HOME UNIVERSITY LIBRARY HOME UNIVERSITY LIBRARY OF MODERN KNOWLEDGE No. 41 Editor -i: HERBERT FISHER, M.A., F.B.A. F*OP. GILBERT MURRAY, LiTT.D., LL.D., F.B.A. POF. J. ARTHUR THOMSON, M.A. PKOF. WILLIAM T. BREWSTER, M.A. A complete classified list of the volumes of THE HOME UNIVERSITY LIBRARY already published will be found at the back of this book. PSYCHOLOGY THE STUDY OF BEHAVIOUR BY WILLIAM McDOUGALL, M.B. READER IN MENTAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY LONDON WILLIAMS AND NORGATE COPYRIGHT, 191*, BY HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY i /H33 PREFACE WHAT is psychology? With what is it con- cerned ? What are the questions it seeks to answer ? How is it setting about its task? What are its methods ? What progress has it made ? Is it a science in an advanced stage of develop- ment ? Or is it one merely beginning to find its feet, to take definite shape, and to map out clearly its programme of work ? Above all, what may we hope from it in the way of addition to our power of understanding human nature and of contributing to the welfare of mankind ? These are the questions which I shall attempt to answer in this book as simply as the difficulties of the subject will permit ; hoping that some at least of my readers will be led to feel the fascina- tion of the study and stimulated to pursue it further in one or more of its several branches, W. McD. OXFORD, Feb., 1912. CONTENTS CHAP. PACK I THE PROVINCE or PSYCHOLOGY 9 II THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 39 III THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 71 IV THE METHODS AND DEPARTMENTS OF PSYCHOLOGY If 9 V THE STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR .... 138 VI THE STUDY OF CHILDHOOD, AND INDIVIDUAL PSYCHOLOGY 180 VII ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 193 VIII SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY 229 BIBLIOGRAPHY . , 255 Tii PSYCHOLOGY CHAPTER I THE PROVINCE OP PSYCHOLOGY To define exactly the province of any one of the natural sciences is in no case an easy task. We define them roughly, and suffi- ciently perhaps for most purposes, by point- ing to the classes of natural objects which the several sciences study; for example, we say that geology is the science of the crust of the earth. But such a definition is not exact or exhaustive. Geology overlaps with many other sciences; with mineralogy, when it studies mineral formations as part of the earth's crust; with biology, when it studies the fossil remains of animals and plants; with astronomy or cosmogony, when it considers the conditions of the first formation of the earth's crust. The difficulty of marking out the provinces of the several branches of science is peculiarly great with those which deal with living 9 10 PSYCHOLOGY things. Full and accurate definition would only be possible in the light of complete knowl- edge. And at present our knowledge of living things is very imperfect. We can see already that, as our knowledge grows, new departments of the science of life have to be created, and that our conceptions of the relations between the several branches must undergo great changes. It seems wiser, then, to determine the provinces of our sciences in a provisional manner only, and with reference to the state of development, the methods of study, and the practical needs, of each one, rather than to attempt any final and rigid definition of them by reference to the classes of objects with which they are severally concerned. Further, we ought to define the province of a science in terms which are as free as possible from theoretical or specula- tive implications, and which denote only fa- miliarly known objects, generally recognized distinctions, and well-observed facts. If, in the light of these consideratibns, we examine the definitions of psychology that have been most widely accepted, we find them to be unsatisfactory. The word psy- chology was formed from the Greek words for soul and science respectively, and was designed to mark off the study of the soul or THE PROVINCE OF PSYCHOLOGY 11 of souls as a special department of science. But what are souls? To mark out the province of psychology in this way is to accept a theory of the constitution of human nature which has come down to us from remote antiquity and which is still widely held; the theory, namely, that each human personality is composed of two very dissimilar parts or principles, soul and body respectively. The soul was regarded as capable of existing apart from the material body and as lending it, during its temporary union with it, all those peculiarities which distinguish the living body from inanimate things. In the earliest times the soul was generally thought of as consisting of a very thin or subtle kind of matter, related to air much as air is related to solid matter. This subtle fluid or spirit was supposed to permeate every part of the body; and, though it was thus extended throughout the body, it was nevertheless a distinct entity capable of existing apart from it. After the death of the body it continued to exist, and might appear as a dim vapour-like duplicate of it, or ghost. And even during life, this ghost- soul might withdraw for a time, as during sleep or trance, and appear in other places. Plato, the greatest of the philosophers of ancient Greece, rejected this notion of the 12 PSYCHOLOGY soul as a vapour-like duplicate of the body. He regarded the soul as a being of a nature radically different from that of material things; as incapable of being perceived by the senses, and only to be grasped by the intel- lect. Nevertheless, he taught that this being exists both before and after its union with the body, which union is but a minor incident of its long career. Aristotle, the greatest of Plato's successors, wrote a celebrated treatise "On the Soul," which is generally regarded as the first important work devoted to psychol- ogy. He rejected the traditional notion of the soul, and regarded it rather as the sum of the vital functions: his attention was directed to the peculiarities which distinguish living beings from inert things; and to say that a thing possessed a soul was for him but a convenient way of saying that it exhibited some or all of these peculiarities. As to the question whether these functions are attribu- table to a being or entity that can in any sense continue to exist after the dissolution of the body, he professed himself unable to arrive at any definite opinion. Through the Middle Ages philosophers continued to debate the nature of the soul and its functions. The most generally ac- cepted view of the soul was one which com- THE PROVINCE OF PSYCHOLOGY 13 bined the teachings of Aristotle with Plato's conception of it as an immaterial being that may continue to exercise its functions apart from, and after the death of, the body. And the natural result of the prevalence of this view was a tendency to concentrate attention upon the higher or purely intellectual func- tions of the soul, and to neglect the considera- tion of the bodily functions, which Aristotle had regarded as an important part of the ex- pressions of soul-life; for these implied the conjunction of soul and body. In the seven- teenth century, this tendency culminated in the teaching of Descartes, the founder of modern philosophy. He boldly asserted that the bodies of men and annuals differ in no wise from other material things, but are merely very complicated machines whose workings are to be explained by the mechanical princi- ples which enable us to understand the proc- esses of other machines. To man alone of all living beings he assigned a soul, and this soul exercised only the higher mental func- tions of thought and volition. The definite formulation of the strictly mechanical view of nature had led Descartes to this position; and the rapid progress of the physical sciences strengthened men's belief in the all -sufficiency of this mechanical 14 PSYCHOLOGY view, and soon led them to ask Why, if animals are merely complex machines, should man be regarded as anything but one of still greater complexity? What, they asked, is the soul? And they answered It is a wholly fictitious notion, generated by super- stition and maintained by priests in order to strengthen their influence and to support the authority of the Church. In this way Des- cartes' bold speculations led on to the dog- matic materialism which became very widely accepted in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Philosophers, being thus chal- lenged to provide a scientific foundation for the notion of the soul, found themselves in a great difficulty. Some of them, like John Locke, fell back upon revealed religion as the only sure ground for the belief in the soul. Bishop Berkeley attacked materialism by subtly impugning men's belief in the reality of material things. But one of the most influential writers of that time, the great Scotch sceptic, David Hume, brilliantly argued that the existence of the soul was merely a tradition which had been uncriti- cally accepted, and that no demonstration of its existence ever had been, or could be, made. Thus, towards the close of the eighteenth THE PROVINCE OF PSYCHOLOGY 15 century, materialism and thorough-going scepticism seemed to be the only alternatives approved by philosophy. At this juncture appeared Immanuel Kant, who offered a new way of escape from this dilemma. He argued that, in perceiving material objects, we can know only their appearances, and that the nature of our conceptions of the physical world is largely determined by the nature of our minds. What we call the world of nature or the physical world is, then, but the appearance to us of some reality of whose real nature we can form no idea, because the nature of these appearances or phenomena is determined so largely by the constitution of our own minds: even the laws of physical nature which we believe we discover, such as the laws of causation and of mechanical operation, are laws which express the nature of our minds rather than of that unknowable reality which appears to us as the material world. He argued further that our minds also are inaccessible to our direct observation, and that we have direct knowledge only of mental phenomena or appearances. Never- theless he maintained that, although we can- not establish the existence or describe the nature of the soul by the methods of science, consideration of our moral nature justifies us 16 PSYCHOLOGY in believing in its existence as an immortal super-sensible being. Later thinkers have for the most part accepted Kant's demonstration of the phe- nomenal character of the physical world; but they have found his argument in support of the belief in the soul wholly unconvincing; and subsequent efforts to establish the exist- ence and define the nature of the soul have not been generally recognized as successful. This very imperfect outline of the history of thought on the soul will serve to show why it is no longer possible to define psychology as the science of the soul; for it shows that the notion of the soul is a speculative hypoth- esis, one much too vague and uncertain to be made the essential notion in the defini- tion of a large province of natural science. This being the position in regard to the soul, many modern writers have preferred to define psychology as the science of the miiid. But this also is unsatisfactory. For, in the first place, to say nothing of other departments of philosophy, logic claims to be a science of mind ctistinct from, and more or less inde- pendent of, psychology; and the definition thus fails to mark off the province of psy- chology. Secondly, the definition is stated in terms of an extremely ill-defined object. For THE PROVINCE OF PSYCHOLOGY 17 who can tell us exactly what mind, or a mind,, is? When we ask this question, we raise at once some of the profoundest and most dis- puted problems of philosophy. Some modern writers, recognizing these- objections, propose to improve on this defini- tion by saying that psychology is the science- of consciousness; for, they say, each one of us has immediate, direct and positive knowledge of consciousness. But to this proposal there are two very serious objections. First, each of us has immediate knowledge of his own. consciousness only; the consciousness of other persons is only inferred by him from their behaviour, and imagined after the analogy of his own consciousness. Yet psychology certainly aims at arriving at con- clusions which shall hold good of men in gen- eral. And when we turn to the animals, thiV objection appears still more formidable. Secondly, when we study consciousness, we realize that the most complete description of the consciousness of any one person, or even, the description, in general terms, of the con- sciousness of men in general, would not con- stitute a science, certainly not the science which psychology hopes to become. For such descriptions would not enable us to under- stand why any particular consciousness takes 38 PSYCHOLOGY the form described, nor would it in itself add anything to our power of controlling the course of nature. Some of those who define psychology as the science of consciousness are content to do so, because they hold a certain theory of the na- ture of man. They agree with Descartes in regarding the body as merely a complicated machine, and all its processes as mechanically determined ; so that every detail of behaviour, 'whether of man or of animal, is hi principle explicable in terms of the bodily mechanism, .and falls within the province of physiology, which, in turn, is but a special department of pTiysical science. And the modern exponents of this view do not follow Descartes in regard- ing thought as a manifestation of a soul informing the machine; they say rather that consciousness is merely, as it were, a phos- phorescent glow generated by the working of certain parts of the machine; or they say tthat it is certain processes of the machine of which we become aware in a more immediate jand intimate way than the indirect way of .sense-perception. Now, if this view were established, the task of psychology might properly be defined as the description of consciousness; though it would be a work of very small importance THE PROVINCE OF PSYCHOLOGY 19 and unworthy of the name of a science. But this view of the nature of living beings is a speculation of very doubtful value; and we have agreed to try to define our science in terms which imply no theories, but rather familiar and unquestionable facts only. If, then, we ask What facts are there which are actually observed and studied by the psychologist and which do not fall wholly within the province of any other science? the answer must be twofold; namely, (1) hi* own consciousness, and (2) the behaviour of men and of animals in general. His ami is to increase our understanding of, and our power of guidance and control over, the behaviour of men and animals; and he uses what knowl- edge he can gain of consciousness to aid him in achieving such understanding of behaviour- We may then define psychology as the positive science of the behaviour of living things. To accept this definition is to return, to the standpoint of Aristotle, and to set out from generally recognized facts, unprejudiced by theories. We all recognize broadly that the things which make up our world of perceptible objects fall into two great classes, namely, inert things, whose movements and changes seem to be strictly determined according to mechanicaJ laws, and living' SO PSYCHOLOGY things, which behave or exhibit behaviour; and, when we say that they exhibit behaviour, we mean that they seem to have an intrinsic power of self-determination, and to pursue actively or with effort their own welfare and their own ends or purposes. The manifestation of purpose or the striving to achieve an end is, then, the mark of be- haviour; and behaviour is the characteristic of living things. This criterion of life is one of which we all make use; but most of us have not reflected upon it, and we may dwell upon it for a moment with advantage. Take a billiard ball from the pocket and place it upon the table. It remains at rest, and would continue to remain so for an indefinitely long time, if no force were applied to it, no work circumvent or surmount it, restlessly persist- ing until it achieves its end or until its energy is exhausted. That is an example of behaviour from the middle region of the scale of complexity; consideration of it reveals very clearly the great difference between behaviour and me- chanical process. As an instance higher in the scale of complexity, consider a dog taken from its home and shut up at some distant place. There, no matter how kindly treated, he remains restless, trying constantly to es- cape and, perhaps, refusing food and wasting away; when released, he sets out for home, and runs many miles across country without stopping till he reaches it, following perhaps a direct route if the country is familiar to him, or perhaps only reaching home after much wandering hither and thither. As an example from the upper end of the scale of behaviour, consider the case of a man who loves his native land, but who, in order to earn his daily bread, has accepted a position in some distant country. There he faithfully performs the tasks he has under- taken; but always his dominant purpose i* to save enough money to enable him to return 2 PSYCHOLOGY and to make a home in his native land; this is the prime motive of all his behaviour, to which all other motives are subordinated. We best understand this last behaviour, if the exile tells us that he constantly pictures to Mmself his beloved native place and the enjoyments that he hopes to find there. For we know well what it is to foresee an event and ardently to desire it. Even if the exile be but a dull-minded peasant, incapable of explicitly anticipating the delights of his return, who seems to be affected merely by a homesickness which he cannot express or justify in words, we still feel that we can in some measure understand his state and his behaviour. We feel this also of the dog in the foregoing instance, and in a less degree of the animal of our first example. For we, too, have experienced a vague and formless unrest, an impulsion to strive persistently towards an end which we can neither clearly formulate nor rationally justify; we, too, have experienced how obstruction to such activity does but accentuate our impulse, how success- ful progress towards the end brings us a A'ague though profound satisfaction, and how achievement of the end can alone relieve our inward unrest. These, then, are indisputable instances of THE PROVINCE OF PSYCHOLOGY 23? behaviour. They are only to be understood or explained after the analogy of our own experiences of effort or striving. No attempt to explain such facts mechanically has at present the least plausibility, or can in any degree aid us in understanding or control- ling them. Now the same is true, though perhaps less obviously true, of still simpler forms of behaviour. Let us consider a few in. descending order in the scale of complexity. The migratory bird, arriving in springy takes up her abode in a coppice, yields to the blandishments of her mate, builds a nest, lays her eggs, and sits upon them, silent and motionless for many days, until the young are hatched. Then, with incessant activity, she cherishes them, feeding them hour by hour and minute by minute, until they attain to independence. With the turn of the year, her great task accomplished, she faces south- wards again and, with tireless wings, returns across great tracts of land and sea to her winter home; there to remain until in the following spring she comes back, once more flying thousands of miles to reach the same hedgerow among all the thousands in our English counties, and to repeat there the cycle of her activities. That again is unmistakably a cycle of behaviour. At every stage the 24 PSYCHOLOGY actions of the bird may be varied in detail indefinitely; but always they are dominated by the same cycle of purposes in which the great purpose of her life successively manifests itself the perpetuation of the life of her race according to its specific type and kind. If at any stage her activities are obstructed, her efforts are redoubled; destroy her nest, and she builds another; take away one or more of her eggs, and she lays others to replace them; attack her young, and she resists you with all her feeble powers; shut her up, when the time comes for her flight to Africa, and she beats against the bars that confine her, with ceaseless and varied movements, until she escapes or is exhausted; take away her mate, the indispensable partner of her labours, and she. pines, perhaps even to death. How far the bird foresees the ends of her manifold activities we cannot say; though we have good reason to believe that she foresees at each step no more than the immediate effect or end of each step. Yet we cannot doubt that such trains of activity are more closely allied in nature to our own purposive activities than to any sequences of inorganic nature, and that they are therefore properly regarded as behaviour. Going a stage lower in the scale of life, THE PROVINCE OF PSYCHOLOGY 25 consider the salmon which, in due season, having attained a certain stage of develop- ment in the open sea, enters the mouth of a river, and ascends the stream to deposit its eggs in the bed of some remote tributary. The ascent of a large and swift river contain- ing many rapids and water-falls involves ceaseless and varied efforts extending through a period of many weeks, during which the fish takes no food, but consumes the latent energy of the substance of its muscles. This, too, is an undeniable example of behaviour, which we can only understand in any degree in the light of its analogy with our own behaviour, and which is utterly unlike any phenomenon of inorganic nature. In the great world of invertebrate life, the same great fact of the prevalence of behav- iour, or of purposive effort to maintain the life of the species, confronts us on every hand. The solitary wasp hunts assiduously all day long for her prey, and having secured, per- haps, a fat caterpillar considerably heavier than herself, drags it toilfully over, under, or around a thousand obstacles to the nest she has prepared beforehand; there to seal it up together with her egg, that it may serve as food to the offspring which she will never see. The earthworm, coming up from its burrow 26 PSYCHOLOGY and finding a leaf upon the ground, explores its boundaries, seizes it by its apex or in whatever manner and position most facilitates its entry to the burrow, and drags it down. And the movements of other worms of even simpler type exhibit the characteristic marks of behaviour; namely, persistent striving with variation of means employed under un- changed external conditions, when the first movements fail to achieve the end. The star- fish, turned over so that it lies upon its back, makes incessant and varied efforts with its arms to get a grip upon the ground, and, having done so, rights itself by a combined action of all its parts. And even among the lowliest of all animals, the unicellular and microscopic Protozoa, behaviour is again the rule. The Amoeba, a mere speck of formless jelly, on becoming detached from the sub- merged surface on which it creeps, throws out long feelers in all directions, until one of them comes in contact with a solid object; to this the whole creature then attaches itself, in order to resume its normal mode of move- ment. Or, having come in contact with a smaller specimen of its own kind, it pursues its prey persistently, making repeated efforts to englobe it for its own nourishment. The slipper animalcule darts hither and thither THE PROVINCE OF PSYCHOLOGY 27 in search of prey, and may be seen to pursue other and smaller creatures. Now let us turn to consider a class of facts of a somewhat different kind, phenomena which we cannot so confidently describe as behaviour. The primary task of every animal species is to produce eggs, and to set them in the world under such conditions, and to afford them such protection, as they need for their development into perfect repre- sentatives of the species. This feat, to the accomplishment of which almost all of the behaviour of animals is either directly or indirectly devoted, is but the first part of the cycle of reproduction on which the perpetu- ation of the species depends. The consumma- tion of the cycle lies with the egg. The series of changes through which this consummation is effected is, in nearly all cases, one of mar- vellous complexity and marvellous nicety. Compared with such a series of changes, the most wonderful processes of our machines, such as those by which a garment is woven or a newspaper printed, are relatively coarse and ridiculously simple. But, immensely as they exceed in nicety and complexity the processes of our machines, these processes of development differ in a much more funda- mental manner from all purely mechanical 28 PSYCHOLOGY processes; namely, just like the activities of the animal seeking for its prey or return- ing to its nest, the developmental processes persistently tend towards the end natural or proper to the species, overcoming obstacles and adjusting themselves in a number of alternative ways to peculiarities and changes in their environment, and even rectifying themselves or returning to their normal course after being grossly deflected or disturbed. These phenomena have been minutely studied in recent years; and, though our knowledge in this field is still in its earliest stages, we know that the embryo or develop- ing germ of many species may, in spite of being severely mutilated, cut in halves, or completely deformed, restore the normal pro- portions of its parts and the normal course of development, and may thus achieve its specific end and complete the cycle of activi- ties of which a part only was achieved by the efforts of the parents. In these highly signifi- cant respects the process of the building up of the body is very closely analogous to typical processes of behaviour, for example, to the building of its nest by a bird, or to the building of their comb by bees. There is the same persistent tendency towards the specific type, which triumphs over obstacles, effects adapta- THE PROVINCE OF PSYCHOLOGY 29 tion to unusual conditions, and restores the nor- mal course of events after gross mechanical interferences or distortions. In both classes of process, even the most extreme interfer- ences may be rectified by a resolution or undoing of the stages achieved and a re-start- ing from the initial stage; the birds rebuild their nest, or the bees their comb, from the foundation upwards; the mutilated germ re- solves itself into a formless mass, within which the process of gradual organization of specific structures sets in anew, and so re-establishes the normal cycle and achieves the normal end. These processes of the bodily growth of animals are, then, closely analogous with truly purposive activity or behaviour, and they present features nothing analogous to which can be found in inorganic nature, the realm of purely mechanical causation. It is true that such processes of growth comprise many details which can be described in terms of physics and chemistry. But the same is true of all behaviour; the most clearly con- ceived and strongly willed ends of human beings are only achieved by the aid of much detailed process of mechanical type. What is characteristic of processes of both classes is the appearance of effective dominance of SO PSYCHOLOGY the mechanical factors by purposive guidance towards a specific end or goal. If we make our notion of purposive activity or behaviour wide enough to include these phenomena of bodily organization in the animal kingdom, it must include also the similar processes of plant growth. And there are many good reasons for such inclusion. Biologists are agreed in regarding all plants and animals as having been evolved from the same class of primitive organisms which were neither animals nor plants, or perhaps rather were both. Most plants have little or no power of locomotion or of actively moving their parts. Yet, wherever vegetable organ- isms have such powers, their movements exhibit the characteristic marks of behaviour; as in the cases of the pollen tubes of many species and the locomotions of some free swimming plants. But, for the most part, the mode of life of plants obviates the need of active movement, and their only opportunity for the exhibition of behaviour is in their processes of growth; and in these processes their marvellous powers of self -direction excel even those of the animals. Of some plants an almost microscopic fragment taken from any part will reproduce the whole plant with all its specific peculiarities. And most plants THE PROVINCE OF PSYCHOLOGY 31 possess this power of regeneration in a very high degree. Cut away the leading shoot of a larch sapling, and the uppermost branch will slowly turn upwards from its horizontal position, until it continues the line of the stem and, by rapid increase of diameter in its lower part, restores the smoothly tapering form of the stem. Cut a short length from a willow- twig and keep it in a moist atmosphere; no matter what part of the twig be taken or in what position it may be kept, leaf buds will grow upwards from its original upper end and rootlets will grow downwards from the original lower or proximal end. In these and numberless similar instances, the botanist can describe in terms of physics and chemistry many of the details of the process by which the specific form and organization is restored, but the process as a whole completely defies his utmost efforts at mechanical explanation; and we cannot but recognize that it is analo- gous to the purposive activities of men and higher animals, which are the type of behaviour. Let us now compare our conception of psychology as the science of behaviour with the more usual definition of it as the science of mind. It was pointed out on an earlier page that "mind" is itself a word whose meaning 32 PSYCHOLOGY Is extremely vague, one incapable of being clearly defined except in terms of some questionable and speculative hypothesis. No one can point to a mind and say that is what I mean the word mind shall denote. And if it is proposed to define mind in terms of consciousness, we are in no better case, but rather worse. For each of us the conscious- ness of any other organism than himself is an inference; and it is one which is more speculative and uncertain the greater the unlikeness of the other organism to himself. Further, there is abundant evidence that the behaviour of each of us expresses activities of a nature essentially similar to our conscious activities, of which we nevertheless remain unconscious. If, then, we cannot be content to define mind in terms of consciousness, the only alternative is to define it in terms of behaviour. And nothing is to be gained by introducing at the outset of our inquiry the vaguely conceived entity, mind, and placing it between the facts we have to study and our reflections upon them. The conception of behaviour, on the other hand, may be defined in a way which involves no speculative inference or hypothesis, namely, in the way we have attempted to define it above, that is, by pointing to facts open to the direct obser- THE PROVINCE OF PSYCHOLOGY 33 vation of all men, and saying This and this is what we mean by behaviour. And such pointing to instances is the only satisfactory, and in strictness the only legitimate, way of defining any abstract notion. What, then, is, or should be, the relation of psychology to physiology? Physiology is commonly defined as the science of lif e or of the bodily functions of living things. But what is life, and what are living things? Unless we are to define life, in a gratuitously speculative manner, as some imperceptible entity that enters into the bodies of living things, we must say that it is the sum of the processes peculiar to living things. Now the processes by the observation of which we recognize things as living are just those proc- esses which we have collectively designated as behaviour, processes which exhibit a persistent self -direction towards specific ends that subserve the perpetuation of the indi- vidual organism or of the species. The prov- ince of psychology is, then, according to our definition, co-extensive with the province of physiology. And this may be raised as an objection to our definition of psychology; for physiology is generally regarded as an in- dependent science having its own programme and methods and history. In modern times 34 PSYCHOLOGY the task of physiology has usually been con- ceived in the way proposed by Descartes, namely, as the working out of purely mechani- cal explanations of all the processes of living organisms. To accept this conception of physiology is to base the science upon a vast assumption, the assumption, namely, that all the processes of living organisms are capable of being mechanically explained. This is a gratuitous assumption which finds no justification in facts. For no single organic function has yet been found explicable in purely mechanical terms; even such relatively simple processes as the secretion of a tear or the exudation of a drop of sweat continue to elude all attempts at complete explanation in terms of physical and chemical science. And not only is the assumption wholly un- justified by the demonstration of its truth in any single instance, but it leads those who make it to a logically untenable position. For, when the physiologist has constructed his imaginary scheme of the bodily mecha- nism, he finds that he has left over as an irre- ducible surd the facts of human consciousness. And he seeks to escape from the difficulty by ignoring these facts; that is to say, he boldly asserts the facts of consciousness to be in- explicable by his methods; he regards them THE PROVINCE OF PSYCHOLOGY 35 as mysterious by-products of the mechanical operations which he believes to constitute the life of the organism, and_ in which alone he himself is interested; and he hands them over to the psychologist, to whom he assigns the exclusive task of describing them. To define the provinces of physiology and of psychology in this way is just as un- scientific as to define psychology as the science of the soul. In both cases it is attempted to mark out the provinces by the aid of specu- lative hypotheses or assumptions which, though they may be true, can only be shown to be so by great advances of the sciences in question. Nevertheless, it remains true that physiology and psychology, as pur- sued now and perhaps for a long time to come, are not to be identified. We may express the relation which actually obtains between them by saying that physiology investigates the processes of the parts or organs of which any organism is composed, while psychology investigates the activities of the organism as a whole, that is, those in which it operates as a whole or unit. In this way we leave to the wider knowledge of future generations the decision of funda- mental questions to which at present we can return only speculative guesses, instead of 36 -PSYCHOLOGY making such guesses the foundation stones of our science. For, in defining psychol- ogy as the science of behaviour, we neither affirm nor deny the adequacy of mechanical principles to the explanation of the activities of organisms; we assume no hypothetical en- tities or forces, neither life, nor mind, nor soul. We start simply from the undeniable fact that the changes exhibited by material objects seem to be of two different types; on the one hand, of the purely mechanical type, of which the motions of the heavenly bodies provide the grandest and clearest examples; on the other hand, of the type of purposive action or behaviour, with which each of us becomes familiar by reflection upon his own efforts, his impulses, his desires, and his volitions. It may be that, in the distant future, science will succeed in establishing the truth of the assumption so widely accepted at the present time by an act of faith, the assumption, namely, that all seemingly purposive action is mechanically explicable. If that time comes, psychology will be absorbed in phys- iology, and physiology in physics. On the other hand, it may be that we shall dis- cover in the inorganic world indications of behaviour which hitherto have remained hidden from us. Or thirdly, it may be that, THE PROVINCE OF PSYCHOLOGY 37 as a great thinker has lately said, our con- ceptions both of mechanical process and of purposive activity are false abstractions inadequate to the description of real happen- ings, and that both must be supplanted by some truer conception. Or lastly, it may prove possible to show that the realm of mind is not co-extensive with the realm of life, and that, within the sphere of behaviour or seemingly purposive activities, we must dis- tinguish a higher type which implies conscious intelligence essentially similar to our own but of many levels of effectiveness, and a lower type which, though incapable of mechanical explanation and analogous to purposive ac- tivity, yet involves no conscious direction, and is therefore not truly purposive. But, whatever the decision the future may bring, it seems clear that at the present time we cannot transcend the distinction between the two modes of change, and that science is best served by frankly recognizing the dis- tinction where it forces itself upon us, and by carefully establishing it where it remains obscure and doubtful. Physiology, then, may profitably continue to approach living beings from below, that is, from the side and with the methods of physical and chemical science, and to extend to the utmost the reach 38 PSYCHOLOGY of mechanical explanations of the processes of their bodies. But psychology must continue to deepen our understanding of the behaviour of all living things by approaching them from above by applying to them the understand- ing of behaviour that we gam from the study of ourselves. The definition of psychology as the positive science of behaviour seems, then, preferable to any other, because it leaves unprejudiced and open for decision in the future the issue of certain fundamental problems which at pres- ent we cannot solve, and because it makes use of no ill-defined and problematical notions, such as mind, or soul, or consciousness, but only of familiar facts of observation. And it carries with it also two important advantages. First, it lays stress on the truth that the facts of observation with which we have to deal in psychology are always processes or activities rather than fixed enduring things. Secondly, it prepares us to attempt to understand these activities in a way very different from that in which we aim at understanding physical or mechanical processes; it makes clear from the outset that we must explain and under- stand in terms of the end or purpose of the activity, rather than in terms only of the antecedent events. The adoption of this THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 39 attitude is one of the chief difficulties of the student of psychology, especially if he has been trained in the physical sciences. For our intellect and our language, the chief instrument of our intellect, are adapted primarily and chiefly for enabling us to appreciate and control the movements of solid objects in space, or, in other words, for dealing with the mechanical processes of the physical world; most of us, therefore, feel intellectually at home in dealing with purely mechanical processes, and we are more fully satisfied with explanations stated in terms of mechanism than with those given in terms of end and purpose; yet in both cases our ex- planation of any concrete event can never be more than the exhibition of it as a particular instance of a class of events already familiar to us. CHAPTER H THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS WE see a child sitting idly on a lawn. Suddenly he springs to his feet and dashes into the house, leaving us to wonder why he behaved in that fashion. If we were near enough closely to observe his movements and the expression of his face, we may be able 40 PSYCHOLOGY to guess the reason of his behaviour; but we shall not be sure that we have the correct explanation, until we can hear his own ac- count of the incident. Then, perhaps, he tells us that he went to get a drink, or that he heard "such a funny noise" in the house, that he saw approaching a savage dog or some person whom he dislikes, or that he was stung by a wasp, that he suddenly remembered it was time for school, that he heard his mother calling, or that he had just thought out a plan for making a kite. Any one of these state- ments would probably satisfy our curiosity; and we should feel that we understood this particular piece of behaviour. For under similar circumstances we have behaved in similar fashion, and we have observed other persons so behave. But it is clear that any such explanation is only proximate and super- ficial, and that our understanding of the behaviour is only very partial. Such super- ficial explanation and such partial under- standing are all that we can achieve without bringing psychology to our aid, that is to say, without applying to this particular instance the general principles of behaviour which systematic study has established. Note first that the boy's- explanation of his behaviour is given in words which partially THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 41 describe his state of consciousness and which enable us to achieve by sympathetic under- standing, in the light of our own experience of similar situations, a fuller description of that state than his words actually convey. If he, for example, mentions the drink, the "-funny" noise, or the savage dog, we know that he felt thirst, or curiosity, or fear. Such reconstruction hi imagination of the state of consciousness of the individual is always the first step towards that completer under- standing of behaviour of any kind which will enable us to control or modify either our own behaviour or that of others. And this is true not only of human be- haviour, but of all behaviour. If we see a mouse or other small animal dart back into its hole, we achieve a partial explanation and understanding of its behaviour, when we are able to infer that it felt frightened, or that it heard the cry of its little ones. Although, then, understanding of this kind is more incomplete and problematic the more unlike ourselves is the creature whose be- haviour we observe, the explanation of the behaviour of any creature must always in- volve the description of its consciousness at the time. Now in order to describe any event or process, we are compelled by the nature of 42 PSYCHOLOGY our intellect to analyse it into parts, each of which we conceive as an example of a class which we mentally fix or grasp by the use of a name. Thus, even such a simple process as the flight of a stone thrown from the hand can only be described by analysing its path into a series of positions occupied by it at succes- sive moments of time, and then stating that its flight consists in its successively occupy- ing these positions. And our observation of any event will be more complete and ade- quate, the more adequate are the notions of its several components that we form by the aid of language. Now, when we come to describe the facts of consciousness, we find that the notions and the words in popular use are very in- adequate to the work of analytic description. The first task of the student of psychology, the presupposition of all other psychological investigation, is therefore to refine, by the aid of the terminology and the descriptions made by his predecessors, his power of dis- tinguishing, classifying, and describing the constituent features of the stream of his own consciousness. The observation or noticing of his own consciousness is what is called introspection. Introspection has been made something of a mystery. It is sometimes THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 43 written of as though it were a feat which only a specially trained acrobat could perform. There has been much learned discussion as to whether it is possible, how it is possible, and how it is actually carried out. But, like many other things we do, we can do it very well without being able to say exactly how we do it. Every intelligent person can and frequently does give some description of his consciousness; as when he says that he hears a sound, or that he has a toothache, describ- ing perhaps its peculiar quality; or when he says that he feels warm, or pleased, or tired, or angry, or doubtful, or confused, or sad; or that he is thinking of something, or longing for it, or trying hard to recollect a name, or comparing any two things, or trying to make up his mind. All these and a hundred other current phrases we commonly use when we wish to make others aware of the state of our consciousness. And the introspection and analytic description of the psychologist in- volve merely the refinement of observation and description of this common kind, which we all habitually practise in various degrees. The acquisition of familiarity with the cur- rent descriptive terms and with the classifi- cation of the things denoted by these terms must be the student's first step in taking up 44 PSYCHOLOGY any science; and it must go hand in hand with the repeated observation and examination of the things or processes described. The use of the current terms (in so far as they are well chosen) enables us to observe more fully and accurately; for each name serves to fix our attention upon some particular feature or phase of the complex object of our observa- tion, and thus, by fixing our attention in turn upon its several principal features, helps us to analyse the whole into its constituent parts. And the observations we make render our un- derstanding of the terms fuller, and our use of them more accurate. Thus, when on begin- ning the study of botany the student takes a flower in his hand, he can observe it and describe it in a rough way, distinguishing its most prominent features by the aid of ill- defined terms of popular speech. He then learns to apply to each of its parts its scientific name, petal, sepal, pistil, stamen, and so forth; and as he repeats this double process of observation and naming on a variety of flowers, his power of observation and his usage of the scientific terminology improve hand in hand; and both improvements are due to the fact that his thought of a flower, which at first was confused and vague, has become more definite and richer hi meaning; THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 45 he has learnt to know the parts in detail, and to know the whole as the sum of the parts related according to a definite plan. The work of the beginner in psychology is of just the same nature. He finds himself able to observe his mental processes and to describe them in a vague confused manner by the aid of common language; and his first step must be to refine his powers of obser- vation and description by adopting the names provided by his predecessors and the dis- tinctions implied by them. In doing this, he will find that his thought of any mental proc- ess becomes more definite and richer in mean- ing; instead of thinking of it as a confused in- determinate whole, he thinks of it as a whole of a particular kind, comprising many parts related to one another according to a more or less definite system. But, though this first step in psychology is essentially similar to the first step in any other concrete science, namely, a process of improvement of one's acquaintance with cer- tain objects by means of analytic observation and description; it must be frankly recognized that this first step in psychology is of peculiar (I'lficulty. In studying a flower, or any physical object such as a piece of rock, or an engine, or even a political system, the teacher 46 PSYCHOLOGY may point to and name each part in turn, saying There is a petal, there a stamen, there an anther, and so on. But in studying consciousness this direct designation is im- possible; the teacher can only describe the conditions under which certain modes of consciousness will in all probability be ex- perienced; he cannot point to a feeling of pain or of fear and say That is a pain, or a fear. He can only say Pain is what you would probably feel if your best friend cut you dead; or Fear is what you would feel if a savage dog suddenly attacked you. But men are so widely different that they react to similar situations in very different ways, and one can never be sure that the situation given or described will evoke the same mental reaction in any two persons. The situation that evokes pain or fear in one man may provoke another to anger, and leave a third unmoved. Secondly, analytic observation of mental processes is difficult just because they are processes and not fixed enduring objects. We cannot examine at leisure and again and again the same mental process; for, as we try to notice its peculiar quality and com- plexity, it changes every moment, and it can never be perfectly recovered or restored; and THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 47 it changes, or rather gives place to another process, all the more quickly, just because we direct our attention to it. Beside these intrinsic difficulties, stands a third great difficulty which arises from the backward or rudimentary state of the science, the difficulty, namely, that the greatest au- thorities have not yet learnt to use the same descriptive terms, or to apply the same terms in exactly the same senses. It results from this lack of agreement among writers on psychology that, even in respect of this preliminary work, the description of con- sciousness, the beginner is apt to become greatly confused on turning from one author to another. It is important that he should not attach undue importance to these differ- ences of descriptive method; he should real- ize that each method may be legitimate and useful. He must recognize that any descrip- tion we can give is necessarily inadequate and inevitably distorts the facts in some degree; and he must aim at choosing for his own use the method that seems to be most effective. The method of description most commonly used is what may be called the "cinemato- graphic" or "static" method. One's con- sciousness is always complex and always changing; it is the progressive manifestation 48 PSYCHOLOGY of an unceasing activity, which activity is only partially revealed to us as consciousness. Now the cinematographic method of description abstracts from, or neglects, this active aspect of consciousness, and attempts to describe each phase of it as it is or subsists, without reference to the functions subserved by it. Consciousness may be likened to the surface of a spring of water which bubbles up un- ceasingly from obscure invisible sources. The surface assumes at every moment new forms; some change rapidly, others slowly, but none persists stably; each detail of the form of the surface is constantly giving place to new ones, some slowly, others more rapidly. The com- plexity and the rapidity of change are so great that it is impossible for the mind to seize all the details of any one moment, much less to observe just how each detail changes. The cinematographic method, therefore, begins by giving names to the principal varieties of the forms that present themselves; it then attempts to describe the whole surface as it exists at any moment, by enumerating the forms presented by it at that moment; and it attempts to represent the actual course of the changes of the whole surface by describing in such general terms its appearance at suc- cessive moments. That is to say, it analyses THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 4fr the perpetual flux into a complex of elements each statically conceived, and it describes the flux as consisting in the simultaneous and successive appearances of these elements. It is as though each of the successive pictures of a cinematograph film were first constructed by painting in by hand the various objects in the positions occupied by them at the mo- ment represented by the picture. Now, besides abstracting from the active or functional aspect of consciousness, this method necessarily falsifies the facts by neg- lecting the actual changes and by breaking up the continuity of the whole stream of consciousness, both the continuity of the parts which make up the whole at any one moment of time and the continuity of the whole at successive moments. Nevertheless, owing to the nature of our intellects, this is the only method by aid of which we can approximate to a full and detailed description of the stream of consciousness. It is, therefore, a valuable and, perhaps, indispensable method. But we must beware of being misled by it into regarding the phases and details which we mentally fix by the aid of names as things that endure or persist as self -identical entities. For to do this is the natural tendency of our minds, to which many writers have yielded, 50 PSYCHOLOGY with the result that they have come to regard consciousness as a mosaic of particles or elements of consciousness, juxtaposed in ever- changing combinations : that is to say, having mentally analysed the continuous flux of consciousness, by directing attention in turn to a number of its most prominent features, they think of it as though they had actually broken it up into a number of separately existing parts, and as though it were capable of being reconstructed by bringing these parts together again in simultaneous and successive series. If this method of description is to be used, we must have some general name for the features that we distinguish within the stream of consciousness; and perhaps the best word for this purpose is "feeling"; for this word commits us to no theory or presupposition. Adopting it, we may say that the stream of consciousness, considered in itself and apart from its functions, may be analytically re- solved into a complex of feelings. A word which has been more commonly used for this purpose is "idea." But most of those who have used this word have yielded themselves up unresistingly to the tendency to "reify" these abstractions, i. e. to treat ideas as things endowed with intrinsic prop- THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 51 erties and forces; and the whole of mental life has been represented as the interplay of these things, the ideas. For these reasons it is well to avoid the use of the word "idea"; though it must be confessed that the usage is so very convenient and so much in accord- ance with our natural tendency to reify, or regard as a thing, whatever our attention is directed to by the use of a name, that we can hardly hope to supersede it completely and at once. A more modern fashion is to describe con- sciousness as a stream of sensations. Now the use of the word " sensation " has the same mis- leading tendency as that of the word "idea"; namely, it tempts us to regard consciousness as made up by the juxtaposition of things called sensations. Nevertheless the notion and the word are so useful that we can hardly hope to describe consciousness without their aid; and we must therefore accept that aid, while guarding ourselves carefully against the abuse of it. If we try to define what we mean by sensation, we must first recognize that the sensations, or sensory elements, which, according to the cinematographic method of description, make up so large a part of consciousness, are of two classes, the vivid and the faint. The vivid sensation can 52 PSYCHOLOGY only be defined as the feeling which regularly follows upon the stimulation of a sense-organ. It is a fact of common experience, which has been confirmed and studied in detail by scien- tific experiment, that, whenever a physical impression of a particular kind is applied to a particular sense organ, there follows immedi- ately a feeling of a particular quality. We are capable of experiencing a large variety of such sensations or feeling-qualities determined by stimulation of the senses; and each such quality of feeling may be experienced in various degrees of intensity, which form a continuous series. Thus, whenever a tuning- fork of a given pitch is sounded in my neigh- bourhood, the air waves set up by its vibra- tions impinge on my ear and there stimulate the auditory nerve, with the result that I experience a sensation of tone of a particular quality; and this sensation, or feeling-qual- ity, is more or less intense according to the amplitude of the air waves that impinge on my ear, while its quality depends upon the rate of succession of the vibrations. The sensory feelings of the second class, the faint sensations, or "sensory images" as they are now more commonly called, can only be defined by reference to the former class of vivid sensations. If, when the tuning-fork THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 53 has ceased to vibrate, I think of its tone, I experience again the same quality of feeling; but, though the feeling has the same quality as the vivid sensation, it differs from it in a way which we indicate by the term "faint." The difference between the vivid sensation and the image or faint sensation of the same quality is not of the same order as that be- tween an intense and a less intense sensation of the same quality; it is rather a difference of an altogether peculiar or unique kind. I experience many other sensation qualities, though not all, in this peculiar faint form. And the same seems to be true of all other persons; though some experience predomi- nantly images of one or more senses, and others those of other senses. One influential school of psychologists, the "sensational" school, holds that the con- sciousness of any person may be completely described in terms of such sensations and images. But others hold that we must distinguish feelings of radically different kinds or orders; some would recognize a class of affective feelings, of which the types are pleasure and pain; and, while some admit these as the only two feeling qualities of this order, others recognize a larger variety of affective feelings. Others again recognize a 54 PSYCHOLOGY third kind or order of feeling qualities, namely the feelings of effort or activity; and here again, while some recognize only one quality of this order, others recognize a variety of such feelings, each of specific and irreducible quality. Now this method of regarding and describ- ing consciousness is indispensable for certain purposes, for example, when we study the nervous conditions of the various qualities and intensities of sensation; but as the result of thoroughgoing attempts to describe con- sciousness exhaustively in this way, it is becoming generally recognized that an ex- haustive description in such terms is im- possible. For over and above all the features that are capable of being introspectively seized and described in general terms as sensations or other feelings of specific quali- ties, the consciousness of any moment in- volves something more subtle which eludes all attempts to describe it in this way. And this residue, though it is so subtle and elusive, is nevertheless the most important part of consciousness. It is the essential thought- activity; it is the reference of consciousness to an object; and it can only be defined or described by naming the object of which the subject is thinking at the moment. If we THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 55 wish to describe it statically, we can only do so by saying that it is the "meaning" which is present to consciousness. All the sensory feelings are but the medium which brings this thought-activity into play and determines its direction from moment to moment; they are but solicitations to thought or to thinking. We can best realize the truth of this state- ment by reflecting on such experiences as the following. As I lie in deep sleep, some one knocks on the door of my room and repeats his knock at short intervals of time, bringing me at each repetition a step nearer to the fully waking state. On looking back on this experience, it seems that I first heard the sound in an extremely obscure and imperfect manner, which I am tempted to describe by saying that my consciousness consisted merely of the sensation of sound; that on repetition of the knock, I again experienced a similar sensation, but that, in addition to this, I vaguely apprehended the sound as such, as something there; or, in other words, the im- pression of sound was no longer a bare sensa- tion, but evoked a vague meaning, an act of knowing or cognition; that on further repeti- tion of the knock, the impression of sound evoked a richer and more definite meaning, the cognitive activity became fuller and more 56 PSYCHOLOGY effective, and I recognized the sound as a knock upon the door. Similar experiences of other senses may be cited to illustrate the same fact. In turning over the pages of a book, I may come upon a picture which at first glance appears to me as merely a confused blur of colour patches. I continue to look at it, and presently I resolve the patches of colour into the parts of some object or scene of a familiar type. The sense- impression, which at first was nothing more than a field of colour, evokes at a later mo- ment a definite meaning, a thought-activity in the form of a cognition of a group of objects in definite relations to one another. In such cases the meaning, which, as we say, we read into the sense-impression, suddenly appears as an enrichment of consciousness over and above the mere subsistence of the field of sensations. But we need not go to exceptional experi- ences to illustrate the fact. At every moment of my waking life, my various sense-organs are receiving physical impressions from a variety of objects; rays of light from many objects are entering my eye, forming optical images upon my retina, and stimulating my optic nerve; sounds from many sources are assailing my ears, contacts and odours my skin and THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 57 nose. And all these sense-impressions affect my consciousness in the way of exciting sensa- tions. But of all the objects which are thus exciting sensations at any moment, I am clearly aware of perhaps one only, or, if I am sunk hi reflective thought, of none of them. When my attention is given to any one of these objects, the sensations excited by it initiate a process of mental activity; they evoke a meaning, and I apprehend the object as such or such. All the rest of the sensations present in consciousness remain obscure and meaningless, or almost so; they are said to constitute the margin of the field of con- sciousness, while the object singled out for attentive scrutiny is said to occupy the centre of that field. It is the marginal sensations which are most difficult to describe by any other than the cinematograph method. No doubt they play some slight part in determining the course of mental activity; but their functional relation to this activity is so obscure that it eludes us, and we can only describe them by saying that they subsist as sensations making up together this margin of the field of con- sciousness. It may be said with some plausi- bility that all of the sense-impressions re- ceived by our organs solicit our attention. 58 PSYCHOLOGY Each one, probably, tends, and tends more strongly the more intense it is, to determine the direction of our mental activity; but if so, then only some few can at any one moment play an effective part of this sort and be taken up into the main current of consciousness. The consciousness of any person always involves, then, not only a more or less complex mass of feelings, but also this thought-activity which cannot be described by the cinemato- graph method. The proportions of the two constituents of consciousness vary widely; during abstract thinking, the feeling-mass may be relatively slight, consisting of little more than a train of images of words heard or seen, while a rich stream of meanings passes through consciousness. On the other hand, when the mind is inactive, when it approaches the condition of sleep or of complete confusion, the thought-activity is very slight, while the feeling-mass may be large. Thus, as I lie just awaking from deep dreamless sleep, my sense-organs may be assailed by many strong impressions which evoke a complex mass of feelings of high intensity, but nevertheless I may remain for some moments mentally inactive; the sounds, or sights, or smells, or touches, that assail me have no meaning for me, or but a minimum of meaning. Whether THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 59 it is possible for any one's thought-activity to be reduced to zero, while feeling still con- tinues, is a theoretical question, to which it seems impossible to return a definite answer; for, if any one were reduced to that state, he would be incapable of describing it, or of remembering it on returning to a more active or fully waking condition. This hypothetical state of mind has been called one of anoetic sentience or thoughtless feeling. With the possible exception of such states of anoetic sentience, to be conscious is to be mentally active. To speak, then, of consciousness and to attempt to describe consciousness as some- thing that exists and can be analysed into constituent parts which severally exist, ab- stracting from or neglecting the mental activity or function, is to distort the facts very seriously and to use a method which cannot be wholly successful. This method of description is useful for certain special pur- poses; but, when we set out to gain insight into mental process in general, we shall do better to follow a method of description which does less violence to the facts. Now, when we regard consciousness as an activity, we cannot ignore the fundamental fact that some one is conscious, the fact that 60 PSYCHOLOGY I am conscious, or that some other organism more or less like myself is conscious; that is to say, consciousness does not exist of itself, but is an activity of some being which, in all cases of which we have positive knowledge, is a material organism, but to which we may conveniently give the general name, subject. A second fundamental fact is that to be conscious is to be conscious of something; which thing is properly called the object of my consciousness. Being conscious is, then, an activity of a subject in relation to an object; and we shall do well to choose as our most general term for describing the facts a verb, rather than a substantive such as con- sciousness. The best verb for this purpose is the verb to think of. The word think is used by some authors to refer only to mental processes of the higher or more intellectual kind; but it may be used with advantage in this wider and more general sense, in which it is equivalent to the clumsy expression to be conscious of. Whenever, then, there is mental activity, some subject is thinking of some object; the object may be a material thing, or a physical process, or a mental activity, or an abstract quality or property, such as virtue, or weight, or heat, or any other object which we can THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 61 distinguish or to which we can direct our attention and discourse. In the typical act of thinking we can distinguish three aspects; the subject knows the object as such or such, he is pleasurably or painfully affected by it, and he strives to bring about some change in it or in his relation to it. It is generally maintained that every mental act presents these three aspects; or is at once a knowing, a being affected, and a striving; or, hi technical terms, a cognition, an affection (or a feeling in the narrower sense of this word) and a conation. For example, on looking at a flower, I apprehend or cognize or know it as a flower of a particular shape and colour, I am pleased by it, and I examine it more closely in order to know it more fully. These are not separable parts of the think- ing process; nevertheless we must regard the affection and the striving as consequential upon the knowing, and the character of the striving as in some degree determined by the affection; but in turn the striving reacts upon the knowing, maintains and furthers it, and leads to modification of the feeling. And so the cycle continues and the thinking pro- gresses towards its natural end, which is the satisfaction brought by the terminal cogni- tion. To illustrate again by the case of the 62 PSYCHOLOGY flower; the initial apprehension of its colour pleases me and stimulates me to examine it more closely, with the more or less explicit purpose of discovering its botanical position; the closer examination, maintained and gov- erned by this purpose, enables me to know it more fully; and the whole cycle of activity comes to its natural end when I have seized the distinguishing features of the flower and recognized it as a variety of this or that species and genus. Mental activity or thinking thus tends to progress in cycles; each cycle begins with knowing, which excites feeling and striv- ing; the striving results in a new knowing, which satisfies the striving; and so the cycle reaches its natural termination in a feeling of satisfaction. By adopting this method of describing mental process, we may hope to avoid the f alsifications of the facts which the cinematograph method tends so strongly to produce; especially the abstraction from both subject and object; the "reification" of the steps of mental activity; and the ignoring of the essentially purposive character of the process. If for certain purposes of detailed description we make use of that method, we shall keep it in complete subordination to the truer method, remaining fully aware of the distortion of the facts produced by it. In this THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 63 way we may hope to combine the advan- tages and to avoid the drawbacks of both methods. The two methods and the combination of them may be illustrated by the description of an imperfect recollection of a particular flower previously seen on a single occasion. The description according to the thorough- going cinematograph method would run as follows: My idea of the flower consists of visual images which are imperfect repro- ductions of the sensations that composed my precept of it. The truer method would be to say I think of the flower hi visual terms, but I cannot faithfully reproduce in memory the colours of its various parts as they appeared to me when I perceived it. The convenient comfined method would be to say I recollect the flower in visual terms, but my colour- images do not faithfully reproduce the colour- sensations. If every mental process is at once a know- ing, an affection, and a striving, it must be recognized that one or other of these aspects is commonly dominant; so that we are led to speak of each kind of mental process by the name of the dominant aspect; thus we speak of acts of perception, recognition, recollection, reasoning, when we are predominantly cogni- 64 PSYCHOLOGY tive; of states of emotion, or feeling, when affection is dominant; of volition, resolution, deciding, desiring, when we are vividly conscious of striving towards an end. It is this way of speaking which has led to the common error of regarding these aspects of all mental process as separable functions; an error of which the commonest and most serious form has been to regard intellectual processes as capable of being purely cognitive or completely freed from the influence of the emotions and the will. We pass on to observe that, though the devising of an appropriate method of de- scribing consciousness is an important and difficult task which has not yet been com- pleted, yet such description is merely a first step in the study of behaviour. In itself a mere description of the consciousness of any subject does nothing to explain his behaviour. It is true that in many cases a man's behav- iour is in large measure explained by even a very partial description of his consciousness at the time; but this is only in virtue of our knowledge of certain laws or rules of the con- nexion between certain modes of conscious- ness and certain modes of behaviour which experience has led us to formulate, however roughly and vaguely. Thus, if I call on a THE STUDt OF CONSCIOUSNESS 65 friend and find him walking rapidly up and down his room, gesticulating wildly and mut- tering incoherently, I may feel that his behav- iour is explained, in a partial or proximate fashion at least, when he tells me that he is filled with rage, or grief, or remorse; for, through various experiences of my own as well as through the observation of others, I have learnt that each of these emotions is com- monly accompanied by, or expresses itself in, a peculiar mode of behaviour. One task of psychology is, then, to refine and correct these empirical generalizations in which we all for- mulate more or less explicitly the relations of concomitance between modes of behaviour and modes of consciousness or thinking. But my friend's statement that he is filled with anger, or grief, or remorse, is at best but a very partial explanation of his behaviour; before I can feel that I have an adequate explanation, I require to know what made him angry, or grieved, or remorseful. Con- sider a more complicated case. Suppose I am told the bare fact that an acquaintance of mine has shot and killed a man. Being utterly at a loss to understand this behaviour, I go to him and seek to find the explanation. In doing this I am forestalling the judge and jury; for when the homicide is brought before 66 PSYCHOLOGY them, their business precisely is to discover the psychological explanation of the behaviour which resulted in homicide; and, according to the nature of the psychological conclusion they reach, they will bring in a verdict of accidental homicide, of justifiable homicide, of wilful and malicious murder, or of wilful murder with extenuating circumstances, or of homicide due to insane delusions, or of homi- cide during a paroxysmal mental derange- ment; and the treatment meted out to the offender will be determined by the nature of this purely psychological verdict. I dwell upon the legal aspect of our imaginary case, because it will serve to bring home to the reader in a forcible manner the fact, so con- stantly ignored, that none of us can escape the necessity of frequently making psycho- logical judgments, and that our relations with our fellows are determined at every point by such judgments. It is true that we attempt to simplify, or to avoid altogether, the exer- cise of psychological judgment, by accepting and applying a number of moral maxims or formulae, such as to kill, or to steal, or to lie, is wrong to forgive injury, or to relieve distress, or to repress anger, is right. But only the most thoughtless of men can be con- tent to apply these maxims to the acts of his THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 67 fellows without reference to the motives or the mental processes of which their acts are the issues. Now, as soon as one inquires after motives of behaviour, one enters upon a psy- chological problem and requires all the help that psychology can give; just as surely as the man who sets out to build an aeroplane enters upon a mechanical problem and requires all the help that the science of mechanics can afford. To go back now to our acquaintance, Jon- son, who has been so unfortunate as to kill a man Smith. If we learn that Jonson struck down his victim in a fit of fury, we know that the act was not accidental, but was in some sense purposive: but, before we can under- stand or pass any moral judgment upon the act, we must know the conditions that excited this violent emotion. We may learn that Smith was a casual stranger who, in the course of an altercation with Jonson, had struck him or used grossly insulting language; or that Smith had perpetrated a gross outrage upon the dearest object of Jonson's affections; or that Smith had long used a position of advan- tage over Jonson to torment him and injure him, in a spirit of wanton cruelty; or that Jonson, after repeatedly failing in various undertakings, had gradually become moody 68 PSYCHOLOGY and suspicious, frequently resenting the ac- tions of perfectly innocent persons whom he believed to be scheming to injure him; or that Jonson had furiously assaulted Smith, just after recovering from an epileptic fit, and seems to remember nothing of the incident. In the last case we recognize that the infor- mation enables us to class the act in the cate- gory of post-epileptic paroxysms, of which we can say little more than that such paroxysms of fury have been observed to follow upon epileptic attacks, and that they imply a grave ' disorder of the constitution of the organism. In each of the other cases the nature of the train of mental activity leading up to the action is indicated in a general way, and the action is in so far explained. But it is ren- dered intelligible to us only in virtue of the fact that we have a general knowledge of human nature and of the way in which it is liable to react to special circumstances. Each phase of the mental processes and of the be- haviour which led up to the final catastrophe was a reaction of human nature to particular circumstances. If we have no intimate ac- quaintance with Jonson, we can carry our explanation no further: we have to be con- tent with recognizing that each particular mode of reaction to the circumstances de- THE STUDY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 69 scribed was such as the constitution of men in general renders possible. But, if we are intimately acquainted with Jonson, we may be able to see that his nature was such that, under the given circumstances, the state of consciousness and mode of behaviour evoked were just such as we might have anticipated. These considerations will serve to bring home to us the truth of the following proposi- tion; namely, that psychology, the science of behaviour, cannot confine itself merely to describing consciousness as accurately and exhaustively as possible, nor to establishing, as empirical rules, the concurrence of certain conscious processes with certain forms of action or behaviour; but that it must seek also to explain both the processes of conscious- ness and the associated modes of behaviour as the issue of certain enduring conditions which we speak of collectively as the consti- tution of the mind. This constitution is something that we cannot directly observe; we can only infer it. Each of us can observe only his own consciousness and the behaviour of himself and of his fellow-creatures; and he can receive from his fellow-men reports of their consciousness. From these data he has to construct by a process of imaginative infer- ence an account, as serviceable as may be, 70 PSYCHOLOGY of that hidden and extraordinarily complex thing which we call human nature, or the con- stitution of the human mind. We are now in a position to make a proper use of the word "mind." We may define the mind of any organism as the sum of the enduring conditions of its purposive activi- ties. And, in order to mark our recognition of the fact that these conditions are not a mere aggregation, but form rather an organized system of which each part is functionally related to the rest in definite fashion, we may usefully speak of the "structure" of the mind. This structure of the mind is something which, although we cannot observe it, endures throughout the life of the individual; and all mental and bodily activities are expressions and revelations of its nature. From the most general observation of the course of life of human beings, we can confidently infer that the structure of the mind develops gradually from birth onwards, increasing in complexity and definiteness of organization up to a cer- tain period of life, and then, if life is prolonged, gradually undergoing some regressive changes. We can confidently infer also that the course of its development is governed in two ways, partly by an intrinsic tendency to develop along certain lines which are determined by THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 71 the ancestry or heredity of the individual; partly by the influences of the environ- ment, which promote in very diverse degrees the actualization of the various hereditary potentialities. CHAPTER III THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND IN what terms shall we describe the struc- ture of the mind? How are we to conceive it? This is a question of fundamental im- portance for psychology; but no one answer to it has yet secured general acceptance. Let us glance at some of the principal ways in which this problem has been dealt with. An old-fashioned method of dealing with it is to describe the mind as consisting of a bun- dle of faculties, assigning each of the mental functions that is commonly distinguished and named to a faculty of the same name; such as the faculties of perception, conception, im- agination, judgment, reason, will, and, related to all these in some utterly obscure fashion, the faculty of memory. This doctrine is one of great importance; for its great simplicity has recommended it to the general mind, and it still forms the implicit basis of much of the current educational theory and practice. 72 PSYCHOLOGY Our schoolboys are set to geometry, in order to develop the faculty of reason; to learning by heart poetry and dates and irregular verbs, in order to develop the faculty of memory; to composing Latin verses, in order to develop the faculty of taste; and so on, and so on; and though the "faculty psychology" has long been regarded as out of date, the wisdom of these practical applications of it has been seriously and effectively challenged in recent years only. Another way of describing the structure of the mind which has enjoyed a great vogue, was devised in association with the method of describing mental activity as a sequence of ideas. Every idea was regarded as capable of existing in two conditions or forms: on the one hand, it might be a conscious idea or exist in consciousness, consciousness being spoken of as an illuminated chamber into which ideas enter in turn, to be lit up and active for a short period; and on the other hand, it might exist as an unconscious idea in the mem- ory, a sort of Hades or dim underworld to which each idea, or its ghost, returns after its brief exposure to the light of consciousness; there to await and to seize any opportunity of emerging again into light and life. Within this underworld ideas remain linked together THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 73 in complex groupings. The whole assembly of ideas, thus linked in the obscurity of mem- ory, constitutes the structure of the mind; and mental activity consists in each idea dragging up after it into the light whatever ideas are linked or associated with it. Another way of conceiving what we have called the structure of the mind is to identify it with the structure of the nervous system. This method has commonly been adopted by those who accept literally the description of consciousness as an agglomeration of sensa- tions. Each sensation is regarded as attached to some functional element of the nervous system or brain. These brain-elements are conceived as connected together to form an immensely complex machine. Physical im- pressions, falling upon parts of this machine, set free in it currents of energy, which run hither and thither in a manner determined by the connections of the parts, and, finding exit in the motor nerves that actuate the muscles, bring about all the bodily movements that make up behaviour; and certain of the brain-elements, when thus stirred up to play their parts as links of the mechanism, as cogs of the machine, throw off incidentally sensations of various qualities; the successive conjunctions of which constitute the stream 74 PSYCHOLOGY of consciousness. Some such view as this ; is very widely accepted, and, actuated by a belief in its literal truth, thousands of busy workers, who turn aside from psychology as from a mystical study comparable to astrology or alchemy, are devoting their lives to the minute exploration of the structure of the brain with scalpel and microscope and a hundred ingenious methods of refined re- search, convinced that therein lies the secret of human nature. Now we have admitted already the possi- bility that this view and this method may ultimately justify themselves; but there are three good reasons why we should not adopt them in the present state of science. First, we have no warrant for the assumption that the mechanical processes of material struc- tures, however complex, can issue in move- ments that have the characteristics of be- haviour. Secondly, we have no warrant for believing that such processes can of them- selves produce sensations or feeling of any kind, or can be in any sense identified with the processes of consciousness. Thirdly, if we adopted this view, we should hamper our- selves by laying down fixed limits within which our thought must move, when we set out to build up our conception of the struc- THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 75 lure of the mind. Of course, if the view were well established, this restriction of the range of speculation would be purely advantageous; but, so long as the whole problem remains obscure, we ought to avoid the acceptance of such limits; for it may well be that this struc- ture is quite incapable of being adequately described in terms of the spatial distribution of elements of any kind. Here a word of warning must be given against the tendency, so natural to most of us, to think of all structure after the pattern of material structures; that is, as consisting in a spatial arrangement of connected parts. It seems worth while to point out that com- mon usage approves the use of the word *' structure" to describe systems which have nothing of this nature. We speak of the struc- ture of a story, or of a play, or of a piece of music; meaning thereby that, when we con- template the whole, we see that it consists of parts each of which is related to the whole and to all the other parts in a fashion which is significant for, or contributes to determine the characteristic nature of, the whole. It is in this sense, of a whole consisting of systematically related parts, that we speak of the structure of the mind. But we must not assume that the structure of a play or of 76 PSYCHOLOGY a sonata provides a perfect analogy for the structure of the mind; although the analogy may be closer than that furnished by the structure of a steam-engine. We have, then, to build up our notion of the structure of the mind by an intricate process of creative imagination, inferring its nature from our observation of the operations it achieves, which operations are only par- tially revealed to us on introspection and in the behaviour of living beings. We have rejected as unsatisfactory three of the traditional methods of describing the structure of the mind. But in rejecting these, we should endeavour to hold fast to whatever of truth they have revealed; for it is highly improbable that methods accepted and used by many able men have proved altogether barren; and the best way to arrive at a better method is to try to remedy the deficiencies of these traditional methods by combining their meritorious features. Now, the most effective of these older methods was, undoubtedly, that which de- scribed mental process as consisting in the succession of ideas, and the structure of the mind as consisting in the system of latent ideas. The exponents of this method have generally claimed for it as a great merit THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 77 that it enables us to dispense with the notion of faculties; yet one of its weaknesses is in- dicated by the fact, that many of those who have attempted to work by it have combined it in some degree with the method of faculties. They have spoken of the mind as exercising its faculties upon or about its ideas, as com- paring them, recalling them, combining or distinguishing them, holding fast or rejecting them, or as otherwise reacting or operating upon them. This tendency results from the inherent impossibility of describing mental process by the cinematograph method, and of ignoring the agency or activity of a subject. We cannot, in fact, get rid of the notion of the subject by substituting for it a collection or system or ideas; the subject is, at least, that which has and enjoys the ideas and holds them together to form one mind. For, if we recognize ideas at all, we must also recog- nize that ideas considered as things are not scattered about the world as loose and sepa- rate existences, but that they cohere in sys- tems, each of which constitutes a mind. We have already approved of the method of describing mental process which consists in speaking of it as the activity of a subject; but, instead of saying that the subject exer- cises these activities about ideas, we agreed 78 PSYCHOLOGY to say that the subject, or (as we may now say if we prefer the mode of expression) the mind, thinks of objects in these various ways. Now, if we recognize a subject, we must ad- mit that it has certain faculties; for a subject devoid of capacities would be a nonentity. And by a "faculty" we mean a capacity for an ultimate, irreducible, or unanalyzable mode of thinking of, or of being conscious of, objects; a capacity which we have to accept as a fact, and which we cannot hope to explain as a conjunction of more fundamental capacities. In this sense, knowing, feeling and striving, must be recognized as faculties of the mind; and we have to raise in regard to each one of them the question Is it a single faculty, or is it a class of faculties of similar nature? It seems necessary to accept the latter view. Striving seems to be of two ultimate kinds, namely, striving towards and striving away from the object, or appetition and aversion. Feeling or affection, again, seems to be of at least two ultimate kinds, namely, agreeable and disagreeable feeling, or pleasure and displeasure. There seems good reason also to recognize feeling of ex- citement and feeling of depression as equally ultimate and irresolvable, and, therefore, as faculties of the subject. It is difficult to THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 79 see how we can refuse to admit a larger vari- ety of faculties of feeling. Our emotions are infinitely various; but most of them seem capable of being analysed and exhibited as con- junctions of a small number of primary emo- tions; each of these seems to be a mode of f eeling which is not capable of further analysis, and which is, therefore, an ultimate mode of being conscious that implies a corresponding faculty. But this is a very difficult question; and in respect to it we must keep open minds. Now we have to face the question Is knowing the exercise of a single faculty, or must we recognize a variety of modes of knowing, each being the exercise of a distinct faculty? In attempting to answer this ques- tion, we must observe the following principles: whatever in our thinking can be described in terms of the object does not imply a faculty; a faculty is only implied by a mode of think- ing of an object which is ultimate and irredu- cible; a faculty may be exercised about objects of every kind. It would seem that we cannot be content to admit only one mode of know- ing, namely, simple apprehension or aware- ness of objects. For besides simply thinking or being aware of objects, we affirm or deny them; and these seem to be ultimate modes of knowing or thinking (or two varieties of one 80 PSYCHOLOGY ultimate mode) : affirming and denying, then,] seem to be rooted in a special faculty (or faculties), and all processes of judgment and , reasoning seem to be instances of the exercise of this faculty. It is hard to deny that the activity of comparing is the exercise of a special faculty; but it is doubtful whether we ought to recog- nize any others; for every mode of thinking other than those already named, can prob- ably be explained as the conjoint exercise of the faculties enumerated above. To rec- ognize, for example, or to remember, is to think of the same object again, and to judge or affirm it to be the same object that we thought of before. To perceive (in the strict sense) is to think of an object as here at hand ; but that which distinguishes perceiving from imagining, or from thinking of an object not now at hand, seems capable of being de- scribed as a difference between the objects in the two cases. The same is true of the dif- ference between what is called an abstract idea, or a general idea, and a particular idea; the first means thinking of an abstract ob- ject; the second means thinking of a class of things; the third means thinking of a partic- ular thing. Again, it may be asked Does our thinking of space and extension imply a THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 81 faculty of spatial intuition, as is sometimes maintained? To this the answer seems to be Space and extension and position are ob- jects, or attributes of objects, rather than modes of thinking. And if the same question is asked as regards time and duration, a similar answer must be made. Duration is an attribute of objects, not a mode of thinking. So much of truth, then, we have to concede to the method or theory of faculties, and to take over from it. What now of the method of ideas? The fact which, according to the method of ideas, was called the presence of an idea of a certain object in consciousness, we prefer to describe by saying that the subject is thinking of the object. How, then, are we to describe the fact which, according to that method, was called the presence of the idea in a latent state in the storehouse of memory? Now, we are able to infer from a multitude of facts that the capacity of any subject to think in any way of any given object implies a corresponding particular development in the structure of his mind. Any man can think of those things only of which he has learned to think; and this learn- ing to think of an object is a process of grad- ual building up of the capacity by successive 82 PSYCHOLOGY efforts to think the object more adequately; and that which endures between the suc- cessive acts of thinking of this object is a potentiality of thinking of it again. This potentiality is what the method of ideas describes as the persistence of an idea in the memory. Now this potentiality is not, like the faculty of thinking, a potentiality of thinking in general, but a potentiality of thinking of a specific object. There is, then, in the structure of any mind something that endures as the ground of the potentiality of thinking of each specific object which can be thought of by that mind. For this we need a neutral non-committal name. We have agreed that it should not be called an uncon- scious or latent idea. Perhaps the best term by which to describe it is mental disposition; for it is that which disposes or enables the mind to think of or to exercise its faculties, cognitive, affective, and conative, upon a corresponding object. Each developed mind comprises a large number of such dispositions, and the de- velopment of a mind consists largely in the building up of such dispositions. We may try to imagine a completely undeveloped mind as consisting of faculties without dispositions; that would be a mind with everything to THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 83 learn. But all minds of which we have any knowledge possess some dispositions, and the mind of every normal human adult possesses a vast number. The mind of a man is, in fact, a microcosm hi which the world, in so far as he can be said to know it, is represented in detail, a disposition for every kind of object and every kind of relation of which he can think. If, for example, he can think of a horse, or a cube, or heat, or joy, or the causal relation, it is in virtue of the existence in his mind of a disposition corresponding to each of these objects. The many dispositions of any mind do not merely exist side by side; rather they must be conceived as functionally connected to form a vast and elaborately organized sys- tem; and this system is the structure of the mind. The more perfectly organized the mind, the more fully are the objects which compose the world and the relations between them represented in the mind by the dispo- sitions and their functional relations. The total system formed by all the cognitive dispositions of the mind constitutes what is commonly called the knowledge possessed by that mind. A principal task of psychology is, then, to provide a general description of these dis- 84 PSYCHOLOGY positions and their functional relations, and to give some general account of their develop- ment and organization. On these problems the various departments of psychological inquiry seek to throw light in their several ways, of which something will be said in later pages. Here some of the general conclusions to which they point may be indicated. We have to conceive the cognitive disposi- tions as linked together in minor systems, and these minor systems as linked in larger men- tal systems, and these again in still larger systems; and so on, by many steps of super- ordination, until the whole multitude are linked in the one vast system. The relation between the dispositions of any one system of the lowest order must be conceived not as a direct connexion, but rather as consisting in their common con- nexion with a disposition of a higher order corresponding to a more general object. For example, the dispositions through which I think of horse and dog respectively are con- nected with that of a more general object, mammal; and this in turn is connected with that of the still more general object, verte- brate; and this again with that of the still more general object, animal. The relation between the more general THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 85 and the more special disposition is such that the activity of the latter involves the activity of the former; so that, for example, I cannot think of a horse without thinking of it also as a mammal, as a vertebrate, and as an animal, and as a solid material object. That I do think of it in this complex fashion, even in the act of casually perceiving a horse, is shown by the fact that, if the horse exhibited properties other than those implied by these general terms, if I saw it fly up in the air, or swim under water, or lay an egg, or felt it offer no resistance to my touch, my mental process would be jarred and disordered and I should be thrown into a state of confusion and astonishment: I should hesitate to re- gard the object as a horse. In short, in perceiving the object as a horse, I bring into play a large store of knowledge acquired by experience, i. e. by previous thinking about horses, and about animals in general and material things in general. This example will serve to show how very inadequately so simple a process as perceiving a horse is described by saying that there is evoked in my consciousness a certain field of sensations of particular qualities and spatial arrange- ment. The sense-impression merely initiates the thinking process. A young child on see- 86 PSYCHOLOGY ing a horse for the first time might receive a sense-impression very similar to mine; but his perceiving would be a vastly simpler proc- ess than mine, and the difference between the two is quite incapable of being described in terms of sensations. Yet even his per- ceiving would be much more than the mere reception of the sense-impression; he would perceive it as a moving solid thing out there; and, if he had previous experience of cows, he might perceive or, in more technical lan- guage, apperceive it as a cow, perhaps giving it that name and otherwise behaving towards it as he had learnt to behave towards cows. If we use the static method of description, we must say that what makes my perception of the horse so much fuller and so much more adequate as a guide to action than the child's perception, is not any greater wealth of sensations or imagery in my conscious- ness, but a richer "meaning" evoked by the similar sense-impression. This "meaning'* is the expression in consciousness of the coming into activity of a vast system of dispositions, built up in my mind through my thinking since the time I was a young child. This example will serve also to show how inadequately the method of ideas describes the facts; for my thinking of the horse is not THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 87 the bringing out into the light of conscious- ness of some entity that had been lying stored in some dark pigeon-hole of the mind; it was rather an exercise of the faculty of knowing determined and directed by the activity of a complex system of mental dis- positions. For note that, when I perceive, or in any way think of, a dog, a large part of the same system is active; for I know it as a mammal, a vertebrate, an animal, a solid object and so forth; and it is only in so far as I know it as a dog-mammal, rather than a horse-mammal, that the dispositions at work are different. Again, suppose that instead of perceiving merely a horse, or a dog, I perceive my dog, Jack. The impression has for me a still richer meaning; it means all that the impres- sion of any other dog means; but I think of him not merely as a representative of the species dog, and as all that is implied by that, but also as the dog who will come at my call, who will behave in this or that way under various circumstances: I expect of him all that I expect of dogs in general, and much more besides. And my behaviour towards him is quite special and peculiar; if a stranger kicks him, I feel as bitter resentment as if he had kicked me; if he admires him, I am 88 PSYCHOLOGY gratified. All which shows that within my mental system "dog" there has been differ- entiated a special subordinate system, which is active in addition to the whole dog-system when I think of my dog, Jack. The last remark leads us to consider the way in which systems and dispositions develop in the mind. No disposition is an altogether new creation; every one arises rather as a specialization within some pre-existing dispo- sition; and in this way, by the specialization within it of a number of minor dispositions, a disposition becomes a system of dispositions. And, when the constituent dispositions of such a system in turn become systems through the differentiation of new dispo- sitions within them, the parent system be- comes as it were a grandparent, and later by further similar steps a great-grandparent. The mental system may, then, be likened to a family the successive generations of which continue to live and work contemporaneously; the dispositions are the individual members; the work of each such member is supported by all members of preceding generations in the direct line of descent. Thus the disposi- tion by means of which I think of my dog was differentiated from that of dog in general, this from that of animal in general; and so on. THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 80 This is an over-simplified account of the growth and relation of mental systems. If the process of descent, or budding, were the only way in which systems develop, we should be justified in regarding all the dispo- sitions of any mind as the lineal descend- ants of some one original disposition; and we might find an analogy for the structure of the mind in a tree with its stem, branches, and twigs, each twig being supported by all parts of the tree of which it is the lineal descendant by budding. And, if the whole process of development occurred in the course of the life-history of a single mind, we might describe that mind in its primitive undevel- oped condition as consisting of a single dispo- sition, which would enable its possessor to think only of a single most highly general object. The thinking of such a mind in its cognitive aspect would be represented by the words " there is something " ; the nature of the object remaining quite unspecified. To de- scribe the growth of the mind in this way would be far truer than to describe it as pro- ceeding in the inverse way (as has often been done) ; namely, as beginning with the detailed apprehension of a number of discrete objects as unrelated particulars, and as proceeding by the subsequent classing together of those 90 PSYCHOLOGY which are seen to resemble one another, or by the bringing together in the mind of the ideas of features in which they resemble one an- other, to form a more general idea. The young child does not begin by clearly distinguishing this cat and that dog, and does not then proceed to combine the like features of all cats in a general idea and those of all dogs in another; and he does not thereafter construct a still more general idea of four- footed beast or animal. Rather he begins by perceiving all cats and all dogs as moving things which he shrinks from in fear or strives to hug in his arms; and from such experiences he learns to think vaguely of such moving things as different from inert things; the disposition so formed then becomes differenti- ated, as he learns to distinguish cat from dog, and to think of other animals in the same way, as things that move and respond to his actions as his fellow human beings do. Commonly the child seems to come, like most savages, to think of animals as beings like himself, accepting each new variety he comes across as a member of the same class of beings. And only gradually does he learn to distin- guish the various kinds as unlike himself in various degrees. For the developing mind does not achieve of itself the scientific classi- THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 91 fication of the animal kingdom; that is a product of the work of many minds, which, being embodied in language, can be used to direct the growth and differentiation of the system in each developing mind. But this differentiation by acts of pro- gressive discrimination is not the only process by which the structure of the mind develops. There occurs also a process of another kind, which is of extreme importance. This is the process of perception of similarity between objects. As regards the dispositions and systems concerned, it is a process which re- sults in the conjunction of previously separate systems to form a single system. In terms of the analogy presented by the structure of a tree, we may say that one branch becomes joined with another, so that their twigs be- yond the point of junction are supported by their conjoint strength. As an example of such a process, take the case of a child who has grown up without learning to regard plants as living beings, but, nevertheless, has learnt to think of them as a distinct class of things. Suddenly it is borne in upon him that plants also, like the animals, are alive; at that moment two systems become conjoined in his mind, and thereafter form a single larger system; the 92 PSYCHOLOGY living-being system apperceives the other, and incorporates it with itself. In terms of the analogy of the successive generations of a family, we may say that diverging stocks or lines of descent become blended now and again by intermarriage. As an example of a slightly different mode of this process, we may take the young student of physics, who, having learnt to think of gases and of liquids as very different states of matter, suddenly becomes aware of those points of similarity in virtue of which they are classed together as fluid matter. The two systems built up by his observation of gases and liquids respectively, become conjoined in a new system, the possession of which there- after enables the subject to think of the properties common to liquids and gases in abstraction from, or to the neglect of, the properties in which they differ. Or again, a child is familiar with the eggs of animals and with the seeds of plants, but has never thought of their similarities, until, perhaps, he is led to do so by hearing the word egg applied to the seed of a plant, or the word germ applied to both eggs and seeds; after which the word germ is used by him to mean the properties common to both classes of objects. In such cases the developing mind THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 93 is guided by language to effect the synthetic process which some other mind has previously achieved as a process of independent dis- covery. The classical instance of original apperception usually cited is Newton's dis- covery of the likeness between the motion of the moon and that of falling bodies, and his consequent thinking of all such processes as examples of gravitation. The process of apperceptive synthesis pro- duces a simplification of the structure of the mind and of the language which reflects it, by which they are rendered more effective instruments of thinking. It may be regarded as a process by which the failures of the process of differentiation are rectified. For, if we imagine a mind developing from the primitive condition we have postulated on an earlier page (p. 89) by ideally perfect processes of successive discrimination of objects and corresponding differentiation of dispositions, we shall see that it would not require the synthetic fusion of systems, in order to perfect its structure and to become a true microcosm accurately reflecting the whole world of objects and their relations. We may illustrate this point by referring again to the world of life. We may suppose that such a mind would first think of every 94 PSYCHOLOGY living thing it encountered simply as such, without discriminating varieties; it would know then simply as possessing the proper- ties common to all living things; in this, exercising the fundamental property of re- acting in the same way to things in so far as they are alike. We may suppose that it would then discriminate animals from plants; and then the great classes of each kingdom; and so step by step arrive at discrimination of species, varieties, and lastly, individual creatures, differentiating in the process the corresponding dispositions. Such, we may suppose, might be the course of development of a pure and perfect intellect, if such a being were possible. But the actual growth of our minds is very different. Each human mind takes up its course of develop- ment from a point already far advanced and with certain strong tendencies to react to objects, not merely according to their intrinsic likenesses and differences, but according to the way in which objects subserve the practical needs of the organism hi which the mind is embodied; and throughout its development each mind comes to know objects in those aspects which affect these practical needs, rather than in those which, from a purely intellectual point of view, would appear to THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 95 be their essential and distinguishing features. Hence the need for that process of synthesis of systems, by which are discovered the essential similarities of things previously thought of in complete separation, if we are to achieve the capacity of thinking things in any other way than that which immediately subserves practical needs. In all these processes of development of the human mind, the use of language plays a very important part. In the process of dif- ferentiation of dispositions by discrimination, the name helps to preserve as a system the original disposition within which differentia- tion takes place. For the hearing of a name given to an object fulfils the same function as the sense-impression received from it; namely, it brings the corresponding dispo- sition into activity, and thus enables us to continue to conceive as a whole the class within which we have distinguished kinds or individuals; whereas, in the absence of the class-name, so soon as we had learnt to react differently to the objects we discriminate, we should cease to think of the class, the original object of higher generality, and the original disposition would decay. Thus a child, having through contact with various dogs learnt to think of the object dog-in-general, goes on 96 PSYCHOLOGY to discriminate collie dogs and terriers, the two breeds most commonly represented in his neighbourhood; and we may suppose that his attitude to the two breeds is very differ- ent owing to the friendliness of the collies and the snappishness of the terriers. In these circumstances a child deprived altogether of the use of language would sharply distinguish the two classes and would tend to forget, that is, to lose the power of thinking of, dog-in- general. But a child who has first learnt to give the name dog to dogs of both breeds, will continue to think of this more general object on hearing the word dog, after discriminating collies and terriers. In a similar way a child brought up in the Southern States of the American Union learns first to think of man- in-general; but later he learns to discriminate white men and "niggers"; and their differ- ences become so accentuated and their simi- larities so neglected, that, but for his com- mand of the word man, he would be in danger of forgetting that black men and white men are varieties of the one species, Man, and of losing the power of thinking of the more gen- eral object, Man. In relation to apperceptive synthesis lan- guage plays an even more important role. There has been much discussion of the THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 97 question Is thinking possible without lan- guage? The question is raised, of course, only in respect of the higher forms of think- ing, which involve the thinking of highly general or abstract objects and the judgment of similarities between them. And it is some- times said that it is impossible to think of a general or abstract object, or, as is more commonly said, to form general and abstract ideas, without the aid of language. Now this can hardly be true; for in the mind of him who first discovers the similarity be- tween classes of objects previously thought of separately, and who thus first thinks of the more general object, the apperceptive synthesis of systems must take place without the aid of a name for the more general object. By afterwards giving the object a name, he fixes it for his mind, and achieves a much greater power of thinking of it at will; and, farther, he becomes able to communicate his new way of thinking to others, and to enable them also to think of the more general object. Names, then, are not essential to the think- ing of general objects, but they greatly fa- cilitate such thinking; they serve as ready means of bringing into play the mental sys- tems corresponding to objects. In the case of general objects, they are much more service- 98 PSYCHOLOGY able for this purpose than the sense-impres- sion made by any individual object of the class; for by such sense-impression one is led to think of the individual object with its specific peculiarities rather than of the general object : and when our aim is to discover truths about the class, the thinking of the features peculiar to individuals does but clog the processes of reasoning. And the second great function of words is to fix and render commu- nicable the results achieved by the thinking of successive generations of mankind. The language of any community thus embodies in objective form the intellectual progress made by it; it reflects the mental structure of the individual minds, and enables and, indeed, compels each generation to build up its men- tal structure after the pattern set by fore- going generations. Beside the two great processes by which there are developed in the mind dispositions and systems that enable it to think of a wealth of objects according to their intrinsic natures and affinities, there goes on a process of a different kind, as the result of which objects are thought of as related to form groups and series according to the accidents of time and place which have determined their conjunc- tion for the mind. That is to say, in addition THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 99 to all that development of mental structure which partially mirrors the constitution of the world of objects, the mind's structure reflects also the history of the world in a very partial manner, namely, in so far as that history has been observed, whether directly or indirectly, by the mind in question. Objects are thought of together or in sequence, because they are presented to the observation of the subject as significant features of one scene or of one train of incidents; when the mind has once perceived, or otherwise thought of, particular objects as related parts of one whole scene or train of events, it retains the power (in some degree) of thinking of them again in similar relations. This capacity to think again of objects in the historical rela- tions in which they have been previously thought of, implies the formation and persist- ence in the mind of functional links between the corresponding dispositions. The struc- ture of the developed mind comprises a vast system of such links between its dispositions; they are generally spoken of as links of asso- ciation, and the objects are said to be associ- ated together for the mind. In virtue of the existence of such links between dispositions, the thought of any one object is apt to lead the mind to think of another thus associated 100 PSYCHOLOGY with it. Thus, if I have on one occasion seen a cat seated on the back of a pony, 1 shall be apt to think of that cat whenever I again think of that pony. The static method describes the fact by saying that the idea of the pony is associated with the idea of the cat, and that the one idea, therefore, reproduces or tends to reproduce the other. The formation of such associative links between dispositions is an important feature in the growth of the structure of the mind. It is obvious that the process is very differ- ent from the apperceptive processes of dif- ferentiation of dispositions and synthesis of systems which we have discussed above. Whereas these result in the capacity to think objects not previously thought, the associa- tive process merely leads to the thinking of particular objects as standing to one another in some external relation, such as spatial prox- imity or temporal sequence. The laws of such association and associative reproduction have been minutely studied, and much detailed knowledge of them has been acquired, which we cannot discuss here. The most important point to note is that the mind does not play a passive part in the formation of associations. Objects become associated for the mind, not merely because they are THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 101 presented to the senses simultaneously or in immediate succession, but when and be- cause the mind perceives or otherwise thinks of them as related with one another; and it does this only in so far as it is interested in them as so related, that is to say, in so far as they stir up some conative tendency. To go back to the instance of the pony and the cat; if, at the moment my glance fell on the two animals, the cat had been seated on the ground at some little distance from the pony, I should have noticed both animals only hi the most fleeting fashion, if at all, and I should not have associated them together. But their spatial relation implied a friendli- ness between them which is unusual and appeals to my interest in the behaviour of animals; hence, out of all the details of the scene presented to my vision, my mind seizes upon these two objects and their relation. It may be remarked in passing that this example illustrates the impossibility of describing even so simple a process of association as this in terms of sensation and imagery. The mere spatial relation of the two visual forms is of no interest. It is only because they mean for me far more than is actually presented to the eye, that the situation appeals to an interest and draws my attention. BARBARA. 102 PSYCHOLOGY It is in virtue of the links of association thus formed between dispositions that we are able to reconstruct in memory the scenes and events we have lived through, an activity properly called reproductive imagination. In so far as this process is determined by the links between dispositions, one tends to re- think any series of events in the order in which they were first thought or perceived; the recounting of an incident by a person of simple mental type, who is merely talking for the sake of talking, reveals sometimes a mental process which is little more than the successive excitement of dispositions through associative links. But all such associative thinking is governed in some degree by the purpose or conation which maintains the activity; and this influence of the dominant purpose reveals itself in the selection and accentuation of the features or phases of the incident relevant to that purpose, and in the neglect and suppression of those which are irrelevant. The associative mechanism thus forms a quasi-mechanical part of the struc- ture of the mind, and a part which functions in quasi-mechanical fashion; it furnishes material, as it were, for the creative activity of thought to work upon. In all consecutive thinking it plays some part, but its share in THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 103 the determination of the course of mental activity varies widely. It plays a leading role in a simple faithful recital of events observed. In a recital dominated by aesthetic purpose, purposive selection and accentua- tion greatly modify its operation. In one in which the narrator, dominated by such a purpose, permits himself to embellish the story with additions as well as to select inci- dents, its r61e is still more subordinated to creative activity. And in the composition of a fictitious story, such as a novel or drama, this dominance of associative reproduction by purposive creative thinking is carried to an extreme, though the activity still involves the co-operation of the two processes. Such com- position, in so far as it is truly creative, in- volves the apperceptive processes by which mental dispositions and systems are devel- oped; in so far as it is reproductive, it in- volves merely a selective preference among the many alternative paths of association, a preference determined by the purpose of the artist. We have distinguished two parts of the mental structure directly concerned in cog- nition, namely, the part developed by apper- ceptive processes and consisting in the mental dispositions and systems functionally related 104 PSYCHOLOGY in a manner that corresponds to the logical relations between objects; and, secondly, the part developed by association and consisting in associative links between dispositions and systems, which links reflect the historical sequence of events rather than any logical relations. It seems worth while to illustrate this distinction in the following way. Imag- ine a pair of twins whose mental constitutions, so far as inherited, are extremely alike. Imagine them to be brought up in separate places and in separate, though extremely similar, social circles, and to be subjected to closely similar educative processes. The re- sult will be that in respect to "logical struc- ture" their minds will be very similar, but in respect to "historical structure" very differ- ent. When set in similar situations, faced with similar problems or tasks, their mental processes would be very similar, and they would, as a rule, reach similar conclusions; yet the particulars of their thinking would be constantly different; they would be like two men thinking the same thoughts in different languages. Hitherto we have considered the structure of the mind only in so far as it conditions cog- nition; but we have seen that all thinking is affective and conative as well as cognitive. THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 105 And knowing is but the servant of feeling and acting; it is the process by which the will works towards its end and the satisfaction which comes with the attainment of the end; and all the complex development of the con- ditions of the cognitive life, roughly indicated in the foregoing pages, is achieved through the efforts of the will to attain its ends. Regarded from the biological point of view, the function of all mental process and mental structure is to preserve and promote the life of the race and that of the individual in so far as he subserves the life of the race. The life of the race is preserved and promoted by bodily activities; of these the massive move- ments of the limbs and of other motor organs are of principal importance, and we may without serious error consider these alone. All mental activity, then, normally issues in bodily movement; since only by promoting and guiding bodily movement can it fulfil its function. Conation is the application of mental energy to the direction and mainte- nance of the bodily activities by which the life of the race is furthered, and cognition governs bodily activity only through the medium of conation. The primitive cycle of purposive or mental activity seems to be (as said above) cognition, 106 PSYCHOLOGY evoking feeling and conation, which conation, issuing in bodily activity, brings about a new cognition that in turn brings a feeling of satis- faction and terminates the conation. For example, I become aware that the man stand- ing beside me has struck me; this cognition evokes in me angry feeling and an irresist- ible impulse to return the blow. The impulse immediately finds vent in action; and I see the object of my thinking stretched out upon the ground. This new cognition terminates the conation, and my angry feeling gives place to satisfaction. Or it may be that the new cognition, the seeing of my fallen foe, evokes a feeling of pity and an impulse to succour him, which brings me to my knees beside him, and which only subsides and terminates in a feel- ing of satisfaction, when I see that he has suffered no serious hurt. In this case a second cycle of knowing, feeling, and striving, super- venes upon the first; and in this way the recurring cycle may be indefinitely prolonged. The behaviour of animals and of young children frequently expresses such simple cycles of perceptual thinking. But the normal adult mind is so complexly organized that it seldom works in this simple fashion. In the situation suggested above, my cognition may be complicated by knowing that the man is THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 107 drunk or otherwise irresponsible; or, in ac- cordance with a general principle of conduct, I may restrain my angry impulse; or I may have learnt to replace the action in which the impulse naturally finds vent by some dexterous jiu-jitsu movement, which lays low my adversary even more effectually. Or the cycle of my activity initiated by the blow may be prolonged in the following way. My adversary dodges or effectually parries my blow; my thwarted impulse then waxes stronger, and I rush furiously upon him. A long struggle ensues, in which my angry impulse, repeatedly thwarted and repeatedly stimulated anew, brings into its service the whole energy of my organism; and my efforts are terminated only by the complete exhaus- tion of my available store of energy. This train of activity, which is almost wholly on the perceptual plane, consists in the repeated adaptation of my movements from moment to moment, as I perceive the new positions of my adversary; it is a recurring cycle of cognition, conation, and feeling, in which the conation, failing to attain satisfaction, per- sists and is but strengthened by each new cognition. Or again, my angry impulse may be checked by one of fear, which prompts me to retreat. 108 PSYCHOLOGY In this case, as soon as I am out of danger, I may think again of the incident; I live through it again in imagination, as we say. This restores the angry impulse; which, find- ing no satisfaction, in turn keeps me thinking of my adversary: the insult rankles in my bosom. Try how I may to turn my mind from this painful topic, I find myself repeat- edly thinking of it; and, even when I succeed in thinking of other matters, my consciousness retains the disagreeable and angry tone. Quite involuntarily I find myself plotting out schemes of revenge; and perhaps, as I lie awake in the darkness of the night, I gnash my teeth and clench my fists and sweat and grow now hot now cold. The unsatisfied angry impulse drives me on to plan an elaborate scheme of revenge. I imagine myself meeting my adversary in a public place and striking him a terrible blow. But then I reflect that he is stronger than myself; and fear returns and checks and banishes this line of thinking, which thus, even in imagina- tion, fails to bring me satisfaction. Then I think of myself lying in wait for him on a dark night and striking him down from behind with club or gun; or I concoct an elaborate plan by which I can injure him in his business or his social reputation. THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 109 Now, all this mental activity involved in thinking out these schemes of action may be not at all volitional in the proper sense of the word. Volition begins when I attempt to decide on executing one or other plan; or when I try to banish the whole matter from my mind, or to pardon the offence. The planning is a purposive activity; but it may be carried on wholly by the involuntary angry impulse, which persists, because it has not achieved its natural end, and because it keeps bringing the incident back to my conscious- ness and thus renewing itself by way of a vicious circle. It may be asked How can such a train of purely mental activity as the planning a line of action be said to conform to the scheme we have laid down as typical, namely, the cycle of cognition, conation, feel- ing, and bodily activity, producing new cog- nition and again conation and feeling and bodily activity? For, it may be said, bodily activity is omitted from the cycle. The answer is, that the bodily activity in which each cycle of the thinking process issues, is only partially suppressed and disguised. We shall realize this, if we reflect on the behaviour in similar circumstances of a human being of a simpler type, a savage or a child. The angry child, whose fear checks his impulse to imme- 110 PSYCHOLOGY diate retaliation, runs off to a safe distance and then shouts out: "I'll get a big axe and chop off your head," perhaps suiting his actions to the words. That is his primitive planning of vengeance. Now, whether or no his words are accompanied by other bodily activity, their utterance is in itself a bodily ac- tivity ; the child is thinking or planning aloud ; and that is the natural and primitive way of thinking, in so far as one's thinking finds no other bodily expression: many savages and children commonly think aloud. The sup- pression of the actual utterance of the words used in the course of reflective thinking is a habit which we acquire under the influence of custom and of our natural tendency to economize energy; but, though actual artic- ulation may be suppressed, the use of words in the course of our thinking remains the equiva- lent of bodily activity; the words play the same part; in each cycle of the thinking, the conative impulse finds vent in a verbal formu- lation which initiates a new cycle. We have now to face the problem of the way in which feeling and conation are deter- mined by the structure of the mind. The question may at once be raised Does each cognitive disposition determine not only knowing but also feeling and striving? Is it THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 111 at the same time affective and conative, a3 well as cognitive in function? The answer to this question cannot be in doubt. The affec- tive and conative organization of the mind is largely independent of and separate from its cognitive organization; and there must exist, for the determination of these faculties, distinct dispositions which form an important part of the structure of the mind. Common speech and thought recognize this fact. For, as knowledge is the word used in popular speech to denote the structure of the mind in so far as it is cognitive, so the word character is used to denote its structure in so far as it is affective and conative. And we all recog- nize that the development of knowledge and of character are processes that by no means run strictly parallel, but are to a great extent independent of one another. We know also that our affective-conative attitude towards an object may be radically transformed, while our intellectual grasp of it remains practically unchanged; as in the case, for example, of some object, the thought of which at one time evoked enthusiastic efforts on my part, but which now leaves me cold or stirs in me but a faint aversion and disgust. A common- place and trifling example of such change is the change of affective-conative attitude 112 PSYCHOLOGY towards a beefsteak which may be produced in a hungry man by a full meal. A much more difficult question is that of the relation of the affective to the conative organization of the mind. It is clear that, if these are in any sense distinct organizations, they are much more intimately bound up together than they are connected with the cognitive organization. We may, then, consider them as identical without risk of serious error, and we shall not attempt to distinguish them or treat of them separately in these pages. The basis of character, or of the affective- conative organization of the mind, seems to consist in dispositions whose number, com- pared with that of the cognitive dispositions, is small. Just as the latter may be regarded as so many channels by which the cognitive faculties are directed upon corresponding objects; so the conative dispositions may be regarded as so many channels through which the conative faculty is directed to effect par- ticular modes of bodily activity in relation to objects cognized. For, just as cognition is fundamentally a reaction of the mind of the subject upon impressions made by objects on its body (and only in the most highly devel- oped minds attains relative independence THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 113 of sense-impressions), so conation is funda- mentally the direction of the mechanical proc- esses of the body by the purposive activity of mind. And just as the various cognitive dispositions may in principle be regarded as having been differentiated from a single prim- itive disposition, so the conative dispositions of the developed mind may be regarded as having been differentiated from a single primitive disposition through which the cona- tive faculty, the fundamental will to live, found expression. This, of course, is a view of the evolution- ary history of mind which, however plausible it may be, is a mere speculation. But we are on the sure ground of direct inference from facts of behaviour, when we describe the normal human mind as hereditarily endowed with a limited number of conative disposi- tions, each of which directs the conative energy to issue in a specific or characteristic mode of bodily activity. In the course of individual development each of these becomes differentiated into a number of more highly specialized dispositions, through the medium of which conative energy issues in more specialized modes of bodily activity. A single illustration may suffice. Every normal woman seems to be endowed with the ma- 114 PSYCHOLOGY ternal impulse, which issues or tends to issue in characteristic modes of bodily activity in relation to her child; this implies the posses- sion of a corresponding conative disposition. Among the women of each country, custom determines that this disposition of relatively low degree of specialization shall be differ- entiated to determine more highly specialized bodily activities, which we call the expres- sions of habits; and each individual may fur- ther specialize these habits in ways peculiar to herself. And through any such habit, or specialized differentiation of the maternal disposition which is common to the race, the whole energy of the maternal impulse may issue. We have briefly indicated the nature of the cognitive and of the conative structure of the mind. It remains to describe equally briefly the relations between these two sides. These relations seem to be in the main of the nature of associative links, a complex system of cross- connections between the dispositions of the two kinds. In order to illustrate the forma- tion of such cognitive-conative associations and their influence upon the course of mental life, we may revert to the case (p. 106) of anger roused by an insulting blow and restricted in its expression by fear. Up to THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 115 the time of the incident, I had been, we may suppose, as nearly as possible indifferent to my assailant; that is to say, his presence had evoked in me no well-defined feeling or attitude. But after the painful incident, I cannot think of him without fear, or anger, or both, and without desiring both to avoid him and to get the better of him in some way. Suppose, now, that circumstances repeatedly bring us together, and that his behaviour on such occasions is that of a bully covertly reminding me of the past insult that I dare not avenge. My attitude of blended anger and fear is renewed on each such occasion, and, being thus confirmed and rendered per- manent, it becomes a full-blown sentiment of hatred. What development of the struc- ture of my mind is implied by the growth of this sentiment? The emotion and impulse of anger and the specific bodily expressions and activities in which the impulse finds, or tends to find, vent, imply the possession of a com- plex conative disposition. The same is true of the emotional impulse of fear and its natural expression in bodily activity. On the other hand, my power of recognizing my assailant and of thinking of him in his absence implies the possession of a special cognitive disposi- tion corresponding to that object. Further, 116 PSYCHOLOGY the fact that, whereas I was formerly indiffer- ent to this object, now I cannot think of him without anger or fear or a blending of the two emotions and attitudes, this fact, which we express by saying that I entertain a senti- ment of hatred for him, implies that these two conative dispositions have become associa- tively linked with the cognitive disposition, and that these links have become permanent features of the structure of my mind. The effect of such linkage is not only that, whenever the object of the sentiment is forced upon my attention, my thinking of him is coloured or suffused with these emotions, but also that I am rendered peculiarly apt to think of him. If I pass by a crowd of which he is a member, my eye singles him out and watches him furtively; if we both have occa- sion to attend the same board-meeting, I am acutely aware of him and of all he says and does, though I may avoid glancing at him; if I overhear his name mentioned by others in conversation, I am all agog to hear what is said. And this may continue, in spite of my best efforts to cast out this demon of hatred and to resume my former attitude of indiffer- ence. Again, all my thinking of my adver- sary is biased by my attitude; whatever I hear to his discredit I accept and retain, and I THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 117 attribute his actions to the meanest motives; until, by repetition of this process of selective thinking under the guidance of the specialized conative tendency, I come to think of him as a monster of iniquity. Let us consider the influence on the cogni- tive life of the growth of a sentiment, in the light of a more agreeable instance. Imagine a light-hearted girl whose life has been a per- petual round of pleasures and social "duties." She marries and becomes a mother. The child upon her breast awakens in her the hitherto dormant maternal impulse, and all her de- light is to watch and tend it, to describe its perfections and fondly to imagine its future in the brightest colours. Like the man harbouring the demon of hatred, she, too, seems possessed by a strong spirit; but, if she could, she would not cast it out; for it is the source of all her joy. Now, the maternal im- pulse with its accompanying tender emotion implies the existence of a corresponding cona- tive disposition; and the formation of the sentiment for the child involves the linking of this with the cognitive disposition which is the condition of all her thinking of the child; and the new mode of life is the result of this linkage. Shortly after this change in her life she is left a widow; now her affections are 118 PSYCHOLOGY wholly given to her child, her whole being is devoted to it, and she tends it with passionate solicitude. The desire to secure its welfare be- comes her dominant motive, to which all her thought and all her doing are subordinated. Perhaps she takes up the study of hygiene, masters the elements of physiology and the principles of clothing, of feeding, and of train- ing in bodily habits; if she is a very excep- tional woman, she may even take up the study of psychology. All this intellectual activity and resultant expansion of her mental struc- ture is prompted and sustained by the strong maternal impulse concentrated upon its one object. All her new knowledge is built up around her child, which she studies as assidu- ously as she tends it; in virtue of its being the exclusive object of the strong sentiment of maternal love, the child becomes the nucleus about which a whole system of new knowl- edge, new interests, and new habits, is built up. The purposive energy which sustains and directs all these activities about the child and its welfare is that of the maternal impulse; and the constant direction of this energy to- wards this particular object is the result of the development of the mental structure which is the sentiment of love for the child. For, though mother-love may seem to spring up THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 119 almost full-blown, it is in reality a growth, subject to favourable and retarding influences; a system of tendencies which strengthens with use, atrophies with disuse, and only gradually attains its full strength and perfection. We realize this more clearly if we reflect upon other instances of maternal love; how, in a mother of several children, it may be con- centrated wholly on one of them; how in a childless woman the maternal impulse may be evoked by some other object, a dog, or cat, or bird, and, becoming habitually directed to that object, may generate a sentiment strangely like maternal love. Now, in order to bring home to our minds the full importance of such cognitive-cona- tive linkage, let us carry the history of the devoted mother a step further. After some years of devotion, during which the sentiment has grown all-powerful and has generated a great system of knowledge, habits, and inter- ests, the mother loses her child. She is pros- trated with sorrow, and when the first parox- ysm of grief is past, she remains inert; the mainspring of all her energy is stopped at its source; the will to live, which for years has poured itself freely through this one system, finds no adequate channel through which to animate her organism; and slowly she dies, 120 PSYCHOLOGY her end probably hastened by the invasion of phthisis or of some other disease, which she no longer has the energy to resist. Or, if she continues to live, her best chance of restora- tion to a life of activity and health lies in the finding of some new object for her maternal impulse, to which the whole system of her master-sentiment may, with some readjust- ment, direct its activities, thus opening once more the choked channels by which alone the vital energy can adequately suffuse her whole being. She may turn to work on behalf of children in general, and find happiness in managing a children's hospital or in other good works; in which case the energy of the maternal impulse, being diverted or redirected, is said in technical language to be sublimated. In the foregoing paragraphs we have illustrated the nature and growth of the functional connexions between cognitive and conative dispositions, taking strong and com- plex sentiments as our instances. The struc- ture of the normal adult mind comprises many such sentiments of all degrees of strength and complexity, from what is called a passing fancy or aversion to strong, enduring, and highly complex sentiments of love and hate. In the structural basis of a complex sentiment a number of conative dispositions may be THE STRUCTURE OF THE MIND 121 comprised. But the linkage of a conative dis- position with any one cognitive system does not preclude it from becoming linked with others; it may thus enter into the composi- tion of sentiments for an indefinite number of diverse objects. Thus each principal conative disposition must be regarded as linked with a considerable number of cognitive systems, by each of which it may be brought into activ- ity, and through each of which in turn it pours its conative energy, thus maintaining its activities and promoting its further growth and differentiation. It must be pointed out in passing that not only persons and places and material things may become the objects of sentiments, but also highly abstract and general objects, such as moral qualities, power, wealth, art. Of some men it is no mere figure of speech to say that they love virtue or power or the Church, that they hate vice or dirt or disorder. In respect of their growth and constitution, such sentiments seem to be subject to essentially the same principles as those directed to more concrete objects. They constitute a most important part of the structure of the mind, since on them depends all that part of be- haviour which we call moral conduct. PSYCHOLOGY CHAPTER IV HITHERTO we have discussed only one of the methods of psychological study, namely, the indispensable preliminary description of consciousness or modes of thinking, by aid of introspection. Further, we have defined the central task of psychology as the description in general terms of the structure of the normal human mind, and of its modes of operation and development; and we have indicated very roughly the kind of answers to these questions towards which the science seems to be working its way. Now, there are many departments of psy- chology, distinguished either by the methods of inquiry pursued, or by the type or class of beings whose behaviour is studied by the psychologist. The former mode of division tends to assert itself in practice, because certain workers acquire special skill in the application of one or other method. But the division of the whole province of psychology on this principle is to be deprecated; and the second principle is preferable. Of the departments to be recognized as METHODS AND DEPARTMENTS 123 marked off according to the latter of these principles of division, the following are the chief: (1) The psychology of the normal human adult; (2) the psychology of animals; (3) the psychology of children; (4) individual psy- chology, which attempts to define, and as far as possible to account for, the peculiarities of individual minds; (5) the psychology of men in abnormal and diseased states of mind; (6) social psychology, the study of the mass-mind and of its influence upon the individual mind in both its development and operation. In each of these great departments all the available methods of study are applied. These methods fall under three principal heads: (1) Introspection; under this head is included not only the introspective observa- tion of the psychologist, but also the study of the introspective statements or descriptions of other persons. This method is, of course, not available in the study of animals; but in all the other departments it is applicable to various extents. (2) The observation and interpretation of behaviour, that is, of the purposive bodily activities in which the men- tal processes of men and animals find expres- sion. (3) The study of the things created by mental and bodily activity, from the point of 124 PSYCHOLOGY view of discovering what light they throw on the nature and operations of the minds which fashioned them; thus, the nest of a bird, the web of a spider, a savage dance, a language, a code of laws or morals, a system of religious belief, a Gothic cathedral, a poem, a song, a child's drawing, the verses of a maniac, a game of skill or of chance, a trade-union, a system of government, all these, as well as every other product of human or animal activity, are capable of being studied from the psychological point of view, with more or less of profit. It goes without saying that, wherever possible, these three great methods of study should be combined. Such combination is seldom possible, except in studying activ- ities designedly induced under circumstances specially arranged and controlled. To study human or animal behaviour in this way is to make a psychological experiment. Much has been heard in late years of "experimental psy- chology," and it is often spoken of as though it were a distinct department of study. But that is by no means the case. Experiments may be, and are, made in every field of the province of psychology. Many persons find it difficult to imagine how experiment can be applied in psychological investigation; the METHODS AND DEPARTMENTS 125 difficulty may be overcome by considering a few examples. I ask a friend to divide a straight line into two unequal parts in the way that seems to him to give the most pleasing or satisfying effect. The experiment may be made to combine the three great methods. I observe the behaviour of my subject as he takes his pencil and divides the line; I measure the two parts into which he divides it; and I ask him to describe as fully as possible how he came to choose just that point. Now, I can hardly hope to draw any valid and interesting conclusion from a single experiment of this sort. But suppose that I repeat it with fifty persons, and that I find a striking uniformity in the products of their activity, namely, that the great majority divide the line in such a way that the length of the shorter is to that of the longer part very nearly as 1:1*6. Knowing that, if the shorter is to the longer as 1:1*618, then the longer bears the same ratio to the sum of the two lengths, and noticing that the average of all the proportions chosen by the fifty subjects approximates very closely to this ratio, I repeat the experiment with more subjects. Suppose, then, I find that the larger the number of subjects whose results are averaged, the closer this approximation 126 PSYCHOLOGY becomes. Here, surely, would be an indica- tion of an experimentally established law of human behaviour of considerable interest, well fitted to stimulate any alert mind to seek for an explanation. The result would make it seem worth while to study closely both the behaviour and the introspective reports of the subjects, as well as the products of their activity. It may be added that an indication of this law may be obtained by the application of the third method alone, namely, by study- ing the proportions of objects in common use and of the parts of decorative designs. But it is obvious that, for the accurate establish- ment and investigation of this general ten- dency, experiment affords indispensable aid. As another example of experiment we may take the following: I try to write down continuously a familiar verse, while I repeat aloud other equally familiar verses, and I ask other persons to attempt the same task. Here again all three methods of study are applicable and instructive, namely, intro- spection, the observation of behaviour, and the study of the product; observations of these three kinds supplement one another and throw considerable light on the question of the possibility of thinking of two things at once. But the most profitable experiments are METHODS AND DEPARTMENTS 127 generally those which are designed to provide an answer to some definite question. For example, it may be asked In learning a passage of prose or verse by heart, can I learn it with fewest repetitions by reading it again and again without intermission? Or shall I do better by allowing an interval to elapse after each reading; or by grouping my read- ings in short series separated by intervals of time? And, if the^second or third distribution of the readings is most advantageous, what interval is most favourable? For clearly there must be such a most favourable interval. It has been found that questions such as these can readily be answered by a little care- ful experimenting, and that the answers to many such questions can be stated as empiri- cal rules which hold good within definable limits for all normal subjects. The possibili- ties of applying experiment, illustrated by the few simple examples mentioned above, have been actively exploited during the last half century; many ingenious methods of experi- ment and many useful pieces of apparatus have been devised; and, since the conduct of experiments which involve the use of appara- tus of any complexity demands a properly fitted laboratory, there has grown up within the field of experimental psychology a more 128 PSYCHOLOGY special field of laboratory psychology. But, though owing to practical necessities there is a tendency to regard this as a separate depart- ment, like experiment in general it consists merely in special refinements of the three great methods of observation which are appli- cable in the various departments. Experi- mental observation and laboratory methods are most extensively applied in the first of the departments of our list (p. 123), namely, the psychology of normal human adults : for only with well-trained adult subjects can the most complete experiments be made; only in such subjects can we hope to find the necessary patience and scientific conscience; and only from them can we hope to obtain uniformly trustworthy introspective reports. Never- theless, experiments, and even the laboratory methods of experiment, are now largely used in other departments, especially in the study of children and of patients suffering from mental disorders. In the field of child-study they are being applied with especial vigour and en- thusiasm to the elucidation of many educa- tional problems; such problems as the follow- ing: What are the most effective methods of learning by heart? What is the effect upon memory in general of practice in com- mitting to heart verses or other matter? To METHODS AND DEPARTMENTS 129 what extent, if any, does the study of algebra improve the pupil's ability to master arith- metic or geometry? Are there any advan- tages in appealing to two or more senses whenever possible, instead of to eye or to ear alone? In what way and in what degree can the power of visual imagination be profit- ably developed by special exercises? In what way does the fatigue induced by the wage-earning of "half-timers" and evening scholars affect their school work? These are a few out of hundreds of questions, answers to vvhich (of the first importance for educa- tional practice and policy) can only be obtained by systematic experimenting. Even in the study of animals, where we cannot hope for introspective reports to help us in the interpretation of the behaviour we observe, experiment is now much used. If, for example, we throw to a chicken a grub or caterpillar of nauseous flavour, and observe its behaviour towards this kind of grub on the first and subsequent occasions, we repeat an experiment which has become famous and found its way into scores of books on psychology. Or we may confine a white rat in a cage, the only outlet from which is a passage with several turns and blind alleys opening from it; by observing its behaviour 130 PSYCHOLOGY in escaping on successive occasions, we may get some notion of its capacity to "learn the way out"; and, by modifying the conditions, we can learn on which senses the animal chiefly relies in the process of learning. Or we may allow a monkey to learn to extract nuts from a box by manipulating a simple piece of mechanism; and then, by putting his nuts in a differently constructed box, we may discover how far he is aided by his famili- arity with the former mechanism in the task of solving the similar but rather different problem. Such observation under natural and experimental conditions of the behaviour of animals of all grades, from the microscopic amoeba to the dog and the still more highly intelligent chimpanzee, or the mysteriously co-operating ants and bees, is now one of the most actively pursued departments of psy- chology; it offers an inexhaustible field for in- quiry, which becomes ever more fascinating and profitable the further our knowledge advances. It has been said that measurement is the essence of science, that where there can be no measurement there can be no science. From this premise it has sometimes been argued that there can be no science of psychology; for, it was said, states of consciousness are incapable METHODS AND DEPARTMENTS 131 of being measured. The conclusion cannot be accepted. The argument is simply a mass of error and confusion. Without delaying to expose it in detail, it may be pointed out that the premise is a wholly unwarranted piece of dogmatism. Several of the generally recog- nized sciences owe little or nothing to measure- ment, and they would lose but little of their scientific character if all exact measurement were banned from them; such, for example, are geology and most of the biological sciences. Further, measurement, and even exact meas- urement, is possible in psychology, and has been extensively applied. We can measure the accuracy of judgments of many kinds, e. g. of judgments of weight by the hand, of pitch by the ear, of brightness, of colour- tone, or of length, by the eye; in such cases, by aid of simple apparatus and rules of pro- cedure, we can measure with any desired degree of refinement the average error of judgment of a given subject under constant conditions; and we can express the accuracy of his power of judging in terms of this aver- age error; or we can detect the influence of certain disturbing conditions which tend to induce erroneous judgment, and accurately measure the magnitude of that influence. It follows that we can measure the influence of 132 PSYCHOLOGY a variety of conditions upon the accuracy of judgments of many kinds; for example, the influence of practice and of fatigue, of prepos- session or bias. We can measure also the duration of many mental processes to within a few thousandths of a second. And we can measure the rate of execution and repetition and the accuracy of performance of many mental tasks. A kind of measurement of especial value and wide application in psychology is the counting the number of repetitions of a proc- I ess involved in the execution of a given task: for example, the number of repetitions re- quired to commit a given quantity of verbal matter to memory, or to re-learn it to the same degree of perfection after a given inter- val; the number of repetitions of a particular combination of movements required in order to render it automatic or independent of attentive control; the number of momentary glances at a picture or at such an object as a series of printed numbers, letters, or words, i that the subject must take in order to appre- l hend every detail. In all these and in other ways, data are being accumulated from which conclusions of many kinds can be drawn; and, since for many purposes large masses of such numerical METHODS AND DEPARTMENTS 133 data secured by experiment are required as the basis for general conclusions, the oppor- tunity arises of submitting the figures to mathematical treatment and of extracting from them in this way much knowledge which otherwise would remain hidden. There is thus growing up what is sometimes regarded as a special department, namely, mathe- matical psychology, but which is a special development of experimental method appli- cable in the several departments, rather than itself a department. A few words must be said of another line of study which makes some claim to be regarded as a special department under the title physiological psychology. We only know mind or purposive activity as embodied in organisms; and, since our cognitive processes are largely determined by physical impres- sions made on our sense-organs and transmit- ted from them along the nerves to the brain, and since our conative processes guide and control bodily activities through the medium of the brain and nerves, it follows that the psychologist cannot be indifferent to all the knowledge of the organs of the body gained by the detailed study of them by the methods of physiology. Therefore, in each depart- ment, the student of behaviour must master 134 PSYCHOLOGY as fully as possible all that the anatomists and physiologists can tell him of the structure and functions of the organs, especially of the nervous system and sense organs, of the living beings he studies. It would, for example, be absurd to discuss the mental powers of bisects in ignorance of the peculiar structure of their eyes, or to attempt to account for the peculiar mental state of the aphasic patient without any knowledge of the nature and effects of brain injuries of the kind to which his sudden loss of the power of speech is due. For the bodily organs and their processes are the media through which the mind is kept in touch both with the world of material objects and with other minds; and the pur- posive control and guidance of these processes is from the biological standpoint the prime and immediate function of mind. Physiologi- cal psychology is, then, not a province or department, but rather a method applicable within each department, a method which supplements at many points the three great methods of psychological observation. It may also be regarded as a debatable ground in which physiology, with its mechanical explanations, and psychology, with its ex- planations in terms of purpose, come together, affording each other what help they can, yet METHODS AND DEPARTMENTS 135 each striving to extend its principles of ex- planation as widely as possible, in order to make good its claim to explain the facts of behaviour, and to absorb its rival by making of it a department of itself. We sometimes hear also the expression "comparative psychology" used in a way that implies the existence of a special department of that name. But this usage, again, is mis- leading; there is no such department; rather every department is, or should be, compara- tive, in so far as it does, or could, use the com- parative method; that is to say, in so far as, in attacking its special problems, it does, or could, bring the observations and conclusions or other departments to its aid. These general remarks upon the methods and departments of psychology may be con- cluded by pointing out that each department has, as it were, a double life and purpose. On the one hand it contributes what it can to- wards the solution of what we have called the central problems of psychology, the problems of the structure, functioning, and genesis of the normal human mind. On the other hand it has problems and a field of applications peculiar to itself, in relation to which it devises special methods of study, produces a highly specialized literature, and is prose- 136 PSYCHOLOGY cuted by bands of specialized workers, who too often, it must be admitted, show them- selves indifferent to, or ignorant of, the problems, methods, and results of other departments. In the following pages it remains to con- sider how each of the departments of psy- chology is meeting its special problems, and how each is contributing to forward the central work of the science, the discovery of the laws of function, structure, and genesis of the normal human mind. The first department on our list, the study of the normal human adult, which, until the modern period, was the only branch of psy- chology seriously pursued, must always hold its place as in some sense the most important; for its work is to deliver the frontal attack upon the central fortress. Nevertheless it is now evident that the frontal attack cannot hope to succeed without the aid of the other lines of advance. Sixty years ago this department, which then was the whole of the science, was thought, even by some of its exponents, to have well-nigh achieved its task; but now we can see that it had not gamed sight of the greater part of the difficulties before it, and that it had done nothing more than survey the outermost walls and capture METHODS AND DEPARTMENTS 137 a few of the advanced posts of the fortress. For in this science, more than in any other, a most difficult task is the first and indispensa- ble one of discovering and formulating the problems to be solved. This appearance of finality was due merely to the fact that the old method of unaided introspection was incapable of advancing our knowledge beyond the point to which it had already carried it. The mam work of this department falls under two heads: first, to carry to an ever greater pitch of refinement the introspective description of mental process by the aid of the new experimental methods; secondly, to bring to bear upon the central problems all the new light provided by the work of the other departments. Of the nature of the experimental work some slight indications have been given hi the preceding chapter. It is too highly technical for further descrip- tion in these pages. The new light provided by the other departments and its bearing on the central problems can be best discussed hi briefly reviewing each of these departments in turn. 138 PSYCHOLOGY CHAPTER V THE STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR LONG ago the great Greek thinker, Aris- totle, initiated the study of animal behaviour and set it in its true relation to the psychology of man. He taught that the behaviour of animals is the expression of powers of pur- posive control which are exercised by man also; the difference between man and animals being the possession by man of powers which the animals do not possess, in addition to those which they have in common with him. But, after this good beginning, more than two thousand years elapsed before the study was taken up again from this sound standpoint. At the dawn of the era of modern science, Descartes, perhaps the most influential phi- losopher of the seventeenth century, put off the time of this return to the true line of prog- ress by contending that, while men's actions are governed by the will and purpose of a reasoning soul, animals are merely complex machines that all their movements are fully explicable by the mechanical principles which enable us to construct, control, and under- stand the movements of a clock, or a pump, or any other piece of mechanism. STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 139 Hardly less prejudicial to the study of animal behaviour was the doctrine of instinct, which was for a long time the only rival of Descartes' theory. It was a theological rather than a scientific doctrine. In so far as it was in any sense scientific, it was of the old "faculty psychology"; and it affords the clearest example of the pernicious effects ex- erted by the misuse of the notion of faculties. The actions of men were said to be governed by the faculty of reason, those of animals by the faculty of instinct; and this attribution of the actions of animals to instinct seems to have disguised from most of those who used the word the need for further study or ex- planation of them. It was a striking example of the power of a word to cloak our ignorance and to hide it even from ourselves. Those who tried to go behind the word, to seek some further explanation of animal behaviour, usually represented the instinctive acts of animals as directly guided by the hand of God. Now it would be presumptuous to assert that they are not guided by the hand of God; but, however firmly we may believe that the world, and especially the world of life, is hi some sense the working out of the design of a beneficent Creator, we have to recognize that men cannot escape responsi- 140 PSYCHOLOGY bility for the intelligent direction of their own lives and those of their humbler fellow- creatures. This responsibility implies the obligation to obtain wherever possible the kind of understanding, both of our own natures and of those of animals, that will enable us to con- trol as fully as possible the course of events. Early in the nineteenth century, the great French naturalist, Lamarck, began the work of setting the study of animal behaviour on its modern lines by propounding his theory of animal evolution; according to this theory, new forms arise by the transmission to off- spring of the adaptations of structure and function achieved by the parent. But it was not until the work of Charles Darwin, especially his theory of natural selection, con- vinced the world that all the forms of life, man not excepted, had been continuously evolved from some simple primordial form, that the problem of the relation of the human to the animal mind excited a widespread interest and began to be seriously studied. Darwin himself had argued that, just as the human body with all its wonderful perfections of structure and function seems to have been evolved by a long series of minute steps from the body of some animal species allied to the existing manlike apes, so also all the structure STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 141 and functions of his mind must be regarded as having been evolved by a similar series of minute steps from the mind of the same animal ancestor. (See Geddes & Thomson: "Evolution.") Herbert Spencer also had propounded in- dependently of Darwin a theory of continuous evolution which implied the evolution of the mental powers of man from those of animals; he had attempted to show how the brain of man may be supposed to have been gradually evolved by steps of increasing com- plexity of organization from a nervous system of very simple type, such as is found in some lowly animals; and he had assumed that the evolution of the powers of the mind had run parallel with that of the nervous system, and that each step of mental evolution might in fact be regarded as the effect or expression of a corresponding step of nervous evolution. These views naturally excited violent oppo- sition in many quarters; for they were felt to endanger the privileged position which man had assumed to be his, and to be in- consistent hi many ways with the generally accepted doctrines of religion. The old antagonism between religion and science was fanned into a new flame, and there was waged a violent controversy, the faint rumblings of 142 PSYCHOLOGY which may still be heard by an attentive ear. These new doctrines and the consequent controversies gave a great stimulus to the study of animal behaviour; and much accu- rate knowledge has been accumulated by these studies. But it cannot be said that the prin- cipal questions hi dispute have been finally settled. The continuity of mental evolution of man from lower forms has in the main been accepted, though a few authoritative voices still protest against this acceptance. It is generally admitted that we may confidently accept the doctrine of continuity of mental evolution throughout the animal world; but it is pointed out that, between the mind of man and that of the highest animal, there is an enormous gap; and it is urged that we cannot legitimately suppose this great gap to have been bridged by the slow processes of evolution. It is further urged that there are differences of kind as well as of degree between the powers of the human and those of the animal mind. To the first of these objections the thoroughgoing evolutionist returns two overwhelming replies. It is admitted, he says, that the degrees of development of mental powers in the animal kingdom run parallel in the main with the degrees of development STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 143 of the nervous system. Now, between the nervous system of man and that of the highest animal there is in the scale of complexity of organization an enormous gap, which corre- sponds to the gap in the scale of mental pow- ers; and we have, therefore, good reason to believe that, if we could observe the animals whose nervous systems filled the gap in the scale of nervous organization, we should find that they possessed mental powers which filled the corresponding gap in the scale of mental organization. The second reply of the evolu- tionist supplements the first in a very effective manner, as follows. The study of the bodily and mental development of human beings shows that each one of us, in the course of his growth from a microscopic germ in his mother's womb to adult life, exhibits, as re- gards both his bodily and his mental powers and organization, a continuous evolution: at no point does any new factor suddenly appear; but, in accordance with the well- established law of recapitulation, both the organization of the nervous system and the development of mental capacity progress con- tinuously, roughly reproducing in their suc- cessive stages similar stages of the course of racial evolution. If, then, the child can cross in the course of some few years the great gap 144 PSYCHOLOGY in the scale of mental organization, how can we with any plausibility deny that the race may have crossed the same gap in the course of millions of years? As regards the contention that the powers of the human mind differ not only in degree, but also in kind, from those of the animals; it is to be noted that it raises a difficulty for the doctrine of the continuity of mental evolu- tion, only if it is accepted as meaning that the human mind has powers of which no feeblest germ or trace is indicated by the behaviour of animals. Now, it is generally recognized that Darwin and many of his immediate followers, biased, perhaps, to some extent by the desire to diminish the gap between the human and the animal mind, seriously over- estimated the mental powers of the higher animals, putting upon their behaviour in many cases anthropomorphic interpretations which were not justifiable. Nevertheless, though we severely restrain this tendency to exalt the mental powers of animals above their true level, the gap no longer seems so wide as it did half a century ago; for the new insight into the nature of mental processes brought by the study of animals has diminished the gap from the human side, by showing us that in important respects human mental proc- STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 145 esses are more like those of the animals than had previously been supposed. Philosophers had agreed with popular tradi- tion in describing man as a rational being and attributing all his actions and beliefs to reasoned motives and logical operations. For, studying chiefly or solely their own minds, which no doubt approximated more nearly than any others to the ideal of a purely rational mind, they overlooked the fact that much of human behaviour is the outcome of crude impulses and desires which reason cannot approve and the will cannot control; and they overlooked also the fact that a large proportion of the beliefs which are expressed in the conduct of the average man have been acquired by processes of an alogical nature and are incapable of being justified by logic. When we have made such necessary cor- rections in our estimates of the minds of men and animals, we have to admit, indeed, that the gap between them is immense; but we may agree with the preponderant opinion among competent persons, which asserts that the mental functions of man present no such radical difference in kind as would forbid us to believe in the continuity of mental evolution; for evidence of some rudiment 146 PSYCHOLOGY of every type of mental function may be discovered in animal behaviour. The study of animal behaviour has hitherto taught us three lessons of high importance for psychology: (1) It has made clearer the na- ture of mental or purposive activity, and has revealed its prevalence throughout the whole of the animal world; (2) it has elucidated the very bases of human nature by displaying in relative simplicity among the animals the modes of activity which constitute that basis, but which in human life are so complicated and obscured by the great development of our intellectual nature that they for long eluded almost completely the penetration of philosophers; (3) it has shown us how we have to conceive in its main outlines the course of evolution which has culminated in the human mind. We may devote a few words to each of these topics. The kind of purposive activity with which each of us is most familiar is the voluntary striving to bring about some state of affairs which he has clearly conceived beforehand, which he has judged to be desirable or good, and which he has deliberately designed and resolved to bring about. Of such an activity he can say I act thus and thus in order to achieve this end, which I desire to se^ achieved STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 147 because, contemplating it in idea, I foresee that its realization will bring me satisfaction. Such activity, therefore, becomes for us the type of purposive activity; and, when we are able to infer that the activity of any other being conforms to the same type, we feel that we understand it or can explain it. But there remains a deeper question: Why should the attainment of the particular end afford me satisfaction? The answer to this question that was most commonly accepted, before the study of animal behaviour had made some progress, ran as follows : Because I have found on former occasions that a situa- tion, similar to that which I desire to bring about, gives me pleasure or eases me of pain. Such increase of pleasure or diminution of pain was thus regarded as the goal of all pur- pose and volition, the object of all the desires that are the motives of our actions. It was admitted that a far-sighted man might prefer distant pleasures of great magnitude to the lesser pleasures of present bodily ease, and that he might even choose to suffer pain, if it seemed a necessary step to the attainment of the greater pleasures: and thus was ex- plained such facts as that Christian martyrs without number had chosen to suffer at the stake and in the arena rather than to renounce 148 PSYCHOLOGY their faith; for, it was said, they believed that by so doing they would secure the very intense and lasting pleasures of heaven and escape the enduring tortures of hell. This theory of human motives (known as psychological hedonism) was made the basis of a philosophy of morals and politics which claimed to be complete and ultimate, and which has exercised a great and beneficent influence throughout the civilized world and has done much to shape our laws and institu- tions; namely, the Utilitarian philosophy. But the study of animal behaviour has led us to see that this theory of motives was false. When the behaviour of animals was studied without prejudice,- it became apparent that the animal world also has its martyrs. Many an animal-mother strives with all the energy of her being against overwhelming odds and, unflinching, meets death in its most cruel form, rather than desert her young to seek an easy safety in flight. Yet, what nice calcula- tion of the balance of pleasure over pain can be supposed to sustain her efforts? She surely has no unshakable belief in heavenly rewards or hellish punishments! Nor can we suppose that she dreads the pain of remorse that may follow upon her desertion of her post. She takes no thought of the morrow, STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 149 anticipates neither good nor evil, neither pleasure nor pain; but, heedless of all conse- quences, she makes one supreme self-sacrific- ing effort to fulfil the purpose of her being, to hand on the torch of life undimmed. In her frail organism runs one slender stream of the great purpose which animates all living beings, whose end we can only dimly conceive and vaguely describe as the perpetuation and increase of life. Such instances of animal self-sacrifice are well suited to arrest our attention and to set us thinking, and indications of the truth to which they so clearly point may be seen on every hand in the world of animal be- haviour. This simple but profound truth is that in particular situations animals behave in this or that way, striving persistently, often putting forth all their energy to the point of exhaustion, because in each case it is the creature's nature so to do, under the given conditions. The solitary wasp laboriously drags to her carefully prepared nest the prey secured by a day's hunting, and seals it there together with her egg, in order that it may serve as food for the offspring which she will never see, and of whose needs or existence she can have no knowledge. The young bird flies a thousand miles across land and sea, 150 PSYCHOLOGY seeking, she knows not why, the climate best suited to her young. She builds her nest according to the pattern of the species and broods over her eggs; experiencing, we may suppose, a continued satisfaction in the prog- ress of her work; but without, we may con- fidently say, once thinking of the young birds to whose welfare all her labours are directed. The young male nightingale, arriving in the spring from his distant winter haunts, takes up his station in a dense bush and pours forth night after night and all day long his flood of music, without any conscious anticipation of the mate whom his song will bring to his side; though, when she comes, he knows well how to welcome her. The young horse snorts and shies at the dark object crouched upon the roadside, though it is thousands of years since the wolves laid in wait for his ancestors. The town-bred, domesticated, well-fed terrier cannot resist the smell of the rabbit on the grass, and follows the trail in wild excitement, deaf to his master's call; though he knows nothing of ground game and has never before set eyes or nose on a rabbit. In all these and in countless other instances of animal behaviour we see the same fact the animal is impelled to act as he does, at each step foreseeing at most the immediate STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 151 consequence of his acts and nothing of the remote ends subserved by them. Must we, then, go back to the doctrine of Descartes, and conclude that what we call the purposive activities of animals are hi reality purely mechanical processes, differing only in com- plexity from those of any man-made machine, and that the actions of man alone of all living beings are directed and sustained by purpose? This we must refuse to do for two good reasons. First, the actions of the animals, from the simplest to the highest, present those outward or objective marks of purpose on which we have throughout insisted; namely, persistent direction towards their proper ends in spite of all obstacles and difficulties, with variation in detail of the modes of activity. Secondly, if we look with . unbiased eyes at the human comedy, ref using to be blinded by a stupid pride and the tra- ditional contempt for our humbler fellow- creatures, we shall see that much of our behaviour is strictly analogous to these char- acteristic actions of the animals. When the young infant first cries aloud his discomfort, he has no knowledge of the hands or of the breast that will succour him. When at the first crack of thunder the child (or the adult) runs trembling to hide himself in the nearest 152 PSYCHOLOGY dark corner, he has no conception of any hurtful power that he will elude in his hiding- place. When the modest maiden puts the last touches to her toilet, blushing at her own loveliness, she would find it difficult to ac- count for her behaviour in terms of purpose. When Romeo's admiring gaze follows her and sends her fleeing in a strange confusion, or when she lingers a moment and casts one back- ward glance, she may in perfect truthfulness deny all knowledge of the natural end of her activities. And, even when later she submits to his embrace, she may do so without any anticipation of pleasure or of pain and without foreseeing one step of the way on which her foot is set. She is merely fulfilling the pur- pose of her being, prompted to each action as the circumstances arise by impulses but little, if at all, less blind than those of the nesting bird. Romeo, too, when bright eyes spur him on to redoubled efforts in the game of strength and skill or lend a new music to his voice, may know as little as the nightingale pouring out his song what end is subserved by his reckless output of energy. Or consider this strong man in the prime of life, impelled by ambition to strain all the powers of his cultivated intellect in the STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 153 pursuit of worldly success. His course of life may be carefully planned out for many years to come and steadily pursued. He is the very type of strong purpose and resolu- tion; but ask him: Why does he pursue this ambition, why strive so persistently after a high place? And you may find that he can- not tell you. He well knows that worldly success is dust and ashes; that fame is only valued so long as we have it not; that he could easily obtain a wealth of pleasures which he now foregoes. All he can tell you is He is built like that. By choosing a long series of types of human and animal activity, we might construct a scale which, by minute steps of difference, would lead down from the most truly purposive actions of man, actions sustained and renewed through long years by a firm self-conscious resolution to achieve some clearly conceived end, to the actions of the simplest microscopic animalcule. Rather than separate the animals from man and assign them to the realm of mechanism, or than fly at once to the extravagant conclu- sion that our conviction of the purposive na- ture of our own highest activities is a mere delusion and that man also is but a piece of complex machinery; rather than consent to put aside our problem with this unjustifiable 154 PSYCHOLOGY and, in any case, wholly premature conclu- sion, we must revise and widen our notion of purposive activity. Instead of taking the most developed modes of human volition as the type and form of all purposive activity, we must recognize that these higher modes, in which some remote end of the activity is clearly conceived and willed, are but the most rare and highly specialized varieties of a great genus which includes all modes of human and animal behaviour. The truth is that volition springs out of blind impulse, presupposes it, and is only a higher development of it, brought about by a higher organization of the structure of the mind in both its cognitive and conative as- pects. When the ambitious man forms and pursues his resolution to achieve a high place among his fellows, he does so only in virtue of the fact that the structure of his mind comprises a conative disposition the excite- ment of which impels him, or gives rise to an impulse which drives him on, to assert him- self, to display himself, before his fellow-men. Only in virtue of his possession of this spe- cifically directed disposition does a great posi- tion appear to him a desirable object; if it were lacking in his constitution, the desires of other men for such a position would seem STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 155 to him inexplicable and absurd. Only in virtue of the possession of a specialized cona- tive disposition, does the innocent youth find his glances, his steps, his thoughts, irresistibly turning to the maiden; only in virtue of this, is he filled with a vague unrest and a longing for he knows not what, a longing which makes all other ends and pursuits seem trivial and unreal; only in virtue of this, is he liable to be seized with what others, who have partially forgotten or never experienced it, speak of as the strange madness of romantic love. Thus, just as truly as the actions of the animals, all instances of human activity (even the most truly volitional and self- consciously directed) imply the operation of special dispositions through which the con- ative energy, the will to live, is directed to prompt and sustain particular modes of action; each of these conative dispositions may generate either a mere blind impulse, or a desire for an end more or less clearly con- ceived. The great differences between the simpler and the higher modes of activity are of two kinds: first, the differences in the degree of clearness and fulness with which the natural end, which alone can satisfy the im- pulse in each case, is thought of and the steps towards its attainment planned out; secondly, 156 PSYCHOLOGY the differences in the degree to which the one impulse co-operates or conflicts with other impulses in more or less complex fashion, according to the complexity of organization of the mind's structure. The second great lesson, learnt in the main through the study of animal behaviour, is that each human mind does not, as so many of the older writers assumed, start upon its career like a blank sheet of paper or a smooth tablet of wax, equally ready to receive and retain whatever impressions the outer world may make upon it, and endowed merely with the power of re-shuffling and reproducing in fainter forms these vivid sensory impressions. Or, to put the matter in another way, it has taught us that each individual organism, human or animal, begins its active career either with some considerable part of its full mental structure, both cognitive and conative, already perfected, or, if with but little per- fected structure, still with much in the way of innate tendencies to the development of structure. The necessity of believing in the trans- mission from generation to generation of such innate tendencies to the development of mental structure is most obviously forced upon us by the behaviour of some of the insects; for in the insect world the innately determined structure of the mind is commonly very complex, and constitutes a larger pro- portion of the total structure than in any other of the higher branches of the tree of life. Of all the insects, the solitary wasps, perhaps, illustrate our present thesis in the most striking manner. There are many species which prey upon insects and other small creatures; these creatures are generally killed or paralyzed by stinging, and then are packed away and sealed up in a nest or bur- row together with one or more eggs of the wasp, there to serve as food to the grub which after a time will emerge from the egg. Now the features of this process, of especial interest from our present point of view, are two: First, the wasps of each species (with few exceptions) prey on animals of one kind only, although in all probability the grubs of each species might flourish on animal food of almost any kind; one species of wasp preys on cater- pillars only, another on grasshoppers, a third on spiders, and so on; and a wasp may spend many hours searching for her proper prey amidst an abundance of other small creatures which seem equally well adapted to serve as food for her grubs. This choice of her proper prey is not the result of imitation of other 158 PSYCHOLOGY wasps of the same species, nor of any other process of learning; for the wasp hatches out from the isolated chrysalis as a fully adult insect, and shortly proceeds to seek her prey. The wasp, then, has innate power of recog- nizing her proper prey, or, in the sense in which we have defined the word knowledge, she must be said to have innate knowledge of her prey; that is to say, she inherits a cognitive disposition which renders her ca- pable of knowing her prey, when it comes within range of her sense-organs. The second point of interest in the present connection is that the wasp of each species handles her prey in a manner peculiar to her species; one always stings her caterpillar in a peculiarly effective manner: another walks backwards as she drags her prey to her nest; this mode of progression gives her more power in dragging large specimens of the kind she preys upon, but she behaves in the same way when the specimen is so small that she could easily run forward with it raised in her jaws; it is as though a man should stagger home with bent back and bowed legs, under the weight of a pound of tea slung on his shoulders: a third always straddles across the body of her victim as she carries it off: one species always holds her prey with her third pair of STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 159 legs, another with the second pair; others hold it in the jaws. And, when the wasp ar- rives at her nest with her prey, her behaviour again runs on stereotyped lines; one species invariably lays down her prey and runs into the hole she has prepared, turns about, and drags in her prey after her; another suspends it on the crotch of some low branching plant, while she explores her nest; a third carries hers directly into the nest without prelim- inary exploration. This constancy of mode of behaviour of each species in the normal course of their activities might seem at first sight to favour the view of those who regard animals as mere machines (and that such insects as wasps are unconscious mechanisms has been seriously maintained by some modern observers) ; yet these same wasps are capable of intelligently adapting their be- haviour to unusual circumstances, and they display in certain respects very striking idiosyncrasies. Such exhibition of complex modes of nicely adapted behaviour without previous experience of the situation, and the con- stancy of such modes throughout a species, are the two most generally accepted marks of instinctive action. For the word instinc- tive survives as a general descriptive term for 160 PSYCHOLOGY activities of this kind; though modern science is no longer content to use it as a cloak for ignorance, and to regard such actions as explained by attributing them to a faculty of instinct: it uses the word rather to mark the need for a theory. The foregoing ex- amples of instinctive behaviour, considered in connection with the general account of mental structure given on earlier pages, indicate clearly what our theory of instinct must be. The recognition of her specific prey by the wasp of each species, without any guidance from her previous experience, implies the possession of a corresponding cognitive dis- position, which is provided in the innate constitution and becomes functionally perfect in each individual without being exercised. The handling of her prey by each individual in the manner characteristic of her species on her first encounter with it, similarly implies the possession of a corresponding innate conative disposition. And the fact that each wasp reacts in this specific fashion to her specific prey, and to that alone, implies that this conative disposition is innately linked with the cognitive disposition that enables her to recognize her prey. This, then, is the nature of an instinct, the mental structure which is the condition of an instinctive action : STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 161 it consists in a more or less highly specialized conative disposition linked with a specialized cognitive disposition; the whole cognitive- conative system being innate or inherited, that is to say, developing spontaneously in each individual to a state in which it is capable of determining appropriate reaction to its object. This is the formula by which we may in a sense explain a large part of the behaviour of all animals; namely, all those purposive reactions which imply perceptual discrimina- tion of the object without previous experi- ence of it. Well-nigh the whole of the be- haviour of some animals conforms strictly to this type. The best examples of lives governed wholly by instinct are provided by some of the insects, which, emerging from the chrysalis with all their organs and capaci- ties fully developed, straightway perform a single cycle of highly complex purposive actions, and die. The structure of the mind of such an animal must be conceived as con- sisting of a limited number of innate cognitive dispositions, each linked with a conative disposition; and the maintenance of the single cycle of activities, which compose the life history of the adult creature, depends on the fact that the exercise of each conative 162 PSYCHOLOGY disposition produces a situation which excites another cognitive disposition, which in turn sets to work another conative disposition, and so on, until the cycle is completed. Such, for example, is the behaviour of an insect which, after hatching out, flies about until it encounters a certain flower, settles upon it, and, by an series of precise manipulations of its parts, deposits its eggs among the ovules of the flower, that is, in the one situation hi all the world in which the eggs can develop. But most of the animals perform their instinctive actions more than once in the course of their lives; and, when any such action is repeated many times, we can gener- ally observe that the nature of the activity becomes modified in accordance with ex- perience, modified, that is, in such a way as to subserve the life of the individual or of the race more perfectly. The modifications are of three kinds. First, the animal may learn to react more discriminatingly to objects of the class which evokes the instinctive reaction: for example, a bird, which at first instinc- tively pursues all butterflies, learns, through experience of the nauseous taste of one species, to refrain from pursuing members of that species and of all others which have similar markings; or again, a young lamb instinc- STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 163 lively follows any large moving object, but shortly learns to react in this way to sheep only; and later he learns to discriminate his dam from other sheep and to follow her only. In all such cases we have to infer that the innate cognitive disposition has undergone further differentiation through experiences of success and failure, pleasure and pain. Secondly, the animal may learn to react with one of its instinctive modes of behaviour to an object of a kind towards which it at first remained indifferent. Abundant illus- trations of this mode of adaptation of in- stinctive behaviour are provided by instances in which animals learn to devour objects other than those which they instinctively seek. The tiger, for example, does not instinctively prey upon man; but if, driven on by scarcity of food and consequent extreme hunger, he has once attacked and devoured a man, men henceforth are objects that excite his preda- tory impulse. Or again, a young dog does not instinctively flee hi fear from a boy; but if once, or on several occasions, he has been tormented by a gang of boys, he may after- wards flee from all boys: the mere appearance of any boy may suffice to evoke the impulse of fear and its characteristic bodily expression. We have to suppose that in such cases a 164 PSYCHOLOGY conative disposition becomes linked with a cognitive disposition with which it was not innately connected. The third type of modification of instinctive behaviour consists in a modification of the bodily activities that are directed upon the object of the instinct. This is seldom ex- emplified except in conjunction with modifi- cation of one or other of the preceding types, or under the teaching of man. When seagulls learn to follow a ship and to snatch up pieces of food thrown overboard, or to follow the plough and feed on worms and grubs, we have an instance of modification of the mixed type; and some of the tricks learnt by animals, such as the pushing up of a latch, provide examples of predominantly motor adaptation. Such modification of any purely instinctive mode of bodily movement im- plies differentiation of the innate conative disposition comprised in the instinct. When the behaviour of an animal exhibits modification of a purely instinctive mode of behaviour of any one of these three kinds, we say that it has profited by experience and be- haves intelligently. All animal behaviour is, then, either purely instinctive or intelligent; and, when we say intelligent, we mean that it is such as implies some degree of modifica- tion of the innate structure of the mind through experience of success or failure, pleasure or pain, in the course of purposive activity. Intelligent behaviour thus always involves modification of instinctive modes of behaviour, and intelligence presupposes in- stinct: for, unless a creature possessed in- stincts of some kind, all basis for the play of intelligence would be lacking, there would be no tendencies to be modified; and modifi- cation of pre-existing tendencies is the essence of intelligent activity. This, then, is the relation of intelligence to instinct in the animal world; each animal is natively endowed with certain instincts which lead it to react in specific ways to cer- tain situations or objects of its environment; in the course of the striving to which it is thus prompted, it may learn to modify its bodily movements, to discriminate more nicely be- tween the objects which yield more or less of satisfaction to its impulses, or directly to respond with specifically directed impulses to objects which do not normally evoke them prior to such modification; and in proportion as an animal effects much or little of such adaptive modification of its instincts, we say that it exhibits much or little intelligence. Now the higher animals, that is, those 166 PSYCHOLOGY whose behaviour exhibits the greatest com- plexity and nicety of adjustment to a variety of situations, fall into two great classes; namely, the class in which behaviour is pre- dominantly instinctive, in which the modifi- cations of the innate tendencies are relatively few and slight, but in which these innate tendencies are themselves very complex and highly specialized; and, secondly, the class in which the instinctive tendencies are of low degree of specialization, but become greatly modified and specialized in various ways in the course of the individual's experience. The former class is best represented by the higher insects; the second by the higher vertebrate animals, especially the mammals. It is as though Nature had tried two different plans for securing the nice adjust- ment of her children's behaviour. The one plan is to provide in the innate mental struc- ture of each animal as complete as possible a system of highly specialized instincts, which shall fit the creature so fully for its special environment that it has little need to modify in any way its instinctive modes of behaviour in order to thrive and propagate its kind. This is the plan usually realized in those creatures which, like most of the insects, are launched full-grown to lead an independent STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 167 life of active movement; for, if such creatures had to learn to modify extensively their in- nate modes of behaviour in order to cope effectively with their environment, most of them would inevitably perish before they had achieved this task. The other plan is to provide in the innate mental structure of each animal a number of very general instincts, that is, instincts of which both the cognitive and the conative parts are but little specialized, so that the creature reacts in a few highly general ways to a corresponding number of large classes of objects; and to supplement these instincts with a large capacity for intelligent adaptation of behaviour, through the exercise of which the innate dispositions may become special- ized and differentiated to cope with a large variety of objects and circumstances. It is a necessary part of this plan that the young animal shall not, during the first period of its active life, be dependent altogether upon its own efforts; for its highly general instincts would hardly suffice to maintain it alive un- aided. Rather it must enjoy a period of sheltered life, during which it may acquire, through experience, such specializations of its innate mental structure as are necessary for independent existence. This period of pro- 168 PSYCHOLOGY tected immaturity Nature provides by devel- oping in the species the parental instinct, which leads the adults of each generation to feed, protect, and shelter their young, while these add to their highly general innate knowl- edge a sufficient store of acquired knowledge. We use here the term "innate knowledge" in referring to all that part of the structure of the mind which is inherited, in order to mark the view that it is of essentially the same nature as what we call acquired knowledge; and this is in conformity with general usage, for by knowledge we mean the capacity to think and act in certain ways. We say that a person knows how to swim or to shoot, as well as that he knows the multiplication table, the French language, or the principles of chemistry; and we say with equal propriety that the bee knows how to build the honey- comb, that the squirrel knows how to find and to open nuts, that the spider knows how to repair her web, or that the bird knows its own nest; for in each case, whether the knowledge be innate or acquired, its posess- sion consists in the presence of more or less specialized dispositions appropriately related to the rest of the structure of the mind. When we compare these two great plans according to which adjustment of behaviour STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 169 is secured, it seems obvious that the second offers the greater possibilities. Upon the former plan, the more highly specialized are the instincts of any creature and the more perfectly they are organized at the moment it enters upon its life of free activity, the less chance has it of acquiring new knowledge or of further elaborating in any way the structure of its mind; for the highly specialized in- stincts, coming at once into operation, become set or confirmed by use; and the creature is thenceforward condemned to a life of routine repetition of its purely instinctive modes of behaviour. The second plan, on the other hand, seems to offer a prospect of unlimited possibilities of individual mental development; for the less specialized are the instincts and the more prolonged the period of youth or protected immaturity, the more opportunity has each individual of further elaborating the struc- ture of his mind by his own efforts. This second plan inevitably brings a further very great advantage to the species among which it obtains; namely, it enables the acquired knowledge or experience of each generation to be in some degree handed on to the next; that is to say, it introduces the principle of tradition. For the young animals, remaining 170 PSYCHOLOGY under the care of their parents, inevitably profit in some degree by imitating their behaviour: whereas, under the other plan, the parent, having deposited the egg, is no more concerned for its welfare; and the young, therefore, never enjoy the companionship of their parents, and have no opportunity of imitating them. The simplest way in which the young take to themselves knowledge acquired by their parents, is to follow them about and thus to learn where best to find food and shelter. But the possibilities of advantage from imitation are so great that special adaptations of innate mental structure have been evolved in many species, in order that these advantages may be more fully secured. The typical and most obvious and, perhaps, the simplest example of such special innate provision for securing to each genera- tion the fuller benefits of family and social life, is the development of a special cog- nitive disposition for the perception of the expressions of fear made by other members of the species, and its innate linkage with the conative disposition in which the impulse of fear arises. In virtue of such a special devel- opment of the cognitive side of this instinct, the young bird crouches motionless or runs to STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 171 shelter when the parent emits a cry of fear; the young rabbit runs to earth when its mother's white tail bobs before it; and among the gregarious mammals similar signals recall the young to the herd, as it prepares for collective flight or defence. The frequency among the higher animals of recognition- marks (of which the white underside of the rabbit's tail is a simple example) affords some indication of the importance of this principle. But among the higher animals the part played by tradition, through imitation of the old by the young, goes far beyond these simple modes; thus the forms of the nests and of the songs of many birds seem to be only in part instinctively determined and in part traditionally. If now we apply all the foregoing prin- ciples of animal behaviour to the elucidation of the relation of the human to the animal mind, the human mind appears as the product of an extreme evolution according to the second of the two great plans of mental organization. The human being necessarily inherits certain instincts; for without these he would lack all means of setting to work on his task of building up the immense mass of acquired knowledge that he needs: that is to say, if he were not provided by heredity 172 PSYCHOLOGY with some cognitive and conative dispositions, and if certain of these were not innately linked, there would be no means of setting his mental faculties to work. But his acquisi- tion of knowledge is rapid and extensive; for his conditions are very favourable to such acquisition. First, the instincts he inherits are of the most highly general type on both their cognitive and conative sides; they merely provide a basis for vaguely directed activities in response to vaguely discriminated impressions from large classes of objects. Secondly, the duration of his immaturity and the period of parental protection are very greatly prolonged; for, whereas the youth of the more intelligent animals lasts only some months, or, at the most, a very few years, as in the families of the elephants and man-like apes, human beings enjoy immaturity and parental protection during nearly a score of years. Thirdly, the possibilities of profiting by tradition are immensely increased for man by his power of speech; for language enables each generation to hand on to its successor a vastly greater store of acquired knowledge than can be transmitted in any other way; and, of course, the invention of writing has again immensely increased the possible mass of traditional knowledge. These three favour- STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 173 able conditions of development of the human mind go far to explain how it attains so vast a superiority to that of the highest animal. The study of animal behaviour, besides throwing light on the general nature of the in- nate basis of the human mind and on the general conditions of its development in the individual, helps us to elucidate its innate basis in detail, in that it affords us guidance when we seek to define the human instincts. For it becomes clear that, as the theory of continuous evolution demands, the human mind is endowed with a number of instincts which are very similar to some found in the higher animals, for example, the instincts of fear, of sex, and of pugnacity. While these are displayed in simple and unmistakable forms of behaviour among the animals, their operation in human beings is so largely modified and obscured by acquired modifica- tions and the power of self-conscious control, that without the analogy presented by animal behaviour the task of defining the human instincts would be one of extreme difficulty. The third way, we said, in which the study of animal behaviour illuminates the central problems of psychology is to show us the general nature and course of the evolution of which the human mind is the supreme 174 PSYCHOLOGY achievement. We must pass over this great topic with a very few words. We have already seen how the process of evolution has produced in its higher stages two great divergent types of mental structure; one of the two great lines of progress seems to have culminated in the higher insects, the other and more successful line has produced man. Now, when we contemplate the behav- iour of animals, representing both of these divergent lines of evolution, and that of the more lowly creatures, representing the com- mon stem from which the lines diverge, we are led to see the unity of type of all animal behaviour; for we note everywhere, as its characteristic marks, purposiveness, selectiv- ity, and adaptation through experience. We are thus led to recognize the same fundamen- tal mental faculties as operative at all levels of the evolutionary scale, but operating with very different degrees of efficiency according to the degree of development of mental struc- ture. In this way we reach the conclusion that mental evolution has been essentially a continuous evolution of mental structure, rather than a process marked at various levels by the sudden irruption of new faculties. Another important truth, brought home to us by this lme k of study, is that progressive STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 175 evolution has been primarily an evolution of mental structure and only secondarily one of bodily structure. For everywhere we find the bodily structure adapting itself to the mode of life and environment of the animal. When the mammal takes to seeking its food in the water, it acquires many of the bodily peculiarities of a fish, becoming a whale or a porpoise; when the reptile or the mam- mal learns to seek its prey in the air, its bodily structure approximates to that of a bird; when the water-breather learns to come on to the land, he loses his gills and acquires lungs; and so in thousands of cases: the change of mode of life or of behaviour leads to change of bodily structure. But the change of be- haviour is the expression of a change of men- tal structure. Other changes of habitat and consequent changes of bodily structure, col- our, and so forth, conform to the same prin- ciple: either the species is forced into a new habitat, or, owing to some change in its mental constitution, seeks a new environment; and in both cases the individuals of each gen- eration adapt their behaviour as best they can to the new environment, while the bodily structure gradually follows suit. Thus, men- tal evolution leads the way, and evolution of bodily structure is in the main the conse- 176 PSYCHOLOGY quence of it; and this remains true, no matter what theory of the conditions of evolution we adopt. Unlike Darwin, most of the biologists of the present day leave the mental powers out of account altogether, when they seek to account for biological evolution; but if it is primarily a mental evolution this procedure is doomed to failure. And the hopelessness of such mindless biology may be deduced in another way. Evolution, so far as we can at present see, has been brought about either through the transmission from one generation to another of the structural effects cf the efforts of creatures at more complete adaptation to their environment; or by the natural selec- tion of the so-called spontaneous variations, in the course of the unremitting struggle for existence to which we all, men and animals alike, are committed; or, more probably, by both processes. In either case the work of the mind has been an all-important condition of such evolution; for, even if natural selec- tion of spontaneous variations has been the sole method of evolution, such selection was only rendered possible by the struggling for existence, that is, by the sustained purposive efforts of the animals to maintain their own lives and to propagate their species. Animal STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 177 evolution, that is to say, however it may have been with plant evolution, has been the product of the struggles of the animal, of their purposive efforts to survive; for the factor determining survival or destruction in chief measure has always been success or failure of the purposive activity of the animal; to this all other factors have been subordinate. Thus the main stress, the brunt of the work of evolution, has been borne by the mind; the mind has been the pioneer of bodily evolu- tion; the bodily organs and functions have been merely the instruments through which the mind has accomplished its purposes. We see, then, how distorted is any view of the evolutionary process which represents mind as a mere bye-product of its later stages; first coming into being, when the physical processes within the nervous systems of animals reached a certain degree of com- plexity. Yet that is a view of mental evolu- tion which has been widely entertained. Before leaving this topic, it must be pointed out that in the study of animal behaviour lies our best, perhaps our only, hope of answering the question Are acquired char- acters transmitted? Are the adaptations of behaviour and the consequent modifications of structure (bodily or mental) achieved by 178 PSYCHOLOGY the efforts of individuals, transmitted in any degree to their progeny? This is the most urgent and practically important biological problem, perhaps the most important of all problems, a definite answer to which we may confidently hope to obtain by the methods of empirical science. Biologists have been divided into two acutely opposed parties by this question, ever since doubt was thrown on such trans- mission; the majority denying it dogmati- cally, a strong minority as confidently affirm- ing it. So long as we have no positive answer to this question, there can be no progress made with many of the major problems of biology and of sociology, and a wise decision on some of the most far-reaching legislative and ad- ministrative problems is wholly impossible. For example, the solution of the eugenic problem, the practical problem of promoting the progress of the human race, or of any section of it, or of preventing its deterioration, hangs upon the answer to this question. It is difficult for us to view this problem dis- passionately in relation to ourselves; let us, therefore, consider it for a moment in relation to the negro race, in order to bring home to our minds its vast importance. It seems indisputable that the negro race is, in certain STUDY OF ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR 179 respects, at a lower level of mental evolution than the white race; now, if acquired charac- ters are transmitted, even in a very slight degree only, we may reasonably hope that, after the negro race shall have been subjected to the better influences of civilization for a number of generations, it will be raised to a higher level of innate intellectual and moral capacity. If, on the other hand, acquired characters are not in any degree transmitted, as the majority of biologists assert, then there is no hope that the civilization and educa- tion of the negro peoples, no matter how wisely and beneficently the work may be directed, will of themselves raise them to a higher level of innate capacity. It is clear, then, that our hopes and our practical policy in relation to the negro race (and to all other races of mankind) must be profoundly affected by the establishment of the true answer to this question. For a whole generation at least this question has been pressing for an answer, and no progress has been made with it. Yet if a tenth, or even a hundredth, part of the money which is devoted to research in physical science, in order to add to our material com- forts and conveniences, could be diverted to promote the study of animal behaviour, this 180 PSYCHOLOGY problem could be rapidly solved. For there is every reason to believe that the answer to it which is true of the animals is true also of man. CHAPTER VI THE STUDY OF CHILDHOOD WE have seen in a previous chapter that the experimental methods of observation are being applied to a great variety of psycho- logical problems, and to none more energeti- cally than to those which are of immediate importance from the educational point of view. Many of these experimental observa- tions are made by and upon children, espe- cially such experiments as can be carried on collectively with a considerable group of subjects. Much of the work of this sort has been directed to the elucidation of very spe- cial problems. But the study of children has also its bearings on the wider and more gen- eral problems of the mind and its develop- ment. It has been rendered far more fruitful of results than it otherwise could have been by the light thrown by the theory of organic evolution and by the principle of recapitula- tion the principle, namely, that in the course of his development each individual recapitu- THE STUDY OF CHILDHOOD 181 lates or retraces, however roughly and imper- fectly, the steps by which his species was evolved. In the light of this theory and of this principle, it has become obvious that the development of the mind of the child, far from being a mere moulding of it by the impres- sions rained upon it by its environment, is itself a process of evolution in the proper sense of the word, an unfolding of latent potentialities. In other words, we have learnt that, though education may do much, hered- ity is all-important; and that education can but refine, perfect, or restrain the native tendencies of the mind. The greatest prob- lem for the solution of which we have to rely largely on the study of children may, then, be stated as follows: What is the nature of the mental inheritance of the normal man? What powers, faculties, tendencies, or mental structures, does he inherit? What is the natural order or sequence of their evolu- tion? The importance, both practical and theoretical, of finding the answers to these questions, is equalled by the difficulty of the task. A part of the mental inheritance of the normal man can be roughly defined with some confidence, and the natural order of its evolu- tion can be stated in general terms. This part 182 PSYCHOLOGY consists of the human instincts. These, as in other animal species, seem to be common to the whole human race. The recognition of their presence and of their several natures is rendered difficult, first, by their highly general character; secondly, by the fact that most of them mature, or come into operation, only when the individual has made some consider- able intellectual progress; thirdly, by the great development in man of the power of control and modification of the instinctive tendencies, or, in other words, by the complex interaction of the conative tendencies which results from the high complexity of the men- tal organization. The main phases of the development of the child are determined by the successive ripening of these instincts. The one which generally produces the prof oundest effects effects which make themselves felt throughout well-nigh the whole of the mental life is the sex instinct. Whether this is normally operative in any degree before the onset of puberty is an obscure question on which opinions differ widely; but it is clear that it either first comes into operation at puberty, or becomes much more powerfully operative at that time; and it is clear also that the profound bodily and mental changes which characterize that period of life are THE STUDY OF CHILDHOOD 183 largely due to its evolution. The very great influence upon the course of mental life which is often exercised by it, is due not only to the great strength of the impulse to which its excitement gives rise, but also to the fact that it begins to exert its strong influence at a time when the rest of the mind has attained a high level of development, when self-con- sciousness has already become highly elab- orated, and when the individual has already formed a complex system of sentiments and habits and has entered into a complex system of social relations; for the awakening of this new impulse, however blind it may remain, necessitates profound readjustments of all these acquisitions, and affects profoundly many judgments of value and many emo- tional attitudes. For these reasons the period of puberty is of critical importance, and the study and understanding of it are an impera- tive necessity to the educator. But this instinct is only first in strength and influence among others; and the obvious importance of the study of it serves to make us appreciate the need for the definition and understanding of other powerful instincts, and of the course of then* evolution in the human being. When we turn to ask What besides the instincts is comprised in the innate constitu- 184 PSYCHOLOGY tion of the human mind? we find the widest divergences of opinion and the greatest diffi- culty in returning any answer. What we have called the mental faculties are, of course, inherited. But does the inheritance include anything more than these and the instincts? If we are right in saying that any mind can be wholly described in terms of its faculties and its structure, we may put the question in the following form: Does the native basis of the mind comprise any dispositions in addition to those which enter into the composition of the instincts; and, if so, to what extent are they systematically linked together? We cannot answer this question with a negative. There is certainly much beside the faculties and the instincts comprised in the native basis of each human mind. If there were not, it would be impossible ade- quately to account for the vast superiority of the mind of the human adult to that of the highest of the animals. Some of those who regard the mind purely from the physiological standpoint, and who believe that all we have called the structure of the mind can be adequately described in terms of the organ- ized structure of the brain, take the view that the superiority of the native endowment of man consists chiefly or wholly in the presence THE STUDY OF CHILDHOOD 185 in the brain of the infant of a great mass of unorganized nervous tissue, which offers un- limited possibilities of progressive organiza- tion. But, even if we accepted the assump- tion that the structure of the mind can be wholly described in terms of nervous disposi- tions and their connections, we could not accept the view that nothing of the mental organization beyond the instincts is innate. We have to recognize that the greater part of what we have called the logical structure of the mind is innately given; that is to say, that there are given the principal great cognitive systems, by means of which we implicitly think the most general properties and relations of things, in thinking of particu- lar objects. No direct proof of the truth of this view can be offered; but in support of it the following considerations maybe advanced. The fact that the human mind develops so far beyond the highest animal mind can- not be wholly accounted for by the more favourable conditions of its development; of which, as we have seen, the highly general character of its instincts, prolonged youth, and the use of language as the instrument of communication and tradition, are the chief. If the superiority resulted from such condi- tions merely, it should be possible, by careful 186 PSYCHOLOGY training, to raise the mind of an animal much nearer to the human level than it can actually be brought. As a matter of fact the most favourable conditions and the most care- ful training bring the animal mind but a very little part of the way towards the human mind. Again, the behaviour of young children affords evidence of their implicit knowledge of such things and relations as space, spatial relations, thinghood, causality, at a time when they are quite incapable of explicitly thinking of such objects, and when they can hardly be supposed to have built up such knowledge through their own experience. But perhaps the strongest evidence is afforded by the inequalities of the intellectual and moral development, as respects both kind and degree, of children placed under similar conditions and influences. These in- equalities are much greater than any that could be attributed to favouring or retarding influences. For we see sometimes a child growing up under the most unfavourable con- ditions of every kind, and yet rapidly and easily attaining a high level of development; and we see others under the most favourable conditions remaining stupid and of low moral level, or exhibiting special intellectual defects or moral deformities. THE STUDY OF CHILDHOOD 187 Again, among those children who develop exceptionally high powers, we commonly find that the development of these powers cannot be accounted for by the influences of their environments. And in many cases it is ob- vious that their special excellences are innate or have an innate basis; for the same pecu- liarities can be traced in their ancestry through several generations; they are, therefore, hereditary, and whatever is inherited is in- nate. The most striking instances are those in which the hereditary peculiarity takes the form of excellence (or defect) in highly spe- cial forms of mental activity, such as musical and mathematical talent; but similar evi- dence of highly special innate powers and tendencies is afforded by the appearance of numberless family traits, idiosyncrasies of thought and feeling, and special mental ex- cellences and defects of many kinds. Perhaps the most striking evidence is afforded by the study of twins, who sometimes, even though brought up under very different influence??, exhibit very close resemblances of intellect and character. In short, the more children are studied from this point of view, the more far-reaching does the influence of heredity appear. Now, although it is generally impos- sible to define in anything but the roughest 188 PSYCHOLOGY way the innate bases of these hereditary peculiarities, we seem compelled to believe that they consist in large part at least in inherited mental structures of very consider- able degrees of specialization. Here, then, is an immense field for research, the extent and importance of which we are only just beginning to realize. And it is a field for the psychologist. He alone can hope to define the problems in the detailed way which is the necessary presupposition of fruitful work in this field. This is sufficiently shown by the few attempts made to enter it by biologists and statisticians without psy- chological preparation. They tend to work in terms of the confused notions and crude distinctions embodied in popular speech; they attempt to determine the inheritance of such questionable entities as good temper, courage, conscientiousness, or popularity; ignoring the necessity of accurate psychological analy- sis of the constitution of the mind as the pre- liminary to all such work. If education, properly understood and practised, is what the word implies, a drawing out of the native powers of the mind, a wise direction and control of the process of spon- taneous development of innate tendencies, surely, when every civilized nation devotes THE STUDY OF CHILDHOOD 189 enormous sums of money and the self-sacri- ficing energy of many thousands of teachers to the work of educating its children, it must be worth while to find out what are those innate tendencies and what is their normal course of development. Individual Psychology Individual Psychology is a field for the application of the knowledge and under- standing acquired by study in the other de- partments of the science, rather than a branch which directly contributes towards the solu- tion of its general problems. Its work is to define the peculiarities of mental constitution which render the behaviour and the develop- ment of each individual human being unique. Its success depends upon the degree of prog- ress achieved by the other departments. For, before we can give an adequate ac- count of the individual, we must be able to describe in general terms the innate basis of the mind, in so far as it is common to all men; and we must be able to state the general principles of the development of the mind under the joint influences of its native ten- dencies and of its environment. In this field psychology comes near to art; for biography, fiction, and drama are largely concerned with 190 PSYCHOLOGY the portrayal of the intellectual and moral peculiarities of individuals. It is true that at the present time the char- acter of an individual may be more effectively displayed by the sympathetic intuition of the artist, than by the application of the rudi- ments of psychological science that have hitherto been built up. But, as psychology progresses, it will more and more aid in the accurate delineation of individual disposition and temperament and character; and it will enable us, not only to portray, but also to understand and explain them in terms of heredity and the laws of mental development. What accurate work is being done in this field mainly takes the form of experimental determination of capacities to execute definite tasks. The task set is of such a nature that the degree of excellence attained by the subject is capable of being accurately stated in terms of the number of some unit, units of rate, or of repetition, or of errors committed. By the application of such a "mental test" to any number of subjects under strictly similar conditions, the subjects may be placed in an order of merit in respect of excellence in the performance of the task. Now it is perhaps not possible to devise tests which can be regarded as testing any one mental function THE STUDY OF CHILDHOOD 191 purely. It might, for example, seem an easy matter to devise a simple test for memory. But, whatever form of test is applied, at least two very different functions are involved, and the degree of excellence of each perform- ance depends on both of them namely, the function of committing to memory, and the function of retaining that which has been committed. In a similar way every other simple experiment tests not a single function, but a complex of functions. Nevertheless the application of a well- chosen set of carefully devised tests to a group of subjects, say fifty or more children of the same age and school experience, is capable of throwing much light upon their relative capacities; and, if the process is repeated at intervals of six months or a year, further light upon their individual peculiarities is obtained. Little has yet been done in this direction; but there seems to be no reason why we should not ultimately work out a scheme of mental tests which will allow us to estimate the intellectual capacities of any individual with considerable accuracy, and to assign him his place in an empirical scale of capacity, far more accurately than can be done by any other method of examination yet devised. One great advantage of such a method of estimat- 192 PSYCHOLOGY ing intellectual capacity over our ordinary examination methods is that it should enable us to distinguish more fully the respective shares of native capacity and of acquired knowl- edge in the performances of any individual. The data obtained by the application of mental tests may be made to yield further conclusions of great interest by the mathe- matical treatment of them according to the principle of correlation. By applying this method we can discover what kinds of excel- lences or defects commonly go together in the composition of the human mind. For example, we take the two lists of figures repre- senting the achievements of a considerable group of subjects under two different tests, and arrange them in order of merit; then, if the subjects appear approximately in the same order of merit in the two lists, we may infer that the functions involved in the two performances are correlated, i. e. that they tend to be of the same level of excellence in the same subjects. And if we find no such correspondence between the two lists, or if we find an inverted correspondence, those near the top of one list being near the bottom of the other; then we may infer that there is no correlation, or a negative correlation, between the functions involved. ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 193 With this very brief indication of a method of investigation which not only promises great things for Individual Psychology, but which raises also the prospect of effecting ul- timately a complete objective analysis of the mental functions, we must pass on to our next topic, namely, the study of abnormal mental processes. CHAPTER VH ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY ABNORMAL psychology offers a vast and fascinating and, just at the present time, a very fruitful field of research. It can probably claim a much larger number of serious stu- dents than any of the other departments, and it excites much more popular interest than any of them. The ordinary man is so accustomed to the ordinary behaviour of normal men and to his own habitual modes of thinking, that he cannot see behind them any problems to be solved. The notion of any one trying to find out more about the human mind than he himself knows, generally fills him with im- patient scorn, even though he may be pre- pared to tolerate those who spend their lives in classifying beetles or minutely describing the skeletons of microscopic animalcules. 194 PSYCHOLOGY But, when one meets a man who gravely and persistently asserts that his conduct is con- stantly governed by the voice of an invisible being, or that he sees beside him a human figure which none other can see, or that he is the mperor of the world; or when one hears of a man who repeatedly inflicts painful mutila- tions upon his own body, or who refuses to move hand or foot for months at a time; then even the dullest man is startled into curiosity, and feels himself in presence of a fact that calls for explanation and understanding. Abnormal psychology comprises a num- ber of sub-departments, which in the main have been pursued independently by different bodies of workers; happily, in recent years these groups have come more closely together ,and are now giving mutual aid. We may broadly distinguish two groups of these ; sub-departments, namely, those that are concerned with minds in definitely morbid or pathological states, and those concerned with distinctly unusual or abnormal states of mind which cannot fairly be classed as mor- bid. The former group consists of two sub- xdepartments: the study of mental diseases proper and that of the psycho-neuroses. The separation of these studies is largely conven- tional and professional rather than scientific, ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 195 and there is manifest at the present time a strong tendency to abolish it. Until recent years the study of mental diseases proper had in the main been pur- sued in strange detachment from the other branches of psychology, and it had thrown but little light on the major problems of the science. This was mainly due to the prevalence among the physicians for mental diseases of a tendency to seek to understand and explain all the morbid conditions of mind in terms of structural disorder or disease of the brain only. Some mental diseases are primarily diseases of the brain, and in cases of certain types gross inflammatory or degenerative changes of the brain tissues are regularly found upon post mortem examination. But this fact does not justify the assumption that all mental disease is of this nature; and of late years there has appeared a strong tendency to seek for mental or functional causes of the abnormal course of mental process in insane patients. This tendency has been greatly stimulated by the modern develop- ments of the other department of mental pathology. In this second department the disease which provides the largest number of patients and the most interesting material for the student of psychology is hysteria. 196 PSYCHOLOGY A generation ago the attitude of the medi- cal profession towards hysteria and allied abnormal conditions was, with very few exceptions, wholly unscientific, being based merely on popular psychology. It was vaguely recognized that the extraordinary behaviour of the hysterical patient implied some kind of mental abnormality, and that no gross disease of the nervous system was implied by it. But the tendency then prev- alent may be crudely described by saying that the abnormal behaviour of the hysteric was attributed to "pure cussedness"; the treatment accorded was "firmness," strong electric shocks, cold douches, and other decorous substitutes for a sound birching. To a small group of French physicians belongs in the main the credit of having put the study of hysteria and allied conditions on a scientific basis, by showing that the patients must be regarded as suffering from a disorder of men- tal origin and must be treated in the main through the mind. They succeeded in show- ing that in many such cases, perhaps in all, the essence of the disorder is some division of the mind into parts which, instead of co- operating in normal fashion, function more or less independently of one another and even enter into some sort of rivalry. It was shown ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 197 that, while in the majority of cases the divi- sion takes the form of the separation of some minor functions only, in others there occurs something like a separation of functions into two rival systems that compete with one another for the control of behaviour, some- times the one, sometimes the other predomi- nating; and it was shown that more rarely such rival systems seem to maintain their activities simultaneously, the behaviour of the patient seeming to express at any one mo- ment the purposes of two minds. In this way was introduced the notion of the division or splitting of the personality, resulting in alternating or in coexistent dual personali- ties. Of these two conceptions, that of alter- nating personalities is the clearer and more intelligible. Under it are generally classed rare cases of the type which in former ages was explained as due to "possession" of the body of the patient by a "demon" or by the spirit of some deceased person. In a typical well-marked case of this sort, the patient's normal life suddenly gives way to a period in which he behaves in a manner altogether "unlike himself." He wanders perhaps to some distant place, and there takes up some new mode of life under a new name, behaving sufficiently like a normal person to 198 PSYCHOLOGY avoid the attention of the police or of the medical profession. After weeks, months, or years of the new mode of life, he suddenly changes again, perhaps waking up one morn- ing to find that his surroundings are wholly strange to him, and that he remembers noth- ing of his past life from the moment at which lie left home; in short, he becomes himself again, after being to all intents and purposes a different person. Thereafter he may re- lapse at longer or shorter intervals into the secondary state, "coming to himself" again after each period of secondary existence. In the greater number of such cases, each of the two alternating personalities has no direct knowledge of the other or of his doings, the period of the dominance of the one being a complete blank for the memory of the other; and the two personalities commonly differ widely in respect to temperament. It is attempted to render such cases intel- ligible by pointing out that most of us ex- perience from time to time changes similar in kind, though much less in degree; for example, one passes into a mood in which all one's thinking has an unusual emotional tone, say, a tone of melancholy; and so long as this tone prevails, one dwells upon gloomy memories, forgetting the brighter phases of ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY one's past life, one's thinking reaches pessi- mistic conclusions, and one's behaviour reveals this inward gloom. Now, it is said, imagine this condition to be accentuated and recur- rent, and you have an approximation to alternation of personalities; the border-line being crossed when the emotional tones of the alternating periods become so widely different that in each period the memories only of the periods of congruent tone are recoverable. The cases of dual personality of the con- current type are rarely so extreme. The existence of a secondary personality is inferred from .certain features of the behaviour of the bodily organism which seem to bear no rela- tion to the thinking of the subject, so far as he can reveal it to us; for example, the patient has an anaesthetic or insensitive arm and hand, and this can be induced to write intelligible answers to questions whispered in his ear, while the subject, who afterwards denies all knowledge of both question and answer, maintains an animated conversation with a third person. Or the anaesthetic hand may be pricked a given number of times, and, though the subject remains, so far as can be ascertained, unaware that the hand has been, touched, the hand itself may be induced to write down the number of the pricks. 200 PSYCHOLOGY In such cases, according to the commonly received view, the impressions made on the anaesthetic limb fail to affect the thinking of the subject, but evoke instead a feeble trickle of mental activity, which flows on as an independent subsidiary stream alongside the main stream; since this main stream is, as it were, deprived of the influence of these sense-impressions, the lesser stream is said to have been split off from the greater. The facts are interpreted after the analogy of a river which overflows its banks at one spot, and thus sends off a small divergent stream which follows for a time a separate course. In the rarest and most interesting of all these strange cases of dual personality, the phenomena of the alternating and the con- current types are presented by the same organism. During the dominance of the normal personality, a secondary personality reveals itself occasionally in the production of movements of which the normal personality remains unconscious or for which he denies all responsibility, and which yet express intelligent appreciation of the circumstances of the moment; and later, when the secondary personality is dominant, he claims to remem- ber the incident and to have willed the "auto- matic" movements. ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 201 In face of such puzzling cases, some of which have been studied with the most admirable patience and acumen by the French physicians, and also more recently by some American doctors, any hypothesis must be put forward tentatively. The view that they all imply or result from some kind of division of the mental functions into two systems which carry on their activities in- dependently of one another this view finds support in many facts (though others cannot easily be reconciled with it), and is widely accepted. But this view is really nothing more than a hypothetical description of the condition, and needs to be supplemented by some hypothesis which will explain the pro- duction of the condition. Such an hypothesis is that of Professor Janet, to whom more than to any other our present knowledge of these states is due. He assumes that the unity of the mind, as normally revealed in the direc- tion of its activity towards one topic at any one moment, is conditioned by the exercise of a synthetic power or energy which is one of the fundamental functions or faculties of mind; and he supposes that, in the patients who exhibit these curious modes of behaviour, this synthetic energy is for one reason or another defective; hence, he says, the mind 202 PSYCHOLOGY cannot perform so completely as the normal mind its unifying function, and its activities, instead of being harmonized in one stream which, however broad and deep, is neverthe- less a single complex activity, fall apart into two or even more streams, with the result that the patient's field of consciousness or stream of mental activity is narrowed and that indi- cations of subconscious activities appear. In recent years our knowledge of this group of pathological states of mind has been further enriched by the work of Prof. Freud of Vienna, who also has sought to carry further the theoretical explanation of them by means of a system of ingenious hypotheses. At the present time these hypotheses are by no means generally accepted, but are the subject of a most lively and heated controversy; neverthe- less, they are so well supported by the good results obtained by many physicians who have applied them in the treatment of patients, and their interest from the point of view of the major problems of psychology is so great, that some indication of their nature must be given here. The French conception of hysteria tends to be intellectualistic; i. e. it takes but little account of the function of will or conation in mental life. In the teaching of Freud a ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 203 leading role is assigned to conation. The fundamental fact from which the theory starts out is that our organized conative tendencies are apt to come into conflict with one another, producing what we called moral struggles. Every case of what is commonly called temptation involves such a conflict of conative tendencies; when, in such a con- flict, we conquer our temptation, our highly organized self -consciousness brings into opera- tion a strongly organized system of conative tendencies which support the more moral or social tendency in its conflict with the immoral or socially disapproved tendency, and thus secure the defeat of the latter. Now, we know that such a defeated tendency, or conquered temptation, is not always destroyed or wholly abolished by such a victory of one's moral nature in open conflict; we know that in some cases it recurs and requires to be thrust down again and again. But in many cases we succeed, either at once or after repeated conflicts, in banishing this temptation from consciousness. We commonly feel then that we have done with it and wholly cast it out or destroyed it. Now, it is possible or even probable that, when we stoutly face a tempta- tion, frankly recognizing it for what it is, an expression of a lower possibility of our nature, 304 PSYCHOLOGY a conative tendency opposed to our moral sentiments, and when we thus conquer it, the tendency is destroyed. But it seems (and this is the essential novelty in Freud's teach- ing) that many natures, especially perhaps women brought up in a strictly conventional manner, react hi a different way to their temptations; they are so horrified at the first dim awareness of the nature of their tempta- tion that they never frankly recognize it, never bring it out into the light in order to confront it in open conflict. The tendency is apt then to be repressed and yet to live and work in the mind in a subterraneous fashion; it becomes, as it were, a parasitic growth seeking constantly to force its way to con- sciousness, or, in other words, to determine the conscious thinking of the subject. But the subject's moral nature, being radically op- posed to it, maintains a rigid censorship, again in a subconscious fashion; and so there goes on a perpetual subterranean or subconscious conflict. In states of diminished mental alert- ness, as in dreaming or mere day-dreaming, this repression, maintained by the organized system of tendencies which constitute the moral nature, is liable to partial remission; it becomes less effective, and then the re- pressed tendency finds its chance to deter- ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 205 mine the subject's conscious thinking. Even in such states, it commonly fails to express itself directly and clearly in the course of the subject's thinking, but rather finds expression only in symbolical fashion. Thus, in the dreams of such a person, the repressed ten- dency is apt to manifest itself in a flight of imagery which, when described by the dreamer, may seem to have no relation to the repressed tendency, and which is not recognized by the dreamer as so related, but which in reality symbolizes the course of events subconsciously desired by him. In this way, it is held, the tendency achieves a certain measure of the satisfaction which in the waking state is wholly denied to it by the rigid censorship of the moral nature. Such analysis and interpretation of dreams occupies a very important position in Freud's system of psycho-pathology; for it was a main point of departure from which the whole system was developed; and it discovers an analogy between the dream-experiences of normal persons and the processes which are assumed to underlie and express themselves in the symptoms of hysteria. It has, therefore, been much criticized; but there can be little doubt that, though some of its most enthusias- tic exponents have gone too far in asserting 206 PSYCHOLOGY that every dream is determined by the sub- conscious working of a repressed tendency, such interpretation does in some cases hit the mark and reveal a wealth of subconscious mental activity of which the dream is the expression in consciousness. It may be objected How is it possible to establish any such interpretation? How can it be more than guesswork? To this the reply is that the interpretation is achieved by an intricate process of delicate analysis; and, though this process opens the door to many possibilities of error, yet on the whole the analysis of a very large number of dreams by various observers who have used this method, has revealed a certain lawfulness and consistency of mode of operation which forbid us to set aside the interpretations as purely arbitrary; and further, they are borne out by the analogous processes revealed as issuing in the symptoms of hysterical patients. The symptoms of the hysteric take the form not only of perverted modes of thinking, such as the baseless conviction of having performed some reprehensible action, or other troublesome obsessions; but also very com- monly that of the performance of seemingly senseless actions, of paralysis of various or- gans, legs, arms, organs of speech, and so ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 207 forth; and of anaesthesia or complete insensi- tiveness of parts of the skin or of other sense- organs. Now, according to the doctrine of Freud, these symptoms also are, like the per- verted course of thinking, and like the think- ing of the dreamer, symbolical expressions of repressed tendencies. We ha veto suppose that in the normal person the mental forces which maintain the repression suffice to prevent any expression of the tendency save in dreams, or in reverie, or in occasional bodily movements which seem to be senseless and accidental; but that in certain persons, whose mental energy is depressed either by violent emotional shock, by long-continued excess of work, or by the persistent subconscious conflict between the repressed tendency and the moral nature, the repressing forces fail to accomplish their task in an adequate manner; so that the ten- dency succeeds in asserting itself more fully, though still in a symbolical or indirect manner only. The symptoms of the hysterical patient thus appear as so many disguises, adopted by a repressed tendency in order to evade the censorship of the moral nature and to obtain a partial satisfaction through playing some part in the determination of conscious thought and of behaviour. A relatively simple type of such indirect 208 PSYCHOLOGY expression of a repressed tendency, which may serve to illustrate the principle, is the re- current hallucinatory perception of some object. The object thus falsely perceived is found in some cases to be one with which the patient happened to be employed at the moment of some emotional crisis in the course of the moral conflict that resulted in repres- sion; such an object has no intrinsic con- nection with the tendency, and the occasion of the perception of it may have escaped the conscious memory of the patient; and, just for this reason it would seem, it is seized upon by the repressed tendency as a means of evading the censorship and securing a secret satisfac- tion. In a classical instance of this type recorded by Freud, the patient complained of perceiving almost constantly a strong odour of burnt pudding. Of this hallucination she could suggest no explanation; yet it was ultimately found that, at a moment of emo- tional crisis in the history of a repressed love attraction, she had been occupied with a burnt pudding. Now, as of the interpretation of dreams, the reader properly and naturally asks What proof can be given of the correctness of such interpretation of symptoms? The answer is twofold : first, when by a long and ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 209 delicate process of analysis the physician has discovered a repressed tendency and its prob- able connection with such a symptom, the patient frequently remembers the circum- stances which determined the form of the symptom and recognizes the significance at- tributed to it; secondly, it appears that in many cases, when the patient has been led to recognize frankly the nature of the tendency which has been repressed, to face it coura- geously, and to bring the whole history of it under the free criticism of his intellectual and moral nature, all the symptoms rapidly disap- pear and the patient is restored to health. A useful confirmation of the reality of the subconscious operation of conative tendencies has been provided by the application of a very simple experimental procedure to both normal and abnormal subjects. If a list of words is called aloud to any subject, he having been instructed to reply to each one by calling aloud some other word with the least possible delay, he will reply to most of the words after a delay whose duration is not more than one or two seconds; but in any considerable list of words so applied, there are usually a few to which his reaction is longer delayed or in some other respect abnormal. And it is found, in nearly all such cases, that the word 210 PSYCHOLOGY in question has some emotional significance, or that the object denoted is connected in the mind of the subject with some strong conative tendency, often one more or less repressed. Enough, perhaps, has been said to suggest the nature of this new system of ideas, and to indicate their value and significance. It is sometimes asked What has psychology done to enable us to benefit in any way our fellow-men? Much might be said in reply to this question, but perhaps the most striking answer would be to point to a number of men and women, who, after being for many years a painful burden to themselves and their friends, and after having been subjected without benefit to many forms of medical treatment, have been restored to health and happiness and usefulness by the application of psychological knowledge and psychological theory. This new doctrine and the practice based upon it are of importance not only in the one province of medicine in which they have been worked out; their interest and importance go far beyond those limits. They are leading to a great extension of the psychological attitude towards mental diseases of all kinds; and they are opening vistas of great extensions of our knowledge of the workings of the normal mind; especially ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 211 they are revealing a realm of subconscious mental activity, the existence of which had been vaguely conjectured, but which had remained unexplored and altogether prob- lematical. For both the continued repression of the reprehensible tendencies, and the proc- esses by which they partially evade control, are distinctly purposive activities; and the latter seem to involve in some cases complex and subtle operations. And, if the interpreta- tion of dreams according to this new method is not altogether fanciful, some complex dreams are not, as hitherto generally assumed, merely fortuitous and purposeless streams of pictorial fancies; rather, they are full at every point of significance, are in fact highly elabo- rated trains of symbolical imagery produced by ingeniously selective and constructive thinking, which, while remaining subcon- scious, is guided and sustained by a hidden purpose or design. If the symptoms of the hysteric, and the imagery that fills the consciousness of the dreamer, are the products of elaborate though subconscious mental activity, we may fairly suppose that the waking thoughts of the normal man may be in part the expression of similar subconscious activities; and Freud and his followers are actively carrying then* prin- 212 PSYCHOLOGY ciples into many fields of normal psychology, and especially are applying them to throw light upon the genesis of works of art and literature. In this way morbid psychology is being brought into fruitful relations both with normal psychology and with the study of mental states and processes that are abnormal without being morbid. These latter constitute a wide field of study which can only be negatively defined by say- ing that it comprises all states and processes that are neither normal nor morbid. It may be roughly divided into two parts, that of the subnormal and that of the supernormal. The former comprises such states as idiocy and weak-mindedness, and alcoholic and other intoxications in so far as they involve impair- ment of mental processes. These are not without their own special interest, but they cannot compete in this respect with the super- normal manifestations; for in dealing with this division we are constantly confronted by the problem of the future evolution of the human mind, and we seem to get glimpses of immense possibilities, of modes of mental operation and communication indefinitely transcending the recognized limits of the usual and the normal. The principal topics of this field may be grouped under the following heads: ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 213 (1) Subconscious operations producing re- sults similar to those of normal thinking; (2) supernormal manifestations in the do- mains of intellect and character, including the production of works of genius, religious con- version, and mystical experiences; (3) super- normal influence of the mind over the body; (4) supernormal processes of communication between mind and mind. The phenomena falling under all these heads are connected by the fact that all of them seem to imply more or less extensive subconscious operations; and it has been attempted to bring them all under one ex- planation by the hypothesis that each of us has a twofold mental constitution and a double mental life; namely, the normal life of conscious thought conditioned by one of the two constitutions, and the subconscious mental life conditioned by a second more or less independent mind or department of the mind. Various names, such as the "sub- liminal self," the "subconscious mind," the "secondary self," and so forth, have been applied to this hypothetical department of the mind. Now, it cannot be too strongly laid down, in view of the popularity of these catch- words, that, as commonly used, they are little or nothing more than words that serve to 214 PSYCHOLOGY cloak our ignorance and to disguise from ourselves the need for further investigation. For the ordinary procedure is to postulate a "subconscious mind," and then merely to assign to its agency all the varied phenomena of a supernormal character, its nature re- maining completely undefined and its capa- cities for the production of marvels being regarded as without limit in any direction. It is, of course, a legitimate enterprise to attempt to work out an hypothesis of this sort; but we must recognize that none has yet been devised which can claim to be a satis- factory working hypothesis by which the facts can be brought into intelligible order. We must recognize also that the relations of subconscious operations to conscious thinking are in many cases so ultimate, so much of the nature of participation in the working out of a single purpose, that any such division of the mind into two unlike parts, such as is commonly implied by names of the kind men- tioned above, appears wholly unwarranted. We shall, therefore, do well to consider the supernormal phenomena under some such provisional classification as that suggested above, without committing ourselves to any hypothesis which attributes them all to any one special agency or entity. ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 215 (1) The evidence of subconscious opera- tions producing results similar to those of normal thinking is abundant. It is obtain- able experimentally in unlimited quantities by hypnotic and post-hypnotic suggestion. Hypnosis is an artificially induced condition of partial quiescence of the mind, allied to sleep. After a long period of unscientific dogmatic denial, the scientific world at last recognizes that this condition can be induced in the great majority of normal persons, and that it is in itself perfectly harmless. It is now recognized also that hypnotism (the study of hypnosis) opens many problems of the greatest interest and provides methods for investigating them. By means of it, many of the peculiarities of mental process character- istic of hysteria and other pathological states, and many of the supernormal phenomena, can be experimentally produced and studied; and it provides effective methods of treating many disorders in the production or mainte- nance of which a nervous or a mental factor plays a part. In the present connexion the facts of post- hypnotic suggestion claim our attention. Any good subject may be told, while in the hypnotic state, to perform some simple action at some definite time or upon some signal 21G PSYCHOLOGY being given; and, if then awakened before the appointed moment, he will cany out the suggestion, although he cannot remember in the interval or immediately after performing the action, even if closely questioned, what suggestion was given him. And the signal may be of such a nature that its appreciation involves mental activity of considerable com- plexity; for example, the subject may be told that he will open and shut the door when the observer touches his own face with his left hand for the eleventh time. In such a case (and the experiment may be varied and com- plicated indefinitely with the best subjects) the subject in some sense watches the operator, notes and counts the significant movements, and carries out the suggestion; and yet he truthfully denies that he was aware of the nature of the command given, or of the fact that the observer had touched his face even once; and in some cases the subject cannot even remember his execution of the sug- gested action immediately after its perform- ance. Here, then, is indisputable and abun- dant evidence that a train of purposive mental activity, which controls to some extent the behaviour of the subject, may go on while he is consciously thinking of other matters. Another and equally striking kind of ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 217 evidence of the same fact is afforded by "automatic" writing, an accomplishment which a certain number of normal persons are capable of acquiring. In an ordinary case of this kind the subject may sit read- ing or talking, while his hand, holding a pencil upon a writing-block, writes more or less coherent and intelligible passages of prose or verse, of which he remains ignorant until, like any other person, he reads the script. In various closely analogous ways other automatic movements may reveal guidance which is indisputably intelligent and yet independent of the conscious thinking of the subject; popular methods of inducing such movements are table-tilting with the finger tips, planchette writing, and the "ouija" game. In some cases these movements reveal knowledge of facts which cannot be recalled to conscious memory; and in others they reveal deliberate intention and ingenious design of which the subject remains unconscious. It should be added that the "automatic script" commonly consists chiefly of detached sen- tences or mere fragments of sentences; yet in some cases it consists of long connected passages not without literary merit. (2) Another type of evidence of the same class consists in the solution of problems, or 218 PSYCHOLOGY the production of written matter of literary merit, during sleep or while the mind is occu- pied with other matters. The special interest of these cases is that they form a transition to the processes of the second class (p. 213), namely, the production of works of genius, religious conversion, and mystical experience. For there is a natural tendency to set such processes apart by themselves and to accen- tuate their differences from normal mental process. But it is more conducive to an un- derstanding of them to seek and to accentuate the points of resemblance rather than those of difference. From this point of view we do well to begin the consideration of such facts by insisting on the large proportion of subcon- scious mental activity which is involved in our everyday thinking. Whoever has made on the spur of the moment a witty remark will probably be prepared on reflection to acknowl- edge that the words sprang to his lips without any deliberate search for them, and that the mental process, the assimilation of two seem- ingly unlike things, or relations, or what not, accomplished itself in secret, the result only coming to consciousness as the words issued from his lips; and he may subsequently have found, somewhat to his surprise, that there was more in his remark than he at first realized. ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 219 This is the kind of normal activity which we may set at the lower end of a continuous scale, at the upper end of which we may place the achievement of the greatest works of genius. At every level of this scale we seem to see at work the same factors or contributing conditions, but in very different proportions. In the first place it is to be noted that the subconscious activity which is revealed by the achievement expresses in some sense the previous mental development of the subject, his interests, knowledge, and character. The dull pedant does not suddenly coruscate in flashes of wit; the calculating prodigy does not solve problems in the higher branches of mathematics without previous study of those branches; the person who has neither learnt to enjoy, nor been trained in the technique of, a particular art does not suddenly produce a masterpiece. Sudden conversions and mys- tical experiences may seem in some cases to be exceptions to this rule; but it is doubt- ful whether on closer examination any such exception could be substantiated. It will usually be found that the religious convert or mystic, no matter how little his previous life may have shown the influence of religion, has been at some period of his life subjected to religious influences; in the common phrase 220 PSYCHOLOGY the good seed has been sown and has ripened in secret. Again, the subconscious activity usually expresses the influence of some conscious volition or conation. The problem which is solved during sleep is usually one with which the sleeper has striven while awake. Even the sudden outburst of wit implies a certain conative attitude. The sudden formulation of a great scientific hypothesis is preceded by much thinking directed to the problem. The compositions of the musician or the poet express his will to compose, often his explicit intention at the moment, but in any case a general attitude of his will. Even the auto- matic writer can to some extent voluntarily set himself to produce the automatic script. And religious conversion or ecstasy is usually preceded by a longing or striving for some change of life, some new mode of conscious- ness, though it may be little more than a vague discontent with life as hitherto known and lived. These considerations justify us in seeking to exhibit even the more extreme and extensive forms of subconscious activity as continuous with normal mental activities, rather than as processes of an altogether different order, wholly attributable to some second mind, whether a "subconscious mind" ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 221 of the subject or some mind external to and altogether independent of his normal mind. (3) The supernormal control of the mind over the bodily processes is a topic that has been brought into the forefront of popular interest of late years. Systems of mental healing, or at least methods of treating bodily disease that rely little or not at all on physical or chemical agencies, are enjoying a great vogue; and even the medical men of this country are becoming aware that there is " something in" hypnotism, and that the methods of suggestion and persuasion and even the claims of the "Christian Scientists" are deserving of some unbiased attention. In all this disputed region, in which the plain man of science feels himself to be walk- ing on a quagmire, surrounded with mists, the effects of hypnotic suggestion provide the one sure evidence that mental influences upon bodily processes may go far beyond the nor- mal or ordinarily recognized. And this evi- dence forbids us to shut our eyes to the possi- bility that some elements of truth and reality are mixed up with the large mass of error and deception that grows up in connexion with every system of mental healing. For it si lows us the reality of mental influences upon the nutrition, repair, and regulation of 222 PSYCHOLOGY bodily organs, which influences nevertheless completely elude our understanding; and it forces us to recognize that we can set no limit to the extent of such influences. It is char- acteristic of all or most of the methods of mental healing that, in so far as they are real, they involve mental activities which are largely subconscious. (4) Passing now to consider supernormal communication of mind with mind, we enter a region of critical importance for our inter- pretation of the foregoing classes of super- normal phenomena. For if, as has always been maintained by most of the religious systems, minds can communicate with, or in any way influence, one another in some direct fashion which does not involve the use of the organs of sense; then we must be prepared to look outside the mind of the individual for the explanation of some at least of the super- normal manifestations of mental activity. Explanations of this sort have always been accepted by the greater part of mankind: hence the crucial importance of any positive empirical evidence of such direct communica- tion or influence, and hence the need for the most impartial and critical examination of any evidence alleged to be of this nature. The word "telepathy" has recently come into ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 223 general use to denote the direct action of mind on mind; the crucial question may therefore be stated in the form Does telepathy occur? The efforts of the well-known Society for Psychical Research have for more than a generation been largely directed towards establishing an affirmative answer to this question, by means of experiments of many kinds and the collection and critical sifting of facts which seem to demand this hypothesis for their explanation. The evidence accumu- lated by these efforts is such as would suffice to establish the fact in dispute for all normal minds, were it not that the question is of so momentous importance. Admitting, then, the necessity of still hold- ing our minds in suspense on this question, let us glance at the prospect opened out by the highly probable, but not perhaps completely verified, assumption that telepathy occurs. If this assumption is accepted, the mind of the individual organism no longer appears as inevitably isolated from all other minds, or as communicating with them only by the medium of the bodily organs of expression and sense- perception; and it is open to us to seek to explain mental processes and effects that seem otherwise inexplicable as due to the direct influence of other minds. Two distinct 224 PSYCHOLOGY lines of explanation are then open to us. First, we may seek to explain certain super- normal mental processes by invoking the influence of some of those minds of which we have positive knowledge, namely, the minds of our contemporary fellow-men; we might, for example, suppose that religious conversions, or some of the supernormal effects of mind on body, are brought about by the influence of some one stronger mind, or by the concen- tration of several or many minds, upon the one. But this supposition would fail to ex- plain some of the facts and alleged facts, notably the inspirations of genius that exceed the powers of all other existing persons, and cases in which persons seem to display knowl- edge that was in the possession of no person living at the time. In this way, many of those who regard some of these supernormal manifestations as inex- plicable, unless the direct influence of mind on mind is assumed, are led to see in them evi- dence of the influence of disembodied minds. The study of abnormal psychology has thus become a field in which it is sought to find empirical evidence for two of the most ancient and widely held beliefs of the human race; namely, the belief in the survival of human personalities after bodily death, and the be- ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 225 lief in the communion of human with divine mind. Evidence in support of the former belief is sought chiefly in automatic speech or writing, which seems hi so many cases to express the personalities of deceased human beings. So faithfully are such personalities thus por- trayed that many hundreds of cultured men and women have become convinced that these "automatic messages" are what they so often seem and claim to be, namely, messages formulated in the still surviving minds of deceased persons, and somehow expressed through the medium of the automatic writer. Those whose first impulse is to dismiss this conception with a sneer should try to abstain from this course, until they have first-hand acquaintance with instances of this strange phenomenon. On the other hand, a hasty acceptance of this interpretation of the facts is equally to be deprecated. For the evalu- ation of the evidence is a most delicate and difficult work, requiring complete freedom from bias; yet the number of persons who are capable of maintaining the attitude of im- partial inquiry in the face of this evidence seems to be but a minute fraction of the cultivated world. Empirical support for the belief in com- 226 PSYCHOLOGY munion with the divine mind is sought along two lines chiefly. First, it is argued that the process of religious conversion is often one which cannot be accounted for in terms of the known properties of the human mind in general and of the mental peculiarities of the persons concerned. Secondly, it is pointed out that in all ages the specifically religious experiences of men, even of men brought up under the influence of the most diverse traditions, have certain features in common which mark them as the work of a common influence and point to their determination from a common source. Hence, it is argued, it is reasonable to believe that this religious experience, of which the fullest or completest type is the mystical sense of the absorption of the self in a larger whole, is what it appears to be to those who best know it; namely, an actual union or communion of the human mind with the divine mind. This reasoning has been urged in modern times by a number of writers, but by none so forcibly as by the late William James in his celebrated treatise, "The Varieties of Religious Experience.'* The influence of that work has been very great; and to it is largely due the fact that psychology, which until very recently was commonly regarded with hostile suspicion by ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY 227 the leaders of religious thought, as well as by the rank and file, seems now in a fair way to become the chosen handmaid of theology and even its principal support. For, since the publication of that book, there has sprung up what may almost be called a new branch of literature in the shape of several journals and a stream of articles and books, devoted to the psychology of religious experience and written for the most part by theologians. It will be seen from this brief review of the field of abnormal psychology that in most of its branches we are compelled to recognize the reality of subconscious mental operations; and that though the results both in behaviour and in consciousness of such operations are often similar to those of normal mental process, yet in many cases these results go beyond the normal. More than one attempt has been made to devise an hypothesis which will bring all these supernormal effects under one explanation. Of such attempts the most interesting, perhaps, is that of William James. He suggested that we may regard all minds as connected in some immediate fashion which permits of their reciprocal influence and of the conjunction of their powers; or, to put the notion in another way, that all mind, 228 PSYCHOLOGY human and infra-human as well as super- human mind, is one, and that our individual minds are but partial manifestations of the one mind, conditioned by the peculiarities of our bodily organisms. All the supernormal effects of mental action, including the ex- tremer instances of control of bodily processes, the expression of knowledge not acquired by any normal means, the supreme achieve- ments of genius, religious conversion and the ecstatic sense of absorption of the self in a larger all-comprehensive whole, which seems to be the extreme form of the specifically religious experience all these effects might then be attributed to a partial or temporary suspension of the conditions which commonly isolate the individual mind. No open-minded student of psychology will refuse to recognize the legitimacy and the fascination of such speculations. But the chief work of abnormal psychology must continue to be impartial observation and critical sifting of the empirical data, on the basis of which alone such speculations can be tested or verified. SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY 229 CHAPTER VIH SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY WHEN the student of behaviour has learnt from the various departments of Psychology, reviewed in the foregoing pages, all they can teach him of the structure, genesis, and modes of operation of the individual mind, a large field still awaits his exploration. If we put aside as unproven such speculations as that touched on at the end of the foregoing chapter, and refuse to admit any modes of communi- cation or influence between minds other than through the normal channels of sense- perception and bodily movement, we must nevertheless recognize the existence in a certain sense of over-individual or collective minds. We may fairly define a mind as an organ- ized system of mental or purposive forces; and, in the sense so defined, every highly or- ganized human society may properly be said to possess a collective mind. For the collec- tive actions which constitute the history of any such society are conditioned by an organ- ization which can only be described in terms of mind, and which yet is not comprised within the mind of any individual; the society is 230 PSYCHOLOGY rather constituted by the system of relations obtaining between the individual minds which are its units of composition. Under any given circumstances the actions of the society are, or may be, very different from the mere sum of the actions with which its several members would react to the situation in the absence of the system of relations which renders them a society; or, in other words, the thinking and acting of each man, in so far as he thinks and acts as a member of a society, is very different from his thinking and acting as an isolated individual. We shall presently consider more nearly what is implied in this proposition. But first it may be pointed out that, if we recognize the existence of collective minds, the work of social psychology falls under three heads. The one head is the study of the general principles of collective psychology, that is, the study of the general principles of collec- tive thinking and feeling and acting, as dis- played by men in social groups. Secondly, the general principles of collective psychology being given, there remains the study of the peculiarities presented by the collective be- haviour and mental life of particular societies. Thirdly, the mental life of any society with its socialized and organically related members SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY 231 being given, social psychology has to describe the way in which each new member entering the society becomes moulded to its traditional ways of thinking, feeling, and doing, until he is fit to play his part as a member and to con- tribute his influence to its collective mental life. This third division of the field of social psychology overlaps with and supplements in an important manner the study of the development of the individual mind. For, though it is possible to study this development in abstraction from the social setting of the individual, and to establish in this way certain laws of mental development, any such study must be in many respects incomplete and misleading. Every normal human being grows up under the constant influence of the society into which he is born, and his mental development is moulded by it at every point. He becomes the heir to an intellectual and moral tradition which has slowly been built up, bit by bit, through the efforts of thousands of generations. Even in the most primitive societies of savage men this tradition is al- ready very extensive and complex; and in our modern civilized societies it has advanced so far in these respects that no one mind can absorb more than a relatively small fraction 232 PSYCHOLOGY of the whole. Of the intellectual tradition the most important part is language, the instrument and condition of almost all fur- ther acquirement. In acquiring the com- mand of his native language a child has much more to learn than the adult who sets out to master a foreign tongue. For, while the latter has to do little more than to attach a new sound to some familiar object, the child, in learning to use words, is learning also to break up the whole world of his environment into a multitude of things, and to discern a multitude of distinctions and relations be- tween them. All these things, distinctions, and relations are but a selection from the infinite number which might be discerned by an all-powerful mind. The child makes a selection which is in the main that which is the basis of the culture of his society; and in making this selection he is largely in- fluenced by the language created by his forefathers, in order to mark these selected aspects of the w r orld. The normal child acquires also from his social group a great number of traditional beliefs about the objects which he has been led to recognize; most of which he continues to hold throughout his life, without ever questioning their truth or inquiring how he came to accept them. And SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY 233 in civilized societies he may acquire also the command of all, or some of, the powerful instruments of the intellect which have been built up by the labours of many generations, such instruments as written language, draw- ing, numbers, and mathematical knowledge. A more important part, perhaps, of the individual's social heritage is the moral tradition. Each one of us has to make this his own, not merely by acquiring knowledge of it, but by building up a system of moral sentiments; for it is questionable whether these are in any degree transmitted by he- redity; and even if a certain basis of the moral sentiments is thus transmitted, it is certain that much of the moral tradition has to be impressed anew upon each child, in order that he may become capable of controlling his behaviour in accordance with the moral code of his community. The preparation of the individual to play his proper part in the life of his community involves, then, a vast amount of shaping of his mental development by the influence of society; the understanding of this shaping process is clearly a matter of some importance. In so far as men have deliberately attempted to promote this process, they have acted upon theories which, especially as regards the shap- 234 PSYCHOLOGY ing of the character, have generally been of the most inadequate kind. From the ancients who taught that knowledge and virtue are identical, to Rousseau, the English Utilita- rians, and Herbert Spencer, the intellectualist and the hedonist fallacies, generally combined, have vitiated almost all theories of the proc- ess; and man has been persistently repre- sented as doing right because he realizes that honesty is the best policy. The practical out- come of all such theories is an undue reliance upon rewards and punishments and the pros- pect of pleasure or of pain, as regulators of conduct. Only a sounder psychology can save us from these fallacies. We must sweep away every trace of the doctrine that conduct proceeds essentially from a calculation of satisfactions to be yielded by this or that course; and we must put in its place the truth that every creature, whether animal, child, or man, behaves in this or that way, because the impulses with which he is innately en- dowed are set towards this or that end. From this it follows that the problem of moral education is the problem of directing the impulses towards appropriate objects, or, in technical terms, of linking the appropriate conative and cognitive dispositions. This SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY 235 cannot be achieved by any system of rewards and punishments, but only by a much more subtly working influence of society upon the developing individual. We must recognize that, in the influencing of the development of both the cognitive and the conative sides of the mind, logical reasoning plays but a secondary and occasional role, and that the processes by which society works upon the growing mind at every moment of its waking life are of a very different nature. These processes may be classed under three great heads suggestion, sympathy, and imi- tation. By "suggestion" we mean the proc- ess in virtue of which beliefs are induced in, or communicated to, the subject independ- ently of all logical reasoning to a conclusion. We tend to accept without question the beliefs we find established in the minds of our fellows; and to this tendency each of us owes by far the greater part of the beliefs which constitute the working capital of his intel- lect; even when we reason with strictest logic, we commonly reason from premises which are beliefs acquired in this unreasoning fashion. By "sympathy" we mean the tendency to experience, in face of the same object, the same emotions and impulses that are revealed 236 PSYCHOLOGY by the behaviour of our fellows. By the working of this principle the set of our im- pulses is regulated and brought into conform- ity with the moral tradition, or, in other words, the growth of our moral sentiments is directed. By "imitation" we mean the tendency to direct in detail the bodily movements to which our impulses prompt us, according to the pattern set us by our fellows; a tendency not without importance, though less profoundly influential than the other two. The elucidation of the subtle workings of these principles is the chief task of the one branch of social psychology. Here it must suffice to have indicated merely the nature of that task, and to say that some progress has already been made with it. In studying the general principles of collective psychology, we have to begin with the simplest forms of human and animal association; for, although it is only the more highly developed human groups that can properly be said to manifest a collective mind, yet the modes of reciprocal influence of the individual and of the group, which are essen- tial to the existence of the collective mind, are displayed in relatively simple forms by groups of low degrees of organization. SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY 237 We must pass over the fascinating study of animal societies, noting merely the most important of its lessons; namely, first, that the prime condition of the existence of animal societies is the gregarious instinct; and sec- ondly, that the harmonious co-operation of the members of the group, especially in flight and in defence, is secured by the ten- dency to sympathetic reaction which is in- nate in each member (see p. 171). This primi- tive sympathetic tendency, the reader may be reminded, is merely an instinctive tendency to respond, to the expressions characteristic of each of the principal innate impulses of the species, with a similar impulse and emo- tional excitement. We see this principle illustrated in the most perfect and simple manner among the most social of all the animals, namely, the hive bees. The removal of the queen from the midst of her immediate attendants produces in them a distress which expresses itself in a peculiar note; and this note rapidly evokes a similar distress, simi- larly expressed, throughout all the bees pres- ent in the hive. The restoration of the queen (or even of her dead body or of some object impregnated with the odour of her body) transforms the distress of the bees in her immediate neighbourhood to a pleasurable 238 PSYCHOLOGY excitement, which in turn expresses itself in a characteristic note and is rapidly spread by the agency of this sound throughout the hive. The note expressive of anger spreads in like manner this excitement throughout the hive; and in all probability the same is true of notes expressing other emotional impulses. When we turn to consider the simplest form of human association, namely, the fortuitously collected crowd of men, we see that it owes its most striking peculiarities to this same sympathetic principle. The notorious characteristic of the crowd is the violence of the outbursts of the primary emotions and impulses. The panic is the simplest and most striking type of such collective excitement; it is displayed by human crowds just as simply and terribly as by animal groups. If some hundreds of men are gathered together in one place, and if some few of them are terrified and give audible and visible expression to then* fear, the excitement is apt to spread almost, instantaneously throughout the whole group ; even though the object that primarily pro- voked it in the few remains hidden from the mass. And the excitement intensifies itself from moment to moment; because each man SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY 239 not only responds to the first cry of fear with a thrill of the same emotion, but also, as he looks round to discover the threatening danger, he sees fear expressed on every face and in every gesture, and hears it in every voice. Thus the emotion is propagated and accentuated by the primitive sympathetic tendency; and with it the impulse to escape grows stronger, until it becomes uncontrol- lable and, dominating all members of the crowd, drives them on to those wild struggles to escape in which men seem to lose all the human attributes, and to sink back to the level of purely animal behaviour. If the panic affords the most striking and terrible illustration of collective emotion, all the other crude emotions and impulses seem capable of being spread and intensified by the same process of sympathetic contagion. Anger especially is notoriously apt to spread through a crowd, and the angry mob is only less violent and less inaccessible to the voice of reason than the panic-stricken crowd. The achievements of great orators show how the whole range of the emotions may, under favourable conditions, be collectively evoked and intensified. The intensity of the collective emotion of an unorganized crowd is favoured by the fact 240 PSYCHOLOGY that each member of a crowd tends to lose to some extent his sense of personal identity and responsibility; he no longer stands alone, an individual before the eyes of his fellow- men, but feels himself an undistinguishable unit of a mass on which, rather than on its units, the judgment of the rest of the world must be passed. Hence each man is apt to let himself go, to make little effort to control himself. The emotional excitability of the crowd is very unfavourable to its intellectual processes; for intense emotion renders men uncritical, hasty, biased in judgment, and easily led to belief by mere suggestion. The diminished sense of personal responsibility of the mem- bers of a crowd makes in the same direction. But the influence most deleterious to the qual- ity of collective judgment and reasoning is what may be called mass-suggestion. Every man is to some extent suggestible; every one is a little inclined to believe a proposition which is confidently made to him; and, if the same proposition is made to him by a hundred or a thousand men, it becomes difficult for him to retain a critical attitude towards it. But now, when a great crowd acclaims a statement made by an orator, the proposition not only comes to each member as the ac- SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY 241 cepted opinion of each of his fellow-members; but the fact that these constitute a crowd, a vast whole impressive by reason of its mass, its power, its unknown possibilities, renders each man more suggestible, more ready to accept its opinions uncritically, than if he merely heard the same opinion expressed by the same number of individuals. The most striking illustration of this suggestibility of crowds is afforded by many recorded instances of collective hallucination thus induced, in- stances in which all or most of the members of a crowd have been led to perceive objects that had no existence, objects such as the sea-serpent, or a fiery cross, or even a host of men or angels in the clouds. By reason, then, of its emotional excita- bility, its high degree of suggestibility, and the diminished sense of responsibility of its members, the behaviour of the fortuitous unorganized crowd is apt to be of a kind much inferior to the average behaviour of its units when they think and act as individuals. Few crowds, however, are altogether fortui- tous. A crowd is commonly brought together by some common interest or purpose in the minds of the individuals that compose it, a common interest in sport, or music, or politics, or religion, a common loyalty or a common 242 PSYCHOLOGY resentment. Any such crowd, then, is com- posed of less diverse units than a fortuitous crowd: it may be said to possess a certain homogeneity of composition in so far as its units are possessed of common knowledge, common opinions, and common sentiments. Some degree of homogeneity is a necessary condition of all collective mental process. A fortuitous gathering of persons of various nationalities, of various levels of culture, speaking different languages and possessing widely different opinions and sentiments, could display only the crudest of all forms of collective process, namely, the panic. And the more homogeneous is the crowd, the more capable is it of truly collective thinking and acting. But, so long as the crowd possesses no organization, its homogeneity will tend only to intensify the peculiarities of collective mental process that we have already noted. Are we to conclude, then, that to share in collective mental life, to be a member of a group, is necessarily to suffer degradation of one's mental life? Such a conclusion (and it is often asserted or implied) would be a very serious error. It is only by sharing in the collective life of organized societies that the mass of men is raised above a very low level of almost SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY 243 purely selfish behaviour; and it is through such sharing that great numbers of men are raised to a level of consistently public- spirited conduct and even to heights of heroic self-sacrifice. The principal task of collective pyschology is, then, to show how organization of societies produces this paradoxical result; namely, that, whereas the collective behaviour of the unorganized group implies a much lower level of mental process than the individual be- haviour of its average units, and thus involves a degradation of its component individuals, the collective life of a well-organized society commonly attains a higher level, both intel- lectually and morally, than could be individu- ally attained by its average members, and raises many of those who participate in it to much higher levels of thought and action. A single example may serve to illustrate the fact and to indicate the lines along which the solution of the paradox is to be found. A well-organized patriot army, such as the Japanese army that fought in the late war, illustrates the facts most strikingly and simply. The organization of such an army is relatively simple, yet in other respects it is of the highest type; for it is the product of deliberate design and of the voluntary acceptance and working 244 PSYCHOLOGY out of the design by all its members. The movements of the whole army express a degree of intelligence which far surpasses that of its average members; namely, the intelli- gence of the commander-in-chief and of a highly selected and trained staff, deliberating and deciding with the aid of a vast amount of detailed information supplied by sub- ordinates, and in the light of the knowledge of the principles of war accumulated by successive generations of mankind. The essential condition that raises the intellectual level of the collective behaviour of such an army is so obvious, that it may seem needless to state it in words; it is such an organization as gives, to those best qualified to judge of any question, the decisive voice in the formation of opinion upon it. But it is no less true, though less obvious, that all collective deliber- ation and decision, whether of a committee, a parliament, or a whole nation, can only be saved from the imbecilities of the unorganized crowd by the existence of such an organization as gives predominant influence and respon- sibility to those members best qualified for arriving at just conclusions. It may be added that the extreme simplicity and effec- tiveness of the organization of the army on its intellectual side is only rendered possible SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY 245 by the fact, that the collective action of the group is directed towards a single end, which end is perfectly defined and is accepted and willed by every member of the group; namely, the ultimate defeat of the enemy. On the moral side also the collective life of such an army rises to a high level in virtue of its organization. It is true that it owes much to the fact that a common purpose animates all its members; for even an un- organized mob animated by a common pur- pose, such as a lynching mob, may display a considerable degree of resolution. The moral force displayed by an army depends also in large measure upon sympathetic intensification of emotion; though, as the liability of almost all armies to panic shows, sympathetic contagion may work adversely also. But the main condition of the attainment by the army of a high moral level is the exist- ence of the group-spirit. By the group-spirit we mean the existence in each soldier's mind of a clear knowledge or idea of the army and of his place in it and of his part in its life, accompanied by a sentiment of devotion to it. It is the existence in each mind of this sentiment that alone renders possible a truly collective volition; it is this which sustains 246 PSYCHOLOGY each man throughout long months of fatigue and discomfort and which plays a part of decisive importance at each critical moment of battle, as when the charging line wavers under the hail of bullets. And in the wisely organized army, the group-spirit is not single but multiple; each man entertains not only a sentiment of devotion to the army as a whole, which leads him to desire its success and glory, but also similar sentiments for his corps, his regiment, his company, which lead him to desire, and to do his utmost to achieve, the success and glory of each of these groups with which he identifies himself, in friendly rivalry with the similar groups. For it is a most beneficent characteristic of the group- sentiment, that devotion to any group is per- fectly compatible with, and even favourable to the strength of, a similar sentiment for any larger group that comprises the lesser. The development of the group-spirit, the in- fluence upon it of traditions, and symbols, and territorial grouping, and so forth, are therefore of great importance for the military psychologist, with whom it lies to display the principal conditions of success and of failure in war. Yet another condition of high morality is secured for an army, if it is so organized that SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY 247 the men with the firmest courage and finest enthusiasm occupy the positions of greatest prestige; for then their temper will inspire those who stand next to them, and will be transmitted by these downwards through the whole system. These are a few of the psychological prin- ciples by the operation of which the collective life of the group may be raised far above that of the unorganized crowd. It must be noticed that the basal principles of all collec- tive life, namely, sympathetic contagion, mass-suggestion, and imitation, are not sus- pended in the well-organized group; they work in it as strongly as in the crowd, but their op- eration is modified and turned wholly to good. The study of other types of organized groups, the savage tribe, the secret society, the political party, or the trade-union, enables us to elaborate these fundamental principles and to supplement them with others of less importance; and in this way collective psy- chology prepares itself to gain some under- standing of the most complex, interesting, and important form of collective mind; namely, the mind of a modern nation-state. The phrase "national character" is in com- mon use; but those who use it seldom make clear in which of its two senses they mean it 248 PSYCHOLOGY to be understood. Perhaps it is commonly meant to denote the character of some hypo- thetical individual who may be regarded as the type or average representative of the nation. But the other meaning of the phrase must be clearly distinguished from this. A nation with a long past and a vast system of living traditions and institutions has a char- acter which is not by any means merely the sum or resultant of the characters of all its component units. For this character is largely determined by these traditions and institu- tions; and these are the joint product of the characters of the individuals of foregoing generations and of the historical circum- stances of the life of the nation through many centuries. In the same sense and for the same reasons, a nation has also a collec- tive national intellect as well as a collective national character. The application of the principles of col- lective psychology to the understanding of the lives of particular nations, or of other histori- cal groups, constitutes the third field of social psychology. In this great field of research psychology cannot walk alone, but has to co- operate with other sciences, especially political history and economic science; and the proper division of the work between these several SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY 249 studies and the science of sociology is at present a hotly disputed problem. Without entering into that difficult question, we may insist that, in the interpretation of the life of nations, the application of the principles of collective mental life is not the whole of the psychological work that has to be done. There remains for the psychologist the work of describing the mental peculiarities of the individuals that compose the various nations and the classes within them, and especially he has to try to define the innate peculiarities of their mental constitutions. That is to say, collective psychology has to invoke the aid of the comparative psychology of races and classes, before it can hope to accomplish its proper share in the interpretation of history and in accounting for the peculiarities of the collective life of each nation. For, however great the influence of traditions, of institu- tions, and of economic conditions, in deter- mining the course of life and the success or failure of a nation, the innate qualities of the population will make themselves felt and, in the long run, will exert a preponderant influence over all other factors. Here we have an immense field awaiting exploration. Much has been written on the innate mental peculiarities of races and 250 PSYCHOLOGY nations; but hitherto we have little more than vague, though generally dogmatic, ex- pressions of opinion, unsupported by any attempt at exact observation, and, for the most part, expressed by writers who have not even grasped the nature of the problems to be solved. The tasks immediately confronting the psychologist in this field are, then, the definition of the problems and the working out of methods by which they may be profit- ably attacked. The prime difficulty of all work in this field is that of distinguishing between the innate and the acquired mental structure, to which reference was made in an earlier chapter. But the comparative study of peoples may throw light on this question, and is perhaps more capable of doing so than any other method of approaching it. For, since the innate qualities of any people constantly, and genera- tion after generation, exert a shaping and selective influence upon the growth of its culture and institutions, we may expect to find them reflected there. This, then, is one of the tasks of comparative racial psychology. But its main work must be the description of the innate mental peculiarities of races and peoples. We want to know just what are the differences in regard to mental endowment SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY 251 between the Yellow, the Black, and the White races, between the Celt and the Teuton and the Slav, the Arab and the Jew and the Armenian. We want to know how these differences have been produced. We want to know the effect upon innate mental structure of the crossing of races, and whether popula- tions formed by the crossing of races can properly be said to form in course of time new stable sub-races. We want also to know whether any differences of innate mental quality obtain between the various sections and social strata of our great complex national societies. And especially we want to know what changes, if any, are being brought about in the innate mental constitution of these populations under then* present conditions; whether, as some assert, various forms of social selection are making strongly for deterioration; or whether, as is commonly believed, the civilized stocks continue to evolve a higher type of mental structure; or lastly, whether the principal change being effected is not a greater differentiation, re- sulting in the production of a comparatively low-grade mass of population at one end of the scale, and of a number of stocks of exceptional ability and moral stamina at the other. AH these are questions that must be answered 252 PSYCHOLOGY in detail, before we can build up a true science of society, a science that will point the way to such a political and social organization as will offer some guarantee of stability and some prospect of the continued progress of human mind and human culture. All these problems fall within the province of psychology, and can be solved only through the progress of that science. BIBLIOGRAPHY BIBLIOGRAPHY FOR GENERAL SURVEY WILLIAM JAMES Principles of Psychology (Henry Holt & Co.). G. F. STOUT Manual of Psychology (Clive & Co.). JAMES WARD Art. "Psychology," Ency. Brit. WM. McDouGALL Body and Mind (Methuen & Co.). EXPERIMENTAL AND PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY C. S. MYERS Introduction to Experimental Pyschology (G. P. Putnam's Sons). G. T. LADD and R. S. WOODWOHTH Elements of Physiological Psychology (Scribner). WM. McDouoALL Primer of Physiological Psychology (Macmillan). G. M. STRATTON Experimental Psychology and its Bearing on Culture (Macmillan & Co.). MENTAL DEVELOPMENT AND EVOLUTION L. T. HOBHOUSE Mind in Evolution (Macmillan & Co.). W. M. KEATINOE Suggestion in Education (Macmillan). STANLEY HALL Adolescence (Appleton & Co.). JAMES SULLY Teacher's Handbook of Psychology (Longmans). R R. MARETT Anthropology (Home University Library, Henry Holt & Co.). Ml 256 BIBLIOGRAPHY THE ANIMAL MIND C. LLOYD MORGAN Animal Behaviour (Longmans). G. W. & E. G. PECKHAM Wasps, Social and Solitary (Houghton Mifflin Co.). E. L. THORNDIKE Animal Intelligence (Macmillan). M. F. WASHBTJRN The Animal Mind (Macmillan). THE ABNORMAL F. W. H. MYERS Human Personality and its Survival of Bodily Death (abridged ed., Longmans). A. MOLL Hypnotism (Contemporary Science Series) (Scribner). WILLIAM JAMES The Varieties of Religious Experience (Longmans). BERNARD HART Abnormal Psychology (Camb. Univ. Press). MORTON PRINCE and other writers Psychotherapeutics (Badger). Sir W. F. BARRETT Psychical Research (Home University Library, Henry Holt & Co.). SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY GRAHAM WALLAS Human Nature in Politics (Houghton Mifflin Co.). WM. McDouGALL An Introduction to Social Psychology (J. W. Luce). G. LB BON The Crowd (Macmillan). . A. Ross Social Psychology (Macmillan). THE HOME UNIVERSITY LIBRARY of Modern Knowledge Is made up of absolutely new books by leading authorities Tbe editors are Professors Gilbert Murray, H. A. L. Fisher, W. T. Brewster and J. Arthur Thomson. Cloth bound, good paper, clear type, 256 pages per volume, bibliographies, indices, also maps or illustra- tions, where needed. Each complete Q/\ r and sold separately. Per volume, */U C6IltS LITERATURE AND ART. [Order Number] 73. EURIPIDES AND HIS AGE. By Gilbert Murray, Regius Pro- lessor of Greek, Oxford. 101. DANTE. By Jefferson B. Fletcher. Columbia University. An inter- pretation of Dante and his teaching from his writings. ?.. SHAKESPEARE. By John Masefield. "One of the very few in- dispensable adjuncts to a Shakespearean Library." Boston Transcript. 81. CHAUCER AND HIS TIMES. By Grace E. Hadow, Lecturer Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford; Late Reader, Bryn Mawr. 97. MILTON. By John Bailey. 59. DR. JOHNSON AND HIS CIRCLE. By John Bailey. Johnson's life, character, works, and friendships are surveyed; and there is a notable vindication of the "Genius of Boswell." 83. WILLIAM MORRIS: HIS WORK AND INFLUENCE. By A. Chit- ton Brock, author of "Shelley: The Man and the Poet." William Morris believed that the artist should toil for love of his work rather than the gain of his employer, and so he turned from making works of art to remaking society. 75. SHELLEY, GODWIN AND THEIR CIRCLE. By H. N. Br.il.ford. The influence of the French Revolution on England. 70. ANCIENT ART AND RITUAL. By Jane E. Harrison, LL. D., D. Lift. "One of the 100 most important books of 1913." New York Times Review. 45. MEDIEVAL ENGLISH LITERATURE. By W. P. Ker, Professor of English Literature, University College, London. "One of the soundest scholars. His style is effective, simple, yet never xlry." The Athenaeum. 87. THE RENAISSANCE. By Edith Sichel, author of "Catherine de Medici," "Men and Women of the French Renaissance." 89. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. By J. M. Robertson, M. P., author of "Montaigne and Shakespeare," "Modern Humanists." 27. MODERN ENGLISH LITERATURE. By G. H. Mair. From Wyatt and Surrey to Synge and Yeats. "One of the best of this great series." Chicago Eoening Post. 61. THE VICTORIAN AGE IN LITERATURE. By G. K. Chesterton. 40. THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. By L. P. Smith. A concise history of its origin and development. 66. WRITING ENGLISH PROSE. By William T. Brewster, Professor of English, Columbia University. "Should be put into the hands of every man who is beginning to write and of every teacher of English who has brains enough to understand sense." New York Sun. 58. THE NEWSPAPER. By G. Binney Dibblee. The first full account from the inside of newspaper organization as it exists to-day. 48. GREAT WRITERS OF AMERICA. By W. P. Trent and John Erskine, Columbia University. 93. AN OUTLINE OF RUSSIAN LITERATURE. By Maurice Baring, author of "The Russian People," etc. Tolstoi, Tourgenieff, Dos- toieffsky, Pushkin (the father of Russian Literature,) Saltykov (the satirist,) Leskov, and many other authors. 31. LANDMARKS IN FRENCH LITERATURE, By G. L. Strachey, Scholar of Trinity College, Cambridge. "It is difficult to imagine how a better account of French Literature could be given in 250 pages." London Times, 64. THE LITERATURE OF GERMANY. By J. G. Robertson. 62. PAINTERS AND PAINTING. By Sir Frederick Wedmore. With 16 half -tone illustrations. 38. ARCHITECTURE. By Prof. W. R. Lethaby. An introduction to the history and theory of the art of building. NATURAL SCIENCE. 68. DISEASE AND ITS CAUSES. By W. T. Councilman, M. D., LL. D., Professor of Pathology, Harvard University. 85. SEX. By J. Arthur Thompson and Patrick Geddes, joint authors of "The Evolution of Sex." 71. PLANT LIFE. By J. B. Farmer, D. Sc., F. R. S., Professor of Bot- tany in the Imperial College of Science, London. This very fully illustrated volume contains an account of the salient features of plant form and function. 63. THE ORIGIN AND NATURE OF LIFE. By Benjamin M. Moore, Professor of Bio-Chemistry, Liverpool. 90. CHEMISTRY. By Raphael Meldola, F. R. S., Professor of Chem- istry, Finsbury Technical College. Presents the way in which the science has developed and the stage it has reached. 53. ELECTRICITY. By Gisbert Kagp, Professor of Electrical En- gineering, University of Birmingham. 54. THE MAKING OF THE EARTH. By J. W. Gregory, Professor of Geology, Glasgow University. 38 maps and figures. Describes the origin of the earth, the formation and changes of its surface and structure, its geological history, the first appearance of life, and its influence upon the globe. 56. MAN: A HISTORY OF THE HUMAN BODY. By A. Keith, M. D., Hunterian Professor, Royal College of Surgeons, London. Shows how the human body developed. 74. NERVES. By Dayid Fraer Harris, M. D., Professor of Physi- ology, Dalhousie University, Halifax. Explains in non-technical language the place and powers of the nervous system. 21. AN INTRODUCTION TO SCIENCE. By Prof. J. Arthur Thomson, Science Editor of the Home University Library. For those unac- quainted with the scientific volumes in the series, this should prove an excellent introduction. 14. EVOLUTION. By Prof. J. Arthur Thomson and Prof. Patrick Geddes. Explains to the layman what the title means to the scien- tific world. 23. ASTRONOMY. By A. R. Hinks, Chief Assistant at the Cambridge Observatory. "Decidedly original in substance, and the most readable and informative little book on modern astronomy we have seen for a long time." Nature. 24. PSYCHICAL RESEARCH. By Prof. W. F. Barrett, formerly Presi- dent of the Society for Psychical Research. 9. THE EVOLUTION OF PLANTS. By Dr. D. H. Scott, President of the Linnean Society of London. The story of the development of flowering plants, from the earliest zoological times, unlocked from technical language. 43. MATTER AND ENERGY. By F. Soddy, Lecturer in Physical Chemistry and Radioactivity, University of Glasgow. "Brilliant. Can hardly be surpassed. Sure to attract attention." New York Sun. 41. PSYCHOLOGY, THE STUDY OF BEHAVIOUR. By William Me- Dougall, of Oxford. A well digested summary of the essentials of the science put in excellent literary form by a leading authority. 42. THE PRINCIPLES OF PHYSIOLOGY. By Prof. J. G. McKendrick, A compact statement by the Emeritus Professor at Glasgow, for uninstructed readers. 37. ANTHROPOLOGY. By R. R. Mafett, Reader in Social Anthro- pology, Oxford. Seeks to plot out and sum up the general series of changes, bodily and mental, undergone by man in the course of history. "Excellent. So enthusiastic, so clear and witty, and so well adapted to the general reader." American Library Association Booklist. 17. CRIME AND INSANITY. By Dr. C. Mercier, author of "Crime and Criminals," etc. 12. THE ANIMAL WORLD. By Prof . F. W. Gamble. 15. INTRODUCTION TO MATHEMATICS. By A. N. Whitehead, author of "Universal Algebra." PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. 69. A HISTORY OF FREEDOM OF THOUGHT. By John B. Bury, M. A., LL. D., Regius Professor of Modern History in Cambridge University. Summarizes the history of the long struggle between authority and reason and of the emergence of the principle that co- ercion of opinion is a mistake. 96. A HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY. By Clement C. J. Webb, Oxford. 35. THE PROBLEMS OF PHILOSOPHY. By Bertrand RusselL Lec- turer and Late Fellow, Trinity College, Cambridge. 60. COMPARATIVE RELIGION. By Prof. J. Estlm Carpenter. "One of the few authorities on this subject compares all the religions to see what they have to offer on the great themes of religion." Chris- tian Work, and Evangelist. 44. BUDDHISM. By Mrs. Rhys Davids, Lecturer on Indian Philoso- phy, Manchester. 46. ENGLISH SECTS: A HISTORY OF NONCONFORMITY. ByW.B. Selbie. Principal of Manchester College, Oxford. 55. MISSIONS: THEIR RISE AND DEVELOPMENT. By Mrs. Man- dell Creighton, author of "History of England." The author seeks to prove that missions have done more to civilize the world than any other human agency. 52. ETHICS. By G. E. Moore, Lecturer in Moral Science, Cambridge. t)iscusses what is right and what is wrong, and the whys and where- fores. 65. THE LITERATURE OF THE OLD TESTAMENT. By George F. Moore. Professor of the History of Religion, Harvard University "A popular work of the highest order. Will be profitable to anybody who cares enough about Bible study to read a serious book on the subject." American Journal of Theology. 88. RELIGIOUS DEVELOPMENT BETWEEN OLD AND NEW TESTA- MENTS. By R. H. Charles, Canon of Westminster. Shows how religious and ethical thought between 180 B. C. and 100 A. D. grew naturally into that of the New Testament. 50. THE MAKING OF THE NEW TESTAMENT. By B. W. Bacon, Professor of New Testament Criticism, Yale. An authoritative summary of the results of modern critical research with regard to the origins of the New Testament. SOCIAL SCIENCE. 91. THE NEGRO. By W. E. Burghardt DuBois, author of "Souls of Black Folks," etc. A history of the black man in Africa. America or wherever else his presence has been or is important. 77. CO-PARTNERSHIP AND PROFIT SHARING. By Aneurin Wil- liams, Chairman, Executive Committee, International Co-opera- tive Alliance, etc. Explains the various types of co-partnership and profit-sharing, and gives details of the arrangements now in force in many of the great industries. 99. POLITICAL THOUGHT: THE UTILITARIANS. FROM BENT- HAM TO J. S. MILL. By William L. P. Davidson. 98. POLITICAL THOUGHT: FROM HERBERT SPENCER TO THE PRESENT DAY. By Ernest Barker, M. A. 79. UNEMPLOYMENT. By A. C. Pigou, M. A., Professor of Political Economy at Cambridge. The meaning, measurement, distribution, and effects of unemployment, its relation to wages, trade fluctuations, and disputes, and some proposals of remedy or relief. 80. COMMON-SENSE IN LAW. By Prof. Paul Vinogradoff, D. C. L., LL. D. Social and Legal Rules Legal Rights and Duties Facts and Acts in Law Legislation Custom Judicial Precedents Equity The Law of Nature. 49. ELEMENTS OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. By S. J. Chapman, Professor of Political Economy and Dean of Faculty of Commerce and Administration, University of Manchester. 11. THE SCIENCE OF WEALTH. By J. A. Hobson, author of "Prob- lems of Poverty." A study of the structure and working of the modern business world. 1. PARLIAMENT. ITS HISTORY, CONSTITUTION, AND PRAC- TICE. By Sir Courtenay P. Ilbert, Clerk of the House of Commons. IS. LIBERALISM. By Prof. L. T. Hobhouse, author of "Democracy and Reaction." A masterly philosophical and historical review of the subject . 5. THE STOCK EXCHANGE. By F. W. Hirst. Editor of the London Economist. Reveals to the non-financial mind the facts about invest- ment, speculation, and the other terms which the title suggests. 10. THE SOCIALIST MOVEMENT. By J. Ramsay Macdonald, Chair- man of the British Labor Party. 28. THE EVOLUTION OF INDUSTRY. By D. H. MacGregor, Professor of Political Economy, University of Leeds. An outline of the recent changes that have given us the present conditions of the working classes and the principles involved. 29. ELEMENTS OF ENGLISH LAW. By W. M. Geldart, Vinerian Professor of English Law, Oxford. A simple statement of the basic principles of the English legal system on which that of the United States is based. 32. THE SCHOOL: AN INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY OF EDU- CATION. By J. J. Findlay, Professor of Education, Manchester. Presents the history, the psychological basis, and the theory of the school with a rare power of summary and suggestion. 6. IRISH NATIONALITY. By Mrs. J. R. Green. A brilliant account of the genius and mission of the Irish people. "An entrancing work, %nd I would advise every one with a drop of Irish blood in his veins or a vein of Irish sympathy in his heart to read it." Neto Yorl^ Times' Review. GENERAL HISTORY AND GEOGRAPHY. 102. SERBIA. By L. F. Waring, with preface by J. M. Jovanovitch, Serbian Minister to Great Britain. The main outlines of Serbian history, with special emphasis on the immediate causes of the war. and the question which will be of greatest importance in the after- the-war settlement. 33. THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By A. F. Pollard, Professor of English History, University of London. 95. BELGIUM. By R. C. K. Ensor, Sometime Scholar of Balliol College The geographical, linguistic, historical, artistic and literary associa- tions. 100. POLAND. By J. Alison Phillips, University of Dublin. The history of Poland with special emphasis upon the Polish qustion of the pre- sent day. 34. CANADA. By A. G. Bradley. 72. GERMANY OF TO-DAY. By Charles Tower. 78. LATIN AMERICA. By William R. Shepherd, Professor of His- tory, Columbia. With maps. The historical, artistic, and commercial development of the Central South American republics. 18. THE OPENING UP OF AFRICA. By Sir H. H. Johnston. 19. THE CIVILIZATION OF CHINA. By H. A. Giles, Professor of Chinese, Cambridge. 36. PEOPLES AND PROBLEMS OF INDIA. By Sir T. W. Holderness, "The best small treatise dealing with the range of subjects fairly in- dicated by the title." The Dial. 26. THE DAWN OF HISTORY. By J. L. Myers, Professor of Ancient History, Oxford. 92. THE ANCIENT EAST. By D.G. Hogarth, M. A., F. B. A., F.S. A., Connects with Prof. Myers's "Dawn of History" (No. 26) at about 1000 B. C. and reviews the history of Assyria, Babylon, Cilicia. Persia and Macedon. 30. ROME. By W. Warde Fowler, author of "Social Life at Rome," etc. 13. MEDIEVAL EUROPE. By H. W. C. Davis, Fellow at Balliol CoU lege, Oxford, author of "Charlemagne," etc. 3. THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. By Hilaire Belloc. 57. NAPOLEON, By H. A. L. Fisher, Vice-Chancellor of Sheffield Uni- versity. Author of "The Republican Tradition in Europe." 20. HISTORY OF OUR TIME. (1885-1911). By C. P. Gooch. 22. THE PAPACY AND MODERN TIMES. By Rev. William Barry, D. D., author of "The Papal Monarchy," etc. The story of the rise and fall of the Temporal Power. 4. A SHORT HISTORY OF WAR AND PEACE. By G. H. Ferris, author of "Russia in Revolution," etc. 94. THE NAVY AND SEA POWER. By David Hannay, author of "Short History of the Royal Navy," etc. A brief history of the navies, sea Power, and ship growth of all nations, including the rise and decline of America on the sea, and explaining the present British supremacy. 8. POLAR EXPLORATION. By Dr. W. S. Bruce, Leader of the "Scotia" expedition. Emphasizes the results of the expeditions. 51. MASTER MARINERS. By John R. Spears, author of "The His- tory of Our Navy," etc. A history of sea craft adventure from the earliest times. 86. EXPLORATION OF THE ALPS. By Arnold Lunn, M. A. 7. MODERN GEOGRAPHY. By Dr. Marion Newbigin. Shows the re- lation of physical features to living things and to some of the chief in- stitutions of civilization. 76. THE OCEAN. A GENERAL ACCOUNT OF THE SCIENCE OF THE SEA. By Sir John Murray, K. C. B., Naturalist H. M. S. "Chal- lenger," 1872-1876, joint author of "The Depths of the Ocean," etc. 84. THE GROWTH OF EUROPE. By Granvilfe Cole, Professor of Geology, Royal College of Science, Ireland. A study of the geology and physical geography in connection with the political geography. AMERICAN HISTORY. 47. THE COLONIAL PERIpD (1607-1766). By Charles McLean An- drews, Professor of American History, Yale. 82. THE WARS BETWEEN ENGLAND AND AMERICA (1763-1815). By Theodore C. Smith, Professor of American History, Williams College. A history of the period, with especial emphasis on The Re- volution and The War of 1812. 67. FROM JEFFERSON TO LINCOLN (1815-1860). By William Mac- Donald. Professor of History, Brown University. The author makes the history of this period circulate about constitutional ideas and slavery sentiment. 25. THE CIVIL WAR (1854-1865). By Frederick L. Paxson, Professor of American History, University of Wisconsin. 69. RECONSTRUCTION AND UNION (1865-1912). By Paul Leland Haworth. A History of the United States in our own times. OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARATION HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 19 West 44th Street New York from which it was borrowed. UCSOU7 "' I II III 1 1 A ooiosfsga