them: Sucking,biting, chewing, clasping objects withthe fingers, carrying to the mouth,

crying, smiling, sitting up, standing,locomotion, vocalization, imitation,emulation, pugnacity, resentment,anger, sympathy, hunting and fighting,fear, acquisitiveness, play, curiosity,sociability, modesty, secretiveness,shame, love, and jealousy may be saidto head the list of our instincts. It will beimpossible in our brief space to discussall of this list. Only a few of the moreimportant will be noticed.

3. THE INSTINCT OF IMITATION

No individual enters the world witha large enough stock of instincts to starthim doing all the things necessary for his

welfare. Instinct prompts him to eatwhen he is hungry, but does not tell himto use a knife and fork and spoon; itprompts him to use vocal speech, butdoes not say whether he shall useEnglish, French, or German; it promptshim to be social in his nature, but doesnot specify that he shall say please andthank you, and take off his hat to ladies.The race did not find the specific modesin which these and many other things areto be done of sufficient importance tocrystallize them in instincts, hence theindividual must learn them as he needsthem. The simplest way ofaccomplishing this is for each generationto copy the ways of doing things whichare followed by the older generation

among whom they are born. This is donelargely through imitation.

Nature of Imitation.—Imitation isthe instinct to respond to a suggestionfrom another by repeating his act. Theinstinct of imitation is active in the year-old child, it requires another year or twoto reach its height, then it graduallygrows less marked, but continues insome degree throughout life. The youngchild is practically helpless in the matterof imitation. Instinct demands that heshall imitate, and he has no choice but toobey. His environment furnishes themodels which he must imitate, whetherthey are good or bad. Before he is old

enough for intelligent choice, he hasimitated a multitude of acts about him;and habit has seized upon these acts andis weaving them into conduct andcharacter. Older grown we may choosewhat we will imitate, but in our earlieryears we are at the mercy of the modelswhich are placed before us.

If our mother tongue is the first wehear spoken, that will be our language;but if we first hear Chinese, we willlearn that with almost equal facility. Ifwhatever speech we hear is wellspoken, correct, and beautiful, so willour language be; if it is vulgar, orincorrect, or slangy, our speech will beof this kind. If the first manners which

serve us as models are coarse andboorish, ours will resemble them; if theyare cultivated and refined, ours will belike them. If our models of conduct andmorals are questionable, our conductand morals will be of like type. Ourmanner of walking, of dressing, ofthinking, of saying our prayers, even,originates in imitation. By imitation weadopt ready-made our social standards,our political faith, and our religiouscreeds. Our views of life and the valueswe set on its attainments are largely amatter of imitation.

Individuality in Imitation.—Yet,given the same model, no two of us will

imitate precisely alike. Your acts willbe yours, and mine will be mine. This isbecause no two of us have just the sameheredity, and hence cannot haveprecisely similar instincts. There residein our different personalities differentpowers of invention and originality, andthese determine by how much theproduct of imitation will vary from themodel. Some remain imitators all theirlives, while others use imitation as ameans to the invention of better typesthan the original models. The personwho is an imitator only, lacksindividuality and initiative; the nationwhich is an imitator only is stagnant andunprogressive. While imitation must beblind in both cases at first, it should be

increasingly intelligent as the individualor the nation progresses.

Conscious and UnconsciousImitation.—The much-quoted dictumthat "all consciousness is motor" has adirect application to imitation. It onlymeans that we have a tendency to act onwhatever idea occupies the mind. Thinkof yawning or clearing the throat, and thetendency is strong to do these things. Wenaturally respond to smile with smileand to frown with frown. And even theimpressions coming to us from ourmaterial environment have theirinfluence on our acts. Our response tothese ideas may be a conscious one, as

when a boy purposely stutters in order tomimic an unfortunate companion; or itmay be unconscious, as when the boyunknowingly falls into the habit ofstammering from hearing this kind ofspeech. The child may consciously seekto keep himself neat and clean so as toharmonize with a pleasant and well-kepthome, or he may unconsciously becomeslovenly and cross-tempered from livingin an ill-kept home where constantbickering is the rule.

Often we deliberately imitate whatseems to us desirable in other people,but probably far the greater proportionof the suggestions to which we respondare received and acted upon

unconsciously. In conscious imitation wecan select what models we shall imitate,and therefore protect ourselves in so faras our judgment of good and bad modelsis valid. In unconscious imitation,however, we are constantly respondingto a stream of suggestions pouring inupon us hour after hour and day afterday, with no protection but the leadingsof our interests as they direct ourattention now to this phase of ourenvironment, and now to that.

Influence of Environment.—Nosmall part of the influences which moldour lives comes from our materialenvironment. Good clothes, artistic

homes, beautiful pictures anddecoration, attractive parks and lawns,well-kept streets, well-bound books—all these have a direct moral andeducative value; on the other hand,squalor, disorder, and ugliness are anincentive to ignorance and crime.

Hawthorne tells in "The Great StoneFace" of the boy Ernest, listening to thetradition of a coming Wise Man who oneday is to rule over the Valley. The storysinks deep into the boy's heart, and hethinks and dreams of the great and goodman; and as he thinks and dreams, hespends his boyhood days gazing acrossthe valley at a distant mountain sidewhose rocks and cliffs nature had

formed into the outlines of a human faceremarkable for the nobleness andbenignity of its expression. He comes tolove this Face and looks upon it as theprototype of the coming Wise Man, untillo! as he dwells upon it and dreamsabout it, the beautiful character which itsexpression typifies grows into his ownlife, and he himself becomes the long-looked-for Wise Man.

The Influence of Personality.—More powerful than the influence ofmaterial environment, however, is thatof other personalities upon us—the touchof life upon life. A living personalitycontains a power which grips hold of us,

electrifies us, inspires us, and compelsus to new endeavor, or else degradesand debases us. None has failed to feelat some time this life-touch, and to blessor curse the day when its influence cameupon him. Either consciously orunconsciously such a personalitybecomes our ideal and model; weidolize it, idealize it, and imitate it, untilit becomes a part of us. Not only do wefind these great personalities living inthe flesh, but we find them also in books,from whose pages they speak to us, andto whose influence we respond.

And not in the great personalitiesalone does the power to influencereside. From every life which touches

ours, a stream of influence great or smallis entering our life and helping to moldit. Nor are we to forget that thisinfluence is reciprocal, and that we arereacting upon others up to the measure ofthe powers that are in us.

4. THE INSTINCT OF PLAY

Small use to be a child unless onecan play. Says Karl Groos: "Perhaps thevery existence of youth is due in part tothe necessity for play; the animal doesnot play because he is young, but he isyoung because he must play." Play is aconstant factor in all grades of animallife. The swarming insects, the playful

kitten, the frisking lambs, the racing colt,the darting swallows, the maddeningaggregation of blackbirds—these are butillustrations of the common impulse ofall the animal world to play. Whereverfreedom and happiness reside, there playis found; wherever play is lacking, therethe curse has fallen and sadness andoppression reign. Play is the natural rôlein the paradise of youth; it is childhood'schief occupation. To toil without play,places man on a level with the beasts ofburden.

The Necessity for Play.—But whyis play so necessary? Why is thisimpulse so deep-rooted in our natures?

Why not compel our young to expendtheir boundless energy on productivelabor? Why all this waste? Why haveour child labor laws? Why not shutrecesses from our schools, and so savetime for work? Is it true that all workand no play makes Jack a dull boy? Tootrue. For proof we need but gaze at thedull and lifeless faces of the prematurelyold children as they pour out of thefactories where child labor is employed.We need but follow the children, whohave had a playless childhood, into anarrow and barren manhood. We needbut to trace back the history of the dulland brutish men of today, and find thatthey were the playless children ofyesterday. Play is as necessary to the

child as food, as vital as sunshine, asindispensable as air.

The keynote of play is freedom,freedom of physical activity, and mentalinitiative. In play the child makes hisown plans, his imagination has free rein,originality is in demand, andconstructive ability is placed undertribute. Here are developed a thousandtendencies which would never findexpression in the narrow treadmill oflabor alone. The child needs to learn towork; but along with his work must bethe opportunity for free and unrestrictedactivity, which can come only throughplay. The boy needs a chance to be abarbarian, a hero, an Indian. He needs to

ride his broomstick on a dangerous raid,and to charge with lath sword theredoubts of a stubborn enemy. He needsto be a leader as well as a follower. Inshort, without in the least being aware ofit, he needs to develop himself throughhis own activity—he needs freedom toplay. If the child be a girl, there is nodifference except in the character of theactivities employed.

Play in Development andEducation.—And it is precisely out ofthese play activities that the later andmore serious activities of life emerge.Play is the gateway by which we bestenter the various fields of the world's

work, whether our particular sphere bethat of pupil or teacher in theschoolroom, of man in the busy marts oftrade or in the professions, or of farmeror mechanic. Play brings the whole selfinto the activity; it trains to habits ofindependence and individual initiative,to strenuous and sustained effort, toendurance of hardship and fatigue, tosocial participation and the acceptanceof victory and defeat. And these are thequalities needed by the man of successin his vocation.

These facts make the play instinctone of the most important in education.Froebel was the first to recognize theimportance of play, and the kindergarten

was an attempt to utilize its activities inthe school. The introduction of this newfactor into education has been attended,as might be expected, by many mistakes.Some have thought to recast the entireprocess of education into the form ofgames and plays, and thus to lead thechild to possess the "Promised Land"through aimlessly chasing butterflies inthe pleasant fields of knowledge. It isneedless to say that they have notsucceeded. Others have mistaken theshadow for the substance, andintroduced games and plays into theschoolroom which lack the very firstelement of play; namely, freedom ofinitiative and action on the part of thechild. Educational theorists and teachers

have invented games and occupationsand taught them to the children, who gothrough with them much as they wouldwith any other task, enjoying the activitybut missing the development whichwould come through a larger measure ofself-direction.

Work and Play AreComplements.—Work cannot take theplace of play, neither can play besubstituted for work. Nor are the twoantagonistic, but each is the complementof the other; for the activities of workgrow immediately out of those of play,and each lends zest to the other. Thosewho have never learned to work and

those who have never learned to playare equally lacking in their development.Further, it is not the name or character ofan activity which determines whether itis play for the participant, but hisattitude toward the activity. If theactivity is performed for its own sakeand not for some ulterior end, if it growsout of the interest of the child andinvolves the free and independent use ofhis powers of body and mind, if it is his,and not someone's else—then theactivity possesses the chiefcharacteristics of play. Lacking these, itcannot be play, whatever else it may be.

Play, like other instincts, besidesserving the present, looks in two

directions, into the past and into thefuture. From the past come the shadowyinterests which, taking form from thetouch of our environment, determine thecharacter of the play activities. From thefuture come the premonitions of theactivities that are to be. The boyadjusting himself to the requirements ofthe game, seeking control over hiscompanions or giving in to them, ispracticing in miniature the larger gamewhich he will play in business orprofession a little later. The girl in herplayhouse, surrounded by a nondescriptfamily of dolls and pets, isunconsciously looking forward to a moreperfect life when the responsibilitiesshall be a little more real. So let us not

grudge our children the play day ofyouth.

5. OTHER USEFUL INSTINCTS

Many other instincts ripen during thestage of youth and play their part in thedevelopment of the individual.

Curiosity.—It is inherent in everynormal person to want to investigate andknow. The child looks out with wonderand fascination on a world he does notunderstand, and at once begins to askquestions and try experiments. Everynew object is approached in a spirit of

inquiry. Interest is omnivorous, feedingupon every phase of environment.Nothing is too simple or too complex todemand attention and exploration, so thatit vitally touches the child's activitiesand experience.

The momentum given the individualby curiosity toward learning andmastering his world is incalculable.Imagine the impossible task of teachingchildren what they had no desire orinclination to know! Think of trying tolead them to investigate mattersconcerning which they felt only asupreme indifference! Indeed one of thegreatest problems of education is to keepcuriosity alive and fresh so that its

compelling influence may promote effortand action. One of the greatest secrets ofeternal youth is also found in retainingthe spontaneous curiosity of youth afterthe youthful years are past.

Manipulation.—This is the ratherunsatisfactory name for the universaltendency to handle, do or makesomething. The young child builds withits blocks, constructs fences and pensand caves and houses, and a score ofother objects. The older child, suppliedwith implements and tools, enters uponmore ambitious projects and revels inthe joy of creation as he makes boats andboxes, soldiers and swords, kites, play-

houses and what-not. Even as adults weare moved by a desire to expressourselves through making or creating thatwhich will represent our ingenuity andskill. The tendency of children to destroyis not from wantonness, but rather from adesire to manipulate.

Education has but recently begun tomake serious use of this importantimpulse. The success of all laboratorymethods of teaching, and of suchsubjects as manual training and domesticscience, is abundant proof of the adagethat we learn by doing. We would ratherconstruct or manipulate an object thanmerely learn its verbal description. Ourdeepest impulses lead to creation rather

than simple mental appropriation of factsand descriptions.

The Collecting Instinct.—Thewords my and mine enter the child'svocabulary at a very early age. Thesense of property ownership and theimpulse to make collections of variouskinds go hand in hand. Probably thereare few of us who have not at one timeor another made collections ofautographs, postage stamps, coins, bugs,or some other thing of as little intrinsicvalue. And most of us, if we have leftyouth behind, are busy even now inseeking to collect fortunes, works of art,rare volumes or other objects on which

we have set our hearts.

The collecting instinct and theimpulse to ownership can be madeimportant agents in the school. The childwho, in nature study, geography oragriculture, is making a collection of theleaves, plants, soils, fruits, or insectsused in the lessons has an incentive toobservation and investigationimpossible from book instruction alone.One who, in manual training or domesticscience, is allowed to own the articlemade will give more effort and skill toits construction than if the work be doneas a mere school task.

The Dramatic Instinct.—Everyperson is, at one stage of hisdevelopment, something of an actor. Allchildren like to "dress up" andimpersonate someone else—in proof ofwhich, witness the many play scenes inwhich the character of nurse, doctor,pirate, teacher, merchant or explorer istaken by children who, under thestimulus of their spontaneous imageryand as yet untrammeled by self-consciousness, freely enter into thecharacter they portray. The dramaticimpulse never wholly dies out. When weno longer aspire to do the actingourselves we have others do it for us inthe theaters or the movies.

Education finds in the dramaticinstinct a valuable aid. Progressiveteachers are using it freely, especially inthe teaching of literature and history. Itsapplication to these fields may begreatly increased, and also extendedmore generally to include religion,morals, and art.

The Impulse to Form Gangs andClubs.—Few boys and girls grow upwithout belonging at some time to asecret gang, club or society. Usually thisimpulse grows out of two differentinstincts, the social and the adventurous.It is fundamental in our natures to wishto be with our kind—not only our human

kind, but those of the same age, interestsand ambitions. The love of secrecy andadventure is also deep seated in us. Sowe are clannish; and we love to do theunusual, to break away from thecommonplace and routine of our lives.There is often a thrill of satisfaction—even if it be later followed by remorse—in doing the forbidden or theunconventional.

The problem here as in the case ofmany other instincts is one of guidancerather than of repression. Out of the gangimpulse we may develop our athleticteams, our debating and dramatic clubs,our tramping clubs, and a score of otherrecreational, benevolent, or social

organizations. Not repression, butproper expression should be our ideal.

6. FEAR

Probably in no instinct more than inthat of fear can we find the reflections ofall the past ages of life in the world withits manifold changes, its dangers, itstragedies, its sufferings, and its deaths.

Fear Heredity.—The fears ofchildhood "are remembered at everystep," and so are the fears through whichthe race has passed. Says Chamberlain:"Every ugly thing told to the child, every

shock, every fright given him, willremain like splinters in the flesh, totorture him all his life long. The bravestold soldier, the most daring youngreprobate, is incapable of forgettingthem all—the masks, the bogies, ogres,hobgoblins, witches, and wizards, thethings that bite and scratch, that nip andtear, that pinch and crunch, the thousandand one imaginary monsters of themother, the nurse, or the servant, havehad their effect; and hundreds ofgenerations have worked to denaturalizethe brains of children. Perhaps noanimal, not even those most susceptibleto fright, has behind it the fear heredityof the child."

President Hall calls attention to thefact that night is now the safest time ofthe twenty-four hours; serpents are nolonger our most deadly enemies;strangers are not to be feared; neither arebig eyes or teeth; there is no adequatereason why the wind, or thunder, orlightning should make children frantic asthey do. But "the past of man foreverseems to linger in his present"; and thechild, in being afraid of these things, isonly summing up the fear experiences ofthe race and suffering all too many ofthem in his short childhood.

Fear of the Dark.—Most childrenare afraid in the dark. Who does not

remember the terror of a dark roomthrough which he had to pass, or, worsestill, in which he had to go to bed alone,and there lie in cold perspirationinduced by a mortal agony of fright! Theunused doors which would not lock, andthrough which he expected to see thegoblin come forth to get him! The darkshadows back under the bed where hewas afraid to look for the hiddenmonster which he was sure was hidingthere and yet dare not face! The lonelylane through which the cows were to bedriven late at night, while every fencecorner bristled with shapeless monsterslying in wait for boys!

And that hated dark closet where he

was shut up "until he could learn to begood!" And the useless trapdoor in theceiling. How often have we lain in thedim light at night and seen the lid lift justa peep for ogre eyes to peer out, and,when the terror was growing beyondendurance, close down, only to lift onceand again, until from sheer wearinessand exhaustion we fell into a troubledsleep and dreamed of the hideousmonster which inhabited the unusedgarret! Tell me that the old trapdoornever bent its hinges in response toeither man or monster for twenty years? Iknow it is true, and yet I am notconvinced. My childish fears have left astronger impression than proof of merefacts can ever overrule.

Fear of Being Left Alone.—Andthe fear of being left alone. How big anddreadful the house seemed with the folksall gone! How we suddenly made closefriends with the dog or the cat, even, inorder that this bit of life might be nearus! Or, failing in this, we have gone outto the barn among the chickens and thepigs and the cows, and deserted theempty house with its torture ofloneliness. What was there so terrible inbeing alone? I do not know. I know onlythat to many children it is a torture moreexquisite than the adult organism is fittedto experience.

But why multiply the recollections?They bring a tremor to the strongest of ustoday. Who of us would choose to livethrough those childish fears again?Dream fears, fears of animals, fears offurry things, fears of ghosts and of death,dread of fatal diseases, fears of fire andof water, of strange persons, of storms,fears of things unknown and evenunimagined, but all the more fearful!Would you all like to relive yourchildhood for its pleasures if you had totake along with them its sufferings?Would the race choose to live itsevolution over again? I do not know.But, for my own part, I should very muchhesitate to turn the hands of timebackward in either case. Would that the

adults at life's noonday, in rememberingthe childish fears of life's morning, mightfeel a sympathy for the children of today,who are not yet escaped from the bondsof the fear instinct. Would that all mightseek to quiet every foolish childish fear,instead of laughing at it or enhancing it!

7. OTHER UNDESIRABLEINSTINCTS

We are all provided by nature withsome instincts which, while they mayserve a good purpose in ourdevelopment, need to be suppressed orat least modified when they have donetheir work.

Selfishness.—All children, andperhaps all adults, are selfish. The littlechild will appropriate all the candy, andgive none to his playmate. He will growangry and fight rather than allow brotheror sister to use a favorite plaything. Hewill demand the mother's attention andcare even when told that she is tired orill, and not able to minister to him. Butall of this is true to nature and, though itneeds to be changed to generosity andunselfishness, is, after all, a vital factorin our natures. For it is better in the longrun that each one should look out forhimself, rather than to be so careless ofhis own interests and needs as to require

help from others. The problem ineducation is so to balance selfishnessand greed with unselfishness andgenerosity that each serves as a checkand a balance to the other. Notelimination but equilibrium is to be ourwatchword.

Pugnacity, or the FightingImpulse.—Almost every normal child isa natural fighter, just as every adultshould possess the spirit of conquest.The long history of conflict throughwhich our race has come has left itsmark in our love of combat. Thepugnacity of children, especially ofboys, is not so much to be deprecatedand suppressed as guided into right linesand rendered subject to right ideals. Theboy who picks a quarrel has been done akindness when given a drubbing that willcheck this tendency. On the other hand,one who risks battle in defense of aweaker comrade does no ignoble thing.Children need very early to be taught thebaseness of fighting for the sake of

conflict, and the glory of going down todefeat fighting in a righteous cause. Theworld could well stand more of thisspirit among adults!

Let us then hear the conclusion of thewhole matter. The undesirable instinctsdo not need encouragement. It is better tolet them fade away from disuse, or insome cases even by attaching punishmentto their expression. They are echoesfrom a distant past, and not serviceablein this better present. The desirableinstincts we are to seize upon andutilize as starting points for thedevelopment of useful interests, goodhabits, and the higher emotional life.

We should take them as they come, fortheir appearance is a sure sign that theorganism is ready for and needs theactivity they foreshadow; and,furthermore, if they are not used whenthey present themselves, theydisappear, never to return.


1. What instincts have you noticeddeveloping in children? What ones haveyou observed to fade away? Can you fixthe age in both cases? Apply thesequestions to your own development asyou remember it or can get it by tradition

from your elders.

2. What use of imitation may bemade in teaching (1) literature, (2)composition, (3) music, (4) goodmanners, (5) morals?

3. Should children be taught toplay? Make a list of the games you thinkall children should know and be able toplay. It has been said that it is asimportant for a people to be able to usetheir leisure time wisely as to use theirwork time profitably. Why should this betrue?

4. Observe the instruction ofchildren to discover the extent to whichuse is made of the constructive instinct.T he collecting instinct. The dramaticinstinct. Describe a plan by which eachof these instincts can be successfullyused in some branch of study.

5. What examples can you recountfrom your own experience of consciousimitation? of unconscious imitation? ofthe influence of environment? What isthe application of the preceding questionto the esthetic quality of our schoolbuildings?

6. Have you ever observed that

children under a dozen years of ageusually cannot be depended upon for"team work" in their games? How doyou explain this fact?

CHAPTER XIV

FEELING AND ITSFUNCTIONS

In the psychical world as well as thephysical we must meet and overcomeinertia. Our lives must be compelled bymotive forces strong enough toovercome this natural inertia, and enableus besides to make headway againstmany obstacles. The motive power thatdrives us consists chiefly of ourfeelings and emotions. Knowledge,cognition, supplies the rudder that guidesour ship, but feeling and emotion supplythe power.

To convince one's head is, therefore,not enough; his feelings must be stirred ifyou would be sure of moving him toaction. Often have we known that acertain line of action was right, butfailed to follow it because feeling led ina different direction. When decision hasbeen hanging in the balance we havepiled on one side obligation, duty, senseof right, and a dozen other reasons foraction, only to have them all outweighedby the one single: It is disagreeable.Judgment, reason, and experience mayunite to tell us that a contemplatedcourse is unwise, and imagination mayreveal to us its disastrous consequences,and yet its pleasures so appeal to us that

we yield. Our feelings often prove astronger motive than knowledge and willcombined; they are a factor constantly tobe reckoned with among our motives.

1. THE NATURE OF FEELING

It will be our purpose in the next fewchapters to study the affective content ofconsciousness—the feelings andemotions. The present chapter will bedevoted to the feelings and the one thatfollows to the emotions.

The Different Feeling Qualities.—At least six (some writers say even

more) distinct and qualitatively differentfeeling states are easily distinguished.These are: pleasure, pain; desire,repugnance; interest, apathy. Pleasureand pain, and desire and repugnance, aredirectly opposite or antagonisticfeelings. Interest and apathy are notopposites in a similar way, since apathyis but the absence of interest, and not itsantagonist. In place of the terms pleasureand pain, the pleasant and theunpleasant, or the agreeable and thedisagreeable, are often used. Aversionis frequently employed as a synonym forrepugnance.

It is somewhat hard to believe onfirst thought that feeling comprises but

the classes given. For have we not oftenfelt the pain from a toothache, from notbeing able to take a long-planned trip,from the loss of a dear friend? Surelythese are very different classes offeelings! Likewise we have been happyfrom the very joy of living, from beingpraised for some well-doing, or from thepresence of friend or lover. And hereagain we seem to have widely differentclasses of feelings.

We must remember, however, thatfeeling is always based on somethingknown. It never appears alone inconsciousness as mere pleasures orpains. The mind must have something

about which to feel. The "what" mustprecede the "how." What we commonlycall a feeling is a complex state ofconsciousness in which feelingpredominates, but which has,nevertheless, a basis of sensation, ormemory, or some other cognitiveprocess. And what so greatly varies inthe different cases of the illustrationsjust given is precisely this knowledgeelement, and not the feeling element. Afeeling of unpleasantness is a feeling ofunpleasantness whether it comes from anaching tooth or from the loss of a friend.It may differ in degree, and the entiremental states of which the feeling is apart may differ vastly, but the simplefeeling itself is of the same quality.

Feeling Always Present in MentalContent.—No phase of our mental lifeis without the feeling element. We lookat the rainbow with its beautiful andharmonious blending of colors, and afeeling of pleasure accompanies thesensation; then we turn and gaze at theglaring sun, and a disagreeable feeling isthe result. A strong feeling ofpleasantness accompanies theexperience of the voluptuous warmth ofa cozy bed on a cold morning, but theplunge between the icy sheets on thepreceding evening was accompanied bythe opposite feeling. The touch of a handmay occasion a thrill of ecstatic

pleasure, or it may be accompanied by afeeling equally disagreeable. And so onthrough the whole range of sensation; wenot only know the various objects aboutus through sensation and perception, butwe also feel while we know. Cognition,or the knowing processes, gives us our"whats"; and feeling, or the affectiveprocesses, gives us our "hows." What isyonder object? A bouquet. How does itaffect you? Pleasurably.

If, instead of the simpler sensoryprocesses which we have justconsidered, we take the more complexprocesses, such as memory, imagination,and thinking, the case is no different.Who has not reveled in the pleasure

accompanying the memories of pastjoys? On the other hand, who is freefrom all unpleasant memories—fromregrets, from pangs of remorse? Who hasnot dreamed away an hour in pleasantanticipation of some desired object, orspent a miserable hour in dreading somecalamity which imagination pictured tohim? Feeling also accompanies ourthought processes. Everyone hasexperienced the feeling of the pleasureof intellectual victory over somedifficult problem which had baffled thereason, or over some doubtful case inwhich our judgment proved correct. Andlikewise none has escaped the feeling ofunpleasantness which accompaniesintellectual defeat. Whatever the

contents of our mental stream, "we findin them, everywhere present, a certaincolor of passing estimate, an immediatesense that they are worth something to usat any given moment, or that they thenhave an interest to us."

The Seeming Neutral FeelingZone.—It is probable that there is solittle feeling connected with many of thehumdrum and habitual experiences ofour everyday lives, that we are butslightly, if at all, aware of a feeling statein connection with them. Yet a state ofconsciousness with absolutely no feelingside to it is as unthinkable as the obverseside of a coin without the reverse. Some

sort of feeling tone or mood is alwayspresent. The width of the affectiveneutral zone—that is, of a feeling stateso little marked as not to bediscriminated as either pleasure or pain,desire or aversion—varies withdifferent persons, and with the sameperson at different times. It isconditioned largely by the amount ofattention given in the direction offeeling, and also on the fineness of thepower of feeling discrimination. It issafe to say that the zero range is usuallyso small as to be negligible.

2. MOOD AND DISPOSITION

The sum total of all the feelingaccompanying the various sensory andthought processes at any given timeresults in what we may call our feelingtone, or mood.

How Mood is Produced.—Duringmost of our waking hours, and, indeed,during our sleeping hours as well, amultitude of sensory currents are pouringinto the cortical centers. At the presentmoment we can hear the rumble of awagon, the chirp of a cricket, the chatterof distant voices, and a hundred othersounds besides. At the same time the eyeis appealed to by an infinite variety ofstimuli in light, color, and objects; the

skin responds to many contacts andtemperatures; and every other type ofend-organ of the body is acting as a"sender" to telegraph a message in to thebrain. Add to these the powerful currentswhich are constantly being sent to thecortex from the visceral organs—thoseof respiration, of circulation, ofdigestion and assimilation. And thenfinally add the central processes whichaccompany the flight of images throughour minds—our meditations, memories,and imaginations, our cogitations andvolitions.

Thus we see what a complex ourfeelings must be, and how impossible tohave any moment in which some feeling

is not present as a part of our mentalstream. It is this complex, now made upchiefly on the basis of the sensorycurrents coming in from the end-organsor the visceral organs, and now on thebasis of those in the cortex connectedwith our thought life, which constitutesthe entire feeling tone, or mood.

Mood Colors All Our Thinking.—Mood depends on the character of theaggregate of nerve currents entering thecortex, and changes as the character ofthe current varies. If the currents run onmuch the same from hour to hour, thenour mood is correspondingly constant; ifthe currents are variable, our mood also

will be variable. Not only is mooddependent on our sensations and thoughtsfor its quality, but it in turn colors ourentire mental life. It serves as abackground or setting whose hue isreflected over all our thinking. Let themood be somber and dark, and all theworld looks gloomy; on the other hand,let the mood be bright and cheerful, andthe world puts on a smile.

It is told of one of the early circuitriders among the New England ministry,that he made the following entries in hisdiary, thus well illustrating the point:"Wed. Eve. Arrived at the home of Bro.Brown late this evening, hungry andtired after a long day in the saddle. Had

a bountiful supper of cold pork andbeans, warm bread, bacon and eggs,coffee, and rich pastry. I go to restfeeling that my witness is clear; thefuture is bright; I feel called to a greatand glorious work in this place. Bro.Brown's family are godly people." Thenext entry was as follows: "Thur. Morn.Awakened late this morning after atroubled night. I am very muchdepressed in soul; the way looks dark;far from feeling called to work amongthis people, I am beginning to doubt thesafety of my own soul. I am afraid thedesires of Bro. Brown and his family areset too much on carnal things." Adyspeptic is usually a pessimist, and anoptimist always keeps a bright mood.

Mood Influences Our Judgmentsand Decisions.—The prattle of childrenmay be grateful music to our ears whenwe are in one mood, and excruciatinglydiscordant noise when we are inanother. What appeals to us as a goodpractical joke one day, may seem apiece of unwarranted impertinence onanother. A proposition which looksentirely plausible under the sanguinemood induced by a persuasive orator,may appear wholly untenable a fewhours later. Decisions which seemedwarranted when we were in an angrymood, often appear unwise or unjustwhen we have become more calm.

Motives which easily impel us to actionwhen the world looks bright, fail tomove us when the mood is somber. Thefeelings of impending peril and calamitywhich are an inevitable accompanimentof the "blues," are speedily dissipatedwhen the sun breaks through the cloudsand we are ourselves again.

Mood Influences Effort.—A brightand hopeful mood quickens every powerand enhances every effort, while ahopeless mood limits power andcripples effort. The football team whichgoes into the game discouraged neverplays to the limit. The student whoattacks his lesson under the conviction of

defeat can hardly hope to succeed, whilethe one who enters upon his workconfident of his power to master it hasthe battle already half won. The world'sbest work is done not by those who livein the shadow of discouragement anddoubt, but by those in whose breast hopesprings eternal. The optimist is abenefactor of the race if for no otherreason than the sheer contagion of hishopeful spirit; the pessimist contributesneither to the world's welfare nor itshappiness. Youth's proverbialenthusiasm and dauntless energy restupon the supreme hopefulness whichcharacterizes the mood of the young. Forthese reasons, if for no other, the moodof the schoolroom should be one of

happiness and good cheer.

Disposition a Resultant ofMoods.—The sum total of our moodsgives us our disposition. Whether theseare pleasant or unpleasant, cheerful orgloomy, will depend on thepredominating character of the moodswhich enter into them. As well expect togather grapes of thorns or figs of thistles,as to secure a desirable disposition outof undesirable moods. A sunnydisposition never comes from gloomymoods, nor a hopeful one out of the"blues." And it is our disposition, morethan the power of our reason, which,after all, determines our desirability as

friends and companions.

The person of surly disposition canhardly make a desirable companion, nomatter what his intellectual qualities maybe. We may live very happily with onewho cannot follow the reasoning of aNewton, but it is hard to live with aperson chronically subject to "blackmoods." Nor can we put theresponsibility for our disposition off onour ancestors. It is not an inheritance, buta growth. Slowly, day by day, and moodby mood, we build up our dispositionuntil finally it comes to characterize us.

Temperament.—Some are,

however, more predisposed to certaintypes of mood than are others. Theorganization of our nervous systemwhich we get through heredityundoubtedly has much to do with thefeeling tone into which we most easilyfall. We call this predispositiontemperament. On the effects oftemperament, our ancestors must dividethe responsibility with us. I say dividethe responsibility, for even if we findourselves predisposed toward a certainundesirable type of moods, there is noreason why we should give up to them.Even in spite of hereditarypredispositions, we can still largelydetermine for ourselves what our moodsare to be.

If we have a tendency towardcheerful, quiet, and optimistic moods,the psychologist names our temperamentthe sanguine; if we are tense, easilyexcited and irritable, with a tendencytoward sullen or angry moods, thecholeric; if we are given to frequent fitsof the "blues," if we usually look on thedark side of things and have a tendencytoward moods of discouragement and the"dumps," the melancholic; if hard torouse, and given to indolent andindifferent moods, the phlegmatic.Whatever be our temperament, it is oneof the most important factors in ourcharacter.

3. PERMANENT FEELINGATTITUDES, OR SENTIMENTS

Besides the more or less transitoryfeeling states which we have calledmoods, there exists also a class offeeling attitudes, which contain more ofthe complex intellectual element, arewithal of rather a higher nature, andmuch more permanent than our moods.We may call these our sentiments, orattitudes. Our sentiments comprise thesomewhat constant level of feelingcombined with cognition, which wen a m e sympathy, friendship, love,patriotism, religious faith, selfishness,pride, vanity, etc. Like our dispositions,our sentiments are a growth of months

and years. Unlike our dispositions,however, our sentiments are relativelyindependent of the physiologicalundertone, and depend more largelyupon long-continued experience andintellectual elements as a basis. Asluggish liver might throw us into anirritable mood and, if the condition werelong continued, might result in a surlydisposition; but it would hardlypermanently destroy one's patriotism andmake him turn traitor to his country.One's feeling attitude on such matters istoo deep seated to be modified bychanging whims.

How Sentiments Develop.—

Sentiments have their beginning inconcrete experiences in which feeling isa predominant element, and growthrough the multiplication of theseexperiences much as the concept isdeveloped through many percepts. Thereis a residual element left behind eachseparate experience in both cases. In thecase of the concept the residual elementis intellectual, and in the case of thesentiment it is a complex in which thefeeling element is predominant.

How this comes about is easily seenby means of an illustration or two. Themother feeds her child when he ishungry, and an agreeable feeling isproduced; she puts him into the bath and

snuggles him in her arms, and theexperiences are pleasant. The childcomes to look upon the mother as onewhose especial function is to makethings pleasant for him, so he comes tobe happy in her presence, and long forher in her absence. He finally grows tolove his mother not alone for thecountless times she has given himpleasure, but for what she herself is. Thefeelings connected at first wholly withpleasant experiences coming through theministrations of the mother, strengthenedno doubt by instinctive tendenciestoward affection, and later enhanced bya fuller realization of what a mother'scare and sacrifice mean, grow at lastinto a deep, forceful, abiding sentiment

of love for the mother.

The Effect of Experience.—Likewise with the sentiment ofpatriotism. In so far as our patriotism isa true patriotism and not a noisy clamor,it had its rise in feelings of gratitude andlove when we contemplated the deeds ofheroism and sacrifice for the flag, andthe blessings which come to us from ourrelations as citizens to our country. If wehave had concrete cases brought to ourexperience, as, for example, ourproperty saved from destruction at thehands of a mob or our lives saved from ahostile foreign foe, the patrioticsentiment will be all the stronger.

So we may carry the illustration intoall the sentiments. Our religioussentiments of adoration, love, and faithhave their origin in our belief in thecare, love, and support from a higherBeing typified to us as children by thecare, love, and support of our parents.Pride arises from the appreciation orover-appreciation of oneself, hisattainments, or his belongings.Selfishness has its genesis in the manyinstances in which pleasure results fromministering to self. In all these cases it isseen that our sentiments develop out ofour experiences: they are the permanentbut ever-growing results which we haveto show for experiences which are

somewhat long continued, and in whicha certain feeling quality is a strongaccompaniment of the cognitive part ofthe experience.

The Influence of Sentiment.—Oursentiments, like our dispositions, are notonly a natural growth from theexperiences upon which they are fed, butthey in turn have large influence indetermining the direction of our furtherdevelopment. Our sentiments furnish thesoil which is either favorable or hostileto the growth of new experiences. One inwhom the sentiment of true patriotism isdeep-rooted will find it much harder torespond to a suggestion to betray his

country's honor on battlefield, inlegislative hall, or in private life, thanone lacking in this sentiment. The boywho has a strong sentiment of love forhis mother will find this a restraininginfluence in the face of temptation tocommit deeds which would wound herfeelings. A deep and abiding faith inGod is fatal to the growth of pessimism,distrust, and a self-centered life. One'ssentiments are a safe gauge of hischaracter. Let us know a man's attitudeor sentiments on religion, morality,friendship, honesty, and the other greatquestions of life, and little remains to beknown. If he is right on these, he maywell be trusted in other things; if he iswrong on these, there is little to build

upon.

Literature has drawn its bestinspiration and choicest themes from thefield of our sentiments. The sentiment offriendship has given us our David andJonathan, our Damon and Pythias, andour Tennyson and Hallam. The sentimentof love has inspired countlessmasterpieces; without its aid most of ourfiction would lose its plot, and most ofour poetry its charm. Religious sentimentinspired Milton to write the world'sgreatest epic, "Paradise Lost." Thesentiment of patriotism has furnished aninexhaustible theme for the writer andthe orator. Likewise if we go into thefield of music and art, we find that the

best efforts of the masters are clusteredaround some human sentiment which hasappealed to them, and which they haveimmortalized by expressing it on canvasor in marble, that it may appeal to othersand cause the sentiment to grow in us.

Sentiments as Motives.—Thesentiments furnish the deepest, the mostconstant, and the most powerful motiveswhich control our lives. Such sentimentsas patriotism, liberty, and religion havecalled a thousand armies to struggle anddie on ten thousand battlefields, andhave given martyrs courage to suffer inthe fires of persecution. Sentiments offriendship and love have prompted

countless deeds of self-sacrifice andloving devotion. Sentiments of envy,pride, and jealousy have changed theboundary lines of nations, and haveprompted the committing of ten thousandunnamable crimes. Slowly day by dayfrom the cradle to the grave we areweaving into our lives the threads ofsentiment, which at last become so manycables to bind us to good or evil.


1. Are you subject to the "blues," orother forms of depressed feeling? Areyour moods very changeable, or rather

constant? What kind of a disposition doyou think you have? How did you comeby it; that is, in how far is it due tohereditary temperament, and in how farto your daily moods?

2. Can you recall an instance inwhich some undesirable mood wascaused by your physical condition? Bysome disturbing mental condition? Whatis your characteristic mood in themorning after sleeping in an ill-ventilated room? After sitting for half aday in an ill-ventilated schoolroom?After eating indigestible food beforegoing to bed?

3. Observe a number of children oryour classmates closely and see whetheryou can determine the characteristicmood of each. Observe several differentschools and see whether you can note acharacteristic mood for each room. Tryto determine the causes producing thedifferences noted. (Physical conditionsin the room, personality of the teacher,methods of governing, teaching, etc.)

4. When can you do your best work,when you are happy, or unhappy?Cheerful, or "blue"? Confident andhopeful, or discouraged? In a spirit ofharmony and coöperation with yourteacher, or antagonistic? Now relateyour conclusions to the type of

atmosphere that should prevail in theschoolroom or the home. Formulate astatement as to why the "spirit" of theschool is all-important. (Effect on effort,growth, disposition, sentiments,character, etc.)

5. Can you measure more or lessaccurately the extent to which yourfeelings serve as motives in your life?Are feelings alone a safe guide toaction? Make a list of the importantsentiments that should be cultivated inyouth. Now show how the work of theschool may be used to strengthen worthysentiments.

CHAPTER XV

THE EMOTIONS

Feeling and emotion are not to belooked upon as two different kinds ofmental processes. In fact, emotion is buta feeling state of a high degree ofintensity and complexity. Emotiontranscends the simpler feeling stateswhenever the exciting cause is sufficientto throw us out of our regular routine ofaffective experience. The distinctionbetween emotion and feeling is a purelyarbitrary one, since the difference isonly one of complexity and degree, andmany feelings may rise to the intensity of

emotions. A feeling of sadness onhearing of a number of fatalities in arailway accident may suddenly becomean emotion of grief if we learn that amember of our family is among thosekilled. A feeling of gladness maydevelop into an emotion of joy, or afeeling of resentment be kindled into anemotion of rage.

1. THE PRODUCING ANDEXPRESSING OF EMOTION

Nowhere more than in connectionwith our emotions are the close inter-relations of mind and body seen. All arefamiliar with the fact that the emotion of

anger tends to find expression in theblow, love in the caress, fear in flight,and so on. But just how our organismacts in producing an emotion is lessgenerally understood. Professor Jamesand Professor Lange have shown us thatemotion not only tends to produce somecharacteristic form of response, but thatthe emotion is itself caused by certaindeep-seated physiological reactions.Let us seek to understand this statement alittle more fully.

Physiological Explanation ofEmotion.—We must remember first ofall that all changes in mental states areaccompanied by corresponding

physiological changes. Hard,concentrated thinking quickens the heartbeat; keen attention is accompanied bymuscular tension; certain sights orsounds increase the rate of breathing;offensive odors produce nausea, and soon. So complete and perfect is theresponse of our physical organism tomental changes that one psychologistdeclares it possible, had we sufficientlydelicate apparatus, to measure thereactions caused throughout the body ofa sleeping child by the shadow from apassing cloud falling upon the closedeyelids.

The order of the entire eventresulting in an emotion is as follows: (1)

Something is known; some object entersconsciousness coming either fromimmediate perception or throughmemory or imagination. This fact, orthing known, must be of such nature thatit will, (2) set up deep-seated andcharacteristic organic response; (3) thefeeling accompanying and caused bythese physiological reactionsconstitutes the emotion. For example,we may be passing along the street in aperfectly calm and equable state ofmind, when we come upon a teamsterwho is brutally beating an exhaustedhorse because it is unable to draw anoverloaded wagon up a slippery incline.The facts grasped as we take in thesituation constitute the first element in an

emotional response developing in ourconsciousness. But instantly our musclesbegin to grow tense, the heart beat andbreath quicken, the face takes on adifferent expression, the hands clench—the entire organism is reacting to thedisturbing situation; the second factor inthe rising emotion, the physiologicalresponse, thus appears. Along with ourapprehension of the cruelty and theorganic disturbances which result wefeel waves of indignation and angersurging through us. This is the thirdfactor in the emotional event, or theemotion itself. In some such way as thisare all of our emotions aroused.

Origin of Characteristic EmotionalReactions.—Why do certain facts orobjects of consciousness always causecertain characteristic organic responses?

In order to solve this problem weshall have first to go beyond theindividual and appeal to the history ofthe race. What the race has foundserviceable, the individual repeats. Buteven then it is hard to see why theparticular type of physical response suchas shrinking, pallor, and trembling,which naturally follow stimulithreatening harm, should be the best. It iseasy to see, however, that the feelingwhich prompts to flight or serves to

deter from harm's way might be useful. Itis plain that there is an advantage in thetense muscle, the set teeth, the heldbreath, and the quickened pulse whichaccompany the emotion of anger, andalso in the feeling of anger itself, whichprompts to the conflict. But even if weare not able in every case to determineat this day why all the instinctiveresponses and their correlate of feelingwere the best for the life of the race, wemay be sure that such was the case; forNature is inexorable in her dictates thatonly that shall persist which has provedserviceable in the largest number ofcases.

An interesting question arises at this

point as to why we feel emotionaccompanying some of our motorresponses, and not others. Perceptionsare crowding in upon us hour after hour;memory, thought, and imagination are inconstant play; and a continuous motordischarge results each moment inphysical expressions great or small. Yet,in spite of these facts, feeling which isstrong enough to rise to an emotion isonly an occasional thing. If emotionaccompanies any form of physicalexpression, why not all? Let us seewhether we can discover any reason.One day I saw a boy leading a dog alongthe street. All at once the dog slipped thestring over its head and ran away. Theboy stood looking after the dog for a

moment, and then burst into a fit of rage.What all had happened? The momentbefore the dog broke away everythingwas running smoothly in the experienceof the boy. There was no obstruction tohis thought or his plans. Then in aninstant the situation changes. The smoothflow of experience is checked andbaffled. The discharge of nerve currentswhich meant thought, plans, action, isblocked. A crisis has arisen whichrequires readjustment. The nervecurrents must flow in new directions,giving new thought, new plans, newactivities—the dog must be recaptured.It is in connection with this damming upof nerve currents from following theirwonted channels that the emotion

emerges. Or, putting it into mental terms,the emotion occurs when the ordinarycurrent of our thought is violentlydisturbed—when we meet with somecrisis which necessitates a readjustmentof our thought relations and plans, eithertemporarily or permanently.

The Duration of an Emotion.—Ifthe required readjustment is buttemporary, then the emotion is short-lived, while if the readjustment isnecessarily of longer duration, theemotion also will live longer. The fearwhich follows the thunder is relativelybrief; for the shock is gone in a moment,and our thought is but temporarily

disturbed. If the impending danger is onethat persists, however, as of some secretassassin threatening our life, the fearalso will persist. The grief of a childover the loss of someone dear to him iscomparatively short, because the currentof the child's life has not been so closelybound up in a complexity of experienceswith the lost object as in the case of anolder person, and hence the readjustmentis easier. The grief of an adult over theloss of a very dear friend lasts long, forthe object grieved over has so become apart of the bereaved one's experiencethat the loss requires a very completereadjustment of the whole life. In eithercase, however, as this readjustment isaccomplished the emotion gradually

fades away.

Emotions Accompanying Crises inExperience.—If our description of thefeelings has been correct, it will be seenthat the simpler and milder feelings arefor the common run of our everydayexperience; they are the common valuersof our thought and acts from hour tohour. The emotions, or more intensefeeling states, are, however, theoccasional high tide of feeling whichoccurs in crises or emergencies. We areangry on some particular provocation,we fear some extraordinary factor in ourenvironment, we are joyful over someunusual good fortune.

2. THE CONTROL OF EMOTIONS

Dependence on Expression.—Since all emotions rest upon some formof physical or physiological expressionprimarily, and upon some thought backof this secondarily, it follows that thefirst step in controlling an emotion is tosecure the removal of the state ofconsciousness which serves as its basis.This may be done, for instance, with achild, either by banishing the terrifyingdog from his presence, or by convincinghim that the dog is harmless. The motorresponse will then cease, and theemotion pass away. If the thought is

persistent, however, through thecontinuance of its stimulus, then whatremains is to seek to control the physicalexpression, and in that way suppress theemotion. If, instead of the knit brow, thetense muscles, the quickened heart beat,and all the deeper organic changeswhich go along with these, we can keepa smile on the face, the muscles relaxed,the heart beat steady, and a normalcondition in all the other organs, weshall have no cause to fear an explosionof anger. If we are afraid of mice andfeel an almost irresistible tendency tomount a chair every time we see amouse, we can do wonders insuppressing the fear by resolutelyrefusing to give expression to these

tendencies. Inhibition of the expressioninevitably means the death of theemotion.

This fact has its bad side as well asits good in the feeling life, for it meansthat good emotions as well as bad willfade out if we fail to allow themexpression. We are all perfectly familiarwith the fact in our own experience thatan interest which does not find means ofexpression soon passes away. Sympathyunexpressed ere long passes over intoindifference. Even love cannot livewithout expression. Religious emotionwhich does not go out in deeds ofservice cannot persist. The natural endand aim of our emotions is to serve as

motives to activity; and missing thisopportunity, they have not only failed intheir office, but will themselves die ofinaction.

Relief through Expression.—Emotional states not only have their risein organic reactions, but they also tend toresult in acts. When we are angry, or inlove, or in fear, we have the impulse todo something about it. And, while it istrue that emotion may be inhibited bysuppressing the physical expressions onwhich it is founded, so may a state ofemotional tension be relieved by someforms of expression. None have failed toexperience the relief which comes to the

overcharged nervous system from a goodcry. There is no sorrow so bitter as a drysorrow, when one cannot weep. A stateof anger or annoyance is relieved by anexplosion of some kind, whether in ablow or its equivalent in speech. Weoften feel better when we have told aman "what we think of him."

At first glance this all seemsopposed to what we have been layingdown as the explanation of emotion. Yetit is not so if we look well into the case.We have already seen that emotionoccurs when there is a blocking of theusual pathways of discharge for thenerve currents, which must then seeknew outlets, and thus result in the setting

up of new motor responses. In the caseof grief, for example, there is adisturbance in the whole organism; theheart beat is deranged, the bloodpressure diminished, and the nerve tonelowered. What is needed is for thecurrents which are finding an outlet indirections resulting in these particularresponses to find a pathway of dischargewhich will not produce such deep-seated results. This may be found incrying. The energy thus expended isdiverted from producing internaldisturbances. Likewise, the explosion inanger may serve to restore theequilibrium of disturbed nerve currents.

Relief Does Not Follow if Image isHeld Before the Mind.—All this istrue, however, only when the expressiondoes not serve to keep the idea beforethe mind which was originallyresponsible for the emotion. A personmay work himself into a passion ofanger by beginning to talk about an insultand, as he grows increasingly violent,bringing the situation more and moresharply into his consciousness. Theeffect of terrifying images is easily to beobserved in the case of one's starting torun when he is afraid after night. Thereis probably no doubt that the runningwould relieve his fear providing hecould do it and not picture thethreatening something as pursuing him.

But, with his imagination conjuring updire images of frightful catastrophes atevery step, all control is lost and freshwaves of terror surge over the shrinkingsoul.

Growing Tendency towardEmotional Control.—Among civilizedpeoples there is a constantly growingtendency toward emotional control.Primitive races express grief, joy, fear,or anger much more freely than docivilized races. This does not mean thatprimitive man feels more deeply thancivilized man; for, as we have alreadyseen, the crying, laughing, or blusteringis but a small part of the whole physical

expression, and one's entire organismmay be stirred to its depths without anyof these outward manifestations. Manhas found it advisable as he hasadvanced in civilization not to reveal allhe feels to those around him. The face,which is the most expressive part of thebody, has come to be under such perfectcontrol that it is hard to read through itthe emotional state, although the face ofcivilized man is capable of expressingfar more than is that of the savage. Thesame difference is observable betweenthe child and the adult. The child revealseach passing shade of emotion throughhis expression, while the adult may feelmuch that he does not show.

3. CULTIVATION OF THEEMOTIONS

There is no other mental factorwhich has more to do with the enjoymentwe get out of life than our feelings andemotions.

The Emotions and Enjoyment.—Few of us would care to live at all, if allfeeling were eliminated from humanexperience. True, feeling often makes ussuffer; but in so far as life's joys triumphover its woes, do our feelings ministerto our enjoyment. Without sympathy,love, and appreciation, life would bebarren indeed. Moreover, it is only

through our own emotional experiencethat we are able to interpret the feelingside of the lives about us. Failing in this,we miss one of the most significantphases of social experience, and are leftwith our own sympathies undevelopedand our life by so much impoverished.

The interpretation of the subtleremotions of those about us is in no smalldegree an art. The human face and formpresent a constantly changing panoramaof the soul's feeling states to those whocan read their signs. The ability to readthe finer feelings, which revealthemselves in expression too delicate tobe read by the eye of the gross orunsympathetic observer, lies at the basis

of all fine interpretation of personality.Feelings are often too deep for outwardexpression, and we are slow to revealour deepest selves to those who cannotappreciate and understand them.

How Emotions Develop.—Emotions are to be cultivated as theintellect or the muscles are to becultivated; namely, through properexercise. Our thought is to dwell onthose things to which proper emotionsattach, and to shun lines which wouldsuggest emotions of an undesirable type.Emotions which are to be developedmust, as has already been said, findexpression; we must act in response to

their leadings, else they become but idlevaporings. If love prompts us to say akind word to a suffering fellow mortal,the word must be spoken or the feelingitself fades away. On the other hand, theemotions which we wish to suppress areto be refused expression. The unkind andcutting word is to be left unsaid whenwe are angry, and the fear of thingswhich are harmless left unexpressed andthereby doomed to die.

The Emotional Factor in OurEnvironment.—Much material for thecultivation of our emotions lies in theeveryday life all about us if we can butinterpret it. Few indeed of those whom

we meet daily but are hungering forappreciation and sympathy. Lovabletraits exist in every character, and willreveal themselves to the one who looksfor them. Miscarriages of justice aboundon all sides, and demand our indignationand wrath and the effort to right thewrong. Evil always exists to be hatedand suppressed, and dangers to befeared and avoided. Human life and themovement of human affairs constantlyappeal to the feeling side of our nature ifwe understand at all what life and actionmean.

A certain blindness exists in manypeople, however, which makes our ownlittle joys, or sorrows, or fears the most

remarkable ones in the world, and keepsus from realizing that others may feel asdeeply as we. Of course this self-centered attitude of mind is fatal to anytrue cultivation of the emotions. It leadsto an emotional life which lacks not onlybreadth and depth, but also perspective.

Literature and the Cultivation ofthe Emotions.—In order to increase ourfacility in the interpretation of theemotions through teaching us what tolook for in life and experience, we maygo to literature. Here we find lifeinterpreted for us in the ideal by mastersof interpretation; and, looking throughtheir eyes, we see new depths and

breadths of feeling which we had neverbefore discovered. Indeed, literaturedeals far more in the aggregate with thefeeling side than with any other aspect ofhuman life. And it is just this whichmakes literature a universal language,for the language of our emotions is moreeasily interpreted than that of our reason.The smile, the cry, the laugh, the frown,the caress, are understood all around theworld among all peoples. They areuniversal.

There is always this danger to beavoided, however. We may become sotaken up with the overwroughtdescriptions of the emotions as found inliterature or on the stage that the common

humdrum of everyday life around usseems flat and stale. The interpretationof the writer or the actor is far beyondwhat we are able to make for ourselves,so we take their interpretation ratherthan trouble ourselves to look in ourown environment for the material whichmight appeal to our emotions. It is notrare to find those who easily weep overthe woes of an imaginary person in abook or on the stage unable to feelsympathy for the real suffering whichexists all around them. The story is toldof a lady at the theater who wept overthe suffering of the hero in the play; andat the moment she was shedding theunnecessary tears, her own coachman,whom she had compelled to wait for her

in the street, was frozen to death. Ourseemingly prosaic environment is full ofsuggestions to the emotional life, andbooks and plays should only help todevelop in us the power rightly torespond to these suggestions.

Harm in EmotionalOverexcitement.—Danger may existalso in still another line; namely, that ofemotional overexcitement. There is agreat nervous strain in high emotionaltension. Nothing is more exhausting thana severe fit of anger; it leaves its victimweak and limp. A severe case of frightoften incapacitates one for mental orphysical labor for hours, or it may even

result in permanent injury. The wholenervous tone is distinctly lowered bysorrow, and even excessive joy may beharmful.

In our actual, everyday life, there islittle danger from emotionaloverexcitement unless it be in the case offear in children, as was shown in thediscussion on instincts, and in that ofgrief over the loss of objects that aredear to us. Most of our childish fears wecould just as well avoid if our elderswere wiser in the matter of guarding usagainst those that are unnecessary. Thegriefs we cannot hope to escape,although we can do much to controlthem. Long-continued emotional

excitement, unless it is followed bycorresponding activity, gives us thosewho weep over the wrongs of humanity,but never do anything to right them; whoare sorry to the point of death overhuman suffering, but cannot be inducedto lend their aid to its alleviation. Wecould very well spare a thousand ofthose in the world who merely feel, forone who acts, James tells us.

We should watch, then, that our goodfeelings do not simply evaporate asfeelings, but that they find some place toapply themselves to accomplish good;that we do not, like Hamlet, rave overwrongs which need to be righted, but

never bring ourselves to the point wherewe take a hand in their righting. If ouremotional life is to be rich and deep inits feeling and effective in its results onour acts and character, it must find itsoutlet in deeds.

4. EMOTIONS AS MOTIVES

Emotion is always dynamic, and ourfeelings constitute our strongest motivesto action and achievement.

How Our Emotions Compel Us.—Love has often done in the reformationof a fallen life what strength of will was

not able to accomplish; it has causeddynasties to fall, and has changed themap of nations. Hatred is a motivehardly less strong. Fear will makesavage beasts out of men who fall underits sway, causing them to tramplehelpless women and children under feet,whom in their saner moments they wouldprotect with their lives. Anger puts outall the light of reason, and promptspeaceful and well-meaning men tocommit murderous acts.

Thus feeling, from the faintest andsimplest feeling of interest, the variousranges of pleasures and pain, thesentiments which underlie all our lives,and so on to the mighty emotions which

grip our lives with an overpoweringstrength, constitutes a large part of themotive power which is constantly urgingus on to do and dare. Hence it isimportant from this standpoint, also, thatwe should have the right type of feelingsand emotions well developed, and theundesirable ones eliminated.

Emotional Habits.—Emotion andfeeling are partly matters of habit. Thatis, we can form emotional as well asother habits, and they are as hard tobreak. Anger allowed to rununcontrolled leads into habits of angryoutbursts, while the one who habituallycontrols his temper finds it submitting to

the habit of remaining within bounds.One may cultivate the habit of showinghis fear on all occasions, or ofdiscouraging its expression. He mayform the habit of jealousy or ofconfidence. It is possible even to formthe habit of falling in love, or of sosuppressing the tender emotions thatlove finds little opportunity forexpression.

And here, as elsewhere, habits areformed through performing the acts uponwhich the habit rests. If there areemotional habits we are desirous offorming, what we have to do is toindulge the emotional expression of thetype we desire, and the habit will

follow. If we wish to form the habit ofliving in a chronic state of the blues, thenall we have to do is to be blue and actblue sufficiently, and this form ofemotional expression will become a partof us. If we desire to form the habit ofliving in a happy, cheerful state, we canaccomplish this by encouraging thecorresponding expression.


1. What are the characteristic bodilyexpressions by which you can recognizea state of anger? Fear? Jealousy?Hatred? Love? Grief? Do you know

persons who are inclined to be tooexpressive emotionally? Who show toolittle emotional expression? How wouldyou classify yourself in this respect?

2. Are you naturally responsive tothe emotional tone of others; that is, areyou sympathetic? Are you easily affectedby reading emotional books? Byemotional plays or other appeals? Whatis the danger from overexciting theemotions without giving them a properoutlet in some practical activity?

3. Have you observed a tendencyamong adults not to take seriously theemotions of a child; for example, to look

upon childish grief as trivial, or fear assomething to be laughed at? Is the child'semotional life as real as that of theadult? (See Ch. IX, Betts, "Fathers andMothers.")

4. Have you known children torepress their emotions for fear of beinglaughed at? Have you known parents orothers to remark about childish loveaffairs to the children themselves in alight or joking way? Ought this ever tobe done?

5. Note certain children who giveway to fits of anger; what is the remedy?Note other children who cry readily;

what would you suggest as a cure? (Whyshould ridicule not be used?)

6. Have you observed any teacherusing the lesson in literature or history tocultivate the finer emotions? Whatemotions have you seen appealed to by alesson in nature study? What emotionshave you observed on the playgroundthat needed restraint? Do you think thaton the whole the emotional life of thechild receives enough consideration inthe school? In the home?

CHAPTER XVI

INTEREST

The feeling that we call interest is soimportant a motive in our lives and socolors our acts and gives direction toour endeavors that we will do well todevote a chapter to its discussion.

1. THE NATURE OF INTEREST

We saw in an earlier chapter thatpersonal habits have their rise in racehabits or instincts. Let us now see howinterest helps the individual to select

from his instinctive acts those which areuseful to build into personal habits.Instinct impartially starts the child in theperformance of many different activities,but does not dictate what particular actsshall be retained to serve as the basis forhabits. Interest comes in at this point andsays, "This act is of more value than thatact; continue this act and drop that."Instinct prompts the babe to countlessmovements of body and limb. Interestpicks out those that are most vitallyconnected with the welfare of theorganism, and the child comes to preferthese rather than the others. Thus it isthat out of the random movements ofarms and legs and head and body wefinally develop the coördinated

activities which are infinitely moreuseful than the random ones were. Andthese activities, originating in instincts,and selected by interest, are sooncrystallized into habits.

Interest a Selective Agent.—Thesame truth holds for mental activities asfor physical. A thousand channels lieopen for your stream of thought at thismoment, but your interest has beckonedit into the one particular channel which,for the time, at least, appears to be of thegreatest subjective value; and it is nowfollowing that channel unless your willhas compelled it to leave that foranother. Your thinking as naturally

follows your interest as the needle doesthe magnet, hence your thought activitiesare conditioned largely by your interests.This is equivalent to saying that yourmental habits rest back finally upon yourinterests.

Everyone knows what it is to beinterested; but interest, like otherelementary states of consciousness,cannot be rigidly defined. (1)Subjectively considered, interest may belooked upon as a feeling attitude whichassigns our activities their place in asubjective scale of values, and henceselects among them. (2) Objectivelyconsidered, an interest is the objectwhich calls forth the feeling. (3)

Functionally considered, interest is thedynamic phase of consciousness.

Interest Supplies a SubjectiveScale of Values.—If you are interestedin driving a horse rather than in riding abicycle, it is because the former has agreater subjective value to you than thelatter. If you are interested in readingthese words instead of thinking about thenext social function or the last picnicparty, it is because at this moment thethought suggested appeals to you as ofmore value than the other lines ofthought. From this it follows that yourstandards of values are revealed in thecharacter of your interests. The young

man who is interested in the race track,in gaming, and in low resorts confessesby the fact that these things occupy a highplace among the things which appeal tohim as subjectively valuable. Themother whose interests are chiefly inclubs and other social organizationsplaces these higher in her scale of valuesthan her home. The reader who canbecome interested only in light, trashyliterature must admit that matter of thistype ranks higher in his subjective scaleof values than the works of the masters.Teachers and students whose strongestinterest is in grade marks value thesemore highly than true attainment. For,whatever may be our claims orassertions, interest is finally an infallible

barometer of the values we assign to ouractivities.

In the case of some of our feelings itis not always possible to ascribe anobjective side to them. A feeling ofennui, of impending evil, or of boundingvivacity, may be produced by anunanalyzable complex of causes. Butinterest, while it is related primarily tothe activities of the self, is carried overfrom the activity to the object whichoccasions the activity. That is, interesthas both an objective and a subjectiveside. On the subjective side a certainactivity connected with self-expressionis worth so much; on the objective side acertain object is worth so much as

related to this self-expression. Thus wesay, I have an interest in books or inbusiness; my daily activities, my self-expression, are governed with referenceto these objects. They are my interests.

Interest Dynamic.—Many of ourmilder feelings terminate withinourselves, never attaining sufficientforce as motives to impel us to action.Not so with interest. Its very nature isdynamic. Whatever it seizes uponbecomes ipso facto an object for someactivity, for some form of expression ofthe self. Are we interested in a newbook, we must read it; in a newinvention, we must see it, handle it, test

it; in some vocation or avocation, wemust pursue it. Interest is impulsive. Itgives its possessor no opportunity forlethargic rest and quiet, but constantlyurges him to action. Grown ardent,interest becomes enthusiasm, "withoutwhich," says Emerson, "nothing greatwas ever accomplished." Are we anEdison, with a strong interest centered inmechanical invention, it will drive usday and night in a ceaseless activitywhich scarcely gives us time for foodand sleep. Are we a Lincoln, with anundying interest in the Union, this motivewill make possible superhuman effortsfor the accomplishment of our end. Arewe man or woman anywhere, in anywalk of life, so we are dominated by

mighty interests grown into enthusiasmfor some object, we shall find greatpurposes growing within us, and our lifewill be one of activity and achievement.On the contrary, a life which hasdeveloped no great interest lacks motivepower. Of necessity such a life must bedevoid of purpose and hence barren ofresults, counting little while it is beinglived, and little missed by the worldwhen it is gone.

Habit Antagonistic to Interest.—While, as we have seen, interest isnecessary to the formation of habits, yethabits once formed are antagonistic tointerest. That is, acts which are so

habitually performed that they "dothemselves" are accompanied by aminimum of interest. They come to bedone without attentive consciousness,hence interest cannot attach to theirperformance. Many of the activitieswhich make up the daily round of ourlives are of this kind. As long as habit isbeing modified in some degree, as longas we are improving in our ways ofdoing things, interest will still cling tothe process; but let us once settle into anunmodified rut, and interest quicklyfades away. We then have the conditionspresent which make of us either amachine or a drudge.

2. DIRECT AND INDIRECTINTEREST

We may have an interest either (1) inthe doing of an act, or (2) in the endsought through the doing. In the firstinstance we call the interest immediateo r direct; in the second instance,mediate or indirect.

Interest in the End versus Interestin the Activity.—If we do not find aninterest in the doing of our work, or if ithas become positively disagreeable sothat we loathe its performance, thenthere must be some ultimate end forwhich the task is being performed, and

in which there is a strong interest, elsethe whole process will be the veriestdrudgery. If the end is sufficientlyinteresting it may serve to throw a haloof interest over the whole processconnected with it. The followinginstance illustrates this fact:

A twelve-year-old boy was told byhis father that if he would make the bodyof an automobile at his bench in themanual training school, the father wouldpurchase the running gear for it and givethe machine to the boy. In order tosecure the coveted prize, the boy had tomaster the arithmetic necessary formaking the calculations, and the drawingnecessary for making the plans to scale

before the teacher in manual trainingwould allow him to take up the work ofconstruction. The boy had always lackedinterest in both arithmetic and drawing,and consequently was dull in them.Under the new incentive, however, hetook hold of them with such avidity thathe soon surpassed all the remainder ofthe class, and was able to make hiscalculations and drawings within a term.He secured his automobile a few monthslater, and still retained his interest inarithmetic and drawing.

Indirect Interest as a Motive.—Interest of the indirect type, which doesnot attach to the process, but comes from

some more or less distant end, most ofus find much less potent than interestwhich is immediate. This is especiallytrue unless the end be one of intensedesire and not too distant. The assuranceto a boy that he must get his lessons wellbecause he will need to be an educatedman ten years hence when he goes intobusiness for himself does notcompensate for the lack of interest in thelessons of today.

Yet it is necessary in the economy oflife that both children and adults shouldlearn to work under the incitement ofindirect interests. Much of the work wedo is for an end which is more desirablethan the work itself. It will always be

necessary to sacrifice present pleasurefor future good. Ability to workcheerfully for a somewhat distant endsaves much of our work from becomingdrudgery. If interest is removed fromboth the process and the end, noinducement is left to work exceptcompulsion; and this, if continued,results in the lowest type of effort. It putsa man on a level with the beast ofburden, which constantly shirks its work.

Indirect Interest AloneInsufficient.—Interest coming from anend instead of inhering in the processmay finally lead to an interest in thework itself; but if it does not, the worker

is in danger of being left a drudge at last.To be more than a slave to his work onemust ultimately find the work worthdoing for its own sake. The man whoperforms his work solely because he hasa wife and babies at home will never bean artist in his trade or profession; thestudent who masters a subject onlybecause he must know it for anexamination is not developing the traitsof a scholar. The question of interest inthe process makes the differencebetween the one who works because heloves to work and the one who toilsbecause he must—it makes thedifference between the artist and thedrudge. The drudge does only what hemust when he works, the artist all he

can. The drudge longs for the end oflabor, the artist for it to begin. Thedrudge studies how he may escape hislabor, the artist how he may better hisand ennoble it.

To labor when there is joy in thework is elevating, to labor under the lashof compulsion is degrading. It mattersnot so much what a man's occupation ashow it is performed. A coachmandriving his team down the crowdedstreet better than anyone else could do it,and glorying in that fact, may be a trueartist in his occupation, and be ennobledthrough his work. A statesman moldingthe affairs of a nation as no one elsecould do it, or a scholar leading the

thought of his generation is subject to thesame law; in order to give the best gradeof service of which he is capable, manmust find a joy in the performance of thework as well as in the end soughtthrough its performance. No matter howhigh the position or how refined thework, the worker becomes a slave to hislabor unless interest in its performancesaves him.

3. TRANSITORINESS OF CERTAININTERESTS

Since our interests are alwaysconnected with our activities it followsthat many interests will have their birth,

grow to full strength, and then fade awayas the corresponding instincts which areresponsible for the activities passthrough these same stages. This onlymeans that interest in play develops atthe time when the play activities areseeking expression; that interest in theopposite sex becomes strong wheninstinctive tendencies are directing theattention to the choice of a mate; and thatinterest in abstract studies comes whenthe development of the brain enables usto carry on logical trains of thought. Allof us can recall many interests whichwere once strong, and are now weak orelse have altogether passed away. Hide-and-seek, Pussy-wants-a-corner,excursions to the little fishing pond,

securing the colored chromo at school,the care of pets, reading blood-and-thunder stories or sentimental ones—interest in these things belongs to ourpast, or has left but a faint shadow.Other interests have come, and these inturn will also disappear and other newones yet appear as long as we keep onacquiring new experience.

Interests Must Be Utilized WhenThey Appear. —This means that wemust take advantage of interests whenthey appear if we wish to utilize anddevelop them. How many people thereare who at one time felt an interestimpelling them to cultivate their taste for

music, art, or literature and said theywould do this at some convenientseason, and finally found themselveswithout a taste for these things! Howmany of us have felt an interest in somebenevolent work, but at last discoveredthat our inclination had died before wefound time to help the cause! How manyof us, young as we are, do not at thismoment lament the passing of someinterest from our lives, or are nowwatching the dying of some interestwhich we had fondly supposed was asstable as Gibraltar? The drawings ofevery interest which appeals to us is avoice crying, "Now is the appointedtime!" What impulse urges us today tobecome or to do, we must begin at once

to be or perform, if we would attain tothe coveted end.

The Value of a Strong Interest.—Nor are we to look upon these transitoryinterests as useless. They come to us notonly as a race heritage, but they impel usto activities which are immediatelyuseful, or else prepare us for the laterbattles of life. But even aside from thisimportant fact it is worth everything justto be interested. For it is only throughthe impulsion of interest that we firstlearn to put forth effort in any true senseof the word, and interest furnishes thefinal foundation upon which volitionrests. Without interest the greatest

powers may slumber in us unawakened,and abilities capable of the highestattainment rest satisfied withcommonplace mediocrity. No one willever know how many Gladstones andLeibnitzes the world has lost simplybecause their interests were neverappealed to in such a way as to startthem on the road to achievement. Itmatters less what the interest be, so it benot bad, than that there shall be somegreat interest to compel endeavor, testthe strength of endurance, and lead tohabits of achievement.

4. SELECTION AMONG OURINTERESTS

I said early in the discussion thatinterest is selective among our activities,picking out those which appear to be ofthe most value to us. In the same mannerthere must be a selection among ourinterests themselves.

The Mistake of Following TooMany Interests.—It is possible for usto become interested in so many lines ofactivity that we do none of them well.This leads to a life so full of hurry andstress that we forget life in our busyliving. Says James with respect to thenecessity of making a choice among ourinterests:

"With most objects of desire,physical nature restricts our choice tobut one of many represented goods, andeven so it is here. I am often confrontedby the necessity of standing by one of myempirical selves and relinquishing therest. Not that I would not, if I could, beboth handsome and fat, and welldressed, and a great athlete, and make amillion a year; be a wit, a bon vivant,and a lady-killer, as well as aphilosopher; a philanthropist, statesman,warrior, and African explorer, as wellas a 'tone poet' and saint. But the thing issimply impossible. The millionaire'swork would run counter to the saint's;the bon vivant and the philosopher andthe lady-killer could not well keep house

in the same tenement of clay. Suchdifferent characters may conceivably atthe outset of life be alike possible toman. But to make any one of them actual,the rest must more or less be suppressed.The seeker of his truest, strongest,deepest self must review the listcarefully, and pick out the one on whichto stake his salvation."

Interests May Be Too Narrow. —On the other hand, it is just as possiblefor our interests to be too narrow as toobroad. The one who has cultivated nointerests outside of his daily round ofhumdrum activities does not get enoughout of life. It is possible to become so

engrossed with making a living that weforget to live—to become so habituatedto some narrow treadmill of labor withthe limited field of thought suggested byits environment, that we miss the richestexperiences of life. Many there are wholive a barren, trivial, and self-centeredlife because they fail to see thesignificant and the beautiful which liejust beyond where their interests reach!Many there are so taken up with theirown petty troubles that they have noheart or sympathy for fellow humanity!Many there are so absorbed with theirown little achievements that they fail tocatch step with the progress of the age!

Specialization Should Not ComeToo Early. —It is not well to specializetoo early in our interests. We miss toomany rich fields which lie ready for theharvesting, and whose gleaning wouldenrich our lives. The student who is soburied in books that he has no time forathletic recreations or social diversionsis making a mistake equally with the onewho is so enthusiastic an athlete andsocial devotee that he neglects hisstudies. Likewise, the youth who is sotaken up with the study of one particularline that he applies himself to this at theexpense of all other lines is inviting adistorted growth. Youth is the time forpushing the sky line back on all sides; itis the time for cultivating diverse and

varied lines of interests if we wouldgrow into a rich experience in our laterlives. The physical must be developed,but not at the expense of the mental, andvice versa. The social must not beneglected, but it must not be indulged tosuch an extent that other interests suffer.Interest in amusements and recreationsshould be cultivated, but these shouldnever run counter to the moral andreligious.

Specialization is necessary, butspecialization in our interests should restupon a broad field of fundamentalinterests, in order that the selection ofthe special line may be an intelligentone, and that our specialty shall not

prove a rut in which we become sodeeply buried that we are lost to the bestin life.

A Proper Balance to Be Sought.—It behooves us, then, to find a properbalance in cultivating our interests,making them neither too broad nor toonarrow. We should deliberately seek todiscover those which are strong enoughto point the way to a life vocation, butthis should not be done until we havehad an opportunity to become acquaintedwith various lines of interests.Otherwise our decision in this importantmatter may be based merely on a whim.

We should also decide whatinterests we should cultivate for our ownpersonal development and happiness,and for the service we are to render in asphere outside our immediate vocation.We should consider avocations as wellas vocations. Whatever interests areselected should be carried to efficiency.Better a reasonable number of carefullyselected interests well developed andresulting in efficiency than a multitude ofinterests which lead us into so manyfields that we can at best get but asmattering of each, and that by neglectingthe things which should mean the most tous. Our interests should lead us to livewhat Wagner calls a "simple life," butnot a narrow one.

5. INTEREST FUNDAMENTAL INEDUCATION

Some educators have feared that infinding our occupations interesting, weshall lose all power of effort and self-direction; that the will, not being calledsufficiently into requisition, must sufferfrom non-use; that we shall come to dothe interesting and agreeable things wellenough, but fail before the disagreeable.

Interest Not Antagonistic toEffort.—The best development of thewill does not come through our being

forced to do acts in which there isabsolutely no interest. Work done undercompulsion never secures the full self inits performance. It is done mechanicallyand usually under such a spirit ofrebellion on the part of the doer, that theadvantage of such training may well bedoubted. Nor are we safe in assumingthat tasks done without interest as themotive are always performed under thedirection of the will. It is far more likelythat they are done under some externalcompulsion, and that the will has, afterall, but very little to do with it. A boymay get an uninteresting lesson at schoolwithout much pressure from his will,providing he is sufficiently afraid of themaster. In order that the will may

receive training through compelling theperformance of certain acts, it must havea reasonably free field, with externalpressure removed. The compelling forcemust come from within, and not fromwithout.

On the other hand, there is not theleast danger that we shall ever find aplace in life where all the disagreeableis removed, and all phases of our workmade smooth and interesting. Thenecessity will always be rising to callupon effort to take up the fight and holdus to duty where interest has failed. Andit is just here that there must be nofailure, else we shall be mere creaturesof circumstance, drifting with every

eddy in the tide of our life, and neverable to breast the current. Interest is notto supplant the necessity for stern andstrenuous endeavor but rather to callforth the largest measure of endeavor ofwhich the self is capable. It is to put atwork a larger amount of power than canbe secured in any other way; in place ofsupplanting the will, it is to give it itspoint of departure and render its serviceall the more effective.

Interest and Character.—Finally,we are not to forget that bad interestshave the same propulsive power as goodones, and will lead to acts just as surely.And these acts will just as readily be

formed into habits. It is worth noticingthat back of the act lies an interest; in theact lies the seed of a habit; ahead of theact lies behavior, which grows intoconduct, this into character, andcharacter into destiny. Bad interestsshould be shunned and discouraged. Buteven that is not enough. Good interestsmust be installed in the place of the badones from which we wish to escape, forit is through substitution rather thansuppression that we are able to breakfrom the bad and adhere to the good.

Our interests are an evolution. Out ofthe simple interests of the child grow themore complex interests of the man.Lacking the opportunity to develop the

interests of childhood, the man willcome somewhat short of the full interestsof manhood. The great thing, then, ineducating a child is to discover thefundamental interests which come to himfrom the race and, using these as astarting point, direct them into constantlybroadening and more serviceable ones.Out of the early interest in play is tocome the later interest in work; out of theearly interest in collecting treasureboxes full of worthless trinkets and oldscraps comes the later interest in earningand retaining ownership of property; outof the interest in chums and playmatescome the larger social interests; out ofinterest in nature comes the interest ofthe naturalist. And so one by one we may

examine the interests which bear thelargest fruit in our adult life, and we findthat they all have their roots in someearly interest of childhood, which wasencouraged and given a chance to grow.

6. ORDER OF DEVELOPMENT OFOUR INTERESTS

The order in which our interestsdevelop thus becomes an importantquestion in our education. Nor is theorder an arbitrary one, as might appearon first thought; for interest follows theinvariable law of attaching to theactivity for which the organism is at thattime ready, and which it then needs in its

further growth. That we are sometimesinterested in harmful things does notdisprove this assertion. The interest inits fundamental aspect is good, and butneeds more healthful environment ormore wise direction. While spaceforbids a full discussion of the geneticphase of interest here, yet we may profitby a brief statement of the fundamentalinterests of certain well-marked periodsin our development.

The Interests of EarlyChildhood.—The interests of earlychildhood are chiefly connected withministering to the wants of the organismas expressed in the appetites, and in

securing control of the larger muscles.Activity is the preëminent thing—racingand romping are worth doing for theirown sake alone. Imitation is strong,curiosity is rising, and imagination isbuilding a new world. Speech is a joy,language is learned with ease, and rhymeand rhythm become second nature. Theinterests of this stage are still very directand immediate. A distant end does notattract. The thing must be worth doingfor the sake of the doing. Since the youngchild's life is so full of action, and sinceit is out of acts that habits grow, it isdoubly desirous during this period thatenvironment, models, and teachingshould all direct his interests andactivities into lines that will lead to

permanent values.

The Interests of LaterChildhood.—In the period from seconddentition to puberty there is a greatwidening in the scope of interests, aswell as a noticeable change in theircharacter. Activity is still the keynote;but the child is no longer interestedmerely in the doing, but is now able tolook forward to the end sought. Interestswhich are somewhat indirect nowappeal to him, and the how of thingsattracts his attention. He is beginning toreach outside of his own little circle,and is ready for handicraft, reading,history, and science. Spelling, writing,

and arithmetic interest him partly fromthe activities involved, but more as ameans to an end.

Interest in complex games and playsincreases, but the child is not yet readyfor games which require team work. Hehas not come to the point where he iswilling to sacrifice himself for the goodof all. Interest in moral questions isbeginning, and right and wrong are nolonger things which may or may not bedone without rebuke or punishment. Thegreat problem at this stage is to directthe interest into ways of adapting themeans to ends and into willingness towork under voluntary attention for theaccomplishment of the desired end.

The Interests of Adolescence.—Finally, with the advent of puberty,comes the last stage in the developmentof interests before adult life. This periodis not marked by the birth of newinterests so much as by a deepening andbroadening of those already begun. Theend sought becomes an increasinglylarger factor, whether in play or in work.Mere activity itself no longer satisfies.The youth can now play team games; forhis social interests are taking shape, andhe can subordinate himself for the goodof the group. Interest in the opposite sextakes on a new phase, and social formand mode of dress receive attention. A

new consciousness of self emerges, andthe youth becomes introspective.Questions of the ultimate meaning ofthings press for solution, and what andwho am I, demands an answer.

At this age we pass from a régime ofobedience to one of self-control, from anethics of authority to one ofindividualism. All the interests are nowtaking on a more definite and stableform, and are looking seriously towardlife vocations. This is a time of big plansand strenuous activity. It is a crucialperiod in our life, fraught with pitfallsand dangers, with privileges andopportunities. At this strategic point inour life's voyage we may anchor

ourselves with right interests to a safemanhood and a successful career; or wemay, with wrong interests, bindourselves to a broken life ofdiscouragement and defeat.


1. Try making a list of your mostimportant interests in order of theirstrength. Suppose you had made such alist five years ago, where would it havediffered from the present list? Are youever obliged to perform any activities inwhich you have little or no interest,either directly or indirectly? Can you

name any activities in which you oncehad a strong interest but which you nowperform chiefly from force of habit andwithout much interest?

2. Have you any interests of whichyou are not proud? On the other hand, doyou lack certain interests which you feelthat you should possess? What interestsare you now trying especially tocultivate? To suppress? Have you asbroad a field of interests as you can welltake care of? Have you so many intereststhat you are slighting the development ofsome of the more important ones?

3. Observe several recitations for

differences in the amount of interestshown. Account for these differences.Have you ever observed an enthusiasticteacher with an uninterested class? Adull, listless teacher with an interestedclass?

4. A father offers his son a dollar forevery grade on his term report which isabove ninety; what type of interestrelative to studies does this appeal to?What do you think of the advisability ofgiving prizes in connection with schoolwork?

5. Most children in the elementaryschool are not interested in technical

grammar; why not? Histories made upchiefly of dates and lists of kings orpresidents are not interesting; what is theremedy? Would you call any teaching ofliterature, history, geography, or sciencesuccessful which fails to develop aninterest in the subject?

6. After careful observation, make astatement of the differences in the typicalplay interests of boys and girls; ofchildren of the third grade and the eighthgrade.

CHAPTER XVII

THE WILL

The fundamental fact in all ranges oflife from the lowest to the highest isactivity, doing. Every individual, eitheranimal or man, is constantly meetingsituations which demand response. In thelower forms of life, this response is verysimple, while in the higher forms, andespecially in man, it is very complex.The bird sees a nook favorable for anest, and at once appropriates it; a mansees a house that strikes his fancy, andworks and plans and saves for months tosecure money with which to buy it. It is

evident that the larger the possiblenumber of responses, and the greatertheir diversity and complexity, the moredifficult it will be to select and compelthe right response to any given situation.Man therefore needs some specialpower of control over his acts—herequires a will.

1. THE NATURE OF THE WILL

There has been much discussion andnot a little controversy as to the truenature of the will. Just what is the will,and what is the content of our mentalstream when we are in the act ofwilling? Is there at such times a new and

distinctly different content which we donot find in our processes of knowledgeor emotion—such as perception,memory, judgment, interest, desire? Ordo we find, when we are engaged in anact of the will, that the mental streamcontains only the familiar old elementsof attention, perception, judgment,desire, purpose, etc., all organized orset for the purpose of accomplishing orpreventing some act?

The Content of the Will.—Weshall not attempt here to settle thecontroversy suggested by the foregoingquestions, nor, for immediately practicalpurposes, do we need to settle it. It is

perhaps safe to say, however, thatwhenever we are willing the mentalcontent consists of elements of cognitionand feeling plus a distinct sense ofeffort, with which everyone is familiar.Whether this sense of effort is a new anddifferent element, or only a complex ofold and familiar mental processes, weneed not now decide.

The Function of the Will.—Concerning the function of the will therecan be no haziness or doubt. Volitionconcerns itself wholly with acts,responses. The will always has to dowith causing or inhibiting some action,either physical or mental. We need to go

to the dentist, tell some friend we werein the wrong, hold our mind to a difficultor uninteresting task, or do some otherdisagreeable thing from which we shirk.It is at such points that we must call uponthe will.

Again, we must restrain our tonguefrom speaking the unkind word, keepfrom crying out when the dentist drillsthe tooth, check some unworthy line ofthought. We must here also appeal to thewill. We may conclude then that the willis needed whenever the physical ormental activity must be controlled witheffort. Some writers have called thework of the will in compelling action itspositive function, and in inhibiting action

its negative function.

How the Will Exerts ItsCompulsion.—How does the will bringits compulsion to bear? It is not a kind ofmental policeman who can take us by thecollar, so to speak, and say do this, ordo not do that. The secret of the will'spower of control lies in attention. It isthe line of action that we hold the mindupon with an attitude of intending toperform it that we finally follow. It is thething we keep thinking about that wefinally do.

On the other hand, let us resolutelyhold the mind away from some attractive

but unsuitable line of action, directingour thoughts to an opposite course, or tosome wholly different subject, and wehave effectually blocked the wrongresponse. To control our acts istherefore to control our thoughts, andstrength of will can be measured by ourability to direct our attention.

2. THE EXTENT OF VOLUNTARYCONTROL OVER OUR ACTS

A relatively small proportion of ouracts, or responses, are controlled byvolition. Nature, in her wise economy,has provided a simpler and easiermethod than to have all our actions

performed or checked with consciouseffort.

Classes of Acts or Response.—Movements or acts, like otherphenomena, do not just happen. Theynever occur without a cause back ofthem. Whether they are performed with aconscious end in view or without it, thefact remains the same—something mustlie back of the act to account for itsperformance. During the last hour, eachof us has performed many simplemovements and more or less complexacts. These acts have varied greatly incharacter. Of many we were whollyunconscious. Others were consciously

performed, but without feeling of efforton our part. Still others wereaccomplished only with effort, and aftera struggle to decide which of two linesof action we should take. Some of ouracts were reflex, some were chieflyinstinctive, and some were volitional.

Simple Reflex Acts.—First, thereare going on within every livingorganism countless movements of whichhe is in large part unconscious, which hedoes nothing to initiate, and which he islargely powerless to prevent. Some ofthem are wholly, and others almost, outof the reach and power of his will. Suchare the movements of the heart and

vascular system, the action of the lungsin breathing, the movements of thedigestive tract, the work of the variousglands in their process of secretion. Theentire organism is a mass of livingmatter, and just because it is living nopart of it is at rest.

Movements of this type require noexternal stimulus and no direction, theyare reflex; they take care of themselves,as long as the body is in health, withoutlet or hindrance, continuing whether wesleep or wake, even if we are inhypnotic or anæsthetic coma. Withmovements of reflex type we shall haveno more concern, since they are almostwholly physiological, and come scarcely

at all within the range of theconsciousness.

Instinctive Acts.—Next there are alarge number of such acts as closing theeyes when they are threatened, startingback from danger, crying out from painor alarm, frowning and striking whenangry. These may roughly be classed asinstinctive, and have already beendiscussed under that head. They differfrom the former class in that they requiresome stimulus to set the act off. We arefully conscious of their performance,although they are performed without aconscious end in view. Winking the eyesserves an important purpose, but that is

not why we wink; starting back fromdanger is a wise thing to do, but we donot stop to consider this beforeperforming the act.

And so it is with a multitude ofreflex and instinctive acts. They areperformed immediately upon receivingan appropriate stimulus, because wepossess an organism calculated to act ina definite way in response to certainstimuli. There is no need for, and indeedno place for, anything to come inbetween the stimulus and the act. Thestimulus pulls the trigger of the ready-setnervous system, and the act follows atonce. Acts of these reflex and instinctivetypes do not come properly within the

range of volition, hence we will notconsider them further.

Automatic or Spontaneous Acts.—Growing out of these reflex andinstinctive acts is a broad field of actionwhich may be called automatic orspontaneous. The distinguishing featureof this type of action is that all such acts,though performed now largely withoutconscious purpose or intent, were at onetime purposed acts, performed witheffort; this is to say that they werevolitional. Such acts as writing, orfingering the keyboard of a piano, wereonce consciously purposed, volitionalacts selected from many random or

reflex movements.

The effects of experience and habitare such, however, that soon the merepresence of pencil and paper, or thesight of the keyboard, is enough to setone scribbling or playing. Stateddifferently, certain objects and situationscome to suggest certain characteristicacts or responses so strongly that theaction follows immediately on the heelsof the percept of the object, or the ideaof the act. James calls such action ideo-motor. Many illustrations of this type ofacts will occur to each of us: A doorstarts to blow shut, and we spring up andavert the slam. The memory of aneglected engagement comes to us, and

we have started to our feet on the instant.A dish of nuts stands before us, and wefind ourselves nibbling without intendingto do so.

The Cycle from Volitional toAutomatic.—It is of course evident thatno such acts, though they were at onetime in our experience volitional, nowrequire effort or definite intention fortheir performance. The law covering thispoint may be stated as follows: Allvolitional acts, when repeated, tend,through the effects of habit, to becomeautomatic, and thus relieve the willfrom the necessity of directing them. Fig. 19.--Star for mirror drawing. The

mirror breaks up the automatic controlpreviously developed, and requires oneto start out much as the child does at thebeginning. See text for directions.Fig. 19.—Star for mirror drawing. The mirror breaksup the automatic control previously developed, andrequires one to start out much as the child does at thebeginning. See text for directions.

To illustrate this law try thefollowing experiment: Draw on a pieceof cardboard a star, like figure 19,making each line segment two inches.Seat yourself at a table with the starbefore you, placing a mirror back of thestar so that it can be seen in the mirror.Have someone hold a screen a fewinches above the table so as to hide thestar from your direct view, but so that

you can see it in the mirror. Now reachyour hand under the screen and tracewith a pencil around the star from left toright, not taking your pencil off the paperuntil you get clear around. Keep track ofhow long it takes to go around and alsonote the irregular wanderings of yourpencil. Try this experiment five timesover, noting the decrease in time andeffort required, and the increase inefficiency as the movements tend tobecome automatic.

Volitional Action. —While it isobvious that the various types of actionalready described include a very largeproportion of all our acts, yet they do not

include all. For there are some acts thatare neither reflex nor instinctive norautomatic, but that have to be performedunder the stress of compulsion andeffort. We constantly meet situationswhere the necessity for action orrestraint runs counter to our inclinations.We daily are confronted by the necessityof making decisions in which the mindmust be compelled by effort to take thisdirection or that direction. Conflictingmotives or tendencies create frequentnecessity for coercion. It is oftennecessary to drive our bark counter tothe current of our desires or our habits,or to enter into conflict with atemptation.

Volition Acts in the Making ofDecisions.—Everyone knows forhimself the state of inward unrest whichwe call indecision. A thought enters themind which would of itself prompt anact; but before the act can occur, acontrary idea appears and the act ischecked; another thought comes favoringthe act, and is in turn counterbalanced byan opposing one. The impelling andinhibiting ideas we call motives orreasons for and against the proposedact. While we are balancing the motivesagainst each other, we are said todeliberate. This process of deliberationmust go on, if we continue to think aboutthe matter at all, until one set of ideashas triumphed over the other and secured

the attention. When this has occurred, wehave decided, and the deliberation is atan end. We have exercised the highestfunction of the will and made a choice.

Sometimes the battle of motives isshort, the decision being reached as soonas there is time to summon all thereasons on both sides of the question. Atother times the conflict may go on atintervals for days or weeks, neither setof motives being strong enough tovanquish the other and dictate thedecision. When the motives aresomewhat evenly balanced we wiselypause in making a decision, becausewhen one line of action is taken, theother cannot be, and we hesitate to lose

either opportunity. A state of indecisionis usually highly unpleasant, and nodoubt more than one decision has beenhastened in our lives simply that wemight be done with the unpleasantnessattendant on the consideration of twocontrary and insistent sets of motives.

It is of the highest importance whenmaking a decision of any consequencethat we should be fair in considering allthe reasons on both sides of the question,allowing each its just weight. Nor is thisas easy as it might appear; for, as wesaw in our study of the emotions, ourfeeling attitude toward any object thatoccupies the mind is largely responsible

for the subjective value we place uponit. It is easy to be so prejudiced towardor against a line of action that themotives bearing upon it cannot get fairconsideration. To be able to eliminatethis personal factor to such an extent thatthe evidence before us on a question maybe considered on its merits is a rareaccomplishment.

Types of Decision.—A decisionmay be reached in a variety of ways, themost important ones of which may nowbriefly be described after the generalplan suggested by Professor James:

The Reasonable Type.—One of the

simplest types of decision is that inwhich the preponderance of motives isclearly seen to be on one side or theother, and the only rational thing to do isto decide in accordance with the weightof evidence. Decisions of this type arecalled reasonable. If we discover tenreasons why we should pursue a certaincourse of action, and only one or tworeasons of equal weight why we shouldnot, then the decision ought not to behard to make. The points to watch in thiscase are (a) that we have reallydiscovered all the important reasons onboth sides of the case, and (b) that ourfeelings of personal interest or prejudicehave not given some of the motives anundue weight in our scale of values.

Accidental type: ExternalMotives.—It is to be doubted whetheras many of our decisions are made underimmediate stress of volition as we think.We may be hesitating between two setsof motives, unable to decide betweenthem, when a third factor enters which isnot really related to the question at all,but which finally dictates the decisionnevertheless. For example, we areconsidering the question whether weshall go on an excursion or stay at homeand complete a piece of work. Thebenefits coming from the recreation, andthe pleasures of the trip, are pittedagainst the expense which must be

incurred and the desirability of havingthe work done on time. At this point,while as yet we have been unable todecide, a friend comes along, and weseek to evade the responsibility ofmaking our own decision by appealingto him, "You tell me what to do!" Howfew of us have never said in effect if notin words, "I will do this or that if youwill"! How few have never takenadvantage of a rainy day to stay fromchurch or shirk an undesirableengagement! How few have not allowedimportant questions to be decided bysome trivial or accidental factor notreally related to the choice in the least!

This form of decision is accidental

decision. It does not rest on motiveswhich are vitally related to the case, butrather on the accident of externalcircumstances. The person whohabitually makes his decisions in thisway lacks power of will. He does nothold himself to the question until he hasgathered the evidence before him, andthen himself direct his attention to thebest line of action and so secure itsperformance. He drifts with the tide, hegoes with the crowd, he shirksresponsibility.

Accidental Type: SubjectiveMotives.—A second type of accidentaldecision may occur when we are

hesitating between two lines of actionwhich are seemingly about equallydesirable, and no preponderating motiveenters the field; when no external factorappears, and no advising friend comes tothe rescue. Then, with the necessity fordeciding thrust upon us, we tire of theworry and strain of deliberation and sayto ourselves, "This thing must be settledone way or the other pretty soon; I amtired of the whole matter." When wehave reached this point we are likely toshut our eyes to the evidence in the case,and decide largely upon the whim ormood of the moment. Very likely weregret our decision the next instant, butwithout any more cause for the regretthan we had for the decision.

It is evident that such a decision asthis does not rest on valid motives butrather on the accident of subjectiveconditions. Habitual decisions of thistype are an evidence of a mental lazinessor a mental incompetence which rendersthe individual incapable of marshalingthe facts bearing on a case. He cannothold them before his mind and weighthem against each other until one sideoutweighs the other and dictates thedecision. Of course the remedy for thisweakness of decision lies in notallowing oneself to be pushed into adecision simply to escape theunpleasantness of a state of indecision,or the necessity of searching for further

evidence which will make the decisioneasier.

On the other hand, it is possible toform a habit of indecision, of unduehesitancy in coming to conclusions whenthe evidence is all before us. This givesus the mental dawdler, the person whowill spend several minutes in an agonyof indecision over whether to carry anumbrella on this particular trip; whetherto wear black shoes or tan shoes today;whether to go calling or to stay at homeand write letters this afternoon. Such aperson is usually in a stew over someinconsequential matter, and consumes somuch time and energy in fussing over

trivial things that he is incapable ofhandling larger ones. If we are certainthat we have all the facts in a given casebefore us, and have given each its dueweight so far as our judgment willenable us to do, then there is nothing tobe gained by delaying the decision. Noris there any occasion to change thedecision after it has once been madeunless new evidence is discoveredbearing on the case.

Decision Under Effort.—Thehighest type of decision is that in whicheffort is the determining factor. Thepressure of external circumstances andinward impulse is not enough to

overcome a calm and determined I will.Two possible lines of action may lieopen before us. Every current of ourbeing leads toward the one; in addition,inclination, friends, honors, all beckonin the same direction. From the othercourse our very nature shrinks; dutyalone bids us take this line, andpromises no rewards except theapproval of conscience. Here is thecrucial point in human experience; thesupreme test of the individual; the lastmeasure of man's independence andpower. Winning at this point man hasexercised his highest prerogative—thatof independent choice; failing here, hereverts toward the lower forms and is acreature of circumstance, no longer the

master of his own destiny, but blownabout by the winds of chance. And itbehooves us to win in this battle. Wemay lose in a contest or a game and yetnot fail, because we have done our best;if we fail in the conflict of motives wehave planted a seed of weakness fromwhich we shall at last harvest defeat.

Jean Valjean, the galley slave ofalmost a score of years, escapes andlives an honest life. He wins the respectand admiration of friends; he is electedmayor of his town, and honors areheaped on him. At the height of hisprosperity he reads one day that a manhas been arrested in another town for theescaped convict, Jean Valjean, and is

about to be sent to the galleys. Nowcomes the supreme test in Jean Valjean'slife. Shall he remain the honored,respected citizen and let an innocent mansuffer in his stead, or shall he proclaimhimself the long-sought criminal andagain have the collar riveted on his neckand take his place at the oars? He spendsone awful night of conflict in whichcontending motives make a battle groundof his soul. But in the morning he haswon. He has saved his manhood. Hisconscience yet lives—and he goes andgives himself up to the officers. Norcould he do otherwise and still remain aman.

3. STRONG AND WEAK WILLS

Many persons will admit that theirmemory or imagination or power ofperception is not good, but few willconfess to a weak will. Strength of willis everywhere lauded as a mark of worthand character. How can we tell whetherour will is strong or weak?

Not a Will, But Wills.—First of allwe need to remember that, just as we donot have a memory, but a system ofmemories, so we do not possess a will,but many different wills. By this I meanthat the will must be called upon andtested at every point of contact in

experience before we have fullymeasured its strength. Our will may haveserved us reasonably well so far, but wemay not yet have met any great numberof hard tests because our experience andtemptations have been limited.

Nor must we forget to take intoaccount both the negative and thepositive functions of the will. Manythere are who think of the will chiefly inits negative use, as a kind of a check orbarrier to save us from doing certainthings. That this is an important functioncannot be denied. But the positive is thehigher function. There are many men andwomen who are able to resist evil, butable to do little good. They are good

enough, but not good for much. They lackthe power of effort and self-compulsionto hold them up to the high standards andstern endeavor necessary to save themfrom inferiority or mediocrity. It isalmost certain that for most who readthese words the greatest test of their willpower will be in the positive instead ofthe negative direction.

Objective Tests a False Measureof Will Power.—The actual amount ofvolition exercised in making a decisioncannot be measured by objective results.The fact that you follow the pathway ofduty, while I falter and finally drift intothe byways of pleasure, is not certain

evidence that you have put forth thegreater power of will. In the first place,the allurements which led me astray mayhave had no charms for you.Furthermore, you may have so formedthe habit of pursuing the pathway of dutywhen the two paths opened before you,that your well-trained feet unerringly ledyou into the narrow way without astruggle. Of course you are on saferground than I, and on ground that weshould all seek to attain. But,nevertheless, I, although I fell when Ishould have stood, may have beenfighting a battle and manifesting a powerof resistance of which you, under similartemptation, would have been incapable.The only point from which a conflict of

motives can be safely judged is that ofthe soul which is engaged in the struggle.

4. VOLITIONAL TYPES

Several fairly well-markedvolitional types may be discovered. It is,of course, to be understood that thesetypes all grade by insensible degreesinto each other, and that extreme typesare the exception rather than the rule.

The Impulsive Type.—Theimpulsive type of will goes along with anervous organism of the hair-triggerkind. The brain is in a state of highly

unstable equilibrium, and a relativelyslight current serves to set off the motorcenters. Action follows before there istime for a counteracting current tointervene. Putting it in mental terms, weact on an idea which presents itselfbefore an opposing one has opportunityto enter the mind. Hence the action islargely or wholly ideo-motor and butslightly or not at all deliberate. It isthis type of will which results in thehasty word or deed, or the rash actcommitted on the impulse of the momentand repented of at leisure; whichcompels the frequent, "I didn't think, or Iwould not have done it!" The impulsiveperson may undoubtedly have creditedup to him many kind words and noble

deeds. In addition, he usually carrieswith him an air of spontaneity andwhole-heartedness which goes far toatone for his faults. The fact remains,however, that he is too little the masterof his acts, that he is guided too largelyby external circumstances or inwardcaprice. He lacks balance.

Impulsive action is not to beconfused with quick decision and rapidaction. Many of the world's greatest andsafest leaders have been noted forquickness of decision and for rapidity ofaction in carrying out their decisions. Itmust be remembered, however, thatthese men were making decisions infields well known to them. They were

specialists in this line of deliberation.The motives for and against certain linesof action had often been dwelt upon. Allpossible contingencies had been imagedmany times over, and a valuation placedupon the different decisions. The variousconcepts had long been associated withcertain definite lines of action.Deliberation under such conditions canbe carried on with lightning rapidity,each motive being checked off as worthso much the instant it presents itself, andaction can follow immediately whenattention settles on the proper motive togovern the decision. This is not impulse,but abbreviated deliberation. These factssuggest to us that we should think muchand carefully over matters in which we

are required to make quick decisions.

Of course the remedy for the over-impulsive type is to cultivatedeliberative action. When the impulsecomes to act without consideration,pause to give the other side of thequestion an opportunity to be heard.Check the motor response to ideas thatsuggest action until you have reviewedthe field to see whether there arecontrary reasons to be taken intoaccount. Form the habit of waiting for allevidence before deciding. "Think twice"before you act.

The Obstructed Will.—The

opposite of the impulsive type of will isthe obstructed or balky will. In this typethere is too much inhibition, or else notenough impulsion. Images which shouldresult in action are checkmated byopposing images, or do not possessvitality enough as motives to overcomethe dead weight of inertia which clogsmental action. The person knows wellenough what he should do, but he cannotget started. He "cannot get the consent ofhis will." It may be the student whosemind is tormented by thoughts of comingfailure in recitation or examination, butwho yet cannot force himself to theexertion necessary safely to meet theordeal. It may be the dissolute man whotortures himself in his sober moments

with remorse and the thought that he wasintended for better things, but who,waking from his meditations, goes on inthe same old way. It may be the childundergoing punishment, who is to bereleased from bondage as soon as hewill promise to be good, but who cannotbring himself to say the necessarywords. It not only may be, but is, man orwoman anywhere who has ideals whichare known to be worthy and noble, butwhich fail to take hold. It is anyone whois following a course of action which heknows is beneath him.

No one can doubt that the moraltragedies, the failures and theshipwrecks in life come far more from

the breaking of the bonds which shouldbind right ideals to action than from afailure to perceive the truth. Men differfar more in their deeds than in theirstandards of action.

The remedy for this diseased type ofwill is much easier to prescribe than toapply. It is simply to refuse to attend tothe contrary thoughts which are blockingaction, and to cultivate and encouragethose which lead to action of the rightkind. It is seeking to vitalize our goodimpulses and render them effective byacting on them whenever opportunityoffers. Nothing can be accomplished bymoodily dwelling on the disgrace of

harboring the obstructing ideas. Thusbrooding over them only encouragesthem. What we need is to get entirelyaway from the line of thought in whichwe have met our obstruction, andapproach the matter from a differentdirection. The child who is in a fit ofsulks does not so much need a lecture onthe disagreeable habit he is forming as tohave his thoughts led into lines notconnected with the grievance which iscausing him the trouble. The stubbornchild does not need to have his will"broken," but rather to have itstrengthened. He may be compelled todo what he does not want to do; but ifthis is accomplished through physicalforce instead of by leading to thoughts

connected with the performance of theact, it may be doubted whether the willhas in any degree been strengthened.Indeed it may rather be depended uponthat the will has been weakened; for anopportunity for self-control, throughwhich alone the will develops, has beenlost. The ultimate remedy for rebellionoften lies in greater freedom at theproper time. This does not mean that thechild should not obey rightful authoritypromptly and explicitly, but that just aslittle external authority as possibleshould intervene to take from the childthe opportunity for self-compulsion.

The Normal Will.—The golden

mean between these two abnormal typesof will may be called the normal orbalanced will. Here there is a properratio between impulsion and inhibition.Ideas are not acted upon the instant theyenter the mind without giving time for asurvey of the field of motives, neither isaction "sicklied o'er with the pale cast ofthought" to such an extent that it becomesimpossible. The evidence is allconsidered and each motive fullyweighed. But this once done, decisionfollows. No dilatory and obstructivetactics are allowed. The fleeting impulseis not enough to persuade to action,neither is action unduly delayed after thedecision is made.

5. TRAINING THE WILL

The will is to be trained as we trainthe other powers of the mind—throughthe exercise of its normal function. Thefunction of the will is to direct or controlin the actual affairs of life. Many well-meaning persons speak of training thewill as if we could separate it from theinterests and purposes of our dailyliving, and in some way put it through itspaces merely for the sake of adding to itsgeneral strength. This view is all wrong.There is, as we have seen, no such thinga s general power of will. Will isalways required in specific acts andemergencies, and it is precisely uponsuch matters that it must be exercised if

it is to be cultivated.

Will to Be Trained in CommonRound of Duties.—What is needed indeveloping the will is a deep moralinterest in whatever we set out to do,and a high purpose to do it up to the limitof our powers. Without this, anyartificial exercises, no matter howcarefully they are devised or howheroically they are carried out, cannotbut fail to fit us for the real tests of life;with it, artificial exercises aresuperfluous. It matters not so much whatour vocation as how it is performed. Themost commonplace human experience isrich in opportunities for the highest form

of expression possible to the will—thatof directing us into right lines of action,and of holding us to our best in theaccomplishment of some dominantpurpose.

There is no one set form of exercisewhich alone will serve to train the will.The student pushing steadily toward hisgoal in spite of poverty and grindinglabor; the teacher who, thoughunappreciated and poorly paid, yetperforms every duty with conscientiousthoroughness; the man who stands firm inthe face of temptation; the person whomheredity or circumstance hashandicapped, but who, nevertheless,courageously fights his battle; the

countless men and women everywherewhose names are not known to fame, butwho stand in the hard places, bearing theheat and the toil with brave, unflinchinghearts—these are the ones who aredeveloping a moral fiber and strength ofwill which will stand in the day ofstress. Better a thousand times suchtraining as this in the thick of life's realconflicts than any volitional calisthenicsor priggish self-denials entered intosolely for the training of the will!

School Work and Will Training.—The work of the school offers as good anopportunity for training powers of willas of memory or reasoning. On the side

of inhibition there is always thenecessity for self-restraint and control sothat the rights of others may not beinfringed upon. Temptations tounfairness or insincerity in lessons andexaminations are always to be met. Thesocial relations of the school necessitatethe development of personal poise andindependence.

On the positive side theopportunities for the exercise of willpower are always at hand in the school.Every lesson gives the pupil a chance tomeasure his strength and determinationagainst the resistance of the task. Highstandards are to be built up, idealsmaintained, habits rendered secure.

The great problem for the teacher inthis connection is so to organize bothcontrol and instruction that the largestpossible opportunity is given to pupilsfor the exercise of their own powers ofwill in all school relations.

6. FREEDOM OF THE WILL, ORTHE EXTENT OF ITS CONTROL

We have seen in this discussion thatwill is a mode of control—control ofour thoughts and, through our thoughts, ofour actions. Will may be looked upon,then, as the culmination of the mental

life, the highest form of directive agentwithin us. Beginning with the directionof the simplest movements, it goes onuntil it governs the current of our life inthe pursuit of some distant ideal.

Limitations of the Will.—Just howfar the will can go in its control, justhow far man is a free moral agent, haslong been one of the mooted questionsamong the philosophers. But some fewfacts are clear. If the will can exercisefull control over all our acts, it by thisvery fact determines our character; andcharacter spells destiny. There is not theleast doubt, however, that the will inthus directing us in the achievement of a

destiny works under two limitations:First, every individual enters upon lifewith a large stock of inheritedtendencies, which go far to shape hisinterests and aspirations. And these areimportant factors in the work of volition.Second, we all have our setting in themidst of a great material and socialenvironment, which is largely beyondour power to modify, and whoseinfluences are constantly playing upon usand molding us according to their type.

These Limitations the Conditionsof Freedom.—Yet there is nothing inthis thought to discourage us. For thesevery limitations have in them our hope of

a larger freedom. Man's heredity,coming to him through ages of conflictwith the forces of nature, with hisbrother man, and with himself, hasdeeply instilled in him the spirit ofindependence and self-control. It hastrained him to deliberate, to choose, toachieve. It has developed in him thep o w e r to will. Likewise man'senvironment, in which he must live andwork, furnishes the problems which hislife work is to solve, and out of whosesolution will receives its only truedevelopment.

It is through the action andinteraction of these two factors, then,that man is to work out his destiny. What

h e is, coupled with what he may do,leads him to what he may become. Everyman possesses in some degree a spark ofdivinity, a sovereign individuality, apower of independent initiative. This isall he needs to make him free—free todo his best in whatever walk of life hefinds himself. If he will but do this, thedoing of it will lead him into aconstantly growing freedom, and he canvoice the cry of every earnest heart:

Build thee more stately mansions, Omy soul!As the swift seasons roll!Leave thy low-vaulted past!Let each new temple, nobler than the

last,Shut thee from heaven with a dome morevast,Till thou at length art free,Leaving thine outgrown shell by life'sunresting sea!


1. Give illustrations from your ownexperience of the various types of actionmentioned in this discussion. From yourown experience of the last hour, whatexamples of impulsive action can yougive? Would it have been better in somecases had you stopped to deliberate?

2. Are you easily influenced byprejudice or personal preference inmaking decisions? What recentdecisions have been thus affected? Canyou classify the various ones of yourdecisions which you can recall under thefour types mentioned in the text? Underwhich class does the largest numberfall? Have you a tendency to drift withthe crowd? Are you independent indeciding upon and following out a lineof action? What is the value of advice?Ought advice to do more than to assist ingetting all the evidence on a case beforethe one who is to decide?

3. Can you judge yourself wellenough to tell to which volitional typeyou belong? Are you over-impulsive?Are you stubborn? What is the differencebetween stubbornness and firmness?Suppose you ask your instructor, or afriend, to assist you in classifyingyourself as to volitional type. Are youtroubled with indecision; that is, do youhave hard work to decide in trivialmatters even after you know all the factsin the case? What is the cause of thesestates of indecision? The remedy?

4. Have you a strong power of will?Can you control your attention? Do yousubmit easily to temptation? Can youhold yourself up to a high degree of

effort? Can you persevere? Have youever failed in the attainment of somecherished ideal because you could notbring yourself to pay the price in thesacrifice or effort necessary?

5. Consider the class work andexaminations of schools that you know.Does the system of management andcontrol throw responsibility on thepupils in a way to develop their powersof will?

6. What motives or incentives can beused to encourage pupils to use self-compulsion to maintain high standards ofexcellence in their studies and conduct?

Does it pay to be heroic in one's self-control?

CHAPTER XVIII

SELF-EXPRESSION ANDDEVELOPMENT

We have already seen that the mindand the body are associated in acopartnership in which each is anindispensable and active member. Wehave seen that the body gets its dignityand worth from its relation with themind, and that the mind is dependent onthe body for the crude material of itsthought, and also for the carrying out ofits mandates in securing adaptation toour environment. We have seen as acorollary of these facts that the

efficiency of both mind and body isconditioned by the manner in which eachcarries out its share of the mutualactivities. Let us see something more ofthis interrelation.

1. INTER-RELATION OFIMPRESSION AND EXPRESSION

No impression withoutcorresponding expression has become amaxim in both physiology andpsychology. Inner life implies self-expression in external activities. Thestream of impressions pouring in upon ushourly from our environment must havemeans of expression if development is to

follow. We cannot be passive recipients,but must be active participants in theeducational process. We must not onlybe able to know and feel, but to do. Fig. 20Fig. 20

The Many Sources ofImpressions.—The nature of theimpressions w come to us and how theyall lead on toward ultimate expression isshown in the accompanying diagram(Fig. 20). Our material environment isthrusting impressions upon us everymoment of our life; also, the materialobjects with which we deal havebecome so saturated with social valuesthat each comes to us with a double

significance, and what an object meansoften stands for more than what it is.From the lives of people with whom wedaily mingle; from the wider circlewhose lives do not immediately touchours, but who are interpreted to us by thepress, by history and literature; from thesocial institutions into which have gonethe lives of millions, and of which ourlives form a part, there come to usconstantly a flood of impressions whoseinfluence cannot be measured. Solikewise with religious impressions.God is all about us and within us. Hespeaks to us from every nook and cornerof nature, and communes with us throughthe still small voice from within, if wewill but listen. The Bible, religious

instruction, and the lives of good peopleare other sources of religiousimpressions constantly tending to moldour lives. The beautiful in nature, art,and human conduct constantly appeals tous in æssthetic impressions.

All Impressions Lead towardExpression.—Each of these groups ofimpressions may be subdivided andextended into an almost indefinitenumber and variety, the different groupsmeeting and overlapping, it is true, yeteach preserving reasonably distinctcharacteristics. A common characteristicof them all, as shown in the diagram, isthat they all point toward expression.

The varieties of light, color, form, anddistance which we get through vision arenot merely that we may know thesephenomena of nature, but that, knowingthem, we may use the knowledge inmaking proper responses to ourenvironment. Our power to know humansympathy and love through our socialimpressions are not merely that we mayfeel these emotions, but that, feelingthem, we may act in response to them.

It is impossible to classify logicallyin any simple scheme all the possibleforms of expression. The diagram willserve, however, to call attention to someof the chief modes of bodily expression,and also to the results of the bodily

expressions in the arts and vocations.Here again the process of subdivisionand extension can be carried outindefinitely. The laugh can be made totell many different stories. Crying mayexpress bitter sorrow or uncontrollablejoy. Vocal speech may be carried on in athousand tongues. Dramatic action maybe made to portray the whole range ofhuman feelings. Plays and games arewide enough in their scope to satisfy thedemands of all ages and every people.The handicrafts cover so wide a rangethat the material progress of civilizationcan be classed under them, and indeedwithout their development the arts andvocations would be impossible.Architecture, sculpture, painting, music,

and literature have a thousandpossibilities both in technique andcontent. Likewise the modes of society,conduct, and religion are unlimited intheir forms of expression.

Limitations of Expression.—Whileit is more blessed to give than toreceive, it is somewhat harder in thedoing; for more of the self is, after all,involved in expression than inimpression. Expression needs to becultivated as an art; for who can expressall he thinks, or feels, or conceives?Who can do his innermost self justicewhen he attempts to express it inlanguage, in music, or in marble? The

painter answers when praised for hiswork, "If you could but see the picture Iintended to paint!" The pupil says, "Iknow, but I cannot tell." The friend says,"I wish I could tell you how sorry I am."The actor complains, "If I could onlyportray the passion as I feel it, I couldbring all the world to my feet!" Thebody, being of grosser structure than themind, must always lag somewhat behindin expressing the mind's states; yet, soperfect is the harmony between the two,that with a body well trained to respondto the mind's needs, comparatively littleof the spiritual need be lost in itsexpression through the material.

2. THE PLACE OF EXPRESSION INDEVELOPMENT

Nor are we to think that cultivationof expression results in better power ofexpression alone, or that lack ofcultivation results only in decreasedpower of expression.

Intellectual Value of Expression.—There is a distinct mental value inexpression. An idea always assumesnew clearness and wider relations whenit is expressed. Michael Angelo, makinghis plans for the great cathedral, foundhis first concept of the structureexpanding and growing more beautiful

as he developed his plans. The sculptor,beginning to model the statue after theimage which he has in his mind, finds theimage growing and becoming moreexpressive and beautiful as the clay ismolded and formed. The writer finds thescope and worth of his book growing ashe proceeds with the writing. Thestudent, beginning doubtfully on hisconstruction in geometry, finds the truthgrowing clearer as he proceeds. Thechild with a dim and hazy notion of themeaning of the story in history orliterature discovers that the meaninggrows clear as he himself works out itsexpression in speech, in the handicrafts,or in dramatic representation.

So we may apply the test to anyrealm of thought whatever, and the lawholds good: It is not in itsapprehension, but in its expression,that a truth finally becomes assimilatedto our body of usable knowledge. Andthis means that in all training of the bodythrough its motor expression we are toremember that the mind must be behindthe act; that the intellect must guide thehand; that the object is not to makeskillful fingers alone, but to developclear and intelligent thought as well.

Moral Value of Expression.—Expression also has a distinct moralvalue. There are many more people of

good intentions than of moral characterin the world. The rugged proverb tells usthat the road to hell is paved with goodintentions. And how easy it is to formgood resolutions. Who of us has not,after some moral struggle, said, "I willbreak the bonds of this habit: I will enterupon that heroic line of action!" andthen, satisfied for the time with havingmade the resolution, continued in the oldpath, until we were surprised later tofind that we had never got beyond theresolution.

It is not in the moment of the resolvebut in the moment when the resolve iscarried out in action that the moral valueinheres. To take a stand on a question of

right and wrong means more than toshow one's allegiance to the right—itclears one's own moral vision and giveshim command of himself. Expression is,finally, the only true test for ourmorality. Lacking moral expression, wemay stand in the class of those who aremerely good, but we can never enter theclass of those who are good forsomething. One cannot but wonder whatwould happen if all the people in theworld who are morally right should giveexpression to their moral sentiments, notin words alone, but in deeds. Surely themillennium would speedily come, notonly among the nations, but in the livesof men.

Religious Value of Expression.—True religious experience demandsexpression. The older conception of areligious life was to escape from theworld and live a life of communion andcontemplation in some secluded spot,ignoring the world thirsting without.Later religious teaching, however,recognized the fact that religion cannotconsist in drinking in blessings alone, nomatter how ecstatic the feeling whichmay accompany the process; that it is notthe receiving, but this along with thegiving that enriches the life. To give thecup of cold water, to visit the widowand the fatherless, to comfort and helpthe needy and forlorn—this is not onlyscriptural but it is psychological. Only

as religious feeling goes out intoreligious expression, can we have anormal religious experience.

Social Value of Expression.—Thecriterion of an education once was, howmuch does he know? The world did notexpect an educated man to do anything;he was to be put on a pedestal andadmired from a distance. But thiscriterion is now obsolete. Society careslittle how much we know if it does notenable us to do. People no longer admiremere knowledge, but insist that the manof education shall put his shoulder to thewheel and lend a hand wherever help isneeded. Education is no longer to set

men apart from their fellows, but tomake them more efficient comrades andhelpers in the world's work. Not the manwho knows chemistry and botany, but hewho can use this knowledge to make twoblades of grass grow where but onegrew before, is the true benefactor of hisrace. In short, the world demandsservices returned for opportunitiesafforded; it expects social expression toresult from education.

And this is also best for theindividual, for only through socialservice can we attain to a full realizationof the social values in our environment.Only thus can we enter fully into thesocial heritage of the ages which we

receive from books and institutions; onlythus can we come into the truest and bestrelations with humanity in a commonbrotherhood; only thus can we live thebroader and more significant life, andcome to realize the largest possiblesocial self.

3. EDUCATIONAL USE OFEXPRESSION

The educational significance of thetruths illustrated in the diagram and thediscussion has been somewhat slow intaking hold in our schools. This has beendue not alone to the slowness of theeducational world to grasp a new idea,

but also to the practical difficultiesconnected with adapting the schoolexercises as well to the expression sideof education as to the impression. Fromthe fall of Athens on down to the time ofFroebel the schools were constituted onthe theory that pupils were to receiveeducation; that they were to drink inknowledge, that their minds were to bestored with facts. Children were to "beseen and not heard." Education waslargely a process of gorging the memorywith information.

Easier to Provide for theImpression Side of Education.—Now itis evident that it is far easier to provide

for the passive side of education than forthe active side. All that is needed in theformer case is to have teachers andbooks reasonably full of information,and pupils sufficiently docile to receiveit. But in the latter case, the equipmentmust be more extensive. If the child is tobe allowed to carry out his impressionsinto action, if he is actually to dosomething himself, then he must besupplied with adequate equipment.

So far as the home life wasconcerned, the child of severalgenerations ago was at a decidedadvantage over the child of today on theexpression side of his education. Thehomes of that day were beehives of

industry, in which a dozen handicraftswere taught and practiced. Thebuildings, the farm implements, and mostof the furniture of the home were madefrom the native timber. The material forthe clothing of the family was producedon the farm, made into cloth, and finallyinto garments in the home. Nearly all thesupplies for the table came likewisefrom the farm. These industriesdemanded the combined efforts of thefamily, and each child did his or herpart.

But that day is past. One-half of ourpeople live in cities and towns, and evenin the village and on the farm the

handicrafts of the home have beenrelegated to the factory, and everythingcomes into the home ready for use. Thetelephone, the mail carrier, and thedeliveryman do all the errands even, andthe child in the home is deprived ofresponsibility and of nearly allopportunity for manual expression. Thisis no one's fault, for it is just one phaseof a great industrial readjustment insociety. Yet the fact remains that thehome has lost an important element ineducation, which the school must supplyif we are not to be the loserseducationally by the change.

The School to Take Up the

Handicrafts.—And modern educationalmethod is insisting precisely on thispoint. A few years ago the boy caughtwhittling in school was a fit subject for aflogging; the boy is today given benchand tools, and is instructed in their use.Then the child was punished for drawingpictures; now we are using drawing asone of the best modes of expression.Then instruction in singing was intrustedto an occasional evening class, whichonly the older children could attend, andwhich was taught by some itinerantsinging master; today we make musicone of our most valuable schoolexercises. Then all play time was somuch time wasted; now we recognizeplay as a necessary and valuable mode

of expression and development. Thendramatic representation was confined tothe occasional exhibition or eveningentertainment; now it has become arecognized part of our school work.Then it was a crime for pupils tocommunicate with each other in school;now a part of the school work is plannedso that pupils work in groups, and thusreceive social training. Then ourschoolrooms were destitute of everyvestige of beauty; today many of themare artistic and beautiful.

This statement of the case is ratherover-optimistic if applied to our wholeschool system, however. For there arestill many schools in which all forms of

handicraft are unknown, and in which theonly training in artistic expression is thatwhich comes from caricaturing theteacher. Singing is still an unknown artto many teachers. The play instinct is yetlooked upon with suspicion and distrustin some quarters. A large number of ourschoolrooms are as barren and uglytoday as ever, and contain an atmosphereas stifling to all forms of naturalexpression. We can only comfortourselves with Holmes's maxim, that itmatters not so much where we stand asin what direction we are moving. Andwe certainly are moving toward a largerdevelopment and greater efficiency inexpression on the part of those who passthrough our schools.

Expression and Character.—Finally, all that has been said in thisdiscussion has direct reference to whatwe call character—that mysterioussomething which we so often heareulogized and so seldom analyzed.Character has two distinct phases, whichmay be called the subjective phase andthe social phase; or, stating it differently,character is both what we are and whatwe do. The first of these has to do withthe nature of the real, innermost self; andthe last, with the modes in which thisself finds expression. And it is fair tosay that those about us are concernedwith what we are chiefly from its

relation to what we do.

Character is not a thing, but aprocess; it is the succession of ourthoughts and acts from hour to hour. It isnot something which we can hoard andprotect and polish unto a more perfectday, but it is the everyday self in theprocess of living. And the only way inwhich it can be made or marred isthrough the nature of this stream ofthoughts and acts which constitute theday's life—is through being or doingwell or ill.

Two Lines of Development.—Thecultivation of character must, then,

ignore neither of these two lines. Toneglect the first is to forget that it is outof the abundance of the heart that themouth speaks; that a corrupt tree cannotbring forth good fruit; that the act is thetrue index of the soul. To omit thesecond is to leave the character halfformed, the will weak, and the lifeinefficient and barren of results. Themind must be supplied with noble ideasand high ideals, with right emotions andworthy ambitions. On the other hand, theproper connection must be establishedbetween these mental states andappropriate acts. And the acts mustfinally grow into habits, so that wenaturally and inevitably translate ourideas and ideals, our emotions and

ambitions into deeds. Our character mustbe strong not in thought and feelingalone, but also in the power to return tothe world its finished product in the formof service.

4. PROBLEMS ININTROSPECTION AND

OBSERVATION

1. Do you find that you understandbetter some difficult point or problemafter you have succeeded in stating it?Do you remember better what you haveexpressed?

2. In which particular ones of yourstudies do you think you could have donebetter if you had been given moreopportunity for expression? Explain thepsychology of the maxim, we learn to doby doing.

3. Observe various schools at workfor the purpose of determining whetheropportunities for expression in therecitations are adequate. Have you everseen a class when listless from listeningliven up when they were givensomething to do themselves?

4. Make a study of the types oflaughter you hear. Why is some laughter

much more pleasant than other laughter?What did a noted sculptor mean when hesaid that a smile at the eyes cannot bedepended upon as can one at the mouth?

5. What examples have you observedin children's plays showing their lovefor dramatic representation? Whathandicrafts are the most suitable forchildren of primary grades? for thegrammar school? for the high school?

6. Do you number those among youracquaintance who seem bright enough,so far as learning is concerned, but whocannot get anything accomplished? Is thetrouble on the expression side of their

character? What are you doing aboutyour own powers of expression? Areyou seeking to cultivate expression innew lines? Is there danger in attemptingtoo many lines?

INDEXAction, automatic, 275

classes of, 273

factors involved in, 59

reflex, 274

volitional, 276

Activity, necessity for motor, 56

Adolescence, interests of, 269

Association, and action, 149

chapter on, 144

development of centers, 57

laws of, 150

and methods of learning, 157

and memory, 146

nature of, 144

neural basis of, 145

partial or selective, 153

pleasure-pain motive in, 155

and thinking, 149

training in, 155

types of, 150

Attention, chapter on, 15effects of, 16

and efficiency, 17

points of failure in, 20

habit of, 27, 73

improvement of, 26

method of, 18

Attention, nature of, 15rhythms of, 20

types of, 22

Belief, in thinking, 180

Brain, chapter on, 30and nervous system, 30

quality and memory, 162

relations of mind and, 30

Cerebellum, the, 37

Cerebrum, the, 37

Concept, the, 187definition of, 189

function of, 187

growth of, 188

and language, 189

Consciousness, content of, 10

known by introspection, 2

the mind or, 1

nature of, 4

personal character of, 1

as a stream, 5

where it resides, 12

Cord, the spinal, 40

Cortex, the, 39division of labor in, 45

Decision, under effort, 281types of, 279

Decision and will, 277

Deduction, 196

Development, of association centers, 57chapter on, 50

and instinct, 209

mental and motor training, 50

of nervous system, 60

through play, 215

Direction, perception of, 105

Disposition, and mood, 232, 230and temperament, 233

Education, as habit forming, 78

Emotion, chapter on, 239control of, 243, 246

cultivation of, 247

and feeling, 239

James-Lange theory of, 239

as a motive, 251

physiological explanation of, 240

End-Organ(s) of hearing, 92kinæsthetic, 96

and sensory qualities, 91

of skin, 94

of smell, 94

of taste, 93

of vision, 91

Environment, influence of, 213

Expression, and character, 303educational use of, 301

Expression, and impression, 296learning to interpret, 4

limitations of, 297

self-, and development, 294, 298

Fatigue, and habit, 72and nervous system, 62

Fear, instinct of, 221types of, 222

Feeling, chapter on, 226effects of, 230

and mood, 230

nature of, 227

qualities, 227

Forgetting, rate of, 170

Habit, of attention, 27, 73chapter on, 66

effects of, 70

emotional, 257

forming as education, 78

and life economy, 70

nature of, 66

and personality, 75

physical basis of, 67

rules for forming, 81

tyranny of, 77

Handicrafts, and education, 302

Hearing, 92

Idea, and image, 111, 114

Image(ry), ability in, 118

chapter on, 111

classes of, 117

Image(ry), cultivation of, 123and past experience, 111

functions of, 120

and ideas, 111, 114

and imagination, 134

types of, 119

Imagination, chapter on, 127and conduct, 133

cultivation of, 136, 140

function of, 127

the stuff of, 134

and thinking, 134

types of, 138

Imitation, conscious and unconscious,212

individuality in, 211

the instinct of, 210

in learning, 211

Induction, 197

Instinct(s), chapter on, 201definition of, 202

of fear, 221

of imitation, 210

laws of, 205

nature of, 201

of play, 214

as starting points in development,209

transitory nature of, 206

various undesirable, 222

various useful, 218

Interest(s), chapter on, 254direct and indirect, 258

and education, 265

and habit, 257

nature of, 254

Interest(s) and nonvoluntary attention, 23order of development of, 267

selection among, 262

transitoriness of certain, 260

Introspection, 2and imagery, 116

method of, 3

James, quoted, 81theory of emotion, 239

Judgment, functions of, 192nature of, 191

in percepts and concepts, 191

and reasoning, 195

validity of, 193

Knowledge, raw material of, 96through senses, 84

Language, and the concept, 189

Laws, of association, 150of instinct, 205

of memory, 168

Learning, and association, 157

Localization of function in cortex, 43

Meaning, dependence on relations, 193

Memorizing, rules for, 169

Memory, and association, 146and brain quality, 162

chapter on, 160

devices, 175

factors involved in, 163

what constitutes good, 171

laws of, 168

material of, 166

nature of, 160

physical basis of, 161

Mind, or consciousness, at birth, 32and brain, 30

chapter on, 1

dependence on senses, 48

and external world, 32

Mood, and disposition, 230, 232influence of, 231

how produced, 230

Motive, emotion as a, 257

Neuroglia, 35

Neurone, the, 34

Nerve cells, and nutrition, 50undeveloped, 57

Nerve fibers, 57

Nervous system, and association, 145and consciousness, 12

division of labor in, 43

factors determining efficiency of,50

and fatigue, 62

gross structure of, 36

Nervous system, and nutrition, 64order of development, 60

structural elements in, 34

and worry, 62

Objects, defined through perception, 101physical qualities of, 87, 89

Percept, content of, 101functions of, 103

Perception, chapter on, 98of direction, 105

function of, 98

nature of, 100

of space, 104

of time, 106

training of, 108

Personality, and habit, 75influence of, 213

Play, and education, 215instinct of, 214

and work, 217

Qualities, sensory, auditory, 92cutaneous, 94

kinæsthetic, 96

objects known through, 85

olfactory, 94

organic, 96

taste, 93

visual, 91

Reason, and judgment, 193

nature of, 193

and the syllogism, 196

Registration, and attention, 163and memory, 163

recall, 165

recognition, 166

Rhythm, of attention, 20

Self expression and development, 294

Sensation, attributes of, 89chapter on, 84

cutaneous, 94

factors conditioning, 88

kinæsthetic, 96

nature of, 89

organic, 96

qualities of, 85

qualities of auditory, 92

qualities of olfactory, 94

qualities of taste, 93

qualities of visual, 91

Senses, dependence of mind on, 48knowledge through, 84

work of, 33

Sentiments, development of, 235influence of, 236

nature of, 234

Smell, 94

Space, perception of, 104

Stimuli, education and, 60effects of sensory, 55

end-organs and, 47

sensory, 46

Stimuli, and response, 53

Syllogism, the 196

Taste, 93

Temperament, 233

Thinking, and association, 149chapter on, 179

child and adult, 184

elements in, 186

good and memory, 171

types of, 179

Time, perception of, 106

Validity, of judgment, 193

Vision, 91

Volition, see will, 271and decision, 277

Volitional types, 284

Will, and attention, 24chapter on, 271

content of, 272

freedom of, 290

function of, 272

measure of power, 284

nature of, 271

strong and weak, 283

training of, 288

types of, 285

Work, and play, 217

Worry, effects of, 62

Youth, and habit-forming, 79

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Footnotes:

[1] Donaldson, "The Growth ofthe Brain," pp. 74, 238.

[2] Quoted by James,"Psychology," Briefer Course, p.135.

[3] "Psychology," vol. i, pp.123, 124; also, "Briefer Course," p.145.

[4] See Betts, "The Distributionand Functions of Mental Imagery."

[5] Cf. Dewey, "How WeThink," p. 2 ff.

[6] "Psychology," p. 391.

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