) 
 
 Relation of Sociology to 
 Psychology. 
 
 The creation of a new science is a difficult task. Seldom 
 does a happy inspiration turn its early investigators into the 
 right paths. Bad terms, confused ideas, misleading analogies 
 and the inferences and methods of other sciences constantly 
 lead them astray. Sociology is particularly open to such 
 inroads of foreign ideas and terms. To some it is a physical 
 science and these describe human history as a mode of dissi¬ 
 pating solar energy. To the believers in astrology it was an 
 astronomical science and they thought that human events 
 were determined by the course of the planets. To those who 
 held the doctrine of the association of ideas it was a chemi¬ 
 cal science. They thought that the only real things were 
 ideas, the combining and blending of which created knowl¬ 
 edge and belief. To those who hold that society is an 
 organism it is a biologic science and they try to describe it 
 in terms of cells, nerves and ganglia. And now Professor 
 G'iddings would make it a psychologic science and finds a 
 social mind, a social will and a social memory among its 
 
 [433] 
 
2 Annaes of the American Academy. 
 
 phenomena.* He would have us believe that the social 
 mind perceives and reflects, that it is self-conscious and has 
 the other attributes of individual minds. He admits that 
 the description of society in biologic terms is a mistake, 
 but I am unable to see in what respect his psychologic 
 terminology is an improvement. There are often better 
 terms than those he uses, and when not, better words could 
 easily be found. Social memory is not so good a term as race 
 knowledge, nor is social will so definite as social control. 
 Professor Ross has set a good example by coining terms 
 that will endure because so appropriate.f What could be 
 more expressive than “ social ascendancy,” ‘ ‘ social control ’ ’ 
 and ‘ ‘ social influence. ’ ’ They fill a gap in sociologic terminol¬ 
 ogy and will increase the definiteness of the thought of any 
 one who uses them. Sociologic terms must be developed from 
 those in use in social life just as economic terms have been 
 developed from economic life. Analogies are barren and 
 they bring up trains of thought that mislead the user. Even 
 the best of distinctions lose their force if the words convey a 
 double meaning because used in two sciences. Occasionally 
 an imported word holds its own in a new habitat, but such 
 cases are so rare as to prove the rule that each science must 
 make its own terms and be built up from its own data. 
 
 The use of analogy may have some utility in what may 
 be called the kindergarten stage of a science, but it is out 
 of place in advanced instruction or in books intended for 
 mature minds. A recent scientific book has for one of its 
 chapter headings, ‘ ‘ The Brain as a Central Telephone Sta¬ 
 tion.” I can imagine how some youthful student, restricted 
 to the physical sciences, can by this illustration get some aid 
 in breaking out of the ruts in which his thought has moved, 
 but it seems odd to me that any one should seriously pro¬ 
 pose such an illustration to the general public as a means 
 of increasing its knowledge. It assumes on its part an 
 
 * “ Principles of Sociology.” Book i, Cap. ii. 
 
 f See his article on “ Social Control,” American Journal of Sociology , March, 1896. 
 
. 3-3 
 
 The Relation of Sociology to Psychology. 3 
 
 absolute blank in all that relates to the scientific study of 
 mental science. What more can be said in favor of the solar 
 energy theory of history, the chemical theory of ideas, or 
 the biologic theory of sociology ? They may do for novices, 
 who are startled by the thought that human society has laws, 
 but are a block to progress as soon as this concept is acquired. 
 Nor is the theory of a social mind much in advance. The 
 essence of this doctrine is contained in Professor Giddings’ 
 statement that psychology is the science of the association 
 of ideas, while sociology is the science of the association of 
 minds.* I take this to mean that the fundamental facts of 
 psychology relate to the chemistry of ideas and those of 
 sociology to the blending of minds into a higher unity. If 
 this be true, simple or unsociologic psychology has to do 
 with nothing but ideas, while advanced or sociologic psy¬ 
 chology includes all other forms of mental activity. Beings 
 become social as soon as mental activity becomes complex. 
 Sociology is thus based on psychology, and society needs no 
 outside conditions to promote its growth. 
 
 I cannot accept this double psychology because I do not 
 accept the distinction on which it is based. It assumes the 
 truth of a particular theory of psychology which is not 
 above question. The traditional psychology is the creation 
 of a group of sceptical idealists. In the endeavor to get 
 unity and simplicity, they have thrown out all the complex 
 forms of thought that do not fit their theory. Nature, 
 atoms and other objects have been eliminated and the uni¬ 
 verse is so emaciated that its only content is a single series of 
 ideas. If these sceptical idealists cannot find a place for the 
 objective world or any proof of the existence of other minds, 
 still less can they find a basis in their psychology for the 
 social relations which grow up between men. If the non- 
 self cannot be put on a par with the self, society loses its 
 reality. This mode of reasoning admits of nothing but a 
 crude individualism which pictures each person in a world 
 
 * Op. cit., p. 25. 
 
 [435] 
 
 V 
 
 } 
 
4 Annals of the American Academy. 
 
 of his own as complete and independent as the series of 
 ideas which makes up his mind. 
 
 A reaction from these notions has created a school of 
 transcendental idealists who seek to gather up the fragments 
 thrown out by the sceptics and to make of them a higher 
 mind conditioning these lower minds and determining their 
 activity. Professor Giddings uses the methods of this 
 school when he seeks to introduce into sociologic literature 
 a social mind similar to the higher mind of the transcenden- 
 talists. By so doing he joins his forces with theirs and 
 makes his success depend on the truth of their doctrines. 
 No science should, however, have its terms and ideas so 
 constructed that they depend on a particular theory in a 
 related science. 
 
 The real evil lies not in his agreement with the transcen- 
 dentalists but in his acceptance of the narrow dogma of the 
 sceptics that the individual mind has no phenomena but the 
 chemistry of its ideas. Such a psychology must be discarded 
 before a solid basis for sociology can be found. When a 
 more complex concept of the mind is worked out in which 
 other elements of human nature are on equal footing with 
 its sensory ideas, there will be no need of such hybrid con¬ 
 cepts as minds above minds or a social will above that of 
 individuals. 
 
 The emphasis of a few simple distinctions will make a 
 resort to such a psychology needless. Psychic progress may 
 be either sensory or motor. Progress in the motor powers 
 increases psychic control. In low forms of life each motor 
 centre acts for itself and thus prevents the co-ordination of 
 movements necessary for quick effective adjustment to the 
 environment. Gradually these centres are subordinated to 
 some one centre through which psychic control is exercised. 
 The organism can then affect complicated adjustments and 
 increase its power to sustain life or to avoid pain. 
 
 Progress on the sensory side of the mind gives clearer ideas 
 of the environment. The sensory powers should indicate 
 
 [436] 
 
The Relation of Sociology to Psychology. 5 
 
 the presence of any object and the qualities of which it is 
 made up. The perception of any of these qualities should, 
 through the association of ideas, bring up all the ideas the 
 object usually excites. These ideas become clear and num¬ 
 erous by the analysis of objects into their elements and by 
 the associations that grow up between these ideas. Trains 
 of thoughts are ideas so bound together that each idea 
 brings up the next. Long series of ideas are thus formed, 
 the perception of any one of which starts a train of thought 
 bringing up the whole series. Sensory activity starts other 
 forms of sensory activity. It thus tends to perpetuate itself 
 and to check motor activity. Circles of ideas are created, 
 differentiation after differentiation is made, but the ideas 
 perceived are so loosely connected with the motor side of 
 the mind that they do not lead to activity. 
 
 Ideas of this kind can properly be called sensorial because 
 the activity they excite is confined to the sensorium. They 
 lead to no movements and cause no adjustments to be made 
 between the man and his environment. A growth of sen¬ 
 sorial ideas is the chief result of a purely sensory develop¬ 
 ment. Such ideas, instead of making men more social, 
 reduce the tendency to be social by weakening the connection 
 between ideas and the motor activity which should follow 
 their perception. 
 
 It is not then the psychic progress of men that makes 
 them social. Their motor development belongs to an earlier 
 period and their sensory development by itself weakens the 
 social tendencies. From a psychic standpoint, social ideas 
 are not higher ideas, but ideas due to a distorted develop¬ 
 ment of the sensory powers. Society is made, not by any 
 psychic or physical necessity, but by certain complex aggre¬ 
 gates of psychic and physical phenomena. The formation 
 of these aggregates and their influence on social phenomena 
 can be explained only by a study of the environment. Al¬ 
 though the environment creates the conditions which 
 determines both the sensory and motor activity, yet the 
 
 [437] 
 
6 
 
 Annals of the American Academy. 
 
 environment of the sensory powers is different from that of 
 the motor powers. Sensations are created by the direct 
 influence of natural forces on the organism. From the vibra¬ 
 tions of ether we get sensations of light; from those of the 
 air we get sounds. We can taste only that which has been 
 dissolved in water, and smell only that which has become 
 gaseous. We learn of the coarse aggregates in which the 
 forces and elements of nature are united only by inferences. 
 They are not the elementary forms of sensorial knowledge. 
 The motor reactions, however, do not depend upon these 
 elements isolated and refined, as they must be, to become 
 objects of perception, but to the aggregates into which they 
 are united. Motor reactions are rather excited by rocks, 
 fields, food, houses, animals and similar aggregates, animate 
 and inanimate, of which the world is made up. The sure¬ 
 footed animal must step from rock to rock. Animals or 
 men find good fields and select the proper food; friends must 
 be aided and enemies destroyed or avoided. 
 
 The sensory powers thus depend on universal forces and 
 elements or those so abundant that they rarely become con¬ 
 ditions of survival. The motor powers, however, are stimu¬ 
 lated by the presence of the limiting aggregates—those 
 complex sources of pleasure that are scarce or those evils 
 that are superabundant. All motor activity tends to remove, 
 modify or create these limiting aggregates. By changing 
 them or decomposing them into their elements pleasure is 
 increased or pain removed. To their peculiarities every 
 motor reaction is due and upon them all motor activity is 
 exerted. There is thus an environment of elements and an 
 environment of limiting aggregates. The elements and 
 natural forces excite sensations. The limiting aggregates 
 create the motor reactions. Each environment has its laws 
 and relations which control the psychic phenomena created 
 by it. Motor activity and sensory activity should therefore 
 be independent in their growth because normally they de¬ 
 pend on different conditions. The sensory powers, however, 
 
 [438] 
 
The Relation of Sociology to Psychology. 7 
 
 have been checked in their development by the fact that 
 the limiting requisites have not been among the elements 
 and forces of which the world is made up, but among the 
 aggregates into which these elements are combined. Rarely 
 or never are light, heat, water, air and other forces and ele¬ 
 ments the conditions of survival. They are usually present 
 in superabundance. The determining conditions are certain 
 aggregates such as soils, rocks, mineral deposits, rivers, 
 seas, peculiar plants, animals and combinations of moisture 
 and heat. Sensory phenomena cannot acquire an importance 
 unless they indicate some limiting aggregate and are joined 
 with some motor reaction which affects an adjustment. The 
 mental units formed by contact with these aggregates are 
 complex, partly motor and partly sensory. The social con¬ 
 cepts belong to this class. They are not the outcome of 
 mere contact with the forces and elements of nature, but 
 are due to the necessities and relations of the limiting aggre¬ 
 gates. Sociology has nothing to do with sensory or motor 
 phenomena as such, nor with any isolated development of 
 either sensory or motor distinctions. Psychic phenomena 
 become social only when motor reactions of some kind ac¬ 
 company sensory perceptions. The sensory ideas stimulated 
 by external conditions must, to become social phenomena 
 produce feelings of pleasure or pain, of fear or love, of desire 
 or antipathy, of attraction or repulsion. The social unit is 
 an aggregate of these two elements and the form of the 
 social phenomena depends on the way they are compounded. 
 Every social element is thus partly sensory and partly motor. 
 
 Such a study is no more a part of psychology than the 
 study of the limiting aggregates is a part of physics. It is 
 true that these aggregates are made up of atoms controlled 
 by physical laws, but the interest of the sociologist is not in 
 the atoms nor in the chemical and geological laws by which 
 they are arranged, but in the complex result. A plant grows 
 because of certain combinations of physical and chemical 
 elements in certain soils and the growth of the right plant 
 
 [439] 
 
Annans of the American Academy. 
 
 depends on still more special combinations. There is just 
 as much physics, chemistry and geology in a poor soil as in 
 a good one. So also the psychic phenomena of an unsocial 
 man does not differ from that of the social man. The psy¬ 
 chologist would find the same elements and ultimate princi¬ 
 ples in both men. The difference between them lies in the 
 peculiar ways in which the ultimate sensations are aggre¬ 
 gated or in the type of reaction which takes place when 
 certain sensory impressions are present. A psychologist 
 could if he chose examine these peculiar groups of impres¬ 
 sions and the accompanying reactions just as a geologist 
 could examine a cultivated field, but if either of them did 
 this, they would waste their energies on poor material unless 
 their primary interest was social or economic. 
 
 Only one class of ideas can be called social, those whose 
 perception starts motor reactions. In pure sensorial knowl¬ 
 edge, all ideas and distinctions are of equal importance. It 
 is like the classification of plants on the Linnsean system, in 
 which unimportant plants get the same attention as the more 
 important, and the differences by which the varieties and 
 species are distinguished are, usually, of a trivial nature. 
 Only the important sensorial distinctions become a part of 
 the race knowledge by which men are kept in touch with 
 the essentials of their environment. Such knowledge is 
 connected more closely with the motor powers than with the 
 pure sensorial ideas. Its essentials thus receive more em¬ 
 phasis, and are so adjusted as to become the starting points 
 of motor reactions. 
 
 The art of riding a bicycle illustrates the type of motor ad- 
 justments upon which the growth of society depends. When 
 a man walks, the sense of falling starts motor reactions 
 which restore the equilibrium. In riding a bicycle these 
 motor reactions are weakened or lost, and in their place new 
 motor reactions are developed through which the wheel is 
 turned. The equilibrium is restored by a motion of the 
 arms instead of a motion of the body. This change of 
 
The Relation of Sociology to Psychology. 9 
 
 instinct does not, however, make a rider of a bicycle 
 physiologically superior to a walker. On the contrary a 
 physiologist might decide that the habitual cyclist was 
 physiologically inferior to a walker. 
 
 Social changes are of this kind. They imply different mo¬ 
 tor reactions, but uot those of a higher kind. New objects 
 become limiting requisites and the perception of them creates 
 motor reactions which harmonize with the conditions set by 
 these requisites. The non-social man must be able readily 
 to distinguish differences in objects because they are his 
 best means of detecting enemies and of avoiding pain. His 
 motor reactions are started mainly by the feeling of fear 
 which the perception of these differences excites. To 
 the social man, similarities are more important than differ¬ 
 ences. Plis prominent motor reactions are caused by the 
 recognition of similarities, because they indicate the presence 
 of the agreeable, the pursuit of which is his main object. 
 The attention of the one man is concentrated upon the disa¬ 
 greeable, that of the other upon the agreeable. The differ¬ 
 ences between the two men are due to differences in limiting 
 aggregates by which they are surrounded, and not to differ¬ 
 ences in their psychic experiences. 
 
 Motor reactions caused by pleasure are not different in 
 kind from those caused by pain. In either case the first 
 contrast is between the agreeable and the disagreeable, 
 between objects causing pain and those giving pleasure. 
 This contrast creates for men their concept of self. The self 
 is not a mere sensory impression with an unvarying content. 
 It includes all those feelings whose perception produces no 
 motor reactions. The non-self is created by motor reactions 
 which eject from the self all ideas associated with the dis¬ 
 agreeable. From the first the notion of the self is confounded 
 with the agreeable. We contrast ourselves with the sources 
 of pain and identify ourselves with the sources of pleasure. 
 Pleasure extends the feeling of identity; pain contracts it. 
 In states of pleasure we perceive agreements and harmonies; 
 
IO 
 
 Annaes of the American Academy. 
 
 in states of pain differences and discords attract the attention. 
 The feeling of identity expands and contracts with changes 
 in the conditions which determine the extent of the agreeable 
 and the disagreeable. 
 
 In advanced beings there is a narrower or analytic self and 
 a broader or synthetic self. When pleased, beings expand 
 their personality so as to include all that is pleasurable, 
 while in pain they contract it so as to exclude all causes of 
 pain. The self of man thus depends upon his moods and 
 these in turn upon the environment. This expansion and 
 contraction of the self is also much greater in a pleasure 
 economy than in a pain economy. In the latter the self can¬ 
 not be extended beyond a limited group of similar objects 
 because so many of them have pain associations. Nor can 
 it be contracted so as to exclude the bodily organism; the 
 identity of the self and its organism is a necessity to beings 
 so situated that their first thought must always be of the 
 organism. The synthetic self might however be so expanded 
 as to include the whole universe. Many tendencies in 
 this direction show themselves as soon as the thought of a 
 pure pleasure economy is acquired. It is only the realities 
 of a world of pain that check their growth. In a pleasure 
 economy the organic self does not demand first attention and 
 its parts may be isolated from the self. This tendency is 
 strengthened by the fact that the evils of a pleasure economy 
 are largely due to the weakness or over development of bodily 
 organs. $uch me n must learn to distinguish between the 
 flesh and the spirit and in this way the analytic self becomes 
 an abstract concept with no sensory qualities. 
 
 This thought of a variable self may perhaps be made 
 clearer by representing the scope of the possible variation in 
 the feeling of identity as a plane with two extremities. At 
 one extremity the self is contracted so as to be purely abstract; 
 at the other it is so expanded as to include every thing within 
 itself. The self identifies itself with the universe. In a given 
 environment the plane of identity is much more contracted. 
 
 [442] 
 
The Relation of Sociology to Psychology, ii 
 
 Its synthetic extremity would be the point of greatest 
 expansion in the feeling of identity of which the agreeable 
 elements of the environment will admit; its analytic extremity 
 is at the point of greatest contraction in the feeling of identity 
 consistent with the being’s welfare. In such a society there 
 would be an equilibrium of identity somewhere between these 
 two extremities towards which the feeling of identity in its 
 members would tend. Those whose feelings of identity cor¬ 
 respond to this equilibrium would be normal; all others 
 would be abnormal because they include too much or too 
 little in their concept of self. Individuals are sceptics if 
 their concept of self is abnormally small; they are mystics 
 if this concept is abnormally large. The mystic cannot see 
 how the sceptic can contract his personality so much and the 
 sceptic is equally at loss to know how the mystic can include 
 so much in his personality. There is thus a gulf between 
 them which reasoning alone cannot bridge. Changes in the 
 environment move the equilibrium of identity nearer to one 
 extremity or the other thus making new classes of men normal 
 and abnormal. The sceptics or the mystics of one age may 
 seem to have the opposite qualities to people of another age 
 merely because the equilibrium of identity has changed. 
 The normal self is relative to the conditions of existence. 
 
 Social reasoning depends on the content given to the self. 
 Only as the feeling of identity is expanded can the organism, 
 the material world, society and the universe become real to 
 men. Should their attitude become strictly sceptical all these 
 would become unreal. Trains of sensorial ideas alone would 
 remain. It is the synthetic self that is the basis of society. 
 To the analytic self individualism is the only logical system. 
 It regards the social forces as unreal. The synthetic self is 
 the active self; the analytic self is due to our passive states. 
 We are therefore synthetic in activity and analytic in passive 
 enjoyments. Our interests in activity are more extensive 
 than in the enjoyment of the reactions due to the contact 
 with external objects. Enjoyment being thus more 
 
 [443] 
 
12 
 
 Annals of the American Academy. 
 
 individual than activity the equilibrium of identity even in 
 the normal man moves toward the one extremity or the other 
 as he increases or decreases his activity. In his active states 
 he becomes more synthetic and by identifying himself with 
 more objects becomes more social. To become social thus 
 means an expansion of the feeling of identity and not an 
 extension of the consciousness of kind. The one means an 
 enlargement of motor activity and reactions and hence 
 social solidarity, the other means merely an increase in 
 sensory impressions which need give rise to no social 
 phenomena. 
 
 The emphasis which Professor Giddings gives the latter 
 concept is well deserved, but it is not the original and ele¬ 
 mentary fact upon which society is based. Consciousness of 
 kind is a variety of the class of likenesses, and likeness depends 
 upon the recognition of a common element in a complex 
 aggregate. In two objects certain elements among many 
 are seen to be alike. This attitude of mind, however, by 
 which the complex of objects is first recognized, and then 
 the points of agreement, is characteristic only of rational 
 men in advanced societies. The primitive man sees only a 
 few qualities in each object and he identifies them if they 
 have points of agreement. Red objects are to him not alike; 
 they are identical. All reds are red. He does not have the 
 power to recognize a complex aggregate of qualities. If 
 nothing else, the inability to count would prevent this. Ob¬ 
 jects are known by some one quality for which there is an 
 interest in the same way that they are recognized by children. 
 To the child a shining plate is not like the moon; it is the 
 moon. To the primitive man also objects are identical 
 whose dominant qualities are the same. 
 
 The kinds of the primitive man therefore are not the 
 organic classes which rational men recognize; nor are they 
 due to common blood and ancestry. Those things are of a 
 kind that have a prominent element in common. Differences 
 in which there is no interest do not come clearly enough 
 
 [444] 
 
The Reeation of Sociology to Psychology. 13 
 
 into consciousness to prevent the rise of the feeling of identity. 
 The primitive man puts himself in a class with a hawk, a 
 wolf, or any object in which he sees some quality common 
 to it and to him. The shadow, the image in water, the 
 dreamed-of spirit are identified with the self for similar 
 reasons. The self is in all objects that are similar and 
 agreeable. Any injury done to them is an injury to him 
 and any power over them extends also to him. Classes 
 based on heredity and ancestry come much later when an 
 analytic attitude is acquired. Until it is known that sexual 
 intercourse is the cause of child bearing, ties of blood cannot 
 be recognized. Descent from an animal or plant seems as 
 natural as from a human being. The primitive man was 
 more apt to see a resemblance between himself and a wolf 
 or bear than between himself and his offspring. 
 
 We can understand this state of mind only by recognizing 
 the differences between ourselves and the primitive man. 
 We classify objects and beings by the sensory impressions 
 their presence creates. Objects are known by their length, 
 weight, color, shape and other physical qualities. They are 
 in essence so much material and are made by the blending 
 of certain sensory elements. The primitive man recognized 
 neither objects nor beings in this way. He conceived of 
 every thing as living and classified it according to its move¬ 
 ments and activities. Those objects were of a kind whose 
 acts were alike. If a man put himself in the same class 
 with a hawk, a bear or a fish it was because he recognized 
 a similarity between his actions and those of the animal. 
 His sensory powers were not well enough developed to classify 
 by sensory distinctions nor had they an importance to him that 
 demanded such a classification. His thought was concen¬ 
 trated on the activities of surrounding objects and naturally 
 his classifications were determined by the necessities of his 
 situation. 
 
 Consciousness of kind, however, depends on the sensory 
 impressions which beings make. It is a recognition that 
 
 [445] 
 
i4 Annals of the American Academy. 
 
 men have the same feelings, ideas and characters. A man is 
 a man because he lives, thinks and feels and not because of 
 his activities or occupation. The recognition of kind 
 through activities and occupation is a mark of the unsocial 
 man. The fellow feeling between bakers, builders, farmers 
 and members of other trades produces clans and factions which 
 do not indicate the true likenesses and furthermore are ob¬ 
 stacles to the growth of a society. Such classifications and 
 contrasts must disappear before a true consciousness of kind 
 emerges. It is a product of the sensory development of men 
 and has appeared only in recent times. To me it is an im¬ 
 portant contribution to sociology because it is the antithesis 
 of the concepts and ideas of primitive men. It gets its force 
 and clearness because it sweeps away all those narrowing 
 concepts which depend upon affinities generated by common 
 activities, occupations or ties of blood. We need a term 
 that connotes none of these and has no associations that 
 bring up historical relations or primitive conditions. Con¬ 
 sciousness of kind should express the broadest relations that 
 unify the race. But it cannot be used in this way and at the 
 same time be made the basis of primitive societies and the 
 cause of the first bonds which held men together. 
 
 If we would be true to history we must seek the first social 
 forces in the conditions of the environment in early ages. 
 When men began to live in social groups the bonds holding 
 them together were external. The primitive man, it must be 
 kept in mind, was in a pain economy. He was powerless be¬ 
 fore objective conditions and helpless in the presence of ene¬ 
 mies. In the open world he had to struggle and to fight like 
 other animals and be dominated by their motives. His only 
 relief was in some hidden nook into which he could escape 
 from his enemies. Even the animals had their lairs in which 
 they were free to follow other inclinations than those dominant 
 in the outside world. Here the beginnings of a pleasure econ¬ 
 omy were made, and about it a group of associations were 
 formed that made society. The word home now conveys the 
 
 [446] 
 
The Relation of Sociology to Psychology. 15 
 
 ideas that the early lair, cave or hidden nook made possible. 
 Home and kindred terms are environment ideas. They call 
 up a place, a local habitat free from the evils of the outside 
 world. The early man tolerates another man not because of 
 any recognized similarity, but because the latter is associated 
 with some place and bears a mark that calls it up. The 
 bond is in objective space, in local conditions, and not in any 
 subjective idea. Animals check their hostility and recognize 
 a friend not because of any purely organic odor or similarity, 
 but from the odors of the lair, place odors which cling to 
 them because of their contact with its objects. Wash them 
 thoroughly and they become strangers. He is an enemy 
 who has another place odor. 
 
 For these reasons place and pleasure are inseparably asso¬ 
 ciated even in the animal world. The primitive man, there¬ 
 fore, starts with instincts which make him friendly to any 
 one that bears the marks or arouses any thoughts of his 
 home, his place of refuge. Primitive kinship is based on 
 ties of place and not of blood. Those are friends who have 
 the same place of refuge from which all pain activities are 
 excluded. Habits, movements or marks acquired in such 
 places were the original means of identification. They 
 brought up pictures of a common home and checked those 
 antagonisms which otherwise would be supreme. A group 
 of such individuals would, however, form but an economic 
 aggregate, among whom there would be no bond but their 
 temporary interests. A true society must have some perma¬ 
 nent hold on its members, some means through wdiich the 
 common interest can assert itself and check the self-assertive 
 tendencies among its members. There must also be some 
 form of control through which the few can compel the many 
 to accede to their wishes. Social control is limited by the 
 utility of the society to the individual, and before it can be 
 exerted efficiently there must be some important pleasure or 
 pleasures from which the leaders of the society can exclude 
 refractory individuals. 
 
 [447] 
 
16 Annans of the American Academy. 
 
 Of this fact, the social control exercised through fire is a 
 good example. In primitive times isolated individuals 
 could not preserve fire and very few knew how to create 
 it. The formation of permanent groups being a neces¬ 
 sity the tenders of the fire became a special class, ruling 
 the group and fixing its customs. The home now had an 
 objective reality in the altar on which the fire was pre¬ 
 served, and to move it was a difficult process. Attachment 
 to home was thus increased, and the fire became sacred 
 because it was the objective bond of social unity. This 
 sacredness was extended to those who tended it and to all 
 who were near it. The altar and the home were places of 
 refuge in or around which no acts of violence could be 
 committed. Special fire marks became totem signs, carrying 
 with them the sacredness of the home and altar. That the 
 fire and the altar were at least early bonds creating perma¬ 
 nent societies is shown by the persistence of these ideas in 
 all religious and family life. Within historical times the 
 perpetual fires were kept burning, guarded by a special class. 
 In religious services the altar and burning odors still persist. 
 The Roman family had its altar, and even in modern times 
 the hearth has a sanctity. If fire-worship was not the first 
 religion it certainly dates as far back as any. 
 
 Thus we see that the home, the family and society are 
 environment ideas. They are due to the place relations, 
 which the early types of a pleasure economy created, and are 
 changed and developed with the changes it has undergone. 
 To these common pleasures the different forms of control are 
 due. Men subordinate themselves to external conditions or 
 to other men, so that they can participate more fully in the 
 enjoyments of a pleasure economy. Impulses are thus gen¬ 
 erated, which expand the feeling of identity, and thus bind 
 the individual to all the objects and persons in his pleasure 
 world. He acts with them and through them as naturally 
 as though their dictates originated within himself. The 
 earliest type of control is objective. The feeling of identity 
 
 [448] 
 
The Relation of Sociology to Psychology. 17 
 
 is so extended that outer objects are included in it. The 
 self is made to include all pleasurable objects, and the non¬ 
 self is co-extensive with painful objects. Both groups of 
 objects are personified, and men feel that their welfare de¬ 
 pends upon them. These objects thus exert a control over 
 men and cause them to modify their activities so as to con¬ 
 form to the conditions which their relations to these objects 
 create. This state of mind causes the fetish worship of the 
 early races. 
 
 Social control comes later, and cannot be made effective 
 until certain group or home pleasures have become requisites 
 for survival, and the resulting societies are enough differ¬ 
 entiated to place these pleasures under the control of indi¬ 
 viduals. The relation of ruler and subject is developed and 
 feelings arise which will make each class identify itself and 
 its interests with the other class. A feeling of partial iden¬ 
 tity results. The ruling class is necessary to'the happiness 
 of its subjects, and at the same time it appropriates so many 
 sources of happiness that its interests are opposed to those 
 of its subjects. Where group interests are involved the 
 feeling of identity is so extended that ruler and subject feel 
 themselves to be one. In matters of wealth, however, where 
 their attitude is analytic and their identity is severed, 
 the temptations and dissipations of a pleasure world affect 
 the ruling class, and make them so selfish that they cease to 
 identify themselves with their subjects. In time the same 
 causes narrow the feeling of identity of the subjects, so that 
 it includes only the members of their own class and then 
 social control in an objective form is an ineffectual means of 
 promoting social welfare, or even of perserving society. 
 
 Social control becomes diffused with the progress of society. 
 The more objective and centralized it is, the more coercive 
 is its power. Each of the older institutions in its beginning 
 was a requisite for survival, and those who exercised control 
 through it were absolute in power, and could thus mould 
 society and determine the instincts and impulses of its 
 
 [449] 
 
18 Annals of the American Academy. 
 
 members. This power, however, is lost when new requisites 
 for survival arise and the old means of control become more 
 common. The early priest through the sacred fire, the altar 
 and the church exercised an absolute power over society. But 
 each new form of control has reduced this power, until now 
 the clergyman has little to distinguish him from the layman. 
 The forms remain, but the power is gone. The early king 
 in turn was equally absolute, but this power is so much lost 
 that the English kings now have little but the name that 
 resembles their predecessors. The soldier has in a like man¬ 
 ner had his day, and now drops to the level of other citizens. 
 The control exercised through wealth has a like history. No 
 form of wealth was so powerful as landed property in 
 early times. It shaped society and determined who should 
 survive, and what should be his qualities and sentiments. 
 Capital in the form of food is a less effective means of social 
 control than in land. It dominates the workman less than 
 the landowner did his serf. Fixed capital in buildings and 
 machinery is still less powerful. The workman is now much 
 less under the influence of the large capitalist who furnishes 
 him tools and a working place, than he formerly was under 
 the influence of the small employers who gave him food and 
 shelter. Each new form of wealth is less easily controlled by 
 a class or by a firmly united group, and it is more difficult for 
 this class or group to keep the wealth in its hands for any 
 length of time. Land as property is more stable and en¬ 
 during than capital. Fixed capital in machinery and build¬ 
 ings is subject to more risks than supplies of food. Stocks 
 and bonds in great corporations are even less secure and less 
 likely to remain in the same hands for a long time. 
 
 The more objective forms of social control are in a pain 
 economy. They become less stable and extensive with each 
 transition to a pleasure economy, in the end must be dis¬ 
 placed by a diffused subjective control through which each 
 individual checks the inclinations of other individuals to 
 subordinate society to their interests. This diffused control 
 
 [450] 
 
The Relation of Sociology to Psychology. 19 
 
 is the ideal of a democratic society, and would in a pure 
 pleasure economy displace, or at least transform and disguise, 
 other forms of control. There would still be the church and 
 priest, but they would not stand between the individual and 
 his God. The ruler and soldier would exist, but without a 
 will of their own. Wealth and culture would be as power¬ 
 ful as ever, but every one would participate in them and 
 share in the control they exert. There would still be a no¬ 
 bility, but every one would feel the stimulus which family 
 and heredity give. 
 
 It is only in cases of diffused control that a feeling of the 
 consciousness of kind displaces the feeling of identity upon 
 which earlier societies are based. Objective social control 
 cannot be exercised except when the subject, in a measure 
 at least, identifies himself with his ruler. He magnifies the 
 points of similarity and neglects the differences between him¬ 
 self and others. Only in democratic societies do men think 
 of others as having points of similarity and yet differing in 
 many particulars. Primitive people cannot endure people like 
 themselves. They demand that every one with whom they 
 come in contact shall be identical with themselves. He is a 
 friend who has the same faith, habits and activities. A sin¬ 
 gle conscious contrast makes him a foe. 
 
 Although it is customary to speak of the common quali¬ 
 ties of men, it should not be forgotten that these qualities 
 are abstract concepts. They are the products of an advanced 
 civilization, and demand for their visualization a more an¬ 
 alytic attitude than the primitive man possessed. It has taken 
 a long education for men to separate that which is accidental 
 or peculiar to individuals from those race characteristics 
 which all men possess. Without this distinction upon which 
 the thought of a species is based, men cannot think of others 
 as like themselves. There is either a feeling of identity or 
 of hostility. 
 
 The common qualities in men only become vivid after 
 repeated transitions from environment to environment. Each 
 
 [451] 
 
20 
 
 Annals of the American Academy. 
 
 transition brings out new requisites for survival, separates 
 the temporary from the permanent and concentrates the 
 attention upon those features which are essential to the new 
 conditions. The ideas created by the new conditions are not 
 thought of as new and acquired, but are projected backward 
 into the past and thought of as though they were the ancient 
 possessions of the race. A race thinks of itself as always hav¬ 
 ing existed in its present environment, and hence ideas really 
 new are assumed to be old and a fabulous history is con¬ 
 structed to account for their origin. In an unconscious way 
 each race constructs a history which conforms in a measure to 
 the order of events which would have taken place if its whole 
 development had been in the present environment. A supe¬ 
 rior sanctity is thus given to the principles and rules of con¬ 
 duct which present conditions demand. 
 
 This tendency is emphasized by the gradual transition 
 from a pain to a pleasure economy. The race assumes that 
 in the distant past it had a golden age in which the advanta¬ 
 ges of a pleasure economy were realized, and from which the 
 ideas and rules of conduct necessary in the new conditions 
 are supposed to be derived. A natural state of man is 
 merely a visualization of men’s concepts of a pleasure econ¬ 
 omy. It varies with each stage in the development of a race 
 because the new conditions demand new principles and ideas. 
 A natural right is a rule of action or a safeguard which 
 would have developed naturally and consciously if the race 
 had always been in a pleasure economy. In a pain economy 
 men have no natural rights. There is merely the rule of 
 force. In escaping from such a society men picture a pleasure 
 economy and draw from it the rules and principles by which 
 they are governed in their new conditions. Had the devel¬ 
 opment of men taken place in a pleasure economy, govern¬ 
 ment might have been the result of a contract and each 
 natural right might have been acquired in a conscious way 
 when the race advanced to a point that made its possession 
 vital to future progress. The necessities of a pain economy 
 
 [452] 
 
The Relation of Sociology to Psychology. 21 
 
 did not permit progress to be normal, and hence the rights of 
 men are based on a fictitious history created after the need of 
 the rights is felt. 
 
 Liberty and equality, for example, were not among the 
 concepts of primitive men. They were acquired only at a 
 late stage of progress after a partial transition had been 
 made to a pleasure economy. Their basis lay in the condi¬ 
 tions of the present environment and not in the history of 
 the race. A logical development of these ideas out of pres¬ 
 ent conditions does not satisfy men. They prefer to visual¬ 
 ize and idealize the principles vital to present prosperity, and 
 to do this they picture the past in a way that does not con¬ 
 form to reality. If the race had developed normally on the 
 logical basis upon which the principles of government and of 
 social activity rest, it would coincide with the historical basis 
 upon which men prefer to base them. The historical order 
 in which ideas and principles arose would be the same as the 
 logical order in which a rational being would develop them. 
 The two series cannot present ideas and principles in the same 
 order if society, beginning in a pain economy, is gradually 
 transferred into a pleasure economy. The visualization of 
 ideas which takes place under these circumstances is true to 
 the logical order. The concept of a golden age or of a natu¬ 
 ral state gives men a logical basis for action, and aids them 
 to develop principles suited to present conditions, but it forces 
 them to be false to history. 
 
 Men cannot visualize an idea without constructing a pic¬ 
 ture of a concrete condition in which this idea has a prom¬ 
 inent place. When an ideal environment is once made, it 
 is so much more vivid than the one in which history shows 
 the race to have been, that the former displaces the latter, or, 
 at least, is so blended with it that its features are much more 
 prominent. Through this process of visualization, men re¬ 
 construct history and make it subserve their present needs. 
 It is seen to the best advantage in periods of transition, 
 because in them new types of men come to the front and 
 
 [453] 
 
22 
 
 Annads of the American Academy. 
 
 acquire a prominence which they could not have if progress 
 were normal and in a single environment. We are apt to 
 think of a race as developing by steady accretions. Each 
 age would then preserve the leading elements in the national 
 character and add to them some characteristic helpful in the 
 new conditions. Progress of this kind is normal and in 
 such a society some one type of men continue in a leading 
 place. A marked period of transition, however, destroys the 
 superiority of the dominant type. Some of the character¬ 
 istics of the race are no longer of use, or at least they 
 lose their distinctive superiority, while the characteristics 
 demanded by the new situation may be more developed in 
 a type of men who were at a disadvantage under the old 
 conditions. Judged from the standpoint of the old society, 
 an inferior man now tends to survive. Instead of a regular 
 progress, society reverts to a more primitive type and then 
 begins to move along a new track. 
 
 There is also a degeneration among individuals of the 
 dominant type in the old society. The safeguards against 
 the temptation and vice of the new society are not sufficiently 
 developed in them. The soldier, for example, is well suited 
 to the vicissitudes and hardships of a campaign, but yields 
 readily to the temptations of peaceful prosperity. The transi¬ 
 tion from a period of war to one of peace is marked therefore 
 by a degeneration and a practical extinction of the type of men 
 that carried the nation safely through the earlier epoch. 
 
 If the new type of men is compared with the earlier 
 type at its best period, the tendency to revert can be easily 
 measured. The dominant class, and especially its leaders 
 in the struggle which the transition brings on, are men of a 
 more primitive type than were the men they displaced. 
 Compare, for example, the leaders of the great religious 
 awakening in England during the eighteenth century. 
 Value the services of Wesley as highly as we may—yet it 
 must be admitted that he is a man of a much more primitive 
 type than Butler, the leader of the rational movement. 
 
 [454] 
 
The Relation of Sociology to Psychology. 23 
 
 Wesley has little understanding of natural law; he believes in 
 witchcraft, and in his reforms he tries to restore the doctrines 
 and conditions of the primitive church and the anthropo¬ 
 morphic concepts which prevailed in it. Yet he succeeded 
 in transforming the religious thought of his age because 
 industrial transition displaced through degeneration the 
 dominant class of the earlier period and left the nation in 
 the possession of more primitive men who were capable of a 
 development in harmony with the new conditions. Take 
 again the leaders in the French revolution. Rousseau was 
 a man of a more primitive type than the leaders of the pre¬ 
 ceding epoch of French thought. He had many of the 
 characteristics of a savage and his concept of nature belonged 
 to a much earlier epoch. The other leaders in the same 
 movement had similar characteristics and they could not 
 have succeeded but for the fact that the great industrial 
 changes destroyed the superiority of the dominant class of 
 the earlier epoch and caused them to degenerate. Primitive 
 men and primitive concepts could thus assert themselves and 
 create the basis and motives for a new civilization. 
 
 It is, however, an exaggeration to identify the leaders in 
 new social movements with primitive men. It would be 
 better to call their ideas primal than primitive. Primal ideas 
 are the sources not of meditation and analysis, but of activ¬ 
 ity. No sooner are they perceived than motor reactions 
 begin, resulting in some action or motion. These ideas, like 
 those of primitive men, have few or no sensory reactions 
 bringing up series of associated ideas. They differ widely 
 from the sensorial ideas that revive each other without lead¬ 
 ing to activity. Ideas usually have one or the other of these 
 kinds of associations dominant. Either their connections 
 with the motor reactions are strong or they are closely asso¬ 
 ciated with other ideas and merely excite long trains of 
 thought. 
 
 The difference between the two can be illustrated by the 
 effect of the word ‘ ‘ attention ” on a soldier and on a school 
 
 [455] 
 
24 AnnaIvS of the American Academy. 
 
 boy. The word to the soldier starts motor reactions creating 
 certain activities. To the school boy, however, the word is 
 associated not with activity, but with reflection and analysis. 
 He expects his teacher to analyze a plant, to solve a problem 
 or to perform an experiment. He has, therefore, a series of 
 analytic ideas put before him which he must remember, but 
 with which no activity is associated. The work of school 
 boys is largely confined to the acquisition of sensorial knowl¬ 
 edge. They acquire merely a series of associated ideas with¬ 
 out any outlet in activity. A table of dates, long numerical 
 calculations and languages acquired merely for discipline are 
 examples. 
 
 The analytic type of mind creates a multitude of such 
 ideas. Objects are divided into parts and redivided without 
 end. A great number of ideas are formed which are never 
 excited, except as parts of a long series of concepts. They 
 are clear and definite, but their presence in consciousness 
 merely arouses other ideas of the same series. A circle of 
 ideas is thus formed which promote discrimination, meditation 
 and delay. Men whose ideas are of this type are clear 
 thinkers, but weak in action. They become dominant in 
 advanced societies, and it is among them that degeneration 
 takes place in periods of transition. Their activities do not 
 harmonize with their knowledge. They lose sight of the 
 essentials to life in a multitude of minor distinctions. In the 
 process of degeneration these circles of sensorial ideas are 
 broken up. Many of them are lost because they are never 
 aroused except as parts of the circle of ideas to which they 
 belong. Those that remain do so because they are directly 
 connected with the sensations coming from the outer world 
 or because they are associated with motor activities. The 
 circles of thought become shorter and the motor reactions 
 direct and vivid. The ideas are those of advanced men and 
 are clear and definite, because they are the products of 
 analytic thought. They are, however, shorn of the associa¬ 
 tions connecting them with the ideas from which they are 
 
 [456] 
 
Thf Relation of Sociology to Psychology. 25 
 
 derived or to which they are related. Their strong associa¬ 
 tions are now with motor reactions, and their perception 
 leads to activity and not to the analysis of their content or 
 to the history of their growth. In this respect they are like 
 the ideas of primitive men, and the men who perceive them 
 in their full force act with the promptness and efficiency of 
 primitive men. Such ideas are the starting points in men’s 
 thinking, but not the first ideas they held. Primal ideas are 
 thus primitive in form, but their content is like those of 
 advanced men. Social ideas are of this class. They have 
 their origin in complicated sensorial reactions and discrimi¬ 
 nations, but when once formed their sensorial associations 
 are weakened or lost. They become independent of the 
 circles of thought by which they were created, and form the 
 connecting link between sensations coming from the outer 
 world and the motor reactions which adjust men to it. They 
 have, therefore, the simplicity, directness and independence 
 of primitive ideas and are easily mistaken for them. The 
 thought of equality and fraternity appears simple and primi¬ 
 tive, yet they are based on analyses which only advanced 
 men can make. Although the sacredness of life and the 
 golden rule seem to have great age they are concepts foreign 
 to primitive men, and arise only when mental analysis has 
 made great progress. Nothing seems simpler or older than 
 the thought of nature, of God, or of heaven. Yet the ideas 
 associated with these words were changed many times before 
 they acquired their present clearness and the power to direct 
 the activities of men. Such ideas have gone through many 
 periods of degeneration and reversion, in w T hich they lost 
 their original sensorial connections and were brought into 
 closer touch with the motor powers. 
 
 Men with such ideas are synthetic in their thought and 
 feel more keenly the harmony between themselves and other 
 objects and beings. The concept of self is enlarged because 
 more ideas relate to objects that are agreeable and hence 
 capable of being joined to the self and identified with it. 
 
 [457] 
 
26 
 
 Annals of the American Academy. 
 
 The consciously disagreeable may be more pronounced but 
 it is concentrated in fewer objects. The mass of objects 
 become indifferent or so universally agreeable that in their 
 enjoyment no contrast is made between the self and the non¬ 
 self. The world, it is thought, would be a paradise but for a 
 few prevailing evils. When men perceive that evil lies not 
 in the nature of things but in a few discordant elements, they 
 identify themselves more fully with society and the universe. 
 Men who believe a personal devil to be the source of evil 
 are more social than men who believe that natural objects, 
 being impure or unclean, are the cause of their woes. It is 
 better to believe in witches than to attribute the evils of life to 
 the inanimate objects with which men come in contact. So also 
 men who think that their evils are due to oppression, to their 
 rulers, to particular measures or policies have a larger 
 personality than if they believed mankind to be depraved 
 and all their associates to have evil designs. Such men do 
 not differentiate themselves so sharply from the persons and 
 objects with which they come in contact. It is no wonder 
 that when they become leaders in great .social movements 
 they pervert history. Real history is not sharply contrasted 
 with their fancies. The lines between the two are so vague 
 that it is easy and natural to change the order of events to 
 suit their own ends. They view the past more as a picture 
 than as a series of events. By such men the historical order 
 of events is converted into the logical order and through their 
 influence men picture the past in a way that harmonizes the 
 two possible bases upon which social doctrines and institu¬ 
 tions can rest. 
 
 Professor Giddings encourages this transformation when 
 he makes the consciousness of kind a member of the logical 
 series of ideas and at the same time gives it a place in the 
 actual series of social ideas which have been developed in the 
 history of the race. It cannot from the circumstances of the 
 case be the first member of both series. If it is the original 
 subjective datum of society in the sense of being the first in 
 
 [458] 
 
The Relation of Sociology to Psychology. 27 
 
 the historical order, it cannot be the elementary datum in 
 the sense of being the source from which men derive their 
 principles and institutions. There can be no doubt as to 
 where it really belongs. It is an idea of late origin projected 
 backward into an ideal past, just as other ideas of the logical 
 order are. The consciousness of kind is not the cause of 
 society but is the product of social evolution. It is made 
 the basis of society by a conscious process and gets its age in 
 the same way that other ideals and natural rights acquire 
 their alleged antiquity. With a different emphasis and a 
 more vivid setting it may become as cogent a force in social 
 progress as any of the group of ideals to which it belongs. 
 But such work is for the reformer and not for the scholar. 
 The latter should isolate the elements which the former 
 strives to blend and visualize. 
 
 If this analysis of social phenomena is correct, the connec¬ 
 tion between psychology and sociology is not that of depen¬ 
 dency. Social ideas are not simple psychic elements, but 
 complexes due to the blending of certain sensory ideas with 
 motor reactions. The sociologist must perceive that the 
 feeling of identity is not indecomposable and unvarying, but 
 is capable of change, and corresponds to the conditions set by 
 the environment. There is a social self to be contrasted with 
 a non-social self, but not a social mind to be contrasted with 
 the individual mind. The psychic qualities distinguishing 
 the social from the unsocial, lie within each man and not 
 in any higher psychic unity which their relations to each 
 other create. The requisites for survival which succeeding 
 environments create determine the direction of social progress, 
 but the peculiarities of each epoch are due to the kind of 
 social control which its requisites make possible. Social 
 control is exercised through objects necessary for all men 
 and yet capable of monopolization. The more objective 
 these requisites are and the more they are under the con¬ 
 trol of a few individuals, the more does society seem like a 
 social mind. This concept is merely the personification of 
 
 [459] 
 
28 Annals of the American Academy. 
 
 social control. When social control is objective and con¬ 
 centrated, such a personification is easily made; it becomes 
 increasingly difficult, however, in advanced societies in which 
 social control is diffused. There is, therefore, no good reason 
 for calling sociology a psychologic science. It is much bet¬ 
 ter to assert its independence and to develop its. terms and 
 ideas out of its own material. In this way progress may be 
 slower, but it will be surer and in the end will give sociology 
 a place in the hierarchy of the sciences equal in rank with 
 physics, chemistry, or any other independent science. 
 
 Simon N. Patten. 
 
 University of Pennsylvania. 
 
THE AMERICAN ACADEMY OF POLITICAL, AND 
 SOCIAL SCIENCE. 
 
 The American Academy of Political and Social Science 
 was formed in Philadelphia, December 14, 1889, for the pur¬ 
 pose of promoting the Political and Social Sciences. 
 
 While it does not exclude any portion of the field indi¬ 
 cated in its title, yet its chief object is the development of 
 those aspects of the Political and Social Sciences which are 
 either entirely omitted from the programmes of other 
 societies, or which do not at present receive the attention 
 they deserve. 
 
 Among such subjects may be mentioned: Sociology, 
 Comparative Constitutional and Administrative Law, Phi¬ 
 losophy of the State, sand such portions of the field of Poli¬ 
 tics, including Finance and Banking, as are not adequately 
 cultivated by existing organizations. 
 
 A special effort will be made to collect and publish mate¬ 
 rial which will be of use to students, and which does not now 
 reach the public in any systematic way, as, for example, the 
 texts in English of the Constitutions of leading foreign 
 countries ; regular accounts of current instruction in Politi¬ 
 cal and Social topics at home and abroad; descriptive 
 bibliographies, discussions of Municipal Government, etc. 
 
 It will be seen that the Academy thus supplements the 
 efforts of existing societies of similar aims, and substantially 
 strengthens their work by contributing its share to beget a 
 deeper and more widespread interest in the general subject 
 of Political and Social Science. 
 
 The plan of the Academy includes regular scientific meet¬ 
 ings for the presentation of papers and communications, 
 establishment of a library, and the dissemination of knowl¬ 
 edge on Political and Social topics through its publications 
 and by such other means as may seem suitable. 
 
 During the winter, regular scientific meetings have been 
 held since the Academy was formed at which the papers 
 submitted have been read and discussed. 
 
To carry on the work of the Academy satisfactorily, large 
 funds are necessary. The income of the Academy at present 
 is derived from the Annual Membership Fee, which is $5.00; 
 the Life Membership Fee, which is $100; and from the con¬ 
 tributions of those who may be willing to assist in its work. 
 It is desired to secure the establishment of prizes and fellow¬ 
 ships. 
 
 Anyone may become a member on being approved by the 
 Council and paying the Annual or Life Membership Fee. 
 Members are entitled to receive the regular publications of 
 the Academy, submit papers and communications, and to 
 attend and take part in all scientific meetings. Life mem¬ 
 bers are exempt from all annual fees. 
 
 The list of members now includes the names of nearly all 
 the prominent thinkers and writers on Political, Economic 
 and Social topics in the United States and Canada, and many 
 in Europe. 
 
 The co-operation of all persons interested in the scientific 
 investigation of Political and Social affairs is earnestly so¬ 
 licited. 
 
 The proceedings of the Academy are published in the 
 form of a periodical called the Annans of the American 
 Academy of Poeiticae and Sociae Science, which, 
 together with such other matter as may be published for 
 that purpose, is sent to all members of the Academy free of 
 charge. A copy of the current number of the Annaes will 
 be sent to any one for examination. 
 
 Papers and communications which the writers wish to 
 submit to the Academy with a view to their being read in a 
 Scientific Session and subsequently published in the Pro¬ 
 ceedings, as well as applications for membership, should be 
 sent to the following address : 
 
 American Academy of Political and Social Science, 
 
 STATION B, PHILADELPHIA, PA. 
 
 N. B.—Fees and contributions may be remitted by postal 
 order on Philadelphia, or by draft on New York, drawn to 
 the order of the Treasurer, Mr. Stuart Wood, 400 Chestnut 
 Street, Philadelphia. 
 
The following papers, which are of interest to 
 
 Students of the New Political Economy 
 
 have appeared in the Annans and been reprinted in 
 
 SEPARATE EDITIONS : 
 
 LAW OF WAGES AND INTEREST. By Prof. J. B. Clark, 
 of Smith College. Price, 35 cents. 
 
 PROVINCE OF SOCIOLOGY. By PROF. F. H. Giddings, of 
 Bryn Mawr. Price, 25 cents. 
 
 HISTORICAL vs. DEDUCTIVE POLITICAL ECONOMY. By 
 Prof. Dr. E. von Boehm-Bawerk, of Vienna. Price, 25 cents. 
 THE AUSTRIAN ECONOMISTS. By Prof. Boehm-Bawerk. 
 
 Price, 25 cents. 
 
 THEORY OF VALUE. By Prof. Dr. F. von WiESER, of Prague, 
 Austria. Price, 25 cents. 
 
 PATTEN’S DYNAMIC ECONOMICS. By Prof. J. B. Clark. 
 
 Price, 15 cents. 
 
 GEOMETRICAL THEORY OF THE DETERMINATION OF 
 PRICES. By Prof. L£on Walras, of Lausanne, Switzerland. 
 
 Price, 25 cents. 
 
 EFFECTS OF THE CONSUMPTION OF WEALTH ON DIS¬ 
 TRIBUTION. By Prof. Wm. Smart, of Glasgow, Scotland. 
 
 Price, 35 cents. 
 
 STANDARD OF DEFERRED PAYMENTS. By PROF. E. A. 
 
 ROSS, of Stanford University. Price, 15 cents. 
 
 COST AND UTILITY. By Prof. S. N. Patten, of the University 
 of Pennsylvania. Price, 25 cents, 
 
 THEORY OF FINAL UTILITY IN RELATION TO THE 
 STANDARD OF DEFERRED PAYMENTS. By Dr. L. S. 
 MERRIAM, of Cornell. Price, 25 cents. 
 
 THE SURPLUS GAINS OF LABOR. By Prof. J. B. Clark. 
 
 Price, 15 cents. 
 
 COST AND EXPENSE. By Prof. S. N. Patten. Price, 25 cents. 
 INTEREST AND PROFITS. By Prof. A. T. Hadley, of Yale. 
 
 Price, 15 cents, 
 
 AUSTRIAN THEORY OF VALUE. By Prof. S. M. Macvane, 
 of Harvard. Price, 25 cents. 
 
 SUBJECTIVE AND OBJECTIVE VIEW OF DISTRIBUTION. 
 
 By Prof. John Hobson, of London. Price, 25 cents. 
 
 TOTAL UTILITY STANDARD OF DEFERRED PAYMENTS. 
 By Prof. E. A. Ross. Price, 25 cents. 
 
 American Academy of Political and Social Science, 
 
 Station B, Philadelphia. 
 
L. 
 
 3 0112 06 
 
 797442 
 
 The Theory of Social Forces, 
 
 By PROF. SIMON N. PATTEN, Ph. D., 
 
 Author of 
 
 “ The Theory of Dynamic Economics ,” “ The Consumption of Wealth ,” etc . 
 
 151 Pages. Octavo. Bound in Paper. 
 Price, $1.00. 
 
 It is a study of the various steps in social evolution, and, with 
 the present interest in the discussion of fundamental problems of 
 social organization and functions, this new monograph should attract 
 the most general attention. 
 
 Professor Patten approaches the problem of social evolution from 
 a fresh and original point of view. Heretofore it has been customary 
 for those who study social problems from the biologic side to take for 
 granted the general truth and sufficiency of the theory of evolution, 
 without seeking to inquire just how and why the evolutionary process 
 assumed has taken place. Dr. Patten lays great stress on the influ¬ 
 ence that the social environment has had in determining the direction 
 of such evolution. 
 
 Briefly outlined, Dr. Patten’s social theories rest upon the assump¬ 
 tion that the progressive development of organic life on this planet 
 has been in its later phases the result of the development of a more 
 and more refined mental organism, the parts of which have been in 
 turn the “requisites for survival,” as the organism adapted itself to 
 increasingly complex environments. 
 
 The monograph is divided into five parts, which treat respectively 
 of “The Influence of the Environment,” “Race Psychology,” 
 “ Knowledge and Belief,” “A Social Commonwealth,” and “Normal 
 Progress.” 
 
 American Academy of 
 Political and Social Science, 
 
 STATION B, PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A.