Psychology for Teachers 
 
 C. Lloyd Morgan 
 
Class I- o - ■■ 
 
 Book J^ 
 
PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
PSYCHOLOGY 
 
 FOR 
 
 TEACHERS 
 
 By C. LLOYD MORGAN 
 
 PRINCIPAL OF UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, BRISTOL 
 
 WITH A PREFACE BY 
 
 HENRY W. JAMESON 
 
 ASSOOATE SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS, NEW YORK CITY 
 
 ) ' J' ) 3 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1899 
 

a 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 1 
 
 II. ASSOCIATION 23 
 
 III. EXPERIENCE 47 
 
 IV. PERCEPTION 69 
 
 V. ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 93 
 
 VI. DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 115 
 
 VIL MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 138 
 
 VIII. LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT,. 160 
 
 IX. LITERATURE ."" 185 
 
 X. CHARACTER AND CONDUCT ' 210 
 
 NOTES 233 
 
 INDEX 237 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The present volume was written to meet the re- 
 quirements of those who came to the author to receive 
 aid in preparing themselves for the profession of 
 teaching ; and the warm reception accorded it by 
 teachers, both in England and in this country, proves 
 that its publication has done much to popularize the 
 study of Educational Psychology. 
 
 In the treatment of the subject, no topic has been 
 touched upon which has not been illustrated ade- 
 quately by facts taken from experience ; and the whole 
 trend of the work is toward the cultivation of right 
 methods of instruction. There appears to have been 
 ever present in the author's mind a desire to furnish 
 aid to teachers in all matters relating to their pro- 
 fessional work. In short, it would be difficult to 
 overstate the practical value of the book, since it 
 deals with the problems of school life in a manner 
 calculated to develop interest and arouse enthusiasm. 
 Although in no sense a compendium of the subject, 
 it possesses the merit of stimulating thoughtful and 
 correct views in regard to education ; and no better 
 basis could be furnished for the discussion of the 
 theory and practice of teaching than that which is 
 herein set forth. 
 
 The value of a thorough pedagogical training for 
 
 vii 
 
yiii PREFACE 
 
 those preparing to become teachers has received 
 general recognition during recent years. The im- 
 proved equipment possessed by those now entering 
 upon their labors has excited the attention of older 
 teachers. The result has been a desire on the part of 
 those who have been long in service to do something 
 to compensate for former deficiencies in theoretical 
 training and so enable them to compete successfully 
 with younger members of the profession. In re- 
 sponse to the higher demands made upon teachers, 
 within a few years departments of pedagogy have 
 been established in our universities and colleges ; and 
 Summer Schools for the training of teachers have 
 grown in popularity, since they afford opportunity 
 for receiving such aid and suggestion in regard to 
 practical teaching as are calculated to improve the 
 character of class instruction. 
 
 Psychology has always been recognized as a most 
 valuable disciplinary study ; but it has remained for 
 the students of pedagogy to show the importance of 
 its bearing upon educational problems. 
 
 To be really serviceable to teachers in elementary 
 schools, a work upon practical psychology requires 
 for its author one who possesses a thorough famil- 
 iarity with the difficulties involved in the instruction 
 of young children. From no other source can the 
 teacher expect such aid as is required. The charm 
 of the present treatise lies in the naturalness of the 
 presentation, and the perfect accord between the sub- 
 ject-matter and the method. The student is pro- 
 vided Avith the proper bases of instruction and the 
 best methods of teaching — each and all in strict 
 harmony with the laws of mental growth. 
 
PREFACE ix 
 
 Every earnest teacher must have been assailed by 
 doubts as to the best methods to be adopted in special 
 cases. While no work on the theory of teaching will 
 suffice to meet every requirement, there is still a defi- 
 nite gain to be derived from a consideration of the 
 course followed by people similarly situated. It is 
 far better that one should thus take advantage of the 
 experience of others, than that he should rely wholly 
 upon his own efforts. An undue amount of harm 
 may be the portion of those entrusted to our care, in 
 case we reject the aid of others. The teacher who 
 has had no advantages in the way of assistance and 
 advice, when such services would have been most 
 welcome, may well feel a sense of gratification when 
 he finds that the methods he has followed for years 
 are defended as being thoroughly in accord with the 
 accepted psychological theories of the day. 
 
 The scope of the treatment is such as to commend it- 
 self to the student. While the author bestows due care 
 upon the explanation of terms employed, so that no 
 doubt may exist as to the meaning which he desires 
 to attach to each, his chief motive is not to teach 
 psychology. Mental processes are viewed in the light 
 of the aid they afford to teaching, and due con- 
 sideration is given to the kind and amount of effort 
 required by the pupil while acquiring knowledge. 
 The chapters upon Association and Experience con- 
 tain a large amount of '^ food for reflection ^^ and 
 deserve the most careful study. The ideal attitude 
 of pupil and teacher toward each other is developed 
 incidentally and upon the highest moral grounds. 
 We cannot fail to appreciate most highly the qualities 
 of one who advises that over the lintel of every 
 
X PREFACE 
 
 school should be engraved the precept : '^ Establish 
 a background of sympathy." The perfect assimilation 
 of such a sentiment by the great army of teachers, 
 would result in the introduction of a highly civiliz- 
 ing influence into the schoolroom. 
 
 Throughout the book we find allusions to the various 
 educational movements of the day. From certain 
 statements it may be fairly assumed that the author 
 is an advocate of Manual Training in Elementary 
 Schools ; that he would give unqualified support to 
 Nature Study in its various forms ; and that he 
 would regard well-regulated exercises in Physical 
 Culture as a necessary part of a school curriculum. 
 To an American student of pedagogy, it is interest- 
 ing to note the opinions of educational writers on 
 the other side of the Atlantic. A thorough com- 
 parison of different systems of instruction cannot be 
 undertaken by fair-minded men without being pro- 
 ductive of benefit. 
 
 When considering the special purpose of a work 
 like the one before us, it does not appear appropriate 
 to comment upon the philosophical views of the 
 author. That he has felt the influence of the asso- 
 ciationalism of his nation may be regarded as a fort- 
 unate circumstance, since the educational world owes 
 a great debt of gratitude to the school whose chief 
 representative has given such earnest attention to the 
 physical, mental, and moral education of children. 
 
 In order that the greatest amount of benefit may be 
 derived from a study of '' Psychology for Teachers," 
 the student would do well to make constant reference 
 to some good work on the elements of psychology. 
 
 About two years ago, it was my good fortune to 
 
PREFACE 
 
 XI 
 
 find a copy of '' Psychology for Teachers'' upon the 
 shelves of one of the leading booksellers of this city. 
 After a careful examination, it proved to be the book 
 needed to meet the requirements of a class conducted 
 under the auspices of *' The New York Society of 
 Pedagogy/' and was therefore selected for that pur- 
 pose. The discussion of the matter contained in the 
 volume proved satisfactory to more than two hundred 
 teachers. In view of my high appreciation of the 
 book resulting from this practical test of its excel- 
 lences, I have accepted with pleasure the request of 
 the American publishers to prepare the Preface for 
 a new edition. 
 
 Heney W. Jameson. 
 
 New York City, 
 JunCf 1898, 
 
PSYCHOLOGY FOE TEACHEES 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 STATES OF COIS'SCIOUSNESS. 
 
 I WOULD ask you, reader, to try and recall what has 
 passed through your mind during the last five or six 
 minutes. You will probably have some diflBculty in 
 doing so. You have not, you will say, been think- 
 ing of anything in particular. But, unless you have 
 been asleep or in a trance, something was passing 
 through your mind ; little perhaps that was definite, 
 but much that was indefinite. 
 
 Now vary the observation. Look round the room 
 in which you are sitting. Let your eyes range from 
 object to object for a minute or two, and then con- 
 sider what has been passing through your mind. 
 You have seen, perhaps, in succession the clock, the 
 fireplace, the arm-chair, the table, a vase of flowers, 
 this picture, that print or photograph, and so on. 
 Some of these may have reminded you of past experi- 
 ences — the print of the picture from which it has 
 been engraved and where you first saw it ; the flowers 
 of the wood in which you picked them and of the 
 
2 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 companion who was with you. The clock may have 
 brought to mind an appointment you have to keep ; 
 the fireplace, that a little judicious use of the poker 
 may be advisable. Again vary the observation. Run 
 over in memory the events of your last holidays, 
 where you went, what you did, whom you met ; and 
 then once more consider what has been passing 
 through your mind. 
 
 All the time you are making these elementary ob- 
 servations you are conscious. That which is in your 
 mind at any moment is a state of consciousness j 
 during the few minutes occupied by your observa- 
 tions there was a series or sequence of states of con- 
 sciousness ; and such states of consciousness are pass- 
 ing through your mind all day long. Psycliology is 
 the study of the nature, mode of origin, and manner 
 of sequence of these states of conscious7iess. You 
 alone of all the world can say what was the nature 
 and what the sequence of your states of conscious- 
 ness ; and they are the only states of consciousness 
 with which you can become directly acquainted. 
 Hence, if you would learn anything of psychology, 
 you must carefully examine your own mind and the 
 nature of your own experience. Such examination 
 is called introspection. But by means of language 
 you can compare notes with your neighbors ; and 
 by the same means I can communicate to you, 
 through the printed page, the results of my own 
 study. Moreover, by other signs we can learn some- 
 thing of what is passing through the minds of our 
 companions. But we can only interpret the language 
 and the actions of others in terms of our own states 
 of consciousness. If I say that I have seen an ox. 
 
STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 3 
 
 you understand me because you have seen many oxen. 
 If I say that I have been examining the heart of a 
 crayfish, you may not understand me, or very imper- 
 fectly ; you have probably never seen one, and there- 
 fore cannot interpret my words in terms of your own 
 experience. We must always remember how limited 
 is the experience of children, how difficult it must be 
 for them to interpret much that we say to them, and 
 how • apt they are through imagination to form false 
 ideas very difficult to correct. 
 
 Now, states of consciousness are exceedingly com- 
 plex — that is to say, a number of things may be in 
 one^s mind at once in any moment of consciousness. 
 It is therefore necessary to analyze our states of con- 
 sciousnesss so as to ascertain the elements of which 
 they are made up. Let us suppose that we are look- 
 ing at the picture on the wall. There it is in what 
 we may call the focus of vision. But it suggests cer- 
 tain thoughts which are also present to consciousness. 
 And thus we see dimly the wall on which it hangs, 
 and much besides in what we may call the margin of 
 vision. Realize for yourself by actual observation 
 how much you do see indistinctly in this way. Fur- 
 thermore, though we may pay little attention to them, 
 there are other things present in what we may term 
 the margin of consciousness, sounds such as the tick- 
 ing of the clock and the flicker of the fire-flame, scents 
 such as that of the flowers in the vase, pressures from 
 the position of the body, and that general feeling 
 which we call either freshness or fatigue. We are 
 apt to consider only that on which our attention is 
 specially fixed — that which is in ihQ focus of conscious- 
 ness, and to neglect the other elements which lie in 
 
4 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 the margin of consciousness. And I would again 
 urge 3'ou to realize for yourself, by actual observation, 
 without which we can do nothing of value in psychol- 
 ogy, how much there is in the margin of conscious- 
 ness of which you are not fully conscious, but merely 
 subconscious. 
 
 The first result of our anal3^sis of a state of con- 
 sciousness is therefore the distinction between what 
 is focal and what is merely marginal. It is the focal 
 element to which we attend ; indeed, we may say that 
 attention is the clear, accurate, and decisive focussing 
 of the central element in consciousness ; or, otherwise 
 stated, that attention differentiates the focus from 
 the margin. In children this differentiation is prob- 
 ably less perfect, less rapid, and less under control 
 than in older people. We must be ready to make 
 allowances for them in this respect. The power of 
 bringing out the focus to the neglect of the margin 
 is a valuable gift. It varies a good deal in different 
 individuals. Some people can read a book and follow 
 a difficult train of reasoning amid a buzz of conversa- 
 tion, or in spite of the distraction of a street band. 
 With others the influence of the margin is more dis- 
 turbing, and the attention is easily distracted. On 
 the other hand, the observant person is one in whom 
 occurrences in the margin of consciousness can 
 rapidly and readily be made focal. For example, a 
 naturalist, when he is out for a walk with you, catches 
 a hundred sights and sounds which for you remain 
 unnoticed. A mouse in the grass, an insect on yon- 
 der flower, the note of a rare bird, have caught his 
 observant eye and ear, while yours have been blind 
 and deaf to these sights and sounds. This, too, is 
 
STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 5 
 
 a valuable gift. Fortunate is he who can both focus 
 rapidly and clearly, and yet retains a sensitive margin 
 in the field of consciousness. We should there- 
 fore encourage the cultivation of both these gifts 
 in those in whose mental development we are inter- 
 ested. 
 
 Let us now consider the focal elements in con- 
 sciousness, and see what they are, and how they are 
 brought to the focus. 
 
 As I look out of window, my eye falls on a distant 
 church-spire, which stands out clear-cut against a 
 background of blue sky. So long as I fix my eyes 
 upon it, that spire is in the focus of consciousness. 
 It forms a sensory im2Jressio7i. As we look about 
 from object to object, we have a great number of 
 visual impressions of this kind which are brought to 
 the focus by stimuli which affect the retinas of our 
 eyes. While I am looking at the church-spire, how- 
 ever, I hear the chirping of sparrows. At first this 
 is only marginal in consciousness, but presently I 
 cease to attend to the church-spire and listen atten- 
 tively. The notes of the sparrows are then focal to 
 my consciousness as auditory impressions. In like 
 manner I may have olfactory impressions, or impres- 
 sions of smell, if I attend to the scent of the flowers 
 in my room ; gustatory impressions, or impressions 
 of taste, if I sip a sweet or bitter liquid ; impres- 
 sions of touch, if a fly settles on my hand or fore- 
 head ; impressions of warmth or of cold, if I dip 
 my hands in hot or cold water. Forgive the itera- 
 tion of the first personal pronoun ; I am anxious to 
 enforce that observation must he personal and in- 
 dividual. 
 
6 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 These are impressions of the special senses. All of 
 them are due to stimuli coming from outside our 
 bodies and affecting special parts of our delicate bodily 
 organization — the eye, ear, nose, palate, or skin. Ee- 
 member that we are using the term impression for 
 that which, through the instrumentality of these 
 stimuli, is brought to the focus of consciousness. A 
 vast number of stimuli are constantly affecting us, 
 often through several sense-organs, or it may be 
 through all the sense-organs at the same time. Of 
 these, some predominate over the others and give rise 
 to the focal impressions ; the rest, which are subor- 
 dinate, give rise to the marginal elements in con- 
 sciousness. But any of these subordinate groups of 
 stimula may attract the attention, and thus become 
 predominant and give rise to impressions. As I look 
 at the church spire, for example, a particularly vigor- 
 ous and chirpy sparrow may draw my attention so as 
 to make his note focal. Or a whiff of scent from the 
 flowers may lead me to snuff the air and try to deter- 
 mine whether it is the lilac or the mignonette which 
 chiefly perfumes my room. 
 
 Such impressions form a large part of the raw 
 material of consciousness. There are, however, other 
 impressions, less conspicuous and familiar, but of 
 considerable importance in our daily life. Close 
 your eyes and slowly move 3^our head from side to 
 side, turning it on the axis of your neck, and care- 
 fully attend to what you feel. You feel perhaps the 
 rubbing of the skin of your neck against your collar ; 
 you feel, too, movements in your neck ; but you feel 
 also a curious sensation in your head which, if you 
 continue the movements, appears to be akin to dizzi- 
 
STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 7 
 
 nese. There is, associated with the organ of hearing, 
 but independent of that sense, a delicate piece of 
 apparatus which makes us acquainted with changes 
 in direction of the movements of our head or our 
 body as a whole. This it is which probably gives us 
 the sensation above alluded to. Most of us are un- 
 aware of its existence, though it probably is of use 
 to us in our active life. The effects of the stimuli 
 from this organ are for the most part marginal or 
 subconscious, and we seldom attend to them so as to 
 bring them to the focus of consciousness. For many 
 animals they are probably of more importance than 
 they are for us. We may call these wipressions of 
 direction ; but we must remember that we seldom 
 focus them as impressions. They generally take 
 their place unnoticed in the margin of conscious- 
 ness. 
 
 Now make some further experiments and observa- 
 tions, so that you may assure yourself of the reality 
 of motor impressions — that is to say, impressions of 
 the movements of your limbs. Look at the clock- 
 face or any other particular object ; shut your eyes ; 
 and, not too hurriedly, point your finger at the ob- 
 ject. Do this twice or thrice, still with your eyes 
 shut, and note your states of consciousness. You 
 will, I think, notice two things. First, you picture 
 to yourself, though you do not see, the movements 
 of your hand and arm : this we may neglect for the 
 present. Secondly, you feel pretty clearly the move- 
 ments of and in the limb as you bring it into posi- 
 tion. Stimuli from the joints, skin, muscles, and so 
 forth, give rise, when you pay special attention to 
 them, to motor impressions. It is possible that you 
 
8 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 have never had occasion to pay attention to these 
 before. They have remained for the most part as 
 marginal elements in your consciousness. I am 
 desirous that you should fully realize that such motor 
 feelings are elements in consciousness. Draw a 
 circle in the air or on the blackboard with your eyes 
 shut : you will feel with surprising distinctness all 
 the movements of your arm. You will also draw 
 nearly as good a circle as you could with your eyes 
 open. Walk about the room : every change of posi- 
 tion of your legs is felt. Let your eyes wander from 
 object to object and pay attention to their move- 
 ments in the sockets : a little practice will enable 
 you to feel them quite clearly. Now hold up a pen- 
 cil or penholder about eight inches from your face 
 and in the line of vision of the picture on the far 
 wall. Alternately fix your eyes on the end of the 
 pencil and on the picture, and attend to the feelings 
 in and round your eyes. Do you not feel quite 
 plainly your eyes going, so to speak, from the one 
 to the other ? The eyes have to be accommo- 
 dated first for near vision, then for far ; and when 
 you attend to the matter, you focus in consciousness 
 these motor impressions of accommodation. Gener- 
 ally, however, these elements in consciousness are 
 merely marginal and subconscious. 
 
 There is one more group of impressions for us to 
 take note of. They are due to stimuli from the 
 internal organs and from parts at some little dis- 
 tance beneath the skin. Lay your finger lightly on 
 your neck : you have an impression of touch on the 
 skin of the neck. Now press with increasing vigor : 
 you are conscious of an impression from the deeper 
 
STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 9 
 
 parts of the neck, probably accompanied by incip- 
 ient pain. This impression is quite different from 
 that of touch, and, though it may originate in the 
 muscles, is quite diiferent also from a motor impres- 
 sion. Hunger, thirst, fatigue are probably of this 
 kind. We need not linger over these internal im- 
 pressions — generally due to pressures, strains, or 
 some unwonted condition of the parts concerned ; 
 but we may notice that they are generally suffused 
 with pleasure, or, more frequently, with pain or 
 discomfort. 
 
 Let us now sum up what we have learnt concern- 
 ing impressions. They originate from stimuli affect- 
 ing parts of our bodies ; and they occupy the focus 
 of consciousness. They may be either — 
 
 1. Impressions of the special senses— sight, hear- 
 
 ing, taste, smell, touch, heat, cold, or direc- 
 tion of movements of the head ; 
 
 2. Motor impressions ; or — 
 
 3. Internal impressions, such as pressures, strains, 
 
 hunger, thirst, fatigue. 
 
 When the stimuli which may give rise to impres- 
 sions are subordinate to other more powerful stimuli, 
 they give rise to marginal elements of which we are 
 not clearly and distinctly conscious, but are only in- 
 distinctly subconscious. The impressions and the 
 marginal elements, alike due to stimuli, are, how- 
 ever, similar in their nature, and differ only in the 
 fact that whereas the impressions are clear and focal, 
 the marginal elements are indistinct and subcon- 
 scious. 
 
 In our adult years a great deal of the business of 
 life is transacted in the marginal or subconscious 
 
10 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 region. In matters of skill, for example, though the 
 acquisition and perfecting of control over our bodily 
 activities is focal and demands attention, yet when 
 the skill has been acquired and is well established, 
 the subsequent performance of the activities is to 
 a large extent relegated to the margin. AVe learn to 
 walk, to run, to knit, to play the piano, to ride a 
 bicycle ; and the learning requires constant focal at- 
 tention. But when the skilful performance of these 
 actions has by practice become perfect, we may do 
 any of these things, and do them well, while the focus 
 of consciousness is occupied with other impressions. 
 The peasant woman knits and walks ; but in the focus 
 of her consciousness is yonder fair-haired girl whom 
 the stalwart young fellow is, quite unnecessarily, help- 
 ing over the stile. The pianist^s fingers are running 
 softly over the keys ; but his eyes and thought are 
 fixed on his mother's portrait. The cyclist bowls 
 along the road ; but it is the delicately-shaded green- 
 ery of the spring that holds his attention. And in 
 these cases the actions are not performed uncon- 
 sciously, but subconsciously. The cyclist guides his 
 machine, avoids stones in the road, and adjusts his 
 output of energy to the gradient, in response to 
 stimuli coming from without. But the skill he has 
 been at the pains of acquiring has become so far a 
 haMt that it no longer requires his focal attention. 
 Marginal awareness suffices for the guidance and con- 
 trol of his machine. This again is a matter in which 
 I would beg you, reader, to exercise self-observation. 
 Only by doing so will you fully realize how much goes 
 on in the margin of your consciousness. And not 
 only is this true of our active life ; it is true also of 
 
STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 11 
 
 our thought. Who does not know, from personal 
 experience, that, perhaps even during a sermon, there 
 are undercurrents of thought ? It is indeed only 
 during the most concentrated attention, if even then, 
 that the undercurrents are wholly absent. In ordi- 
 nary attention all that we do is to keep these under- 
 currents duly subordinate. 
 
 Sometimes we have to divide our attention, and 
 hold two series of impressions, or two parts of the 
 same series in the focus. Thus, we may read a book 
 and listen to a piece of music or a conversation. 
 Such divided attention is generally rather a strain, 
 and we get the best neither out of the book nor the 
 music. A familiar instance of attending to two parts 
 of a series at the same time is afforded when we are 
 taking notes of a lecture. We are at the same time 
 putting down the notes of what the lecturer has just 
 said and listening to what he is saying. I lately 
 watched a student thus taking notes. It was curious 
 to observe how far his pencil was behind the spoken 
 words, but he got quite correctly the gist of all the 
 lecturer said. 
 
 To resume. Impressions and the marginal elements 
 due to stimuli form the raw material of conscious- 
 ness. It must be remembered that the state of 
 consciousness of which we have practical experi- 
 ence in any moment of our waking lives comprises, 
 besides the impression in the focus, all that is 
 contained in the margin of consciousness. Focus 
 and margin cons]Dire to form the state of con- 
 sciousness ; and it is only by analyzing the state of 
 consciousness that we distinguish the focus from the 
 margin. 
 
12 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 We must now pass on to consider what else, other 
 than an impression, may occupy the focus of con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 When we are sitting quietly and are recalling the 
 sights and sounds and scents of a pleasant walk in 
 the country, our minds are dealing, not with present 
 impressions, but with the revivals in memory of past 
 impressions. Such revivals are termed ideas, or, to 
 particularize them more accurately, sense-ideas. The 
 images that float before the mind's eye, the recollected 
 notes of the nightingale, or the perfume of May 
 blossoms, are examples of sense-ideas. They are not 
 due to stimuli coming from without, but arise through 
 suggestion in ways which will be considered in the 
 next chapter. But though they do not directly owe 
 their origin to external stimuli, they do so indirectly ; 
 for, in the absence of visual impressions of trees and 
 fields and hedgerows, we could have no images of any 
 of these things as sense-ideas. And so with other 
 forms of sense-experience. It is clear that if we 
 have never heard the notes of a nightingale, we can- 
 not recall these notes as sense-ideas. Impressions, 
 then, are matters of direct experience ; the sense- 
 ideas which represent them are like the echoes of 
 this experience. Hence we say that impressions are 
 presentative, and the corresponding sense-ideas re- 
 presentative. Many of our words are presentative 
 signs or symbols which suggest re-presentative ideas. 
 We have, for example, an impression of an animal 
 for which, we are told, the name-sign is '' sheep." 
 Afterwards the presentative word ^^ sheep" suggests 
 a re-presentative idea of the animal. The re-presen- 
 tative idea is, however, entirely dependent upon our 
 
STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 13 
 
 actual presentative experience of sheep. There can 
 be no sense-ideas without previous sense-impressions. 
 "We must never forget this when we are teaching 
 young children. The range of their sense-ideas is 
 limited to the range of their direct experience. 
 Words for objects of which they have no direct ex- 
 perience are little more than mere sounds. 
 
 The classification of sense-ideas precisely corre- 
 sponds to the classification of the impressions of 
 which they are the re-presentative echoes. Thus we 
 may have ideas of the special senses, motor ideas, 
 and ideas which re-present the internal impressions. 
 But the several kinds of sense-ideas vary a good deal 
 in clearness and definiteness ; and different individ- 
 uals differ not a little in their power of clearly re-pre- 
 senting their sensory experience. Some of us visual- 
 ize clearly. I can visualize distinctly anything of 
 which I have recently had a definite, clear-cut, visual 
 impression. I have also tolerably clear auditory 
 ideas. I can re-presentatively hear the notes of a 
 violin, or French horn, or piccolo. My ideas of touch- 
 impressions are rather vague ; and my ideas of taste 
 and smell are not at all definite. If I try and recall 
 the taste of an orange, a pineapple, an acidulated 
 drop, they are by no means clearly distinguishable. 
 On the other hand, my ideas re-presentative of the 
 impressions of direction of rotation are much more 
 definite, perhaps because I have experimented with 
 myself a good deal in this matter. I would ask the 
 reader to exercise some self-observation, and ascer- 
 tain what his own powers are — how far, for example, 
 he is able to form an idea of the taste of shrimps at 
 all comparable to his visual idea of this succulent 
 
14 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 animal. So too with regard to motor ideas. My own 
 motor ideas are remarkably distinct. I can re-present 
 to myself quite clearly any of the familiar movements 
 of my limbs ; if, for example, I think of the movements 
 necessary to carry my hand to the back of my neck, I 
 feel them re-presentatively far more clearly than I can 
 re-present to myself the smell of a rose. The ideas 
 which correspond to internal impressions are very 
 vague, and to a large extent are emptied of the pleas- 
 urable or painful accompaniment which character- 
 izes the impressions themselves. 
 
 We must remember that the idea, as such, occupies 
 the focus of consciousness. In this respect it is pre- 
 cisely analogous to the impression. And just as there 
 may be a large body of presentative elements in the 
 margin of consciousness, so too may there be a large 
 body of re-presentative elements in the margin of 
 consciousness. As we recall the events of our pleas- 
 ant country walk, there are (1) the sense-ideas in the 
 focus of consciousness ; (2) a good deal of re-pre- 
 sentative margin, forming the background of the 
 ideas ; and (3) a certain amount of presentative mar- 
 gin, due to the stimuli which are affecting our special 
 senses, the sounds, scents, touches, and so forth, to- 
 gether with motor elements due to the positions of 
 our limbs and pressures from our attitude. Neglect- 
 ing these presentative elements in the margin, it 
 would seem that the focal ideas are not so clearly 
 marked off from the re-presentative elements in the 
 margin of consciousness as is the case with impressions. 
 Indeed, in certain states of reverie, our consciousness 
 seems all margin, without anything definite in the 
 focus. Our day-dream is peopled with shadowy 
 
STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 16 
 
 phantoms which dimly flit across the scene with de- 
 lightful inexactness of outline. 
 
 There is one more point to notice about sense-ideas, 
 and it helps to show why they are often less clear-cut 
 than the impressions of which they are re-presenta- 
 tive. The impressions are always of particular ob- 
 jects. If we let our eyes range over a flock of sheep, 
 each individual sheep may come to the focus as an 
 impression. But if, as we sit at home, we recall 
 our exi^eriences in the field, what we visualize is not 
 any particular sheep, but what is common to a num- 
 ber of individuals. We can indeed visualize either a 
 white sheep or a black sheep ; but neither of them 
 has that perfectly clear-cut individuality which the 
 impression of a sheep would have. Just as the word 
 " sheep " is a common noun, or a name common to 
 a number of individuals, so is my idea of a sheep a 
 common, or, to employ the technical term, a generic 
 idea. Hence what we visualize most clearly is the 
 particular object or person. I can visualize quite 
 distinctly the cottage in which I lived at the Cape, 
 with its convolvulus-covered stoep or verandah, the 
 pear tree in front of it, and the cliffs of Table Moun- 
 tain which rose at some distance behind it. All of 
 this is particular. But I cannot visualize in the 
 same way '^ cottage,^' because I have seen so many 
 cottages. Thus, the impression is aliuays particu- 
 lar ; hut the sense-idea may he either particular or 
 generic. 
 
 So far as our analysis of states of consciousness 
 has at present carried us, we may have, in the focus, 
 impressions or their corresponding ideas ; and, in 
 the margin, presentative elements due to subordinate 
 
16 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 stimuli, and the corresponding re-presentative ele- 
 ments. Let us now proceed a step farther. There 
 lies before me a stick of sealing-wax, which gives 
 rise to a visual impression as I look at it. And close 
 by it there lies a penwiper. As I look from one to 
 the other, I am struck by the fact that the color of 
 the wax is the same as the color of the penwiper. 
 In the act of perceiving the similarity of the color, 
 this particular element in the impressions becomes 
 predominant, to the subordination of other elements. 
 On my desk there lies also a book bound in red ; but 
 the color is deep and full, and I perceive that it 
 differs from the vermilion-red of the sealing-wax, 
 and from that of the piece of blotting-paper on which 
 my manuscript rests. Now, in such cases we perceive 
 the similarity or the dissimilarity of the colors. 
 What we thus perceive is called a relation. We per- 
 ceive the color-relations of certain visual impressions. 
 These relations are not impressions of the same kind 
 as those we have so far considered. The impressions 
 of sense are due, as we have seen, to stimuli ; but 
 we know nothing of any stimuli which give rise to 
 the feeling or consciousness of relation. And yet 
 this feeling is one that is quite distinct. We know 
 that the darker red is due to stimuli of a particular 
 kind, and that the lighter red is due to stimuli of a 
 slightly different kind. The related reds are thus 
 both parts of sense-impressions ; but the relation it- 
 self is not, so far as we know, due to stimuli. It 
 seems to take its origin in the transition of conscious- 
 ness from the darker red to the lighter red. But 
 since the transition is between impressions due to 
 stimuli, we may conveniently widen our definition of 
 
STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 17 
 
 impressions so as to include these transitions — term- 
 ing them impressions of relation. And we may speak 
 of a relation as presentative when it is perceived to 
 hold good between two presentative impressions ; and 
 as re-presentative, or an idea of relation, when we think 
 of the relation between two sense-ideas, or between a 
 sense-impression and a sense-idea. We may have, 
 for example, sense-ideas of the deep green of the 
 Scotch fir and of the tender green of the budding 
 larch, and may then perceive their relationship, and 
 thus have an idea of relation, which is the transition 
 in consciousness, not between presentative impres- 
 sions, but between re-presentative ideas. 
 
 It need scarcely be said that it is not only of colors, 
 the example here chosen for purposes of illustration, 
 that relations hold good. We perceive the relations 
 of scents, of sounds, of tastes, of touches, of pressures, 
 of changes in the amount and direction of movement. 
 We perceive relations of size, of weight, of intensity, 
 of temperature, of hardness. It is not too much to 
 say that all our thought and all our intellectual 
 knowledge are dependent upon the j9ercejt?^i0?i of 
 relations; and that for us the transitions in con- 
 sciousness from impression to impression, and from 
 sense-idea to sense-idea, are quite as important as the 
 sense-impressions and sense-ideas themselves. 
 
 We must learn to distinguish carefully between 
 sense-experience or sensation and perception. The 
 term "sensation" is rather a puzzling one in psy- 
 chology. We may altogether exclude the popular 
 use of the word, when we say, for example, that a 
 book or an actor has created a sersation. First, 
 then, the word "sensation" is used in psychology 
 
 2 
 
18 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 as a general name for the faculty (by which we mean 
 any special mode of the exercise of consciousness) of 
 experiencing impressions or ideas of sense. We shall 
 employ the term '* sense-experience " for the ex- 
 perience gained through sensation. We need, how- 
 ever, a verb to answer to sensation, as the verb 
 ''perceive" answers to perception. I shall use the 
 verb *' to sense " for this purpose. So far, the term 
 ''sensation" does not present any great difficulty. 
 But the results of the analysis of impressions are 
 spoken of as " sensations." Thus we say that an 
 impression of sight is due to a number of visual 
 sensations ; and we speak of sensations of touch, and 
 of motor sensations. Often the words " impression " 
 and " sensation " are used as synonymous. Thus we 
 speak either of an impression of sound or smell, or 
 of a sensation of sound or smell ; either of a motor 
 impression, or of a motor sensation. In such cases 
 we are unable to analyze the impression into distin- 
 guishable sensations ; or, in other words, the im- 
 pression is a homogeneous sensation, whereas in the 
 visual impression we may have of an apple there are 
 a number of distinguishable sensations of red, green, 
 and so forth. It will be noted that the word " sensa- 
 tion," as a general term for the sensing of impres- 
 sions, cannot be used in the plural, or with the 
 indefinite article ; but we speak of " a sensation" or 
 "sensations" when we refer to those elementary 
 factors of impressions of sense which are disclosed by 
 psychological analysis. 
 
 Sensation and sense-experience, then, deal luitli im- 
 pressions and ideas of sense ; ivJiile perception in- 
 troduces us to tohat have been termed impressions 
 
STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 19 
 
 mid ideas of relatio?i. We may now proceed a step 
 farther. 
 
 Looking at the sealing-wax and the penwiper, I 
 again perceive the similarity of color, and, glancing 
 up at my shelves, I see, here and there, books the 
 bindings of which present just the same vermilion 
 color. Now, leaning back in my chair with closed 
 eyes, I cause visual ideas of the sealing-wax, the pen- 
 wiper, and the books to pass before my mind^s eye. 
 In each of these visual ideas the color-element is 
 predominant ; and then I think of the vermilion color 
 which is common to all of them ; and as I do so the 
 different margins of subordinate elements fade away, 
 leaving the idea of vermilion in possession of the field. 
 Such an idea, re-presentative of an element common 
 to several or many impressions, is termed an abstract 
 idea. It results from, first, generalizing the effects of 
 predominant elements in several sense-impressions ; 
 secondly, perceiving the similarity of these predomi- 
 nant elements, each to each ; and lastly, abstracting 
 this predominant element from the subordinate 
 elements with which it is associated. When the 
 element is merely predominant, the subordinate ele- 
 ments are still present in the margin of conscious- 
 ness ; but when the abstract idea is reached, the 
 subordinate elements, so to speak, neutralize each 
 other, and are ignored or neglected. Eedness is thu^ 
 an abstract sense-idea. Our language is full of words 
 which signify elements or qualities of sense-im- 
 pressions floated off by abstraction from the other 
 elements or qualities with which they were associ- 
 ated in the sense-impression as it was actually ex- 
 perienced. The process of attaining, through gener- 
 
20 PSYCHOLOGY i'OR TEACHERS 
 
 alization, to an idea of that which is common to a 
 number of particular experiences, is termed concej)- 
 tion. We conceive redness, size, weight, hardness, 
 and so forth. We can conceive also virtue, beauty, 
 truth, apart from the particular persons by whom, or 
 the actions in which, these excellencies are exem- 
 plified. 
 
 We can also, through generalization, reach a con- 
 ception of relation. Suppose that we perceive that 
 this piece of string is twice as long as that piece ; 
 this bullet twice as heavy as that bullet ; this note 
 twice as loud as that ; this pressure twice that ; this 
 light twice as brilliant as that. The same relation, 
 which we may call that of " twiceness," or of two to 
 one, holds good for all these varied experiences. In 
 the act of perceiving the relation in each case we 
 make it predominant. And when we think over the 
 experiences we neglect or ignore the subordinate 
 elements therein, and rise to an abstract idea of rela- 
 tion. The abstract idea of relation has two points 
 in common with the abstract sense-idea (such as that 
 of redness) : (1) that it is the result of generalizing 
 from several or many particular experiences, and 
 (2) that it is, so to speak, floated off from actual ex- 
 perience, though it arises therefrom. 
 
 As it is important to distinguish between sensation 
 and perception, so also is it important to distinguish 
 between perception and conception. PercejMon deals 
 with particular instances ; and we perceive a particu- 
 lar relation. Conceptioji deals with the results of 
 generalization ; we conceive the quality or relation as 
 common to a numher of particular cases. 
 
 We may now classify as follows : — - 
 
STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 21 
 
 FOCAL TO CONSCIOUSNESS. 
 
 Presentative. Re-presentative. 
 
 Sensation. 
 
 Impressions of sense Ideas of sense or sense-ideas. 
 
 (analyzable into sensations) . 
 
 Perception. 
 
 Impressions of relation Ideas of relation 
 
 {i.e. transitions in conscious- {i.e. transitions in conscious- 
 ness between sense-mpres- ness between sense-ideas, or 
 isions). between a sense-idea and a 
 
 sense-impression) . 
 
 Conception, 
 
 (There are no impressions Predominant and Abstract 
 under the head of concep- sense-ideas. 
 tion. The presentative ma- Predominant and Abstract 
 terial is given in Sensation ideas af relation. 
 and Perception). (Both as a rule general- 
 
 ized.) 
 
 It must be remembered that the above classifica- 
 tion deals with what is focal to consciousness, and 
 that states of consciousness as they are actually ex- 
 perienced comprise a great deal that is marginal. 
 During healthy normal waking life there is always 
 much that is presentative in the margin of conscious- 
 ness. It is this that in the midst of our abstract 
 thought, or our flights of imagination, keeps us in 
 touch with our immediate surroundings and the 
 practical realities of our life. But the margin may 
 contain in addition to these presentative sense- 
 elements, and in addition to re-presentative elements 
 of the same category, further elements due to per- 
 
22 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 ception and conception. For intellectual men and 
 women, who deal largely with knowledge and the re- 
 lations of phenomena, all that they see and hear, all 
 their experience, is set in a relational l)ackground. 
 Their impressions and their ideas of sense are some- 
 thing more than mere impressions or sense-ideas. 
 Set as they are in a relational background, the ob- 
 jects of sense are suffused with meaning. This it is 
 that makes us rational beings. 
 
 Much therefore depends, not only upon the nature 
 of that which is focal to consciousness, but upon the 
 relation of this focal object to the margin, or the 
 mental background, as we may term it. Where an 
 object of sense is set in a background which contains 
 no other elements than those introduced through 
 sense-experience, it may be termed a sencej^t. When 
 the impression or idea is set in a background of per- 
 ceived relations, we term it a percept; and where it 
 is set in a background of conceived relationships, we 
 apply to it the term concept. These terms will not, 
 however, have much significance for us until Wg 
 have learned more concerning perception and con- 
 ception. 
 
 We have, in this chapter, been considering only 
 that which is termed the cognitive aspect of conscious- 
 ness. Cognition deals with our knowledge and all 
 that leads up to it. Nothing, or scarcely anything, 
 has been said concerning those aspects of our con- 
 scious life which are comprised by psychologists under 
 the emotions and the will. These we must leave for 
 future consideration. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 ASSOCIATION 
 
 "We have seen that in any moment of conscious- 
 ness there is, in addition to the focal impression or 
 idea, much that hovers indistinctly in the margin of 
 the mind's eye. A state of consciousness, as we have 
 defined it, includes both the impression or idea in the 
 focus and all that there is in the marginal region. 
 
 Now, when we are experiencing a series of visual 
 impressions — are looking, for example, at a row of 
 figures — each member of the series occupies the focus 
 of consciousness in succession. But when any one 
 impression is succeeded by another, it does not at 
 once and altogether disappear out of consciousness. 
 It ceases indeed to be focal, but it is carried on in the 
 margin. As you read slowly what is printed on this 
 page, you experience a series of visual impressions 
 which suggest certain ideas. But as each visual im- 
 pression and its idea ceases to be focal, it does not 
 at once lapse out of your consciousness : it passes 
 into the subconscious margin. If you did not thus 
 retain in mind what was said at the beginning of a 
 sentence or a paragraph, how could you possibly 
 understand what was said at its close ? How could 
 you detect any fault in construction or fallacy in 
 
 23 
 
24 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 reasoning ? A simple arithmetical series will afford 
 an illustration of this carrying on into the margin. 
 Take 7, add 5, divide by 2 ; answer, 6. A quick 
 child can do this '^ in his head " without dif- 
 ficulty. But it would be impossible to perform 
 this simple series of arithmetical operations if, when 
 the sound ^' two " fell on his ears, the idea of '^ seven " 
 had already lapsed altogether from consciousness. I 
 would urge the reader to make observations on his 
 own mental sequences so as to realize this jcarrying 
 on of focal elements into the margin of consciousness, ' 
 It plays an important part in giving continuity to 
 our thought and experience. 
 
 But the effective carrying on of elements in con- 
 sciousness, and the power of utilizing what is thus 
 carried on, varies much according to the degree of 
 mental development. There is a story of a yokel who 
 was told that '^ the farmer had given Jim the sack.'' 
 He asked slowly, ^^ Who's given Jim the sack ? " 
 And on being told it was the farmer, scratched his 
 head and asked, ^^ What's farmer given Jim ? " When 
 this question was answered, the yokel asked, *' Who's 
 farmer given the sack to ? " And so on, round and 
 round. His consciousness could not hold all three — 
 farmer, Jim, and the sack — in one synthesis. Some 
 children seem unable to perform even a simple series 
 of arithmetical operations ^' in their heads " ; either 
 the carrying on into the margin does not occur, or 
 they are, as yet, unable to utilize the material so 
 carried on. The teacher must be ever ready to make 
 allowances for such immaturities of faculty. 
 
 The gradual fading of impressions and ideas, in- 
 stead of their sudden and instantaneous cessation in 
 
ASSOCIATION 25 
 
 consciousness, is sometimes said to fall under the head 
 of memory. It is more satisfactory, however, to apply 
 the term 'me7nory to those mental occurrences which 
 are involved in the recally or re-presentation, of what 
 has for a longer or shorter period completely faded 
 out of consciousness. Thus we may remember events 
 which have not in any way been present to conscious- 
 ness for weeks, months, or even years. 
 
 The phenomena of memory involves three things : 
 first, registration ; secondly, retention ; and thirdly, 
 recall or reproduction. It is clear that registration 
 and retention are not the same. If we register a fact 
 in our diary with ink which fades in a week, there 
 will be no retention of the fact registered beyond 
 that limited period. But in what way the effects of 
 impressions are registered and retained we are scarcely 
 in a position here to consider. The registration is 
 effected somehow in our brains, and the effects so 
 produced are in some manner retained by the brain- 
 structures. When we speak into a phonograph, the 
 effects of our voice are registered on the cylinder of 
 the instrument, and are there retained in such a way 
 that the sounds can be reproduced at any subsequent 
 time. The sounds themselves are not in any way re- 
 tained ; but the conditions of their reproductions are 
 established. This is only a rough analogy ; but it 
 helps us to understand the kind of way in which, 
 though the mental impressions, as such, cannot be 
 retained by the brain, the conditions of their repro- 
 duction may be impressed upon the brain-structure. 
 It is probable that retentiveness is a natural gift which 
 is not in any marked degree susceptible of improve- 
 ment. We must just make the best we can of the 
 
26 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 natural memory of which we stand possessed. But 
 the power of recall, within the limits of our natural 
 retentiveness, can be very markedly improved. 
 If we use the term rememlrance for the natural com- 
 ing to mind of ideas without conscious effort, and the 
 term recollection for the process of, so to speak, hunt- 
 ing up an idea, then we may say that remembering 
 is a natural faculty hut recollecting is an acquired 
 art. And in this terminology we may speak of '' try- 
 ing to recollect,^' but not of ''trying to remember.^' 
 Upon what the art of recollecting is based we will 
 consider presently ; we have first to see upon what 
 the natural faculty of remembering depends. 
 
 It depends upon what are termed the la^us of asso- 
 ciation of impressions and ideas, and especially upon 
 that which is called the law of contiguitg. This law, 
 in so far as it applies to impressions and ideas, we 
 may formulate as follows : If any two focal elements 
 in consciousness, c and ?, occur in successive moments 
 of consciousness as impressions, the subsequent recur- 
 rence of c as an impression or idea will tend, under 
 similar marginal conditions, to suggest the recurrence 
 of I as an idea. We are out for a country walk, for 
 example, with a naturalist, and hear a peculiar laugh- 
 ing, hawk-like note. " That's the alarm note of the 
 hen cuckoo," he says. An association is thus formed 
 between that particular sound and the name 
 '' cuckoo,^' with all that it suggests. And hencefor- 
 ward, so long as the association-link holds in memory, 
 that sound suggests the name and idea of a cuckoo. 
 I well remember the first perch I caught. I had 
 pulled out some gudgeons, and held them firmly in 
 my small hand to unhook them. I therefore did the 
 
ASSOCIATION 27 
 
 same with the perch, and had painful experience of 
 his prickly fin. An association was formed between 
 the sight of a perch and its sharp fin spines which 
 led me to be more careful for the future. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to point out how important 
 is the establishment of association-links in the acquisi- 
 tion of practical experience. Our cradle-days are 
 largely spent in such self-education. Without the 
 formation of association-links there would be no 
 profiting by experience. AVere a child to scald his 
 tongue with hot porridge fifty times in succession, of 
 what avail would it be to him if the sight of the steam 
 did not suggest through association an idea of the 
 consequences previously experienced, in the light of 
 which he could exercise control over his actions ? 
 The value of association in practical experience lies 
 in the fact that ideas are suggested with sufficient 
 rapidity to intervene between impressions (such as 
 those of the sight of steaming porridge and the burn- 
 ing of one's mouth), and through their intervention 
 render possible the guidance of our actions. Our 
 cradle-days, I repeat, are largely spent in gaining 
 experience of this homely, practical kind, thus ren- 
 dered available through association. 
 
 And when we pass from the cradle to the nursery, 
 from the nursery to the garden, thence to the playing- 
 fields, and so into the wide world, the same kind of 
 practical self-education through experience is our 
 constant guide. All our practical acquaintance with 
 the nature of things, with their effects on each other 
 and on ourselves, with what we can do and what is \ 
 beyond our powers, — all this is rendered serviceable : 
 to us through association. As impression after im- 
 
28 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 pression glides through the focus of consciousness, 
 each becomes linked through association to its succes- 
 sor ; and as it fades away through the marginal region, 
 lapsing more or less rapidly out of our consciousness, 
 it does not pass altogether beyond recall ; for the 
 linkage of association binds the whole series into a 
 chain. Now, if the nature of our conscious life were 
 such as always to present us with new impressions — 
 no one impression occurring twice — this association 
 linkage would be of no practical service or value. 
 For the law of suggestion through association is that 
 when two focal elements, c and /, succeed each other 
 as impressions, the subsequent recurrence of c will 
 tend to suggest the recurrence of its successor I as an 
 idea ; and if there was always a succession of new 
 impressions, it is clear that there could be no such 
 recurrence as is essential for suggestion through as- 
 sociation. The nature of our practical experience 
 is, however, such as to present the same impressions, 
 often in the same order of sequence, again and again. 
 And the law of suggestion through association ex- 
 presses the fact that when an impression c does so re- 
 cur, it tends to suggest an idea re-presentative of the 
 impression I which originally followed c. If, for ex- 
 ample, a child is brought into the study of his father, 
 who is a smoker, the child will see his father strike 
 a match, will hear the " quick, sharp scratch," and 
 will see the spurt of flame. These will become as- 
 sociated. When on a subsequent occasion the father 
 takes up the box of matches, the ideas of striking, 
 of the sharp, grating sound, of the flash of flame, 
 will be suggested. And the ideas so suggested will 
 be reinforced by the recurrence of the series of im- 
 
ASSOCIATION 29 
 
 pressions. The repetition of the series will reinforce 
 the association, and will render the recurrence of the 
 ideas in due sequence on a subsequent occasion more 
 probable. 
 
 Association thus begets expectations ^ and when the 
 expectations are repeatedly fulfilled they grow in 
 strength and become ingrained in the mental nature. 
 It is through these expectations, affording as they do 
 data for the guidance of action, that experience is 
 practically serviceable. And the rudiments of this 
 serviceable experience are gained in the cradle, ex- 
 tended and strengthened in the nursery, and amplified 
 in all the subsequent practical commerce with the 
 world. The gaining of the experience is, moreover, 
 a purely individual matter. But it is a matter in 
 which parents and teachers afford aid and guidance. 
 Our aim here, in the education of sense-experience, is 
 to give the infant or the child, or the developing boy 
 or girl, opportunities for the acquisition of healthy, 
 wholesome experience. The acquisition itself is an 
 individual matter ; all that we can do is to secure 
 satisfactory conditions for self-development. And 
 this is a matter which requires tact and judgment. 
 The world is full of objects which are either at once 
 unpleasant and harmful, or pleasant for the moment 
 but harmful in the long run. We have to furnish 
 the conditions for the gradual but sure acquisition of 
 experience of these objects. The child who never 
 has a chance of bruising his body or mind against 
 these objects will not be prepared to avoid contact 
 with them when he is older. He will have to gain 
 his experience of them some day ; when this day 
 shall come, it is often by no means easy to decide. 
 
30 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 So far we have been considering the mere sense- 
 experience of the world in which the child develops 
 from infancy to manhood ; so far w^e have been merely 
 regarding him as a healthy, active, vigorous animal, 
 one who is wide awake to the practical nature of 
 things, and can walk sure-f ootedly along the path of 
 his animal life. All this practical experience is de- 
 pendent upon association ; it must be individually 
 acquired, but it may be acquired under conditions 
 specially presented. The presentation of these ap- 
 propriate conditions falls within the function and 
 office of the teacher. 
 
 But man, though he possesses a healthy animal 
 nature, is also possessed of faculties which are dis- 
 tinctly human. He is, for example, among other 
 things a talking animal — one who can communicate 
 with his fellows. And it is clear that the acquisition 
 of language, the medium of communication, is de- 
 pendent upon association. The child who sees the 
 dog, hears also the word ^^dog," or '^ bow-wow ^^; 
 again and again the sight of the animal is followed 
 by the sound of its name, and the sound followed by 
 sight. The two become closely linked, so that the one 
 suggests the other. All the common objects of daily 
 sense-experience are thus associated with sounds of 
 suggestive value. And when the child begins him- 
 self to speak, a further association is formed between 
 the sight of the object, the sound of its name, and 
 the impression due to the utterance of the word. 
 The dog seen and heard, the word *^*^dog" or ^' bow- 
 wow " heard and uttered, all become associated to- 
 gether. 
 
 It is important that, so far as is possible, the 
 
ASSOCIATION 31 
 
 association should be a direct one between a sense-im- 
 pression and its name. We give our children picture- 
 books in which a number of animals, from a mouse to 
 an elephant, are portrayed, more or less inaccurately, 
 of about the same size. The child learns to as- 
 sociate names with some or all of these ; but I 
 question whether such associations are of very much 
 value. The object of a picture is to suggest to the 
 mind that which is pictured. For us who have seen 
 a lion or a rabbit, the pictures of these animals have 
 due suggestive value ; for us, who understand scale 
 and perspective, there are the materials, in an ade- 
 quate picture, for recalling to mind or indicating the 
 animal as it really is. But for the child the impres- 
 sion produced by the picture is presumably simply a 
 new impression of a particular order, and has little or 
 no suggestive value. The name associated becomes 
 the name of that picture-impression, not the name of 
 that which the picture represents. A child who 
 could give the names of the animals in his natural 
 history picture-book was shown a shrew mouse and 
 asked what it was. After some hesitation, he said a 
 tapir. Possibly it was the long snout which sug- 
 gested this answer. It is always well to establish 
 associations between the actual objects and their 
 names. 
 
 AYhen, at a later stage of his development, the child 
 is learning the suggestive value of written symbols 
 for the word-sounds with which he has already be- 
 come acquainted, further associations are established. 
 The name ^^dog" as heard and as uttered is asso- 
 ciated with the visual impression of the name as writ- 
 ten or printed, and sooner or later with the motor 
 
32 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 impressions of writing the name. And here comes 
 in one of the great difficulties which both the child 
 and the teacher have to meet and overcome. The 
 word ^^cat" as heard is a comparatively simple 
 auditory impression; the word '*^cat" as uttered 
 affords motor impression that is not very complex ; 
 and the word ^' cat " as seen is a visual impression of 
 no great complexity ; but the word '' CdX" as spelt in- 
 volves an operation of no little difficulty. It involves 
 the analysis of the word, as seen, into three constitu- 
 ents, c, a, and t ; no one of these three constituents, 
 as named, has the same value, either for hearing or 
 for pronunciation, as it has in combination in the 
 word '' cat " ; and yet the child has to grasp that when 
 these three symbols he calls c, a, t, unite to form the 
 word, that word is pronounced '^cat.^^ 
 
 With the analysis and synthesis involved in spell- 
 ing we are, however, not at present concerned. It 
 is to the associations involved that we have to direct 
 our attention. The sound (auditory impression) of 
 the word '^ cat," and the pronunciation (motor im- 
 pression) of the same word have already been asso- 
 ciated with each other, and with the sight (visual im- 
 pression) of a particular animal or species of animals. 
 These are now further associated with the sight of 
 the word ^'cat" as written or printed. On the 
 method of teaching to read by words rather than by 
 letters, which is certainly psychologically justifiable, 
 the association is a direct one between the sound of 
 the word and the visual impression of the word as a 
 whole. But when the analysis of spelling is sub- 
 sequently introduced, further associations are estab- 
 lished, (1) between the sight of the constituent '^ g" 
 
ASSOCIATION 33 
 
 by itself and the name ^' " which we give it ; and 
 (2) between the sight of the constituent '^ c " as com- 
 bined with ''at ^Mn the word •'cat/' and the hard 
 " k"-sound for which it then stands. This double as- 
 sociation is not very simple, and is somewhat confus- 
 ing. We should not therefore feel surprised if the 
 child has some difficulty in mastering it. And when 
 the child begins to write, yet further associations 
 have to be established between (1) the movements of 
 the fingers (motor impressions) necessary to form the 
 letter "c/' (2) its name " C," and (3) its "k" sound 
 value in the pronunciation of the word " cat.'' In 
 some foreign languages these initial difficulties are 
 somewhat reduced ; but the French child who has to 
 struggle with " chat" is not much better off than the 
 English child who has to contend with " cat." 
 
 When, now, these associations have been estab- 
 lished, the sound of the word " cat" may suggest (1) 
 a visual idea of the animal, or (2) a visual idea of the 
 word "cat," or (3) a motor idea of the pronunciation 
 of that word ; while the visual idea of the word may 
 further suggest its analysis in spelling. When a given 
 impression may suggest one of several ideas — such as 
 those numbered (1), (2), (3) above — we speak of 
 divergent association. And, conversely, when several 
 impressions, such as the sound of the word " cat," 
 the sight of the word, or an outline picture of the 
 animal, suggest the same idea — e.g. the visual idea 
 or mental image of the animal — we speak of conver- 
 gent association. Both convergent association and 
 divergent association are of great psychological 
 value. 
 
 The earliest words used by (and probably also the 
 3 
 
34 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 earliest words understood by) children are those which 
 are symbolic of what we may describe as elementary 
 modes of conscious experience, such as sense-impres- 
 sions, motor impressions, and their simple emotional 
 accompaniments. Words involving impressions of 
 relation come later ; but the manner of their associa- 
 tion with the modes of experience they symbolize is 
 of like nature to that which has been briefly described. 
 The progress of the child in the use of language is to 
 j a large extent the index of its progress in mental 
 I / development. We are not, however, at present en- 
 y deavoring to trace the stages of this development. 
 Our immediate subject is association ; and the associa- 
 tion of words with the modes of consciousness they 
 symbolize is throughout similar in its nature. 
 
 A good deal of the work of the teacher in the in- 
 itial stages of education is concerned with the estab- 
 lishment of associations which must of necessity seem 
 to the learner — in so far as he troubles his little head 
 about the matter — quite arbitrary. lb is rather the 
 fashion nowadays to inveigh against learning things 
 parrot-fashion. But a good deal of parrot-work is 
 necessary and quite unavoidable. The multiplication 
 table, the tables of weights and measures, the vocabu- 
 laries of foreign languages, declensions and the con- 
 jugation of verbs, rules and their exceptions, the dates 
 of certain salient events, — these and much besides 
 must be committed to memory, that is to say, linked 
 by direct association. And here the boy or girl of 
 strongly tenacious memory has a great advantage over 
 his or her companions who are less favored by 
 natural endowment. There would seem to be no 
 necessary connection betweeji a retentive memory and 
 
ASSOCIATION 35 
 
 power of understanding and comprehending. The 
 boy who has a naturally retentive memory is one in 
 whose mind associations, once formed, hold good, so 
 that when once c has been associated with I, the re- 
 currence of c at once and with certainty, under ap- 
 propriate conditions, suggests I. And this seems to 
 be quite independent of whether the relation which 
 c bears to I is understood or not. The boy who has 
 such a memory has, I repeat, a great advantage over 
 his fellows in the early stages of his school career, 
 and if he have good powers of understanding as well, 
 the advantage is a permanent one. His less fortunate 
 comrade has to spend far more time in the drudgery 
 of establishing with difficulty abiding association- 
 links. But, however good his understanding, such 
 drudgery is essential if he is to attain success. Few 
 subjects are more dependent on understanding and 
 the perception of relations than mathematics, and yet 
 perhaps in no subject is either a naturally retentive 
 memory or much drudgery in the establishment of 
 associations, one or other, more essential. Furnished 
 myself with fairly quick understanding, but wretched 
 natural power of retentiveness, I had, as a boy, little 
 difficulty in following a proposition of Euclid or 
 grasping the explanation of a mathematical problem. 
 My master, pleased with my quickness, but too leni- 
 ent to insist on the drudgery which was absolutely 
 necessary in my case, failed to make me acquire that 
 groundwork of fixed associations without which no 
 one can become a mathematician. And for this in 
 due course I had to suffer. 
 
 I shall not, I trust, be misunderstood when I con- 
 tend that parrot-work and learning by rote, often a 
 
36 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 matter of somewhat wearisome drudgery, are essential 
 for the establishment of associations necessary for 
 mental development. Of course the understanding 
 must be trained and exercised at the same time. 
 But to understand and to remember, or to be in a 
 position to recollect, are not the same thing, and are 
 not even necessarily connected. And if we would 
 make progress in knowledge, we must remember as 
 well as understand. There can be little question 
 that, for child as for adult, the exercise of the under- 
 standing is more pleasurable than learning by rote. It 
 is part of the art of the teacher to preserve a due pro- 
 portional relation between drudgery and interest. 
 And much may be done to lighten the drudgery by 
 sympathy. Over the lintel of every school should be 
 engraved the precept : EstaUish a hachgronnd of 
 sympathy. The child will do much that is irksome 
 to give pleasure to one with whom he is in sympathy. 
 This condition of sympathy should be a permanent 
 element in the marginal region of the consciousness 
 both of teacher and of taught. 
 
 And perhaps nowhere in the early establishment of 
 associations is the background of sympathy more 
 essential than in the matter of rewards and punish- 
 ments ; and nowhere is tact and judgment more 
 urgently required. In the animal life of sense-experi- 
 ence the commerce with the world brings with it, 
 more or less swiftly and directly, its pleasures or its 
 pains. And these associations of pleasurable or 
 painful results with particular actions are of the 
 utmost service in the guidance of life. But when we 
 are laying the foundations of a structure of knowledge, 
 built upon the solid ground of sense-experience, but 
 
ASSOCIATION 87 
 
 rising above it, these natural incentives or deterrents 
 are no longer of the same guiding value. We have 
 to institute an artificial system of rewards and 
 punishments as incentives to industry and deterrents 
 from idleness and inattention. What the rewards, 
 what the punishments, should be, and how they should 
 be distributed, it is not for me to say. My present 
 business is to draw attention to the fact that they 
 involve associations ; and that if the associations are 
 to be established, and to have really guiding value, 
 it is essential that they should be as direct and 
 as uniform as possible. For the establishment of 
 associations, it is of no use to reward or to punish 
 a child some time after the event ; nor is it of any 
 use sometimes to punish and sometimes to let alone. 
 If fire sometimes burnt the child's fingers and some- 
 times did nothing of the sort, a fixed association would 
 never be established. And if the same action some- 
 times leads to punishment and at other times is 
 winked at, all the associative value of the punish- 
 ment is lost. Boys much prefer a master who is uni- 
 formly strict to one who is sometimes lenient and at 
 other times exacting. 
 
 Enough has now been said to show how important 
 is association in the education of the schoolroom as in 
 the life of sense-experience. It may be well, however, 
 before passing on to other forms of association, to 
 point out that all the teacher can do in this matter is 
 to afford to the child, boy or girl, opportunities for 
 the establishment of associations. Mental develop- 
 ment is an individual matter. Each must establish 
 his own association-links for himself. No one can 
 do this for him. The art of education is the art of 
 
38 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 furnishing the best possible conditions for self-de- 
 velopment. 
 
 Let ns now pass on to consider briefly what is 
 termed association hy similai^ity. Personally I 
 should prefer the phrase suggestion hy similarity, or 
 better still, suggestion hy resemhlance. A short time 
 ago, while I was looking at Crook's Peak in Mendip 
 from a certain point of view, I was suddenly reminded 
 of the Corcovado Mountain on the Bay of Kio. 
 There was sufficient resemblance between the two 
 peaks for the one to suggest the other. The sugges- 
 tion having once occurred, Crook's Peak having 
 suggested Corcovado, the impression and idea became 
 associated by contiguity, and thus the original sug- 
 gestion was reinforced. Now, whenever I see Crook's 
 Peak, the Corcovado is brought to mind. A great 
 deal of this sort of thing must go on in the early de- 
 velopment of sense-experience ; and it is further en- 
 forced in the initial stages of education. The child 
 is well acquainted with Spot, the family fox-terrier 
 — calls it '^ Tot,'' perhaps. It sees, out of doors, 
 another terrier, bigger and without the great black 
 patch round the left eye, but on the whole resem- 
 bling Spot ; and at once calls out ^^'Pot." As the 
 child learns the use of words, the range and limits 
 of suggestion by resemblance must be gradually 
 brought home. Our nouns are, many of them, 
 common names for a group of objects associated 
 together in virtue of certain resemblances, and 
 giving rise to generic ideas. 
 
 In teaching a child, we are constantly indicating 
 differences and distinctions as well as similarities and 
 resemblances. We teach him to group things together 
 
ASSOCIATION 89 
 
 ill virtue of their general resemblances, and to distin- 
 guish within the group in virtue of particular differ- 
 ences. This buttercup is different from that daisy, 
 but both are flowers ; this dog is different from that 
 cat, but both are animals ; Mabel is different from 
 Lucy, but both are girls ; and so on in a great num- 
 ber of cases. This constant habit of comparing 
 things begets a tendency in a quick-witted child to 
 be on the lookout not only for resemblance, but also 
 for contrast. And as this habit becomes more and 
 more established with passing years and growing ex- 
 perience, there is an increasing tendency for things 
 to suggest not only their likes but their opposites. 
 To suggestion by resemblance is added snggestio7i by 
 contrast. And when such contrasts have been sug- 
 gested, they become associated by contiguity, and 
 the subsequent suggestion is thus reinforced. The 
 language of description constantly uses resemblance 
 and contrast side by side, the one to enforce the 
 other. The wing of the penguin, we say, is like the 
 flipper of the seal, and very different from the wing 
 of a swift or a seagull. The sea looked dull and 
 gloomy, there was no life or brightness in the scene. 
 A is slow, sure, and industrious, and quite unlike 
 the brilliant but terribly idle Z. And so in a num- 
 ber of other similar cases, which will readily suggest 
 themselves (by similarity). 
 
 When the child begins to perceive the relations of 
 objects to each other, and begins to dissociate quali- 
 ties from the things which, as we say, possess these 
 qualities, something more than mere resemblance is 
 suggested, namely, similarity of relationship. It 
 might be well to reserve the phrase siiggestion hy 
 
40 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 similarity for those cases which involve a similarity 
 of relations, employing the phrase " suggestion by 
 resemblance " for those cases in which there is an ob- 
 vious likeness of objects of sense-experience to each 
 other. Most cases of suggestion by contrast involve 
 contrast of relations. And in those cases which were 
 alluded to at the end of the last paragraph, where 
 similarity and contrast are employed for descriptive 
 or explanatory purposes, it is the relationships which 
 are of specially suggestive import. 
 
 The language of the poet is full of suggestions by 
 resemblance, similarity, and contrast. I will illus- 
 trate this by a few examples from Tennyson. Eesem- 
 blance prompts such lines as, 
 
 ** A brow 
 May-blossoms, and a cheek of apple-blossom." 
 
 " And her hair 
 In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell 
 Divides threefold to show the fruit within." 
 
 But it is similarity of relations which is suggest- 
 ive in 
 
 *' A rosebud set with little wilful thorns. 
 And sweet as English air could make her." 
 
 There is more of similarity than resemblance in 
 
 *' A laugh, 
 Ringing like proven golden coinage true." 
 
 So too in the question, 
 
 "Was he not 
 A fuU-cell'd honeycomb of eloquence. 
 Stored from all flowers ? " 
 
 The alternate cloud and sunshine of April suggest 
 the comparison of the lines. 
 
ASSOCIATION 41 
 
 " And liopes and light regrets that come, 
 Make April of her tender eyes." 
 
 A somewhat similar thought occurs again in 
 
 " So sweetly gleam'd her eyes behind her tears, 
 Like sunlight on the plain behind a shower." 
 
 One or two more examples of analogies drawn 
 from Nature must suffice. 
 
 ** A doubtful throne is ice on summer seas." 
 
 This simile was no doubt suggested by the insta- 
 bility of the equilibrium of an iceberg melting in a 
 warm current. The suggestiveness of flowers was 
 always great and varied for Tennyson. 
 
 *' Wearing the white flower of a blameless life." 
 
 *' Wait, and Love himself will bring 
 The drooping flower of knowledge changed to fruit 
 Of wisdom." 
 
 My last example of such suggestions by similarity 
 is a rather more complex one, in which an analogy 
 is drawn between the forging of metal and the forging 
 of character. It occurs In Me?noriam — 
 
 " Life is not as idle ore, 
 
 But iron dug from central gloom, 
 And heated hot with burning fears, 
 And dipt in baths of hissing tears, 
 
 And batter' d with the shocks of doom 
 To shape and use." 
 
 By the man of science, as by the poet, suggestion 
 by similarity, with occasional illustrative contrast, is 
 constantly used in description and in explanation. 
 The moon, we say, is continually falling towards the 
 earth, as a stone falls towards the ground ; or, the 
 moon swings round the earth as a ball at the end of 
 
42 I»SYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 a string swings round your hand. Just as the 
 straight-falling raindrops seem to be slanting to a 
 man who is driving rapidly in a dogcart, so do the 
 rays of light from distant stars seem to change their 
 direction as the earth whirls round in her orbital 
 course. Just as the artificial selection of the gardener 
 tends to the preservation of the strongest and most 
 beautiful plants, so does the destruction of the weakly 
 and imperfect, in the natural struggle for existence 
 among organisms, tend to the survival of the strong- 
 est and healthiest. Just as, to give one more ex- 
 ample, pressure will squeeze ice into the condition 
 of water, because water expands on freezing, so will 
 pressure squeeze molten rock into the solid condition 
 because molten rock contracts on solidifying. This 
 last example shows how a fairly simple process of rea- 
 soning is based on an insight into inverse similarity 
 of relations. 
 
 It may, I think, be fairly said that, while sugges- 
 tion directly due to association by contiguity is that 
 which chiefly determines the sequence of ideas in the 
 lower stages of mental development and during the 
 earlier months or years of child-life, and while sug- 
 gestion by resemblance follows thereon ; all the more 
 subtle and delicate sequence of ideas in our adult 
 life is due to suggestion through similarity or con- 
 trast. 
 
 We must now revert to association by contiguity 
 that we may take note of a qualifying clause in our 
 statement. If any two focal elements in conscious- 
 ness, c and I, occur in successive moments of con- 
 sciousness as impressions, the subsequent recurrence 
 of c as impression or idea will tend under similar 
 
ASSOCIATION 43 
 
 marginal conditions , to suggest the recuiTence of / 
 as an idea. The clause to which we have now to 
 direct our attention is that which is here italicized. 
 In practical experience c has not only become asso- 
 ciated with ly but also with /, r, and y. This was 
 described as divergent association. The sound of 
 the word ^'cat" is associated with the visual image 
 of the animal, the visual image of the word, the pro- 
 nunciation of the word, the writing of the word. 
 The marginal conditions of the moment determine 
 which of the divergent lines of association shall be 
 followed. Under the marginal conditions of repeat- 
 ing what the teacher reads, the pronunciation of the 
 word is suggested ; under the marginal conditions of 
 dictation, the writing of the word ; under the mar- 
 ginal conditions of a walk in the garden, the visual 
 image of the animal will probably be suggested. A 
 great number of our words have divergent associa- 
 tions ; and yet, when we meet them in their proper 
 places in the sentence, we are seldom at fault in tak- 
 ing the particular suggestion intended by the author. 
 This is because the whole sentence, and what has 
 preceded it, creates the requisite marginal conditions. 
 If we say, " Sauntering along the well-kept gravel 
 walk, she admired the low, neatly-trimmed edging 
 of box," few will misunderstand us, though the word 
 "box" is one with many divergent associations. 
 For young children, whose experience is necessarily 
 limited, most words have only particular associations ; 
 and this is one cause of their apparent inattention. 
 If the word ''^dog," for example, is at once suggest- 
 ive of Spot, the family fox-terrier, directly that word 
 occurs in the child's sentence, away flies the little 
 
44 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 mind to the particular animal, and the reading lesson 
 becomes hazily marginal. We all of us know how 
 readily some chance expression of a speaker or 
 preacher may suggest something of particular inter- 
 est to us, and how our attention is thus diverted from 
 what he is saying. 
 
 The relation of the focal impression or idea to the 
 margin of consciousness gives rise to what is termed 
 si7nuUaneous association, or the association through 
 contiguity of focus and margin. It is not, be it noted, 
 an association of impressions and ideas, as we have de- 
 fined these terms, but an association of the impression 
 or idea with its marginal setting, or with some ele- 
 ments therein. Thus, we chance to meet a man of 
 striking or peculiar appearance in the street. Sub- 
 sequently we meet him at dinner ; and the sight of 
 his face suggests the marginal setting of the street 
 scene in which on the former occasion he was focal. 
 Or we are reading Tennyson in the open air, which is 
 perfumed with the scent of gorse. Subsequently 
 the scent of gorse suggests some passage which we 
 were enjoying at the time. All that we have learned 
 concerning the intimate relation of focus and margin 
 in the state of consciousness will help us to appreciate 
 the importance and the reality of this simultaneous 
 association. It is through this association that focus 
 and margin are so knit together that in the moments 
 of recall they are jointly re-presented in the new 
 marginal setting of that moment. 
 
 Furthermore, the relation of the focal impression 
 or idea to the margin of consciousness is — or is a most 
 important factor in — what we term interest. The 
 interest may be a special one, arising out of what our 
 
ASSOCIATION 45 
 
 minds are occupied with at the time in question ; or 
 it may be a general one, connected with our natural 
 and habitual mental bias. Attention follows the line 
 of interest ; and it is questionable whether we can 
 attend, at any rate at all continuously, to that which 
 possesses for us absolutely no interest. Hence, we 
 must do our best to surround with some sort of in- 
 terest that drudgery which is necessary for the 
 establishment of useful associations. 
 
 It only remains, in concluding this chapter, to say 
 a few words on the art of recollecting. Both remem- 
 bering and recollecting are based on association. In 
 remembering, association suggests, without effort, 
 that of which we are thus reminded. But when we 
 fail to remember, we must try to recollect. And while 
 remembering is probably, as before stated, a natural 
 gift which can scarcely if at all be improved, the 
 art of recollecting is one which can be cultivated and 
 very greatly improved. For this purpose the fact 
 which we wish to recollect must be fitted in to some 
 system and associated in that system by several diver- 
 gent links. It must be somehow tacked on to our 
 interests. If once a fact be well incorporated in a 
 system which interests us, it has as good a chance of 
 being recollected as we can give it. Of course, the 
 more natural the system is, the better ; but any 
 system is better than none. The very fact of con- 
 sciously and of set purpose incorporating new facts 
 in a system necessitates dwelling on them and attend- 
 ing to them, which facilitates their recollection at a 
 future time. It is well also to form association-links 
 with as many allied impressions as possible, such as 
 sight, hearing, pronunciation, and writing ; and to 
 
46 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 strengthen the linkage by repetition at intervals. 
 This may be illustrated by a simple and a more com- 
 plex example. We wish to fix in our memory where 
 St. Alban's Head is. To do so, we must fit it into 
 our system of geographical knowledge. This bold 
 headland lies about midway between Swanage and 
 Weymouth. We look it out in the map of Dorset- 
 shire, and thus add a visual impression to reinforce 
 the auditory impression and the motor impressions 
 due to repeating the words. We thus establish a 
 number of systems in divergent associations. In 
 afterwards seeking to recollect, we use these divergent 
 lines as convergent upon St. Alban^s Head. It may 
 be that we cannot recall whereabouts it was on the 
 coast-line. But the thought of the map suggests 
 Dorsetshire, and this gives a visual image of the 
 coast-line ; and Swanage- Weymouth shoots across 
 the mind. Again : We wish to fix in memory that 
 the tooth of a fish called Ceratodus is found in a cer- 
 tain geological stratum at Aust Cliff. We examine 
 the tooth ; pronounce, write, and look at the name 
 ^' Ceratodus " ; think of its derivation {heras, horn ; 
 odous, tooth) ; consider its appropriateness ; think 
 of the zoological nature of the fish and its relation 
 to a similar fish now found in Queensland ; look out 
 Aust on the map ; learn that the " old passage " of the 
 Severn was here ; get a geological section of the beds 
 in the cliff, and perceive the relation of the bone-bed in 
 which it is found to the other beds ; and generally 
 consider the geological relations of the particular stra- 
 tum. In this way we wedge Ceratodus pretty secure- 
 ly into our system of knowledge, and link it by many 
 lines of association with what we previously knew. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 EXPERIENCE 
 
 The sequence of impressions in any series of mo- 
 ments of consciousness is directly due to the sequence 
 of stimuli coming from external objects or from 
 various parts of our own bodily organs. When we are 
 out for a country walk, for example, the sights, sounds, 
 scents of nature giye rise to a number of impressions, 
 while other impressions may be produced by the 
 movements of our limbs, our free and quickened 
 breathing, and the general glow of active life through- 
 out our bodily frames. If we consider, not only the 
 focal impressions, but the states of consciousness in 
 their entirety — that is, including both focal and mar- 
 ginal elements — we find that the presentative im- 
 pressions, such as the sight of field or flower or bird, 
 the scent of the honeysuckle or the song of the lark, 
 are set in a presentative background due to stimuli 
 of the same kind as those which give rise to impres- 
 sions, but less prominent and intense. The glow of 
 healthy active life may not be specially attended to 
 so as to be focal to consciousness ; but it none the less 
 affects the states of consciousness of which it forms a 
 subordinate part. 
 
 On the other hand, when we have a sequence of 
 47 
 
48 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 ideas — sitting perhaps in the twilight and letting onr 
 thoughts run their course without much interference 
 from the intrusion of impressions — this sequence of 
 ideas is due to suggestion by contiguity or by simi- 
 larity. In the case of suggestion by contiguity the 
 original linkage was one of direct sequence of im- 
 pressions ; but though every link of the chain was 
 thus forged in presentative experience, the links are 
 recombined in a new way ; so that we may describe 
 the reverie as a new chain of old links. But where 
 suggestions by similarity arise, these may be wholly 
 new ; they are part of our individuality, and give 
 originality to our thought. A similarity may strike 
 us which has struck no one else. This forms part of 
 what is called iynaginatmi. And just as in a sequence 
 of impressions there is a background of presentative 
 elements forming the margin of the states of cons- 
 ciousness, so too in a sequence of ideas there are 
 a number of re-presentative elements filling in the 
 background. These are not ideas, for they are not 
 in the focus of consciousness ; but they are of the 
 same stuff of which ideas are constituted. 
 
 Practically we seldom or never have a sequence that 
 is either altogether presentative or altogether repre- 
 sentative. When we are out for the country walk, 
 there are not only impressions but also ideas which 
 they suggest ; and the impressions and ideas follow 
 each other in rapid sequence. The background, too, 
 is not wholly presentative, it has re-presentative 
 elements as well. In our twilight reverie we cannot 
 altogether exclude impressions, while in the back- 
 ground, or marginal region of consciousness, there are 
 sights, sounds, pressures and presentative elements 
 
EXPERIENCE 49 
 
 furnished by the immediate condition of our bodies. 
 The states of consciousness are thus in either case 
 very complex ; and this cannot be too fully realized. 
 When we are dealing with impressions or ideas, we 
 must remember that we are, so to speak, plucking the 
 eyes out of our states of consciousness and examin- 
 ing them separately. The natural position of the 
 eye is in the body. And the natural position of the 
 impression or the idea is in the body of the state of 
 consciousness. We analyze the state of consciousness, 
 and thus reach the impression or the idea as the re- 
 sult of our analysis. We must not forget, however, 
 that, as we actually experience it, the impression or 
 the idea is only part of a state of consciousness. 
 
 Now, with regard to experience, the first thing 
 that is tolerably clear and obvious is that it is a matter 
 of impressions and the directly presentative elements 
 in consciousness. For every sense-idea we must have 
 had direct experience of its corresponding sense-im- 
 pression ; for every motor idea, a motor impression ; 
 for every idea of relation, a basis in practical expe- 
 rience. It is true that the reach of our thought ex- 
 ceeds the range of our experience ; it is true that, 
 through imagination, we recombine our experience 
 in new modes ; this does, however, but emphasize the 
 fact that the experience itself is a matter of direct 
 acquaintance with what is immediately presented to 
 consciousness. Even our higher flights of thought 
 and imagination, if they have no basis in experience, 
 are of little worth. It is one of the aims of education 
 to furnish the conditions for the acquisition of a solid 
 basis of experience. The second point to be noticed 
 is that the practical value of experience is to afford 
 
60 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 the requisite data for the guidance of action and con- 
 duct ; while one of the aims of action and conduct 
 is to extend and establish the experience already 
 gained. 
 
 Our bodies are so formed that we actively respond 
 to certain stimuli. A tickling of the feet causes the 
 withdrawal of the leg, a slight irritation of the deli- 
 cate membrane of the nose gives rise to a sneeze. If, 
 when a child a few months old is looking at your face, 
 a bright object appear in the marginal region of its 
 field of vision, the eyes are drawn away from your 
 face to make the bright object focal. Such active 
 responses to stimuli are called refiex actions. They 
 > are also often spoken of as automatic, though the 
 ^ I word is not always used in this sense. The ability to 
 ; respond in these ways is a portion of our natural in- 
 heritance, and forms part of the first raw material of 
 experience. Automatism is thus the primary factor 
 I in our active life. The secondary factor is control ; 
 and this control is rendered possible of practical ap- 
 plication through association and what is termed 
 correlation. ^ By control is meant the conscious 
 guidance of our actions in the light of previous ex- 
 perience./ If, to take an example previously given, 
 the sight of steaming porridge is associated with 
 burning one's tongue, control can be exercised over 
 one's action in the future, and unpleasant conse- 
 quences may be avoided. In the early months of life 
 we are constantly making new experiments in the 
 putting forth of our inherited powers of activity. 
 We select the successful and satisfactory modes of 
 action for repetition, and hold in check those which are 
 unsuccessful or lead to unpleasant or painful results. 
 
EXPERIENCE 61 
 
 The growth of experience envolves a continual cor- 
 relation of the data afforded hy sensation. By this 
 expression it is meant that the impressions and ideas 
 and the marginal data of the special senses, together 
 with those derived from the parts concerned in the 
 movements of our bodily organs, are brought into 
 such relation to each other as to have suggestive 
 value. If, when a child is gazing about here and 
 there, a sweet is brought within his range of vision, 
 so soon as it falls within the margin of the visual field, 
 the eyes are so moved as to bring it to the focus of 
 vision ; the hand is then stretched out to touch and 
 seize it, and it is conveyed to the mouth. This in- 
 volves a correlation of the data afforded by the special 
 senses, sight, touch, and taste ; and a further correla- 
 tion of these with the sensory data afforded by the 
 movements of the eyes, the hand and arm, and the 
 mouth. The stimulus in the margin of the visual 
 field leads to the movements of the eyes necessary to 
 render the sweet focal in vision ; the impression so 
 produced suggests the ideas of the movements of hand 
 and arm which will enable the child to grasp the 
 sweet ; ideas of taste are at the same time suggested ; 
 and these ideas of movement and of taste are followed 
 by their corresponding impressions as the actions are 
 carried out and the sweet taken into the mouth. 
 
 When we are regarding the matter from the point 
 of view of the acquisition and organizing of experi- 
 ence, we speak of the correlation of the data afforded 
 by the special senses among each other, and with 
 those due to movements. But when we regard the 
 matter from the point of view of the putting forth of 
 the activities, we speak of the co-ordination of these 
 
52 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 activities. All matters of skill in the use of our 
 bodily organs involve this co-ordination. A very 
 great number of muscles are concerned in what we 
 are wont to regard as comparatively simple activities, 
 such as walking or speaking. All these muscles have 
 to be called into play in due degree and with nicely 
 balanced activity. We are not, however, conscious of 
 the details of this process, which is, in fact, a physi- 
 ological one. What we are conscious of is the net re- 
 sult of the process. We are conscious, that is to say, 
 of the activity as a whole, not of the individual play 
 of all the muscles which bring about the activity. 
 And the method of acquiring skill in the co-ordina- 
 tion of activities is that of trial and error ; the select- 
 ing of the successful results for repetition, and the 
 checking of the unsuccessful results. This is clearly 
 a matter of control. Indeed we may say that control 
 is primarily exercised over our bodily activities in the 
 guidance of our life of free movement. Nice and 
 accurate co-ordination is the outcome of nice and ac- 
 curate correlation of the data afforded by experience. 
 Let us now take one or two more examples of cor- 
 rela,tion. Suppose that we were blind and deaf; 
 then, so far as our active life was concerned, we 
 should be almost entirely limited to a correlation of 
 the data afforded by touch and pressure among 
 themselves, and with the data afforded to conscious- 
 ness by the movements of our limbs. As we felt our 
 way about the world, touches or pressures in various 
 parts of our bodies would be correctly localized, and 
 associations would be formed between such experi- 
 ences and the movements of our limbs. The hands, 
 and especially the finger tips, are the central organs 
 
EXPERIENCE 53 
 
 of touch. If, as we felt about the table, something 
 came in contact with our arm, we should at once 
 bring the hand and fingers to bear upon it, that we 
 might feel out what it was ; as indeed we all do when 
 we are feeling for something in the dark. Thus we 
 should organize what is called a field of touch. 
 
 Now, suppose that to the sense of touch we add 
 the sense of sight. This enables us to feel about us, 
 so to speak, in a wider field. First of all, there is a 
 correlation between visual data and the sensations of 
 movement in the eyes. The field of vision becomes 
 most delicately and accurately organized, so that, if 
 any visual object appears in the margin of that field, 
 we can at once move the eyes in such a way as to 
 make the object focal. And this involves, not merely 
 common movements of the two eyes in their sockets, 
 but movements of convergence of the two eyes, and 
 movements inside the eyes, which are necessary for 
 the accommodation of vision to various distances. 
 Hold a pencil-point about ten inches from the eyes, 
 and alternately fix them upon this^ point and on some 
 distant point on the wall or out of doors. You will 
 feel the movements of convergence and accommoda- 
 tion as you pass from one to the other. The visual 
 experience of seeing an object at a given distance is 
 due to a combination of visual sensations and motor 
 sensations in the eyes and their sockets. Such an 
 intimate coalescence of diverse sensations to produce 
 an impression is a good example of what is termed 
 mental synthesis. The product of the synthesis — 
 which is a natural and involuntary process, not one 
 that is intentional and voluntary — has not, for practi- 
 cal experience, any reference to motor sensations. 
 
64 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 The motor sensations of convergence and accommoda- 
 tion are not recognized as such, but make us aware 
 that the object of vision is situated out there at a 
 certain distance from us. And so completely do 
 these motor sensations coalesce with the visual sensa- 
 tions in the impression, that very few of us are 
 acquainted with the fact that the sense of distance 
 in vision is due to motor elements in consciousness. 
 
 The distance element in vision is, however, corre- 
 lated with other motor elements. The child who 
 sees a sweet on the table before him, reaches out his 
 hand to take it up. Visual distance at once suggests 
 distance for touch. And if the object is farther off, 
 so that he has to go to it in order to reach it, 
 visual distance is correlated with distance for locomo- 
 tion. Thus the field of vision and the fields of touch 
 and of free movement are correlated. Furthermore, 
 as we stretch out our hand to seize an object within 
 our reach, we see it cross the field of vision ; and a 
 correlation is established between the movements of 
 our limbs, as seen, and the same movements, as given 
 in motor sensation. Again, if we fix our eyes upon 
 some object and then move our hand in front of our 
 face, still keeping the eyes fixed, we see the hand 
 cross the field of vision from margin to margin ; and 
 if then, releasing our eyes from the object on which 
 they have been fixed, we allow them to follow the 
 movements of the hand, we experience a series of 
 motor sensations as the eyes follow the hand. In the 
 one case the movement is a change of the position of 
 an object in the field of vision ; in the other case it 
 is a change of position in the organs of vision. Or, 
 take another example. As I write, the rooks are re- 
 
EXPERIENCE 55 
 
 turning to their nests and flying westwards past my 
 window. I fix my eyes on the corner of the opposite 
 house, and rook after rook enters and crosses the 
 margin of my visual field. My eyes remain fixed all 
 the time. But now I fix my eyes upon a certain rook 
 and follow him across the sky, keeping him steadily in 
 focus. As I do so, the house and trees opposite and 
 the clouds in the sky seem to drift across my visual 
 field as my eyes move, following the bird. Thus, 
 when my eyes are fixed there is a real movement of 
 the external object, the rook, across the field of 
 vision ; and when my .eyes follow the rook there is 
 (1) a real movement of the eyes, and (2) an apparent 
 movement of the fixed objects round me, the house, 
 trees, and clouds. All these changes in the field of 
 vision and movements of the eyes have to be corre- 
 lated. When our bodies as a whole are also in move- 
 ment, further correlations are necessary. These are 
 soon completely established for our ordinary move- 
 ments of walking and running; but for unusual 
 movements the correlation is often imperfect. I 
 traveled in the train a short time ago with a child 
 who was making her first railway journey. ^' What 
 makes all the things move so fast ? " she said to her 
 mother. 
 
 Besides the correlations we have been considering, 
 there are further correlations of the data afforded by 
 sight, touch, and movements of eyes and limbs, with 
 the data afforded by the sense of hearing, the sense 
 of smell, our temperature senses, and that sense of 
 direction to which allusion was made in considering 
 the impressions of sense. Smell is correlated with 
 taste ; and such visual effects as that produced by 
 
66 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 steaming porridge are correlated with the effects of 
 eating it too hastily. All these correlations in the 
 special fields of touch, sight, hearing, smell, both in 
 each field severally and of the fields each with the 
 other, gradually coalesce and become organized into 
 what we may term the general Jield of experience. 
 
 It is probably difficult for us to realize what a 
 chaotic muddle of sensations there must be in the in- 
 fant's mind during the early weeks and months of its 
 life. The exact steps and stages of the correlation in 
 the child-mind we shall probably never know with any- 
 thing like certainty. Few of 'US remember anything 
 which occurred to us before we were about two years 
 old, and by that time the field of experience is 
 pretty well organized, and all the simpler correlations 
 have been established. There are good grounds for 
 believing that each individual has to establish all the 
 correlations for himself. They are not inherited, 
 but must be acquired. Co-ordinations of motor 
 activity are inherited ; but the correlations of sensory 
 data are probably, I repeat, not inherited, but have 
 to be individually acquired. And there is but little 
 that we can do in the way of direct teaching to 
 aid the infant and child in the acquisition of this 
 elementary but most important experience. All that 
 we can do is to afford to him the best and most 
 convenient opportunities and conditions for the 
 work of self-development. 
 
 It will perhaps have been noticed that I have con- 
 stantly spoken of the correlation of sensory data, and 
 not of the correlation of impressions and ideas. I 
 have done so because\a good deal of the correlation 
 takes place in the margin of consciousness, and is not 
 
EXPERIENCE 57 
 
 by any means confined to the focal region, which is 1/ 
 the special seat of impressions and ideas. Indeed, it' 
 is somewhat remarkable that very much of the 
 correlation is established subconsciously. Probably 
 only a very small proportion of the correlation which 
 becomes so well organized in the growing experience 
 of the child have been formed intentionally. The 
 infant does not apply itself to the task of correlating 
 the sensory data which are hour by hour and day by 
 day accumulating. The organization of experience 
 is a process of natural growth, like that of the plant, 
 which puts forth its shoots, leaves, and buds, and 
 develops into a beautifully symmetrical tree ; or like 
 that of the child's own body, in which the limbs and 
 all the organs develop in due relation to each other. 
 While, therefore, it is probably true that, as was 
 stated in the last paragraph, the correlations of sen- 
 sory data are not inherited, but have to be individually 
 acquired, it is none the less true that it is part of the 
 inherent and inherited tendencies of our mental 
 nature to form such correlations if the necessary data 
 are duly supplied. There is no evidence that this, 
 that, or the other correlation is inherited ; but it is 
 unquestionably true that the faculty for correlation 
 is an inalienable mental possession. The sensory 
 data of experience are the food of the mind ; each 
 individual has to find or to be supplied with his own 
 food ; but the power of dealing with the food, so as 
 to build with it an organized and correlated body of 
 experience — that is part of our dower as human 
 beings. 
 
 A great deal of this organizing and correlation is 
 carried on subconsciously, in what 1 have termed the 
 
68 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 margin of consciousness. The correlation, indeed, 
 affects the whole field of consciousness, and is in no 
 small degree a matter of the relation of focus to 
 margin, and of marginal elements among themselves. 
 Many simultaneous effects in consciousness of changes 
 in the visual field, movements of the eyes, and move- 
 ments of the hand, are duly correlated when the child 
 reaches forth its hand to seize a sweet. 
 
 We have seen that the co-ordination of motor 
 activities is founded on innate and inherited au- 
 tomatism, but that it is brought under control in 
 accordance with the data afforded by association and 
 correlation, and is guided to desired ends in the light 
 of past experience. The guidance and control are 
 an expression of the individual will. Experience 
 tells us that certain states of consciousness, or certain 
 elements in consciousness, are pleasurable, agreeable, 
 or in harmony with our mental nature ; while others 
 are painful, disagreeable, or discordant with our 
 mental nature. We seek the repetition of the former ; 
 we shun or avoid the repetition of the latter. And 
 this seeking or shunning is rendered possible through 
 correlation, which has brought our activities into 
 close touch with our sensory experience. Without 
 such correlation the exercise of the will would, it is 
 evident, be inoperative. As it is, through the cor- 
 relations which have been established, control through 
 the application of the will can be exercised over 
 those particular activities which are immediately 
 concerned in reaching or avoiding pleasant or dis- 
 agreeable results. But here again we must notice 
 that the activities themselves over which control is 
 exercised do not, as a rule, occupy the focus of con- 
 
EXPERIENCE 59 
 
 sciousness at the moment of control ; it is rather the 
 end to be gained, or the result to be avoided, to which 
 we attend. When the child stretches forth his hand 
 to seize the sweet, it is the sweet itself which is in 
 the focus of consciousness ; the means by which it is 
 to be obtained is of merely subconscious value. When 
 the child whose tongue has been burned with porridge 
 holds in check the action of putting the spoon to his 
 mouth, it is the avoidance of scalding his lips that is 
 focal to consciousness. And yet in both these cases 
 the control is really exercised over the motor activities 
 concerned. This does but enforce that which has 
 before been pointed out, namely, that we must deal 
 with states of consciousness as wholes, and not merely 
 pay attention to their focal elements. For we saw 
 that, unless we take into consideration the marginal 
 elements in consciousness, we cannot say why one 
 rather than another of several divergent associations 
 is suggested by such a word as '^ box "when it occurs 
 in a sentence. 
 
 It is, however, undoubtedly a fact that many things 
 which in the first instance require the application of 
 our focal attention, come with practice to be per- 
 formed subconsciously. Take, for example, the case 
 of singing. The child has at first to attend carefully 
 to the vi^ay in which a certain note has to be produced 
 by the voice, and to the changes which are necessary 
 in order to sing the intervals in a simple tune. But 
 after a while the tune can be hummed while the 
 mind is occupied with quite different matters. And 
 yet even here it is the effect of the motor activities 
 on which the attention is fixed rather than on the 
 motor activities themselves. The child hardly knows. 
 
60 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 if he knows at all, that it is on the movements of the 
 larynx that his efforts to control the voice are ex- 
 ercised. Or, take the case of a boy learning to ride 
 a bicycle. It requires, in the early stages of the pro- 
 cess, all his attention to guide the machine and pre- 
 vent a fall ; after a while, however, he can spin 
 along, talking to or listening to his companion, and 
 paying no special attention to the machine, which he 
 is all the while guiding skilfully. But here again it 
 is rather the effects of the movements of his hands 
 and arms than the movements themselves, on which 
 his attention is fixed while he is acquiring the necessary 
 skill. 
 
 The lad talking to his companion as he spins along 
 on his bicycle, affords indeed a good example of cor- 
 relation. The conversation involves the correlation 
 of the field of hearing, within which both his own 
 and his companion's words fall, with that field of motor 
 effort which we may term the field of speech. At 
 the same time, the field of vision and certain data 
 afforded thereby, such as occasional stones on the 
 road, are correlated with the field of muscular effort 
 involved in riding the machine ; and within this 
 latter field there is a constant correlation between 
 the incoming sensory data from legs and arms whose 
 diverse work must co-operate to attain a common 
 end. All this correlation is effected simultaneously, 
 and yet in the midst of it all the boy is not insensible 
 to the view, has a dim sense of a healthy and grow- 
 ing appetite, and perhaps has a lurking notion, some- 
 where at the back of his mind, that instead of en- 
 joying this ride he ought to be working at his 
 verse-task. If all this is not, strictly speaking, simul- 
 
EXPERIENCE 61 
 
 taneously present to consciousness — and much of it 
 does undoubtedly co-exist at the same moment — it is 
 none the less rolling through the mind with a com- 
 plexity which is rendered orderly only through cor- 
 relation. 
 
 In the common phraseology of ordinary conversa- 
 tion, we should perhaps speak of the guiding of the 
 machine under such circumstances as performed 
 automatically. It is clear, however, that such autom- 
 atism is not quite the same as that to which allu- 
 sion has already been made. The automatism we 
 then spoke of was an innate and inherited co-ordi- 
 nation of motor responses, like that which enables a 
 baby to perform the very complex operation of sneez- 
 ing. It is quite certain that we do not inherit an 
 automatic co-ordination of the motor activities in- 
 volved in riding a bicycle. When we speak of the 
 exercise of skill in this matter, or in any such cases, 
 as automatic, we mean that the constant guidance 
 and control which was requisite at first is no longer 
 necessary. Practice has made perfect, and the man- 
 agement of the machine is so much a matter of halit 
 that it can be performed, if not unconsciously, at 
 any rate quite subconsciously. This automatism, 
 which is the result of practice and habitual perform- 
 ance, is called secondary automatism. It is obviously 
 a great advantage for the conduct of our lifers ac- 
 tivities that we should thus be able to establish co- 
 ordinations which are secondarily automatic, the 
 due performance of which may be left with perfect 
 confidence to the margin of our consciousness while 
 our focal attention is otherwise occupied. 
 
 We must not fail to remember, however, that com- 
 
62 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 plex correlations, which are to us so natural that we 
 never trouble our heads about them, are for the 
 little child matters the difficulties of which have not 
 yet been overcome ; and that complex co-ordinations 
 which have, for us, passed so completely into the 
 secondarily automatic class that they may be left for 
 subconsciousness to afford the little guidance that is 
 necessary, still require for the child the practice 
 which will eventually render perfect. Hence, it is of 
 some importance that the teacher of young chil- 
 dren should understand the conditions of mental 
 development, in order that she may so far enter into 
 the nature of the child-mind as to appreciate and make 
 due allowances for difficulties due to its immaturity. 
 *' Put yourself in his place, ^' is a good motto, but it 
 is not easy of application in the education of little 
 children. 
 
 Now, a great deal of early education is concerned 
 with the imparting of skill. And I think it is no 
 exaggeration to say that, so far as this is concerned, 
 an ounce of demonstration is worth many pounds of 
 description. We build here upon the natural faculty 
 of imitation. We must show the child how a skilled 
 action is to be performed, and get him to imitate what 
 we do. Fortunately, children are for the most part 
 very observant and very ready to imitate. It is sur- 
 prising what rapid progress they often make in the 
 acquisition of skill. 
 
 And I think it is difficult to exaggerate the im- 
 portance of a varied training in skill. It is indeed, 
 in my opinion, of primary importance in the early 
 stages of education and for some time onwards. 
 Nor should it at any time during the preparatory 
 
EXPERIENCE 63 
 
 years of life be neglected. Involving as it does the 
 constant correlation of the data of sense, and the nice 
 co-ordination of motor activities ; essentially prac- 
 tical and in close touch with real things ; fostering 
 habits alike of close observation and of accuracy of 
 performance ; based upon an elementary exercise of 
 the will in the guidance of action ; necessitating the 
 steady application of means to a definite end in view ; 
 lending itself admirably to an elementary apprecia- 
 tion of beauty, and fostering a desire for its attain- 
 ment ; — on all these grounds the kindergarten should 
 form a prominent feature in our educational system. 
 For the training of the finger muscles, Slojd, draw-* 
 ing, and the playing of a musical instrument — best 
 of all, if there is a good ear for music, the violin — 
 are admirable. The wider and more varied the train- 
 ing the better ; for our object is to give to the fingers 
 a skill which may eventually be applied to anything, 
 from tying a knot or a white tie or sewing on a but- 
 ton, to the most delicate touches of art on the one 
 hand to the equally delicate touches of scientific 
 manipulation on the other. Whenever I find a student 
 who displays unusual delicacy of dissection in com- 
 parative anatomy, I inquire how he or she has trained 
 the finger muscles so as to have them so well under 
 control. Often I receive for answer, that they have 
 not been specially trained in any way. But, on 
 further inquiry, I nearly always get such answers as, 
 ''Oh yes, Fm fond of drawing — just sketching 
 things that strike me, without any knowledge of the 
 subject" ; or, ''Well, Fve always been rather given 
 to carving boats, and the knobs of sticks, and odd 
 things, but I never learned to do so." No doubt 
 
64 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 such answers indicate a natural gift which has found 
 expression in these ways ; no doubt there may be 
 some whose fingers are by nature '' all thumbs'^ ; but 
 I believe, if these ^' thumbs " are only trained at a 
 sufficiently early and plastic stage of development, 
 they will, in nine cases out of ten, turn out to be 
 very respectable fingers. 
 
 Nor must we despise the value of this delicacy of 
 skill in its application to much that is highest in 
 human endeavor. In many departments both of art 
 and science, skill is essential as the medium of ex- 
 pression of that which takes form in the mind of the 
 artist or man of science. In painting, technique may 
 be inferior in worth to inspiration ; but of what value 
 to mankind is the inspiration of the painter if his 
 skill in technique is inadequate to embody his ideal ? 
 What do we not owe to the marvellous interpretative 
 skill of such a pianist as Paderewski ? How much 
 of the value of anatomy and surgery to man would 
 remain if we failed to include the marvellous skill in 
 their application which characterizes a great opera- 
 tor ? Of physical science it is scarcely too much to 
 say that it owes its present position to the application 
 of skill, to the making of delicate apparatus, and the 
 execution of experiments of extreme nicety. Skill 
 in the manufacture and skill in the use of the mi- 
 croscope have done much to make biology what it 
 now is. In a word, skill is the faithful and un- 
 wearied handmaiden which ministers both to science 
 and to art. 
 
 For the training of the larger, coarser body mus- 
 cles, Swedish drill, the gymnasium, dancing, and 
 games are of the utmost value. What our national 
 
EXPERIENCE 65 
 
 games have done for the English race it is difficult 
 to overestimate. They train us to use our bodies in 
 the most efficient manner, and to expend our energies 
 to the best advantage. It is impossible to watch the 
 organized games, musical drill, and other exercises of 
 the kindergarten, without being impressed with the 
 value of the training in what may be termed social 
 co-ordination. An old soldier standing by my side 
 on such an occasion said to me, " That's the training 
 for our future soldiers and sailors. '^ A good foot- 
 ball team, a good eleven, a good eight, work together 
 for a common aim, and learn to combine their skill 
 with due co-ordination and due subordination. The 
 playing-fields are the finest school of organized co- 
 operation in the world. 
 
 In all these matters of skill what is learnt is es- 
 sentially real and practical. They depend on direct 
 experience ; second-hand information is of little or 
 no value. We have here a form of education which 
 is in close touch with the realities of that with which 
 it deals. I have heard intellectual people speak of it 
 as '' mere physical training." But I am anxious that 
 it should be quite clearly understood that this '* mere 
 physical training" involves a training in mental 
 qualities which are, whatever may be the position 
 assigned to them in the mental hierarchy, of an emi- 
 nently serviceable character. Quickness and sure- 
 ness of eye, swiftness and accuracy of response, are 
 qualities which are mental as well as physical, and 
 which enable a man to deal successfully with many 
 of the practical difficulties of life ; while the habit of 
 working with his companions for a common object, 
 and contending with others in friendly contest, gives 
 5 
 
66 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 him a practical knowledge of character and a power 
 of dealing with his fellow-men which are invalu- 
 able. 
 
 Let me now say a few words in brief summary of 
 what we have so far learnt. We have grasped, I trust, 
 that a state of consciousness, regarded as a whole, is 
 by no means simple, but is made up of a number of 
 psychical elements which co-exist together and are 
 of various degrees of intensity. These elements are 
 either presentative, that is to say, directly due to 
 stimuli from without or from parts of our bodies, or 
 re-presentative, that is to say, reproductions of the 
 presentative elements. The most prominent or focal 
 of these elements are what we termed impressions 
 when they are presentative, and ideas when they are 
 re-presentative. Ideas are suggested to the mind in 
 virtue of association by contiguity, or through re- 
 semblance and similarity. But in any case the im- 
 pression, or the idea, which is in the focus of conscious- 
 ness, does not stand alone. It is set in a background 
 of marginal elements of both the presentative and 
 the re-presentative order. Only by neglecting this 
 background, for the purposes of our study, can we 
 consider impressions or ideas by themselves. For the 
 purposes of our study, that is to say, we isolate the 
 impressions and ideas, and distinguish them from 
 their natural margin. But in practical experience 
 the margin is always exercising a subtle but none 
 the less important influence on the focus. Hence 
 the actual sequence of our ideas is in part due to 
 suggestion through association or similarity, and in 
 part due to the influence of the margin. In other 
 
EXPERIENCE 67 
 
 words, the idea which is focal in any state of con- 
 sciousness is a product of the preceding state of con- 
 sciousness as a whole, focus and margin contributing 
 to the effect. 
 
 As a great number of sensory data are constantly 
 pouring in upon the mind, partly from the special 
 senses, partly from the organs of our bodies which 
 are concerned in motor activity, it is necessary that 
 they should be brought into relation to each other 
 and duly marshalled and organized. This is the 
 work of practical experience, and is termed correla- 
 tion. It affects the whole field of consciousness, and 
 is largely a matter which concerns the marginal re- 
 gion. It is, however, also, in an important degree, 
 a bringing of the focus and the margin into due 
 relation to each other, so that this subconscious mar- 
 gin becomes subordinate and ministrant to the more 
 imperious affairs of the focus. 
 
 If, instead of considering the development from 
 the point of view of experience and the correlation 
 of sensory data, we regard it from the standpoint of 
 the organization and perfecting of the bodily activi- 
 ties, we speak of co-ordination. We come into the 
 world with bodies the organs of which are already 
 automatically performing co-ordinated activities (as 
 in the case of the heart and breathing apparatus), or 
 are ready to perform them automatically on the ap- 
 plication of the appropriate stimulus (sneezing, suck- 
 ing). It is part of the business of development to 
 bring the activities under fuller and fuller guidance 
 and control, thus organizing in the light of expe- 
 rience the raw materials of co-ordination which we 
 inherit. But when the guidance is constantly and 
 
68 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 steadily exercised in certain directions, habits of 
 action are established ; fully conscious guidance may 
 then be withdrawn, and the activities left to subcon- 
 scious guidance in the margin of consciousness. The 
 activities become secondarily automatic. 
 
 A very important part of our education is, as we 
 have seen, concerned with the correlation of sensory 
 data and the co-ordination of motor activities. We 
 may call this education in the matter of ^practical 
 experience. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 PERCEPTION 
 
 The process of correlation considered in the last 
 chapter involves the bringing into relation, for the 
 practical purposes of daily life, of the diverse data 
 afforded by the several special senses, together with 
 those afforded by the organs which are concerned in 
 bodily movement and activity. Now this process, 
 though it is certainly accompanied by consciousness, 
 is not a voluntary one. It is not one performed with 
 the end and object of correlation consciously in view. 
 The relations, as such, do not come into focus at all. 
 We utilize the correlations, but we do not attend to 
 them. The correlations themselves would seem in- 
 deed so be throughout subconscious, our attention 
 being fixed on their effects or their net results. In 
 illustration of this, I would again adduce the case of 
 the control of the voice in singing. For the attain- 
 ment of this end, certain auditory data have to be 
 correlated with the data afforded by the larynx and 
 the parts of the mouth. And yet few of us are aware 
 while some might even deny, that such correlations 
 are necessary. So too, in pronouncing our commonest 
 words. Probably not many of my readers could state, 
 without first making special observations directed to 
 
 69 
 
70 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 that end, the co-ordinations which are necessary for 
 the pronunciation of the words '' fall out." Try to 
 do so yourself. This will lead you to pay attention 
 to them, to note the movements of the mouth organs, 
 the modifications of respirations. All of these have 
 to be nicely adjusted through the correlation of the 
 sensory data from the various organs concerned. 
 When we are learning to speak or to sing, we proceed 
 on the method of imitation, of trial and error. A 
 particular sound has to be produced. We try, and 
 fail ; try again, and are less unsuccessful ; try yet 
 again, and at length succeed. The nature of the 
 correlations involved in attaining this success does 
 not enter the field of focal and distinct consciousness. 
 We are concerned with the effects produced, not 
 with the means of producing them. 
 
 To do a thing, and to know how you do it, are two 
 very different things. Ask a boy how he manages 
 that clever back-stroke at lawn-tennis. He cannot 
 tell you ; he does not know. He has no idea how he 
 learned to do it. He supposes it is practice. But he 
 will show you how he does it with much pride and 
 pleasure. The feat of skill requires a wonderfully 
 nice and accurate co-ordination of activities, involv- 
 ing I know not how many muscles in various parts 
 of the body : the sensations which accompany this 
 co-ordination are correlated, and afford the data re- 
 quisite for the maintenance of control over the activ- 
 ities in question. But what the co-ordinations are, 
 the boy does not know, and probably does not care. 
 They have been established subconsciously and are 
 utilized subconsciously ; and knowledge is a matter 
 not of subconscious effects, but of that which is focal 
 
PERCEPTION 71 
 
 and definite to consciousness. It may perhaps be 
 said that the correlations requisite for the perform- 
 ance of a feat of skill are not subconscious, but are 
 unconscious ; that the whole matter is one of mere 
 bodily mechanism, and not psychological at all. Two 
 replies may be given to such an assertion : a general 
 reply and a special reply. The general reply is, that 
 in so far as the skilled activity is a feat performed 
 under guidance and control, the requisite data for 
 such guidance must have been present to conscious- 
 ness. It can hardly be maintained that the boy who 
 makes the clever backhand stroke at lawn-tennis is a 
 mere automaton ; his feat is the result of experience 
 gained by frequent practice ; and unconscious expe- 
 rience is a contradiction in terms. The special reply 
 is that, if you attend to the matter, you will be 
 able to a large extent to make the subconscious cor- 
 relations focal to consciousness. Then you will be 
 able not only to perform the feat of skill, but to 
 know, and to some extent to describe, how you do 
 it. 
 
 When, in this way, we pay special attention to the 
 details of the way which our minds act, we are ex- 
 ercising introspectio7i. Introspection is looking 
 within at the workings of our own consciousness. It 
 is absolutely necessary in psychology. I would beg 
 my readers to exercise themselves in the art of in- 
 trospection, and to observe narrowly the sensory data 
 that accompany the performance of skilled activities. 
 It may not be easy at first. Xot improbably it is a 
 new field of observation and investigation. But it is 
 an interesting field, and for the teacher one that is 
 worthy of thorough and careful survey. And for- 
 
72 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 tunately it is one that is always close at hand. The 
 Btudent of other branches of scientific investigation 
 has to seek and collect the materials for his study. 
 The psychologist carries with him his material wher- 
 ever he goes. 
 
 Such introspection soon makes us acquainted with 
 the distinction between the subjective and the object- 
 ive aspect of experience. The distinction is rather a 
 difficult one to grasp quite clearly and distinctly ; but 
 it is worth while to take some trouble to make one- 
 self familiar with these two ways of dealing with states 
 of consciousness. And here let me say that in no 
 study is it more essential to check by a direct appeal 
 to your own experience all the statements which you 
 are asked to accept, than it is in psychology. You 
 have always your own experience at hand for purposes 
 of thus checking what is asserted. But remember 
 that, if you are unable to indorse the statement, this 
 may be due, either to the fact that the statement is 
 erroneous, or to the fact that you are still inexpe- 
 rienced in introspection. In either case put some 
 mark opposite the statement, and endeavor again 
 and again to check it by an appeal to your own ex- 
 perience. Do not accept it unless self-observation 
 convinces you of its truth ; but do not reject it 
 until you are quite sure that your own experience 
 not only does not support it, but actually contra- 
 dicts it. 
 
 Let us now try and get at the meaning of these 
 terms, objective and suljective. Looking up from my 
 page, I see, against the blue background of the sum- 
 mer sky, the swifts wheeling in their flight. That is 
 a bit of practical experience. In its objective aspect 
 
PERCEPTION 73 
 
 there are the birds at a certain distance from me, 
 moving across the sky. No doubt it is I who am 
 observing them ; but I take that fact for granted. 
 And it is with this objective aspect that we are usu- 
 ally concerned in the ordinary course of our daily 
 life. But now let us turn to the other or subjective 
 aspect. I, the observer, am experiencing certain 
 sensations, which somehow combine together to give 
 rise to what I describe as a swift in motion out there 
 in the sky. If I consider the bird in its flight, I am 
 considering the objective aspect ; if I consider my 
 own impressions and states of consciousness, I am con. 
 sidering the subjective aspect. It requires no intro- 
 spection to see the swifts wheeling in the summer 
 sky, but I have to look within to get at the subjective 
 aspect of the experience. 
 
 Note that what we have done here is to analyze the 
 bit of practical experience. The subjective and the 
 objective are the different aspects of the same piece 
 of experience ; and it is only in analysis that we dis- 
 tinguish the one from the other. The little child 
 and the farmer's lad do not trouble themselves about 
 the analysis, and probably know nothing of object 
 and subject. And yet the words they use when they 
 say, " I see a swift,'' imply the analysis into the sub- 
 ject '^I"and the object '^ swift." But they also 
 imply that both are co-operating at the moment of 
 experience. If the swift were not there, I should not 
 see it ; nor should I see it if I were not there. The 
 swift and I, object and subject, must conspire to give 
 rise to the bit of experience. What we habitually do 
 is to pay attention to the objective aspect and take 
 the subjective aspect for granted. It is the aim of 
 
74 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 psychology, however, to direct special attention to 
 the subjective aspect and to learn all that we can 
 about it. 
 
 Two remarks may here be made before we pass on. 
 First, Distinguish carefully between the subject as 
 used in psychology, and the subject as used in parsing 
 and the analysis of sentences. The siihject in psy- 
 chology is that tuhich experiences : the object is that 
 which is experienced. Secondly, Extend your idea of 
 the object from the swift, which has been taken as a 
 particular example, to anything which may be ex- 
 perienced. The swift is an object of sight, my pen 
 an object of touch, the movement of my fingers an 
 object of motor sensation, and a vast number of 
 things objects of sense-experience. But a difficult 
 problem may be an object of thought, virtue an object 
 of desire, my father an object of reverence ; and in 
 like manner we may have objects of all the modes 
 and varieties of human experience. Hitherto we have 
 chiefly dealt with sense-experience ; but we shall have 
 to learn that experience includes far more than the 
 domain of sense. 
 
 We will now proceed to consider certain objects of 
 perception. First, we must inquire what is percep- 
 tion. What do we mean by perceiving ? What is 
 it that we perceive ? The word ^^ perceive " is often 
 used in ordinary conversation in several somewhat 
 different senses. In psychology it is employed as a 
 technical term — that is to say, as a term that is used 
 with a special meaning. But, unfortunately, all psy- 
 chologists do not employ it in quite the same sense. 
 I shall use it for that mode of experience by which 
 we become acquainted with relations. We perceive 
 
PERCEPTION 75 
 
 relations ; or, otherwise put, relations are the objects 
 of perception. 
 
 What, then, are relations ? I see yonder swift in 
 the sky ; and I perceive its distance from the gronnd. 
 I see, too, a martin ; and perceive that it is a smaller 
 bird than the swift. In these sentences it should be 
 noted that I am using the word ^' to see " in a general 
 and not in a technical sense ; and in this sense it is 
 not necessarily antithetical to perception. What per- 
 ception does, indeed, is to single out a particular 
 element in the act of seeing. We may see the bird 
 set in a background of many relations ; perception 
 singles out one of these and focusses it definitely. 
 Again, I taste a couple of strawberries ; and I per- 
 ceive that the one is sweeter than the other. I hear 
 two notes struck on the piano ; and I perceive that 
 the interval between them is a major third, I see a 
 butterfly ; and perceive that it has lost a portion of 
 one wing. Observe that in all these cases we have 
 two impressions, or an impression and an idea ; and 
 what is perceived is the relation of one to the other : 
 of the swift to the martin ; of the one strawberry to 
 the other ; of the one note to that which preceded it ; 
 of the maimed butterfly to the generic idea of the 
 perfect insect. Observe, too, that what we focus our 
 attention on in the act of perception is not the related 
 impressions, but the relation which they bear to each 
 other. We focus our attention first on the swift, next 
 on the martin, and then on the size-relation of the 
 one to the other ; first on the one note, next on the 
 other note, and then on their relation in the musical 
 scale. 
 
 In speaking of the relative sizes of two birds, the 
 
76 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 relative sweetness of two strawberries, and the rela- 
 tive pitch of two notes, I have been drawing your 
 attention to the objective aspect of the act of per- 
 ceiving. The relative size, the relative sweetness, 
 the relative pitch, are the objects of perception. 
 And what about the subjective aspect ? What do 
 we learn about the matter by introspection ? Let 
 us take the case of perceiving the interval between 
 two musical notes. When we hear the first note we 
 experience an auditory impression ; when we hear 
 the second note we experience another auditory im- 
 pression ; but what do we actually experience when 
 we perceive the relation of pitch between the two 
 notes ? We experience a transition of consciousness 
 from one to the other. This transition in con- 
 sciousness is the subjective aspect of that which in its 
 objective aspect we call a relation. Two pieces of 
 metal lie before us : we wish to perceive their relative 
 weights. We poise first one of them in the hand 
 and experience a particular impression ; next, the 
 other of them in the same way and experience another 
 impression : we then say that the second is objectively 
 heavier, and introspection tells us that the transition 
 in consciousness was from a lesser impression to a 
 greater. But so habitually do we attend to the 
 objective aspect of our experience, that few people 
 know anything about the subjective aspect. 
 
 To become acquainted with the subjective aspect of 
 the act of perception requires introspection, or look- 
 ing within at the workings of our own consciousness. 
 But both in the objective and in the subjective aspect, 
 retrospection, or looking back on our experience, is 
 required. To perceive the interval between two notes. 
 
PERCEPTION 77 
 
 we must hear first the one, next the other, and then 
 perceive what the interval between them was. We 
 must look back upon our experience. Such looking 
 back is a very simple case of reflectio7i. And without 
 this very elementary and simple exercise of reflection, 
 the perception of relations is impossible. So, too, 
 subjectively. If in its subjective aspect the relation 
 is experienced as a transition in consciousness, it is 
 quite clear that the transition must be completed 
 before it can be an object of introspection. Con- 
 sciousness has, so to speak, made a little journey from 
 one impression to another ; and it is only on reach- 
 ing our destination that we can say anything about 
 the journey as a whole. Then we can look back 
 upon it and make it an object of reflection. 
 
 I have spoken of the transition in consciousness as 
 the subjective aspect of the relation ; and yet, just 
 now, I said that the transition must be completed 
 before it can be an object of introspection. Is there 
 not some confusion here ? First, I call the transition 
 the subjective aspect of the relation, and then I speak 
 of it as an object of introspection. It is puzzling, no 
 doubt ; but the puzzle is inevitable. The only way 
 to remove the difficulty is clearly to understand its 
 nature. Everything that we know must, in becom- 
 ing known to us, be an object of knowledge. If, 
 then, we are to know anything concerning the sub- 
 jective aspect of our conscious experience, it must be 
 made an object of knowledge. The subjective aspect 
 of one moment's experience must be made the object 
 of a succeeding moment's introspective experience. 
 Introspection always deals with past experience. It 
 may be the experience of only a moment ago ; but 
 
78 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 still it is the experience not of the ** now/^ but of the 
 '^just now." One may illustrate this by a rough 
 analogy. We can never see what is behind us ; no 
 matter how quickly we turn round, we only see what 
 was behind us a moment ago, before we turned. So 
 we can never know — that is to say, we can never 
 make the object of knowledge — what is the subjective 
 aspect of our experience ; we can only know, through 
 reflection, what was the subjective aspect before we 
 reflectively turned round to examine it. Intro- 
 spection is thus always retrospection ; or, in other 
 words, introspection is always reflective. 
 
 Remember that in the ordinary course of our daily 
 experience we do not trouble about analyzing it into 
 an objective aspect and a subjective aspect. From 
 morning to night we may have a series of states of 
 consciousness in accordance with which our actions 
 are guided ; and we may never think of analyzing 
 any one item of the experience. The little child not 
 only does not, but probably could not, analyze. We 
 have spoken of this simple, naive, unanalyzed phase 
 of conscious existence as sense-experience. It has also 
 been termed consentience. In such sense-experience 
 there is neither subject nor object ; these two aspects 
 of the experience are not yet distinguished in analysis. 
 There need not be, and probably in the case of the 
 little child there is not, any perception, in the sense 
 in which we are using this word. The relations as 
 such may never be focussed by the child through an 
 act of perception. For it is quite sufficient for prac- 
 tical purposes in the life of sense-experience that the 
 relations (not yet definitely perceived as such, or 
 rendered focal to consciousness) should be subcon- 
 
PERCEPTION 79 
 
 sciously sensed. We are subconscionsly aware of, or 
 sense (if we may, as before suggested, use this word 
 as a verb), the movements of our eyes and our limbs, 
 and are practically guided by the sensations in our 
 actions, without turning the focus of consciousness 
 upon them. We experience our states of conscious- 
 ness as wholes long before we analyze them and per- 
 ceive the relations of their constituent elements or 
 factors to each other. Sense-experience thus supplies 
 us with a large body of raw material upon which to 
 exercise the higher faculties of the mind. 
 
 We will now follow up the subject of perception 
 a little farther. What we perceive, in the first in- 
 stance, is the relation between impressions. And, to 
 begin with, we deal with qualitative relations between 
 impressions of the same order. We teach the child, 
 for example, to perceive the relations between colors 
 — the relation of blue to green, of green to yellow, of 
 yellow to red, of red to purple, of purple to violet, of 
 violet to blue. The transition in consciousness from 
 red to blue is quite different from the transition from 
 blue to green. Associations are all the while being 
 formed between the visual impressions and the names 
 by which we symbolize them. Again, we help the 
 child to perceive the relations between different 
 sounds — the sounds of nature, the tones and inflec- 
 tions of the voice, the consonantal and vowel sounds 
 employed in language, the different notes in music, 
 and the differences in timbre in different musical in- 
 struments. Here, too, a great deal of incidental as- 
 sociation is introduced, for since sound is so important 
 a medium of intercommunication, and since so much 
 depends on tone and inflection of the voice, the per- 
 
80 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 ception of relation among sounds naturally goes hand 
 in hand with, first the establishment of, and then 
 the perception of, the suggestive relation through 
 association. 
 
 We thus lead the child to perceive the relations 
 between impressions of the same order — sights, for 
 example, among each other, and sounds among each 
 other. Gradually there comes the perception of the 
 two fundamental relations of similarity and dissimi- 
 larity. Two blues, two reds, two voice-sounds, two 
 musical notes, are similar to each other ; red and blue, 
 voice-sound and violin-sound, are dissimilar to each 
 other. And gradually, too, there comes the percep- 
 tion of similarity with difference. Two violin-sounds 
 or two voice-sounds are similar in quality but different 
 in pitch ; or the voice-sound and the violin-sound 
 may be similar in pitch but different in quality ; or, 
 yet more generally, the impressions produced by voice 
 and violin are similar in being auditory impressions, 
 and altogether different in character from those im- 
 pressions which we term visual, olfactory, or motor. 
 Thus the foundations of grouping or classification are 
 laid, and the power of perceiving similarity and dif- 
 ference is quickened. 
 
 So far we have been considering qualitative differ- 
 ences, and these fall under two heads — first, the more 
 general and broader differences between impressions 
 of different groups, auditory, olfactory, motor, and 
 so forth ; the complete difference, for example, be- 
 tween the scent of a violet, the sound of a piano-note, 
 and the sight of a green field : and secondly, the more 
 special differences between impressions within the 
 same group ; the difference, for example, between the 
 
PERCEPTION 81 
 
 scenfc of a violet and that of a rose, or between the 
 fresh spring green of the larch and the mature green 
 of the cedar, or again, between the bark of a dog and 
 the bleat of a lamb. All these are sensed as different 
 in the naive life of sense-experience. They are only 
 perceived to be different when attention is specially 
 drawn to the differences as such ; when the relations 
 are rendered focal to consciousness. 
 
 We may now pass on to consider quantitative re- 
 lations. And here a more accurate and exact train- 
 ing in the perception of relations is possible. Such 
 training ought, I think, to have a more distinct and 
 definite place in our system of elementary educa- 
 tion. 
 
 The first stage in the perception of quantitative and 
 numerical relations is that in which the quantity or 
 number, as the case may be, is indefinite. One line 
 may be perceived to be longer or shorter than another 
 without a definite perception of the exact quantita- 
 tive relation. So, too, one body may be perceived to 
 be heavier or lighter than another ; one strawberry 
 more or less sweet than another ; one note louder or 
 softer than another ; one tint darker or lighter than 
 another ; and so forth. These arc continuous quan- 
 tities not naturally broken up into separate units. 
 Again, one group of objects may be seen to be more 
 numerous or less numerous than another without the 
 exact numerical relation being perceived ; one tree 
 may have more blossoms than another ; a series of 
 notes, of rhythmical movements, of touches, or of 
 other impressions, may be many or few. We may 
 perceive the numerical relations as simply more or 
 less ; not as how many more or less. 
 
82 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 The how much more or less involves the perception 
 of definite quantitative or numerical relations. And 
 this is impossible until numerical ideas, those for 
 twice, thrice, four times, etc., and the words or other 
 signs by which we symbolize them, have been grasped. 
 The child has to associate the following : — 
 
 12 8 4 5 
 
 one two three four five 
 
 And he has further to learn that the grouping of the 
 objects so numbered, and called one, two, three, etc., 
 is immaterial. Take, for example, the following 
 arrangement of five dots : — 
 
 The child has to learn that all these groupings are 
 numerically equivalent — that is to say, that these are 
 similar numerically, though different in arrangement 
 or grouping. As a child I associated five with the 
 
 arrangement • and I remember being puzzled when 
 
 the same word was applied to a different grouping. 
 Even how I tend to visualize a group of five objects 
 arranged in this manner. As a child, too, I had some 
 difficulty from the fact that the same terms are ap- 
 plied to numbers and to qualities. That the relation 
 
 of • to • is the numerical equivalent of the 
 
 quantitative relation of to ; 
 
 and that the phrase ''one to five" expresses both, is 
 not by any means obvious to the child-mind ; or cer- 
 tainly was not to mine. This may be overcome by 
 
PERCEPTION 83 
 
 drawing a series of lines representing the relations of 
 continuous quantities, thus : — 
 
 . 1 
 
 .. 2 
 
 ... 3 
 
 .... 4 
 
 5 
 
 The child may be trained in the perception of con- 
 tinuous quantitative relations by means of bits of 
 wood or strips of paper of different lengths. He 
 should also be taught by constant practice to draw 
 lines exhibiting the simple quantitative relations of 
 length. He will thus be correlating visual relations 
 with motor relations ; or rather, speaking more accu- 
 rately, he will be correlating visual relations associated 
 with motor relations as given in eye-movements, and 
 motor relations as given in finger or hand movements. 
 One great merit of Slojd is that it gives a training in 
 the perception of continuous quantitative relations. 
 And it is worth noting that by far the most accurate 
 perception of the relations of continuous quantities 
 are by means of eye-movements in correlation with 
 visual impressions. This is probably due in part to 
 the fact that the transitions in consciousness, for 
 example, from the impression of one end of a line to 
 that of the other end, are accompanied by the pre- 
 sentative sensory data of eye-movements ; and in part 
 to the fact that, owing to the constant use of our eyes 
 from morning to night, we have so much practice in 
 the employment of this special mode of perception. 
 In any case, as we shall see (p. 177), a good deal of 
 use is made of the fact. 
 For much the same reason, the direct perception of 
 
84 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 the quantitative value of angles is one that is of re- 
 markable accuracy ; for we are constantly looking out 
 at the world around us along radii of a circle of 
 which we form the centre, and radii which are in- 
 clined to each other at definite angles. Both for its 
 own sake as affording a training in the accurate per- 
 ception of relations, and from its great range and 
 importance in physical science, the child can hardly 
 be too soon, and cannot be too exactly, trained in the 
 perception of angular values. Such training should 
 of course be accompanied by practice in the drawing 
 of angles and in the correlations this involves. We 
 have, too, here a means of bringing out that which 
 
 is of so great importance in the acquisition of exact 
 knowledge, the due perception of similarity with 
 difference. The angular distance of a h, and of m n, 
 in relation to the centre c, on radii from which they 
 are placed, is the same ; but the direct distance from 
 atoh h only half that from m to n ] while the dis- 
 tance of c to a is greater than that from c to h, and 
 that of c to m greater than that from c to n. When 
 we remember that in astronomy our direct measure- 
 ments are those of angular distance, and that the 
 bodies so observed are at different distances from us 
 the observers ; when we remember, too, that the 
 
PERCEPTION 85 
 
 positions of places on our geographical maps are given 
 in terms of angular distance — that is, in degrees, 
 minutes, etc. — it will be clear that the training in 
 such perceptions of angular relations will be of great 
 service to the child as he proceeds with his studies. 
 There are a great number of people of average educa- 
 tion and intelligence who could not tell you why we 
 speak of ^' degrees'^ of latitude and longitude, and 
 for whom the phrase ''angular value" has little or 
 no meaning. And this is in large measure due 
 to the fact that their powers of perception have 
 never been exercised in relations of angular magni- 
 tude. 
 
 The direct perception of relations of area or super- 
 ficial extent is a good deal more difficult than that of 
 relations of linear length. Nor is this to be wondered 
 at, since it involves, at any rate in its more exact 
 application, two dimensions in space. Not that the 
 child need in the first instance analyze the areas 
 the size of which he is comparing into linear relations 
 in two directions. At first he directly perceives, 
 without analysis, that one area is larger than the 
 other, and then roughly how much larger. But it 
 will be found that the more nice and exact perception 
 of the relative sizes of different areas involves the 
 more or less conscious analysis of the area in its two 
 dimensional directions, and the synthetic combination 
 of the two perceptions in the final perception. This 
 therefore serves as an example of what we may term 
 compound per ceptio7i, the final result of which is due 
 to the synthesis of simple perceptions. An example 
 of the same kind of thing carried a stage farther, is 
 seen in the quantitative perception of cubical volumes. 
 
86 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 Here, for the purposes of exact comparison, linear 
 perceptions in three dimensions have to be combined 
 in the final result. 
 
 The perception of quantitative relations of weight, 
 of pressure, of depth of tint in color, of amount of 
 salinity, acidity, or sweetness in taste, are less accurate 
 than those of linear length, probably, as before noted, 
 in part at least, from the fact that the transitions in 
 consciousness are in these cases not accompanied by 
 continuous motor sensations. Still, even in these 
 cases, practice improves to a surprising degree the 
 accuracy of perception. The artist can perceive re- 
 lations of intensity and purity of color in a way in 
 which no one without his special training could hope 
 to do. The tea-taster and the wine-taster acquire 
 an accuracy of perception which to one who is un- 
 trained appears to be the result of an unusual natu- 
 ral gift ; while a man who has been trained in such 
 work detects differences in the scent of different 
 samples of raw tobacco-leaf which to ordinary per- 
 ception would pass unnoticed. 
 
 The direct perception of time-relations is seldom 
 made a matter of practical observation, except to 
 some extent in music. It is not difficult, however, to 
 perceive the equality or inequality of a series of time- 
 intervals, unless they are too long. If a series of 
 taps about a second or so apart be made, one can 
 readily perceive whether they are equidistant in time, 
 or whether the intervals are too short or too long. 
 Nor is it difficult to say whether, when one short in- 
 terval has been given, another, similarly given, is 
 twice, thrice, or four times that interval. In these 
 cases we tend to fill in the gap with so many similar 
 
PERCEPTION 87 
 
 intervals — two, three, four, and so on, as the case 
 may be. When a series of similar intervals are pre- 
 sentatively given, it is surprising with what accuracy 
 extensive groups of them can be perceived without 
 counting. Listen, for example, to the ticking of a 
 clock or your watch. The sounds may readily be 
 made, without actual counting, to fall into a rhythm. 
 If, for example, I listen to the ticking of my watch, 
 the sounds tend to fall into a six-rhythm or an eight- 
 rhythm. The first of every six or of every eight is, 
 so to speak, emphasized. This emphasis is inde- 
 pendent of actual counting. When the rhythm has 
 been established, one may, without much difficulty, 
 group the emphatic sounds into a wider rhythm of 
 their own, and thus, through the double rhythm, 
 perceive time-intervals of many seconds. 
 
 You will probably find that, if you experiment in 
 this way with your watch, when a six, eight, or other 
 rhythm has been established, you have timed your 
 breathing to the rhythm — a pretty example of sub- 
 conscious correlation. Of course, by counting the 
 sounds, or more readily by counting the rhythmic 
 sets of sounds, we can accurately measure intervals of 
 almost any desired length ; but here we are going 
 beyond direct perception. 
 
 Note that we are in such cases dealing with com- 
 pound perception ; we are combining the perception 
 of time-relations with the perception of numerical 
 relations. Omitting now this numerical element 
 in the perception of time-intervals, dealing, that 
 is to say, with the intervals as such, and not with 
 the summation of a number of similar intervals, 
 we may inquire what is the psychological nature of 
 
88 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 the time-relation. It would seem to be primarily the 
 amount of sense-fading which an impression has un- 
 dergone. An impression, whether of hearing or sight 
 or touch, does not disappear from consciousness 
 suddenly, but fades gradually. It does last, indeed, 
 for a little while without any sensible fading. A 
 visual impression, no matter how instantaneous the 
 physical cause thereof may be — as in the case, for 
 example, of the electric spark — dwells in conscious- 
 ness about ^V of a second without sensible fading. If, 
 therefore, sparks follow each other more rapidly than 
 twenty-five to the second they appear continuous to 
 the eye, though by the ear, in which the sense-fading 
 is much more rapid, they are heard to be discontinu- 
 ous as a series of distinct snaps. Hence the blurred 
 appearance presented by the spokes of the wheels 
 when a gig is in rapid motion. The photograph sees 
 (if one may so describe its action) very much more 
 instantaneously than the eye. Hence instantaneous 
 photographs of animals in motion look unnatural ; 
 the photograph sees them and fixes them in a way 
 that no human eye can ever see them. 
 
 There is thus a short period in which there is little 
 or no sensible fading. Beyond this period the im- 
 pression lingers in consciousness, and fades away 
 gradually. In directly perceiving time-relations we 
 are perceiving the amount of this fading. Natural 
 bodily rhythms, like that of respiration, or that of 
 walking — into which this element of fading also 
 largely enters — are of considerable assistance to us, 
 through correlation, in perceiving the quantitative 
 value of time-relations. 
 
 There is one more point to notice about the per- 
 
PERCEPTION 89 
 
 ception of time-relations. It is that for purposes 
 both of science and of daily practical life we translate 
 them, so to speak, into space-relations in order that 
 we may perceive their exact value. We look at the 
 clock, and perceive that the minute-hand has passed 
 over an angular distance of 60°, and at once say that 
 ten minutes have elapsed. In the sundial we estimate 
 time by the space over which the shadow has passed. 
 King Alfred perceived time-intervals through the 
 intervention of space-intervals when he noticed how 
 much of his candle had been burned away. The 
 savage perceives the position of the sun in the heavens 
 and thus notes the passage of time. 
 
 Attention must now be drawn to the fact that the 
 relations which ive perceive are in all cases particular 
 relations, though it does not by any means follow 
 that the related terms should both be particular. 
 The particularity lies in the relation, not in the terms 
 that are related, one or other of which may be, as 
 we shall hereafter see, the product of generalization. 
 We perceive the length-relation between this line and 
 that line, the size-relation between this area and 
 that area, the relation of pitch between this note and 
 that note, or, if we have good auditory memories, 
 between this note and our auditory idea of the tenor 
 A, the relation of color between this tint and that 
 tint, or perhaps between our visual idea of the full 
 red of the spectrum and the red of last night^s sun- 
 set. Where we are actually perceiving the relation 
 between two presentative impressions — the relation, 
 for example, of the taste of this nectarine and that 
 peach — we may, as before suggested, speak of it as 
 presentative, and call it an '^^ impression of relation " ; 
 
90 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 the " idea of relation " is then the re-presentation of 
 a relation that has been perceived. But when we 
 perceive the relation between two sense-ideas, as in 
 the case of the red of the spectrum and that of last 
 night's sunset, the relation is presentative though the 
 ideas between which the relation is perceived are re- 
 presentative. 
 
 It will be noticed that perception makes new use 
 of the old materials of sense-experience. In sense- 
 experience all the data for at any rate the simpler 
 objects of perception are already given ; but they 
 are given in subconscious awareness, not in fully 
 conscious focal perception. The impressions are 
 given in the clear definiteness of focal consciousness ; 
 the transitions between them are also given, but only 
 in the half-light of subconsciousness. Attention has 
 never been reflectively focussed upon them. When 
 the clear illumination of attention is reflectively 
 thrown upon them they become objects of percep- 
 tion. That is what is meant by saying that percep- 
 tion makes new use of the old materials of sense- 
 experience. If one may so put it, the head and tail of 
 the surrounding world is given in sense-experience ; 
 but it needs perception to see the relation of head 
 to tail in that experience. 
 
 Perception thus presents to consciousness new ob- 
 jects, namely, the relations which are perceived. But 
 not only are there new objects in the focus ; the 
 marginal region, and with it the whole field of con- 
 sciousness, is modified, and profoundly modified, by 
 the introduction of a new set of elements. Sense- 
 experience deals with impressions of sense and their 
 re-presentative ideas, and the margin or background 
 
PERCEPTION 91 
 
 in sense-experience is constituted by elements of like 
 order, presentative or re-presentative. The object of 
 sense, set in such a margin, is the sencept. But 
 when perception introduces the new elements which 
 we term relations, these elements are, so to speak, 
 woven into the margin or background of conscious- 
 ness. An object of sense is now no longer a new im- 
 pression, but this and something more. It is set in 
 a background which perception has rendered rela- 
 tional. To such an impression set in a subconscious 
 relational background we may apply the term joercepf. 
 When I look out, as I am now doing, across the blue- 
 green waters of Weymouth Bay and see the headland 
 of Portland against the horizon, this is not merely 
 an impression of sense ; it is a percept, since it is set 
 in a background of space-relations, wrought into the 
 margin of my consciousness by all my past experience 
 of such relations. And when I see a column of white 
 spray suddenly rise from the water, I listen atten- 
 tively, and after an interval of half a minute or more 
 I hear, and even feel, the boom of a great gun. The 
 Channel Squadron are ^^ prize-firing^' in the bay. 
 The spirt of water I see, the boom of the cannon 
 that I hear, the reverberations which roll along the 
 bay from cliff to cliff, all these are for me not merely 
 impressions of sense, they are raised to the level of 
 percepts through their relational setting. And when 
 the prolonged reverberation gives rise in my mind 
 to the idea of thunder, this is not due merely 
 to the natural resemblance in the sounds, but also 
 to the influence of perceived similarity of rela- 
 tions. 
 
 The percept, then, is the point of application of 
 
92 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 the ideas of relation with which the mind has heen 
 stored by the exercise of the faculty of perception 
 and, we may add, of those generalized ideas with 
 which the next chapter will deal. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 ANALYSIS Al^B GEN^ERALIZATION 
 
 When" we analyze a substance chemically we split it 
 up into its constituent elements. We might examine 
 a drop of water with the highest powers of the micro- 
 scope, and we should not be able to distinguish the 
 constituent oxygen from the constituent hydrogen. 
 But when we take pure water and by appropriate 
 means analyze it chemically, we separate the constit- 
 uent hydrogen from the constituent oxygen. We may 
 term this kind of analysis dissociatmg analysis. But 
 if instead of pure water we select such a substance as 
 a piece of granite, we may analyze it to some extent 
 without submitting it to the process of chemical dis- 
 sociation. By careful examination with the naked 
 eye or with a lens, we may distinguish the constitu- 
 ent minerals, the quartz, the mica, the felspar, and 
 so forth. We do not dissociate them in this case ; we 
 leave them just as they were ; we merely distinguish 
 them. And in doing so, we may fix our attention 
 first on the quartz, to the subordination of the mica 
 and the felspar ; then on the mica, to the subordina- 
 tion of the other two constituents ; and then on the 
 felspar in like manner. This we may call distinguish- 
 ing analysis, as contrasted with the dissociating an- 
 
 93 
 
94 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 alysis of chemistry. It is of distinguishing analysis, 
 not of dissociating analysis, that I am now going to 
 speak. 
 
 We may treat any impression or series of impres- 
 sions in a manner analogous to that in which we 
 treated the impression of a piece of granite. We may 
 single out certain constituents for focal attention to 
 the more or less complete subordination of other con- 
 stituents. But is not this just what we do in our 
 daily practical experience ? Do we not have a focal 
 impression and marginal constituents which are so 
 far subordinated as to be relegated to the sub-con- 
 scious background ? Yonder yacht that I see beat- 
 ing up against the wind, am I not selecting that for 
 focal attention, and practically neglecting the rest 
 of the visual field, rocks, sea, sky, to say nothing of 
 numerous other constituents, auditory, olfactory, 
 tactual, and other, of the subconscious margin ? 
 Certainly we have here the faculty which, applied 
 to a new end, makes distinguishing analysis possible. 
 But it is just in this special application that the dif- 
 ference lies. When I fix my attention on the yacht 
 to the practical neglect of so much that is marginal 
 in consciousness, I do not do so for the purpose of 
 analysis. But if I consider what was the nature of 
 my state of consciousness when I looked at the yacht, 
 directing my procedure to the special end of distin- 
 guishing the focal impression from the marginal set- 
 ting, then I take a step in analysis. In the analysis, as 
 such, there is conscious and intentional reference to the 
 relation of that which is distinguished to the subor- 
 dinate residue from which it is thus distinguished. 
 
 Let us, however, look at the matter in its objective 
 
ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 95 
 
 aspect first ; for it is in this aspect, and this only, 
 that we should teach our children to analyze. I 
 pluck a pimpernel from the ground at my side, and 
 distinguish root, stem, leaves, and flower ; and, con- 
 tinuing my analysis, distinguish in the flowers, bracts, 
 petals, stamens, and pistil. The analysis is purely 
 objective ; I am not considering the subjective aspect 
 of the states of consciousness. In distinguishing 
 each part, and focussing my attention upon that, to 
 the temporary subordination, but by no means the 
 complete neglect, of the other parts, I have in view 
 its relation to these other parts from which I am dis- 
 tinguishing it. We may say, then, that this analysis 
 with which we are now dealing is the art of making 
 'predominant some particular element in a complex 
 impression to the suhordination of the other elemeiits, 
 and of perceiving the relation of the predominant 
 element to the subordinate elements. There is prob- 
 ably no subject better fitted than elementary obser- 
 vational botany for training a child in this objective 
 analysis. The several parts of a plant lend them- 
 selves admirably to successive selection for predomi- 
 nance ; the relations of the parts to each other, and 
 of each to the whole, are comparatively simple ; and 
 material for study is readily obtainable. Of course, 
 the training must throughout be practical, in actual 
 touch with the natural object. The teacher must 
 refrain from introducing explanations beyond the 
 grasp of the child^s mind. He must, in fact, have 
 clear ideas of what he is teaching, and what mental 
 faculty it is his object to train and strengthen. An 
 occasional visit to a museum, when that is possible, 
 will afford a great variety of objects on which the 
 
96 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 child may be taught to exercise his powers of analy- 
 sis. In a country walk the elements of scenery may 
 be made to serve the same end. The hill may be 
 made focal and predominant, the valley being tem- 
 porarily subordinated, and the relation of the valley 
 to the hill brought home to perception, the slopes 
 sweeping upward to constitute the high ground. 
 Then the valley with its streamlet may be made pre- 
 dominant, the hillsides being subordinate, and a new 
 aspect of the relation may be emphasized in percep- 
 tion — the hillsides sloping to the valley bed and form- 
 ing the collecting ground for the waters of the 
 streamlet. In a seaside ramble the analysis into 
 headland and bay, and the relations they bear to 
 each other, may similarly be brought out. Nor is it 
 necessary to go to field or museum, to hillside or 
 headland, to find materials for this purpose. The 
 qualities of size, shape, color, weight, hardness, re- 
 sistance, are possessed by the commonest solid ob- 
 jects, and each of these qualities may be severally 
 distinguished in analysis from the other qualities 
 with which it is naturally associated ; each may in 
 turn be made focal and predominant to the mar- 
 ginal subordination of the others ; and the relations of 
 each as predominant to the others as subordinate, 
 may be brought hbme to perception. 
 
 Subjective analysis, involving as it does intro- 
 spection and close attention to the phenomena of 
 consciousness, is not a matter for children. But the 
 teacher may with advantage exercise himself in such 
 analysis. He may distinguish in the subjective 
 aspect of the impression the several sensations which 
 constitute it, and may render now one, now another. 
 
ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 97 
 
 predominant to the subordination of the others, and 
 endeavor to perceive the relations which hold good 
 between them. He may exercise himself in render- 
 ing focal and predominant sensations, such as the 
 motor sensations, which are normally subordinate — 
 for example, the sensations which accompany the 
 accommodation of the eyes for varying distances, or 
 the motor sensations in writing, drawing, and other 
 skilled activities. He may practise himself in ren- 
 dering focal the perceptual part of his experience, 
 and the relations which under ordinary circumstances 
 are taken for granted and pass unheeded. He must 
 remember that a good deal of experience which was 
 once fully conscious and needed attention has long 
 asro for him become subconscious and needs no at- 
 tention ; and that the child is in the condition in 
 which he himself once was, and which he can only 
 realize by a special effort directed to that end. And 
 as he carries on his introspective analysis he will 
 come to understand more clearly how the states of 
 consciousness which is naive sense-experience are 
 sensed as wholes, comprise numerous constitutent 
 elements which in analysis may be distinguished and 
 rendered successively predominant, thus rendering 
 possible the perception of the relations which hold 
 good between them. 
 
 Let us here notice that the process of perception 
 which we considered in the last chapter in part in- 
 volves and in part leads up to the analysis with which 
 we are now dealing. "When we perceive the relative 
 sweetness of two strawberries, or the relative weights 
 of two pieces of metal, we make these particular 
 qualities of the natural objects predominant, since it 
 7 
 
98 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 is the relation in respect of these particular qualities 
 that we are perceiving. So too when we are per- 
 ceiving the relative lengths of two sticks, or pieces 
 of string, or lines drawn upon paper or on the black- 
 board, it is the length element in the impressions 
 that we cause to predominate over the other charac- 
 ters, such as the color, black or gray in the case of 
 the line on paper, white on the blackboard. Thus 
 the process of perception helps to lead up to that of 
 analysis, since it necessitates the predominance in 
 consciousness of that particular aspect of the impres- 
 sions to which attention is directed in perceiving the 
 relation. "Wherein lies the difference, then, between 
 the predominance given in the act of perception and 
 the predominance given in analysis ? Again we 
 must answer, In the purpose and end in view. In 
 perception we neglect or ignore such elements of the 
 impressions as are not involved in the special relation 
 which is the object of perception. They nowise 
 concern us for the purposes of perceiving the relation. 
 But in analysis our aim and object is to render a 
 particular aspect of the impression predominant, 
 with a view to perceiving its relations to other aspects 
 of the impression which are temporarily subordinate. 
 In the one case we neglect or ignore all those aspects 
 of the impression that are not rendered predomi- 
 nant ; in the other case we make them subordinate in 
 order that we may perceive the relations which they 
 bear to that which we are making for the time pre- 
 dominant. "We analyze the plant into root, stem, 
 leaves, flowers, and so forth, in order that we may 
 perceive the relations which these parts bear to each 
 other in the plant. 
 
ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 99 
 
 The complement to analysis is synthesis, a fully 
 conscious and intentional process, to be distinguished 
 from the ^^ natural synthesis'" of which we before 
 spoke. "When we have analyzed our plant into root, 
 stem, leaves, flowers, etc, when we have perceived 
 the relations which these parts bear to each other 
 and to the whole of which they are parts, then we 
 synthetically recombine the constituents in their due 
 relations. Only when we have done this, and when 
 we have perceived the relations of this object to other 
 objects, does the plant stand out as a fully developed 
 percept. We look at the plant with the same eyes ; 
 it is still an object of sense-experience, but it is this 
 and something more. It is set in a background of 
 relations which have been duly perceived ; it is an 
 object of an experience in whicb sensation and per- 
 ception have been combined, and towards which each 
 has contributed in due degree and proportion. 
 
 Let us note how analysis and synthesis are com- 
 bined and co-operate in spelling and in pronuncia- 
 tion. Take, for example, the pronunciation of such 
 a word as " flag."'' We pronounce the word rapidly, 
 and regard it as a whole. But now let us analyze it. 
 Pronouncing it slowly, and paying attention to the 
 sounds and their accompanying vocalization-move- 
 ments, we find four constituents, each of which is 
 made predominant in turn to the subordination of 
 the others ; the relations of each to the other being 
 perceived. Having thus analyzed and perceived the 
 relations of the analytic products, we recombine in 
 accurately proportioned synthesis ; and the word 
 '' fl^g," as we again rapidly pronounce it, is a def- 
 inite percept. So too with spelling ; we analyze the 
 
 L.ofC. 
 
100 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 word '^flag ^' as written or printed. We make each 
 letter in turn predominant, and take note of its re- 
 lation in the word to the other letter ; and then, 
 taking in the whole word at a glance, we view it 
 synthetically, recombining the products of our an- 
 alysis. Finally, we correlate the two analyses, and 
 perceive the points of similarity and the points of 
 difference. There are four letters, as there are four 
 sounds : the names we give to the first two pretty 
 closely resemble to our ear the pronunciation-sounds 
 in *' flag '' ; but the names we give to the last two 
 differ markedly for the ear from the pronunciation- 
 sounds which enter into the synthesis of the word 
 ''^flag" as pronounced. The object of spelling re- 
 forms is to assimilate pronunciation-sounds and the 
 sounds of the names we give to the constituent letters, 
 to get rid of the anomaly of spelling the same sounds 
 in different manners (as in the latter part of the 
 words '^beau,^^ '^ queen,'' ^^mien," ^'serene," and 
 *^ quinine "), and of spelling different sounds in the 
 same manner (as in '' enough,^' "bough," "trough," 
 "borough," and "hough"). 
 
 Let us now pass to generalization. Attention has 
 already been drawn to the fact that the objects of 
 perception are particular relations. We perceive the 
 relation of pitch between this note and that note, the 
 relation of length between this line and that line, 
 the relation of color between this leaf and that leaf. 
 In all such cases of perception we are dealing with 
 the relations between particulars. In the case of 
 quantitative relations perception is also particular. 
 We perceive that the weight of this piece of metal 
 is twice the weight of that ; that this time interval 
 
ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 101 
 
 is thrice that ; that this slip of paper is half the 
 length of that slip. But it must soon strike the child 
 who is exercising his faculty of perception, that the 
 same relation holds good for a number of pairs of 
 objects ; the objects exhibiting the relation differing 
 while the relation itself remains unchanged. Two 
 marbles are placed at a distance of a yard apart : the 
 marbles may be removed, and pieces of stone, or bits 
 of wood, or marks on the floor, may be substituted. 
 The distance-relation is perceived to remain unaltered. 
 Or the marbles, the pieces of stone, the bits of wood, 
 the marks on the floor, may be arranged, a yard apart, 
 in different parts of the room ; and the child may 
 perceive that the space-relations are in all the cases 
 similar. The distance-relation common to a number 
 of distinct and separate perceptions is thus floated 
 off, so to speak, from the particulars in and through 
 which it is exhibited, and the child reaches the 
 general idea of the distance which we call a yard. 
 Again, the child may perceive that this piece of 
 metal is twice the weight of that, this line twice the 
 length of that, this time-interval twice as great as 
 that ; and then further perceive that the quantitative 
 relations are in all these cases the same. He thus 
 gains a general idea of the numerical relation which 
 we symbolize by the word " twice '^ ; the general idea 
 being floated off from the particular cases in which 
 it is exemplified. Such a general idea of relation 
 thus involves the perception of the similarity of a 
 number of special relations ; the distinguishing in 
 analysis of the relations from the particular objects 
 which exhibit the relations ; and the grouping of 
 these similar relations under one general head. This 
 
102 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 grouping together of a number of relations, distin- 
 guished through analysis, in virtue of their perceived 
 similarity, is termed co7iceptio7i. 
 
 Note, however, that conception, properly so called, 
 is a fully conscious process performed with a definite 
 end in view. The generalization from particulars is 
 an intentional one. It involves an extension of that 
 reflection to which allusion was made in the last 
 chapter. For it is clear that if we are to perceive 
 that the same relation holds good in a number of 
 particular instances, and thus to conceive the relation- 
 ship in general, we must look back reflectively, not 
 only on the experience of a moment ago, but on that 
 more prolonged experience during which the particu- 
 lar instances were presented to consciousness. Note 
 also that, whereas the particular relation which is the 
 object of perception may be in such close touch with 
 presentative impression that we may speak of it as 
 itself an impression of relation, the generalized re- 
 lation which is the object of conception is necessarily 
 the outcome of attention directed to re-presentative 
 experience, so that we cannot speak of a general im- 
 pression of relation, but must speak of a general idea 
 of relation. Impressions must always be particular ; 
 ideas may be particular or general. The products 
 of generalization are ideas, not impressions. 
 
 In the development of experience, perception pre- 
 cedes conception, which follows after a longer or 
 shorter interval. Some psychologists would, how- 
 ever, deny that this is so. They say that in percep- 
 tion we apply a general conception to a particular 
 case. We apply, for example, the general concep- 
 tion which we symbolize by the word " half '" to the 
 
ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 103 
 
 particular case of the weights of these two pieces of 
 metal. They say, further, that the term '' weight " 
 is itself symbolic of a general conception of which 
 we merely see a particular example in this or that 
 body which, as we say, possesses weight. Every 
 term which we employ to express relations is, they 
 say, expressive of a general idea, such as hardness, 
 length, sweetness, color, and so forth. If, then, 
 they argue, we are, in perception, applying a general 
 conception in a particular instance, it is clear that 
 the conception which we thus apply must precede the 
 perception which consists in its special application. 
 
 This sounds somewhat convincing ; and it may not 
 at first be easy to see what reply is to be given to this 
 contention. Moreover, it is perfectly true that when 
 we perceive that an angle of 10° is twice an angle of 
 5°, we are applying certain general conceptions to a 
 particular case. It will be worth while, therefore — 
 especially as the relation of perception to conception 
 is one that it is important to make clear — to take some 
 trouble in endeavoring to put the matter in what 
 would seem to be its true light. 
 
 Let us take a particular case. A child is given 
 two pieces of metal, and is taught to perceive that 
 the one is heavier than the other. Let us suppose 
 that he succeeds in perceiving the relation which we 
 wish to bring home to his perception. It is sym- 
 bolized for him by that word '^ heavier.^' In perceiv- 
 ing that the one piece of metal is heavier than the 
 other, the child is not applying a general conception 
 to the particular case. He has not yet reached a 
 general conception of weight, and cannot reach it 
 until he has accumulated a store of particular instances 
 
104 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 from which, by generalization, the conception can take 
 form in his mind. The perception, then, for the 
 child is quite particular, and not a case of the general 
 exemplified in the particular. We proceed now to 
 exercise him in this mode of perception. We give 
 him a great number of pairs of material bodies to 
 poise in his hands and tell us which is the heavier of 
 the two. As he does so, he cannot fail ere long to 
 perceive that the relation of a to l, which we call 
 '^ heavier," is similar to the relation of c to d, which 
 we also call '' heavier," and this again to the relation 
 of e to/, called '^ heavier," and so on in a number of 
 pairs of cases. As long as he is dealing with partic- 
 ular pairs of cases he is perceiving that they are 
 similar each to each ; he is perceiving the similarity 
 between particular relations. But when it strikes 
 him that all these cases are alike, that the word 
 *' heavier," which was used in each case, applies to 
 all ; when, his attention being drawn to this fact, he 
 consciously and intentionally comprises them all in 
 a general idea to which the common term '^ heavier " 
 is applied ; then he not only perceives that they are 
 similar each to each, but conceives their general simi- 
 larity ; then the word " heavier " no longer stands 
 only for a particular relation, perceived in this, that, 
 and the other case, but it stands for the conception 
 of a common relationship. 
 
 It will be observed that we apply the same term 
 *' heavier " both to the particular perception and to 
 the general conception. No doubt this aids the child 
 in generalizing and in reaching the conception. 
 But it tends to obscure the fact that the process of 
 perception is distinguishable from the process of con- 
 
ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 105 
 
 ception. And when once the conception has been 
 reached, the word ''heavier" is bound thenceforth 
 to carry with it conceptual force. So that, after the 
 conception has been reached^ when a child perceives, 
 for example, that this small volume of mercury in 
 one vessel is heavier than that large volume of water 
 in the other vessel, he may not incorrectly be said to 
 be appljdng his general conception '' heavier " to a par- 
 ticular case in which it is exemplified. The sequence 
 then would seem to be, first, a perception of heavier ; 
 then other similar perceptions ; then the perception 
 that these are similar, each to each ; then the concep- 
 tion of their similarity and the generalization of the 
 term '' heavier" and the ideas it expresses ; finally, 
 new perceptions of like character carrying with them 
 a conceptual import. 
 
 Note, then, how perception and conception play 
 backwards and forwards as experience develops and 
 ripens. We begin with perception, and out of this 
 there grows, through generalization, conception. In 
 further acts of perception we view the results in their 
 bearing upon the conception we have already reached, 
 and thus make this conception fuller and more ade- 
 quate. Every step in perception makes the concep- 
 tion wider and richer ; and the enriched conception 
 renders further perception less isolated and more full 
 of meaning. In conception we are floated off from 
 particulars and rise into the region of thought ; in 
 perception we bring back our conceptual thought 
 into touch with practical experience. When once 
 the power of generalization has been developed, we 
 are terribly apt to apply it hastily and on inadequate 
 grounds of perception ; it is only by constantly 
 
106 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 bringing it into touch with further and more exten- 
 sive perception in practical experience that we cor- 
 rect the hastiness and inadequacy of our generaliza- 
 tions and give them serviceable validity and reality. 
 It is essential that the teacher should bear this in 
 mind, that he may guide the child, not only in the 
 acquisition of general ideas, but in constantly sub- 
 mitting them to the touchstone of experience. 
 
 To the products of the double process of percep- 
 tion and conception, as employed for a common end, 
 we should apply the word knowledge. Sense-expe- 
 rience is not knowledge, though it presents us with 
 the raw material from which knowledge may be elab- 
 orated ; perception by itself is not knowledge, for 
 knowledge involves the generalization of particulars, 
 the importing into them of general meaning. Only 
 when perception and conception act and react on 
 each other in the way we have just been considering, 
 does knowledge, properly so called, take form and 
 shape. 
 
 Special reference should here be made to quantita- 
 tive relations. Their generality would seem to be 
 part of their peculiar nature ; and here, if anywhere, 
 we might expect conception to precede perception. 
 It may, indeed, be contended that while we may per- 
 ceive this piece of metal to be heavier than that piece 
 of metal, prior to any general conception of ^' heavier," 
 we could not possibly perceive the one to be twice as 
 heavy as the other, prior to any general conception 
 of the meaning of the word " twice " and the idea it 
 conveys. The idea '' twice " is, it may be said, in its 
 essential nature general, and would be without mean- 
 ing if applied to a merely particular relation of this 
 
ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 107 
 
 weight to that weight. We may agree with this con- 
 tention to this extent — that it is extremely improb- 
 able that the child would acquire his first perception 
 of the relation of two to one by means of perceiving 
 the relative heaviness of two pieces of metal. It is 
 quite likely, therefore, that when the child perceives 
 the quantitative relations of heaviness, he has already 
 reached the conception which we symbolize by the 
 word 'Hwice." AVe may not so readily agree, how- 
 ever, to the assertion that the child reaches a concep- 
 tion of the relation of one to two before he perceives 
 the relation in particular instances. There can be 
 little doubt that the child reaches his conception of 
 ^Hwice'' in just the same way as he reaches his con- 
 ception of '' heavier.'' He first senses the difference 
 of one thing from two things. They form different 
 impressions in sense-experience. He then perceives 
 the difference as a relation of a particular kind. 
 When he has perceived it in a number of particular 
 instances, he generalizes and reaches a conception of 
 the relation. Then, and not till then, the relation 
 has for him a general meaning. It is some time be- 
 fore he comprises in his generalization the relation 
 of two to one as applied to separate objects, and the 
 relation of two to one as applied to continuous quan- 
 tities. As I have before mentioned, I can myself 
 remember being puzzled in the matter. I had not 
 at that time generalized sufficiently to reach the con- 
 ception of the relation of two to one applying both to 
 
 such cases as . . to . , and to . But 
 
 from their very varied and general applicability we 
 may surmise that the perception of numerical rela- 
 tions very early gives rise to the conception of such re- 
 
108 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 lations. And, in general, that conception, though 
 it never precedes, follows hard upon the heels of per- 
 ception. As before mentioned, our words for partic- 
 ular relations, as perceived, are the same as those 
 which we employ for the relations as generalized and 
 conceived ; and this must aid the child in rapidly 
 passing on from perception to conception. The gen- 
 eralization of experience in conception was not al- 
 luded to in the last chapter, for the sufficient reason 
 that our object then was to get clear ideas of the 
 nature of particular relations, for which purpose it 
 was necessary to keep distinct, in description and ap- 
 prehension, mental processes which, though they take 
 origin in close association with each other, are none 
 the less themselves distinct. 
 
 The relation of perception to conception having 
 now been illustrated, we may pass on to consider the 
 relation of the percept to the concept. The term 
 '* percept" was applied to an impression set in a 
 background which perception has rendered relational. 
 When the child is looking at a plant, in which the re- 
 lation of root to stem, stem to leaves, and leaves to 
 flowers, has been perceived, the plant is no longer for 
 him an impression of mere sense-experience. It is 
 a percept : the impression is set in a subconscious 
 relational background. But when the child has ex- 
 amined a number of plants, and has generalized his 
 perceptions so as to reach general conceptions of the re- 
 lationships involved ; when he has not only analyzed 
 some particular plant, so as to distinguish the several 
 parts, but has analyzed a number of plants into parts 
 more or less similar and more or less similarly related ; 
 when he has further recombined the generalized prod 
 
ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 109 
 
 nets of his distinguishing analysis into a generalized 
 plant ; — then he reaches a concept. Henceforward, 
 when he looks at a plant, he sees it not merely as an 
 object of sense-experience ; not merely as a percept, 
 or impression set in a background of perceived rela- 
 tions : he sees in it a particular exemplification of his 
 general concept '^ plant." And just as there is a con- 
 stant to and fro play from perception to conception 
 and back again on perception, so is there a constant 
 to and fro play from the percept to the concept and 
 back again on the concept. Our concepts, like our 
 conceptions, are terribly apt to be vitiated by hasty 
 generalization, and also by imperfect analysis and in- 
 complete synthesis ; but by constantly bringing them 
 into touch with perceptual experience, we render 
 them clearer, more real, in closer accordance with 
 the natural relations of the things from which they 
 have been floated off in conceptual thought. Every 
 application of the concept to the touchstone of prac- 
 tical experience renders it richer and more exact ; 
 and the richer and more exact concept sheds its light 
 on the percept and gives it fresh meaning for thought. 
 Thus by action and reaction our knowledge grows in 
 range and exactness and in general meaning. 
 
 The percept precedes the concept in natural order 
 of genesis just as perception precedes conception. 
 At what exact time, in the development of the child's 
 mind, concepts are formed, it is very difficult to say, 
 because the same word may, as we have seen, stand 
 for a sense-idea, a percept, or a concept. Take the 
 word ^' sheep," for example : in his earliest experience 
 this word is associated in the little child's mind with 
 the sense-impression, and tends through association 
 
no PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 to call up or suggest a sense-idea. Probably this 
 sense-idea is generic. If the child has seen, as he 
 probably will have seen, a number of sheep, each dif- 
 fering from the others in minute, unnoticed points 
 of difference, the word ^' sheep " is not likely to sug- 
 gest the sense-idea of any one of them, but a com- 
 posite sense-idea, with the blended features of a 
 number of sense-impressions. Such a composite 
 sense-idea is termed generic, to distinguish it from a 
 general idea. The generic sense-idea is not a volun- 
 tary product. It results from the slight individual 
 variations of the impressions of which it is re-present- 
 ative. A great number of our sense-ideas are thus 
 generic. Hence, if we are asked to visualize a sheep, 
 the visual idea or image does not precisely resemble 
 any one sheep we have ever seen^ but the blended 
 features of many sheep. The general idea, on the 
 other hand, is the result of the conscious and volun- 
 tary exercise of the power of generalizing. No doubt 
 the natural tendency to form generic sense-ideas is 
 utilized when we voluntarily generalize ; just as the 
 natural tendency to make the impression focal in a 
 marginal setting is utilized when we voluntarily 
 analyze. In mental development we are constantly 
 putting old powers to new uses. 
 
 The word '^ sheep " may, then, suggest to the mind 
 of the little child a generic sense-idea. At a later 
 period, when its eyes, ears, mouth, head, trunk, 
 legs, and tail (if it have any left) have been indicated, 
 and their relations to each other and to the sheep as 
 a whole, together with the relation of the sheep to the 
 grass and the field, have been grasped, the word 
 *' sheep " may suggest to the child a percept, an im- 
 
ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION HI 
 
 pression or idea set in a backgronnd of perceived 
 relations. Yet later, when the child has begun to 
 generalize and to build the general results of the 
 analysis of many sheep into a synthetic concept, then 
 the word '^ sheep " may symbolize the result of this 
 more complex mental process. The word ''sheep" 
 (and the same is true of common nouns in general) 
 may stand for a generic sense-idea, for a percept, or 
 for a concept. And when a child, who cannot as yet 
 tell us much, if anything, concerning his mental pro- 
 cesses, uses the word, it is extremely difficult to say 
 what stage of development his use indicates. 
 
 Classification takes its origin in combined analysis 
 and generalization. In the fully-developed form to 
 which it would be well to restrict the word as a 
 technical term, it is a fully conscious and voluntary 
 process — a process performed with the special end of 
 classification in view. No doubt, there is a prelim- 
 inary involuntary process which leads up to the con- 
 sciously intentional process. The child, who applies 
 the same word *' dog" to a number of animals, dif- 
 fering somewhat markedly from each other, but 
 having certain distinctive features in common, is 
 carrying out a process which is preliminary to and 
 which leads up to classification. But when, through 
 the application of analysis, the child pays attention 
 to the number of legs this, that, and the other 
 animal possesses ; the dog and cat with four legs, the 
 bee and beetle with six legs, the crab, lobster, and 
 crayfish with ten legs, man and barn-door fowl with 
 two legs ; and when he has generalized the knowledge 
 thus acquired ; he is ready consciously and inten- 
 tionally to classify the animals into quadrupeds. 
 
112 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 hexapods, decapods, and bipeds. The fully con- 
 scious and intentional nature of the process is seen in 
 the fact that he is able to define the class in which 
 he places the objects classified. The class of quad- 
 rupeds, he will say, comprises those animals which 
 have four legs, the class of decapods those which 
 have ten legs. The child should be exercised in 
 conscious classification, and in the clear definition of 
 the classes. Of course, quite simple cases should at 
 first be selected. And here, again, scarcely any sub- 
 ject can be found which will afford more satisfactory 
 material for training the child in classification than 
 elementary observational botany. 
 
 Finally, we must glance at the relation of abstraction 
 to the processes we have been considering. We have 
 seen that in the process of analysis we make predomi- 
 nant now one, now another, constituent element in 
 that which we analyze. We give separate names to 
 these predominant elements that we distinguish. We 
 distinguish, for example, the yellow in the flower of 
 the gorse, and we give it the separate name '^ yellow. ^^ 
 The distinguishable color sticks, so to speak, to the 
 separate name, and enables us to float it off in thought 
 from the flower which is yellow. In analysis we do 
 not get further than distinguishing the yellow, mak- 
 ing it predominant while the other qualities of the 
 flower are subordinate. But the use of the word 
 ^^ yellow^' helps us to do more than to distinguish : 
 through its aid we can to some extent separate this 
 quality ; can talk about it, and in some degree think 
 about it, apart from the flower which we perceive to 
 be yellow. Such an idea of quality separated off in 
 language, and to some extent in thought, from the 
 
ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 113 
 
 other qualities with which it is normally associated, 
 is an abstract idea ; and the process by which we 
 thus separate it off is termed abstraction. When we 
 think, too, of the space-relation which we term '' a 
 yard,'* apart from any objects by which this relation 
 of distance is exemplified, we have an abstract idea 
 of relation. 
 
 Abstraction and generalization usually go hand in 
 hand. But they are not necessarily connected. I 
 remember the first flower of that beautiful orchid, 
 the Dysa grandijlora, which I plucked on the slopes 
 of Table Mountain. I could form to some extent an 
 abstract idea of its peculiar color, which resembles 
 no other tint that I have ever seen. Such an 
 abstract idea would be particular, and not gener- 
 alized. 
 
 Probably we differ a good deal in our power of 
 forming abstract ideas. For many of us abstract 
 ideas are remarkably vague and hazy, and have a 
 strong tendency to particularize themselves, when 
 we try to think clearly about them, in perceptual 
 ideas, thus ceasing to be any longer abstract. The 
 words which stand for these abstract ideas are the 
 abstract nouns, such as size, sweetness, color, edi- 
 bility, kindness, virtue. But directly we begin to 
 try and make them clear to thought, a particular ex- 
 ample is apt to become focal. And in illustrating 
 them to the child we are forced to adduce particular 
 examples ; we illustrate weight by handing the child 
 a heavy substance, color by pointing to the red of a 
 rose, kindness by reference to some kind action. 
 Thus here, again, there is a continual play to and 
 fro, from conception to perception, and back again to 
 8 
 
114 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 conception. In this way do our abstract ideas become 
 floated off from particular cases in which they are 
 exemplified ; while the particular cases themselves 
 receive a new import and meaning as practical em- 
 bodiments of our abstract ideas. Thus the particular 
 is absorbed into the general body of our knowledge ; 
 while our knowledge keeps in close touch with prac- 
 tical experience. 
 
CHAPTEE VI 
 
 DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 
 
 There are two little words that are constantly on 
 the lips of children : How ? and Why ? The answer 
 we give to the first is a descriptive answer ; the 
 answer we give to the second is explanatory. We 
 may describe how an iron steamship floats upon 
 water ; we explain why it floats notwithstanding its 
 enormous weight, and the fact that the materials of 
 which it is built are heavier than water. We may 
 describe the commercial greatness of London, the 
 ships coming and going, the lines of railway con- 
 verging upon this centre, the goods imported and 
 exported, the varied occupations of its multitude of 
 workers ; we may describe how the town has grown 
 in wealth and size during a long period of years ; 
 but we explain why it is so great, and why the 
 growth and accumulation of wealth have taken place 
 in London and not elsewhere. We may describe how 
 the Battle of Waterloo was fought and won ; and we 
 may try to explain why it was fought and why the 
 French were defeated. 
 
 In both description and explanation we are deal- 
 ing with relations ; but in description the relations 
 are particular, while in explanation general relations 
 115 
 
116 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 are involved. Try and describe anything yon like, 
 the simplest fact, the simplest object, the simplest 
 natural occurrence, and see if you can do so without 
 reference to relations — the particular relations in- 
 volved in what you are describing. If one describes 
 the position of an object, one is stating its relations 
 in space to other objects. If one describes the ob- 
 ject itself, one must refer to its size, shape, weight, 
 and so forth, all of which involve relations. The 
 simplest occurrence has its time-limitations, and 
 cannot be adequately described without some refer- 
 ence to them. Of course we are supposing that the 
 description has for its purpose a suggestion, through 
 the intervention of language, of the real nature of 
 that which is described. Even the vaguest descrip- 
 tion must give some idea of this nature ; and this is 
 impossible without reference to the perceived rela- 
 tions. The relations involved in description are, 
 however, I repeat, particular and perceptual ; though 
 they may be, and indeed usually are for rational be- 
 ings, set in a background of generalized conceptual 
 thought. This particular nature of the relations in- 
 volved in description may perhaps be questioned. 
 That an island is a tract of land entirely surrounded 
 by water is, it may be said, a perfectly exact de- 
 scription of what an island is in general. It is not 
 a description of a particular island, but holds good 
 for any island. The relations are generalized. That 
 a circle is a plane figure of which all the radii are 
 equal, is an exact description applicable to any circle. 
 The general relations of all circles, not the particular 
 relations in any one circle, are described. In strict- 
 ness, however, we have, in these cases, not descrip- 
 
DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 117 
 
 tions, properly so called, but definitions. We are 
 not describing an island or a circle ; we are defining 
 the concept island or the concept circle. It is, no 
 doubt, merely a question of the exact sense in which 
 we are to use the word "description." But the ex- 
 act and accurate use of words begets exact and ac- 
 curate modes of thought, which cannot be too sedu- 
 lously cultivated by the teacher. Distinguishing, 
 then, as thus suggested, between the definition of 
 general concepts on the one hand, and description on 
 the other, we may say that the latter word, in its 
 more restricted sense, stands for a process by which 
 particular relations are set forth ; that it involves 
 perception, but does not necessarily involve more 
 than perception ; though, since the language we em- 
 ploy is full of general import, the description may 
 be, and usually is, set in a conceptual background. 
 
 In explanation, on the other hand, not only are we 
 always dealing with relations, but generalization and 
 the conceptual element are always present. They 
 are necessary factors in the process. An explanation 
 can never be wholly particular and confined to par- 
 ticulars. The relations peculiar and special to ex- 
 planation are those which we condense in such words 
 as *' therefore" and "because." They are called 
 logical relations. Let us now see if we can give any- 
 thing like a real explanation without reference to the 
 general and the conceptual. Suppose I show a child 
 that a cork floats, and accompany my demonstration 
 by a description. The child asks me why it floats. 
 If I say, " Because it stays at the top of the water," 
 I am not giving the child any real explanation of the 
 fact. I am merely describing the fact in other words. 
 
118 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 To explain that it floats because it floats, is no 
 explanation at all. If I say, however, that it floats 
 because it is lighter than water, I seem to be giving 
 an explanation which is wholly particular ; in which 
 I do not go beyond this particular cork and that basin 
 of water. But even this is no true explanation. It 
 will not satisfy a quick-witted child. He will ask 
 why its being lighter than water makes it float. We 
 can only answer this question by reference to certain 
 general properties of bodies in accordance with which 
 they invariably, if free to move among each other, 
 arrange themselves, under the influence of the earth's 
 attraction, in order of weight from the greatest to 
 the least. 
 
 Before proceeding further, let me say that it is of 
 great importance that the teacher should clearly grasp 
 the distinction between description and explanation, 
 and should realize the fact of the invariable general 
 nature of true exjolanation. It is one of the distin- 
 guishing features of good method in exposition that 
 description should be kept apart from explanation. 
 Many people use the two words without discrimi- 
 nation. They say, ^^ Let me explain to you where 
 the book may be found in the library ;" or, ^^I will 
 explain how you are to do such and such a thing.'' 
 Or they say, '^ We will now describe why it is that a 
 stone falls to the ground ; " or, " Describe how it is 
 that a balloon rises in the air." I have already noted 
 that the word "describe " is often used for " define." 
 We see in examination papers such questions as : 
 Describe a cape, a promontory, an isthmus ; and so on. 
 The true answer to this would be to describe some 
 particular cape, promontory, and isthmus. But wliat 
 
DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 119 
 
 is intended is : Define cape (not a cape), promontory, 
 isthmus ; and so on. 
 
 Both description and explanation presuppose some 
 one to whom or for whose sake we describe and ex- 
 plain. They refer to the action of the giver. Un- 
 fortunately, we have no two corresponding technical 
 terms for the answering action of the receiver. When 
 we mentally grasp either a description or an explana- 
 tion, we commonly say that we understand it. It 
 may be well, though much has been written on the 
 understanding in a technical sense, to employ this 
 word broadly and comprehensively, as is done in com- 
 mon speech, and to use technical terms to correspond 
 respectively to description and explanation. Both 
 etymology and good authority would seem to justify 
 the use of the terms ^' apprehend " and '' appre- 
 hension " in correspondence to describe and descrip- 
 tion, and the use of '' comprehend" and '^ compre- 
 hension '' in correspondence to explain and explana- 
 tion. One who readily understands a description, 
 then, has good powers of apprehension ; one who 
 readily understands an explanation has good powers 
 of comprehension. 
 
 The next thing to notice with regard to description 
 and explanation is that they both presuppose analysis, 
 while explanation necessarily presupposes generaliza- 
 tion as well. We describe this pebble we have found 
 on the beach as oval, gray, moderately heavy, 
 tolerably hard, and made of limestone. In doing so, 
 we make predominant in succession the several salient 
 features of the object, and this, as we have seen, is 
 just what is characteristic of the process of analysis. 
 In the corresponding act of apprehension we take 
 
120 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 these several features, given to us, from the nature 
 of the case, in succession, and combine them by an 
 act of synthesis into a whole. Not until the several 
 features are thus combined can we be said to appre- 
 hend the description as a whole. Suppose a child 
 asks, ''Why has the pebble this rounded form?" 
 We give him as a preliminary answer, '^ Because it 
 has been rolled about by the waves." And if he 
 then asks — as we should encourage him to ask — 
 ** But why does the rolling of it by the weaves give it 
 a rounded form ? " we should, if opportunity occurs, 
 take him down to the beach, show him how the waves 
 are rolling the pebbles over each other and knocking 
 them against one another ; describe in particular 
 cases how each stone has its angles knocked off and 
 rubbed down ; and when he has apprehended this 
 description, get him to comprehend the generality of 
 the result. All the pebbles are thus rounded. It is, 
 given sufficient time, the universal and uniform re- 
 sult of this mode of natural action. When he has 
 comprehended this generality of the effect produced, 
 we give him the true explanation of the rounded 
 form : *' Because the pebble has been rolled about 
 by the waves, and it is found that such rolling al- 
 ways gives rise to a rounded form." This explanation, 
 and its due comprehension, involve analysis, for we 
 are making the shape predominant to the temporary 
 subordination of other features presented by the 
 pebble ; and it presupposes generalization, for we 
 explain it by showing that it is a particular example 
 of the action of a general law. 
 
 Let us take another example to show how explana- 
 tion is the reference of the particular to the general. 
 
DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 121 
 
 A good many years ago, when I was a young student, 
 a clever lad in Cornwall asked me the old question, 
 ** AVhy does a stone fall to the ground ?" Not wish- 
 ing to put him off with the long-sounding words, 
 *' Universal gravitation," I replied, '' Because it is 
 heavy." '' But a feather is not heavy and yet it falls 
 to the ground," was the prompt answer. I replied 
 that the feather was relatively heavier than the air. 
 The lad was silent for a moment, and then said, 
 ** That's just one of the things I want to know : does 
 the air fall to the ground and collect there like water 
 in a pond, only we cannot see it because we are in it 
 and it is invisible ? " I saw that this lad's powers of 
 comprehension were fully equal to the occasion, and 
 explained the whole matter as best I could. I told 
 him that he was quite right in supposing that the 
 air, like the stone and the feather, was attracted by 
 the earth ; I pointed out the universality of gravi- 
 tation as a law of nature ; and then reverting to his 
 first question, I said, ^' You now see that we explain 
 the fall of the stone as a particular case of the action 
 of a law that is universal in its generality. " He was 
 again silent for a moment, and then asked, ''^But 
 what makes the earth attract it after all ? " I 
 laughed, and said, " You're a philosopher ! Nobody 
 can answer that question. Perhaps you may live to 
 find it out, or at any rate to understand the solution 
 when it comes, as come it may." 
 
 The explanation of the fall of a stone by reference 
 to universal gravitation is a valid explanation ; but 
 the explanation is partial and incomplete, not final 
 and ultimate. We cannot give a final and ultimate 
 explanation of any of the phenomena of nature. We 
 
122 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 explain this, that, or the other natural occurrence by 
 a reference from the particular to the general ; but 
 if we are asked, '' Why are these general laws what 
 we find them to be ?" we can only reply, ^' Because 
 that is how nature is constituted/^ And if we are 
 further pressed with the question, ^^ But why is 
 nature thus constituted?" we can only, if we are 
 honest, reply that we do not know. Ultimate ex- 
 planations are beyond our reach. 
 
 Kemembering, then, that by explanation is meant 
 the reference of the particulars, which we seek to ex- 
 plain, to such generalizations as are within the reach 
 of our mental grasp, we may next note that the state- 
 ments of these generalizations are what we term 
 natural laws. Such statements are of the nature of 
 definitions. AVe define the law of gravitation, for 
 example, as follows : That attraction of any two 
 natural bodies for each other which is termed gravi- 
 tation is directly proportional to the sum of their 
 masses, and inversely proportional to the distance of 
 their centres of gravity. The generalization thus ac- 
 curately defined forms the standard to which we refer 
 the particulars we wish to explain by its means. It 
 is a generalized summary of a great number of partic- 
 ular observations ; but it contains something more ; 
 it contains the assumption that this generalization 
 from a great, but still necessarily limited, number of 
 observations is universally true. That assumption 
 we can never conclusively prove ; we rest our as- 
 surance of its truth on the fact that no single excep- 
 tion to its validity has been established on the basis 
 of exact observation. Our attitude towards it may 
 therefore be thus expressed : We have found it to 
 
DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 123 
 
 hold good in a great number of particular cases, and 
 shall assume that it holds good in all cases, until 
 evidence to the contrary is forthcoming. Our whole 
 process of explanation involves this assumption. We 
 explain a new instance of gravitational attraction by 
 reference to a generalization from old instances ; and 
 in doing so we must assume that what holds good for 
 the old instances also holds good for the new instance. 
 As this is true of all explanation, from the simplest 
 to the most recondite, the teacher, who has many 
 things to explain, should clearly grasp the basis upon 
 which his procedure rests. 
 
 It is obvious that adequate description should always 
 be made the precursor to explanation. Not to do so 
 is to proceed on the method, not of education, but 
 of cramming. The explanation must never be al- 
 lowed to be a mere statement committed to memory, 
 and remembered, if remembered at all, through the 
 association by contiguity of its constituent parts. 
 We must always bear in mind that the comprehension 
 of the learner is to meet and embrace the explana- 
 tion of the teacher ; that comprehension involves 
 generalization ; and that generalization is impossible 
 unless the particulars which form its raw material be 
 supplied. One of the difficulties the teacher has to 
 face — I assume that he knows the subject he pro- 
 fesses to teach — is that he possesses a background of 
 knowledge which is absent from the mind of his 
 pupils. The explanation for him is supported by a 
 body of evidence which he could at any moment 
 summon from the storehouse of memory, and the net 
 result of which is present in the background of his 
 consciousness. The explanation he gives is there- 
 
124 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 fore, for him, real and valid, because it is the result 
 of generalization from all these particulars. lie 
 gives it to his pupils, and expects it to be real for 
 them. But it will not be real unless he have stored 
 the memory of those whom he teaches with a 
 sufficient body of evidence, the net result of which is 
 present in the background of their consciousness. 
 One of the commonest faults in exposition is the 
 putting forward of explanations before an adequate 
 preparation in description has been systematically 
 afforded. 
 
 It must be remembered, too, that the adequate ap- 
 prehension of what is described with sufficient fulness 
 of detail, is after all only a second-hand way of get- 
 ting at the facts. Second-hand information, to be 
 of real value in mental development, must have a 
 first-hand basis in practical experience. Hence, if 
 description is a necessary precursor to explanation, so 
 too is a training in individual ohservatioii a necessary 
 accompaniment to description, however careful and 
 adequate. We can only rightly apprehend and, as 
 we say, fully realize, a description of that for which 
 individual observation has paved the way, by affording 
 to consciousness sense-impressions to be utilized re- 
 presentatively as sense-ideas. Descriptive geology, 
 for example, deals with the nature, mode of arrange- 
 ment, and fossil or mineral contents of the strata 
 which are exposed on the surface of the earth, and 
 with the manner in which these strata are worn away 
 by rain and rivers and the waves of the sea. Now, if 
 the student makes himself practically acquainted with 
 the strata in any district in which they are well ex- 
 posed, if he examines them along any stretch of 
 
DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 125 
 
 varied coast-line, if in actual contact with nature he 
 perceives for himself the relations of the strata in bay 
 and promontory, in hill and valley ; if, further, he 
 have an opportunity of examining any volcanic 
 district and the relation therein of beds and dykes 
 of lava to accumulations of ashy debris ; and if he 
 become practically acquainted with a district in 
 which, as in Dartmoor, great bosses of granite or 
 other plutonic rock rise up from amid surrounding 
 strata ; if he have thus laid the foundations in practical 
 observation, and stored his mind with sense-images 
 and with perceptual ideas, then he is in a position to 
 apprehend any geological description, whether the 
 district described be in Africa, Asia, or America, 
 Without some such preparation he will have no re- 
 alizing apprehension of descriptions, no matter how 
 vivid, since he will have no first-hand experience 
 in the light of which to interpret that which he has 
 not seen for himself, but which is put before him 
 through the description of another. 
 
 It is clear from what has just been said that 
 geology is not a subject which, unless in exceptional 
 circumstances, can be extensively utilized in afford- 
 ing a training in observation as preparatory to and 
 associated with the apprehension of description. 
 There is no subject which, for this purpose, is more 
 convenient than elementary, observational, and de- 
 scriptive botany. The boy or girl who has carefully 
 observed, under guidance, the structure of a few 
 flowers, is in a position to apprehend the description 
 of a great number of flowers. Material for the pur- 
 pose is readily obtainable. The relations to be per- 
 ceived do not present great difficulties ; and the parts 
 
 / 
 
126 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 can be dissected without that messiness which makes 
 zoological dissection insufferably distasteful to many 
 people. Furthermore, such observation and the ap- 
 prehension of description will lend a fresh charm to 
 field and hedgerow and garden, and will lead up to 
 the comprehension of generalizations of wide range 
 and of deep interest. For in every stage of mental 
 development, observation, the apprehension of de- 
 scription, and the comprehension of explanation 
 should be made continually to play into each other's 
 hands. If observation leads up to apprehension, this 
 faculty in return quickens observation ; if apprehen- 
 sion is the necessary precursor to comprehension, 
 this faculty gives a new meaning to all that is ap- 
 prehended, and a new zest to individual observation. 
 The teacher who realizes this will so arrange his 
 course of instruction as to afford opportunities for 
 the interaction of the several faculties employed. 
 
 To observation in certain subjects we are able to 
 add ex^y er 1771671 f. In experiment we employ special 
 means to facilitate the observation of particular 
 phenomena. It is a means of analysis by which the 
 phenomena we wish to observe are, by artificial 
 methods, rendered predominant and brought within 
 easy reach of perception. There are certain phenom- 
 ena of nature which, by reason of their magnitude, 
 or by reason of their minuteness, by reason of the 
 slow sweep of their rhythm, or by reason of the ex- 
 treme quickness of their rhythm, do not readily come 
 within the range of our perception. These may be 
 illustrated by experimental methods. Other phenom- 
 ena, by reason of their intricacy under natural con- 
 ditions, are difficult of observation. Experiment 
 
DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 127 
 
 gets rid of the disturbing factors, brings out into 
 artificial prominence that which we wish to study, 
 and thus renders the exact observation of this pre- 
 dominant factor less difficult. 
 
 Elementary physics and very elementary chemistry 
 are, of all subjects which deal with natural phe- 
 nomena, the best for the purpose of affording a train- 
 ing in the experimental method. The experiments 
 should, so far as possible, be from the first exact and 
 quantitative, so as to afford a training in the perception 
 of numerical and quantitative relations. Let us con- 
 sider a simple example in some detail, for the purpose 
 of illustration. We take a lath of boxwood, two feet 
 long, to act as a lever. Across the middle on the 
 lower side is a notch which fits on to a triangular ful- 
 crum. The upper surface of the lever is marked 
 with a scale of inches, extending on either side of the 
 middle line above the fulcrum, and numbered from 
 this line outwards. We have also a box of weights — 
 10, 20, 30, 50, 60, and 100 grains. We now make 
 experiments in balancing the weights on the lever. 
 We take first the 10 gr. and the 20 gr. weights. 
 Placing the 10 gr. at the end of the lever on one side, 
 where it is marked 12, we at first put the 20 gr. 
 weight in the same position on the other side. The 
 20 gr. weight outbalances the 10 gr. We shift it 
 along towards the fulcrum, and find that, when it 
 just balances the 10 gr., it is exactly over the 6 inch 
 mark — that is to say, it is half the distance from the 
 fulcrum of the 10 gr. weight. We then put the 30 
 gr. at the end over the 12 inch mark ; and, taking 
 the 60 gr. weight, shift it too along the lever. It 
 balances the 30 gr. so soon as it is over the 6 inch 
 
128 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 mark. So that in each case the double weight is at 
 half distance. We at once try the 100 gr. and 50 gr. 
 weights in a similar manner, and see that they ex- 
 emplify the same rule. Then we put the 30 gr. at 
 distance 10 and the 60 gr. at distance 5, and again 
 find that they balance. We try the experiment in a 
 number of ways ; and, finding the rule always holds 
 good, we lead the pupil on to the generalization — 
 The double weight must always be placed at half the 
 distance. When this has been comprehended, we 
 may put the experiment on one side, and describe 
 that if we put the 10 gr. weight at the end of the 
 lever, over the 12 inch mark, we must place the 30 gr. 
 weight over the 4 inch mark on the opposite side. 
 When the description is apprehended, we may show 
 the experiment, and allow observation to confirm 
 the description. By further descriptions, confirmed 
 in each case by observation, we may lead up to the 
 wider generalization (if the pupils are at a sufficiently 
 advanced stage to comprehend it) — That the distance 
 is always inversely proportional to the weight, exem- 
 plifying the generalization by describing how 3 times 
 the weight must be placed at -J of the distance ; 4 
 times the weight at i of the distance ; and bringing 
 it home to observation by placing the 10 gr. at one 
 end over the 12 inch mark, and the 60 gr., which is 
 6 times the weight, over the 2 inch mark, which is ^ 
 the distance, and showing that they balance. With 
 more advanced pupils it may be shown, by balancing 
 the lever on a piece of string instead of a fulcrum, 
 that when the weights balance they swing evenly 
 round the central point, the smaller weight perform- 
 ing the larger circle, the greater weight a less circle, 
 
DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 129 
 
 This central point is called the common centre of 
 mass of the system. And in this way the experiment 
 may be made to illustrate the fact, that the earth 
 and moon are swinging round their common centre 
 of mass, which, since the mass of the earth is 80 
 times that of the moon, is 80 times nearer to the 
 centre of the earth than to the centre of the moon. 
 
 It is not infrequently the case that when certain 
 natural phenomena have been carefully observed and 
 accurately described, two or more alternative expla- 
 nations are possible. Such alternative explanations 
 are termed hypotheses. To decide between them, we 
 need what is termed a crucial observation or experi- 
 ment. We see, for example, the sun, moon, stars, 
 and planets rise in the east, sweep across the heavens, 
 and set in the west. ]N"ow, it is a generalization 
 from a great number of observations, that the ap- 
 parent movement of a body external to ourselves may 
 be due (1) to the actual movement of that body 
 while we are stationary, or (2) to our own actual move- 
 ment, the external body being stationary, or (3) to the 
 difference between its movement and our own. The 
 apparent diurnal movements of the sun, moon, and 
 stars may be due, then, to the rotation of the heavens 
 round the earth, or to the rotation of the earth, .or to 
 a difference between the rotation of the heavens and 
 that of the earth. These are the alternative hypoth- 
 eses on which the observed phenomena may be ex- 
 plained. In times gone by the generally accepted 
 hypothesis was that the heavens rotated around the 
 earth. K"ow, as we all know, the accepted hypothesis 
 is that the earth rotates on its axis once in about 
 twenty-four hours. AYhat has convinced us that this is 
 8 
 
130 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 the true explanation ? What was the crucial observa- 
 tion or experiment ? 
 
 Suppose we set a pendulum swinging quite freely. 
 Then the direction of the plane of its swing will re- 
 main unaltered unless something interferes with it 
 from without. Why should it alter ? There is no 
 generalization which enables us to answer this 
 question except by saying that there is no reason why it 
 should alter ; but, on the other hand, there is a very 
 wide generalization to the effect that bodies remain 
 in their state of rest or of uniform motion, except in 
 so far as they are influenced from without. Let us, 
 however, put the matter to the test of experiment. 
 Set a pendulum (a weight at the end of a fine thread 
 will serve the purpose) swinging in a cage or in a 
 pail. Now, while it is swinging, turn the cage or the 
 pail round, making the point from which the weight 
 is suspended the axis of its rotation. You will find 
 that the plane of swing remains unaltered in direction. 
 Thus we obtain experimental proof of the constancy 
 of the plane of oscillation. We are now in a position 
 to apply experiment to our special problem. A long 
 heavy pendulum is suspended from a lofty ceiling, 
 with special precautions to secure perfect freedom of 
 oscillation ; if now this be set a-swinging at 12 noon, 
 and the direction of its swing be carefully noted, by 
 stretching a string, for example, beneath and parallel 
 with the swinging-point ; and if, after leaving it for 
 three hours, the pendulum and the string be again 
 observed, it will be found that the point is no longer 
 oscillating parallel with the string, but across it at an 
 angle the precise value of which depends on the lati- 
 tude of the place. Since, then, the plane of oscilla- 
 
DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 131 
 
 tion of the pendulum has remained unaltered, it must 
 be the string that has moved. But the string was fixed 
 to the floor, and the floor to the solid earth. Hence it 
 is the earth that has twisted round. And it can be 
 shown that the amount of twisting is just that which 
 should be produced if the earth is rotating once on 
 its axis in twenty-four hours. This was the great 
 French physicist Foucault's crucial experiment. 
 There are others ; but this suffices for purposes of 
 illustration. 
 
 The validity of an explanation may thus be estab- 
 lished by means of a crucial experiment or observa- 
 tion. Let us now pass on to consider the special form 
 in which an explanation, so established, may be justi- 
 fied at the bar of reason. This will enable us to see 
 the nature of those relations which we termed the 
 logical relations. 
 
 We have seen that explanation consists in a refer- 
 ence from the particular to the general. We explain, 
 to take a homely illustration, the mauled condition of 
 the fish on our breakfast-table, by saying that the cat 
 had been there, and confirm our explanation by the 
 crucial observation that one of her footprints is im- 
 pressed on the tablecloth. But this would be no ex- 
 planation, though it might be a description of what 
 had taken place, if such thievishness were not a gen- 
 eral characteristic of ill-trained cats. Suppose that 
 a particular phenomenon, concerning which we are 
 impelled to ask the question " Why ? " is altogether 
 isolated, and cannot be brought into touch with any 
 known generalizations ; then concerning it we can 
 only say that we are at present unable to explain it. 
 The most we can do is to describe the facts, and hope 
 
132 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 that they may be explained hereafter by the discovery 
 of their relations to some of the generalizations which 
 form part of the body of assured knowledge. 
 
 Explanation, then, being the reference of the partic- 
 ular to the general, it becomes our duty to set forth 
 the nature of the generalization and the relation of 
 the particular thereto in the clearest and most effect- 
 ive manner, in order that the grounds of our refer- 
 ence may be made apparent and our explanation justi- 
 fied to reason. This is done by means of a series of 
 propositions arranged in a special way, or in special 
 ways. A proposition is a direct statement arranged 
 in the clearest and most perspicuous form. Gram- 
 matically, the proposition consists of subject and pred- 
 icate, together with certain words or phrases which 
 qualify or amplify the one or the other. And here it 
 may incidentally be said that grammatical analysis is 
 of the utmost service in enabling the pupil to per- 
 ceive the relations of words in a proposition, these re- 
 lations being the reflection in language of those which 
 are observable in that experience which language 
 seeks to describe. The subject of the proposition, 
 which, as before noted, must be carefully distin- 
 guished from the subject of consciousness, indicates 
 that of which something is to be predicated, or that 
 concerning which the proposition is to be made. In 
 logic the subject and predicate are spoken of as the 
 terms of the proposition, and between the terms is 
 placed the copula. In affirmative propositions the 
 copula is the word '^ is " or the word ^' are "; and it 
 is customary to bring any proposition which is to be 
 employed in logic into such a form as to give the 
 copula its distinctive position. Instead of saying. 
 
DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 133 
 
 " Fish live in water/^ we should, in logic, say, '' Fish 
 are aquatic animals/' Thus we have (1) the subject 
 of which an assertion is made ; (2) the predicate in- 
 dicating what is asserted ; and (3) the copula sym- 
 bolizing the act of assertion. It is sometimes said 
 that the copula links together the terms of the prop- 
 osition. And this is in a sense true ; the copula 
 does link the terms in the written or spoken proposi- 
 tion. But if we regard the proposition as expressive 
 of a judgment, we must be careful to remember that 
 the judgment is one and indivisible, and that the 
 terms are reached by analyzing it. Hence the copula 
 is to be taken as the symbol of the unity of judgment 
 in the midst of the diversity of terms which analysis 
 serves to distinguish. 
 
 In the logical syllogism three propositions, contain- 
 ing three, and only three, terms are brought into re- 
 lation under certain formal rules. These rules we 
 cannot here attempt to discuss ; nor can we consider 
 the different kinds, or figures, of syllogism. It must 
 suffice to give a simple example in the first figure. 
 Take the syllogism — 
 
 All rodents have chisel-teeth ; 
 
 The mouse is a rodent ; 
 Therefore the mouse has chisel-teeth. 
 The final proposition is called the conclusion, and the 
 other two from which it is derived are called the 
 premises. The predicate of the conclusion is spoken 
 of as the major term, the subject of the conclusion 
 being called the minor term, while the third term 
 which forms the subject of the first proposition, and 
 the predicate of the second, is known as the middle 
 term. The premise which contains the major and 
 
134 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 middle terms is called ilia 7n a j or pre7nise ; that which 
 contains the minor and middle terms, the mino7' prem- 
 ise. It is convenient to express the syllogism in its 
 most generalized, form by using symbols for its terms. 
 Thus, denoting the major term by P (because it is 
 the predicate of the conclusion), the minor term by 
 S (as subject of the conclusion), and the middle term 
 by M, and representing the copula by . , we have 
 the following generalized form of such a syllogism in 
 the first figure of formal logic — 
 M . P; 
 S . M; 
 .-. S . P. 
 S . may represent a concrete object and be expressed 
 by the indicating word *' this." Thus — 
 
 Hive-bees are stinging insects ; 
 
 This is a hive-bee ; 
 Therefore this is a stinging insect. 
 The educational value of elementary logic, like 
 that of the analysis of sentences, consists in the dis- 
 cipline it affords. It should be employed as an ex- 
 ercise, first, in converting assertions, made in the 
 varied modes of literary or scientific expression, 
 into propositions in logical form ; and, secondly, 
 in throwing into syllogistic figure the conclusions 
 reached by inference. '' You obtain the most vital 
 idea of inference," says Mr. Bosanquet, ^^by starting 
 from the conclusion as a suggestion, or even as an 
 observation, and asking yourself how it is proved or 
 explained. Take the observation, ' The tide at new 
 and full moon is exceptionally high.' In scientific 
 inference this is filled out by a middle term. Thus 
 the judgment pulls out like a telescope, exhibiting 
 
DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 135 
 
 fresli parts witliiii it, as it passes into inference. 
 * The tide at new and full moon, heing at these times 
 the hmar tide plus the solar tide, is exceptionally 
 high/ This is the sort of inference which is really 
 commonest in science/^ 
 
 Now, the validity of the syllogism and of the in- 
 ductive process by which its major premise is reached, 
 and the validity of the whole process of inference 
 which is therein stated in logical form, rests upon 
 the assumption of the uniformity of nature — an as- 
 sumption which docs but universalize the generaliza- 
 tions of experience. It is quite clear that if the 
 operations of nature are not uniform in the matter 
 of hive-bees, I can neither assert with any confidence 
 that all hive-bees sting, nor have any assurance that 
 this hive-bee stings, since it may happen to be one 
 of the exceptions to uniformity. Secondly, this 
 validity rests upon the uniformity of thought. If 
 our concept hive-bee is not uniform but fluctuating, 
 if it have one meaning in the major premise and 
 another in the minor premise, there will be no cer- 
 tainty in the conclusion. Thirdly, this validity rests 
 upon the uniformity of language, or of the terms in 
 which we express our thought. If the word " hive- 
 bee " be not uniformly associated with one concept, 
 it may mean one thing in the major premise, and 
 another in the minor premise, whereby our conclusion 
 loses all certainty. Uniformity of nature, uniformity 
 of thought, aud uniformity of ter7ninology ; these 
 form the tripod upon which the " therefore '^ is firmly 
 supported. The uniformity of nature is beyond our 
 control : it is through failure in preserving uni- 
 formity of thought or of terminology that we are 
 
136 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 apt to go wrong in reasoning. If. for example, we 
 use the word " hive-bee" in the major premise as in- 
 clusive of working-bees, but in the minor premise as 
 inclusive of the whole colony of bees in a hive, queen, 
 drones, and workers, then our conclusion may or 
 may not be true. If it is a queen or a working-bee, it 
 stings ; if it is a drone, it does not sting. Such 
 failures in preserving the uniformity of our thought 
 or of its expression are the source of what are termed 
 fallacies. One of the main advantages of the syl- 
 logistic method of statement is that it enables us 
 more readily to detect such fallacies. If we say — 
 All laws are enactments ; 
 Universal gravitation is a law ; 
 
 Therefore universal gravitation is an enactment ; 
 our reasoning involves a fallacy. For we are using 
 the word law in two different senses, or for two dif- 
 ferent concepts. Human laws — laws in the legal and 
 constitutional sense — are enactments ; but natural 
 laws are generalizations from experience. 
 
 We are now in a position to define the terms reason 
 and reasoning. To reason is to ])assfrom jjroposition 
 to 2)ropositio7i (or their equivalents in thought) with 
 definite consciousness of the logical relations involved. 
 It presupposes a conception of the logical relation 
 expressed in such words as ''^ therefore" and ^'^ be- 
 cause," and a perception of its application in partic- 
 ular cases. Eeason may thus be concisely defined 
 as the faculty hy which we conceive and perceive there- 
 fore. To jump to conclusions, be it never so ac- 
 curately, is not to reason ; to profit by the associa- 
 tion of sense-experience, be it never so cleverly, is 
 not to reason. Either of these processes may be per- 
 
DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 137 
 
 formed without any conception or perception of the 
 logical relation, as such. But when once the child 
 can conceive and perceive '^ therefore," he has be- 
 come a rational being. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 
 
 We have been dealing in the last five chapters 
 with some of the factors of mental development on 
 its cognitive side, which comprises those conscious 
 activities which lead up to intellectual knowledge. 
 Let us now look at mental development as a whole, 
 reviewing briefly what we have learnt concerning the 
 cognitive aspect of our conscious life, and introduc- 
 ing some reference to the emotions and the will. 
 
 The first thing to notice is that mental develop- 
 ment is in many respects analogous to bodily develop- 
 ment. Each is a process of natural growth. Our 
 minds assimilate the results of our experience just 
 as our bodies assimilate the products of digestion. 
 In each case we are presented with the raw materials 
 which may be elaborated into the corporeal body on 
 the one hand, or into the mind and body of conscious- 
 ness on the other hand. The body is, however, a 
 visible, tangible entity ; while the mind is in its 
 essential nature invisible and intangible. The body is 
 actually existent at any moment in its entirety ; the 
 mind has, for psychology, only a potential existence 
 in its entirety. AVhat is actually existent beyond all 
 question at any moment is the state of consciousness : 
 . 138 
 
MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 139 
 
 the rest of what we call the mind, with all its stores 
 of experience, is not — or, let us rather say, need not 
 be for psychology — actually existent ; it need only 
 have a potential existence, in that the conditions for 
 its emergence piecemeal into consciousness continue 
 to exist during healthy life. The question of the 
 existence of the mind as an entity, not only distinct 
 from but separate from the body, is a philosophical 
 question into which we cannot enter here. It suffices 
 for purposes of purely psychological description and 
 explanation to assume that the continually existent 
 conditions are organic, and that the brain affords a 
 physical basis for all that we experience in our states 
 of consciousness. And in any case it is a practically 
 observable fact that the maintenance of a healthy 
 ^and vigorous condition of the body, including the 
 brain, is essential for the healthy growth and develop- 
 ment of the mind. 
 
 Body and mind, then, are alike the products of 
 what we may term a natural synthesis. Remember, 
 however, that we must distinguish this use of the 
 term " synthesis '^ for the designation of a natural 
 process, from our previous use of the same word for 
 the conscious and intentional putting together of the 
 results of our psychological analysis. That was a 
 voluntary process ; this is a process which is involun- 
 tary, and has its roots deep down amid, not only the 
 organic, but even the inorganic operations of nature. 
 The union of elementary substances to form a chemi- 
 cal compound, as in the case of the carbon that 
 burns to form carbonic acid gas ; the grouping of 
 molecules to form a crystal, as in the case of the crys- 
 tallized sugar obtained by slowly evaporating syrup ; 
 
140 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 the formation of blood, muscle, bone, and other or- 
 ganic tissues, as in the case of the hen's egg, which 
 after three weeks' incubation becomes a fully-formed 
 chick ; these all illustrate the operations of a process 
 of synthesis which appears to be one of the widest 
 and most universal laws of nature, or generalizations 
 from experience. Body and mind are, I repeat, alike 
 the results of an analogous process of natural syn- 
 thesis. And my motive for thus emphasizing this 
 fact is that we may clearly understand what the 
 teacher may hope to do, and what he must not hope 
 to do, if hope is to be followed by fulfilment. 
 
 The office of the teacher is to supply the most 
 favorable conditions for the natural process of mental 
 development. What we may hope to do is thus to 
 minister to nature : what we must not hope to do is, 
 as the proverb has it, to make a silk purse out of a 
 sow's ear. We can do little for the geniuses, except 
 to be very careful not to stand in their way ; we can- 
 not do much for the dunces, except to help them to 
 realize where their weakness lies, and where their 
 strength — for your dunce intellectually is often ca- 
 pable of excellent work of the right sort ; our real 
 field of effort lies among the mediocrities, those who 
 are gifted with average faculties, which they would 
 fail to develop without assistance and guidance. 
 Our office is to encourage the development of these 
 faculties, and provide the proper raw material on 
 which they may exercise their elaborating power. 
 Here, again, the analogy of bodily development is 
 helpful. We give a child the opportunity of assimi- 
 lating the right sort of stuff ; we withhold noxious 
 materials ; and the child grows and develops. This 
 
 I 
 
MENTAL DEVELOPMENT Ul 
 
 is a purely individual matter, and cannot be per- 
 formed vicariously. So, too, we may give a child the 
 opportunity of assimilating the right sort of expe- 
 rience, and withhold noxious experience. But the ac- 
 tual process of assimilation, that must be left to the 
 child and to nature. We may minister to nature, 
 but we cannot perform her office. There is one thing, 
 however, that we unfortunately can do. We can in- 
 duce a child to take into his mouth, with no attemjot 
 at assimilation, a number of phrases which sound like 
 knowledge : which are, indeed, the products of knowl- 
 edge, but not his knowledge, since they have never 
 been digested and assimilated by him. This is cram- 
 ming. The stuff so crammed is like the earthy sub- 
 stance some savages are said to give to their children, 
 which does but swell out their little stomachs with- 
 out ministering to digestion. To provide this is not 
 the office of the teacher. He insists, indeed, upon a 
 good deal of rotework and getting by heart, but all 
 with the end of true assimilation in view. 
 
 And it is the office of the teacher to supply the 
 conditions for all-round development. We are terri- 
 bly apt to get mentally lopsided. We are almost sure 
 to become so, more or less, when we come to what 
 are termed — often, alas ! with hidden irony — years 
 of discretion. The teacher should do his best to see 
 that those to whose mental development he minis- 
 ters shall, at any rate in the early stages of growth, 
 have opportunities of development in all reasonable 
 and right directions. 
 
 Let us now revert to the fact, so often insisted on, 
 that the state of consciousness includes not only a 
 focus, but also a margin ; not only the central object 
 
142 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 of consciousness, but a background in which that 
 object is set. The state of consciousness at any mo- 
 ment in any individual is a complex product which 
 is dependent upon the whole previous mental devel- 
 opment in that individual. The objects of sense, as 
 such, undergo little or no change from our early 
 years till our old age, when the organs of sense are 
 becoming enfeebled, and their products in conscious- 
 ness are growing dim. The objects of perception 
 and conception change little from youth, when our 
 mental powers are mature, to the end of our life. 
 But the background in which these objects are set — 
 that changes as the months and years roll by ; and 
 with it, of course, the relation of the focal object to 
 the marginal background. ' It is the nature of the 
 mental background that determines the temperament 
 we are of, and the mood we are in ; sickness or 
 health, freshness or fatigue, affect the background 
 to a far greater degree than the actual focus of con- 
 sciousness. The mental background is the seat of 
 the character ; herein lies our wisdom or our foolish- 
 ness, our stability of purpose or our weakness. This 
 it is which, in any moment of consciousness, is en- 
 riched from our stores of memory through associa- 
 tions by contiguity or suggestions by similarity in any 
 moment of consciousness. And this it is to the de- 
 velopment of which the teacher should minister. 
 
 In the last five chapters we have been dealing chiefly 
 with the focus of consciousness ; for though it is by 
 no means universally true that it is only through the 
 focal gate that elements of consciousness can gain 
 admittance to the marginal background, still it is 
 true that a very large proportion of the background 
 
MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 143 
 
 has passed through that focal gate. It is chiefly 
 with the focus of consciousness, too, that the teacher 
 can directly deal ; but he should so deal with it as to 
 have constant reference to the development of the 
 mental background. For, as we claim, the province 
 of education is to cultivate the mind as a whole ; but 
 the mind as a whole is a potentiality of existence of 
 which the mental background in any moment of con- 
 sciousness is, for psychology, the actually existent 
 sample. The background in which the object is set 
 is, at any given moment, the actual representative of 
 all the potentiality of the mind. What is to be said 
 in this chapter in further elucidation of mental de- 
 velopment must have reference largely to the back- 
 ground of consciousness. 
 
 First let us inquire what we inherit. What is our 
 mental stock in trade to start with ? It may sound 
 paradoxical to answer. Our mental stock in trade is 
 a body and brain. Such answer, however, probably 
 best indicates the facts. We do not come into the 
 world with any actual mental stock in trade, but in 
 body and brain we inherit the potentiality of all our 
 future mental development. If objection be taken 
 to the word '^ potentiality, ^Met us substitute for it 
 the phrase " organic conditions." The matter may 
 perhaps be made clearer by an analogy. We may 
 liken the mind to the flower of our life's growth. 
 Now, the seed and seedling inherit no actual flowers ; 
 but it inherits certain organic conditions which render 
 the development of flowers in due course a matter of 
 natural sequence. And the nature of these flowers 
 down to the minutest details is, except in the matter 
 of differences individually acquired, part of its natural 
 
144 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 heritage. In like manner the body and brain are the 
 organic basis and condition of the future mental 
 development ; and this is what the babe inherits. 
 But here too the flower of his mental growth down 
 to the minutest details is, except in the matter of 
 differences individually acquired, part of his natural 
 heritage. He inherits no visual ideas, no auditory 
 ideas, no ideas of touch, taste, or smell ; but he 
 inherits the conditions for the occurrence of sense- 
 impressions ; and as the special senses are called into 
 play by the stimuli of the surroundings, sense-impres- 
 sions are produced, and the development of sense- 
 experience commences. We know very little con- 
 cerning the exact manner in which the ordering of 
 sensory data into a consistent body of sense-experience 
 takes place ; for this ordering is well established by 
 the time we are two years old, and this period marks 
 for most of us the extreme backward limit of memory. 
 But during this period there has been developed in 
 some way, by some process of natural synthesis, a 
 body of sense-experience which in any moment of 
 consciousness furnishes a sensory background in 
 which new sense-impressions are set, being thus raised 
 to the level of what we termed seiicepts, and to which 
 these new impressions bear definite relations, though 
 these relations may not as yet be definitely perceived. 
 But not only do the special senses contribute data 
 to sense-experience. Our bodies respond to the 
 stimuli they receive, and respond in ways which are 
 from the first more or less definite through inherit- 
 ance. Such responses, when they are from the first 
 quite definite, are termed i?istinctive. The more 
 complete the organic development of an animal at 
 
MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 145 
 
 birth, the greater the number of definitely instinc- 
 tive activities it inherits. The bee emerges from its 
 chrysalis sleep in a highly developed condition, and 
 at once performs its instinctive activities. Many in- 
 stinctive activities are observable in the newly-hatched 
 chick. The human infant is relatively far less per- 
 fectly developed. There are fewer definitely instinc- 
 tive activities. But the child inherits innate ten- 
 dencies to respond to stimuli in more or less definite 
 ways. These are accompanied by consciousness. 
 The net results of complex activities — that is, activi- 
 ties which involve a complex play of muscular con- 
 tractions — stir our consciousness as wholes, not in 
 their varied details. Using the word feeling, in its 
 most inclusive sense, for any element or group of 
 elements in consciousness, we may apply the term 
 activity-feelings to the effects in consciousness of 
 active responses to stimuli. These activity -feelings, 
 the conditions of which are inherited, are woven into 
 the body of sense-experience, in the process of natural 
 synthesis, and become ordered in due relation to the 
 data afforded by the special senses. Thus the sensory 
 background in which new sense-impressions and new 
 activity-feelings are set, and to which these new 
 objects of consciousness bear definite relations, is 
 already of considerable complexity, comprising not 
 only data afforded by the special senses, but also data 
 afforded by the motor elements, all of them duly 
 ordered into a self-consistent whole. 
 
 We have now briefly to consider these states of 
 consciousness from a different point of view. Hith- 
 erto we have been regarding them in their cognitive 
 aspect. The term " cognitive "" is perhaps in strict- 
 
 10 
 
146 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 ness to be applied only to that which concerns knowl- 
 edge ; and knowledge, as we have seen, involves con- 
 ception. We may, however, conveniently extend the 
 term '' cognitive " to that aspect of sense-experience 
 which is the precursor of knowledge properly so 
 called. If we do not adopt this plan, we must coin 
 some such new term as ''^pre-cognitive'' ; and we 
 have terms enough to deal with as it is without in- 
 venting new ones. The cognitive aspect of experience 
 with which we have been dealing gives the form and 
 grouping of the picture of consciousness ; the emo- 
 tional aspect, to which we must now turn our atten- 
 tion, gives the color and tone of the picture. And 
 just as the artist in oils uses the same materials to 
 express both form and color, so it is in consciousness. 
 The same impressions and ideas in the focus, the 
 same background of sensory and motor elements, 
 which we have been considering in their cognitive 
 aspect, present us also with the emotional aspect, 
 when we fix our attention not on the form and group- 
 ing, but on the coloring of the mental picture. We 
 have not to deal with a new group of emotional im- 
 pressions and ideas, but with a new aspect — one 
 which we have so far intentionally neglected — of our 
 states of consciousness. It is now our duty to make 
 this aspect predominant through analysis. 
 
 We may speak of the coloring of our states of con- 
 sciousness as emotio7ial tone. The phrase is by no 
 means altogether satisfactory, but it may serve till some 
 other wins its way to general acceptance. It includes 
 not only that coloring which we describe as pleasur- 
 able and painful, but also a great number of shades 
 which are, so to speak, made of the same stuff as 
 
MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 147 
 
 pleasure and pain, but which could not be grouped 
 under either of these heads. It is difficult to say 
 whether anger and pity, both of which are suffused 
 with emotional tone, are pleasurable or painful. 
 They may be either, or neither, or perhaps both ; for 
 there is a painful pleasure in anger, and a sweet pain 
 in pity. What we speak of as excitement may be 
 pleasurable, or painful, or neither the one nor the 
 other, and yet full of emotional tone. 
 \ It is characteristic of emotional tone that it diffuses 
 itself over the whole state of consciousness. / Pain, 
 especially acute pain, due to some definite organic 
 mischief, such as a deep cut or a toothache, may be 
 concentrated in the focus of consciousness ; but this 
 acute pain due to physical injury should, I think, be 
 placed in a class by itself, and distinguished from 
 the more general emotional tone with which we are 
 dealing. Setting that aside, it is, I repeat, character- 
 istic of emotional tone that it is diffused over the 
 whole state of consciousness. And this is especially 
 true of those states which are par excellence termed 
 the emotions. Much may, indeed, be said in favor 
 of the view, to which I personally more and more in- 
 cline, that the emotional tone is mainly, in such cases, 
 a matter of the background of consciousness. What 
 is in focus is the object which excites the emotion. 
 One object excites anger, another surprise, another 
 fear, another interest, another aversion, and so on. 
 Each calls up its special background, and therein, of 
 course in its relation to the focal object, lies the main 
 body of the emotional tone. And this emotional tone 
 is very largely, probably we may say predominantly, 
 associated with what we termed activity-feelings. 
 
148 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 either presentative or re-presentative. Thus the 
 emotion of anger involves the re-presentative sugges- 
 tion, in the background of consciousness, of those 
 activity-feelings which accompany certain forms of 
 vigorous action to which we have an innate tendency. 
 When this re-presentative suggestion is strong, there 
 follows a faint repetition of this action, which is 
 termed the ^''expression of the emotion/' And this 
 faint action presentatively strengthens the re-pre- 
 sentative emotion. Thus by action and reaction we 
 may, as we say, work ourselves up into a passion. 
 The emotion of dread involves the re-presentative 
 suggestion of that state of muscular collapse which 
 would appear to be in the first instance a purely 
 organic and physical effect. When this re-presenta- 
 tive suggestion is strong, there follows a faint tend- 
 ency to such collapse, and this again presentatively 
 strengthens the re-presentative emotion. We call 
 this " giving way " to the emotion ; and it is well 
 known that such giving way may result in complete 
 collapse. The emotions, then, in so far as they are 
 due to activity-feelings in their aspect of emotional 
 tone, may be either presentative or re-presentative, 
 or partly the one and partly the other. 
 
 Now, the control of which we spoke in the third 
 chapter is essentially a motor control. Whether we 
 can control the course of our thoughts is a matter 
 upon which there is want of agreement. But all 
 agree that we can exercise motor control over our 
 muscular activities. Note, then, the bearing of this 
 fact upon what is termed self-control in the matter 
 of the emotions. It may be doubtful whether we 
 can exercise control over the emotion as purely re- 
 
MENTAL DEVELOPMENT U9 
 
 presentative, but there is no doubt that we can ex- 
 ercise control over the motor ex^^ression of the emo- 
 tion. We can check that clenching of the fists, 
 setting of the teeth, and general tightening up of the 
 muscles, which anger as re-presentative tends to 
 call forth. We thus prevent that reinforcement of 
 the emotion by the addition thereto of presentative 
 elements, which leads to the passion gaining sway 
 over us. So, too, with grief. We cannot, when death 
 has snatched from us our nearest and dearest, 
 banish sorrow from our mind ; memories crowd in 
 on the background of our consciousness and will not 
 be gainsaid. But we can exercise self-control over 
 the expression of our grief. These are elementary 
 and familiar facts, but they should be steadily borne 
 in mind by the teacher. That habits of self-control 
 can be acquired stands almost beyond question. It 
 is the office and privilege of the teacher to assist in 
 and encourage the acquisition of such habits. 
 
 The introduction of the element of control has led 
 us on to the third point of view from which states of 
 consciousness may be considered, that of volition or 
 the to ill. Authorities differ as to whether or not there 
 are special elements in consciousness due to the exer- 
 cise of control. Personally I am inclined to believe 
 that there are ; but the matter is too technical for 
 discussion here. Nor is such discussion needful ; for 
 the will is essentially a practical faculty. Let us, 
 however, note clearly the relations of what we have 
 termed the three aspects of the state of consciousness. 
 The cognitive aspect is essentially objective ; it deals 
 with the object of consciousness in relation to the 
 existing mental background. The emotional aspect 
 
150 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 is essentially subjective ; it deals with the emotional 
 tone of our own states of consciousness. It is the 
 fountain-head of action, and leads, if unchecked and 
 uncontrolled, to that mode of activity which we term 
 i7npulsive. The volitional aspect is essentially active 
 and controlling ; it is in close touch with the cogni- 
 tive objective aspect on the one hand, and with the 
 emotion-al and impulsive aspect on the other hand ; 
 it holds impulse in check in the light of an extended 
 cognition. The impulsive emotions are like spirited 
 horses in the coach, or more prosaic omnibus, of life ; 
 volition is the coachman, now reining in and now 
 whipping up the horses. Both the horses and the 
 coachman employ their cognitive powers, but the 
 latter with wider view and more foresight. And any 
 mismanagement or upsetting of the coach or omnibus 
 may damage many people, and be a social evil. Even 
 if we are independently driving our own dogcart, 
 mismanagment may derange the whole traffic. The 
 analogy is not altogether satisfactory ; we must fuse 
 our coachman and horses into a sort of mythical 
 centaur, to represent the essential unity of conscious- 
 ness in its three aspects, cognitive, emotional, and 
 volitional. 
 
 The practical word of advice in the matter of the 
 training of the will is — Remember that control is, at 
 any rate primarily, a faculty that deals with motor 
 activities. And remember that it is in trivial mat- 
 ters and unessential activities that a power of control 
 can most readily be acquired. Do not expect your 
 coachman to hold in check a spirited horse, if he 
 have had no practice on inoffensive donkeys, quiet 
 old ponies, and easy-going cobs. Do not expect a 
 
MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 151 
 
 lad to exercise self-control in the stress of strong temp- 
 tation and hot impulse, if he have had no training 
 in motor control when the temptation was scarcely- 
 felt and the impulse no stronger than a slight leaning 
 or inclination. Just as habits of obedience are fos- 
 tered by insisting on absolute conformity to our in- 
 structions in all things, no matter how unimportant ; 
 so are habits of self-control fostered by encouraging 
 frequent exercise of the faculty in the little daily ac- 
 tions of ordinary life, no matter how trivial. 
 
 Let us return now to the cognitive aspect of states 
 of consciousness. For the affording of training in 
 matters of skill we speak of instruction, with its 
 accompanying ^;rrtc/ic«Z demonstration. We also 
 speak of demonstrating a theorem, say in Euclid. 
 This process consists in proving, in particular in- 
 stances, the validity of a generalization which is clearly 
 and concisely enunciated. The two uses of the word 
 '^ demonstration '^ should be carefully distinguished. 
 Practical demonstration consists in showing how a 
 thing is to be done, instead of only describing how it 
 is to be done. Its correlative is imitation. In that 
 branch of education which comprises instruction in 
 matters of skill, a little practical demonstration is 
 more helpful than much description. For the per- 
 fecting of skill, continued practice is essential. The 
 accomplishment of a skilled act is usually accom- 
 panied by the emotional tone of satisfaction. The 
 child is, however, apt to be somewhat easily satisfied ; 
 and it is the office of the teacher to lead his pupil on 
 to be satisfied only with the best performance. One 
 of the characteristics of a successful man, in the 
 truest sense of the word '^ successful," is that he is 
 
152 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 dissatisfied with even liis best performances, and 
 seeks to attain satisfaction by bettering them. This 
 is that "noble discontent" which constantly spurs a 
 man on to higher and more strenuous endeavor. It 
 should therefore be the aim of the teacher to foster 
 the development in the background of consciousness 
 of this right and helpful sort of dissatisfaction which 
 prompts to higher perfection. \The healthy competi- 
 tion of games is of great value in contributing to this 
 development. / This is one of the points in which the 
 educational iiifluence of our great public schools is 
 so valuable. And since all improvement in skill is 
 effected through the application of motor control, it 
 is clear that we have here also a wide field for the 
 training of the will. Lack of improvement is often 
 due to mere weakness of will ; there is an amiable 
 wish to do better, but the application of control 
 is wanting. Whether a teacher can do much to 
 strengthen a naturally weak will is a question that is 
 perhaps open to discussion. But he can, at any rate, 
 encourage control in matters of skill in which the 
 opposing force to be overcome is rather indolence 
 than strong emotional impulse. 
 
 We may apply the term information to that which 
 is given and received through oral or written descrip- 
 tion. Those who can readily absorb and retain the 
 information imparted to them may be said to have 
 good powers of receiAivity. It may perhaps be said, 
 ^ without either injustice or exaggeration, that of all 
 ^ branches of modern education this is the easiest, the 
 commonest, and the least valuable from the stand- 
 point of mental development. People nowadays, of 
 all ages and of all classes, are athirst for information. 
 
MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 153 
 
 and the means of providing it are multiplied ex- 
 ceedingly. Nor should we undervalue such informa- 
 tion. It is the stuff of which knowledge is made, or, 
 let us rather say, the stuff which, in correlation with 
 individual observation and individual generalization, 
 contributes to the making of knowledge. ' There is, 
 moreover, no more delightful companion than the 
 well-informed man. But it is only one factor, and 
 that not the most important factor in education. 
 The danger is lest it should be regarded as all-suf- 
 ficing. 
 
 Assigning to it, therefore, its true place in the edu- 
 cational scheme, encouraging the constant checking 
 of information by personal observation whenever op- 
 portunity occurs, and insisting upon^he due exercise 
 of the generalizing faculty of conception and the par- 
 ticularizing faculty of perception on the materials 
 supplied through the channels of information/ it is 
 the office of the teacher to do all in his power to see 
 that the information is accurata and thorough. In- 
 formation is mainly descriptive. The demand for it 
 implies a special attitude of mind, which we may term 
 the ^''how" attitude. This is most valuable. We 
 ought to endeavor to establish in the minds of our 
 pupils a permanent background of '^how ?" so that 
 of every object we see and of every fact v/e are told, 
 the question, How is it related to other objects or to 
 other facts ? at once suggests itself. If possible, it 
 is better to answer the question " how " by observa- 
 tion ; but, failing that, information must be accepted 
 as a substitute. The emotional tone associated with 
 the " how*' attitude is what we term interest./ And 
 the importance of interest in education is too familiar 
 
154 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 to need special illustration. What I am here anxious 
 to show is that this " how'' attitude, with its emo- 
 tional tone of interest, should be so woven into the 
 margin of consciousness as to become part of the 
 permanent mental background of character. 
 
 Before passing on to point out that we should en- 
 deavor to establish not only a ^'how'' attitude with 
 its descriptive interest, but also a ' ' why " attitude 
 with its interest in explanation, a few lines may be 
 devoted to the importance of correlating the faculties 
 of observation and description. It is one thing to 
 observe well, and another thing to describe well the 
 observations we have made. But for purposes of 
 knowledge, which is not only a personal and in- 
 dividual matter but of general and social validity, 
 individual observation has to be translated into ac- 
 curate description in order that the results of the ob- 
 servation be rendered socially accessible. Hence the 
 pupil should be trained not only to observe but to 
 describe his observations. When such correlation of 
 the two faculties has been established, not only will 
 observation tend to clothe itself in description in the 
 moment of practical experience, but description, read 
 or heard, will tend to call up images of observations 
 similar to those that are described. 
 
 What was spoken of just now as the ''why" at- 
 titude is analogous to the ''how" attitude ; but it 
 requires not a descriptive answer, but an explana- 
 tion. Such a mental attitude is natural to a rational 
 being. But there are many people, old as well as 
 young, who appear to have a much keener appetite 
 for scraps of information and superficial description 
 than for either thorough information, full and ac- 
 
MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 155 
 
 curate description, or explanation in any of its wider 
 and deeper phases. The minor newspapers, that 
 consist of a heterogeneous and disjointed series of 
 snippets, minister to and encourage this kind of 
 mental appetite, and foster a flabby and inconsequent 
 habit of mind. Furthermore, the constant reading 
 of a number of scrappy paragraphs, the contents of 
 which one has neither the wish nor the intention to 
 remember, weakens the memory, while it impairs the 
 mental digestion. The encouragement of the *' why " 
 attitude and of the desire for explanation may do 
 something to check this tendency, and may foster 
 the development of a logical background. For just 
 as the ^' how " attitude at its best leads up to 
 habits of exact observation and accurate description, 
 so does the '' why '' attitude at its best lead up 
 to habits of consistent, logical thought and clear 
 explanation. The rational being, as such, is charac- 
 terized by the fact that his mental background 
 is ordered in accordance with logical relationships, 
 so that any object of thought or experience at 
 once assumes its true position in a logical field — a 
 field of generalizations which can be rapidly brought 
 to bear upon the particular object immediately in 
 focus. 
 
 But there is something which may be ranked higher 
 than reason and the logical faculty, to which' reason 
 and logic minister. It is that which in its varied 
 phases is sometimes termed insight, sometimes imag- 
 ination^ sometimes intuition, sometimes inspiration 
 (in the non-religious sense). It is perhaps of all 
 mental faculties the most difficult to describe, to de- 
 fine, and to explain. \ It is that faculty by which new 
 
156 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 thought is brought into existence. The thought may 
 not be new to the race, but in any case it is new to 
 the individual. Hence it is rightly termed the crea- 
 tive faculty. Of course the new thought is the prod- 
 uct of the interaction of old materials. We have 
 every reason to believe that it is a natural product ; 
 we may regard it, in fact, as a specialized result of 
 that process of natural synthesis to which allusion 
 has before been made. \ Just as from a solution of 
 alum in water, crystals are formed by natural process 
 of synthesis under appropriate conditions, so from a 
 solution of experience in thought new ideas crystallize 
 out under appropriate conditions. / The alum crys- 
 tals are new to that solution, though not new to 
 natural existence ; so may the idea be new to the in- 
 dividual mind though not new to human thought. 
 But if we are experimenting with new groupings 
 of old materials under new conditions (as is done 
 daily in chemical laboratories), then there may result 
 crystalline substances new to natural existence. And 
 if new groupings of old experience, including per- 
 haps also new observations, are held in the solvent 
 thought of a mind of exceptional capacity and ac- 
 tivity, there may crystallize out ideas new to man. 
 
 Insight and the higher creative imagination come, 
 however, too little within the scope of the ordinary 
 operations of the teacher to justify more than a bare 
 mention of them here. In its lower ranges the 
 faculty does concern us in some degree ; and a few 
 words concerning intuitive procedure, how it may be 
 fostered, and how it may be brought into relation 
 with other mental processes, will not be out of place. 
 Intuitive procedure is what we commonly term 
 
MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 157 
 
 "jumping to conclusions." The conclusion is often 
 right, though how we reached it, and why we reached 
 it, we are unable to say. Presumably it is largely a 
 subconscious operation, a direct product of the men- 
 tal background the details of which we are unable to 
 make focal. And probably it is of the same nature 
 as the suggestions by similarity of relationship which 
 were spoken of in the second chapter. Certainly 
 those of whom this mode of suggestion is strongly de- 
 veloped are those who most often exhibit intuitive 
 procedure. Hence to foster the faculty, which in 
 due restraint is a valuable one, we must encourage 
 this mode of suggestion. And we can best encourage 
 it by being careful not to check it, but to guide it. 
 Children are often highly imaginative ; and nothing 
 is commoner than for the unimaginative teacher to 
 ruthlessly snub down the imagination of the child — 
 which is, indeed, a delightfully simple operation, re- 
 quiring neither experience nor tact. No doubt the 
 imagination is often wild and wayward ; but our duty 
 is to train it, not to crush it. And unfortunately the 
 former is a far more difficult thing to do than the 
 latter. Snubbing is so easy ; the helpful guidance of 
 the imagination so difficult. One cannot give rules 
 for such guidance ; it is a matter of tact in individ- 
 ual cases. 
 
 But unquestionably reason is the ballast by which 
 the imagination is to be steadied and balanced. The 
 conclusion to which we jump by intuitive procedure 
 must be justified by logic at the bar of reason. We 
 may not know how and why we reached the conclu- 
 sion in the first instance ; but we must be able to show 
 how and why that conclusion may be justified and 
 
168 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 proved to be valid. Thus logic is the afterthought 
 to insight. Thus reason ministers to inspiration. 
 The wild and wayward flights of imagination must be 
 restrained within the limits of either the natural re- 
 lations of the universe in which we live, or the assumed 
 relations of the universe our imagination creates. In 
 a word, the products of the imagination must be self- 
 consistent. Paradise Lost is one of our most splen- 
 didly imaginative poems ; but it is also wonderfully 
 self-consistent. Lofty imagination, rendered self- 
 consistent by reason, is the attribute of what we term 
 genius. 
 
 The creative imagination of the great artist, be he 
 poet, painter, musician, or other, carries with it a 
 special quality of emotional tone ; while the receptive 
 imagination of those to whom his art appeals, carries 
 with it the same quality. This is what is termed 
 (Bsthetic tone. Like emotional tone in general, of 
 which it is a species, it is mainly a matter of the 
 mental background. We feel on reading a poem, 
 looking at a picture, or hearing a symphony, that the 
 whole body of our consciousness is thrilling with 
 emotional tone. We shall return to this point in the 
 ninth chapter, when we shall consider literature as an 
 example of art, and shall say somewhat more concern- 
 ing the special nature of the aesthetic tone which it 
 calls forth. It is one of the richest products of men- 
 tal development ; we should do all in our power to 
 foster it. 
 
 And in the creative imagination of the great artist 
 the influence of the will and of self-control is shown 
 in the self-consistency enforced on the product in 
 conformity with the dictates of reason. Nowhere 
 
MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 159 
 
 more completely than in the works of the great artist 
 do we see cognition, emotion, and will conspiring to 
 reach the highest product of mental development. 
 If we can only get our pupils to sit at the feet of 
 these great masters, to breathe somewhat of their 
 spirit, and to learn of them, we shall be doing for 
 them the best that can be done. The teacher should 
 be to the taught the faithful interpreter of nature 
 and of art — an intermediary whose office it is to show 
 the pupil how to learn for himself at these two foun- 
 tain-heads. 
 
 Nothing has been said, unless indirectly, on one 
 most important aspect of mental development — the 
 social aspect. That will be reserved for special con- 
 sideration in the last chapter. Enough has perhaps 
 been adduced in this chapter to show that mental 
 development is not only a matter of cognition, but 
 also of the emotions and the will ; that it is not only 
 a matter which concerns the focus of consciousness, 
 but that it is mainly a development of that mental 
 background which is, at the moment of conscious- 
 ness, the actual representative of the whole poten- 
 tiality of the mind. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 
 
 Education begins in the nursery. There the child 
 acquires his first practical acquaintance with the 
 natural and other objects by which he is surrounded. 
 He senses, though he may not yet be able to perceive/ 
 the relations which they bear to himself and to one 
 another. There the raw material of knowledge and 
 thought begin to accumulate. At the same time, 
 the child grows up in what we may term an atmos- 
 phere of language. He is not only directly taught 
 the use of words through association by contiguity 
 with objects of sense-experience ; these associations 
 are also established indirectly and incidentally — 
 that is to say, without intentional instruction, the 
 word-sounds continually falling upon his ear in close 
 connection with visual or other impressions. 
 
 Presumably the first associations of this kind are 
 between objects of sense-experience (sencepts) and the 
 words by which these objects are symbolized. That 
 is to say, those words and parts of words which are 
 expressive of relations have probably for the little 
 child no meaning. They are mere surplusage of 
 sound, conveying nothing, of no suggestive value. 
 So soon as the child begins to speak he passes from 
 160 
 
LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 161 
 
 the condition of being a mere recipient of oral com- 
 munication to that of being himself a communica- 
 tor. Words become for him a means of more com- 
 plete intercommunication. The words that he first 
 employs are indicative either of objects of sense or of 
 such actions and activities as are objects of sense- 
 experience ; such objects, or the states of conscious- 
 ness in which they are focal, being probably strongly 
 tinged with emotional tone. This stage of the use 
 of words — for we may hardly yet call it the use of 
 language — may be termed that of indicative com- 
 munication. When the child says ''up," for ex- 
 ample, that word is indicative of a certain mode of 
 sense-experience — the experience of being lifted — 
 which is also, through its emotional tone, an object 
 of desire, to use this word in a broadly inclusive 
 sense. W^e must not be misled by the fact that the 
 word " up " is used as a preposition, into saying 
 that the child is here employing a preposition. It is 
 not used by the child as a preposition. Nor must 
 we say that the child is condensing a sentence into 
 one word, and that this word is really equivalent to 
 *'I want to be lifted up." The child is not ex- 
 pressing the adverb of a sentence, the rest of which 
 is unexpressed. Nor is the word to be regarded as 
 a sentence, but simply as a definite sound which he 
 has learned to associate with a particular piece of ob- 
 jective sense-experience. We ought not to call the 
 words at this stage of indicative communication 
 nouns or verbs or any other parts of speech ; for the 
 terms, noun, verb, etc., express the relations of the 
 words they name in a sentence. Nor should we call 
 them condensed sentences ; for a sentence is descrip- 
 8 
 
162 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 tive, and they are merely indicative. We must call 
 them simply indicative word-sounds. 
 
 When the child passes beyond the stage of mere 
 indicative communication and begins to talk in sen- 
 tences, this shows, unless the sentences are merely 
 repeated parrot-fashion, that he is beginning to per- 
 ceive relations. For since sentences descriptively 
 express relations, it is clear that the relations so ex- 
 pressed must be first perceived. A connecting link 
 between the stage of indicative communication and 
 this higher stage of descri2)tive communication, as 
 we may term it, is when the child puts together in 
 juxtaposition two objects of sense-experience. When 
 the child puts together the two word-sounds, '' Bow- 
 wow, bark," he is on the verge of, if he have not 
 actually reached, predication. At first, perhaps, a 
 mere expression through word-sounds of the sensed 
 association of a visual with an auditory impression, 
 it would soon acquire the force of a perceived as- 
 sociation ; in which case the expression, though not 
 yet a sentence in form, is a sentence in intent. And 
 when once the child reaches this stage, when the 
 perception of relations is dawning upon his mind, 
 there follows a period of marked and rapid progress, 
 partly due to his individual use of perception, partly 
 to the fact that through this perception his teachers 
 acquire a new leverage to lift him up in his onward 
 course of development. 
 
 For we teach in relations ; and until these rela- 
 tions can be perceived we are able to do little in the 
 way of direct teaching : we must be content to afford 
 material to the child's powers of imitation, since his 
 powers of apprehension are not yet developed. But 
 
LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 163 
 
 when the child^'s apprehension stretches forth to 
 meet our description ; when, partly under the in- 
 fluence of the development of his quickening powers 
 of perception, partly under our guidance in the ap- 
 plication of these powers, his restless faculty of ob- 
 servation is directed to the relations of the phenomena 
 of the world around him ; and when to perception 
 are added analysis and generalization ; — then the 
 child makes rapid progress on the one hand in knowl- 
 edge, and on the other hand in the modes of express- 
 ing that knowledge — in language and thought. 
 
 If we look back to the early condition of man, and 
 if we study the, in part primitive, but in part per- 
 haps degenerate, condition of man as he now is in 
 savage races, we seem to find evidence of a stage of 
 human progress when intercommunication was en- 
 tirely oral — that is, by word of mouth, and not by 
 writing, though this oral communication was prob- 
 ably very early supplemented by pictorial represen- 
 tation. In the caves of France, and in some of the 
 caverns of our own country, there are found, in- 
 scribed on bone or antler or tusk, rude representa- 
 tions of animals. The animals so represented are 
 sometimes grouped ; and it has been suggested that 
 these incised figures were perhaps not only early efforts 
 towards pictorial art, but were used to convey in- 
 formation, like the message-sticks of some uncivilized 
 tribes to-day. Thus, in one of the French caves 
 (the rock-shelter of La Madeleine, in the Dordogne) 
 there was found a piece of antler on which on one 
 side two large aurochs^ heads are represented, and 
 on the other a man is depicted with a weapon 
 or burden on his shoulder. He is meeting horses. 
 
164 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 indicated by their heads ; behind him is the sea, in- 
 dicated by incisions representing the waves, in the 
 midst of which is a fish or eel. It has been sug- 
 gested that all this had a meaning. It may have 
 meant : The tribe whose totem or sign is the aurochs 
 have ^eft the sea, where they have been living on 
 fish, for the prairies, where they will hunt horses. 
 This is, no doubt, conjectural ; but the suggestion 
 is interesting as showing the way in which this very 
 early race of man may have employed pictures as a 
 means of communication. We may speak of this 
 stage of human progress, where word of mouth and 
 pictures are employed, as the stage of oral and pic- 
 torial tradition. 
 
 It is a well-known law of organic development 
 that an animal in the early phases of its life-history 
 passes through stages in which it resembles its re- 
 mote ancestors. The same is true in human prog- 
 ress. And perhaps we may, without extravagance, 
 regard the Kindergarten phase of modern education 
 as a rehabilitation of the stage of oral and pictorial 
 tradition, and may see, in the concerted exercises 
 and musical drill, the civilized survivals of what was 
 probably of great value to the tribe in early time, 
 and is still of great value among savage races, surviv- 
 ing among them as the war-dance. The value of 
 such exercises alike among savage tribes and in our 
 civilized Kindergarten lies in the social training it 
 affords in concerted action. And musical drill may 
 illustrate, what is not improbably the fact, that music 
 arose in the history of our race as a rhythmic ac- 
 companiment to the rhythm of the dance. 
 
 Note that the word '* tradition " emplo3^ed for this 
 
LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 165 
 
 stage of communication serves to emphasize the fact 
 that the accumulated knowledge of one generation is 
 thus handed down or carried on to the next. This 
 is one of the most distinctive features of descriptive 
 communication as compared with that which we have 
 termed indicative. In the indicative stage of the use 
 of words there is no tradition or handing on of the 
 results of experience. What is indicated is essen- 
 tially present experience. It deals wholly with the 
 here and the now. A child in this stage, for whom 
 words have only an indicative value, is incapable of 
 understanding the relations of past and future. If 
 we say, " I will take you up presently," or, '' I took 
 you up just now,'' it is the word '' up " that has in- 
 dicative force, unqualified by the past or future re- 
 lations we have introduced in our description ; and he 
 repeats the word " up '' to indicate his present need. 
 Not until relations are perceived, and the apprehen- 
 sion of such description is rendered possible, does 
 the child begin to take the past, as past, into his 
 view, or extend his mental vision so as to include 
 the future. Of course, in remembrance he has re- 
 presentations of past events ; but such memories are 
 present to his consciousness at the time of remem- 
 brance, and that relation to the present in which lies 
 their perceived pastness is not yet an object of per- 
 ception. It is characteristic of sense-experience, prior 
 to the development of perception, that it lives wholly 
 in and for the present. 
 
 When from the stage of oral and pictorial tradi- 
 tion we pass to that of written record, we make a 
 great onward stride. The child is taught to read 
 and write. He is thus provided with the means of 
 
166 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 apprehending and comprehending all the knowledge 
 placed upon record by those who use that language 
 which he has been taught to read. Reading and 
 writing are of course a valuable means of intercom- 
 munication, more extended both in space and time 
 than is possible by word of mouth alone. But this 
 is not their chief value. Their chief value lies in 
 the fact that written language is a record of thought 
 and experience, while the ability to read this written 
 record places us in touch with all the thought and 
 experience thus recorded. And since this is so, 
 since the essence of thought can thus be dissolved in 
 the medium of language, and so handed on, that he 
 who can read may thus drink the accumulated knowl- 
 edge of the past, it might be supposed, and is sup- 
 posed by some, that all we have to do is to drink 
 deep of books, and thus absorb the wisdom of the 
 ages. But a right understanding of the relation of 
 language to thought will enable us to grasp how fal- 
 lacious this is. Language is the expression of 
 thought ; but it is the symbolic expression. Its 
 symbolism is rendered suggestive through associa- 
 tion. Or, since the word ^' symbolic" may itself be 
 misleading, let us say that words are the signs of 
 ideas, and that their significance is learned through 
 association. There is, for example, a general idea 
 concerning vibrations which is expressed, symbolized, 
 or signified by the word ^^ amplitude."^ To those 
 who have already formed a conception of amplitude, 
 and who have learnt to associate the conception with 
 this word, the word carries significance. To those 
 whose conception is definite the significance is defi- 
 nite ; to those whose conception is hazy the signifi- 
 
LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 167 
 
 cance is also hazy; to those who have no conception the 
 Avord lias no significance. So, too, of language in gen- 
 eral. It is significant only to those who have already 
 reached the conceptions it embodies, and have learned 
 to associate the conceptions with their verbal em- 
 bodiments. Hence the necessity, as already pointed 
 out, of constantly submitting our conceptions to the 
 touchstone of experience, and allowing a continual 
 to and fro play between generalizing conception and 
 particularizing perception. 
 
 It may be said, AYhat, then, is the use of describ- 
 ing or explaining that which is new to the experience 
 of the hearer ? If language is significant only to 
 those who have already reached the conceptions it 
 embodies, how can we lead up through language to 
 new conceptions ? Let us note what steps we practi- 
 cally take in such cases. We wish to describe quick- 
 silver to a child. We say that it is something like 
 this pewter in its brightness and the way it reflects 
 the light ; it is even heavier than this lead ; it is 
 liquid like water, so that I could pour it from one 
 vessel to another. And we might further qualify 
 each of these statements so as to render them more 
 exact. Now, we may assume that all the words in 
 which the quicksilver is described are significant to 
 the child ; if they are not significant the description 
 so far fails. At the end, if he have good powers of 
 synthesis, he may combine these particular properties 
 thus signified into the new idea we wish him to form. 
 The word ^^ quicksilver '' then becomes significant to 
 him. But significant of what ? Of a lit of mental 
 synthesis he has performed under our guidance. The 
 qualities so combined are matters of direct experience. 
 
168 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 and the words which express them are directly signifi- 
 cant. The result of the synthesis (the quicksilver) 
 has not been an object of direct experience ; the word 
 ''quicksilver^' is only i7idirectly significant. To the 
 questions placed at the beginning of this paragraph, 
 we must reply, that since language is significant only 
 to those who have already reached the ideas it em- 
 bodies, the new ideas to which we can lead up through 
 language are only indirect or second-hand, and the 
 words which stand for them are only indirectly 
 significant. And the use of describing or explaining 
 that which is new to the experience of the hearer is 
 that, through apprehension and comprehension, he 
 may reach indirect conceptions preparatory to the 
 direct conceptions which will result from direct ex- 
 perience through individual observation, perception, 
 and conception. The distinction here drawn between 
 indirect conception and significance on the one hand, 
 and direct conception and significance on the other 
 hand, is one which the teacher should clearly grasp. 
 Let him by an appeal to his own experience answer 
 the questions. What is the relative validity of direct 
 conception and indirect conception ? Which is the 
 most real and vivid ? Which answers most closely to 
 the facts of existence ? There can be little doubt 
 about the answer. Indirect conception is a makeshift, 
 most valuable as preparatory to direct conception, 
 but of nothing like the same validity and reality. 
 The teacher should therefore lose no opportunity of 
 encouraging dissatisfaction with merely indirect con- 
 ception, and of helping his pupil to see the impor- 
 tance of making their conceptions direct by bringing 
 them into perceptual touch with experience. So far 
 
LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 169 
 
 as is possible, every word should be rendered directly 
 and not merely indirectly significant. Thus only 
 will the true relation between language and thought 
 be established. 
 
 The words ''significance" and ''meaning" are 
 used for the most part interchangeably — that is to 
 say, they bear much the same meaning or signifi- 
 cance. They are somewhat troublesome, however, 
 from the fact that they are applied not only to words, 
 but to ideas and objects of thought. We not only 
 say, for example, that such and such a word or phrase 
 is significant and full of meaning, but we say also 
 that this or that observed fact is significant, or that 
 we now see its meaning. Or we may say that such 
 and such an observation, which apparently has no 
 bearing upon any generalization, is insignificant and 
 without obvious meaning. The two uses are, how- 
 ever, closely connected ; and a brief consideration of 
 the connection will serve to bring home both the real 
 meaning of significance and the true significance of 
 meaning. 
 
 Knowledge — and the same is true of the thought 
 which embraces it — is a closely-related whole, all 
 the parts of which are mutually interdependent. 
 Nothing therein is isolated or independent of the 
 rest. If any observed fact is apparently isolated and 
 independent, we say that we do not see how to fit it 
 into our scheme of knowledge, and that, for the pres- 
 ent at least, we are unable to explain it. We may 
 note, in passing, that different people regard these 
 apparently isolated and inexplicable facts or observa- 
 tions from different points of view. Some ignore or 
 neglect them, as tending to interfere with a scheme 
 
170 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 of knowledge with which they are well satisfied. 
 Others hail them, and try to make them the starting- 
 points of new investigations. They hold that their 
 scheme of knowledge is, after all, limited and imper- 
 fect. They are dissatisfied with its limitations and 
 imperfections, and would gladly extend and perfect 
 it. The one set of people ignore and neglect the ap- 
 parently isolated observation, because it has for them 
 no meaning or significance ; the other set hail it, 
 because they hope to ascertain its significance and 
 meaning. From which we may gather that these 
 words express the relation wliicli any ohject of con- 
 sciousness hears to the general body of inter-related 
 hnowledge. 
 
 But language is the medium in and through which 
 knowledge is communicated. It too shares in the 
 close interdependence of knowledge. Isolated facts 
 and observations are not knowledge ; nor are isolated 
 words and phrases language. Just as, when we in- 
 quire what the meaning of a fact is, we wish to know 
 its relations to other facts and to that part of the 
 body of knowledge which comprises it ; so too, when 
 we inquire what the meaning of a word is, we wish 
 to know its relations, as a symbol of thought, to 
 other symbols and to that part of the body of lan- 
 guage which comprises it. Hence we can never say 
 what the full significance and meaning of a word is 
 unless we know what its context is in the sentence. 
 Significance and meaning, then, in all cases imply 
 the conception and perception of the relations in- 
 volved ; but as applied to words they imply tlie con- 
 ception and perception of a double relationship — the 
 relations of the symbols, and the relations of that 
 
LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 171 
 
 which they symbolize. All through, mental training 
 from the nursery to the study involves a concurrent 
 education in language and thought. 
 
 For purposes of exact science, and for purposes 
 of logical treatment, the meaning of certain words 
 is rigidly and accurately defined. They then become 
 what are called tecli7iical terms. In physics, for ex- 
 ample, we must not use the terms '' energy," ^' mass,"' 
 or '^ acceleration " in any other than their technical 
 acceptation ; in geometry, the terms " point, '" ^' cir- 
 cle," " radius," and so on, are carefully defined. 
 The technical language of science thus possesses the 
 advantage of rigid accuracy of significance, but it 
 thereby becomes mechanical and loses its plasticity. 
 In the language of literature, on the other hand, the 
 words employed are not technical terms, rigidly and 
 accurately defined ; they acquire their significance 
 to a far greater extent from the context. Their re- 
 lations to each other may be described as rather or- 
 ganic than mechanical. In the literary product of 
 a great master, while the meaning and significance 
 are scarcely, if at all, less exact than in the lan- 
 guage of science, the inter-relations are far subtler. 
 They involve great delicacy and nicety of perception. 
 In our higher education we afford opportunities for 
 the training of mind in the relations of language 
 and thought not only in scientific description and 
 explanation, but also in the more imaginative prod- 
 ucts of literary masters with their more direct sug- 
 gestion of emotional tone. And if we have in view 
 all-round mental development, a training neither in 
 the language and thought of science nor in the lan- 
 guage and thought of literature should be omitted. 
 
172 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 The language and thought of our daily conversa- 
 tion is, as a rule, neither one thing nor the other. 
 It has neither the exactitude of the mechanical rela- 
 tion characteristic of the one, nor the delicacy of 
 the organic relation characteristic of the other. But 
 if often somewhat hazy and indefinite, it is, at any 
 rate, eminently plastic. 
 
 3y learning to read, the child passes from the stage 
 where he is merely receptive of oral and pictorial 
 communication, to the stage at which he can make 
 use of the written record. But he is then only en- 
 tering upon the threshold of his education. How 
 shall we train him so that language and thought may 
 develop in him to their best and highest uses ? One 
 way of answering this question would be to sketch 
 out a self-consistent scheme of education, primary 
 and secondary, and diverging thence into technical 
 and university. It is not my intention to attempt 
 anything of the sort. I shall content myself with 
 the more modest endeavor to indicate as briefly as 
 possible what would appear to be the chief psy- 
 chological import of the subjects which are com- 
 monly taught. 
 
 We may first note that a subject may claim a place 
 in an educational scheme — (1) on account of its 
 direct educational value as a means of mental disci- 
 pline ; (2) on account of its utility, by which is meant 
 not only its utility for getting on in the world, but 
 also its utility for further intellectual progress ; and 
 (3) on account of its aesthetic or moral worth. 
 
 Little need be said on the value of grammar, com- 
 position, and the analysis of sentences. But we 
 should not begin to teach grammar too soon ; nor 
 
LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 173 
 
 should we make it an exercise in mere memory-work, 
 with rules, lists of examples, and lists of exceptions, 
 all learned by heart. When the child is already tol- 
 erably familiar with the use of his own language, 
 and is sufficiently developed to be able to perceive 
 the relations of the words to each other in a sentence, 
 then, startiiig tvUh the sentence, not ivitli the gram- 
 mar booJc, we should train his powers of perception 
 of these relations. And an admirable field for the 
 training of perception it is. When these relations 
 have been perceived in a great number of particular 
 cases, we may lead the pupil on to generalize these 
 perceptions, to conceive the relationships, and to 
 apply the conceptions in particular cases. In this 
 way parsing and the grammatical analysis of sen- 
 tences may be made a real and very valuable mental 
 discipline. The child should not be allowed to see a 
 grammar until his powers of grammatical perception 
 are such that he is beginning to have complete con- 
 fidence in them, nor until he has reached, under due 
 guidance from the teacher, a number of generaliza- 
 tions for himself. Then he may use a grammar, 
 but even then chiefly as a book of reference. Com- 
 position may be used as a means of exemplifying 
 what has been learned in the study of grammatical 
 analysis. But just as the child should be encouraged 
 to see that language is not only a medium for the 
 perception of grammatical relations, but a medium 
 through which emotional tone may be evoked ; so, 
 too, he must be encouraged to use language in com- 
 position to a similar end. He should be encouraged 
 to develop that appreciation of literary form which 
 characterizes the best use of language, and to ex- 
 
174 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 press himself in a form that is at any rate not awk- 
 ward, slipshod, or incorrect. 
 
 I pass now to the study oi foreign languages. For 
 direct educational value there is no question that 
 such a highly inflectional language as Latin stands 
 far higher than modern languages. Indeed, we may 
 say that .the comparative study of an analytic lan- 
 guage like English, and an inflectional language like 
 Latin, is essential for the best training in the per- 
 ception of grammatical relations. In the inflectional 
 language each word bears on its face the sign of its 
 relationship. '' Magister pueros docet." The sub- 
 ject is here clearly indicated and marked off by its 
 termination from the object as complement of the 
 predicate. The time-relation is also clearly shown 
 in the form of the verb. In English, though we 
 still retain some inflections, we as a rule indicate the 
 relations either by separate words or by position in the 
 sentence. While in Latin we say " docet," '' docuit," 
 '^docebat," or ''docebit," the verb itself showing 
 the time-relation, in English we say '' teaches " and 
 '' taught," so far like the Latin, but '' was teaching'' 
 and ''will teach," here using separate words to ex- 
 press the time-relation. In Latin, as in English, the 
 grammatical analysis should, so far as is possible, be 
 made a matter of direct perception in the sentence, 
 not a matter of rules learned by heart in the gram- 
 mar. The headmaster of a grammar school tried, for 
 a term, the experiment of giving no grammar work 
 from the book, but taught bis form to exercise their 
 perceptions on the grammatical relations as they 
 naturally arose, and to generalize the results they 
 obtained. At the end of the term he set a grammar 
 
LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 175 
 
 paper ; and though the form was nowise above the 
 average, the grammar papers they sent in were dis- 
 tinctly above the average. It is as a means of training 
 the faculties of perception and generalization that 
 the study of such a language as Latin in comparison 
 with English is so valuable. For utility, French and 
 German are superior to Latin. For this purpose a 
 conversational and reading acquaintance with the 
 language is of more service than a training of 
 grammatical perception by its means. Indeed, 
 the relations to be perceived are so similar to those 
 already provided for in the study of English and 
 Latin, that in the study of French or German reference 
 to them should only be incidental. The teaching 
 of a modern language should be, and generally is, 
 on different lines from those marked out for the study 
 of Latin. All these linguistic studies offer a con- 
 venient field for the encouragement of the ^' how " 
 attitude and the *^ why " attitude. And it is partly 
 because the *^^how" and the '''why ^' admit of such 
 ready descriptive and explanatory answers that such 
 studies are of such value in mental discipline. 
 Etymology may be made a means of training in the 
 comparative method, and may serve to introduce 
 conceptions of development. By this means, also, 
 information of social value and import may be 
 introduced, and the mental horizon widened. All of 
 these foreign languages, Latin, French, and German, 
 open up great and wide literatures, though few there 
 be that find them. Here, however, Greek takes 
 precedence of any. For the encouragement and 
 stimulation of an appreciation of literary form at its 
 very best, Greek stands unrivalled. But of those 
 
176 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 who learn Greek at school, how few reach anything 
 like a full appreciation of the literary wealth thus 
 placed within their reach, and how few find time to 
 keep up their acquaintance with the language. Greek 
 is taking its position as a language the adequate 
 study of which is not for the many but for the few. 
 Concerning mathe7natics, the branch of study that 
 deals with numerical and quantitative relations, little 
 need be said. Its great value, both from the point 
 of view of mental training and discipline, and from 
 that of utility, both commercial and intellectual, is 
 admitted by all. It is typically exact, and fosters 
 accuracy of thought ; and this thought is expressible 
 by means of a special language or notation of cor- 
 responding exactness. It affords admirable illustra- 
 tion of abstraction and generalization in close com- 
 bination ; but its generalizations admit of being readily 
 particularized in examples. The teacher should, 
 so soon as the mental powers of his pupils are ripe for 
 it, illustrate by means of mathematics the nature of 
 abstract and general ideas ; and the relation of these 
 ideas, as abstract and general, to the particular cases 
 in which they are exemplified. It is a subject, how- 
 ever, which in its higher ranges makes great demands 
 on the memory ; but at the same time trains the 
 faculty of systematic recollection. It emphasizes the 
 logical relationship, and is of immense value in aiding 
 the pupil to conceive and perceive the '^therefore.^^ 
 An exercise of some value for those who are sufficiently 
 advanced is to translate examples of geometrical 
 reasoning, such as propositions of Euclid, into logical 
 form. Or this may be brought out less formally 
 by a continual asking of the question '^ Why ? " and no 
 
LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 177 
 
 subject lends itself better to the training of the '* why '' 
 attitude than mathematics. The mathematical train 
 of reasoning is apt to get a long way from the 
 fundamental generalization, and a series of "'^whys'* 
 are necessary to bring us down to these founda- 
 tions. 
 
 Geometry is of especial value in bringing home to 
 the eye in perception certain abstract and general 
 numerical and quantitative relations ; those who ex- 
 cel in applied mathematics having often a special 
 aptitude in translating the problems with which they 
 have to deal into geometrical form. It is often ex- 
 ceedingly helpful to bring home to the eye, by means 
 of visible space-relations that can be readily perceived, 
 quantitative relations which could not be directly 
 perceived. For example, the fluctuations in the 
 value of the rupee between 1884 and 1893 are brought 
 home to the eye in the figure on p. 178 ; while in the 
 figure on p. 179, the space, in feet, passed over by a 
 body falling under the uniformly accelerating force 
 of gravitation, at the end of the first, second, and 
 third seconds and the intervening half-seconds, is 
 shown by firm lines ; the velocity acquired at the 
 end of each second and half-second is shown by 
 broken lines. This metJiod of diagrammatic represen- 
 tation is often a great aid to the apprehension of de- 
 scription dealing with quantitative relations, and to 
 the comprehension of an explanation of the facts 
 described. The teacher should make himself f amilar 
 with its use. Two lines are drawn at right angles. 
 The vertical line is used as a scale for the quantita- 
 tive relations to be perceived. In the diagram on p. 
 178 it is a scale of value, marked off in pence and 
 
 12 
 
178 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 s 
 
 s 
 
 s 
 
 s 
 
 :S 
 
 S 
 
 » 
 
 w 
 
 ^ 
 
 w 
 
 ^ 
 
 r1 
 
 1 f 1 ' T I 
 
 •anivji 
 
LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 179 
 
 Feet. n^^^^to^^ 
 
 I I I I I I I I I I I M I I I I M I I I i I I I I I I I I 1 I I I i 
 
180 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 shillings, each division representing one penny. In 
 the diagram on p. 179 it is a scale of feet, each division 
 representing four feet. Along the horizontal line 
 are arranged the facts described. If, as is often the 
 case, they are described as occurring at definite time- 
 intervals, these intervals should be placed to scale 
 along the line. On p. 178 the intervals are years. 
 On p. 179 they are half-seconds. Perpendiculars are 
 drawn to scale over the position of each fact 
 described. Thus, over 1884, on p. 178, the average 
 value of the rupee in that year, one shilling and 
 sevenpence halfpenny, is represented to scale ; and 
 over 1893, the value in that year, one and twopence 
 halfpenny, is similarly represented. Thus, too, over 
 one second on p. 179, 16 feet, the space passed over 
 in one second, and 32 feet, the velocity at the end of 
 that second, are represented to scale ; and over three 
 seconds, 144 feet, the space passed over in that time, 
 and 96 feet, the velocity acquired at the end of that 
 second, are similarly represented. If in this diagram 
 the upper ends of the broken lines be joined by a 
 straight line, and the upper ends of the firm lines be 
 joined by a curve, the uniformity of increase in both 
 cases is brought home to the eye, the increase in the 
 velocities being in arithmetical progression, while the 
 increase in the spaces passed over is in geometrical 
 progression. And thus the generalizations, v = 32^ 
 and 5=16f, may be led up to. It will be noticed 
 in the diagram on p. 178, that while the value of the 
 rupee fell from 1884 to 1888 and 1889, it rose in 1890. 
 This should at once suggest the question. Why ? It 
 was, we are told, a temporary rise, of brief duration, 
 due to the action of the United States Government 
 
LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 181 
 
 in buying up silver with the object of maintaining 
 the level of its value as compared with gold. And it 
 is one of the generalizations of political economy that 
 increased demand is accompanied by a rise in price. 
 Enough has now been said to enable the teacher to 
 understand the method of diagrammatic representa- 
 tion, or the graphic metJiod, as it is often termed. 
 
 Incidental reference has already frequently been 
 made to the use of science in mental training. In 
 the early stages of education it should be purely 
 observational or experimental and descriptive ; and 
 it must throughout be thoroughly practical. For 
 observation by itself, elementary botany ; for ob- 
 servation with experiment, elementary physics and 
 chemistry are best. Our aim is to make the pupil 
 perceive for himself natural relationships. Later on 
 simple generalization will follow. But the uttermost 
 care on the part of the teacher is needed to avoid, on 
 the one hand, introducing explanations beyond the 
 powers of his pupils, and, on the other hand, let- 
 ting the so-called science degenerate into mere rule- 
 of-thumb work. Invaluable as a real training in 
 elementary science is in education, we have to be 
 constantly on our guard lest it sink to the level of 
 mere memory work, dealing with a number of terms 
 and phrases which have only what we call indirect 
 significance, supplemented by some testing of solu- 
 tions to give an appearance of practical value. 
 
 The direct educational value of history is to widen 
 the mental horizon. It should, in the early stages of 
 education, be picturesque and anecdotal. It should 
 carry with it a considerable body of emotional tone ; 
 and it should be charged, not obtrusively, of course. 
 
182 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 but quite insensibly, with moral purpose ; for its 
 value to a great extent lies in its social influence. 
 One of the chief difficulties in teaching children 
 history is to afford anything like a realizing idea of 
 time-relations, and of what we may call time-pro- 
 portion. This involves what is called localizatmi in 
 time. The child should first be taught to localize 
 events in his own experience. I would suggest to 
 the teacher of young children to try the following 
 plan. Get, or make, a long strip of paper. Tell 
 your pupils that you are going to keep a record, day 
 by day, of the events of the week. Write down these 
 events, the lessons learned, the games played, the walks 
 taken, anything that interests them, from below up- 
 wards, beginning at the bottom of the strip, and mark- 
 ing the day — morning, afternoon, and evening. At 
 the end of the week, tell them that you are going to 
 show them the record. Hang the strip over the back 
 of a chair, bidding them stand in front, and then pull 
 the paper slowly over so that the record of event after 
 event comes in due order of succession into view. 
 They will — so I am told by teachers who have tried 
 the plan — be delighted at seeing the record of the 
 week's events pass before them in ^ few minutes. 
 They will thus get an idea of a condensed time- 
 record — the week's events being condensed into five 
 minutes. They will soon be able to localize the 
 events in the week — such localization being a percep- 
 tion of the time-relation of the event in question to 
 other events. A similar record-scroll may be made 
 to represent the chief events of their life. And thus 
 we may lead up to historical record-scrolls; and our 
 pupils may be taught to localize events in historical 
 
LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 183 
 
 time. The days of the week in our first scroll rep- 
 resent the dates in our historical scroll. But it must 
 be remembered that dates are symbolic of time local- 
 ization, and until the child can localize in time are 
 meaningless. No doubt, at a somewhat later stage, 
 the dates of the salient events of history should be 
 committed to memory as reference points for time- 
 localization ; but this should not be permitted until 
 such dates have acquired meaning. 
 
 It was noted just now that the study of history had 
 a moral value. This perhaps comes out most clearly 
 when we pass from the descriptive to the explanatory 
 stage, for then we have to consider the motives for 
 conduct and action. History in the explanatory stage 
 is a subject rather for university than for secondary 
 education. The schoolboy, and this is true also to a 
 large extent of the undergraduate, has too little ex- 
 perience of the world for the great facts of history 
 to assume for him their true significance ; hence it is 
 not till we reach mature years that the real bearing and 
 full value of historical study begins to appear. 
 
 Under the heading of geography we teach localiza- 
 tion in space by means of maps, which condense within 
 the reach of visual perception space-relations too wide 
 to be embraced by the eye. As localization in time 
 should be taught to little children by the aid of events 
 which fall within their individual experience, so 
 should localization in space be taught by the aid of 
 areas of which the child has such experience. "When 
 a child can understand a map of the garden or play- 
 ground, and of his own village, or a part of the town 
 in which he lives, he is prepared to understand a map 
 of the county or kingdom. But the geographical 
 
184 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 conceptions of a stay-at-home child are probably very 
 vague. Under the head of geography is also conveyed 
 a more or less miscellaneous mass of general informa- 
 tion concerning other lands from the historical, polit- 
 ical, commercial, or social point of view. This has 
 very little value as mental discipline ; its value, like 
 that of history, lies mainly in the fact that it widens 
 the mental horizon and is of social import. Under 
 the head of physical geography we describe and ex- 
 plain the manner in which the physical features of 
 the earth have been produced. It is of little value 
 (except as information) unless associated with pre- 
 vious or concurrent training in elementary science. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to add that education is 
 incomplete unless there is a training in skill both in 
 the use of the delicate finger muscles and in that of 
 the larger and coarser body muscles. 
 
 In all subjects, with the exception of that of skill, 
 it is essential that there should be concurrent train- 
 ing in language and thought ; and that both concep- 
 tions and the words by which they are expressed 
 should be, as far as possible, directly and not merely 
 indirectly significant. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 LITERATURE 
 
 It has already been shown that mental develop- 
 ment is an individual matter ; that the mind of a 
 child, like his body, grows in virtue of an innate and 
 inherent synthetic tendency ; and that all the teacher 
 can profitably hope to do is to supply the most favor- 
 able conditions for growth and development. And 
 if this is true of the mind in its cognitive aspect, it 
 is equally, and perhaps more obviously, true of emo- 
 tional development. We will take literature as our 
 example of the wide field of artistic culture. And 
 here we feel to the full our helplessness to do more 
 than minister to nature. If there be no inborn faculty 
 of appreciation for literature, we cannot hope to im- 
 plant it by any method of instruction ; and if such 
 faculty be given, all that we can do is to afford the 
 material and the opportunities for its ripening and 
 maturing. 
 
 There would seem to be some people who, in adult 
 life, have little or no appreciation of literature. They 
 see, for example, nothing particular to admire in 
 Tennyson's beautiful lines — 
 
 '* And Morn 
 Has lifted the dark eyelash of the Night 
 From off the rosy cheek of waking Day ; " 
 
 or in such lines as those of Lowell's — 
 185 
 
186 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 " The rich buttercup 
 Its tiny polished urn holds up, 
 Filled with ripe summer to the edge." 
 
 And if they do not feel the beauty of such passages, 
 what can we do ? It will certainly be of little avail 
 to try to describe and explain — even if it admitted of 
 explanation — wherein the beauty lies. He who is 
 wise will change the subject. But with children it 
 is our duty to foster their appreciation. And for- 
 tunately there are few children in whom there are no 
 germs of appreciation which may be so fostered. In 
 most cases the absence of receptive imagination in 
 grown-up people is due to the fact that in them the 
 germs have never been cultivated, or the young shoots 
 of imaginative appreciation have died down and 
 withered in the sterile soil of their daily life. But 
 the ministry of the teacher is here peculiarly difficult ; 
 for what the child is capable of appreciating is often 
 very different from what the teacher himself appreci- 
 ates. Certain it is, however, that if the teacher have 
 never cultivated his own faculty of appreciation, he 
 will be little able to render efficient service to his 
 pupils in this respect. Hence his aim should be so 
 to establish a mental background of appreciation in 
 himself that he may be able insensibly to influence 
 in a similar manner the minds of those who are com- 
 mitted to his care. 
 
 In our elementary education a good deal of stress 
 is rightly laid on recitation. This affords material in 
 and through which appreciation may be trained. But 
 the mere getting by heart of the poetry which is 
 recited is the least important part, in educational 
 value, of recitation. At first, no doubt, the child 
 
LITERATURE 187 
 
 must devote all his efforts to learning his piece by 
 rote. But the true criterion of excellence in recita- 
 tion is not merely that it should be word-perfect, but 
 that it should show that the reciter has entered into 
 the spirit of that which he recites. And he should 
 be early made to understand that correct manner and 
 method are certainly not less important than correct 
 matter. Here demonstration is of far more service 
 than description. The teacher must himself be able 
 so to recite or read as to show how the spirit of the 
 piece may be brought out. At first the manner and 
 method of the child will have little individuality ; 
 they are based, through imitation, on the manner 
 and method of the teacher. But it is surprising how 
 soon the individuality of the child makes itself felt ; 
 and such individuality should be encouraged so long 
 as it does not run into mannerism. As the pupil 
 thus becomes independent of the teacher, he is able 
 more and more clearly to show the extent to which 
 he appreciates that which he recites. 
 
 To the recitation of poetry should be added prac- 
 tice in reading aloud, not only poetry of varied metre, 
 but good literary prose. Thus fresh material will be 
 supplied on which the developing faculty of appre- 
 ciation may be exercised. The usual plan in En- 
 glish secondary and public schools is to drop all re- 
 citation and reading of the literature of his own 
 language just at the time when the boy's appreciation 
 is so far developed as to enable him to enter into the 
 spirit of the work of the best masters. It is true that 
 a play of Shakespeare or one of the ^' Idylls of the 
 King " or other set piece is prepared with the aid of 
 copious notes ; and an examination is set which deals 
 
188 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 with text and notes. But from the nature of the 
 case the examination paper deals with them entirely 
 in their cogiiitive aspect. Look through such a paper 
 and what do you find ? A series of questions set, ap- 
 parently, with the object of ascertaining how much 
 general information concerning the subject matter of 
 the piece, or suggested thereby, the boy remembers. 
 All this is, no doubt, useful. But it is no test of 
 literary appreciation — a matter which no examination 
 paper can adequately gauge, and hence a matter too 
 apt nowadays to be neglected. 
 
 It forms, however, no part of my present purpose 
 either to criticise existing methods of education or to 
 suggest practical reforms. I can but indicate what 
 appears to me necessary for the training of faculty. 
 The problem is : Given a faculty of appreciation, 
 which answers on the part of the recipient to the 
 creative faculty on the part of the literary artist, how 
 are we to train it ? By all means let us render assis- 
 tance in the apprehension and comprehension of that 
 which our author has written. In this we cannot be 
 too thorough. But, after all, it is not herein that 
 appreciation lies. Nor can we expect a boy to de- 
 scribe his appreciation ; as well ask him to describe 
 his appreciation of a fully ripe peach. But we may 
 expect him to give expression to that appreciation 
 through the reading of selected passages from his 
 author. And we may and should teach him so to 
 use his faculty of speech as to reflect the beauty of 
 the literature he appreciates. Thus only can he show 
 us how far his receptive imagination answers to tlie 
 creative imagination of the author he interprets. 
 
 The term '^ imagination," like so many others in 
 
LITERATURE 189 
 
 psychology, is used in different senses by different 
 writers. It is well to use it to denote the syntlietic 
 faculty hy which ideas are recombined to form new 
 products. The phrase ^'passive imagination" is 
 sometimes used for the unconscious and unintentional 
 recombination of ideas ; while ^^ active imagination "is 
 used for their conscious and intentional recombination. 
 The distinction is, however, hard to preserve. It is 
 characteristic of genius that the riches of imagination 
 seem to pour forth unbidden and without conscious 
 effort. Nor can the mind under such circumstances 
 be well called passive. "We may distinguish between 
 three uses of the imagination. In scientific imagina- 
 tion the recombination of ideas is for purposes of 
 explanation ; the end in view being intellectual, and 
 the attainment of knowledge. In inventive imagina- 
 tion the recombination of ideas is for purposes of 
 mechanical construction ; the end in view being prac- 
 tical, and the aim, utility. In artistic imagination 
 the recombinaton of ideas is for purposes of art ; the 
 end in view being aesthetic, and the aim, beauty. A 
 further distinction — one that applies to all these uses 
 — is that between the creative imagination of the 
 man of science, the inventor, or the artist, and the 
 receptive imagination through which we respond to his 
 creative synthesis. The appreciation of which we 
 have been speaking involves receptive imagination. 
 The creative imagination of the poet is quite lost 
 upon the reader or hearer who has no kindred re- 
 ceptivity. Hence the appreciation of imaginative lit- 
 erature presupposes a faculty which shall go out to 
 meet and embrace the creative product of the artist. 
 People of little imagination regard the similes and 
 
190 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 metaphors of the poet as far-fetched and extravagant. 
 Why should Tennyson speak of the '* dark eyelash " 
 of the night, or the " rosy cheek " of morn ? What 
 could have induced Lowell to call the flower of a 
 buttercup an ^' urn, " and to say that it was filled 
 with ^' ripe summer " ? For the lack of imagination 
 in many of us — especially men — education rather 
 than nature is answerable. Children generally revel 
 in fairy tales and delightfuly improbable stories of 
 adventure. But there are some parents and teachers 
 who check all such reading ; it is not practical, and 
 will be of no service in this busy, workaday world. 
 Moreover, during school-life the boy has generally 
 very little spare time for the reading of imaginative 
 literature. The curriculum is so arranged that, when 
 the daily routine of work and games has been duly 
 fulfilled, there are but few odd moments left to devote 
 to the novel or the drama. Even the holidays have 
 their set task of some book on which the inevitable 
 examination, optional or compulsory, is held. No 
 doubt there are good reasons for this course. No 
 doubt, if much spare time were left, but few boys 
 would devote it to good literature ; and these few 
 may be trusted to make or steal the time if they 
 have a real bent for literature. But the fact re- 
 mains that the many do not cultivate their imagina- 
 tive faculty. 
 
 There is one further fact concerning imagination 
 in literature which may be noted, since it illustrates 
 in a new way what was said concerning the relation 
 of the general to the particular, and of conception to 
 perception. In literature, as in art- product, general- 
 ization takes the form of idealism ; particular ization. 
 
LITERATURE 191 
 
 that of realism. The ideal in art involves abstraction 
 and generalization — abstraction in the omission of 
 all details which are not necessary to the idealized 
 product ; generalization of the essential features 
 reached by abstraction. Eealism, on the other hand, 
 involves the introduction of such details as shall as- 
 similate the representation to actual fact, and the 
 incorporation of the results of generalization in 
 individual persons or concrete things. Utter realism 
 would be the exact portrayal of life and nature as it 
 is, with no trivial detail omitted. In the first place, 
 this is not possible ; in the second place, it is not art. 
 What is meant by realism in art or literature is there- 
 fore the introduction of so much detail as shall 
 make the ideal representation lifelihe and natural. 
 What the artist, literary or other, aims at is the due 
 balance between idealism and realism. The ideal con- 
 ception of the creative imagination has to be embodied 
 in particular form ; and Hamlet, Monkbarns, or Tito 
 stand before us. 
 
 The subject matter of literature is as varied as are 
 human interests. In it are reflected all the aspects 
 of external nature that appeal to us as human beings, 
 all the phases of human life and endeavor, and all 
 the yearnings and passions of the human soul. All 
 that we see and know, all that we hope and believe, 
 all that we fancy and imagine, are reflected in litera- 
 ture. It is quite impossible, therefore, to define 
 literature as a whole by its subject matter. Nor is 
 this subject matter in any way definitely marked off 
 from that of science. Neither literature nor science 
 can claim a monopoly of any group of natural phe- 
 nomena. Man and nature afford subject matter to 
 
192 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 both. And our own century has witnessed science, 
 on the one hand, endeavoring with increasing suc- 
 cess to justify the application of its canons to the 
 study of man, and literature, on the other hand, 
 turning with increasing sympathy for inspiration to 
 the realm of nature. It is not in their subject 
 matter broadly considered that literature and science 
 differ, it is in their attitude and spirit and pur- 
 pose. 
 
 Now, since different men and women have dif- 
 ferent interests, and derive their pleasure from dif- 
 ferent sources, there are many kinds of literature. 
 Nor is there one kind of literary excellence, but 
 many. This is implied by the adjectives we use : 
 sublime, majestic, grand ; tender and pathetic ; 
 exciting, thrilling ; humorous, witty, comic ; and so 
 forth. We do not, or should not, apply the epithets 
 *' beautiful '' and '' pretty " to the same piece. And 
 this implies a variety in our appreciation. The 
 same kind of literature does not appeal in like 
 degree to all of us, nor indeed in the same way to 
 any one of us in his different moods. These facts 
 must be steadily borne in mind by the teacher. 
 \He must remember that what appeals strongly to him 
 at his stage of mental development may not appeal 
 at all to his pupil, who is at an earlier stage. If he 
 attempts in any way to force upon an immature mind 
 an appreciation unsuitable to its stage of develop- 
 ment, he may either prejudice the pupil for life 
 against that type of literature, or encourage a sham 
 appreciation, than which nothing is unfortunately 
 more common or more silly. What he has to do 
 is to educate the appreciation, leading it on step 
 
LITERATURE 193 
 
 by step in its upward development. He must re- 
 member, too, that his aim is to minister to all-round 
 mental development. He should endeavor to culti- 
 vate an appreciation of literary excellence in all 
 its phases. The majestic verse of Milton and of 
 Wordsworth at his best ; the polished excellence of 
 Tennyson, and the concentration and dramatic power 
 of Browning ; the broad humanity of Shakespeare 
 and of Scott ; the humor and pathos which find such 
 different expression in Thackeray and Dickens ; the 
 strength of George Eliot and the delicacy of Elizabeth 
 Browning ; the word-painting of Ruskin and Carlyle, 
 the wit of Tom Hood, and the delicate humor of 
 Charles Lamb, — all these should have their chance of 
 appealing to a mind that has had an all-round educa- 
 tion in appreciation. And since we must distinguish 
 between our lower and our higher interests ; between 
 the pleasures which are mean, trivial, or sordid, and 
 those which are ennobling, and appeal to what we 
 feel to be the better side of our nature ; so we should 
 encourage our pupils to appreciate best that litera- 
 ture which appeals to lasting and enduring interests, 
 to those pleasures which are ours in virtue of our dis- 
 tinctive humanity. 
 
 Literary form appeals primarily to the ear, and we 
 should endeavor to cultivate a due sense and appre- 
 ciation of the melody of literature. Even when we 
 read to ourselves, the element of sound is not ab- 
 sent, but accompanies re-presentatively that which 
 is presentatively given to the eye. In early days be- 
 fore the invention of printing, the appeal of the poet 
 was mainly to the ears of an audience ; now it is 
 more largely to a circle of readers. And since the eye 
 13 
 
194 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 can take in a more complex and longer sentence than 
 the ear — since, too, the reader in his study can pause 
 and go over a passage again if he have not caught its 
 rhythm or its meaning — some modern poetry has be- 
 come too complicated and involved for the ear to 
 follow. Few, for example, could grasp on first hear- 
 ing, or indeed on first reading, the following passage 
 
 from '' Sordello "— 
 
 ♦'While 
 
 Crowd upon crowd rose on Sordello thus — 
 
 (Crowds no way interfering to discuss, 
 
 Much less dispute, life's joys with one employed 
 
 In envying them,— or, if they ought enjoyed, 
 
 Where lingered something indefinable 
 
 In every look and tone, the mirth as well 
 
 As woe, that fixed at once his estimate 
 
 Of the result, their good or bad estate)— 
 
 Or memories returned with new effect." 
 
 Judged by the appeal to the ear, such a passage 
 stands condemned. And, at any rate for the pur- 
 poses of education, the appeal to the ear is the surest 
 criterion of excellence in literary form. To the ap- 
 peal to the ear, however, an appeal to the voice should 
 be added. Hence the great and, in secondary edu- 
 cation, too little recognized importance of reading 
 aloud. I revert to this because it is, in my judg- 
 ment, of great value in the training of the faculty of 
 appreciation, while it is also a delightful accomplish- 
 ment. How few Englishmen of average education 
 are capable of reading effectively a passage in prose 
 or verse so as to bring out its rhythm and melody, 
 its delicacy or its force. And though a man's powers 
 of elocution are not necessarily an index of his faculty 
 of appreciation, yet this is the most expressive means 
 
LITERATURE 195 
 
 at his command for showing his appreciation. If, 
 too, there is any truth in what has before been urged, 
 that language and thought develop hand in hand, we 
 may fairly expect that appreciation and its expression 
 should so act and react upon each other as to facili- 
 tate the concurrent development of both. 
 
 We cannot here consider at any length how the 
 child should be trained to use aright his gift of speech 
 for purposes of reading and recitation. As before 
 noted, demonstration is here of far more value than 
 description. The child must be shown — not told — 
 how to read well. The articulation must be clear 
 and distinct, free from provincialism and mannerism. 
 Rate of utterance and emphasis must be duly graded. 
 And the melody of intonation must subtly indicate 
 a sense of harmony between the thought and its ex- 
 pression. Sing-song in repetition or reading must 
 be checked at all hazards. Unfortunately, much of 
 the simple poetry for children lends itself all too 
 readily to sing-song. Hence the pupil should be 
 taught to read prose with due intonation. It is 
 easier to read well good blank verse than the rhymed 
 couplet. The pupil should also be taught to distin- 
 guish clearly between the rhythm and melody of 
 poetry and that of prose, and should be led to feel 
 that the difference lies a good deal deeper than the 
 way in which the lines are written or printed. A 
 prose author may consciously or unconsciously fall 
 into the rhythm of poetry — a fault from which even 
 Dickens is not free. Mr. Blackmore, for example, 
 in Lorna Doom, writes : " All that in my presence 
 dwelt, all that in my heart was felt, was the maiden 
 moving gently, and afraid to look at me.^^ This is 
 
196 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 not true prose melody, but the rhythm of verse. On 
 the other hand, uniformity in the length of the lines 
 does not constitute poetry, though some definite 
 schematic sequence is almost, if not quite, essential. 
 The American poet Walt Whitman shook himself 
 almost entirely free of all the trammels of metre. 
 Both in thought and expression, much that he wrote 
 has great beauty, but it is difficult to read aloud 
 effectively. I may perhaps be allowed to quote one 
 short piece — 
 
 *' Had I the choice to tally greatest bards, 
 To limn their portraits, stately, beautiful, and emulate at 
 
 will 
 Homer with all his wars and warriors, Hector, Achilles, 
 
 Ajax, 
 Or Shakespeare's woe-estranged Hamlet, Lear, Othello — 
 
 Tennyson's fair ladies — 
 Metre or wit the best, or choice conceit to wield in perfect 
 
 rhyme, delight of singers ; 
 These, these, O sea, all these I'd gladly barter. 
 Would you the undulation of one wave, its trick to me 
 
 transfer, 
 Or breathe one breath of yours upon my verse 
 And leave its odor there." 
 
 Here, where he is most effective, in the last four lines, 
 he departs least widely from the traditional poetic 
 form. 
 
 The pupil should always be allowed to read over 
 carefully to himself any passage he is expected to read 
 aloud effectively. It is quite impossible for him fully 
 to perceive the harmony between expression and 
 thought as he reads. Take, for example, the follow- 
 ing five lines from a well-known sonnet of Words- 
 
LITERATURE 197 
 
 worth's, which are admirable in their delicate har- 
 mony — 
 
 " It is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; 
 The holy time is quiet as a Nun 
 Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun 
 Is sinking down in its tranquillity ; 
 The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea." 
 
 It is not likely that the words '^ breathless with ad- 
 oration/' or the last line with its lingering emphasis 
 on the word '' broods/' will be rendered with due 
 effect if the reader has no previous acquaintance with 
 the poem. Nor can he catch the spirit of this intro- 
 duction if he has no foreknowledge of the sequel. 
 Reading at sight is indeed a most useful accomplish- 
 ment, which should be separately trained. It in- 
 volves in marked degree that divided attention vi^hich 
 was alluded to in the second chapter ; for the compre- 
 hension of the meaning as we read at sight is some 
 way ahead of the vocal expression. But this very 
 division of the attention prevents the expression from 
 attaining anything like its maximum value. It may 
 be useful, therefore, to be able to read a poem or a 
 piece of music at sight ; but it should be understood 
 that this is no fair criterion either of appreciation or 
 of powers of expression. What should we say of an 
 artist who came forward to read or sing in public, and 
 who gave us a mere at-sight rendering ? But no 
 artist worthy the name would willingly consent to 
 do such gross injustice both to himself and to his 
 audience. 
 
 Let us now pass on to consider what is the psycho- 
 logical nature of t\idX appreciation to which reference 
 
198 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 has so frequently been made. In the first place, we 
 may note that it belongs to the category of that 
 emotional tone to which we directed our attention 
 in the chapter of Mental Development. It is not 
 primarily a matter of cognition, though cognitional 
 elements may be present. Hence it is exceedingly 
 difficult to define or describe, since both definition 
 and description are in terms of cognition. Apprecia- 
 tion is, however, an example of a special kind of 
 emotional tone — that which is termed msthetic tone. 
 What are the distinguishing characteristics of aesthetic 
 tone is a point on which psychologists are by no 
 means agreed. That which is here said must there- 
 fore be regarded as a matter of individual opinion. 
 In common with emotional tone in general, it is in 
 large degree subconscious and concerns the mental 
 background. Or perhaps it would be better to say 
 that it concerns the state of consciousness as a whole, 
 both focus and margin, and especially the relations 
 involved. Herein, indeed, lies, in my opinion, the dis- 
 tinguishing feature of aesthetic tone, as such. It is 
 the emotional tone associated with those elements in 
 co7iscious7iess lohich we term relations. It does not, 
 therefore, take its origin until perception has intro- 
 duced into the field of consciousness these relational 
 elements. Until we can perceive the relations in- 
 volved in the melody and harmony of literature, the 
 aesthetic tone of appreciation has no place in our 
 consciousness. 
 
 We speak in daily conversation of perceiving the 
 beauty of a poetical passage. We say we perceive the 
 beauty, for example, of Browning's description of the 
 awakening of the water from its frosty sleep, when — 
 
LITERATURE 199 
 
 *' Early in autumn, at the first winter- warning, 
 The stag had to break with his foot, of a morning, 
 A drinking-hole out of the fresh tender ice, 
 That covered the pond, till the sun in a trice, 
 Loosening it, let out a ripple of gold. 
 And another and another, and faster and faster, 
 Till dimpling to blindness, the wide water rolled." 
 
 Such perception of the beauty of a passage may mean 
 the perception of the relation of the passage to our 
 standard of beauty ; in which case it is a judgment 
 and cognitive in its nature. Or it may, and gener- 
 ally does, mean a feeling of appreciation ; in which 
 case it is the direct experience of sesthetic tone. What 
 we perceive, in the latter case, is the series of rela- 
 tions involved in the poet's description, and this is so 
 far cognitive. But this perception is accompanied 
 by emotional tone, and herein lies the sense of appre- 
 ciation of such. We perceive, too, the harmony be- 
 tween thought and expression, and the melodious re- 
 lations of the words to each other in the rhythm ; and 
 this again is so far cognitive. But these perceptions 
 too are accompanied by emotional tone giving rise to 
 our sense of appreciation. It should be particularly 
 noticed that the aesthetic tone, as such, is quite dis- 
 tinct from any intellectual and cognitive process, 
 though it is the emotional accompaniment of that 
 process ; Just as the pleasure we derive from eating a 
 good dinner is quite distinct from, though it accom- 
 panies, the nutritive value of the operation. 
 
 The relation of that which is in the focus of con- 
 sciousness to the mental background in which it is 
 set forms an important factor in aesthetic tone. This 
 is seen in the employment of that which is known as 
 
200 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 suspense. Here a series of minor relationships are 
 presented so as to prepare a background in which 
 the emphatic relation shall be set. An example 
 from Macaulay's Reform Bill speech may be taken 
 in illustration : '^If, sir, I wished to make such a 
 foreigner clearly understand what I consider as the 
 great defect of our system, I would conduct him 
 through that immense city which lies to the north of 
 Great Russell Street and Oxford Street — a city supe- 
 rior in size and in population to the capitals of many 
 mighty kingdoms ; and probably superior in opulence, 
 intelligence, and general respectability to any city in 
 the world. I would conduct him through that inter- 
 minable succession of streets and squares, all consist- 
 ing of well-built and well -furnished houses. I would 
 make him observe the brilliancy of the shops, and the 
 crowd of well-appointed equipages. I would show 
 him that magnificent circle of palaces which surrounds 
 the Regent^s Park. I would tell him that the rental 
 of this district was far greater than that of the whole 
 kingdom of Scotland at the time of the Union. And 
 then I would tell him that this was an unrepresented 
 district.^' Note how the background of conscious- 
 ness is here prepared for the final emphatic statement. 
 And note, in passing, how skilfully the author par- 
 ticularizes and brings the picture home to the eye 
 through his description. 
 
 Nor is it only in the employment of the figure of 
 suspense that the influence of the mental background 
 makes itself felt. We all know how some particular 
 line of a poem, or speech in a play, or scene in a novel, 
 fails to carry its due force if torn from its con- 
 text. Its full weight and beauty is appreciated only 
 
LITERATURE 201 
 
 when the mental background has been prepared by 
 what has gone before. How much even Portia's 
 splendid outburst, beginning 
 
 " The quality of mercy is not strained," 
 
 loses, if Shylock's question, '' On what compulsion ?" 
 
 be not borne in mind. Or, to give but one further 
 
 example, how tame and trite, taken by itself, is the 
 
 line, 
 
 *' And never lifted up a single stone ! " 
 
 And yet, as the line stands in Wordsworth's idyll 
 Michael, it is, at any rate to my appreciation, one of 
 the most profoundly touching and pathetic lines in 
 the whole range of our literature. Few who have en- 
 tered into the spirit of the poem could read it aloud 
 without a break in their voice. 
 
 We have all probably felt the thinness, so to speak, 
 of the earlier chapters of a novel, especially on first 
 reading. There is as yet no mental background 
 which in any way bears upon the facts which are 
 described, and in which those facts can find their ap- 
 propriate setting. On the other hand, our fullest 
 appreciation of a novel or drama is when we review 
 it in memory. The series of events are seen fore- 
 shortened in remembrance ; the minor events retire 
 into the dim background ; while the salient features 
 of the development stand out clearly in their due re- 
 lations, the perception of which is accompanied by 
 the aesthetic tone of appreciation. Thus, too, in a 
 sister art, Mozart speaks of ^' seeing the whole of if 
 (a piece of music, even a long one) ^^at a single 
 glance of my mind " ; and adds, '* The best of all is 
 
l>Ol! PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 the hearing of it all at once." For the purpose of 
 appreciation in restrospect it is important that there 
 should be a single definite development to which 
 minor series of events are subordinate. When there 
 are several co-ordinate series, not duly related, the 
 effect on the mind is confusing. We say that the 
 novel is wanting in artistic unity. Silas Marner is 
 an admirable example of such artistic unity ; Thack- 
 eray's Virginians being wanting in this respect. 
 
 In saying that a novel is wanting in artistic unity, 
 we are expressing si judgment. Such a judgment, it 
 should be noted, though it is exercised in matters of 
 appreciation which are concerned with the emotional 
 aspect of our conscious experience, is in itself intel- 
 lectual and cognitive. It involves a standard of ex- 
 cellence to which a particular art-product is com- 
 pared. The standard is often spoken of as an ideal ; 
 and such an ideal is the product of reflective generali- 
 zation. It is the net result of all our appreciative 
 experience. The act of judgment is the perception 
 of the relation of the particular art-product, concern- 
 ing which an opinion is expressed, to our ideal 
 standard. If we say that Tennyson's lines, 
 
 '' So all day long the sound of battle roU'd 
 Among the mountains by the winter sea," 
 
 are admirable in their harmony of thought and ex- 
 pression, we are asserting that they reach or approach 
 our ideal of excellence. 
 
 It may be well very briefly to compare an aesthetic 
 judgment with that expressed in the minor premise 
 of the syllogism. The logical judgment is charac- 
 terized by its definiteness. For example — 
 
LITERATURE 203 
 
 Mammals are warm-blooded ; 
 A sheep is a mammal ; 
 Therefore a sheep is warm-blooded. 
 In the judgment here expressed in the minor 
 premise we assert that the sheep conforms to the 
 standard definition of a mammal ; it is a particular 
 example of a general class. But in assthetic judg- 
 ments there is none of this definiteness and logical 
 exactness. The literary ideal is something which is 
 quite real and yet quite undefined. If I say that the 
 following lines of Rudyard Kipling's Seal Lullciby 
 are excellent in their kind, I express a literary judg- 
 ment — 
 
 " Where billow meets billow, then soft be thy pillow, 
 Oh, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease ! 
 The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee, 
 Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas ! " 
 
 I am not aware, however, of having formulated any 
 generalization of what the peculiar excellence of a 
 seal lullaby should be ; and I certainly am not pre- 
 pared to throw my conclusion into logical form. 
 And this would seem to be characteristic of aesthetic 
 judgments in general. It is true that we can formu- 
 late some few canons of esthetic criticism. But they 
 do not go far to help us. And if some one asks me, 
 '^ Why do you regard these lines of Rudyard Kip- 
 ling's as excellent in their kind t" \ can say but lit- 
 tle in reply. And I shall feel that this little is alto- 
 gether inadequate. It is quite possible, moreover, 
 that my own individual ideal may not coincide with 
 what may be termed the social ideal — using this term 
 for the ideal of those among us who from their re- 
 
204 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 fined and highly trained faculty of appreciation are 
 best fitted to give an opinion in questions of litera- 
 ture. And this fact — that there is no absolute uni- 
 formity of ideal — serves further to illustrate the dis- 
 tinction between literary and logical judgments. 
 
 This distinction may be further illustrated by draw- 
 ing a comparison between literature and science. 
 The primary aim and object of science is to explain 
 phenomena ; its excellencies are accuracy, organiza- 
 tion, and rigid logical sequence. It might be de- 
 scribed as a concatenation of ^' therefores.'^ On the 
 other hand, the aim and object of literature is to 
 evoke emotional tone, to appeal to our sense of the 
 beautiful, the grand, the tender, the pathetic, the 
 humorous. Its excellencies are melody, harmony, 
 artistic unity, beauty of thought and expression. It 
 is not a concatenation of '' therefores," but a sequence 
 insensibly enchained by a delicate suggestiveness. It 
 depends not so much on logic, though logic may be 
 insensibly present, as on insight. The one is pri- 
 marily cognitive and intellectual ; the other concerns 
 the emotional aspect of states of consciousness. But 
 by this it is not meant that science is intellectual and 
 literature merely emotional. The best literature is 
 often splendidly intellectual ; the loftier scientific 
 truths stir some of us with a profound emotion. The 
 point is, that the primary aim of the man of science 
 is intellectual and cognitive ; while the primary aim 
 of the man of letters is aesthetic and emotional in the 
 pyschological sense of the term. The one inter- 
 prets nature under the forms of the intellect ; the 
 other interprets nature under the forms of aesthetic 
 tone. The one strives to make his atmosphere per- 
 
LITERATURE 205 
 
 fectly clear and transparent ; the other chooses the 
 veiled tints of sunrise and sunset, the reflected lights 
 of the clouds, or the half-revealing, half-concealing 
 radiance of night. Not that the poet^s atmosphere 
 is of necessity misty or vague, it may be so transparent 
 that every minutest detail of his landscape is clearly 
 visible. What could be more pellucid than the at- 
 mosphere of this little picture of Coleridge^s ? — 
 
 " There is not wind enough to twirl 
 The one red leaf, the last of its clan, 
 That dances as often dance it can, 
 Hanging so light, and hanging so high, 
 On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky." 
 
 But whereas the man of science has no choice but to 
 
 work under the conditions of the greatest possible 
 intellectual lucidity, the man of letters is free to 
 choose the conditions which conduce to the highest 
 artistic effect. 
 
 It is a mistake, however, to regard science and art 
 as antithetical. The man of science is, or should be, 
 an artist. His art-work is the interpretation of 
 nature in its widest sense under the forms of the in- 
 tellect ; just as the art-works of the man of letters is 
 the interpretation of nature under the forms of 
 aesthetic tone. Man of science and man of letters 
 are both creative artists. It is not science and art 
 that are antithetical ; but the art-work of science 
 and the art-work of literature, appealing as they do 
 to different aspects of our mental nature. But if 
 they are antithetical, they are not, or they need 
 not be, antagonistic. No doubt a man may, by ex- 
 clusive devotion either to literature or to science, 
 starve down the other side of his nature and become 
 
206 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 lopsided. It is our aim in education to prevent 
 such lopsidedness. And there is in modern times 
 a danger — a real and very ominous danger — that 
 the growth, not so much of science as of what 
 we may term scientism (which may be defined as 
 science minus the artistic ideal), may conduce to the 
 development of a specific class of lopsided scientists. 
 All who have the interests of true education at heart 
 should be alive to this danger. Technical instruction 
 is of great value ; but it cannot afford that all-round 
 training and discipline of the mental powers which 
 is the aim of education. 
 
 Although, however, there is no necessary antago- 
 nism between literature and science, it is undoubtedly 
 true that, either through nature or nurture, the 
 same individual is seldom man of science and man of 
 letters in equal degree. Nor is it desirable that he 
 should be. But the man of science should at least 
 have some sympathy with literature, and the man of 
 letters some appreciation of the art-work of science. 
 And whether he is primarily scientific or primarily 
 literary depends to a large extent on the nature of 
 the mental background. In man, as a rational being, 
 this background is in large degree relational : in the 
 man of science the aspect of the relations therein is 
 primarily logical ; while in the man of letters it is 
 primarily aesthetic. In the one it is illuminated by 
 the cold, clear light of reason ; in the other it is 
 suffused with the many-hued tints of emotion. And 
 there is this difference between the method of presen- 
 tation of his work by the man of science and the man 
 of letters — especially the poet. In an adequate 
 treatise on science it is expected of the author to 
 
LITERATURE 207 
 
 supply to a very large extent the background in 
 which his conceptions are set. He has not only to 
 give us his thought, but to exhibit with due diligence 
 and care its relations, and its exact position in the 
 scheme of knowledge. Not to do so is to fail in 
 the art of scientific exposition. With the poet it is 
 different. It is no part of his function to supply the 
 mental background. That you must bring for your- 
 self to the study and enjoyment of his work. And 
 the fuller and richer your background, the more 
 sympathetically will you respond to the poet's appeal. 
 Hence the concentration and condensedness of poetry ; 
 hence the fact that it is suggestive rather than ex- 
 pository ; and hence the fact that, if we have a poor 
 thin background, Shakespeare, and those who sit 
 nearest to his throne, will appeal to us in vain. 
 
 To draw but one more distinction between poetry 
 as the flower of literature, and science as the embodi- 
 ment of rational explanation, we may note that, since 
 the artist must ever breathe the spirit of his art into 
 the materials with which he works, we find that, for 
 the man of science, all nature is instinct with reason ; 
 while for the poet the whole universe " trembles with 
 song." As the poet from whom I borrow this ex- 
 pression — Mr. William Watson — sings it — 
 
 *' Lo, with the ancient 
 Roots of man's nature 
 Twines the eternal 
 Passion of Song. 
 
 " Ever Love fans it, 
 Ever Life feeds it, 
 Time cannot age it, 
 Death cannot slay. 
 
208 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 '* Deep in the world-heart 
 Stand its foundations, 
 Tangled with all things, 
 Twin-made with all. 
 
 " Nay, what is Nature's 
 Self, but an endless 
 Strife toward music, 
 Euphony, rhyme? 
 
 " Trees in their blooming, 
 Tides in their flowing, 
 Stars in their circling. 
 Tremble with song. 
 
 " God on His throne is 
 Eldest of poets ; 
 Unto His measures 
 Moveth the whole." 
 
 In conclusion, I would remind the teacher that his 
 ministry in the cultivation of the faculty of literary 
 appreciation is far more indirect than it is in the 
 training of the intellect. His guidance here is far 
 more insensible. So much depends upon what may 
 be termed a literary atmosphere. My own head- 
 master, in my schoolboy years, never let slip an op- 
 portunity of introducing incidental illustrations, in 
 the midst of our ordinary work, from the best authors 
 in prose and verse. And out of school hours noth- 
 ing would delight him more than for his pupils to 
 afford him opportunities of encouraging us and help- 
 ing us to a healthy appreciation of good literature. 
 More can be done towards establishing a mental back- 
 ground of appreciation for art-work, whether literary 
 or scientific, by the stimulating influence of one who 
 has a spirit of enthusiasm, than by any amount of 
 
LITERATURE 209 
 
 set and formal teaching. And the teacher must 
 never forget this cardinal fact — that observation, ac- 
 curate and sympathetic, true-eyed and true-hearted, 
 is the mother alike of literature and of science, and 
 that just in so far as we too are observers shall we be 
 able to appreciate the art-work of science and the art- 
 work of literature. 
 14 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 CHAEACTER AND CONDUCT 
 
 What is the aim and object of the ministry of the 
 teacher ? The general answer to this question has 
 already been given : To furnish the best possible 
 conditions for all-round development. In somewhat 
 greater detail we may say that the teacher has in view 
 the following aims : — 
 
 1. To aid in, that is to say, to afford suitable con- 
 ditions for, the development of sense-experience, the 
 correlation of sense-data, and the co-ordination of 
 activities ; and thus to fit the child to deal practically 
 and efficiently with his natural environment. 
 
 2. To aid in the development of the perceptive and 
 rational faculties, and in the correlative powers of ap- 
 prehension and description, and of comprehension 
 and explanation ; and to foster the ''how" attitude 
 and the '* why " attitude. 
 
 3. To fit him to play some special part in the social 
 community, and to perform wisely and well the gen- 
 eral duties of citizenship. 
 
 4. To foster his faculty of appreciation, and to fit 
 him to get the highest and best pleasure out of life, 
 and to give such pleasure to others. 
 
 5. To aid him to reach right conceptions of an 
 
 210 
 
CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 211 
 
 ideal self and an ideal community ; and to foster an 
 effective desire for their practical realization. 
 
 6. And in general to aid him to make the best use 
 — best for the community and best for himself — of 
 all his powers. 
 
 The foregoing list makes no pretence to be com- 
 plete or exhaustive. It may, however, be objected 
 that, not only is it incomplete, but it leaves out what 
 many people regard as the central and most impor- 
 tant of all the objects of education, since no mention is 
 made of earning a livelihood, or of making money and 
 a position in the world. Although I am fully aware 
 of the importance of this object — although in any 
 enumeration of the motives of human conduct and 
 human endeavor its omission would imply blindness 
 to the facts of our existence — still it does not appear 
 to me necessary to introduce it into a statement of 
 the aims of the teacher. It is sufficient for us " to 
 fit the individual to play some special part in the 
 social community." If the individual so fitted plays 
 that part to the best of his ability, the perform- 
 ance of the work and duty thereby entailed will meet 
 its due reward. Suppose that we are training a man 
 to be a lawyer or an engineer ; our part is to fit him 
 to do his work honestly and well, conscientiously and 
 without scamping. We fit him to play efficiently his 
 special part in the social community. The money he 
 earns and the position he wins are the social recogni- 
 tion of work done and duty fulfilled. Of this aspect 
 of the matter we are neither ignorant nor forgetful ; 
 but it does not primarily concern us. 
 
 The word social strikes the keynote of this chapter. 
 Much that has been said in previous chapters has 
 
212 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 tacit and implied reference to our social state. Now 
 we have to give to this social condition its due prom- 
 inence. If our whole system of education do not 
 bear fruit in character and conduct, of what avail 
 is it? 
 
 Even in the correlation of sense-data and the co- 
 ordination of activities under the relatively simple 
 conditions of sense-experience the social factor is 
 by no means absent ; for the environment in which 
 this experience develops is from the first social in its 
 nature. The activities must be performed in just 
 relation to the like activities of others. Description 
 and explanation have no meaning apart from our 
 social state. The intimate relation of language and 
 thought, to which we devoted the eighth chapter, 
 carries with it a similar implication ; while literature, 
 music, painting, sculpture, and the whole field of art 
 are a subtle means of social communication. In our 
 appreciation of the best art we feel that we are rising 
 above our lower and merely individual interests, 
 above those pleasures which are mean and trivial, 
 low and sordid, to those which are pure and enno- 
 bling, and which appeal to the higher and more dis- 
 tinctively social side of our nature. It is the func- 
 tion of art to raise us into the region of lasting and 
 enduring interests, and to minister to that apprecia- 
 tion which is ours in virtue of our distinctively human 
 and social state. It deals with 
 
 "Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the 
 end." 
 
 But when we come to conduct we have something 
 more than appreciation. It does not suffice to ad- 
 
CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 213 
 
 mire, no matter how truly, the beauty of nature or 
 of human life as interpreted by art ; it does not suf- 
 fice to be touched, no matter how deeply, by tlie pity 
 and the pathos of existence ; it does not suffice to 
 appreciate, no matter how delicately, the highest 
 achievements of human genius. \ We must ourselves 
 be up and doing. We must play our part in the busy 
 social world. We have work to do and duties to per- 
 form, and into this work and these duties we must 
 throw our heart and soul. And part of our duty as 
 teachers is to foster this spirit of active endeavor and 
 to guide it to right ends. 
 
 Before considering in what manner the teacher 
 may most profitably exert his influence in this re- 
 spect, it will be well to devote our attention to the 
 motives in and through which control is exercised 
 over conduct. The relative strength of these mo- 
 tives is one of the determining factors of character. 
 
 It must be remembered that there is a natural and 
 inherent tendency to action in virtue of innate and 
 inherited capacities or proclivities. From our pres- 
 ent point of view we may term such action impulsive. 
 It is the characteristic of impulsive action that it is 
 not under due control. The impulse may be either 
 good or bad. However we may explain, or attempt 
 to explain, the mode of origin of the innate and 
 hereditary tendency — and this is a difficult problem 
 which we cannot here discuss — the fact remains that 
 some of us come into the world with a larger percent- 
 age of good impulses or bad impulses, as the case 
 may be, than others. But the characteristic of such 
 impulses, whether good or bad, is this : that they are, 
 as such, uncontrolled. A man walking by the water- 
 
214 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 side sees a child in peril of drowning, and instantly 
 springs to the rescue ; a high-spirited youth sees a 
 girl insulted by a blackguard, and promptly knocks 
 him down ; a poor starving wretch sees a child carry- 
 ing her father's dinner, and hungrily grabs it. These 
 actions call forth in different degree our praise or 
 blame ; but they are alike in being impulsive. They 
 are not the outcome of determinate control. We 
 speak, indeed, of motives for such actions, saying that 
 the poor wretch is impelled to his deed by motives of 
 hunger. But it is well to reserve the term motives 
 for the determinants of deliberate action ; and to 
 speak not of the motives, but of the pro7n2)tmgs of 
 impulse. Happy is he who inherits the promptings 
 of social, and not of anti-social, impulse. 
 
 The motives under the influence of which we ex- 
 ercise control over our actions are so various, that 
 their adequate analysis presents one of the most 
 difficult problems of psychological inquiry. Fortu- 
 nately, it is not necessary for us to discuss the matter 
 with any minuteness of detail. Let us therefore 
 consider the question from a very broad and general 
 point of view. It stands thus : Each individual is 
 prompted to action by certain innate and inherent 
 impulses, good, bad, or indifferent ; he is more or 
 less dissatisfied with the actions to which he is thus 
 prompted, and he therefore exercises control over his 
 conduct so as to guide it to ends other than those to 
 which impulse prompts. That which we wish to 
 know is — (1) what are these other ends, and (2) what 
 are the motives for the guidance of conduct to these 
 ends ? 
 
 To answer these questions in detail is, I repeat, a 
 
CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 215 
 
 matter of exceeding difficulty, involving much subtle 
 analysis ; but to answer them in the broad and gen- 
 eral way which suffices for our present purpose is not 
 so difficult. The " other ends," in all their varying 
 complexity under changing and differing circum- 
 stances, may be summed up in a few words, which 
 cover all the multiplicity of their details. The self 
 of impulse does not satisfy us ; our end in view is to 
 realize, through guidance and control, our ideal self, 
 to attain unto that better, fuller, richer, truer self 
 that we would be, in place of the meagre and unsatis- 
 factory self that we are. This, it appears to me, is 
 the essential aim in the guidance of conduct. And 
 what are the motives for the guidance of conduct to- 
 wards the always incomplete, but, as we hope, the 
 constantly less incomplete, realization of our ideal 
 self ? This question, too, difficult as it is to answer 
 in detail, can be answered in a general way almost in 
 a word. The ideal self must le an object of desire. 
 Any approach thereto must be accompanied by the 
 emotional tone of satisfaction and content ; any fall- 
 ing away therefrom, by the emotional tone of dis- 
 satisfaction and discontent. 
 
 In every individual character there is on the one 
 hand the self of natural impulse, and on the other 
 hand the ideal self, not indeed clearly defined and for- 
 mulated, but seen, sometimes dimly, sometimes with 
 greater distinctness, in its different aspects under 
 the varying circumstances of life. And between 
 these two stands the product of their interaction, the 
 self as actually realized in practical conduct. This 
 self it is, on the actions of which the bystanders 
 pronounce judgment — a judgment which should be 
 
216 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 softened by the fact that no one can say what is the 
 strength for good or ill of the impulsive prompting ; 
 while the nature of the ideal self, and the power of 
 control effectual to its realization, are alike difficult 
 of estimation. 
 
 We seem, however, so far, to have left on one side 
 that which was said to be the keynote of this chapter. 
 The ideal self, it may be urged, is a purely individual 
 matter ; while the word '' social " was said to strike 
 our keynote. But the ideal self is by no means a 
 purely individual matter. It is, indeed, individual 
 to me in so far as it is my ideal self which I desire to 
 realize in conduct ; but it is a social self, a self set in 
 a complex social environment, that I must set before 
 myself as the goal of my endeavors. It is absolutely 
 impossible for us, even if we would, to shake our- 
 selves free of our social surroundings. We live in a 
 community larger or smaller, and in reference to that 
 community our conduct is largely moulded. 
 
 But though, since we are social beings, there is, in 
 the conception of an ideal self, tacit reference to the 
 community in the midst of which we carry on our 
 life and work, yet it will be well to bring this impor- 
 tant factor into due prominence. For not only do 
 we strive to realize an ideal self, but we endeavor 
 to modify and influence our neighbors ; and this 
 both in reference to their relations to ourselves, and 
 in respect of their relations to the community as a 
 whole. Hence we formulate with more or less dis- 
 tinctness an ideal cominunity, to the realization of 
 which we must contribute in every way in our power. 
 Herein, then, we appear to have in broad and gen- 
 eral outline the ends and aims of conduct ; and the 
 
CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 217 
 
 task of the teacher in this respect would seem to be, 
 in the words of our fifth head, as stated at the begin- 
 ning of this chapter : To aid him wliom we would 
 educate to reach right conceptions of an ideal self and 
 an ideal community ; ayid to foster an effective desire 
 for their practical realization. 
 
 It must not be supposed that by the ideal self and 
 the ideal community I mean something dim, distant, 
 and Utopian ; something very pleasant and beautiful 
 to dream about, but having its place in the shadowy 
 cloudland of the unattainable. That is not at all my 
 meaning. If our ideals are incapable of at least 
 partial realization, they will not be operative on con- 
 duct. We may dream away our lives in admiring 
 them, and sighing at our impotency to attain unto 
 them, but we shall not be stimulated by them to 
 honest active endeavor. No. Our ideals must be 
 practical ; betterment rather than absolute perfection 
 must be our device. They must grow with our life, 
 and develop with our widening experience. Always 
 beyond and above us, leading us onward and upward, 
 our ideal must be distinctly, and yet not too far, in 
 advance of what has already been realized. For if at 
 any time our conduct should realize our ideal, a 
 higher ideal is forthwith conceived, and the interval 
 is again reconstituted. We are like climbers ascend- 
 ing a mountain peak ; we see before us the summit in 
 its glittering beauty as the ultimate goal of our en- 
 deavors, but to reach it we must ascend slowly and 
 carefully, fixing our attention on some vantage point 
 just above us, and when that is reached looking a 
 little higher. If we make straight for the ideal sum- 
 mit, we shall probably fall into the first crevasse. 
 
218 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 But if we proceed upwards slowly and surely, we 
 may — but here the analogy fails. The summit of 
 perfection in conduct we may not hope to reach. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to draw attention to the fact 
 that there is no uniformity, nay, let us rather say 
 that there is indefinite diversity, in the ideals both 
 of self and community which different men and 
 women conceive and endeavor to realize. This 
 diversity is indeed as wide as the diversity of human 
 character. And not only is it difficult or impossible 
 to define the social ideal (p. 203) in these matters ; 
 it is exceedingly difficult to define the individual 
 ideal in any particular case. For the ideal, though 
 it involves cognitive elements, is not primarily a 
 matter of cognition ; nor does an ideal of conduct, 
 any more than an ideal of beauty, admit of that sum- 
 mary preciseness of definition which is so eminently 
 characteristic of a purely intellectual generalization. 
 This man will place self before the State or com- 
 munity at large, and regard the realization of indi- 
 vidual character as the highest object of endeavor. 
 That man with broader social sympathies will place 
 first the realization of an ideal community, and will 
 regard as essential to the ideal self the due subor- 
 dination of individual desires to a desire for social 
 well-being. For some the relations of self to the 
 State will constantly be viewed in the light of expe- 
 diency, and the means of attaining the realization of 
 the ideal will be predominantly dictated by prudence. 
 For others the light in which these relations are 
 viewed is not that of the expedient but that of the 
 right, and the means of attaining the realization of 
 the ideal will be predominantly dictated by the sense 
 
CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 219 
 
 of duty. For the one, any failure to reach the ideal 
 standard of conduct will be accompanied by regret 
 for error ; for the other, such failure will give rise to 
 regret, rising perhaps to remorse, for wrong. Moral- 
 ists draw a very sharp line of demarcation between 
 prudential motives and moral motives ; and no doubt, 
 as a matter of ethics, they are both wise and right in 
 doing so. But the difference is very largely one of 
 aspect. The same motive may be prudential from 
 one point of view, and right from another point of 
 view ; and the action to which it leads may satisfy at 
 once the requirements both of expediency and of 
 duty. 
 
 But what is right? What is duty? It is ob- 
 viously quite impossible adequately to discuss these 
 questions. It must suffice to answer them from that 
 broad and general point of view from which we are 
 considering the whole subject. In the light of what 
 has already been said, the answer is not far to seek. 
 If there has taken form in the mind of any man or 
 woman an ideal self and an ideal community, then 
 any action which conduces to the realization of that 
 ideal is right ; any action which leads away from the 
 ideal is wrong. The constant endeavor to realize the 
 ideal is one's duty. These answers may be, and no 
 doubt are, imperfect and inadequate ; but they will 
 be perhaps more serviceable to us in our practical 
 consideration of the subject than definitions involv- 
 ing more subtle analysis. 
 
 And where, in these answers, is there place for 
 that cardinal principle of all vital ethics, a man's 
 duty to his neighbor ? In the first place, it may be 
 replied, that, as already indicated, my relations to my 
 
220 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 neighbor form part of my ideal self, which is a self set 
 ill a social environment. In the second place, it may 
 be replied, that my neighbor is one of the constituents 
 of that practically existent State whose betterment 
 is an object implied in the ideal community which it 
 is my desire to realize. Thus, my duty to my neigh- 
 bor, both as an individual in particular relations with 
 myself, and as a member of the social community, are 
 by no means lost sight of. So important, however, 
 is this neighborly relationship, that it is scarcely pos- 
 sible to lay too much stress on it. The ideal com- 
 munity is generalized and conceptual; my neighbor is 
 its practical embodiment in flesh and blood. 
 
 It is to my neighbor, also, thus before me in the 
 living flesh, that my sympathies go forth. Sympathy 
 is a matter of that emotional tone to which atten- 
 tion has already been directed. The performance of 
 certain actions carries with it a pleasurable, presen- 
 tative, emotional tone. When we see similar actions 
 performed by others, a corresponding re-presentative, 
 emotional tone is called up. For example, one who 
 is fond of riding or swimming, and derives keen 
 pleasure from the exercise, experiences sympathetic 
 pleasure when he sees others in full enjoyment of a 
 canter or a bathe. So, too, the sight of sorrow or 
 suffering calls forth in us a sympathetic emotion as 
 we put ourselves in the place of the mourner or the 
 patient. And we are wont to give expression to our 
 sympathy : we congratulate the rider or the swimmer, 
 if opportunity serves, on his success ; we commiser- 
 ate with the mourner or patient. Nay, we go further 
 than this in our sympathy. "VVe take an active part 
 in the promotion of the happiness and well-being of 
 
CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 221 
 
 our neighbors, and in the alleviation of their suffer- 
 ing and distress. To this, be it noted, we are 
 prompted by our sympathetic impulses. But these 
 impulses, no less than those which are wholly self- 
 regarding, need guidance and restraint under the 
 control of the will. For our sympathy may prompt 
 us to actions which on reflection will be seen to be 
 neither prudent nor right. Hence, even in this mat- 
 ter, so far as guidance and control are concerned, we 
 come back to our old position : we endeavor to 
 realize an ideal self whose sympathy is under wise 
 and moral restraint. 
 
 One way in which we express our sympathy is 
 through approbation and disapprolation. We should 
 perhaps distinguish between (1) a mere sense of 
 approbation, which is no more than a feeling of 
 sympathetic satisfaction, expressed or unexpressed ; 
 and (2) that more intellectual form of approbation 
 which implies the perception of the relation of that 
 which is approved to a standard or ideal of conduct. 
 Approbation thus stands in the same relation to 
 conduct that appreciation does to literary or other 
 art-products. Both imply a standard or ideal ; both 
 express a judgment that the standard or ideal has or 
 has not been reached. In neither case need there be 
 any reference to the grounds of judgment. The 
 judgment expressed in approbation is no more sus- 
 ceptible of being stated in set syllogistic form than 
 is the judgment expressed in appreciation. Although 
 there is here a social ideal analogous to that which we 
 briefly considered (p. 203) in connection with appreci- 
 ation, yet this is so deeply tinged with emotional tone, 
 and is so largely subjective in origin, that it does not 
 
222 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 admit of that universal acceptance which is char- 
 acteristic of the premises of the syllogism. 
 
 There can be no question as to the exceeding im- 
 portance of approbation and disapprobation as de- 
 terminants of conduct. Much depends here, however, 
 upon the amount of sympathy. The unsympathetic 
 person is very little influenced by praise or blame ; 
 approbation and disapprobation do not to any marked 
 extent cause any alteration in his course through life. 
 On the other hand, the man of artistic temperament 
 is one who is generally keenly sensitive to approbation, 
 and one whose naturally strong impulses, self-regard- 
 ing and sympathetic, are perhaps more readily guided 
 under the influence of the praise and blame of those 
 who move within his sj)ecial artistic circle — of those, 
 that is to say, with whom he is in sympathy — than 
 under the influence of any other motives. His ideal 
 self is essentially one with which others must keenly 
 and enthusiastically sympathize. 
 
 One question may here be suggested before we pass 
 on. If a man have framed low and sordid ideals — 
 and we cannot blind ourselves to the fact that this 
 may only too often be the case — is it his duty to 
 endeavor to realize them ? Is it not rather his duty 
 to frame and endeavor to realize better and nobler 
 ideals ? To this question we must reply that it is a 
 man's duty to act, so far as he can, in accordance with 
 his own standard of conduct, whatever that standard 
 may be. It is unfortunately the only real standard 
 he has. When we speak of better and nobler ideals, 
 they are our ideals, not his. And no doubt it is a 
 duty for us who pass this judgment to do what we 
 can to raise his ideals. The question, however, once 
 
CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 223 
 
 more brings into prominence the social ideal, by which 
 is meant, not the average ideal of all the members of 
 the community, but the ideal of those who, by general 
 consent of those who are specially fitted to express an 
 opinion in the matter, represent the community at its 
 best. Although we cannot say, in the light of our 
 guiding principle, that it is a man^s duty to endeavor 
 to act up to this social ideal if it be not also his own 
 ideal, yet we may say that it is the duty of the com- 
 munity in which such social ideal has taken form, to 
 take all reasonable and legitimate steps to bring 
 about the realization of that ideal by all its members. 
 And it is at once the duty and the privilege of the 
 teacher, who is in this respect the more or less 
 accredited agent of the community, to do all in his 
 power to set before his pupils the social ideal of 
 character and conduct. 
 
 We have now to consider how the influence of the 
 teacher may most effectively be brought to bear on 
 those with whom he has to deal. The first point to 
 notice is that the teaching should be mainly indirect. 
 That is to say, the most effectual method is not the 
 inculcation of moral maxims, not the supply of a 
 certain amount of ethical material to cognition for 
 intellectual assimilation, but an insensible moral and 
 prudential influence ever present as a wholesome and 
 stimulating atmosphere. Ideals of conduct, like 
 ideals of literary beauty, cannot be directly imparted ; 
 all that we can do is to foster their growth and in- 
 sensibly to influence the direction of that growth. 
 
 We may take it that the actions of the little child 
 are at first wholly impulsive, and that the impulses 
 are in the early days of life altogether self-regarding. 
 
224 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 The sympathetic impulses come later ; and these^ so 
 soon as they appear, must be fostered and guided. It 
 is presumably to the mother that interest and sym- 
 pathy are first extended. But gradually this sym- 
 pathy widens, embracing the nurse, father, sisters, 
 brothers, and, perhaps, the four-footed playmates. 
 For some time, however, the home, with its immedi- 
 ate surroundings and branches, forms the utmost 
 extent of the emotional impulses. There is as yet no 
 room in the heart for more extended interests and 
 sympathies. But ere long the time comes when the 
 school, the parish or town, the native land, and per- 
 haps eventually the whole brotherhood of man, come 
 in for their share of the awakening emotional im- 
 pulses ; es2)rit de corps, patriotism, and perhaps 
 nniversalism, have their birth. 
 
 And as the sympathies widen and the sympathetic 
 impulses become more extended in their range, more 
 or less definite ideals of conduct take form in the 
 mind, self-control is established, and reason guides 
 the impulses to ends which gain the approval of 
 conscience and of common sense. It is part of the 
 aim of education to afford the most satisfactory con- 
 ditions for the formation of right and wise ideals ; of 
 a frank, courageous, true, and pure ideal self, and of 
 an ideal community in which co-operation to the best 
 and highest ends is an object of endeavor among all 
 the members. 
 
 The personal and magnetic influence of the teacher, 
 whether the teacher be the parent or another, is here 
 of great importance. The influence is more by example 
 than by precept. At all events, when example in any 
 way contradicts precept, it is the former rather than 
 
CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 225 
 
 the latter that will be influential, precepts not acted 
 upon being regarded as shams, and tending to weaken 
 the influence not only of precept but also of example. 
 
 In school-life, the general tone of the community, 
 which at this stage of life represents the State, is of 
 enormous importance. Xothing is of more vital 
 moment in a great school than the social standard 
 of ''good form" that is developed therein. It is 
 scarcely too much to say that the schoolboy's conduct 
 is more strongly influenced by a desire to conform 
 to the school standard of usage and current opinion 
 than by any other motive. For one who throws him- 
 self heartily into the school-life, the stigma of " bad 
 form" is something to be avoided at all hazards. 
 And though the standard of '' form " may alter as we 
 go through life, yet the desire to conform to social 
 usage, and so to act as to win social approbation and 
 to escape social disapprobation, is, it would seem, the 
 predominant motive with the majority of us, so long 
 as it does not directly conflict with prudential self- 
 interest. Happy the school, therefore, and happy 
 the community, which possesses a high standard of 
 social usage and custom ; which possesses, in a word, 
 a high social ideal of what the community should be 
 and should do. 
 
 In the study of history splendid opportunities are 
 afforded to the teacher of giving an indirect impetus 
 to the development in the pupiFs mind both of the 
 ideal self and of the ideal community. For history 
 presents us with concrete examples of strenuous 
 endeavor towards the realization both of individual 
 character and of a better social condition of the com- 
 munity at large. However open it may be to criticism 
 15 
 
226 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 from the point of view of the scientific historian, there 
 can be no question that hero-worship is of great im- 
 portance in the development of the character of the 
 worshipper. Hence it has been said : Tell me a man's 
 heroes, and I will read you his character. I have 
 before said that one of the main points of value of 
 history as a school subject, and even as a subject for 
 our bigger schoolboys at the university, is that it 
 widens the sympathies. I would now add that, while 
 it widens the sympathies, it also affords concrete 
 examples of conduct and picturesque material for an 
 insensible and unobtrusive training in approbation 
 and disapprobation. It also affords us the material 
 for drawing the distinction, with reference to concrete 
 examples, between merit and virtue. There are some 
 types of character so happily constituted that we may 
 say of them that there is no merit in their virtue. 
 For merit is proportional to the struggle. And 
 there's many a schoolboy, in whom self-mastery is not 
 yet established, whose half-won goodness, under dif- 
 ficult circumstances, is more meritorious than the 
 easy self-denial of one of maturer years. 
 
 Literature, too, as well as history, affords concrete 
 examples of conduct which should be utilized by the 
 teacher in the same unobtrusive and insensible fash- 
 ion, not moralizing and preaching from the literary 
 text, but stimulating, by his own enthusiasm for cer- 
 tain excellencies of character, a like enthusiasm in the 
 minds of his pupils. In many cases the literary 
 artist has had in view this wholesome influence on 
 his readers in the creation of his characters. It is 
 part of his aim to subtly indicate through the por- 
 trayal of character what is his own ideal self and what 
 
CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 227 
 
 his ideal community. And it is one of the functions 
 of the artist to lead us to see, through the delicate 
 emphasis which characterizes his synthesis, features 
 which would otherwise have escaped our duller 
 vision. As Browning says in his Fra Lippo Lippi — 
 
 " For, don't you mark ? we're made so that we love 
 First when we see them painted, things we have passed 
 Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see ; 
 And so they are better, painted — better to us. 
 Which is the same thing. Art was given for that 
 God uses us to help each other so, 
 Lending our minds out." 
 
 What we have to do as teachers is to ''lend our 
 minds out " to the best possible purpose. For we too 
 are artists ; and the materials with which we have to 
 deal are human minds and their environment. We 
 have so to organize the conditions of growth that 
 there shall result the development of fine character 
 and right conduct. As already pointed out, we are 
 mainly at work upon the mental background. It is 
 our object to make this background as rich and full 
 and orderly as possible, so that whatever is brought 
 to the focus of consciousness shall be set in a rela- 
 tional background which shall give it meaning ; and 
 so that our pupils may be able to feel the truth of 
 the words which Browning puts into the mouth of Fra 
 Lippo Lippi in a passage which follows closely upon 
 that which I have just quoted — 
 
 " This world's no blot for us 
 Nor blank; it means intensely, and means good: 
 To find its meaning is my meat and drink." 
 
 And, once more, so that not only the intellect may 
 be stirred, but the whole background thrill with 
 
228 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 emotional tone, and our pupil may again exclaim 
 with Browning — 
 
 *' O world, as God has made it ! all is beauty ; 
 And knowing this is love, and love is duty." 
 
 There can be no question that this adequate pre- 
 paredness of the background of which I am speaking 
 adds enormously to our enjoyment as well as to our 
 power. I stood a few days ago on the battlements 
 of Stirling Castle, and, having at length dispensed 
 with the kindly importunities of the guide, looked 
 round on a scene which, even to my imperfect knowl- 
 edge of Scottish history, was set in a background 
 splendidly rich in noble, unselfish, and patriotic en- 
 deavor. As I stood and felt that the heroes who 
 had breathed their undying spirit on the place were 
 actuated by noble ideals both of self and State, a 
 guide came round discoursing in set phrase of places 
 and dates. A worthy Cockney turned to me, whom 
 apparently he recognized as a brother Cockney — for 
 I too was born within the sound of Bow Bells — and 
 said, '' I don't think much of this place. It ain't a 
 patch on the Tower of London. But a lot of John- 
 nies seem to have worried around here.'' I fear his 
 background was terribly meagre. He told me that 
 it was the block and headsman's axe that interested 
 him most in the Tower of London ; and he seemed 
 to have some slight glow of enthusiasm when the 
 guide indicated the position of the Heading Hill 
 and Stone, and spoke of the execution of the Duke 
 of Albany and his two sons, with his father-in-law 
 the Earl of Lennox. Then he began to feel that he 
 had not come to Stirling quite in vain. 
 
CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 229 
 
 Think what a man misses from the point of view 
 of pure enjoyment if the background of conscious- 
 ness be nowise prepared by a knowledge of the great 
 deeds which are recorded in the pages of history, 
 and by a knowledge of what men of action and men 
 of thought have done, not only for their own time but 
 also for us. They enter, if indeed it be worth their 
 while, Wordsworth's cottage at Grasmere, and leave 
 it with a shrug of the shoulders, saying that they 
 suppose it was good enough for a poet. They pass 
 through the village of Chalfont St. Giles, and do not 
 think it worth while to look into the little room in 
 which Paradise Lost received its finishing touches. 
 They go to Stratford-on-Avon, and wonder what 
 makes Americans flock thither. But it is with the 
 effect on character and conduct that I am now chiefly 
 concerned. The man who, from poverty of mental 
 background, is stirred by none of these things, misses 
 an influence on character and a stimulus to conduct 
 which are of incalculable value. A soldier whom I 
 met some time ago told me that, when he was a young 
 subaltern, and was getting slack, as he expressed it, 
 he was pulled together by a pithy but effective re- 
 mark of his superior officer. '^ Take care,^' he said ; 
 '* you're forgetting Wellington, and the history and 
 traditions of the army.'' There's many a lad who has 
 been spurred to his best endeavor, and restrained 
 from a mean or ignoble act, by the flashing across 
 his mind of the name and figure of one of his heroes 
 in history or in fiction. A man of science, who him- 
 self did good work in physics, told me that, when- 
 ever he scamped an experiment, he saw the grave, 
 reproving eyes of Faraday fixed upon him. 
 
230 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 
 
 There is one influence on character and conduct of 
 which I have not spoken, and of which I feel it diffi- 
 cult to speak — the religious influence. It is a matter 
 on which it is easy not to say the right thing — to say, 
 rather, what may not be helpful, and may lead to 
 misunderstanding, even if it do not give offence. I 
 shall therefore content myself with one or two re- 
 marks, with the object of bringing this influence into 
 line with our mode of regarding the subject. First, 
 let me say, then, that any great religion, worthy the 
 name, presents a concrete personal embodiment of 
 the ideal self. For the Christian, Christ is the type 
 of the perfect self, and the imitation of Christ is a 
 means to the attainment of self-realization. And for 
 him Christ's teaching embodies, in essential outline, 
 the fundamental relationships which characterize the 
 ideal community. Until he learn the lesson that an- 
 tagonistic self-assertion, or class assertion, must be 
 subordinated to the mutual self-sacrifice which is 
 necessary for co-operation, we shall never practically 
 solve the social problems not only of our own time, 
 but of all time. Secondly, I would say that the 
 essence of religious teaching, in so far as it is in- 
 fluential upon character and conduct, is rather the 
 development of what we may term the religious atti- 
 tude, than the formulation or acceptance of religious 
 creeds. Assuming as granted the existence of a power 
 or central activity, whether immanent or external, 
 of which the world in which we live is the phenom- 
 enal manifestation, I say that the essential feature 
 of our relation to that power is not the intellectual 
 attitude of accepting this or that formula, but the 
 religious attitude of submission and humility ; of 
 
CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 231 
 
 reverence of all that is noble, pure, and honorable, 
 as the highest expression of God's will. For we 
 clothe the conception of an energizing activity with 
 our highest and most sublime ideals, and name Him, 
 in humility and reverence, God. And when we en- 
 deavor to realize our highest ideals of personal con- 
 duct and jharacter in relation to our fellow-men, we 
 do so, if the religious attitude is influential on con- 
 duct, not only for their own sake, but as duties 
 which are sanctioned by religion. 
 
 Finally, let me once more say that our desire to 
 lead a wise, right, and religious life must be inex- 
 tricably inwoven into the mental background which, 
 as we have seen, is the seat of the character. And 
 let us remember that in every act of our lives, no 
 matter how trivial, we are laying the foundation of 
 all our future conduct. As Miss Edith Simcox has 
 said, *^ Does it seem a trifling thing to say that in 
 hours of passionate trial or temptation a man can have 
 no better help than his own past ? Every generous 
 feeling that has not been crushed, every wholesome 
 impulse that has been followed, every just perception, 
 every habit of unselfish action, will be present in 
 the background to guide and to restrain. It is too 
 late when the storm has burst to provide our craft 
 with rigging fit to weather it ; but we may find 
 a purpose for the years which oppress us by their 
 dull calm, if we elect to spend them in laying up 
 stores of strength and wisdom and emotional preju- 
 dices of a goodly human kind, whereby, if need arises, 
 we may be able to resist hereafter the gusts of pas- 
 sion that might else bear us out of the straightfor- 
 ward chosen course/' 
 
NOTES 
 
 P. 15. "Generic idea." The reader may profitably ask 
 himself how far the visual idea suggested by such a word 
 as " primrose " is particular and how far generic. He may 
 find that the word suggests the visual image of a primrose 
 growing in a particular bed of a garden familiar in child- 
 hood, and may be disposed to regard the image as particu- 
 lar. But scarcely any two individual primrose flowers are 
 exactly alike. If, however, the visual idea is, strictly 
 speaking, particular, it is the representation of one par- 
 ticular primrose flower. This is seldom the case. 
 
 P. 19. "It results from . . . associated." The "first," 
 " secondly," and " lastly " are not here intended to indicate 
 necessarily the order of procedure in time. They serve to 
 express what would seem to be a logical order of procedure. 
 
 Pp. 44 and 153. In considering the nature of interest^ 
 the statements on these two pages must be taken together. 
 Even so they are no doubt inadequate. The reader should 
 ask himself what are the psychological conditions of in- 
 terest. 
 
 That which has little or no connection with our experi- 
 ence or knowledge possesses for us little or no interest. On 
 the other hand, that which is so connected draws into the 
 margin of consciousness, by suggestion, some of the re- 
 presentative elements with which it is related. It forms 
 the nucleus of a closely interrelated field of consciousness. 
 This is the sense in w^iich the statement in the text on 
 p. 44 is to be taken ; the statement on p. 153 indicating 
 the accompaniment of emotional tone. On this foundation 
 the reader should build by drawing from the stores of hia 
 own experience. 
 
 233 
 
234 NOTES 
 
 P. 82. The distinction between quantity and number is 
 perhaps unfamiliar, especially to those unacquainted with 
 physics. The following quotation from Professor Clerk 
 Maxwell's article " Atom" in the Encyclopcedia Britannica 
 (ninth ed., vol. iii. p. 37), will serve to make it clearer. 
 " It is probable that the first exact notions of quantity were 
 founded on the consideration of number. It is by the help 
 of numbers that concrete quantities are practically meas- 
 ured and calculated. Now, number is discontinuous. We 
 pass from one number [whole or fractional] to the nextpe?' 
 saltum. The magnitudes, on the other hand, which we 
 meet with in geometry, are essentially continuous." 
 Though this distinction is by no means always carefully 
 preserved, it should be clearly grasped. A line 5*55 inches 
 long is continuous ; in measuring it we break it up (a mat- 
 ter of distinguishing analysis, — see p. 100) into 5 units of 
 one inch + 5 tenths of that unit, + 5 hundredths of the 
 unit. The line is a continuous quantity, the measurement 
 of which is expressed in numerical terms. 
 
 Pp. 101, 104, 110. That conception and the formation of 
 general ideas are fully conscious, intentional, and voluntary 
 processes, will by some be regarded as open to question. No 
 doubt there is a preconceptual stage, prior to the fully con- 
 ceptual stage here described. No doubt the term general 
 idea may be applied, loosely as I think, to the products of 
 this earlier stage. It is, however, none the less true that 
 the more perfect the concept, the more fully is it the result 
 of a fully conscious process intentionally directed to the 
 end of rendering it clear as a concept. In the process of 
 development there probably, in many cases, intervenes be- 
 tween the generic idea and the concept, the employment 
 of the name for the generic idea used as a symbol, the full 
 meaning of which is not realized until thought is, at a later 
 period, focused upon it. 
 
 P. 113. Whether we can form particular abstract ideas 
 is perhaps open to discussion. Unquestionably it is often 
 through the mental interference, so to speak, of many par- 
 ticulars that some quality becomes more or less detached 
 from others so as to be first predominant and eventually 
 
NOTES 235 
 
 abstract. It may even be said that this is generally a fac- 
 tor in the process by which abstract ideas are reached. But 
 is it essential ? If, however, the statement in the text leads 
 to introspective questioning, it will have served its pur- 
 pose. 
 
 P. 117. " We are not . . . concept circle." If we wish 
 to give a generalized description, say of the dog, we either 
 describe a particular dog taken as representative of his 
 kind, or we describe what we regard as the distinctive 
 characteristics of this kind of animal. In the former case 
 we are describing a particular dog taken as the type ; in 
 the latter we are, in effect, defining the species. 
 
 P. 136. *' All laws are enactments," etc. This breaks the 
 first rule of the syllogism, that there should be three terms 
 only. For, since the word law is used in two senses, it 
 stands for two terms, and there are four terms instead of 
 three. Technically, therefore, this is a case of the " fallacy 
 of four terms," and is an example of "the ambiguous 
 middle." 
 
 P. 143. In saying that "the background in which the 
 object is set is, at any given moment, the representative of 
 all the potentiality of the mind," the meaning is that the 
 impression or idea, as focal nucleus, aggregates around 
 itself, through suggestion, a number of interrelated re- 
 presentative elements ; and that the nature of the back- 
 ground so constituted is determined by the whole process 
 of mental development — subject, of course, to the condi- 
 tions of health and mental vigor of the moment in question. 
 
 P. 148. " The emotions, then, ... the other." Nothing 
 is here said concerning the part played by the psychical 
 data afforded by the disturbed action of the heart, respira- 
 tory organs, digestive organs, glands, and so forth, in pro- 
 ducing the states of consciousness we term emotional. 
 Their role in the primary genesis of emotional states is dis- 
 cussed in chapter ix. of my work on Habit and Instinct. 
 Any such discussion would here be out of place. 
 
 P. 155. "It is that which in its varied phases is some- 
 times termed insight,^' etc. The distinction between in- 
 tuition and inference should be clearly grasped. In infer- 
 
236 NOTES 
 
 ence the logical relations are rendered explicit ; in intuition 
 they remain implicit. The former is a fully conscious 
 process as such ; in the latter the process, as such, is sub- 
 conscious. The results of the two processes may, however, 
 be similar. 
 
 P. 170. The relation of the word, such as an abstract 
 noun, to the concept is one which the reader should care- 
 fully think out for himself. Such a word may be regarded 
 as a centre or nucleus of divergent conceptual association. 
 The concept is thus largely a matter of mental background, 
 and is often rather potential than actual ; that is to say, we 
 do not pause to unfold the conceptual implications. One 
 may go so far as to say that it is impossible fully to realize 
 a concept in a single moment of consciousness. It is like a 
 check or draft which can be cashed if there is money in 
 the bank to meet the demand. The question may be asked : 
 Is there always present to the mind an impression or a 
 sense-idea, such, for example, as the word "triangle" or 
 the symbol a , as a nucleus of the concept ? 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Abstract ideas, 19, 21, 113. 
 
 Abstraction, 112 ; relfttion of, to 
 analysis and generalization, 113. 
 
 Activitv-feelings, 145. 
 
 .Esthetic tone, 158, 198. 
 
 Analysis, 3, 49, 72 ; dissociating, 93 ; 
 distinguishing, 94 ; nature of, 94 ; 
 subjective, 96 ; relation to per- 
 ception, 97 ; in spelling and pro- 
 nunciation, 99 ; relation of ab- 
 straction to, 112 ; of sentences, 
 172. 
 
 Anger, emotional tone of, 146, 147. 
 
 Angles, quantitative perception of 
 their value, 84. 
 
 Appreciation in literature, 185-186, 
 197. 
 
 Apprehension, 119. 
 
 Approbation and disapprobation, 
 
 Art-work of literature and science, 
 205. 
 
 Articulation, 195. 
 
 Artist, function of, 225. 
 
 Artistic temperament, 222. 
 
 Association, laws of, 26; contiguity, 
 26 ; divergent and convergent, 
 33 ; similarity and resemblance, 
 38, 157 ; influence of marginal 
 conditions, 43 ; simultaneous, 44. 
 
 Assumption involved in definition 
 of natural law, 122. 
 
 At-sight reading, 197. 
 
 Attention, 4, 10, 45 ; divided, 11. 
 
 Attraction of gravitation defined, 
 123. 
 
 Automatic actions, 50. 
 
 Automatism, inherited, 61, 67 ; 
 secondary, 61, 68. 
 
 Background, mental, 48 ; the seat 
 of the character, 142 ; infiuence 
 of, in aesthetics, 199 ; relational 
 nature of, 206 ; influence of, on 
 character and conduct. 226. 
 
 Balance, experiments with, 127. 
 
 " Because " symbolic of logical re- 
 lation, 117. 
 
 Blackmore, Mr. R. D., quoted, 195. 
 
 Body and mind compared, 138. 
 
 Botany, value of, for analysis, 95 ; 
 for apprehension and descrip- 
 tion, 125. 
 
 Browning, Robert, quoted, 194, 
 199, 227, 228. 
 
 Character and conduct, 212. 
 
 Chemistry, value of, 127. 
 
 Classification, 80, 111. 
 
 Cognition, 23, 145 ; in literary ap- 
 preciation, 197. 
 
 Coleridge quoted, 205. 
 
 Communication, indicative, 161 ; 
 descriptive, 162. 
 
 Community, the ideal, 216. 
 
 Composition, 173. 
 
 Comprehension, 119. 
 
 Concept, 22; relatiflp of, to percept, 
 
 Conception, 20, 102 ; relation of, to 
 perception, 103, 105 ; to knowl- 
 edge, 106 ; and quantitative re- 
 lations, 106. 
 
 Conclusion of syllogism, 133. 
 
 Conclusions, jumping to, 159. 
 
 Conduct and character. 212. 
 
 Consciousness, state of, 2; focus 
 and margin of, 4. 
 
 Consentience, 78. 
 
 Contiguity, law of, 26. 
 
 Control, 50, 52, 58 ; essentially 
 motor, 148, 150 ; in conduct, 214. 
 
 Co-ordination, 51, 58, 67, 70. 
 
 Correlation, 51, 52, 54, 56, 57, 60, 67. 
 
 Cramming, 141. 
 
 Crucial observation or experiment, 
 129. 
 
 Dates, value of, 182. 
 
 Deduction, 135. 
 
 Definition, 111 ; and description, 
 
 Demonstration, 151. 
 
 Description, involves particular re- 
 lations, 116 ; and definition, 117 ; 
 involves analysis, 119 ; precursor 
 to explanation, 123 ; relation of, 
 to observation, 124, 126, 154, 
 
238 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Desire, ideal self an object of, 215. 
 
 Development, mental and bodily, 
 analogous, 138 ; should be all- 
 round, 141. 
 
 De Vere, Aubrey (the younger), 
 quoted, 212. 
 
 Diagrammatic repres e n t a t i o n , 
 method of, 177. 
 
 Direction, sense of, 7. 
 
 Disapprobation, 221. 
 
 Discontent a spur to endeavor, 151. 
 
 Distance element in vision, 54. 
 
 Distinguishing analysis, 93 ; rela- 
 tion of, to abstraction, 112. 
 
 Dread, emotional tone of, 148. 
 
 Duty, 210. 
 
 Ear, appeal of literature to the, 
 193. 
 
 Earth, rotation of, proved, 130. 
 
 Earth-moon system, rotation of, 
 illustrated, 129. 
 
 Education begins in nursery, 160. 
 
 Elocution, 186, 194. 
 
 Emotional aspect of consciousness, 
 146 ; tone, 146 ; gesthetic, 198. 
 
 Examination in literature, what it 
 tests, 188. 
 
 Example and precept, 224. 
 
 Expectations, 29. 
 
 Experience, 49, 56, 68, 76; subjective 
 and objective aspect of, 72 ; and 
 abstract thought, 113. 
 
 Experiment, nature of, 126 ; cru- 
 cial, 129. 
 
 Explanation involves generaliza- 
 tion, 117 ; nature of, 118 ; involves 
 analysis, 119 ; not ultimate, 121 ; 
 involves assumptions, 123 ; rela- 
 tion of, to description and ob- 
 servation, 126. 
 
 Exposition, description and ex- 
 planation in, 123. 
 
 Eye-movements of value in esti- 
 mating length, 83, 177. 
 
 Faculty, 18. 
 
 Fallacies, 136. 
 
 Feeling, 145. 
 
 Field, of touch, 53 ; of vision, 53 ; 
 of experience, 55. 
 
 Focus of consciousness defined, 4 : 
 differentiation from margin pre- 
 paratory to analysis, 94. 
 
 Foreign languages, study of, 174. 
 
 Foucault's pendulum, 131. 
 
 French and German, 175. 
 
 Games, value of, 64, 153. 
 General ideas, 101. 
 Generalization, 20, 100. 
 Generic ideas. 15, 88, 110. 
 Geography, value of, las. 
 
 Geology as descriptive, 124. 
 
 Geometry, 177. 
 German and French, 175. 
 Good form, 225. 
 Grammar, 172. 
 Graphic method, 181. 
 Gravitation, 121, 122. 
 Greek, value of, 175. 
 
 Habit, 61. 
 
 Harmony in literature, 198. 
 
 Hero-worship, 226. 
 
 History, value of, 181, 225. 
 
 " How " attitude, 154. 
 
 How ? requires descriptive answer, 
 
 115. 
 Hypotheses, nature of, 129. 
 
 Ideal, literary, 202 ; social, 217, 218; 
 self, 215 ; community, 218. 
 
 Idealism in literature, 190. 
 
 Ideas of sense defined, 12, 66 ; of 
 relation, 17, 89 ; generic, 6, 38 ; 
 abstract, 19 ; general, 101, 102. 
 
 Imagination, 48, 155 ; creative, 156, 
 158, 189 ; receptive, 186, 189 ; ac- 
 tive and passive, 189 ; artistic, in- 
 ventive, and scientific, 189. 
 
 Imitation, 151. 
 
 Impression defined, 5, 66; of special 
 senses, 6 ; motor, 7 ; internal, 9 ; 
 of direction, 7 ; of relation, 17, 89. 
 
 Impulse, sympathetic, 221 ; im- 
 pulsive activity, 150, 213. 
 
 Indicative communication, 161. 
 
 Individuality, 189. 
 
 Induction, 135. 
 
 Inexplicable observations, value 
 of, 169. 
 
 Information, 152. 
 
 Inheritance, 56, 58 ; what we in- 
 herit, 143. 
 
 Innate tendencies, 145. 
 
 Insight, 155. 
 
 Inspiration, 155. 
 
 Instinctive activities, 144. 
 
 Instruction in skill, 151. 
 
 Intellectual process, sesthetic tone, 
 associated with, 199. 
 
 Interaction of perception and 
 analysis, 97 ; of perception and 
 conception, 105, 109, 118 ; of ob- 
 servation, apprehension, and 
 comprehension, 126. 
 
 Interest, 44, 153. 
 
 Interpretation of nature, literary 
 and scientific, 204. 
 
 Inter-relation of knowledge, 169. 
 
 Introspection, 2, 71 ; deals with 
 past experience, 77 ; and subject- 
 ive analysis, 96. 
 
 Intuition, 155. 
 
 Intuitive procedure. 158. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 239 
 
 Judgment, nature of, 199, 202, 221 ; 
 logical and literary, compared, 
 
 203 ; on character, 215. 
 
 Kindergarten, 164. 
 Knowledge, in what it consists, 
 106, 169. 
 
 Language, atmosphere of, 160 ; a 
 symbolic expression of thought, 
 166 ; the medium of the com- 
 munication of knowledge, 170; 
 of literature, 171 ; of science, 
 171 ; foreign, study of, 174. 
 
 Latin, value of, 174. 
 
 Laws of nature generalizations and 
 definitions, 122. 
 
 Learning by rote, 34. 
 
 Lever, experiments with, 127. 
 
 Literature, 185 ; and science, 192, 
 
 204 ; varieties of, 192 ; as afford- 
 ing ideals of conduct, 225. 
 
 Localization in space, 183 ; localiza- 
 tion in time, 182. 
 
 Logic the afterthought to insight, 
 158. 
 
 Logical relations, 131 ; perceived 
 and conceived in reasoning, 136. 
 
 Lowell quoted, 186, 190. 
 
 Macaulay quoted, 200. 
 
 Mannerism to be avoided, 195 
 
 Margin of consciousness defined, 4; 
 correlation effected in, 57; dif- 
 ferentiation of focus from, pre- 
 paratory to analysis, 94. 
 
 Mathematics, 176. 
 
 Meaning and significance, 169. 
 
 Melody in literature, relations in- 
 volved in, 198. 
 
 Melody of prose, 195. 
 
 Memory, 25. 
 
 Mind and body compared, 138. 
 
 Ministry of teacher, aims of, 210. 
 
 Moon, swing of, round the earth 
 illustrated, 129 
 
 Moral motives, 218. 
 
 Motives of conduct, 214. 
 
 Motor impressions, 7 ; ideas, 13. 
 
 Movement for vision and for motor 
 sensation correlated, 54. 
 
 Mozart quoted, 201 
 
 Natxjral law, generalizations from 
 experience and definitions, 122. 
 
 Natural synthesis, 53, 139. 
 
 Nature, interpretation of, literary 
 and scientific, 204. 
 
 Neighbor, duty to, 219. 
 
 Numerical relations, 82. 
 
 Object in psychology, 74, 77. 
 Objective aspect of experience, 72, 
 
 Observation, relation of, to de- 
 scription, 124. 126, 154 ; and ex- 
 planation, 126 1 crucial. 129 ; 
 necessary both in literature and 
 science, 209. 
 
 Organic conditions, of memory, 26; 
 of consciousness, 139, 143. 
 
 Pain, 147. 
 
 Pendulum, experiment with, 138 ; 
 Foucault's, 131. 
 
 Percept, 22, 91, 99 ; relation of, to 
 concept, 108. 
 
 Perception, 17, 69, 74 ; compound, 
 85; training of, 79; deals with 
 particular relations, 89 ; relation 
 of, to analysis, 98 ; to conception, 
 103, 105 ; to knowledge, 106. 
 
 Physics, value of, 127. 
 
 Pictures and association, 31 ; as a 
 means of communication, 163. 
 
 Pity, emotional tone of, 147. 
 
 Pleasure and pain, 147. 
 
 Poetry, its suggestive nature, 207. 
 
 Precept and example, 224. 
 
 Predicate of proposition, 132. 
 
 Predominance in analysis, 95; in 
 perception, 97. 
 
 Predominant leading up to ab- 
 stract ideas, 21. 
 
 Premises of syllogism, 133. 
 
 Presentative and re-presentative 
 defined, 12, 66. 
 
 Promptings of impulse, 214. 
 
 Pronunciation, correlations in, 70 ; 
 analysis of, 99. 
 
 Proposition, nature of, 132 ; of 
 syllogism described, 133. 
 
 Provincialism and mannerism to be 
 avoided, 195. 
 
 Prudential motives, 218. 
 
 Psychological import of subjects 
 commonly taught, 172. 
 
 Psychology defined, 2. 
 
 Punishment, 37. 
 
 Quantitative relations, 81. 
 
 Rational, what determines when 
 the child becomes, 138-155. 
 
 Reading aloud, 187 ; and writing, 
 165. 
 
 Realism in literature, 191. 
 
 Reason, the ballast to imagination, 
 1.58. 
 
 Reason and reasoning defined, 136. 
 
 Receptivity, 152. 
 
 Recitation, importance of, 186. 
 
 Recollection, 2G ; the art of, 45. 
 
 Record-scrolls for time localiza- 
 tion, 183. 
 
 Reflection, 77, 102. 
 
 Reflex actions, 50. 
 
240 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Relations, 17, 75 ; quantitative, 81 ; 
 numerical, 82 ; logical, 117 ; emo- 
 tional tone associated with, 198. 
 
 Religious attitude, 230. 
 
 Religious influence, 230. 
 
 Remembrance, 26. 
 
 Re-presentative defined, 12, 66. 
 
 Resemblance, suggestion by, 38. 
 
 Retentiveness, 26. 
 
 Retrospection, 78. 
 
 Reverie, nature of, 48. 
 
 Rewards and punishments, 36. 
 
 Right, 219. 
 
 Rotation of earth, Foucault's cru- 
 cial experiment, 130. 
 
 Science, in mental training, 189 ; 
 and literature, 191, 204. 
 
 Scientism, 206. 
 
 Self, the ideal, 215. 
 
 Self -consistence in the products of 
 the imagination, 158. 
 
 Self-control, 149, 151. 
 
 Sencept, 22, 91, 144. 
 
 Sensation and sensations, 17. 
 
 Sense of direction, 7. 
 
 Sense-experience, 17, 78 ; relation 
 of, to perception, 99 ; to knowl- 
 edge, 106 ; to percept and con- 
 cept, 109. 
 
 Sense-fading, 24, 25 ; value of, in 
 perceiving time-relations, 87. 
 
 Sense-ideas, 13. 
 
 Sense-impressions, 6. 
 
 Sensing, as a technical term, 78. 
 
 Shakespeare quoted, 201. 
 
 Significance, direct and indirect, 
 168. 
 
 SiMCox, Miss Edith, quoted, 231 . 
 
 Similarity, suggestion by, 38, 157. 
 
 Similarity and dissimilarity, 80. 
 
 Skill, 10, 52, 60, 62, 66. 
 
 Slojd, value of, 63, 83. 
 
 Snubbing, 159. 
 
 Social ideal, defined. 204 ; of con- 
 duct, 219, 222. 
 
 Social influence, 212. 
 
 Space, localization, 183. 
 
 Space-relation, perception of 
 linear, 83 ; superficial area, 85 ; 
 cubical volume, 86. 
 
 Spelling, analysis and synthesis of, 
 32, 99. 
 
 Spelling reforms, 100. 
 
 Standard, literary or ideal, 202. 
 
 Stimuli, 50. 
 
 Subconscious elements, 4 ; correla- 
 tion, 57, 70. 
 
 Subject in psychology, 74 ; of pro- 
 position, 132. 
 
 Subjective analysis, 96. 
 
 Subjective aspect of experience, 
 72, 76. 
 
 Suggestion, by resemblance, 38 ; by 
 contrast, 39 ; by similarity, 40 ; 
 in poetry, 40 ; in science, 41. 
 
 Suspense, figure of, 200. 
 
 Syllogism, 133. 
 
 Sympathetic impulses, 221, 224. 
 
 Sympathy, 36, 220. 
 
 Synthesis, mental, involuntary, 
 53 ; natural, 139 ; as the comple- 
 ment to analysis, voluntary, 99. 
 
 Teacher, office of the, 140, 210, 222. 
 
 Technical instruction, value and 
 danger of, 206. 
 
 Technical terms, 171. 
 
 Tennyson quoted, 40, 41. 185, 190, 
 202. 
 
 Terms, technical, 171. 
 
 "Therefore" symbolic of logical 
 relation, 117 ; dependent on uni- 
 formity of nature, of thought, 
 and of terminology, 135. 
 
 Thought, involves conception, 105 ; 
 and experience, 113 ; unity of, 
 169. 
 
 Time-localization, 169. 
 
 Time-relations, perception of, 86 ; 
 translated into space-relations, 
 89. 
 
 Tradition, oral and pictorial, 164. 
 
 Transitions in consciousness, 16, 76. 
 
 Understanding, 119. 
 Uniformity of nature, 135 ; of 
 thought, and of terminology, 135. 
 
 Vision, field of, motor elements in, 
 
 58. 
 Volition, 149. 
 
 Watson, Mr. Wm., quoted, 207. 
 
 Whitman quoted, 196. 
 
 "Why" attitude, 154. 
 
 Why? requires explanatory 
 answer, 115. 
 
 Will, the, 58, 149, 152. 
 
 Words, association of, with impres- 
 sions, 30 ; for relations perceived 
 and conceived the same, 104, 108, 
 109 ; an aid to classification. 111 ; 
 and sencepts, 160. 
 
 Wordsworth quoted, 197, 201. 
 
 Written record, 165. 
 
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