4
GIFT Of
H. B. Wilson
TEACHER'S HAND-BOOK
OF
PSYCHOLOGY
ON THE BASIS OF THE
OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY
BY
JAMES SULLY, M. A.
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
I, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET
1887
Copyright, 1886,
By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
PREFACE
The present volume is based on the writer's
larger work, " The Outlines of Psychology." By
considerably reducing and simplifying the state-
ment of scientific principles there presented, and
expanding the practical applications to the art
of Education, he hopes he may have succeeded in
satisfying an increasingly felt want among teachers,
viz., of an exposition of the elements of Mental
Science in their bearing on the work of train-
ing and developing the minds of the young.
Hampstead, March, 1886.
AMERICAN NOTE.
It is proper to say that the author of this book is paid a
copyright by contract on all its sales ; and that the larger work,
the " Outlines of Psychology," was published under the same con-
ditions. Mr. Sully also contributed a volume, several years ago,
on " Illusions," to the International Scientific Series, an enterprise
originating in our establishment for the advantage of foreign
authors, who are paid at the same rates that are customary with
American authors.
D. APPLETON & CO.
New York, April 21, 1886.
677579
CONTENTS.
Chapter I.
PSYCHOLOGY AND EDUCATION.
PAGE
Art and Science i
Art and Science of Education 4
Divisions of Educational Science 8
Psychology and Education 10
Chapter II.
SCOPE AND METHOD OF PSYCHOLOGY.
Scientific Conception of Mind 13
Mind and Body 14
The Subjective Method 15
The Objective Method 15
Both Methods must be combined 16
Observation of Children's Minds 17
General Knowledge of Mind 19
Chapter III.
MIND AND BODY.
Connection between Mind and Body 21
The Nervous System 22
The Special Organs of Mind 25
Nature of Nervous Action 26
Mental Activity and Brain Efficiency 27
Brain-Activity and Brain- Fatigue 28
Effects of Brain-Activity on the Organism 29
Overtaxing the Brain 29
Remission and Variation of Brain-Exercise 31
Differences of Brain-Power 32
vi CONTENTS,
Chapter IV.
KNOWING, FEELING, AND WILLING.
PAGE
Mental Phenomena and Operations 34
Classification of Mental Operations 34
Feeling, Knowing, and Willing 35
Opposition between Knowing, Feeling, and Willing .... 36
Connection between Knowing, Feeling, and Willing .... 36
Species of Knowing, Feeling, and Willing : Mental Faculties . . 38
Primary Intellectual Functions 38
Individual Differences of Mental Capability 39
Truths or Laws of Mind 40
General Conditions of Mental Activity 41
Conditions of Knowing, Feeling, and Willing 41
Importance of understanding the Conditions of Mental Activity . . 43
Chapter V.
MENTAL DEVELOPMENT.
Mental Development defined 45
Growth of Faculty 47
Order of Development of Faculties 47
Unity of Intellectual Development ....... 48
Growth and Exercise of Faculty 49
Growth and Retentiveness 50
Growth and Habit 50
Grouping of Parts : Laws of Association 51
Development of Feeling and Willing 52
Interdependence of Processes 52
Growth and Development of the Brain 53
Factors in Development 54
(A) Internal Factor 54
(B) External Factor, (i) Natural Environment .... 55
(2) The Social Environment 55
Undesigned and Designed Influence of Society 56
Scheme of Development 57
Varieties of Development 57
DifTerences of Original Capacity . . 58
The Law of Heredity 59
Common and Special Heredity 59
Varieties of External Influence 60
The Teacher and the Social Environment 69
Training of the Faculties 63
CONTENTS. vii
Chapter VI.
ATTENTION.
PAGE
Place of Attention in Mind 66
Definition of Attention 66
Directions of Attention 67
Effects of Attention 68
Physiology of Attention 68
Extent of Attention 69
On what the Degree of Attention depends 70
External and Internal Stimuli 70
Non- Voluntary and Voluntary Attention 70
Reflex Attention 71
Law of Contrast and Novelty 71
Interest 72
Familiarity and Interest 73
Transition to Voluntary Attention 74
Function of the Will in Attention 74
Growth of Attention : Early Stage 76
Development of Power of controlling the Attention .... 76
Attention to the Unimpressive • 77
Resistance to Stimuli 78
Keeping the Attention fixed 78
Concentration 79
Concentration and Intellectual Power 79
Grasp of Attention 80
Habits of Attention 81
Varieties of Attentive Power 81
Training of the Attention 82
Chapter VII.
THE SENSES: SENSE-DISCRIMINATION.
Definition of Sensation 86
General and Special Sensibility 87
Characters of Sensations 88
The Five Senses 89
Taste and Smell 89
Touch 89
Active Touch 92
Muscular Sense 93
Hearing 95
Sight 97
Attention to Sense-Impressions 99
Discrimination of Sensation . .99
Identification of Sense-Impressions 99
viii CONTENTS.
PAGB
Growth of Sense-Capacity loo
Improvement of Sense-Discrimination loo
Differences of Sense-Capacity loi
The Training of the Senses 102
Method of Training 103
Training of the Several Senses 105
Chapter VIII.
THE SENSES: OBSERVATION OF THINGS.
Definition of Perception 108
How Percepts are reached 108
Special Channels of Perception 110
Perceptions of Touch in
Visual Perception 113
Perception of Form by the Eye 113
Perception of Distance and Solidity 114
Intuition of Things 116
Perception of our own Body 117
Observation 118
Distinct and Accurate Observation 119
Development of Perceptual Power 121
Training of the Observing Powers 124
Exercise in observing Form 125
The Object-Lesson 127
Chapter IX.
MENTAL REPRODUCTION.— MEMORY.
Retention and Reproduction 131
Reproduction and Representation 132
Conditions of Reproduction 133
(A) Depth of Impression : Attention and Retention . . .134
Repetition and Retention ... ... 135
(B) Association of Impression . 137
Different Kinds of Association 138
(I) Association by Contiguity 138
Strength of Associative Cohesion 140
On what Sug^:estive Force depends 140
Trains of Images 14^
Verbal Associations .... , . . . 143
(ID Association by Similarity 144
(III) Association by Contrast 145
Complex Associations «... 146
Co-operation of Associations 146
Obstructive Associations 147
Active Reproduction : Recollection 147
CONTENTS. ix
Chapter X.
MEMORY (continued).
PAGE
Memory and its Degrees , . 150
Beginnings and Growth of Memory 151
Repetition of Experience 152
New Experiences 153
How Memory Improves . 153
Causes of Growth of Memory 154
Varieties of Memory, General and Special 155
Causes of DifTerence 157
Training of the Memory 159
(a) Exercise in Acquisition 162
Learning by Heart 165
Art of Mnemonics 167
(b) Exercise in Recalling . 169
Subjects which exercise the Memory 170
Educational Value of Memory 17X
Chapter XI.
CONSTRUCTIVE IMAGINATION.
Reproductive and Constructive Imagination 174
The Constructive Process . . . . . . . . .174
Various Forms of Construction 176
(A) Intellectual Imagination .176
(i) Imagination and Acquisition 176
Reducing the Abstract to the Concrete 177
(2) Imagination and Discovery . ... . . .178
(B) Practical Contrivance 178
(C) Esthetic Imagination 179
Risks of Uncontrolled Imagination 180
Intellectual Value of Imagination 181
Development of Imagination 182
Germ of Imagination 182
Children's Fancy . . . 183
Imcigination brought under Control 184
Later Growth of Imagination 185
Varieties of Imaginative Power . . . ... . .186
Training of the Imagination 187
Twofold Direction of Imaginative Training 187
(a) Restraining Fancy 188
(b) Cultivating the Imagination 189
Exercise of the Imagination in Teaching 192
Exercise of Invention 195
X CONTENTS.
Chapter XII.
ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
Apprehension and Comprehension igg
Stages of Thinking 200
The General Notion or Concept 200
How Concepts are formed 201
(A) Comparison . . . 201
Conditions of Comparison 202
(B) Abstraction 204
(C) Generalization 205
Conception and Naming 205
Discovering the Meaning of Words 206
Degrees of Abstraction 207
Marking off Single Qualities 207
Varieties of Concepts 208
Notions which involve Synthesis 208
(A) Ideas of Magnitude and Number 209
(B) Notions of Geometry, etc. 210
Moral Ideas : Idea of Self 211
Notions of Others 212
Conception and Discrimination 213
Classification 214
Chapter XIII.
ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION (continued^.
Imperfection and Perfection of Notions 216
Distinctness of Concepts 216
Causes of Indistinctness of Concepts 217
Accuracy of Concepts 218
(A) Inaccurate Notions depending on Imperfect Abstraction . . 219
(B) Inaccurate Notions depending on Loss of Elements . . 220
On Revising our Notions 221
Relation of Conception to Imagination 221
On Defining Notions 222
Growth of Conceptual Power 224
Early Notions 224
Growth of Conception and of Discrimination 225
Formation of more Abstract Conceptions 226
Use of Adjectives . 227
Period of Fuller Development 228
How Progress in Conceptual Power is to be measured .... 229
Varieties of Conceptual Power 229
Training the Power of Abstraction 230
Exercise in Classing Objects 231
Explaining Meaning of Words . . 235
CONTENTS.
XI
PAGE
Controlling the Child's Use of Words 236
Order of taking up Abstract Studies 237
Chapter XIV.
JUDGING AND REASONING.
Nature of Judgment 239
Relation of Concept to Judgment 241
Process of Judging 243
Affirmation and Negation . . 244
Belief and Doubt 245
Extent of Judgment 245
Perfection of Judgments : Clearness 246
Accuracy of Judgment 247
Other Merits of Judgment 248
Inference and Reasoning 249
Relation of Judging to Reasoning . . . . . . . . 251
Inductive and Deductive Reasoning 253
(A) Nature of Inductive Reasoning 252
Spontaneous Induction 253
Regulated Induction 254
Induction and Causation 254
Children's Idea of Cause 254
Natural Reasoning about Causes 255
Regulated Reasoning about Causes 257
Chapter XV.
JUDGING AND REASONING (continued).
Deductive Reasoning 259
Application of Principles and Explanations 260
Regulated Deduction 261
Other Forms of Reasoning : Analogy 263
Development of Powers' of Judging and Reasoning .... 263
Growth of Reasoning Power 266
First Reasonings about Cause 266
Varieties of Power of Judging and Reasoning 268
Training the Faculty of Judgment 270
Training of the Reasoning Powers 272
Subjects which exercise the Reasoning Faculty 274
Method in Teaching 275
Chapter XVI.
THE FEELINGS: NATURE OF FEELING.
Feeling defined 279
The Diffusion and Effects of Feeling 280
xii CONTENTS,
PACK
Pleasure and Pain 283
Effects of Pleasure and Pain 284
Monotony and Change 285
Accommodation to Surroundings 286
Varieties of Pleasure and Pain 288
(A) Sense-Feelings 288
(B) The Emotions 289
Development of Emotion 289
Association of Feeling 291
Habits of Feeling 292
Order of Development of the Emotions 293
Characteristics of Children's Feelings 294
The Education of the Feelings ...*.... 297
(a) Repression of Feeling 298
(b) Stimulation of Emotion 299
Chapter XVII.
THE EGOISTIC AND SOCIAL FEELINGS.
(A) Egoistic Feelings : Fear 303
Anger, Antipathy 307
Love of Activity and of Power 311
Feeling of Rivalry 315
Love of Approbation and Self-Esteem 318
(B) Social Feelings : Love and Respect 321
Sympathy 322
Conditions of Sympathy 324
Uses of Sympathy . 325
Chapter XVIII.
THE HIGHER SENTIMENTS.
The Intellectual Sentiment 329
Feeling of Ignorance and Wonder 329
Pleasure of Gaining Knowledge 330
Children's Curiosity 333
Growth of Intellectual Feeling 333
The iEsthetic Sentiment 335
Elements of iEsthetic Pleasure ........ 335
.^Esthetic Judgment : Taste 336
Standard of Taste 337
Growth of ^Esthetic Faculty 337
The Education of Taste 340
Ethical or Moral Sentiment 344
Moral Feeling and Moral Judgment 346
The Moral Standard > 347
CONTENTS. xiii
PAGE
Growth of the Moral Sentiment 347
Development of Self-judging Conscience 35o
The Training of the Moral Faculty 351
Chapter XIX.
THE WILL: VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT.
Definition of Willing 35^
Willing, Knowing, and Feeling 35^
Desire, the Basis of Willing 357
Desire and Activity 35^
Desiring and Willing 359
Development of Willing 359
Instinctive Factor in Volition 360
Effects of Experience and of Exercise 360
Beginnings of Movement 361
Transition to Voluntary Movement 362
Effects of Exercise 363
Imitation 3^4
Excitation of Movement by Command 367
Internal Command of Movement 368
Movement and Habit 370
Strength of Habit 37i
Fixity and Plasticity of Movement 372
Training of Will and the Active Organs 373
Chapter XX.
MORAL ACTION: CHARACTER.
(a) Influence of Growing Intelligence 378
(b) Influence of Growth of Feeling 379
Complex Action 3^
Deliberation and Choice 380
Resolution and Perseverance 381
Self-Control 383
Stages of Self-Control 383
Control of the Feelings 384
Control of the Thoughts 385
Different Forms of Self-Control 386
Habit and Conduct 387
Moral Habits 388
Character . 389
External Control of the Will 39°
Authority and Obedience 39^^
The Ends and Grounds of Early Discipline 39^
Conditions of Moral Discipline . . , ' 394
xiv CONTENTS.
PAGB
Punishment 395
Proportioning of Punishment , , 397
Reward, Encouragement 398
Devdopment of Free-will 400
Discipline of the Home and of the School 401
TEACHER'S HANDBOOK
PSYCHOLOGY
CHAPTER I.
PSYCHOLOGY AND EDUCATION.
Art and Science. — The doing of anything presup-
poses some knowledge, for every action is the employment
of certain agencies which stand in the relation of means to
our particular end or object of desire ; and we could not
select and make use of these means unless we knew be-
forehand that they were fitted to bring about the fulfill-
ment of our desire. This is evident even in the case of
simple actions. Thus, if after sitting reading for some time
and becoming cold I go out and take a brisk walk, it is
because I know that by so doing I am certain to recover
warmth. And it is still more manifest in the case of com-
plex actions. The action of an engineer, of a surgeon, or
of a statesman, involves a quantity of knowledge of vari-
ous kinds.
The knowledge which is thus serviceable for doing
things or for practice is of two sorts. Thus, the knowl-
edge implied in the above example, that muscular exercise
promotes bodily warmth, may be knowledge that I have
gathered from my own experience aided by what others'
have told me ; or it may have been obtained from a study
of the bodily organism and its functions, and of the effects
of muscular activity on the circulation, etc. The first kind
of knowledge, being derived from what may be called un-
2 PSYCHOLOGY AND EDUCATION,
revised experience and observation, is called empirical; the
second kind, being the outcome of those processes of re-
vision and extension of every-day empirical knowledge
which make up the work of science, is named scientific.
The chief differences between empirical and scientific
knowledge are the following: (i) The former is based on
a narrow range of observation, and on observation which
is apt to be loose and inexact ; the latter, on a wide survey
of facts and on accurate processes of observation and ex-
periment. (2) The former consists of propositions which
have only a limited scope, and are never, strictly speaking,
universally true ; the latter is made up of propositions of
wide comprehensiveness, and of universal validity, known
as principles or laws. (3) As a result of this the conclusions
deduced from empirical knowledge are precarious, whereas
the conclusions properly drawn from scientific principles
are perfectly trustworthy.
We call any department of practice an art when the
actions involved are of sufficient complexity and difficulty
to demand special study, and to offer scope for individual
skill. Thus, we talk now of an art of cooking, because
with our advanced civilization the preparation of food has
become so elaborate a process as to call for special prepa-
ration or training.
Every art requires a certain amount and variety of
knowledge. In the early stages of development the vari-
ous arts were carried on by help of empirical knowledge.
Thus, in agriculture men sowed certain crops rather than
others in given soils, because they and their predecessors
had found out from experience that these were the best
fitted. Similarly in medicine, men resorted at first to par-
ticular remedies in particular diseases, because their prac-
tical experience had taught them the utility of so doing.
Such guidance from empirical sources was found to be
insufficient. Workers in the various departments of art
asked for a deeper knowledge of the agencies they em-
ART AND SCIENCE. 3
ployed and the processes they carried out, and so they
had recourse to science. Thus the art of agriculture has
profited from the sciences of chemistry and botany, and
the art of medicine from the sciences of anatomy and
physiology. Indeed, the demand for a fuller and more
exact knowledge on the part of practical workers has been
an important stimulus to the development of the sciences.
The reason of this is plain from what has been said
above. The characteristic imperfections of empirical
knowledge become more and more manifest as an art de-
velops. And these defects are the more conspicuous in
the case of the more complex arts, and particularly those
which have to do with living things. This is clearly illus-
trated in the case of medicine. The organic processes
going on in the human body are so numerous and compli-
cated, there are so many variable circumstances which
help to modify a disease in different cases, and so to inter-
fere with a simple uniform effect of any given remedial
agency, that the generalizations based on practical experi-
ence are continually proving themselves to be inadequate
and precarious. The great modern improvements in the
art of healing have been the direct outcome of the growth
of the sciences underlying the art.
Hence we have come to employ in the case of all the
more complex and intricate departments of practice the
expression ** science and art." Thus we talk of the sci-
ence and art of engineering, of agriculture, and even of
politics. To this pair of correlated terms there corre-
sponds the equally familiar couple, '' theory and practice."
For the term theory in this connection refers more par-
ticularly to the principles or truths of a scientific rank
which stand at the foundation of the art.
It is important to understand the precise place and
function of these scientific principles in their relation to
practice. First of all, then, they do not take the place of
empirical generalizations. These are at first, as already
4 PS YCHOLOG Y AND ED UCA TION.
remarked, the only knowledge by which an art can guide
itself ; and they always continue to form a valuable part
of every theory of a practical subject. Science alone
would never have taught men the best way to till the
ground, to obtain metal from the soil, or to carry out any
other set of industrial operations. The function of scien-
tific principles is to supplement, interpret, and, where
necessary, correct empirical knowledge. In this way the
teaching of practical experience is rendered more precise
and certain.
But science renders to art a yet greater service than
this. It greatly enlarges the range of practical discovery.
When once we have our scientific principles we can de-
duce practical conclusions from these, and thus anticipate
the slow and uncertain progress of empirical discovery.
Thus, in the art of surgery, the modern method of treating
wounds is largely the direct outcome of scientific reflec-
tion on the nature of wounds and of the natural process
of healing. Such deductions must, of course, be verified
by actual experiment before they can take their place
among the assured body of knowledge making up the
theory of the subject. So that here, too, the theory of a
practical operation is constituted by two factors — an em-
pirical and a scientific. The only difference between this
case and the first is that here the work of science precedes
instead of following the work of experience, and, in place
of having to supplement and interpret this, has to be sup-
plemented and verified by it.
Art and Science of Education.— The above re-
marks may help us to understand the fact that the art o^
education is now seeking to ground itself on scientific
truths or principles.
As an art, education aims at the realization of a par-
ticular end. This end must, of course, be assumed to be
clearly defined before we can repair to science to ascertain
what agencies we can best employ in order to compass it.
ART AND SCIENCE OF EDUCATION 5
At first sight, however, it might seem that this condition
is not satisfied. Writers have discussed at length what the
true end of education is, and they have proposed very dif-
ferent definitions of the matter.
The reason of this uncertainty is apparent. Educa-
tion, unlike such an art as cookery, has a large and com-
prehensive object, viz., to help to mold and fashion in cer-
tain definite ways no less complex a thing than a human
being, with his various physical, intellectual, and moral
capabilities, so as to fit him to fulfill his highest function
and destiny. And to ascertain what the rightly fashioned
man is like, and wherein consists his true work and serv-
ice, is a problem of much difficulty. In truth, we can
only satisfactorily settle this when we have determined the
supreme ends of human action — in other words, the highest
good of man. It is the province of the great practical
science of ethics to ascertain this for us ; and the teachers
of this science have from ancient times been divided into
opposed schools.
We need not, however, wait for the resolution of these
grave and difficult problems. Men are to a large extent
practically agreed as to what is right and wrong, though
they have not settled the theoretic basis of these distinc-
tions. In like manner educators are practically at one
as to the objects they aim at. In spite of ethical and
theological differences, we agree to say that education
seeks, by social stimulus, guidance, and control, to develop
the natural powers of the child, so as to render him able
and disposed to lead a healthy, happy, and morally worthy
life.
This is offered only as a rough approximation to a definition which
may be generally accepted. In filling out this idea, different thinkers
would no doubt diverge considerably, according to their conception of
man's nature and destiny. Thus, to the firm believer in the Christian
doctrine of a future life it must appear of the first consequence to de-
velop those religious faculties and emotions the exercise of which con-
stitutes man's highest function and the direct preparation for the larger
6 PSYCHOLOGY AND EDUCATION.
and enduring after-life. But, while fully recognizing the truth that
religious belief must throughout profoundly color a man's conception
of the scope of education and the relative value of its several parts, one
may assume that in practice educators of widely unlike theological
views agree as to the main lines of education in its distinctly human
aspects.
A word or two as to the scope of our definition. In the first place,
we take education as aiming at the formation of faculty, rather than
at the giving of information or the communication of knowledge. In
other words, education, as the etymology of the word tells us (Lat.,
educere), has to do with drawing out, i. e., developing the mind and its
various activities, and not merely with putting something into the mind.
This distinction is often spoken of as that between education and in-
struction. But the word instruction (Lat., instruere) implies the orderly
putting together of the materials of knowledge so as to form a structure.
And, taken in this sense, there is no fundamental opposition between
the two. The faculties of the intelligence can only be called forth and
strengthened in the processes of gaining knowledge, and thus " educa-
tion attains its end through instruction." The teacher may, however,
fix his mind more on the educative result of his processes, viz., the
ability to observe and reason about facts in the future, or on the im-
mediate gain of school exercises in the shape of useful knowledge. And
this difference in the teacher's point of view will deeply affect his ideas
as to proper subjects to be taught, and even as to the best method of
teaching them.
Finally, it is to be noted that our definition does not stop short at
the intellectual side of the mind, but includes the other sides as well.
The supposition that education is only concerned with the intellectual
faculties probably has its source in the common error that the educator
and the schoolmaster are synonymous terms, whereas in reality the
latter is only one among many educators. And even the schoolmaster
will err if he thinks his business ends with a mere intellectual discipline
of his pupils.
But, while our definition is thus a wide one, it is less wide than
that of some thinkers, e. g., J. S. Mill, who included under education
the influence of external circumstances generally. Education is to us
essentially the action of other human beings on the child, and this only
so far as it is conscious and designed. Moreover, in its higher forms,
education implies a systematic application of external forces and agen-
cies according to a definite plan and an orderly method.*
♦ On the difference between education and instruction, see Prof.
Payne's '* Lectures on the Science and Art of Education," Lecture I,
ART AND SCIENCE OF EDUCATION. y
As soon as we approximate to a definition of educa-
tion, as in the above, we see that merely empirical knowl-
edge will carry us but a little way in realizing our object.
For the human nature which it is our special business to
develop is plainly the most complex of all living things.
It is at once something material and something mental ;
and this mental part, again, is exceedingly composite in its
constitution, being made up of a number of intellectual
and moral capabilities and dispositions. Nor is this all ;
we find that these several physical and mental powers are
joined together and interact upon one another in a very
intricate and puzzling manner. Closely connected with
this peculiar complexity of the child's nature, we have its
great variability, showing itself in the unique constitution
or idiosyncrasy of each individual child. Owing to these
circumstances, mere experience could never have led men
far on the right educational path. And as a matter of
history we know that the older methods of educating the
young were faulty, and in some respects radically wrong,
just because they were not arrived at by aid of a profound
and scientific study of child-nature. Thus, to take an
obvious instance, the cardinal error of making so much of
intellectual instruction dry and unpalatable arose out of
ignorance of the elementary truth of human nature, that
the intellectual faculties are only fully aroused to activity
under the stimulus of feeling in the shape of interest.
That this was the real source of the blunder is proved by
the fact that the modern educational reformers, who have
set themselves to correct this and other defects of the
older system, were guided to these reforms by a deeper
study of children's minds. This remark applies alike to
the ideas of practical workers, as Pestalozzi, and of pure
theorists, as Locke.*
p. i8, etc. On some alternative definitions of education, see Dr. Bain's
" Education as a Science," chap. i.
* On the effects of an ignorance of psychology in rendering con-
8 PSYCHOLOGY AND EDUCATION.
What is really wanted as the groundwork of education
is a body of well-ascertained truths respecting the funda-
mental properties of the human being, from which the
right and sound methods of training the young may be
seen to follow as conclusions. This theoretic basis will
consist of facts and laws relating to the child's physical
and mental organization, its various susceptibilities, its
ways of reacting on external agents and influences, and
the manner in which it develops. And these universal
truths must be supplied by some science or sciences.
Divisions of Educational Science. — These prin-
ciples are derived in the main from two sciences : physi-
ology, or the science which treats of the bodily organism,
its several structures and functions, and psychology, or
mental science which deals with the mind, its several fac-
ulties and their mode of operation. The former princi-
ples, including certain applications of physiological science
known as hygiene, underlie what is now called physical
education, the training of the bodily powers and the fur-
therance of health. The latter form the basis of mental
— i. e., intellectual and moral — training.
Within the limits of mental education we have certain
subdivisions. Popularly we distinguish between intellect-
ual and moral education ; but this twofold division is in-
adequate. As we shall see by and by, the mind presents
three well-marked and fundamental departments — viz.,
the intellect, the emotions, and the will. The develop-
ment of it on any one of these three sides is to a certain
extent a separate work, calling for its own particular mode
of exercise, and, one may add, its own peculiar fitness in
the teacher. These three directions of training are dis-
tinguishable as intellectual, aesthetic, and moral education.
They correspond to the three great ends: (i) the logical
end of truth, (2) the aesthetic end of beauty, and (3) the
temporary educational practices faulty and even vicious, sec Herbert
Spencer, ** Education," chap, i, p. 24, and following.
DIVISIONS OF EDUCATIONAL SCIENCE. g
ethical end of virtue. The first aims at building up the
fabric of knowledge, and developing the faculties by which
knowledge is reached ; the second, at such a cultivation of
the feelings as will best subserve the end of a pleasurable
existence, and in particular the appreciation and enjoy-
ment of beauty in nature and art ; and the third, at devel-
oping the will and forming the character.
In giving this assistance to education, psychology is
supplemented by three sciences which are not purely
theoretical like it, but have a more practical character,
since they have as their special province to regulate the
activity of the mind on each of these three sides. These
are logic, which regulates our intellectual operations by
supplying us with rules for correct reasoning ; aesthetics,
which aims at giving us a standard of beauty and criteria
by which we may judge of its existence in any instance ;
and ethics, which fixes the ultimate standard of right and
wrong, and determines what are the several duties and
virtues.
The scientific groundwork of the art of education may
be made clear by the following diagram :
Physical.
n
Physiolo^
together with
Hygiene.
Fig. I.
Education.
Mental.
n
Psycholo^
together with
Logic,
^Esthetics,
and Ethics.
lO PSYCHOLOGY AND EDUCATION.
Psychology and Education. — Of the sciences that
contribute principles to education, psychology is plainly
the most important. The teacher is most directly con-
cerned with the development of the child's mind, and con-
siders his bodily organism mainly in its connection with
mental efficiency.
Again, since the teacher is commonly supposed to have
as his principal object the exercise of certain of the intel-
lectual faculties — viz., those employed in the acquisition
and retention of knowledge — it is clear that some portions
of psychology will be of special value to him. Thus the
laws governing the processes of acquiring and reproduc-
ing knowledge will have a peculiarly direct bearing on
the teacher's work. Such truths of mental science would
seem to be specially fitted to supply principles of education.
At the same time, it is clearly impracticable to select
certain portions of psychology as exclusively applying to
education. For, first of all, even allowing that education
need busy itself only with instruction, or the communica-
tion of so much useful knowledge, it may be said that the
teacher still needs to study other faculties than the acquis-
itive ; for psychology teaches us that no power of the mind
works in perfect isolation. Thus, it has come to be recog-
nized that, in order that a child should gain clear knowl-
edge through words, his observing faculties must have
undergone a certain discipline, so that his mind may have
been stored with distinct and easily reproducible images
of objects in his actual surroundings. Hence, one reason
for including the training of the senses in modern systems
of education. More than this, it will be found that there
can be no adequate exercise of the intellect which does
not take account of the feelings, in the shape of interest
and a love of learning.
It follows, then, that the teacher needs some general
acquaintance with the principles of psychology, even
though he is aiming merely at the most rapid and efifect-
ADVANTAGE TO THE TEACHER. n
ive method of storing the mind with knowledge. But it
may be assumed that few teachers now limit their efforts
to this object. Education, in its true sense, is commonly-
aimed at by intelligent teachers in the process of instruc-
tion itself, which thus becomes, in a measure at least, a
means to an end beyond itself. And some attention is
paid, as time allows and opportunity suggests, to the cul-
tivation of the feelings and the formation of good moral
dispositions and habits. And this being so, a clear appre-
hension of the different sides of mind, and of the way in
which they interact one on another, may be said to be of
immediate utility to the teacher. In other words, the
principles of education must be derived from the element-
ary truths of psychology taken as a whole.
It follows, from what was said above concerning the
relation of science to art, that there are two principal uses
of mental science to the teacher: (i) An accurate ac-
quaintance with the mental faculties, which are the mate-
rial that the educator has to operate on and mold into
shape, will supply him with a criterion or touchstone by
which he may test the soundness of existing rules and
practices in education. (2) The knowledge so gained
may be made to directly suggest better educational rules
than those in vogue, and so to promote the further devel-
opment of the art.
No doubt we may expect too much from a study of
mental science. We may err by supposing that scientific
knowledge will render practical or empirical knowledge
superfluous, instead of merely supplementing and correct-
ing it. And it may be well to remember, therefore, that,
as a science, psychology can only tell us what are the gen-
eral characters of mind, and point out the best way of
dealing with it in its general features and broad outlines ;
it can not acquaint us with the manifold diversities of in-
telligence and disposition, or suggest the right modifica-
tions of our educational processes to suit these variations.
12 PSYCHOLOGY AND EDUCATION.
Accordingly, the educator will always need to supplement
his general study of mind by a careful observation of the
individual minds which he is called upon to deal with, so
as to properly vary and adapt his methods of teaching and
disciplining.
Even here, however, the student of psychology will
find his scientific knowledge useful. For the work of get-
ting to know an individual child is one not only of obser-
vation but of interpretation. And in the performance of
this a general acquaintance with mind will materially
assist. It is evident, indeed, that we never understand
an individual thing thoroughly except in the light of gen-
eral knowledge. A botanist only comprehends a new
plant when he classifies it — i. e., refers it to a general de-
scription or head, and accounts for it by help of general
botanical principles. Similarly we only understand a par-
ticular child when we bring to bear on it a previous gen-
eral knowledge of child and human nature. And while
psychological knowledge thus aids us in reading the indi-
vidual characters of children, it assists us further in deter-
mining the proper modifications of our educational meth-
ods to suit these variations. Experience is without doubt
our main guide here. What kind of punishment, for
example, will be most efficacious and salutary for boys of
a particular temperament, etc., is a problem which must
be solved to a large extent by the results of actual trial.
Still, our scientific principles are a valuable supplementary
aid here also, not only by helping us to understand the
different results of our educational treatment in different
ca^es, but also by assisting us in lighting upon the required
modifications.
APPENDIX.
On the scope and aim of education and its special relation to psy-
chology, the student may consult : Prof. Payne's '• Lectures on the Sci-
ence and Art of Education," Lectures I and II ; Dr. Bain's " Education
as a Science," chap, i ; Th. Waltz's " Allgemeine PSdagogik," Ein-
leitung, § I.
CHAPTER II.
SCOPE AND METHOD OF PSYCHOLOGY.
Psychology, or mental science, may be defined as our
general knowledge of mind, and more particularly the
human mind, reduced to an exact and systematic form.
In order to understand this definition, we must try to give
precision to the term mind.
Scientific Conception of Mind. — We commonly
distinguish between a mind as a unity or substance and
the several manifestations or phenomena of this substance.
In every-day discourse, indeed, we talk of our own and
others* minds as the subjects of various feelings, ideas, etc.
Psychology as a science does not inquire into the nature
of mind in itself, or as a substance, but confines itself to
the study of its several states or operations. It is the
different forms of activity of mind that we can observe in
our actual mental experience or mental life that constitute
the proper subject-matter of our science. And it is plain
that this knowledge of the mind in actual operation, and
of the various ways in which it manifests itself and works,
is what we need for practical guidance, whether of our
own or of others' minds.
How, now, shall we mark off these mental facts from
other phenomena which form the subject-matter of the
physical sciences.? We can not define such states of mind
by resolving them into something simpler. They have
nothing in common beyond the fact of being mental states.
14 SCOPE AND METHOD OF PSYCHOLOGY,
Hence, we can only use some equivalent phrase, as when
we say that a mental phenomenon is a fact of our con-
scious experience or conscious life. Or, again, we may
enumerate the chief varieties of these mental phenomena,
and say that mind is the sum of our processes of knowing,
our feelings of pleasure and pain, and our voluntary do-
ings. Popularly, mind is apt to be identified with know-
ing or intelligence. A man of mind is a man of intellect.
But though intelligence is perhaps the most important
part of mind, it is not the whole. In mental science we
must reckon the sensation of pain arising from a bruise as
a fact of mind. Or, finally, we may set mind in antithesis
to what is not mind. Mind is non-material, has no exist-
ence in space as material bodies have. We can not touch
a thought or a feeling, and one feeling does not lie outside
of another in space. These phenomena occur in time only.
Mind is thus the inner smaller world (mikrokosm) as distin-
guished from the external and larger world (makrokosm).
Mind and Body. — While it is important thus to set
mind in strong opposition to material things, we must keep
in view the close connection between the two. What we,
call a human being is made up of a bodily organism and
a mind. Our personality or " self " is a mind connected
with or embodied in a material framework. As we shall
see presently, all mental processes or operations are con-
nected with actions of the nervous system. The most
abstract thought is accompanied by some mode of activity
in the brain-centers. Hence, while we must be careful
not to confuse the mental and the material, the psychical
and the physical, as though they were of the same kind
(homogeneous), we can not exclude the latter from view
in dealing with mind. We must always think of mind as
attended by, and, in some inexplicable way, related to, the
living organism, and more particularly the nervous system
and its actions. And this recognition of this close and
constant companionship with body is a matter of great
HO IV WE OBSERVE AND STUDY MIND.
15
practical moment in seeking to train and develop the
mind.
The Subjective Method.— There are two distinct
ways of knowing mind. The first is the direct, internal,
or subjective way.* By this method we direct attention to
what is going on in our own mind at the time of its oc-
currence, or afterward. We have the power of turning
the attention inward on the phenomena of .mind. Thus
we can attend to a particular feeling, say emulation or
sympathy, in order to see what its nature is, of what ele-
mentary parts it consists, and how it is affected by the
circumstances of the moment. This method of internal
or subjective observation is known as introspection
(" looking within ").
The Objective Method. — In the second place, we
may study mental phenomena not only in our own indi-
vidual mind, but as they present themselves externally
in other minds. This is the indirect, external, or object-
ive way of studying mental phenomena. Thus we note
the manifestations of others' feelings in looks, gestures,
etc. We arrive at a knowledge of their thoughts by their
speech, and observe their inclinations and motives by
noting their actions.
This objective observation embraces not only the
mental phenomena of the individuals who are personally
known to us, old and young, but those of others of whom
we hear or read in biography, etc. Also it includes the
study of minds in masses or aggregates, as they present
themselves in national sentiments and actions, and in the
events of history. It includes too a comparative study of
mind by observing its agreements and differences among
* "Subject" means the mind as knowing something, or as affected
(pleasurably or painfully) by a thing. "Object" is that which is
known, or which affects the mind in a certain way. The house I see,
the flower I admire, are objects to me, who am the subject that sees
and admires them.
1 6 SCOPE AND METHOD OF PSYCHOLOGY.
different races, and even among different grades of ani-
mal life. The study of the simpler phases of mind
in the child, in backward and uncivilized races, and in
the lower animals, is especially valuable for understanding
the growth of the mature or fully developed human mind.
Both Methods must be combined. — Scientific
knowledge is characterized by certainty, exactness, and
generality. We must observe carefully so as to make
sure of our facts, and to note precisely what is present.
And we must go on from a knowledge of the particular
to a knowledge of the general. From this rough defini-
tion of what is meant by scientific knowledge we may
easily see that neither the internal nor the external
method is complete without the other. To begin with :
since we only directly observe what is passing in our own
individual mind, some amount of introspection is the first
condition of all certain and accurate knowledge of mental
states. To try to discover mental phenomena and their
laws solely by watching the external signs and effects of
others' thoughts, feelings, and volitions, would plainly be
absurd. For these external manifestations are in them-
selves as empty of meaning as words in an unknown
tongue, and only receive their meaning by a reference to
what we ourselves have thought and felt. On the other
hand, an exclusive attention to the contents of our indi-
vidual mind would never give us a general knowledge of
mind. In order to eliminate the effects of individuality,
we must at every step compare our own modes of think-
ing and feeling with those of other minds ; and the wider
the area included in our comparison, the sounder are our
generalizations likely to be.
Each of these ways of studying mind has its character-
istic difficulties. To attend closely to the events of our
mental life presupposes a certain power of " abstraction."
It requires at first a considerable effort to withdraw the
attention from the more striking events of the external
OBSERVATION OF CHILDREN'S MINDS.
17
world, the sights and sounds that surround us, and to
keep it fixed on the comparatively obscure events of the
inner world. Even in the case of the trained psychologist
the work is always attended with a peculiar difficulty. On
the other hand, there is a serious danger in reading the
minds of others, due to an excess of the propensity to
project our own modes of thinking and feeling into them.
This danger increases with the remoteness of the mind we
are observing from our own. To apprehend, for example,
the sentiments and convictions of an ancient Roman, or
of an uncivilized African, is a very delicate operation. It
implies close attention to the differences as well as the
similarities of external manifestation, also an effort of
imagination by which, though starting from some remem-
bered experiences of our own, we feel our way into a new
set of circumstances, new experiences, and a new set of
mental habits.
Observation of Children's Minds.— These diffi-
culties are strikingly illustrated in the attempt to note and
interpret the external manifestations of children's minds.
This observation is of the greatest consequence to psy-
chologists in general, for a sound knowledge of the early
manifestations of mind is a necessary preliminary to a sci-
entific explanation of its later developments. And to the
educator this knowledge constitutes the most important
department of the science of mind. Yet this is perhaps
one of the most difficult branches of psychological inquiry.
The reason of this can easily be seen. Children have
their own characteristic ways of feeling, of regarding
things, of judging as to truth, and so forth. And, al-
though the adult observer of children has himself been a
child, he is unable, except in rare cases, to recall his own
childish experiences with any distinctness. How many of
us are really able to recollect the wonderings, the terrors,
the grotesque fancies of our first years ? And then chil-
dren are apt to be misunderstood because they have to
1 8 SCOPE AND METHOD OF PSYCHOLOGY.
use our medium of speech and often fail to seize its exact
meaning.
Nevertheless, these difficulties are not insuperable.
They can be got over where there are present the qualifi-
cations of a good observer and an earnest purpose. And
it must be borne in mind that if there are special difficul-
ties in the case, there are also special facilities. For chil-
dren, as compared with adults, are frank in the manifesta-
tion of their feelings, and free from the many little artifices
by which their elders are wont, only half consciously
perhaps, to disguise and transform their real thoughts and
sentiments in expressing them to others.
The special qualities needed for a close observation
and deep understanding of the child-mind are good ob-
serving habits and a strong, loving interest in childhood.
Both of these are necessary. If we have only the first, we
shall fail to see far into child-nature, just because we shall
not take the trouble tx) place ourselves, in imagination, in
the circumstances of children, so as to realize how they
are affected by things. A warm, tender interest, leading
to a habit of unfettered companionship, seems to be a
condition of a fine imaginative insight into children's
minds, and a firm grasp of the fact that their ways differ
in so many particulars from our ways. On the other
hand, if there is the kindly feeling without the trained
faculty of observation, there is the risk of idealizing child-
hood, and investing it with admirable traits that do not
really belong to it.
In the matter of child-observation the psychologist
may look to the educators of the young, the parent and
the teachers, for valuable aid. Some of the best observa-
tions on the subject of the infant mind which we already
possess have been contributed by fathers. And much
may still be done by parents in the way of recording the
course of development of individual children. At the
same time, school-teachers, though coming into less inti-
GENERAL KNOWLEDGE OF MIND.
19
mate relations with individual children, have the very great
advantage of observing numbers. And from them we may
reasonably ask for statistics of childhood. The dates at
which certain faculties become prominent, the relative
strength of the several feelings and impulses, the dominant
intellectual and moral characteristics of children, these
and other points are all matters about which teachers, who
will take the trouble to note accurately, may be expected
to supply the psychologists of the future with much valu-
able knowledge.*
General Knowledge of Mind. — As has been ob-
served, science consists of general knowledge, or knowl-
edge expressed in a general form. Hence, mental science
seeks to generalize our knowledge of mind. In the first
place, it aims at grouping all the phenomena observed
under certain heads. That is to say, it classifies the end-
less variety of mental states according to their resem-
blances. In so doing it overlooks the individual differ-
ences of minds and fixes attention on their common feat-
ures. A sound scientific classification of mental states is
a matter of practical importance, whether we are dealing
with minds in the earlier or the later stages of develop-
ment. Thus, the teacher will be in a far better position
to deal with a child's mind, both in its several parts and
as a whole, when he has reduced the tangle of mental
manifestations to order and simplicity.
In the second place, every science aims not only at
ordering its phenomena, but at making certain assertions
about them. There are general truths or laws which hold
good of numerous varieties of phenomena. When the
phenomena are occurrences in time, these laws have to do
with the relation of events to other events preceding or
* On the qualifications of an observer of children's minds, and on
the literature of the subject, see the writer's Introduction to M. Perez's
work, " The First Three Years of Childhood." London : W. Swan Son-
nenschein & Co.
20 SCOPE AND METHOD OF PSYCHOLOGY.
succeeding them. That is to say, they formulate the re-
lations of causal dependence of phenomena on other phe-
nomena. Mental science seeks to arrive at such truths or
laws of mind. Its ultimate object is to determine the coH'
ditions on which mental phenomena depend. Thus, the
psychologist asks what are the conditions of retention,
what are the circumstances which produce and favor the
keeping of impressions in the mind. And it is this knowl-
edge of conditions and of laws which is of greatest practi-
cal value. For it is only by understanding how a mental
product is formed that we can help in forming it, or inter-
fere so as to modify the process of fonnation.
Now, a little attention to the subject will show that
mental phenomena are related in the way of dependence
not only to other phenomena immediately preceding, but
to remotely antecedent phenomena. For example, the
quick response of a child to a command depends not only
on certain present conditions, viz., attention to the words
of the command, etc., but on past conditions, on the forma-
tion of a habit, which process may have been going on for
years. Hence, the consideration of relations of depend-
ence leads on to the view of mind as a process of growth or
development. The most important laws of mind, from the
educator's point of view, are laws of mental development.
Before we go on to consider the several groups of
mental states in detail and the laws which govern them,
we shall do well to look at mind from the physiological
side, that is to say, at the way in which the mind as a
whole is affected by its connection with the bodily organ-
ism. This aspect of our subject will occupy us in the
next chapter.
APPENDIX.
For a fuller account of the scope and method of psychology the
reader is referred to my larger work, '* Outlines of Psychology," Appen-
dix A ; also to the works referred to in the appendix to Chapter II of
that volume.
CHAPTER III.
MIND AND BODY.
Connection between Mind and Body.— When we
say that mind and body are connected, we are simply
stating a fact of our every-day experience, and a fact
which scientific observation and experiment are rendering
more and more certain and. precise. That is to say, we
affirm that mental processes or operations are in some way
conjoined with bodily operations. We do not make any
assertion as to the ultimate nature of mind or of body, or
seek to account for the apparent mystery of two things so
utterly disparate as mind and body being thus united in
one living being. These problems lie outside science
altogether, and belong to the domain of philosophy or
metaphysics.
Keeping then to the phenomena^ or observable processes
of mind and of body, we find first of all that these are
clearly conjoined in time. That is to say, mental activity
goes on along with bodily activity and always has this for
its accompaniment. We know nothing of mental opera-
tions that are unattended by physical changes in certain
portions of the body. And some of these physiological
processes appear to be perfectly simultaneous with the
mental operations to which they correspond. In the
second place, there is an apparent interaction between
the mental and physical processes. As we shall see
presently, there are certain organs of the body which are
22 MIND AND BODY,
in a peculiar way subservient to the discharge of the
several mental functions. According to their state at any
time will mental activity be lively or otherwise. More-
over, by influencing these physical organs we may pro-
duce changes in the correlated mental operations. Hence
we are justified in speaking about these organs as the
physiological support of mind, and of their activity as the
condition of mental activity. On the other hand, mental
processes react on the bodily organism. Thus excessive
intellectual activity, violent grief, and so forth, are known
to have far-reaching effects on the bodily functions.
The Nervous System. — The particular organs which
thus subserve our mental life are known as the nervous
system, of which the brain is one of the most important
parts." These are therefore known as the organs of
mind.*
The nervous system is a connected set of physio-
logical structures, composed of a very fine or highly
organized form of living matter. These fall into two
main divisions : compact masses known as nerve-centers,
lying protected within the bony covering of the skull and
backbone ; and extensive thread-like ramifications known
as nerves, connecting these central masses with outlying
regions of the body.
The nerves, which are bundles of exceedingly fine
white fibers or threadlets, are the carrying portion of the
nervous apparatus. They are of two classes. The first
connect the centers with outlying surfaces, which are
susceptible of being acted on by certain external agents
or stimuli, such as mechanical pressure, heat, etc. Their
function is to transmit the state of nervous activity pro-
duced by this stimulation from the periphery to the
center. Hence they are known as incarrying or afferent
* The nervous system here means the cerebro-spinal system as dis-
tinct from the sympathetic system which subserves the lower vital
functions of the body.
THE NERVOUS SYSTEM.
23
nerves. Since the central effect of this transmission of
the active state is what we call a sensation, these nerves
are also called sensory nerves, and the peripheral surfaces
sensory surfaces. Such are the skin, the retina of the
eye, etc. The other class of nerves connect the centers
with muscles, or those bundles of fiber by the contractions
of which the limbs are moved and the voice exercised.
They carry nervous impulses from within outward, and
are known as outcarrying or efferent nerves. And since
this outgoing activity immediately precedes and produces
muscular contraction, and so movement, they are also
called motor nerves.
The nerve-centers are made up partly of gray masses
having a minute cellular structure, and partly of bundles of
nerve fiber, connecting these masses one with another, both
laterally and longitudinally. They have as their peculiar
function to transform sensory stimulation into movement,
and to adjust the latter to the former ; also to bring to-
gether the results of different sensory stimulations, and to ad-
just complex groups of movements to groups of impression.
These nerve-centers are arranged in a series or scale of
growing complexity. The lower centers are those residing
in the backbone and known as the spinal column. The-
higher centers lodged within the skull are called the brain.
From this brief description of the nervous system, it
will be seen that the general form of nervous action is a
process of sensory stimulation followed by one of motor
excitation. This may be represented by the diagram, Fig. 2.
This scheme roughly answers to the simpler type of
actions of ourselves as well as of the lower animals, the
type known as reflex action, i. e., movement in immediate
response to external stimulus. Thus, when a child asleep
instantly withdraws his foot when this is pressed, the action
is effected by means of the lower spinal centers. Such
reflex actions, however, are not attended with any mental
activity ; they are unconscious.
24
MIND AND BODY,
Fig. 3.
Sensory Surface
'Nerve-Center*
Muscles.
The more complicated actions involve the co-operation
of the brain as well. In this case we have to suppose that
Fig. 3.
Sensory Surface
• • Higher Nerve-Ceriters,
* Lower Nerve-Centers,
THE SPECIAL ORGANS OF MIND. 25
the sensory stimulation, instead of passing over at once
into motor impulse, is propagated further, and engages a
larger portion of the central structures. This may be
represented by the diagram, Fig 3.
Such complicated actions are accompanied by mental
activity or consciousness. They may be illustrated by the
act of relieving the pressure of a tight boot by stooping
and taking it off. This action involves a distinct sensation
of pressure, and the action of the will in resolving to get
rid of the discomfort.
The Special Organs of Mind. — We see from this
that mental life is connected with the action of the higher
centers, or the brain. Only when the brain is called to
take part is there any distinct mental accompaniment.
The brain thus stands in relation to the lower centers
somewhat as the head oi an office stands in relation to his
subordinates. The mechanical routine of the office is car-
ried on by them. He is called on to interfere only when
some unusual action has to be carried out, and reflection
and decision are needed. Moreover, just as the principal
of an office is able to hand over work to his subordinates
when it ceases to be unusual and becomes methodized and
reduced to rule, so we shall find that the brain or certain
portions of it are able to withdraw from actions when
they have grown thoroughly familiar. This is illustrated
in the actions which we perform with little consciousness
because they have become easy and mechanical by repeti-
tion and habit.
According to this view, the activity of the brain, together with the
mental life which accompanies it, intervenes between the action of ex-
ternal things on the organism and the active response of this organism,
and subserves the higher and more complicated adjustments of mus-
cular movement to sensory stimulation. All the earlier and simpler
forms of cerebral activity are excited by the action of external sensory
stimuli, and are directed to the performance of external actions in the
immediate future.
The later and more complicated actions of the brain do not conform
26 MIND AND BODY.
to this description. We carry out many processes of reflection which
have nothing to do with the external surroundings of the moment, and
which, moreover, are not directed to the immediate realization of any
desire or purpose. Much of the intellectual life of educated people is
of this internal character. But even this apparently isolated internal
activity of the brain may be reduced to the same fundamental type, by
considering it as indirectly excited by impressions from without, and
as a preparation for remote actions, certain or contingent, in the future.
Thus, the study of a science like chemistry or astronomy may be de-
scribed as only a high stage of elaboration of materials obtained from
sense, and as undertaken because of its remote bearings on our actions.
Nature of Nervous Action.— The precise nature of
nervous action is still a matter of uncertainty. It appears
to be some form of molecular movement of a vibratory
character, and propagated somewhat in the manner of
other vibratory movements, as those of heat and elec-
tricity.
The nerve-centers are a storehouse of energy, and their
action increases the force of the current of stimulation
which passes through them. This originating action of
the central structures is known as the nervous discharge,
and involves the liberation of energy which was previously
stored up in a latent condition. This setting free of nerv-
ous energy is effected by a process of disintegration or dis-
organization in which the highly organized matter of the
brain undergoes chemical changes and enters into com-
bination with the oxygen which is brought by the blood.
The force thus liberated may accordingly be said to have
been supplied by the process of nutrition, and to have be-
come latent in the work of building up the organic sub-
stance of the brain. The relation between brain-nutrition
and brain-action has been illustrated by the following
analogy. If we take a number of bricks and set them up
on end in a row sufficiently near one another, a slight
amount of pressure applied to the first member of the
series will cause the whole to fall, each brick adding some-
thing to the force of the transmitted impact. Our muscu-
MENTAL ACTIVITY AND BRAIN EFFICIENCY. 27
lar work in setting up the bricks was transformed into
latent or potential energy, viz., that involved in the un-
stable position of the bricks and their liability to fall.
According to this analogy, the organic substance of the
brain is an unstable compound easily broken up, and so
constituting a reservoir of force.
We see from this that the nerve-substance is being
ever unmade and remade, or disintegrated and redinte-
grated ; and, further, that there is a necessary correlation
between these two processes of decomposition and repara-
tion, so that no nervous action is possible except nutrition
has first done its work.
Mental Activity and Brain Efficiency. — As already
pointed out, mental activity is directly connected with
the exercise of brain-function. When a child uses his
mind in any way, either by trying to learn something or
by giving way to great emotional excitement, his brain is
at work. The greater the mental activity, the more the
resources of the brain are taxed. This activity of the
brain necessitates an increased circulation of the blood in
the organ, both for supplying the nutritive materials re-
quired, and for furthering the process of nervous action
itself by an adequate supply of oxygen, and by a suffi-
ciently rapid removal of the waste products.
If the brain thus furnishes the physical support of
mental activity, it is to be expected that this will vary in
amount with the state of the organ. And this is what we
find. We all know that if the nervous energy is lowered
in any way, as by bodily fatigue, grief, etc., the brain re-
fuses to work smoothly and easily. On the other hand,
the action of stimulants, as alcohol, on the brain illustrates
how the mental activity may for a time be raised by add-
ing to the excitability, and so intensifying the activity of
the brain.
The amount of disposable energy in the brain at any
time, and the consequent readiness for work, will vary
28 MIND AND BODY.
with a number of circumstances, (i) Since the brain and
nervous system as a whole are parts of the bodily organ-
ism, that is to say, a system of organs closely connected
with and powerfully interacting on one another, any con-
siderable fluctuation in the condition of one of the other
organs will tell on the efficiency of the brain. Thus the
special demand on the digestive organs after a good meal,
leading to a diversion of blood as well as of nervous ener-
gy in that direction, interferes for the time with brain-
work. Similarly great muscular exertion militates against
mental application. Again, a disturbance of the proper
function of the vital organs, such as a fit of indigestion or
an impeded circulation of the blood, is known to be an
obstacle to mental activity. Once more, all fluctuations
in the condition of the organism as a whole, whether the
periodic exaltation and depression of the physical powers
which constitute the daily vital rhythm of the body, or
the irregular changes which we call fluctuations of health,
involve the brain as well. The organ of mind shares with
the whole body in the vigor and freshness of the morning,
and the lassitude of the evening ; and it shares in the
fluctuating well-being of the body. Lastly, the mind, in
conjunction with the body, passes through the longer pro-
cesses of growth and decay which constitute the course of
the individual life.
Brain- Activity and Brain-Fatigfue. — (2) While the
efficiency of the brain thus depends on the state of the
bodily organs, it is affected by the preceding state of the
organ itself. Thus, after a period of rest, the nervous
substance being duly renewed, there is a special readiness
for work. It is this circumstance which explains the in-
vigorating effects on the powers of the brain of sound
sleep, and of less complete forms of mental repose, such
as are found in the lighter intellectual recreations. On
the other hand, all brain-work tends to exhaust the nerv-
ous energy and so to lower the subsequent efficiency.
OVERTAXING THE BRAIN. 29
If the work is light in character, the effects are of course
less noticeable : nothing like brain-fatigue is induced, and
we may be unaware of any falling off in power. On the
other hand, after a severe application of the mind, even
for a short time, we become distinctly aware of certain
sensations of fatigue, as well as of a temporary falling off
in vigor. In the case of children, whose stock of brain-
vigor i? much smaller, these effects show themselves much
sooner.
The physiological explanation of these facts is as fol-
lows : In the lighter kinds of brain-activity, the consump-
tion of brain-material being small, the process of recuper-
ation easily keeps pace with it. On the other hand, in the
heavier sorts of mental work, energy is consumed faster
than it can be supplied ; the process of redintegration
does not keep pace with that of disintegration. This
points to the necessity of a frequent relaxation of the
nervous strain, especially at the beginning of school-life.
Effects of Brain-Activity on the Organism. — But
this is not the whole effect of brain-activity. In cases
where the powers of the organ are taxed for a prolonged
period, other organs are liable to be affected. Thus, since
prolonged brain-exercise draws off the blood in too large
a quantity to that organ, it is apt to impede the general
circulation, and so to give rise to the familiar discomforts
of cold feet, etc. Graver results may ensue in the case of
the too eager student who by using up nerve-energy too
extravagantly in brain-work leaves too little for the other
functions of the nervous system, and more particularly the
regulation of the vital processes, and so becomes the sub-
ject of chronic dyspepsia, etc. We thus see that while the
state of the bodily organs influences that of the brain,
there is an important reciprocal action of the higher organ
on the lower ones.
Overtaxing the Brain. — It follows from the above
remarks that it is possible to exact from the brain more
30 MIND AND BODY.
work than it is good for it to perform. Wherever brain-
work is accompanied by a distinct feeling of fatigue, this
points to an overstimulation of the organ. By overstimu-
lation is meant, first of all, bringing pressure to bear on
the brain so as to excite it to activity beyond the point at
which recuperation keeps pace with expenditure of energy ;
and, secondly, the exercise of the brain disproportionately,
that is, in relation to the other organs of the body, more
particularly the vital organs.
It is exceedingly important to distinguish this second
and more profound sense of the term overstimulation from
the first. There can be overexercise of the brain when
the local symptoms of brain-fatigue are not present. The
brain, like the other organs, learns to adapt itself within
certain limits to the amount of work required of it. A
child, when first subjected to the prolonged and system-
atic stimulation of the school, comes in a short time to feel
less of the strain of mental application. This may mean
a diminution of effort by the normal results of exercise and
growth ; but it may also mean that the increased activity
of the organ is due to an unfair distribution of the phys-
ical energy, the organ of mind being enriched at the expense
of the vital organs.
Now, this risk is peculiarly great in .early life, when a
large fund of nutritive material is needed for the processes
of growth. Severe exercise of any organ, by using up
material in functional action, though it may further the
development y i. e., the higher structural condition of that
organ, is directly opposed to the growth^ that is, the ex-
pansion in bulk of the body.
All severe exercise of the brain in early life is opposed
to the laws of development of the child's being. Accord-
ing to these the lower vital functions are developed before
the higher. First comes the vegetal or nutritive life ; then
the common animal life of sense and movement ; and
finally the distinctly human life of mind. The develop-
VARIATION OF BRAIN-EXERCISE,
31
ment of these higher mental functions is only normal and
safe when a firm basis of physical strength and well-being
has first been laid down. To try to force on the functions
of the brain in advance of those of the vital organs is to
endanger the whole organism, and along with this the or-
gans of mind themselves.*
In thus touching on the risks of educrtional pressure,
it may be well to add that they are susceptible of being
overrated as well as underrated. It is an error to suppose
that all systematic teaching tends in the direction of over-
excitation of the brain. So far from this being the case,
it may be confidently said that within certain limits mental
occupation is distinctly beneficial to the child. Every
organ requires a certain amount of exercise in order to
continue in a healthy and vigorous condition. Children
deprived of the material for mental activity suffer from
tedium, which may be viewed as a symptom that the mmd
and brain are in need of exercise. Many children have
become happier and healthier after entering on school-life,
and this not merely because the school supplied healthier
physical surroundings, but also because it supplied a
healthier regime for the brain. To this is to be added that,
as already pointed out, the brain, like other organs, grows
stronger by exercise, and within certain limits it is per-
fectly safe to carry on a progressively increasing stimula-
tion of the organ.
Remission and Variation of Brain-Exercise. —
The great danger, especially with young children, is that
of unduly prolonging the duration of the mental strain at
one time. A short exertion even of great severity is in-
nocuous, whereas an unbroken application of mind to a
difficult subject for half an hour or more may be injurious.
One of the greatest improvements in modern educational
* On the injurious effects of excessive stimulation of the brain in
retarding bodily growth, see Herbert Spencer, " Education," chap, iv,
p. 165, and following.
32 MIND AND BODY.
methods, considered both from a hygienic point of view
and from that of mental efficiency itself, is the substitution
of short for long lessons, and the frequent alternation of
mental and bodily exercise. These breaks, though, in ap-
pearance, occasioning a loss of time and adding to the
teacher's labors in restoring order and recalling the pupil's
minds to the calm attitude of attention, are in reality a
true economy of time and force.
Since the brain is a complicated group of structures, it
is reasonable to suppose that different regions are specially
engaged in different kinds of mental activity. And mod-
ern science, while rejecting the definite mapping out of
the brain functions proposed by the phrenologists, is dis*
tinctly tending toward a new and carefully verified theory
of localization of function. Adopting this view of brain-
action as engaging special centers at different times, we
may see that the due variation of school subject owes a
part of its value at least to the circumstance that it fulfills
in a subordinate manner the purpose of brain-rest. Thus,
by passing from an object lesson to a singing lesson, the
centers of vision are put into a condition of comparative
rest, while other centers, the auditory and vocal, which
have been recuperating, are called into play. And as sci-
ence enables us to localize the brain functions more ex-
actly, the theory of education will probably receive from
it further guidance as to the best way of varying school
exercises.
Differences of Brain-Power. — The educator should
bear in mind that children are endowed with very unequal
cerebral capacity. The whole sum of vital force is a dif-
ferent one in the case of different children, and the dis-
tribution of this among the several organs is also different.
Hence, an amount of mental exercise that would be quite
safe in one case would be harmful in another. The indi-
vidual co-efficient of brain-power is the limit set by nature
to the teacher's efforts, and he can not afford to ignore it.
DIFFERENCES OF BRAIN-POWER.
33
This co-efficient determines the amount of mental reaction
to external stimulus. Just as one and the same physical
stimulus will evoke very unequal amounts of muscular ac-
tivity in the case of a vigorous and a feeble body, so the
same quantity of intellectual stimulus will call forth very
unlike mental reactions in the case of a robust and a
weakly brain. This varying co-efficient of brain-power is
seen very distinctly in the diiferent rates of mental work
of different children. It is not too much to say that the
whole range of mental acquisition is in each case fixed
from the first by the child's cerebral capacity.
On the connection between body and mind in its educational
bearings the student is referred to H. Spencer's "Education," chap,
iv. ; Dr. Bain's "Education as a Science," chap. ii. ; Dr. Andrew
Combe's *' Principles of Physiology applied to the Preservation of
Health and to the Improvement of Physical and Mental Education,"
chaps, xi. to xiv., which, in spite of antiquated phrenological allusions,
are still well worth reading.
CHAPTER IV.
KNOWING, FEELING, AND WILLING.
Mental Phenomena and Operations. — As was
pointed out above, mental science consists of an orderly
arrangement of the general truths, or laws which relate to
mental phenomena. In order to arrive at these truths, we
have first to ascertain what our phenomena are, and to
arrange them in general groups or classes, based on funda-
mental points of likeness.
Mental phenomena are known by different names.
They are commonly called states of mind, or states of
consciousness. Since, however, they are phenomena in
time, having a certain duration and a succession of parts,
they are just as often spoken of as mental processes or
operations. It is important, further, to distinguish be-
tween a mental process or operation and its result or prod-
uct. Thus we distinguish between a process of percep-
tion, and its result, a percept ; a process of association and
suggestion, and its product, a recollection ; between an
operation called reasoning and its result, rational convic-
tion, and so forth.
Classification of Mental Operations. — If we com-
pare our mental states at different times, we find them
presenting very different characters. Sometimes we de-
scribe ourselves as experiencing /f^-Z/Vz^j of joy, grief, etc.,
at other times as thinking about a matter, and so forth.
And, if we look more closely at the contents of our mind
THREE ASPECTS OF MIND.
35
at one and the same time, we are commonly able to dis-
tinguish between different ingredients, as emotions, recol-
lections, desires.
Common thought has long since distinguished between
different classes or varieties of mental operation. Scien-
tific research carries this process further, and seeks to
reach the most fundamental differences among our mental
operations. This is commonly described as dwiding mind
into its fundamental functions, and also as analyzing it
into its elements.
If we examine the every-day distinctions of popular
psychology, we find that there are three fairly clear divis-
ions which do not seem to have anything in common be-
yond being all modes of mental activity. Thus we ordi-
narily describe such activities as perceiving, remembering^
and reasoning, as intellectual operations. So, again, we
bring sorrow, joy, love, anger, and so on, under the general
description of feeling or emotion. And, finally, we gather
up operations like purposing, deliberating, doing things,
under the head of will. We broadly mark off these three
sides of mind, and talk of men as exhibiting now one and
now another aspect.
Feeling, Knowing, and Willing.— Mental science
adopts this three-fold division, (i) Under Feeling we
include all pleasurable and painful conditions of mind.
These may be very simple feelings, having definite bodily
causes, such as the painful sensations of hunger and thirst,
or the pleasures of the palate. Or they may be of a more
complex nature, such as love, or remorse. (2) Knowing,
again, includes all operations which are directly involved
in gaining knowledge, as, for example, observing what is
present to the senses, recalling the past, and reasoning.
(3) Finally, Williftg or Acting covers all active mental
operations, all our conscious doings, such as walking,
speaking, attending to things, together with efforts to do
things, active impulses and resolutions. The perfect type
3
36 KNOWING, FEELING, AND WILLING,
of action is doing something for an end or purpose ; and
this is what we ordinarily mean by a voluntary action.
Opposition between Knowing, Feeling", and
Willing. — These three kinds of mental state are, as
we have seen, in general clearly marked off one from
another. A child in a state of strong emotional excite-
ment contrasts with a child calmly thinking about some-
thing, or another child exerting his active powers in doing
something. If we take any one of these aspects of mind
in a well-marked form, we see that it is opposed to the
other aspects. Thus strong feeling is opposed to and
precludes at the time calm thinking (recollecting, reason-
ing), as well as regulated action (will). Similarly, the
intellectual state of remembering or reasoning when fully
developed at the moment is opposed to feeling and to
doing. The mind can not exhibit each variety of function
in a marked degree at the same time.
This opposition may be seen in another way. If we
compare, not different states of the same mind, but differ-
ent minds as a whole, we often find now one kind of
mental state or operation, now another in the ascendant.
Minds marked by much feeling (sensitive, emotional na-
tures) commonly manifest less of the intellectual and voli-
tional aspects or properties. Similarly, minds of a high
degree of intellectual capability (inquiring or inquisitive
minds), or of much active endowment (active minds), are
as a rule relatively weak in the other kinds of endowment.
It follows from this that the training of the mind in
any one of its three functions is to some extent a separate
matter. Thus, intellectual education has its separate end,
viz., the production of a quick, unerring intelligence,
which end involves no proportionate development of the
feelings or of the will.
Connection between Knowing, Feeling, and
Willing. — Yet while knowing, feeling, and willing are
thus broadly marked off from, and even opposed to, one
CONNECTION OF THESE ACTIVITIES. 37
another, they are in another way closely connected. A
mind is not a material object which can be separated into
distinct parts, but an organic unity made up of parts
standing in the closest relation of interdependence. If
we closely examine any case of feeling, we are sure to find
some intellectual and volitional accompaniments. Thus
when we experience a bodily pain (feeling), we instantly
localize the pain or recognize its seat (knowledge), and
endeavor to alleviate it (volition). Most of our feelings,
as we shall see, are wrapped up with or embodied in intel-
lectual states (perceiving, remembering, etc.). Again,
intellectual operations, observing, thinking, etc., are com-
monly accompanied by some shade of agreeable or dis-
agreeable feeling, and they always involve voluntary ac-
tivity in the shape of attention or concentration of mind.
Finally, willing depends on feeling for its motive or im-
pelling force, and on knowledge for its illumination or
guidance.
It will be seen from this that our threefold division of
mind is a division according to the fundamentally distinct
aspects which predominate at different times. Thus by
intellectual states or processes we mean those modes of
mental activity in which the cognitive function is most
marked and prominent.
This fact of the invariable concomitance of the three
mental functions is of capital importance to the teacher.
Misled by our habits of analysis, and our abstract ways of
thinking, we are apt to suppose that in training the intel-
lectual faculties we may disregard the emotional and voli-
tional element altogether. But a deeper insight into the
organic unity of mind corrects this error. One great law
governing our intellectual activity is that we attend to
what interests us, that is, to what excites feeling in some
way and, through this, arouses the energies of the will.
And just as educators have sometimes failed to make the
best of children's intellectual powers, by overlooking the
38 KNOWING, FEELING, AND WILLING.
necessary accompaniments of feeling and will, so they
have failed to develop the highest type of will and char-
acter, because they have not recognized the dependence
of this on a certain mode of intelligence, and on the de-
velopment of particular emotions,
y Species of Knowing, Feeling, and Willing :
Mental Faculties. — Popular psychology recognizes cer-
tain divisions or species of knowing, feeling, and willing
under the head of faculties, capabilities, or powers. More
particularly we speak of intellectual faculties such as
perception and imagination ; emotional capacities^ or sus-
ceptibilities, as love, anger ; and 2.qX\s^ powers and dispo-
sitions, such as movement, choice, industry.
These distinctions are valid so far as they go. The
psychologist allows that perceiving and remembering differ
in certain important respects. The first operation con-
tains elements (e. g., actual sense-impressions) which the
second does not contain. Thus there is a real psychologi-
cal distinction involved, and the psychologist will find it
here as elsewhere convenient to make this popularly recog-
nized distinction the starting-point in a scientific treatment
of the phenomena of mind.
In adopting these popular distinctions, however, the
psychologist must not be taken to imply that the several
processes of perceiving, remembering, etc., are distinct one
from the other fundamentally, that is to say, with respect
to their elementary parts. While we set out with these
well-marked divisions of faculty, we seek to discover by a
deeper psychological analysis certain more fundamental
or primary distinctions, and to regard such differences
as those between perceiving and remembering as second-
ary.
Primary Intellectual Functions. — The essential
operation in all varieties of knowing is the detecting of
relations between things. I know a tree, a period of
English history, a demonstration in Euclid, when I know
INDIVIDUAL DIFFERENCES. 39
Its several parts in relation one to another, and also its
relations as a whole to other things. The most compre-
hensive relations are difference or unlikeness and agree-
ment or likeness. All knowing means discriminating one
impression, object, or idea from another (or others), and
assimilating it to yet another (or others). I perceive an
object as a rose only when I distinguish its several parts
and features one from another ; and when, further, I see
how it differs from other objects, and more especially
other varieties of flower, and at the same time recognize
its likeness to other roses previously seen. And so of
other forms of knowing. Hence, discrimination and as-
similation may be viewed as the primary functions of
intellect.
While these two primary functions constitute the main factor
in intellectual operations, the exercise of them presupposes other
capabilities. Thus the power of taking apart the objects presented
to the mind, and confining the attention to certain details or particu-
lars (analysis), together with the supplementary power of mentally
grasping a number of objects together at the same time (synthesis), is
clearly implied in all knowing. This power will be dealt with under
the head of attention. In addition to this, there is the mind's capaci-
ty of retention, that is, of conserving past impressions and recalling
them for future use. Unless we could thus retain impressions, we
should be unable to bring together before the mind facts lying in
different regions of our experience, and so discover their relations.
Moreover, the abiding knowledge of any subject plainly implies the re-
tention of what we have learned.
Individual Differences of Mental Capability. —
The several mental operations do not present themselves
in precisely the same manner in all minds. They vary
in certain respects, and these variations are referred to
differences of mental power or capacity. Now, as we
have seen, psychology as science has to do with the gen-
eral facts and truths of mind. It takes no account of
individual peculiarities. Nevertheless, the practical im-
portance of estimating individual differences has led psy-
40 KNOWING, FEELING, AND WILLING.
chologists to pay considerable attention to this concrete
branch of their subject. And the foregoing analysis of
mental functions prepares the way for a scientific classifi-
cation of individual differences.
There are different ways in which individual minds
vary. Thus, one mind may differ from another in respect
of one whole phase or side. For example, we speak of one
child as more intellectual or more inquiring than another.
Similarly, one child is said to have more emotional sus-
ceptibility or more active impulse or will than another.
Again, we may make our comparison more narrow,
and observe how one mind differs from another with re-
spect to a special mode of intellectual (or other) activity.
Thus, to find that individuals vary in respect of one of the
primary intellectual functions, that one has a finer sense
of difference or a keener sense of resemblance than an-
other. Or, once more, we may note and record differ-
ences in the strength of some particular faculty, as obser-
vation, or reason. Or, lastly, we may distinguish yet
more narrowly, comparing individuals with respect to
some special mode of operation of a faculty, as perception
of form, or memory for words.
In like manner we can distinguish between different
degrees of strength of a special emotion, as anger or affec-
tion, or of a particular active endowment, as endurance.
All the innumerable differences which characterize in-
dividual minds must ultimately resolve themselves into
these modes. The problem of measuring these individual
differences with something like scientific exactness will
occupy us later on.
Truths or Laws of Mind.— The classification of
mental states prepares the way for ascertaining the gen-
eral truths of mind. The most comprehensive of these
truths are known as laws of mind. These laws aim at
setting forth in the most general form the way in which
mental states are connected one with another, and particu-
CONDITIONS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY, 41
larly the way in which they succeed and act upon one an-
other. The law that governs any mental operation unfolds
the circumstances necessary to its accomplishment, in
other words, its causal antecedents or conditions. It thus
helps us to explain or account for the operation in any
particular case.
Here, too, mental science is seeking to improve on pop-
ular psychology ; for observation has long since taught
men that mental products, such as knowledge and charac-
ter, presuppose certain antecedent circumstances and in-
fluences. This is seen in the common sayings about mind
and character, such as " Experience is the best teacher,"
*' Love is blind," " First impressions last longest," etc.
General Conditions of Mental Activity,— Some
of these laws of mind embody the general conditions of
mental operations, whether those of feeling, knowing, or
willing. Reference has already been made to the com-
mon physiological conditions of mental operations, viz., a
vigorous state of the brain, eta Among general mental
conditions, attention is by far the most important. Atten-
tion is presupposed alike in all clear knowing, vivid feel-
ing, and energetic willing. The laws of attention, to be
spoken of presently, are thus in a manner laws of mind as
a whole.
Conditions of Knowing, Feeling, and Willing.
— Next to these universal conditions, there are the more
special ones of knowing, of feeling, and of willing. Thus
the laws of mental reproduction, or the revival of impres-
sions, are in a peculiar manner laws of intellect. Similar-
ly, there are laws of feeling which seek to formulate the
conditions of pleasure and pain, as well as the effects of
feeling on the thoughts and beliefs. Finally, we have
special laws of willing, as, for example, that action varies
with the intensity of motive force applied, that proximate
satisfactions excite the will more powerfully than remote
ones. It is to be added that in assigning the special con-
42 KNOWING, FEELING, AND WILLING,
ditions of feeling, knowing, and willing, we should refer
to the particular nervous structures engaged, so far as
these are known.
As truths of mind still more special, we have the enu-
meration of the several conditions of a particular variety of
operation, such as the intellectual act of observation or
imagination. This gives us the law of operation of that
particular faculty. Thus we explain or account for ob-
servation by specifying its conditions, external and internal^
such as the favorable position of the object, some special
interest in it, t.X.z. Here, too, we must include in our sur-
vey the regions of the nervous system specially engaged.
As already observed, this enumeration of co-operating
conditions must in certain cases embrace remote as well
as immediate antecedents. Thus, to account for a recol-
lection, we need to refer not only to the suggestive forces
acting at the time, but also to the influence of past ex-
perience in associating that which suggests with that which
it suggests.
For a complete understanding of the way in which any
variety of mental product arises, we need to take into ac-
count the action of the whole mental state at the time, so
far as it is favorable or unfavorable. Thus, calmness of
mind, freedom from emotional excitement, and preoccu-
pation of the attention, is an important negative condition
of Xh^ more difficult intellectual processes.
Finally, among the conditions of a perfect discharge
of any mental function we presuppose a mind in which
this power is strong and well developed. And it is often
well to specify this. Thus, in setting forth the conditions
of retention under any of its forms, such as the recollection
of colors or places, we may specify a good natural reten-
tive power in that particular direction.
Importance of understanding the Conditions of
Mental Activity. — The understanding of the laws that
control the various forms of mental activity is a matter of
KNOWLEDGE REQUIRED BY THE TEACHER. 43
special consequence to the teacher. As already observed,
we can only bring about any intellectual or other mental
product when we see clearly into the conditions on which
it depends. The educator, in seeking to exercise some
faculty, say observation, is coming into a certain rapport
with the pupil's mind. This relation is not like that of an
external mechanical force to a passive material, as clay or
sealing-wax. The teacher only succeeds in doing any-
thing when he calls forth the learner's own mental activity.
The very idea of stimulating the mind implies that the
external agent calls forth a mental reaction, that is, ex-
cites the mind to its appropriate form of activity. Hence,
the teacher needs to have, at the outset, the clearest knowl-
edge as to what this activity is, and what laws it uniformly
obeys. Thus, for example, he requires to understand what
the mind really does when it thoroughly grasps and assimi-
lates a new truth.
In the process of stimulating the mind the teacher ne-
cessarily employs certain agencies, and it is of the greatest
importance that he rightly understand their precise effect
in furthering the mental activity he would excite. Thus,
in giving a child verses to commit to memory, he should
know to what extent and in what precise manner this em-
ployment exercises the memory. And this he can only do
when he has a clear scientific insight into the nature of the
faculty and the laws of its operation. It is of great im-
portance, too, that he should understand in what ways his
appliances are liable to be counteracted by other influ-
ences, such as an unfavorable state of the pupil's mind at
the moment.
In the appliances brought to bear by the educator there
are two things to be distinguished : first of all, the material
supply on which the pupil's mind is to exercise itself ; and,
secondly, the motive force brought to bear in order to in-
duce the learner to apply his mind to the subject. A wise
choice of material presupposes a certain knowledge of the
44 KNOWING, FEELING. AND WILLING.
intellectual faculties, and the laws which govern their op-
eration. A wise selection of motive presupposes no less
accurate a knowledge of the laws that rule in the domain
of the feelings and the will.
APPENDIX.
The reader who desires to read further on the threefold division
of mind is referred to my " Outlines of Psychology," chap, ii, and Ap-
pendix B ; also, to the works of Sir W. Hamilton and Dr. Bain, there
quoted.
CHAPTER V,
MENTAL DEVELOPMENT.
Mental Development defined.— In the last chapter
we were concerned with ascertaining the nature and con-
ditions of the several kinds of mental operation, without
any reference to the time of life at which they occur. But
mental operations differ greatly in different periods of life,
owing to what we call the growth or d:;velopraent of faculty
or capacity. We have now to consider this far-reaching
process of mental growth. We shall seek to distinguish
between the successive stages of mental life, and point out
how these are related one to the other. By so doing we
may hope to account not merely for the single operations
of a faculty, but for the mature faculty itself, viewed as
the result of a process of growth. This part of our subject
constitutes the theory of mental development.
When speaking of the physical organism, we distin-
guish between growth and development. The former is
mere increase of size or bulk; the latter consists of
structural changes (increase of complexity). While growth
and development usually run on together, there is no
proper parallelism between them. Thus, in abnormal
growth, development is hindered. And an organ, as the
brain, may develop long after it has ceased to grow. It is
possible to apply this analogy to mind. We may say that
mind grows when it increases its stock of materials. It
develops in so far as its materials are elaborated into
46 MENTAL DEVELOPMENT,
higher and more complex forms. Mere growth of mind
would thus be illustrated by an increase in the bulk of
mental retentions, that is, in the contents of memory : de-
velopment, by the ordering of these contents in their re-
lations of difference and likeness, and so on. But in
general the two terms, mental growth and mental develop-
ment, may be used as interchangeable.
The characteristics of mental development are best
seen in the case of the intellect. The growth of knowl-
edge may be viewed in different ways : (i) Under one
aspect it is a gradual progress from vague to distinct
knowledge. The perceptions and ideas grow more defi-
nite. This may be called intellectual differentiation. (2)
Again, it is a progress from simple to complex processes.
There is a continual grouping or integration of elements
into organic compounds. In this way the child's knowl-
edge of whole localities, of series of events, and so forth,
arises. (3) Once more, it is a continual movement from
external sense to internal thought or reflection. Or, as it
is commonly described, it is a transition from Xht presenta-
tive^ or what is directly presented to the mind through
sense, to the representative, that which is indirectly set
before the mind by the aid of internal ideas. (4) Lastly,
this progress from sense io thought is a transition from
the knowledge of individuals to that of general classes, or
from a knowledge of concrete things to that of their ab-
stract qualities.*
This aggregate of changes, which constitutes the growth
of mind, appears to resolve itself into two parts. On the
one hand we see that the several faculties which operate
in the case of the child have expanded and increased in
vigor. On the other hand we notice that new faculties,
* Reference is made here only to knowledge of outer things. As
will be seen by-and-by, the growth of self-knowledge illustrates the
same movement from outer sense to internal reflection, from the con-
crete to the abstract.
UNFOLDING OF FACULTIES. 47
the germs of which are hardly discoverable in the child,
have acquired strength. We see, that is to say, that while
the faculties have each grown singly, there has been a
certain order of unfolding among them, so that some have
reached mature vigor before others.
Growth of Faculty. — The growth or improvement
of a faculty includes three things, or may be regarded
under three aspects : (i) Old operations become more
perfect, and also more easy and rapid. Thus the recog-
nition of an individual object, as a person's face, as also
the recalling of it when absent, tends to become more dis-
tinct, as well as easier, with the repetition of the opera-
tion. This is improvement of a faculty in a definite
direction. (2) New operations of a similar grade of com-
plexity will also grow easier. Thus the improvement of
the observing powers (perception) includes a growing
facility in noting and recognizing unfamiliar objects ; that
of memory includes a greater readiness in retaining and
recalling new impressions. This is improvement of a
faculty generally. (3) This general improvement is com-
pleted by the attainment of the capability of executing
more complex, intricate, and difficult operations. Thus
the growth of memory means the progress of the capa-
bility as shown in retaining and recalling less striking im-
pressions and larger and more complex groups of impres-
sions.
Order of Development of Faculties.—One of the
most valuable doctrines of modern psychology is that
there is a uniform order of development of the faculties.
There is a well-marked order in the growth of intellect,
(i) The process of attaining knowledge sets out with
sensation, or the reception of external impressions by the
mind. Sense supplies the materials which the intellect
assimilates and elaborates according to its own laws.
Before we can know anything about the material objects
which surround us they must impress our mind through
48
MENTAL DEVELOPMENT.
the senses (sight, touch, hearing, etc.). (2) Sensation is
followed by perception, in which a number of impressions
are grouped together under the form of a percept, or an
immediate apprehension of some thing or object, as when
we see and recognize an orange or a bell. (3) After per-
ception comes representative imagination, in which the
mind pictures, or has an image of, what has been per-
ceived. It may represent this either in the original form
(reproductive imagination), as when we recall the face of
a friend ; or in a new form (constructive imagination), as
when we imagine some historical personage. (4) Finally,
we have general or abstract knowing, otherwise marked
off as thinking. This includes conception, or the forma-
tion of concepts or general notions out of percepts and
images, such as "metal," *' organism," "life," and so on ;
judgment, or the combination of concepts, as when we
assert that no men are omniscient ; and reasoning, or the
combination of judgments, as when we conclude that a
particular writer, say a journalist, is not omniscient, be-
cause no men are so.
Unity of Intellectual Development.— It has already
been pointed out that modern psychology seeks to reduce
the several operations of perception, imagination, etc., to
certain fundamental processes, of which discrimination
and assimilation are the most important. By help of this
deeper analysis of intellectual activity we are able to re-
gard the successive unfoldings of the faculties as one con-
tinuous process. The higher and more complex opera-
tions of thought now appear as only different modes of
the same fundamental functions of intellect that underlie
the lower and simpler operations of sense-perception.
Thus the simplest germ of knowing involves the discrimi-
nation of sense-impression ; and the highest form of know-
ing, abstract thinking, is a higher manifestation of the
same power. Again, the perception of a single object is a
process of assimilating present to past impressions ; and
STRENGTHENING OF FACULTY.
49
abstract thinking is assimilating or classing many objects
under certain common aspects. We may thus say that
the several stages of knowing, viz., perception, conception,
and so on, illustrate the same fundamental activities of
intellect employed about more and more complex mate-
rials (sensations, percepts, ideas, etc.).
We thus see that there are no breaks in the process of
intellectual development. It is one continuous process,
from its simplest to its most complex phase. The distinc-
tions between perception, imagination, etc., though of great
practical convenience, as roughly marking the successive
stages of growth, must not be taken as answering to sharp
divisions. The movement of intellectual progress is not
a series of separate leaps, but one unbroken and even
movement.
Growth and Exercise of Faculty.— The great law
underlying these processes of development is that the
faculties or functions of intellect are strengthened by ex-
ercise. Thus the power of observation (perception), of
detecting differences among colors, forms, and so on, im-
proves by the repeated exercise of this power. Each suc-
cessive operation tends to improve the faculty, and more
particularly in the particular direction in which it is exer-
cised. Thus, if the power of observation is exercised with
respect to colors, it will be strengthened more especially
in this direction, but not to the same extent in other di-
rections, e. g., with respect to forms.
Again, since perception, conception, and so forth, are
only different modes of the same intellectual functions, the
exercise of these in the lower form prepares the way for
the higher manifestations. Thus, in training the senses,
we are calling into play the power of analyzing a complex
whole into its parts, also the functions of discrimination
and assimilation, and so are laying the foundations of the
higher intellectual culture. On the other hand, we must
not suppose that by merely exercising the observing powers
50 MENTAL DEVELOPMENT.
we can secure a development of the powers of abstract
thought. In order that the successive phases of intelli-
gence may unfold themselves, the separate exercise of the
fundamental functions in each of these phases is necessary.
That is to say, we require a special training for each of the
faculties in due order.
A Growth and Retentiveness. — This growth of intel-
lect by exercise implies retentiveness. By this term, in its
widest signification, is meant that every operation of mind
leaves a trace behind it, which constitutes a disposition to
perform the same operation or same kind of operation
again. This truth obviously underlies the generalization,
" Exercise strengthens faculty." The increased power of
observation, for example, due to repeated exercises of the
faculty, can only be accounted for by saying that each
successive exercise modifies the mind, adding to its capa-
bility of acting, and strengthening its tendency to act in
that particular mode.
Growth and Habit. — This persistence of traces, and
formation of a disposition to think, feel, etc., in the same
way as before underlies what we call habit. By this term,
in its most comprehensive sense, is meant a fixed tendency
to think, feel, or act in a particular way under special cir-
cumstances. The formation of habits is a very important
ingredient of what we mean by intellectual development ;
but it is not all that is so meant. Habit refers rather to
the fixing of mental operations in particular directions.
Taken in this narrow sense, habit is in a manner opposed
to growth. By following out a train of ideas again and
again in a certain way, we lose the capability of varying
this order, of re-adapting the combination to new circum-
stances. Habit is thus the element of persistence, of cus-
tom, the conservative tendency ; whereas growth implies
flexibility, modifiability, susceptibility to new impressions,
the progressive tendency. We shall again and again have
to distinguish between the effect of habit, as understood in
GROUPING OF PARTS. 5 1
this narrow sense, and development in the full sense, as a
wide or many-sided progress. The importance of the
principle of habit will be illustrated more especially in the
domain of action.*
In order that the intellectual powers as a whole may be
exercised and grow, a higher form of retentiveness is
needed. The traces of the products of intellectual activity
must accumulate and appear under the form of revivals or
reproductions. The impressions of sense, when discrimi-
nated, are in this way recalled as mental images. This
retention and revival of the products of the early sense-
discrimination is clearly necessary to the higher operations
of thought. Images, though the product of elementary
processes of discrimination and assimilation, supply in
their turn the material for the more elaborate processes of
thought. We thus see that the growing complexity of the
intellectual life depends on the accumulation of innumer-
able traces of past and simpler products of intellectual
activity.
Grouping of Parts: Laws of Association. —
Closely connected with this fundamental property of re-
tentiveness, there is another involved in this process of
intellectual development. The growth of intellect, as we
have seen, leads to an increasing complexity of the prod-
ucts. This means that the several elements are com-
bined or grouped in certain ways. This grouping goes on
according to the laws of association. These laws will be
fully discussed by-and-by. Here it is enough to say that
there are two principal modes of grouping, and corre-
* The term habit is commonly confined to actions which have grown
customary, and so mechanical. But the principle of habit is illustrated
in each of the three directions of mental development. Some writers
distinguish between passive habits, the effects of custom on feeling, and
active habits, its effects on action. In connection with education, Locke
uses the term habit generally as expressing the result of practice. See
"Thoughts concerning Education," edited by Rev. R. H. Quick ; In-
troduction, p. liv.
52 MENTAL DEVELOPMENT,
spending laws of association of mental elements, (a)
according to their nearness or contiguity in time, and {h)
according to their similarity. The first mode will be the
one principally illustrated in the earlier stages of develop-
ment (perception and imagination) ; the second, the one
mainly concerned in the later stages (thought).
Development of Feeling and Willing.— While, for
the sake of simplicity, we have confined our attention to
the development of intellect, it is necessary to add that the
same features and the same underlying principles are dis-
coverable in the growth of feeling and will. The earlier
feelings (bodily pleasures and pains) are simple and
closely connected with the senses : the higher feelings
(emotions) are complex and, representative in character.
Again, the first actions (bodily movements) are simple and
external, being immediate responses to sense-impressions,
whereas the later are complex, internal and representative
(choosing, resolving, etc.). It will be found, further, that
there is a continuity of process throughout the develop-
ment of each. And the same laws or conditions, jgrowth
by exercise, retentiveness and association, are illustrated
here as in the case of intellectual development.
Interdependence of Processes. — We have so far
viewed the growth of intellect, of feeling, and of volition as
processes going on apart, independently of one another.
And this is in a measure a correct assumption. It has,
however, already been pointed out that mind is an organic
unity, and that the processes of knowing, feeling, and will-
ing in a measure involve one another. It follows from this
that the developments of these phases of mind will be
closely connected. Thus, intellectual development presup-
poses a certain measure of emotional and volitional devel-
opment. There would be no attainments in knowledge if
the connected interest (curiosity, love of knowledge) and
active impulses (concentration, application) had not been
developed. Similarly, there can be no development of the
GROWTH AND DEVELOPMENT. 53
life of feeling without a considerable accumulation of
knowledge about Nature and man ; nor can there be
any development of action without a development of feel-
ing and the accumulation of a store of practical knowl-
edge. The mind may develop much more on one side
than on the others, but development on one side without
any development on the others is an impossibility.
This connectedness of one side of development with
the others may be illustrated in the close dependence of
intellectual growth on the exercise and improvement of
the power of attention. Though related to the active or
volitional side of mind, attention is a prime condition of
intellectual operations. Mental activity includes in every
case some form of attention ; and the higher kinds of
mental activity illustrate the full exercise of the will in
the shape of an effort of concentration. This being so,
intellectual growth, which, as we have seen, is the imme-
diate outcome of mental activity, is closely dependent on
the development of will. It is the improvement of the
power of voluntary concentration which makes success-
ively possible accurate observation, steady reproduction,
and all that we mean by thinking.
This dependence of one phase of mental development
on the other phases is not, however, equally close in all
cases. Thus the growth of knowing involves compara-
tively little of the emotional and volitional element. The
growth of feeling in its higher forms involves considerable
intellectual development, but no corresponding degree of
volitional development. Finally, the growth of will is
largely dependent on that of knowing and feeling. Hence,
in the order of exposition, we set out with the development
of knowing, passing then to that of feeling, and finally to
that of willing.
Growth and Development of the Brain.-— Just as,
in studying mental operations at a particular time, we
have to include in our view nervous concomitants, so in
54 MENTAL DEVELOPMENT.
studying mental de/elopment we must ask what changes
in the nervous organism, and more particularly in the
brain-centers, accompany these psychical changes.
The brain, like all other parts of the organism, grows in
bulk or size, and develops or manifests certain changes in
its formation or structure, viz. : increasing unlikeness of
parts and intricacy of arrangements among these. The
two processes, growth and development, do not progress
with the same degree of rapidity. The size nearly attains
its maximum about the end of the seventh year, whereas
the degree of structural development reached at this time
is not much above that of the embryonic condition.* It
may be added that the higher centers of thought and vo-
lition develop later than those of sensation.
The brain, being an organ closely connected with the
rest of the bodily organism, would tend to grow to a cer-
tain extent with the growth of the organism as a whole,
and independently of any activity of its own. But such
growth would be rudimentary only. Like all other organs,
it grows and develops by exercise. This physiological
law is clearly the counterpart of the psychological law that
exercise strengthens faculty. Such exercises tend to
modify the brain structures in some way, so as to dis-
pose them afterward to act more readily in the same man-
ner.
Factors in Development. — The process of mental
growth just traced out is brought about by the co-opera-
tion of two sets of agencies or factors — the mind itself
which develops, and the circumstances necessary to its
development. These may be marked off as the internal
and the external factor.
(A) Internal Factor. — This consists first of all of
the simple and fundamental capabilities of the mind.
Thus it includes the several simple modes of sensibility
to light, sound, and so on. Further, it embraces the fun-
* See Bastian, *' The Brain as an Organ of Mind," p. 375.
THE SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT. 55
damental intellectual functions, discrimination, and assim-
ilation. In like manner it will include the primary or
fundamental capacities of feeling, and powers of willing.
The internal factor includes, too, the mind's native im-
pulse to activity and spontaneous tendency to develop-
ment.
(B) External Factor, (i) Natural Environ-
ment.— In the second place, the development of an indi-
vidual mind implies the presence and co-operation of the
external factor, or the envirpnment. By this we mean, in
the first place, the physical environment or natural sur-
roundings. The growth of intelligence presupposes a
world of sights and sounds, etc., to supply the materials
of knowledge. The mind of a child deprived of these
would languish for want of its appropriate nutriment.
Similarly, the development of the feelings, for example, of
fear, awe, the sense of beauty, etc., depends on the pres-
ence and action of natural objects. Finally, the will is
called forth to activity by the action of the forces of the
natural environment, and by the need of reacting on it
and modifying it.
(2) The Social Environment. — In addition to
what we commonly call the natural or physical environ-
ment, there is the human and social environment. By this
we mean the society of which the individual is a member,
with which he holds certain relations, and by which he is
profoundly influenced. The social medium, like the phys-
ical, affects the individual mind through sense-impres-
sions (sights and sounds) ; yet its action differs from that
of the natural surroundings in being a moral influence. It
works through the forces which bind the individual to
other individuals and to the community, such as imita-
tion, sympathy, and the sentiment of obedience or author-
ity.
The presence of a social medium is necessary to a full
normal development of mind. If it were possible to main-
56 MENTAL DEVELOPMENT.
tain a child in bodily health and at the same time deprive
him of all companionship, his mental development would be
but rudimentary. The child comes under the stimulation,
the guidance, and the control of others, and these influ-
ences are essential to a normal mental development. Thus,
his intellectual growth is determined by continual contact
and interaction with the social intelligence, the body of
knowledge amassed by the race, and expressed in every-
day speech, in books, etc. Similarly, the feelings of the
child quicken and grow under the touch of social senti-
ment. And finally the will is called forth, stimulated and
guided by the habitual modes of action of those about him>
These social influences embrace a wider area as life pro-
gresses. Beginning with the action of the family, they go
on expanding by including the influences of the school, of
companions, and finally of the whole community, as work-
ing through manners, public opinion, and so forth.
Undesigned and Designed Influence of Society.
— A part of this social influence acts undesignedly, that
is, without any intention to accomplish a result. The ef-
fects of contact of mind with mind, of example, of the pre-
vailing tone of a family or a society, all this resembles the
action of natural or physical agencies. On the other hand,
a considerable remainder of this influence is clearly de-
signed. To this part belong all the mechanism of instruc-
tion, the arts of suasion, moral and legal control, etc.
Both kinds of social influence co-operate in each of the
three great phases of mental development. Thus the in-
tellect of a child grows partly under the influence of con-
tact with the social intelligence reflecting itself in the
structure of language ; and partly by the aid of systematic
instruction. Similarly, feeling develops partly through the
mere contact with other minds, or the agencies of sympa-
thy, and partly by direct appeals from others. Finally,
the will develops partly by the attraction of example and
the impulses of imitation, and partly by the forces of sua-
VARIETIES OF DEVELOPMENT.
57
sion, advice, reproof, and the whole system of moral dis-
cipline.
Scheme of Development. — The reader may perhaps
be able the better to comprehend the above rough theory
of mental development by help of the following diagram :
Fig. 4.
6^^^
<l^\
"%;
:for
Varieties of Development.— While all normally
constituted minds pass through the same typical course of
development, there are endless differences in the details
of the mental history of individuals. In no two cases,
indeed, is the process of mental growth precisely similar.
These diversities of mental history answer to the differ-
ences between mind and mind spoken of in the previous
chapter. Such differences of development may be referred
to one or two causes of factors : (a) variations or inequali-
58 MENTAL DEVELOPMENT.
ties of original capacity, or (b) differences in the external
circumstances, physical and social. All differences in the
final result, that is, the mature or developed aptitude or
capacity, must be assignable to one (or both) of these fac-
tors.
It is important to observe that differences of original
capacity include all inequalities in mental energy and
capability of development. As every teacher knows, the
instruments of education applied to two children, at ap-
proximately the same level of attainment, result in widely
unlike amounts of progress. Such inequalities in capa-
bility of mental growth turn mainly on differences in the
degree of mental activity, and, next to this, on different
degrees of retentive power.
Differences of Original Capacity. — In ascertaining
these we must be careful to separate off only what is
strictly original, and not in any measure the result of pre-
vious training or other kind of external influence. Now,
we can not altogether eliminate the effect of early influ-
ences ; yet we can reduce this to a minimum by taking
the child soon enough, or by selecting for our experiment
a sufficiently new mode of mental operation.
Such a method of comparative measurement applied
to young children would undoubtedly confirm the every-
day observation of parents and teachers alike, that chil-
dren are at birth endowed with very unequal degrees of
capacity of different kinds. Each individual has his par-
ticular proportion of aptitudes and tendencies, which con-
stitute his nature or his natural character, as distinguished
from his later and partly acquired character. This nat-
ural character is doubtless very closely connected with
the peculiar make of his bodily, and more particularly his
nervous organism. The condition of the sense-organs, of
the brain, of the muscular system, and even of the lower
vital organs, all serves to determine what we call the na-
tive idiosyncrasy or temperament of the individual.
COMMON AND SPECIAL HEREDITY. 59
The Law of Heredity. — According to modern sci-
ence these original differences are, in part at least, illustra-
tions of the principle of heredity. This principle states
that physical and mental peculiarities tend to be trans-
mitted from parents to children. Just as bodily features
reappear in parents and children, so intellectual and moral
traits persist in the shape of inherited mental dispositions.
These are handed down in connection with certain pecul-
iarities of the brain and nervous system.
Common and Special Heredity.— The principle of
heredity manifests itself in different ways. In one sense
we may say that our common human nature, with its
typical physical organism and its several mental suscepti-
bilities and capabilities, is inherited, that is, transmitted
to each new member of the species. But, as customarily
employed, the term heredity refers to the transmission of
physical or mental peculiarities which have somehow
been acquired by the individual's ancestors. This trans-
mission of acquired characteristics assumes a wider or
a narrower form. Its widest range is seen in the alleged
fact that the offspring of civilized races have from the first
a higher intellectual and moral endowment than those of
uncivilized, having certain original or instinctive disposi-
tions to think, feel, and act in the ways that have become
habitual with civilized mankind. According to this view,
as civilization progresses and education improves, native
capacity tends to slowly increase, and this gradual increase
constitutes one factor in the upward progress of the spe-
cies. Again, members of one particular race or national-
ity, as Celts or Frenchmen, appear to inherit distinct phys-
ical and mental traits. Still more plainly the members
of one family may often be observed to present similar
mental as well as bodily characteristics through a number
of generations. These mental peculiarities are partly in-
tellectual, partly emotional, and partly active, referring to
differences in strength of will, etc. An interesting exam-
4
6o MENTAL DEVELOPMENT,
pie of this is occasionally to be met with in the transmis-
sion of a definite kind of talent through generations of a
given family, as, for example, of musical talent in the Bach
family.*
It is evident, however, that the members of one family
show marked diversities as well as similarities. We often
remark very striking contrasts of ideas, feelings, and incli-
nations among children of the same family. Such con-
trasts may sometimes be only another illustration of the
action of heredity, some members of the family represent-
ing certain ancestral traits, other members, other traits.
But this can not be safely maintained in the majority of
instances. In the present stage of our knowledge of the
subject, heredity only helps us to account for a compara-
tively few among the host of peculiarities which go to
make up the natural basis of an individual character. We
have to recognize along with this another tendency, namely,
to individual variation.
Varieties of External Influence. — While original
peculiarities of nature or temperament thus play a consid-
erable part in individual development, they are not the
sole agency at work. Differences in the surroundings,
physical and still more social, have a good deal to do with
the differences of ability and character that we find among
individuals.
The important thing to bear in mind here is that no
two individuals ever come under the same influences.
Even twins, who are born into the same family at the same
time, have an unlike social environment from the first.
Their own mother is hardly likely to feel toward them or
to treat them in quite the same way ; and others show this
divergence of feeling and behavior very much more. As
life progresses, the sum of external influences, serving to
* For fuller illustrations of such transmission of definite ability, see
Mr. F. Galton's work, " Hereditaiy Genius " ; cf. Prof. Th. Ribofs
volume, ♦* On Heredity."
VARIETIES OF EXTERNAL INFLUENCE, 6 1
differentiate individual character, increases. The school,
the place of business, the circle of friends, and so on, all
help to give a peculiar stamp to the individual mind.
That even such slight differences in surroundings must
produce an effect follows from psychological laws. The
mind grows on what it assimilates. The lines of its growth
will be to some extent predetermined by innate capabili-
ties and tendencies ; but these only broadly limit the pro-
cess, they do not fix its precise character. The particular
ideas and connections of ideas formed, the intellectual
habits fixed, the peculiar coloring of the feelings, and the
special lines of the conduct will all be determined by the
character of the surroundings.
It is impossible, in the present state of our knowledge,
to say how much of the diversity of intelligence and char-
acter that we find among men is referable to native dif-
ferences, how much to the effects of surroundings, more
particularly social surroundings. The older psychology
of Locke overlooked the effects of native differences, of
individual nature. To Locke all men were born with
equal abilities, and the differences were due to experience
and education. The newer psychology rightly insists on
the existence of these original differences, on the effects
of "nature" as distinguished from "nurture."* There
is no doubt that similar experiences and outer influences
do not produce precisely identical results. At the same
time, it is possible that we of to-day are apt to underesti-
* The importance of original differences of intellectual aptitude and
emotional disposition has just been insisted on with great force of argu-
ment by Mr. F. Galton in his curious volume, " Inquiries into Human
Faculty and its Development." See " Nurture and Nature," p. 177,
etc. An illustration of the strength and pertinacity of original tend-
encies is very clearly brought out in the " History of Twins," p. 216, et
seq. Mr. Galton takes cases of twins who were much alike, and also
of twins who were distinctly unlike, and he seeks to show that in both
cases the final result is largely determined by nature and not by nur-
ture.
62 MESTAL DEVELOPMENT.
mate the effects of surroundings, and more particularly of
early bringing up. It is true, of course, that there never
is anything in the finished mental product, the mature
mind and character, which was not present potentially at
the outset. It is also true that all growth is the immediate
outcome of the mind's own exertion and activity. Still,
it may be said that the special external circumstances of
the individual life were needed to evoke and nurture these
latent germs of ability, and to call forth and direct that
activity.
It is common to say that men of genius are independ-
ent of their surroundings, that their powers germinate and
fructify in spite of unfavorable surroundings. This is true
in a sense. The stronger the native intellectual bent, the
more strenuous the mental exertions, the more independ-
ent is the mind of its surroundings; or, to put it more
accurately, the more readily will it create a favorable en-
vironment (companions, books, etc.) for itself. In aver-
age cases, however, when there is no such powerful _and
predominant impulse, it is the actual surroundings, and
particularly the early influences of the home and the school,
which determine which of the potential aptitudes and in-
clinations shall be fostered into life and vigor.
^ The Teacher and the Social Environment.—
From the foregoing we see that education fulfills an im-
portant function among the influences presupposed in
development. The intellectual and moral culture of the
home constitutes a prime ingredient in the sum of the
influences of the social environment. The influence of the
school-teacher, though much more restricted on the emo-
tional and moral side, is the most important of the external
stimuli to intellectual progress. As Pestalozzi has pointed
out, the teacher stands in place of the parent, having to
carry forward, in a more thorough and systematic manner,
and to a much higher point than the qualifications and
the opportunities of the parent commonly allow, the early
TRAINING OF THE FACULTIES. 63
intellectual instruction of the home ; and, regarded in this
light, his work is eminently a natural one, being the out-
growth of the instinct of instruction which shows itself in
germ in the lower animals, and in man is inseparately in-
tertwined with the parental feelings and instincts. Viewed
in another way, the teacher represents not merely the par-
ent but the community. This he does by aiming at pre-
paring the learner in intelligence, and, as far as possible,
in character, to properly fill his future place in the com-
munity ; and by bringing to bear for this purpose all the
resources of the knowledge which has become the heritage
of the present from the past, as well as a type of character
which represents as clearly as possible the highest . moral
progress yet attained by man.
Training of the Faculties. — The systematic pro-
cedure of the teacher is implied in the word training.
This involves the putting of the child in such circum-
stances, and surrounding it by such influences, as will
serve to call the faculty into exercise, or, as has already
been pointed out, the supplying of the intellect with ma-
terials to work upon, or nutriment to be assimilated, to-
gether with the application of a stimulus or motive to
exertion. It means, too, the continuous or periodic exer-
cise of the faculty, with the definite purpose of strengthen-
ing it, and advancing its growth.
Such training must clearly be based on a knowledge of
the laws of mental development. Thus it has to conform
to the great law of all growth, that it is appropriate exer-
cise which strengthens faculty. That is to say, it will aim
directly at calling forth a faculty into its proper mode of
action by supplying materials and motives adapted to the
stage of development reached at the time. Training may
be said to be adapted when it supplies an adequate but
not excessive stimulation of the faculty. By adequate
stimulation is here meant an excitation of sufficient
strength and variety to secure completeness of growth. A
64 MENTAL DEVELOPMENT,
boy's memory or understanding is not properly trained if
very easy tasks are assigned which fail to rouse the faculty
to full activity. By excessive stimulation is meant an
amount of excitation which forces the activity to such a
point as is unfavorable to growth. Thus, when a boy is
set to master a problem in Euclid beyond his powers of
reasoning the task, by baffling effort and confusing the
mind, is distinctly adverse to intellectual progress. It fol-
lows that all good training must be progressive, the tasks
becoming more difficult pari passu with the growth of
ability.
In the second place, the whole scheme of training
should conform to the natural order of development of
the faculties. Those faculties which develop first must be
exercised first. It is vain, for example, to try to cultivate
the power of abstraction, by subjects like grammar, before
the powers of observation (perception) and imagination
have reached a certain degree of strength. This self-evi-
dent proposition is one of the best accepted principles in
the modern theory of education, though there is reason to
apprehend that it is still frequently violated in practice.
Once more, a method of training based on scientific
principles will aim not only at taking up a faculty at the
right moment, but also at cultivating it up to the proper
point, and not beyond this. By this point is meant the
level which answers to its rank or value in the whole
scale of faculties. Thus, for example, in training the
memory or the imagination we should inquire into its
precise importance in relation to the attainment of knowl-
edge and intellectual culture as a whole, and give to its
exercise and development a proportionate amount of
attention.
The perfect following out of this principle is that
harmonious development of the whole mind on which
Pestalozzi and others have laid emphasis. The educator
must ever keep before him the ideal of a complete man,
TRAINING OF THE FACULTIES. 65
strong and well-developed physically, intellectually, and
morally, and, so far as practicable, assign a proportionate
amount of time and exercise to the development of each
side of the child's being.
Finally, training, in order to be adequate, must be to
some extent elastic, adapting itself to the numerous dif-
ferences among young minds. Up to a certain point a
common result, namely, a typical completeness of develop-
ment, will be aimed at. It would not be well, for ex-
ample, that any child, however unimaginative, should
have his imagination wholly untrained. At the same
time this typical plan of cultivation must be modified in
detail. The greater the natural aptitude, the more eco-
nomical the production of a given psychical result. Hence
it would be wasteful to give as much time and thought to
the training of a bad as of a good germ of faculty. Nor
do the practical ends of life impose such a disagreeable
task on the teacher. Variety of individual development
is in itself valuable, and moreover answers to the highly
elaborated division of life-work or differentiation of life-
function which characterizes civilization. The problem of
respecting individuality in educating the young, of secur-
ing a sufficient diversity of studies in our school system,
is probably one of the most urgent practical educational
problems of the hour.
APPENDIX.
For a fuller account of the nature and causes of mental develop-,
ment the reader is referred to Mr. Spencer's " Principles of Psy-
chology," especially vol i, parts iii and iv. A brief statement of the
characteristics of development, as bearing on the work of the teacher,
will be found in Mr. Spencer's essay, "Education," chap. ii. The
subject has also been discussed from an educational point of view by
Beneke, " Erziehungslehre," i, p. loi, etc., and by G. F. Pfisterer,
" Paedagogische Psychologic," § 2. »
CHAPTER VI.
ATTENTION.
Place of Attention in Mind. — Attention enters as
an important condition into all classes of mental opera-
tion. There is no distinct thinking, no vivid feeling, and
no deliberate action without attention. This co-operation
of attention is specially conspicuous in the case of intellect-
ual operations. The objects which present themselves to
our senses are only clearly discriminated one from the
other, and classed as objects of such and such a class,
when we attend to them. So again, present impressions
only exercise their full force in calling up what is as-
sociated with them when we keep them before the mind
by an act of attention. Once more, all abstract thinking
is clearly an active state of mind involving a voluntary
fixing of the attention. We thus see that attention, though
a form of action, and in its higher developments presup-
posing an effort of will, stands in the closest relation to
intellectual operations. It is co-operation of the active
side of mind in intellectual processes, and it is one of the
great determining forces of intellectual development.
This being so, it is desirable to give a brief account of
it before entering on the exposition of intellect, reserving
the exposition of its higher forms till we come to consider
the nature of volition.
Definition of Attention. — Attention may be roughly
defined as the active self-direction of the mind to any
PLACE OF ATTENTION IN MIND. 6/
material or object which presents itself to it at the mo-
ment.* It thus means somewhat the same as the mind's
*' consciousness " of what is present to it. The field of
attention, however, is narrower than that of consciousness.
I may be very vaguely or indistinctly conscious of some
bodily sensation, as hunger, of some haunting recollection,
and so on, without making it the object of attention. At-
tention involves an intensification of consciousness, a con-
centration or narrowing of it on some definite and re-
stricted portion of the mental scene ; or, to express it
otherwise, it implies a turning of the mental eye in a par-
ticular direction so as to see the objects lying in that
quarter as distinctly as possible.j"
As an active tension of mind, attention is opposed to
that relaxed state of mind in which there is no conscious
exertion to fix the gaze on any particular object. This
answers to what the teacher is wont to call inattention.
It is a state of listlessness or drowsiness as compared with
one of activity and wakefulness.
Directions of Attention. — Attention follows one of
two main directions ; that is, is directed to one of two
great fields of objects, (i) The first region is that of ex-
ternal impressions, the sights, sounds, etc., which make
up the world of sense. When the teacher talks about
"attending," he commonly means actively listening, or
actively looking. This is the direction of attention out-
ward, or external attention. (2) In addition to external
impressions, internal images, ideas and thoughts, may be
attended to. This constitutes the second main direction
of attention, or internal attention. All intellectual atten-
* The reader must be careful to distinguish between " object of
attention" and "external object," as we commonly understand it. As
we shall see presently, the former, though including the latter, is a
much wider domain than this.
f The idea of mental activity in the full sense, or mental tension, is
directly suggested by the etymology of the word, ad tendere, to stretch
(sc, the mind toward).
68 ATTENTION,
tlon, that is to say, attention engaged in the processes of
learning or coming to know about things, is attention,
directed either to external impressions or to internal
ideas. So far as we attend to feelings of pleasure and
pain we appear to do so by fixing the attention on the ex-
citing cause of the feeling, which must be either an exter-
nal object or an internal idea. Finally, in attending to
our actions, we fix our minds on the idea of the result
which we are immediately aiming at. Thus, in every
case, the object of attention is some external impression,
or internal idea, or thought.
Effects of Attention. — The immediate effect of an
act of attention serves to give greater force, vividness, and
distinctness to its object. Thus an impression of sound, as
the tolling of a bell, becomes more forcible, and has its
character made more definite, when we direct our atten-
tion to it. A thought, a recollection, is rendered distinct
by attending to it. The intensification of consciousness
in one particular direction produces thus an increase of
illumination, and so subserves the cleat perception and
understanding of things.
Attention produces striking effects on the feelings. A
serious bodily injury may hardly trouble our mind, if
through some exceptional excitement it is hindered from
attending to it. Thus it is known that soldiers wounded
in battle have hardly felt any pain at the moment. On
the other hand, a very moderate sensation of discomfort,
as an irritation of the skin, grows into something intensely
disagreeable if the attention is fastened on the particular
bodily locality affected. Finally, our actions grow more
vigorous and energetic as well as more precise when we
give our attention to the objects aimed at.*
Physiology of Attention. — The seat of attention
appears to be situated in the higher region of the nerve-
* For some curious illustrations of the effects of attention, see Dr.
Carpenter's " Mental Physiology/' chap. iii.
EXTENT OF ATTENTION. 69
centers in the cerebral hemispheres. The mechanism of
attention probably involves an intensification of nervous
activity in certain regions of the brain, which is effected
by means of an impulse sent forth from the supreme con-
trolling centers. In this way, for example, the nerve-
centers employed in hearing are thrown into a state of
exceptional excitability when we listen to somebody read-
ing or singing. Along with this concentration of nerve-
energy in certain definite regions of the brain, the act of
external attention involves important muscular adjust-
ments, such as directing the eye to an object, which are
necessary to the reception of distinct sense-impressions.
Extent of Attention. — All attention is a narrowing
of the range of mental activity and to a certain extent a
concentration or focusing of the mind on a given point.
But all acts of attention do not embrace equal areas or
extents. Just as in looking at a landscape we may fix the
eye on a smaller or larger portion of the scene, so the
mind may direct itself to a smaller or larger area of
object.
In general it may be said that the more things we try
to include in our mental gaze the less distinct is the
result. This is seen plainly in all efforts to attend to a
variety of disconnected things at one time, as when we
are reading a book and listening to a conversation. " One
thing at a time " is the law of mental activity, and the
performing of distinct mental occupations is only possible
where repetition and habit exempt us from close attention,
as in carrying on some familiar manual operation and
listening to another's words.
Where, however, we have to do with a number of con-
nected impressions or objects of attention, we are able to
a certain extent to include them in one view. Thus we
can attend to the features of a face in their relations of
proportion, to a succession of musical sounds in their re-
lations of rhythm, etc. This grasp of a number of parts,
70
ATTENTION.
details, or members of a group, is greatly facilitated by a
rapid transition of the mental glance from one detail to
another, as in running over the various features of an
artistic design, or the succeeding steps of an argument.
On what the Degree of Attention depends. —
The amount of attention exerted at any time depends on
two chief circumstances : (a) the quantity of nervous
energy disposable at the time; {b^ the strength of the
stimulus which excites the attention or rouses it to action.
If there is great active energy, a feeble stimulus will suffice
to bring about attention. A healthy, vigorous child, in the
early part of the day, has a superabundance of energy
which shows itself in attention to small and comparatively
uninteresting matters. Indeed, his activity prompts him
to seek objects of attention in his surroundings. On the
other hand, a tired or weakly child requires a powerful
stimulus to rouse his mental activity.
External and Internal Stimuli. — The stimulus to
an act of attention may be either something external, con-
nected with the object attended to, or something internal.
An external stimulus consists of some interesting or strik-
ing feature in the object itself, or in its accompaniments,
by reason of which the attention is said to be attracted
and arrested, as when a child's attention is excited by the
brilliance of a light, or the strangeness of a sound. An
internal stimulus is a motive in the mind which prompts
it to put forth its attention in a particular direction, such
as the desire of a child to please his teacher, or to gain a
higher place in his class.
Non- Voluntary and Voluntary Attention.— When
the mind is acted upon by the mere force of the object
presented, the act of attention is said to be non-voluntary.*
It may also be called reflex (or automatic) because it bears
* The term non-voluntary is preferred to involuntary, as indicating
the mere absence of volition, and not opposition to will or •' unwilling-
ness."
LAW OF CONTRAST AND NOVELTY. 71
a striking analogy to reflex movement, that is to say, move-
ment following sensory stimulation without the interven-
tion of a conscious purpose. On the other hand, when
we attend to a thing under the impulse of a desire, such
as curiosity or a wish to know about a thing, we are said
to do so by an act of will, or voluntarily. These two modes
of attention, though properly distinguished one from an-
other, are both acts of the mind, and will be found to shade
off one into the other in our actual mental life.
Reflex Attention. — This is the earlier form of atten-
tion, and the one with which the teacher is specially con-
cerned in the first stages of instruction. Here the direc-
tion of the attention is determined for the mind rather
than by the mind. It follows the lead of the attractive
force which happens to work at the time.
(In its simplest form attention is a momentary direction
of the attention due to the action of a powerful sensory
stimulus, as a brilliant light, a loud sound, etc. Every
teacher knows the value of a strong emphatic mode of
utterance in commanding the attention ; and this effect is
partly due to the action of strong sensuous impressions in
rousing mental activity.
Law of Contrast and Novelty. — This momentary
direction of the attention is governed by the law of change
or contrast. According to this principle, an unvarying
impression, if prolonged, fails to produce a mental effect.
The constant noise of the mill soon ceases to be noticed
by one who lives near it. This is partly due to the fact
that a prolonged powerful stimulus fatigues the nerve-cen-
ter and renders it less responsive. But, in addition to
this, a prolonged impression, even if a powerful one, loses
its effect because it ceases to exert an attractive force on
the attention. Hence, the teacher who continually or very
frequently addresses his class in loud tones, misses the
advantage of an occasional raising of the voice.
On the other hand, a sudden change of impression, as
72 ATTENTION.
when a light is brought into a dark room, or the report of
a gun breaks the stillness of the country, acts as a power-
ful excitant to the attention. For the same reason a strong
contrast of impression, as between high and low, soft and
loud in music, bright and dark colors, and so forth, is an
excitant to the attention.
Novelty, so powerful a force in childhood and a con-
siderable force throughout life, is only a further illustra-
tion of the law of change. For something new attracts
the attention, because it stands in contrast with our ordi-
nary surroundings and experience. It stimulates and ex-
cites the mind very much as a startling contrast. \
Interest.— [When it is said that we only attend to what
interests us, theVe is a reference to the excitation of a cer-
tain amount of feeling. This feeling acts as a force in ar-
resting the attention and keeping it fixed for an apprecia-
ble time. Attention to what interests us is thus always
something more than the momentary direction of atten-
tion. This feeling of interest may arise in different ways.
(i) In the first place, interest is excited when the ob-
ject is in itself pretty or beautiful, and so fitted to give
immediate pleasure or gratification in the very act of
attending to it. Thus, an infant will keep its eyes fixed
for a time on the lamp brought into the room, because of
its pleasurable effect. The production of pleasure, in con-
nection with any mode of activity, tends, as we shall see
by-and-by, to intensify and prolong this activity. This
forms the germ of aesthetic interest.
(2) Another great source of interest in things is their
connection with what is pleasurable or painful in our past
experience. The infant shows the most vivid interest in
such sights as the preparation of its food, its bath, etc.
A child will listen to whatever bears on its familiar pleas-
ures, its favorite possessions and companions, its amuse-
ments, etc. In all states of fear, again, we see the atten-
tion closely engaged by that which bears on pain or suffer-
FAMILIARITY AND INTEREST. 73
ing. This effect of a connection or association with what
is pleasurable or painful in riveting the attention underlies
what we mark off as practical interest.
(3) Lastly, interest may assume a more distinctly in-
tellectual form, involving the germ of a wish to understand a
thing, and the desire for knowledge as such. This intellect-
ual interest is what we commonly call curiosity. It springs
up in different ways. It arises most naturally out of a feeling
of wonder at what is new, strange, and mysterious, as
when a child sees a light go out in a bottle filled with car-
bonic acid, and wants to know the cause. In many cases,
however, it takes its rise in the feeling of delight produced
by what is beautiful, as when a child is interested in know-
ing about a lovely flower or bird. Finally, this intellectual
interest is greatly promoted by the principle of associa-
tion. The direction of children's curiosity follows to a
large extent the lead of association. What is seen to have
a bearing on the child's pleasures and practical aims tends
to become the object of a genuine intellectual curiosity.
Familiarity and Interest. — It follows from this
that mere novelty, though a powerful stimulus to the at-
tention, and capable of leading on to curiosity, is rarely if
ever sufficient to detain and fix the attention in a pro-
longed act or attitude. ^ What is absolutely strange and
consequently unsuggestive to the child's mind is apt to be
a matter of indifference. In walking down a new street,
for example, a child will as a rule notice those things
which in some way remind him of, and connect themselves
with, what he already knows and likes, e. g., the harness in
the saddler's shop.* (While, therefore, the principle of
change tells us that perfect familiarity with a subject is
fatal to interest, the laws of intellectual interest tell us
that a measure of familiarity is essential. The principle
* See the interesting account of the want of interest in London
sights manifested by some Esquimaux who visited our capital, given
by Miss Edge worth, "Practical Education," ii, p. 118.
74 ATTENTION.
of modern intellectual education, that there should be a
gradual transition from the known to the unknown, is thus
seen to correspond not only with the necessities of intellect-
ual movement and development, but also with the natural
laws of development of those feelings of interest which in-
spire attention and so call the intellectual faculties into play.)
Transition to Voluntary Attention. — The devel-
opment of interest and curiosity forms a natural transition
from non-voluntary to voluntary attention. The prolonga-
tion of the act of attention implies a germ of volition.
Thus the maintenance of the expectant attitude of mind
by a class, when the teacher is presenting interesting ma-
terials, is due to a vague anticipation of coming gratifica-
tion and a desire to realize this. Here, then, we see how
gradually the earlier and lower form passes into the later
and higher. In supplying interesting matter to his class,
and exciting a feeling of pleasurable interest, the teacher
is preparing the way for the exercises of the will in what is
called voluntary attention.
j\ Function of the Will in Attention. — It is impossi-
ble at this stage to explain the whole nature of voluntary
attention. As a mode of will or volition it obeys the laws
of volition, which will be expounded later on. Here it
must suffice to indicate the effects of voluntary action in
enlarging the sphere and otherwise modifying the charac-
ter of attention.
To begin with, then, what is called voluntary attention
is not a wholly new phase of the process. After the ac-
tion of the will has supervened, the forces of non-voluntary
attention continue to be active as tendencies. And the
range of the will's action is limited by these. Thus the
student most practiced in abstraction finds that there is
some force of external stimulus, as the allurement of a
beautiful melody sung within his hearing, against which
his will is impotent.
Again, though we can undoubtedly (within certain
FUNCTION OF THE WILL IN ATTENTION. 75
limits) direct our attention in this or that quarter at will,
we have not the power to keep our attention closely and
persistently fixed on any object which we (or somebody
else for us) may happen to select. Something further is
necessary to that lively interaction of mind and object
\Yhich we call a state of attention ; and this is interest.
By an act of will a person may resolve to turn his atten-
tion to something, say a passage in a book. But if, after
this preliminary process of adjustment of the mental eye,
the subject-matter opens up no interesting phase, no effort
of volition will produce a calm, settled state of concentra-
tion. The will introduces mind and object : it can not
force an attachment between them. No compulsion of a
teacher ever succeeded in making a young mind cordially
embrace and appropriate by an act of concentration an
unsuitable, and therefore uninteresting subject. We thus
see that voluntary attention is not removed from the sway
of interest. What the will does is to determine the kind
of interest which shall prevail at the moment.
The importance of this initial action of will, in deter-
mining the direction of attention, depends on the fact that
in many cases a strong interest is only developed after the
mind and the subject-matter have remained in contact
awhile. Many subjects do not disclose their attractions
at once and on the surface, but only after they have been
more closely examined. Thus the charm of a poem or of
a geometrical problem makes itself felt gradually. Hence,
if a child can be induced to exercise his will at the outset,
under the influence of some internal motive disconnected
with the subject, as the desire to please his parents or
teacher, or to gain some tangible advantage from the
study, he will often come under the spell of new and un-
suspected varieties of interest. Indeed, the taking up of
any new branch of study illustrates this gradual substitu-
tion of an easy, agreeable activity for a comparatively hard
and disagreeable one.
je ATTENTION.
Growth of Attention : Early Stage.—After this
account of the nature and laws of attention and its two
chief forms, a few words will suffice to indicate the suc-
cessive phases of its growth. As has been observed, the
early form of attention is the reflex or non-voluntary. By
frequent exercises of its activity in response to external
stimuli the power attains a certain degree of development
independently of any aid from the will. By this is meant
that, after a certain number of exercises, less powerful
stimuli suffice, in the absence of more powerful ones, to
call forth attention. Thus, by directing his attention again
and again to bright objects, as the candle, the infant is
preparing to direct it (still non-voluntarily) to the mother's
face, his own hands, etc., when these objects happen to
come into the field of view. With the progress of life,
too, many things at first indifferent acquire an interest.
Thus the accompaniments of what is intrinsically interest-
ing would acquire (according to the principle of associ-
ation) a borrowed or derived interest. In this way the
infant tends to watch the movements and doings of his
nurse, mother, etc. ; the boy comes to take an interest in
the construction of his kite, and so on. Not only so, the
range of interesting objects would be greatly extended by
the development of new feelings, such as the sense of the
grotesque, the feeling for what is beautiful, affection, etc.
Development of Power of controlling the At-
tention.— While this exercise of the power of attention in
the reflex form is thus going on, the child's will is also de-
veloping. The simplest manifestation of voluntary atten-
tion may perhaps be found in the continued gazing at an
agreeable object, such as a brightly colored toy or picture,
held before the eye ; for here, as pointed out above, there
is a vague anticipation of further pleasure. A more dis-
tinctly marked development of will-power is manifested in
the attitude of expectation. From a very early period of
life the will begins to manifest itself in a deliberate explor-
ATTENTION TO THE UNIMPRESSIVE. 77
ing or looking out for objects to inspect or examine.* By
such successive exercises the activity of attention is little
by little brought under perfect control. Although the full
understanding of this process presupposes a knowledge
of the growth of will as a whole, we may be able to antici-
pate to some extent, and indicate the main lines of this
progress.
The growth of voluntary attention means a continual
reduction of the difficulty of attending to objects. The
law that exercise strengthens faculty applies to attention.
What is first done with labor and sense of difficulty is,
with repetition and practice, done more and more easily.
At the same time more and more difficult tasks become
possible. The growth of attention may be best treated by
distinguishing between the several forms in which this
progressive mastery of difficulty manifests itself.
Attention to the Unimpressive. — Voluntary atten-
tion is obviously a going beyond the range of powerful and
directly interesting stimuli, and an embracing of a wider
circle of comparatively unimpressive and only indirectly
interesting objects. The progress of attention can be
measured under this aspect. The child learns gradually
to fix with his eye the less striking, prominent, and attract-
ive objects and events of the world in which he lives.
When no strongly impressive objects are present, the very
impulse of activity will insure a certain amount of atten-
tion to less conspicuous and striking ones. Moreover,
each successive exercise of the attention makes subsequent
exercises easier, and the growth of mind as a whole implies
* Prof. Preyer says that the child begins to explore the field of vis-
ion in search of objects before the end of the third month. (" Die
Seele des Kindes," p. 33.) He puts the first appearance of volition,
properly so called, a month or two later. This suggests that the simple
action here spoken of is a transition from the reflex to the voluntary
form of attention. On the other hand, M. Perez thinks he discovers
the germ of voluntary attention at the age of two months and six days,
("The First Three Years of Childhood," p. 112.) .
78 ATTENTION.
the constant addition of new needs and impulses which
would insure a wider range of attention.
Resistance to Stimuli. — A voluntary control of the
attention involves, in the second place, the ability to resist
the solicitations of extraneous and distracting objects.
Voluntarily to turn the mind to a thing is to exclude what
is irrelevant. This power of resistance has, of course, in
every case its limits. Nobody can withstand the disturb-
ing force of a sudden explosion. But the capability of
resisting such distractions varies considerably, and is
greatly improved by practice. The child, when sent to
school, finds it hard at first not to look at his companions,
or out of the window, when a lesson is being given. By-
and-by he will be able to fix his mind on his lesson, even
when some amount of disturbing noise is present. The
highest attainment of this power is seen in the student
whose mind is " abstracted " from external impressions,
being wholly absorbed in internal reflection.
Keeping: the Attention fixed. — Another aspect,
under which the growth of attention may be estimated, is
the ability to detain objects before the mind. As we have
seen, reflex attention is, for the most part, a process of flit-
ting from object to object. We found, indeed, that even
here there is a force at work which tends to counteract the
impulse to skip from one thing to another. But this would
not of itself carry us very far. It is only as the attention
comes under the control of the will that it shows any con-
siderable measure of persistence. To attend to a thing
voluntarily means commonly to keep the mind dwelling on
it. The ordinary school exercises involve such a prolonged
and sustained effort of attention. Thus, in counting, the
mind has to keep steadily in view the result of each of the
successive operations as it is reached. The wandering of
the thoughts for an instant would be fatal to the achieve-
ment of the whole process. So, in following a description,
a demonstration in Euclid, and so forth.
CONCENTRA TION. yg
Here, again, we have to recognize the existence of cer-
tain limits in every case. Nobody can fix his mind on one
and the same object — say a geometrical figure — for an in-
definite time. When once the fresh interest of a thing is
exhausted, a further fixing of the attention costs more and
more effort. Nor can a pupil carry on a sustained effort
of attention through an indefinitely long arithmetical or
other operation. The brain is soon wearied by the pro-
longed exertion, and attention flags in spite of the utmost
effort. But the limit of fatigue is pushed further off as
the will develops and the act of attention becomes more
easy.
Concentration. — The power of sustained attention
grov/s with the ability to resist distractions and solicita-
tions. The two capabilities are thus very closely con-
nected with one another, and are both included in the
term concentration. To concentrate the mind is to fix it
persistently on an object or group of objects, resolutely
excluding from the mental view all irrelevant objects.
The great field for the early exercises of such concentra-
tion is action. When the child wants to do something, as
open a box, or build a pile of bricks, the strong desire for
the end secures a prolonged effort of attention. The
scholar patiently poring over a mutilated passage in an
ancient MS., to the neglect of his appetite, or the natural-
ist patiently observing the movements of insects or of
plants, indifferent to cold and wet, illustrates a high
power of prolonged concentration. A person's power of
attention may be conveniently measured by the degree of
persistence attained.
Concentration and Intellectual Power.— It has
often been said that great intellectual power turns on the
ability to concentrate the attention. Newton based his
intellectual superiority on this circumstance. Helvetius
observed that genius is nothing but a continued attention.
A proposition about which there is so general an agree-
8o ATTENTION.
ment among those who ought to know may be safely ac-
cepted as expressing a truth. Attention is a condition of
all intellectual achievement, and a good power of pro-
longed concentration is undoubtedly indispensable to first-
rate achievement in any direction. The discoverers of
new knowledge have always been distinguished by an
unusual degree of pertinacity in brooding over a subject,
and in following out trains of thought in this and that
direction till the required explanation of fact, reconcili-
ation of apparent contradictions, and so on, was found.
But though these sayings undoubtedly embody an impor-
tant truth, they only contain a part of the whole truth. No
amount of attention simply will constitute intellectual
eminence. The dull, slow, but exceedingly plodding
child is a familiar type to the teacher. Success of the
higher order depends on the possession of the intellectual
functions (discrimination, etc.) in an exceptionally perfect
form. On the other hand, good intellectual powers, when
aided by a comparatively small power of prolonged atten-
tion, may render their possessor quick and intelligent.
Grasp of Attention. — As was pointed out above, the
mind has a certain power of including a number of objects
in one glance, and this power underlies the apprehension
of all relations, such as symmetry of form, similarity be-
tween objects, etc. The acquisition of this grasp is one
of the most valuable results of the growth of the power of
voluntary attention. Only as this power is developed will
it be possible for the teacher to take his pupil on to the
higher intellectual exercises, such as the understanding of
geometrical relations of the more complicated kind, the
processes of comparing a number of things with a view to
abstraction, the logical analysis of sentences, arguments,
and so forth. This form of attention, like the other forms,
needs its own special modes of exercise to develop and
improve it.
We must distinguish this power of carrying the atten-
VARIETIES OF ATTENTIVE POWER, 8 1
tion quickly over a number of connected details from
another variety of attention closely akin to it, viz., the
capability of transferring the mental glance from one
thing to another and disconnected thing. This capability
is illustrated in a striking form in the rapid movements of
the versatile mind from one subject of conversation, one
region of ideas to another. This power of rapid trans-
ference, though valuable in many intellectual exercises, is
of far less value than the power of mentally bringing a
number of details together as parts of one whole. It is
plain, too, that it is in a manner opposed to prolonged
concentration upon one subject.
Habits of Attention. — Voluntary attention, like vol-
untary action as a whole, is perfected in the form of habits.
By a habit we mean a fixed disposition to do a thing, and
a facility in doing it, the result of numerous repetitions of
the action. The growth of the power of attention may be
viewed as a progressive formation of habits. At first vol-
untary concentration of mind requires a spur and an effort.
As soon as the pressure of strong motive is withdrawn, the
young mind returns to its natural state of listlessness or
wandering attention. A habit of attention first appears as
a recurring readiness to attend under definite circum-
stances, for example when the child goes into his class-
room, or is addressed by somebody. This is what Miss
Edgeworth calls a habit of associated attention. Later on
there manifests itself a more permanent attitude of atten-
tiveness. The transition from childhood to youth is often
characterized by the acquisition of a more general atti-
tude of mental watchfulness, showing itself in thoughtful-
ness about what is seen and heard. The highest result of
the working of the principle of habit in this region is illus-
trated in the customary, and but rarely relaxed, alertness
of mind of the artistic or scientific observer of nature.
Varieties of Attentive Power. — It has been im-
plied that the power of attention develops very unequally
82 A TTENTION.
in different individual cases. With some this power never
reaches a high point at all ; these are the children of slug-
gish attention, the "saunterers," to use Locke's expression,
who form the teacher's crux. Again, owing to differences
of native endowment, as well as of exercise, we find well-
marked contrasts in the special direction which the atten-
tive power assumes. And these help, to a considerable
extent, to determine the cast or character of the indi-
vidual intelligence. Everybody knows the difference, for
example, between the plodding child, able to concentrate
his mind on an object for a long period, but slow to
transfer and adjust his attention to new matter, and the
quick but rather superficial child — the volatile genius, ac-
cording to Miss Edgeworth, who finds it easy to direct his
attention to new objects, though hard to keep it fixed for
a prolonged period. There are many students who are
capable of great intensity of concentration under favor-
able circumstances, but whose minds are easily over-
powered by disturbing or distracting influences. Finally,
the ruling habits of attention will vary according to the
character of the predominant interests. Thus, for ex-
ample, a strong love of nature (whether scientific or
artistic) will give a habitual outward bent to the atten-
tion ; whereas a paramount interest in our own feelings,
or in the objects of imagination and thought, will give a
customary inward inclination to the attention.
Training of the Attention.— fAll intellectual guid-
ance of the young manifestly implies the power of holding
their attention. Instruction may be said to begin when
the mother can secure the attention of the infant to an
object by pointing her finger to it. ^^vHenceforth she has
the child's mental life to a certain extent under her con-
trol, and can select the impressions which shall give new
knowledge or new enjoyment. What we mark off as
formal teaching, whether by the presentation of external
objects for inspection through the senses, or by verbal
TRAINING OF THE ATTENTION. 83
instruction, clearly involves at every stage an appeal to
the attention, and depends for its success on securing this.
To know how to exercise the attention, how to call forth
its full activity, is thus the first condition of success in
education.
Mental science here, as in respect of the other faculties,
can only point out the general conditions to be observed,
and the natural order of procedure. It is plain, in the
first place, that the laws of attention must be complied
with. He would be a foolish teacher who gave a child a
number of disconnected things to do at a time, or who
insisted on keeping his mind bent on the same subject
for an indefinite period. Yet, though these conditions
are obvious enough, others are more easily overlooked.
Thus it is probable that a more exact knowledge of the
effects on the attention of novelty of subject and mode of
treatment, on the one hand, and of total unfamiliarity on
the other hand, would save teachers from many errors.
Some of us can recall from our school-days the wearisome
effect of an oft-recurring stereotyped illustration, as well
as the impression of repellent strangeness produced by a
.first, and too sudden, introduction to a perfectly new
branch of study.
In the second place, it will be well to bear in mind that
the young child's power of voluntary attention is rudi-
mentary only, and that force must be economized by re-
moving all obstacles and making the task as attractive and
agreeable as possible. It would be idle to try to enlist his
close attention if he were bodily fatigued, or if he were
under the influence of emotional excitement, and agitated
in mind and body. Again, it would be vain to expect him
to listen to oral instruction close to a window looking out
on a busy street. Children's (uncontrolled) attention
flows outward to the sights and sounds of the actual
external world, and is less easily diverted by the teacher's
words toward the world of imagination and thought.
84 ATTENTION,
Consequently, in teaching, everything should be done to
reduce the force of outward things. The teacher would
do well to remember that even so practiced a thinker as
Kant found it helpful to prolonged meditation to fix his
eye on a familiar and therefore unexciting object (a
neighboring church-spire). Not only so, the subject and
mode of treatment chosen should be such as to attract the
learner's attention to the utmost What is fresh, interest-
ing, or associated with some pleasurable interest, will
secure and hold the attention when dry topics altogether
fail to do so. Much may be done in this direction by
preparation, by awakening curiosity, and by putting the
child's mind in the attitude of tiptoe expectancy.
As the pupil grows, more may of course be required in
the shape of a voluntary effort to attend. It must never
be forgotten, however, that all through life forced atten-
tion to what is wholly uninteresting is not only wearying,
but is certain to be ineffectual and unproductive. Hence,
the rule to adapt the work to the growing intellectual and
other likings of the child. Not only so, the teacher
should regard it as an important part of the training of
the attention to arouse interest, to deepen and fix it in
certain definite directions, and gradually to enlarge its
range.* Harder task-work, such as learning the com-
paratively uninteresting letters of the alphabet, or the
notes of the musical scale, must be introduced gradually,
and only when the will-power is sufficiently developed.
Great care must be taken further to graduate the length
or duration of the mental application, both in a particular
direction and generally, in accordance with the progress
of the child's powers of voluntary attention. An ideal
school-system would exhibit all gradations in this respect ;
* Volkmann remarks that the older paedagogic had as its rule,
" Make your instruction interesting" ; whereas the newer has the pre-
cept, " Instruct in such a way that an interest may awake and remain'
active for life " (" Lehrbuch der Psychologie," vol. ii, p. 200).
TRAINING OF THE ATTENTION.
85
alternation and complete remission of mental activity be-
ing frequent at first, and growing less and less so as the
powers of prolonged concentration develop.
APPENDIX.
On the early development of attention, see Perez, " First Three
Years of Childhood," chap. viii. The characteristics of children's at-
tention and the laws of the growth of attention are well described by
Waitz, " Lehrbuch der Psychologic," § 55 ; and by Volkmann, " Lehr-
buch der Psychologic," vol. ii, § 114.
On the training of the attention, see Locke, " Some Thoughts con-
cerning Education," § 167 ; Maria Edgeworth, " Essays on Practical
Education," vol. i, chap. ii. Beneke, *' Erziehungs- und Unterrichts-
lehre," 4th ed., vol. i, § 19 ; and Th. Waltz's " Allgemeine Psedago-
gik," vol. i, § 23.
CHAPTER VII.
THE SENSES : SENSE-DISCRIMINATION.
All knowledge takes its rise in the senses. No intel-
lectual work, such as imagining or reasoning, can be done
till the senses have supplied the necessary materials. These
materials, when reduced to their elements, are known as
sensations or impressions, such as those of light and color,
which we receive by means of the eye, of sound, which we
have by way of the ear, and so on. An examination of
our most abstract notions, such as force, matter, leads us
back to these impressions of sense. Our ideas respecting
the nature and properties of things is limited by our sensa-
tions. The want of a sense, as in the case of one born
blind, means depriving the mind of a whole order of ideas.
The addition of a new sense, if such a thing were possible,
would enrich our minds by a new kind of knowledge re-
specting the world.
Definition of Sensation. — A sensation being an ele-
mentary mental phenomenon can not be defined in terms
of anything more simple. Its meaning can only be indi-
cated by a reference to the nervous processes on which it
is known to depend. Accordingly, a sensation may be
defined as a simple mental state resulting from the stimu-
lation of the outer extremity of an " incarrying " nerve,
when this stimulation has been transmitted to the brain-
centers. Thus the stimulation of a point of the skin by
pressing or rubbing, or of the retina of the eye by light,
gives rise to a sensation.
GENERAL AND SPECIAL SENSIBILITY, 8/
These sensations have two broadly distinguishable as-
pects, one of which is commonly predominant. The first
is the emotional aspect, by which is meant the presence of
a distinct element of feeling, pleasurable or painful. A
sensation of bodily warmth, or of sweetness, illustrates this
prominence of the element of feeling. The second aspect
is the intellectual, or knowledge-giving. By this is meant
the presence of definite and clearly distinguishable prop-
erties, which may be called marks or characters, because
they serve as clews to the qualities of external things. The
sensation experienced on touching a smooth surface, or on
hearing a sound of a particular pitch and loudness, is an
example of the predominance of the intellectual element.
General and Special Sensibility. — All parts of the
organism supplied with sensory nerves, and the actions of
which are consequently fitted to give rise to sensations,
are said to possess sensibility of some kind. But this prop-
erty appears under one of two very unlike forms. The
first of these is common to all sensitive parts of the organ-
ism, and involves no special nervous structure at the ex-
tremity. The second is peculiar to certain parts of the
bodily surface, and implies special structures or " organs."
To the former is given the name common or general sensi-
bility, and also organic sense ; to the latter, special sensi-
bility, or special sense.
The sensations falling under the head of common sensi-
bility, or the organic sense, are marked by absence of
definite characters. They are vague and ill-defined. Their
distinguishing peculiarity is that they have a marked
pleasurable or painful aspect. Such are the feelings of
comfort and discomfort connected with the processes of
digestion and indigestion, and with injuries to the tissues.
These sensations are not directly connected with the action
of external objects, but arise in consequence of a certain
condition of the part of the organism concerned. Thus
they give us no knowledge of the external world. They
88 THE SENSES: SENSE-DISCRIMINATION.
are no doubt important as informing us of the condition
of the organism ; but, owing to their vagueness, they give
us very little definite knowledge even of this.
The special sensations are those we receive by way of
the five senses. They are marked off one from another
by great definiteness of character. This peculiarity is
connected with the fact that each sense has its own spe-
cially modified structure or " sense-organ " such as the eye,
or the ear, fitted to be acted upon by a particular kind of
stimulus (light-vibrations, air-waves, etc.). Owing to this
detiniteness of character, the special sensations are much
more susceptible of being discriminated and recognized
than the organic sensations. Moreover, these sensations
are (in ordinary cases) brought about by the action of ex-
ternal agents or objects lying outside the organism, and
are on that account called impressions, or, better, sense-
impressions.* For these reasons they are fitted to yield us
knowledge of the environment.
Characters of Sensations. — The importance of the
special senses depends, as we have seen, on their possess-
ing certain well-defined aspects, whereby they are fitted to
be marks of qualities in external objects as well as of the
changes which take place in these. The two most impor-
tant distinctions of character among our sensations are
those of degree and of kind.
By degree or intensity is meant a difference of strength,
as that between a bright and a faint light, or a loud and
a soft sound. All classes of sensation exhibit such differ-
ences of degree. They are of great importance for knowl-
edge. Thus the degree of pressure of a body on the hand
helps to tell us of its weight.
By a difference of kind or quality is meant one of na-
ture, as that between sour and sweet, blue and red. These
♦ The sense-impression which we are here concerned with is a w^'w-
/a/ phenomenon, and must not be confused with i\\c physical *' impres-
sion," as, for example, the image of an object on the retina.
THE FIVE SENSES, 89
too are marks of external facts. Thus we distinguish ob-
jects by their colors, voices by their pitch, etc.
The Five Senses. — Coming now to the senses in
detail, we see that they do not all exhibit the same degree
of definiteness or the same number of distinct characters.
We usually speak of taste and smell as the coarse or un-
refined senses, whereas hearing and sight are highly re-
fined. By attending simply to the degree of refinement, we
may arrange the senses in the following ascending order:
taste, smell, touch, hearing, sight. A few words on the
special function of each must suffice here.
Taste and Smell. — These present a decidedly low
measure of refinement. Indeed, the sensations of these
senses may be said to approach the organic sensations in
want of definiteness, and in the predominance of the ele-
ment of feeling (pleasure and pain). These peculiarities
are connected with the fact that these senses have as their
function the determination of what is wholesome or un-
wholesome to the organism as a whole. The very position
of the organs, at the entrance of the digestive and respira-
tory cavities, suggests that they are sentinels to warn us as
to what is good or ill. The sensations of taste and smell are
easily confused one with another, and can not be definite-
ly distinguished either in degree or quality. For this and
other reasons, they are of little importance as knowledge-
giving senses. It is only under special circumstances, as
those of the chemist, the wine-taster, and so on, that these
" servants of the body " supply a quantity of exact knowl-
edge about the properties of external objects.
Touch. — By the sense of touch is meant the sensa-
tions we receive through the stimulation of certain nerves
terminating in the skin by bodies in contact with it. These
are either sensations of mere contact or pressure, or those
of temperature.
These supply important elements of feeling. Thus,
contact with smooth surfaces and with warm bodies is
90
THE SENSES: SENSE-DISCRIMINATION,
one chief source of sensuous pleasure, especially in early
life.
The chief importance of touch is, however, under its
intellectual aspect. In its highest form as it presents itself
at definite portions of the bodily surface, more particular-
ly the hands, and especially the finger-tips (with which the
lips may be reckoned), the tactile sensibility becomes a
most important means of ascertaining the properties of
bodies. The sensations of touch have a much higher de-
gree of definiteness than those of taste and smell.
The discrimination of degrees of pressure by the tac-
tile sense is estimated by laying a weight on the hand or
some other part, and then trying how much must be taken
away or added in order that a difference may be felt.*
It is found that the discriminative sensibility varies con-
siderably at diflterent regions of the bodily surface. For
instance, on the anterior surface of the fingers the differ-
ence of pressure detected is about one half of that recog-
nized on their posterior surface.
This discrimination of degrees of pressure by the skin
is one of the means by which we obtain knowledge of the
force exerted by bodies, e. g., the difference when a heavy
and a light body press against us. It also assists in giving
us information respecting the weight of bodies.
In the case of touch we have a further difference of
sensation which may be called local distinction of sensa-
tion, or local discrimination. By this is meant the fact
that we can distinguish a number of similar touches when
different points of the skin are stimulated. This discrimi-
nation of points, like that of degrees of pressure, varies at
different parts of the bodily surface. It is much finer in
the mobile parts of the body (hands, feet, lips, etc.) than
* If the hand is the part selected, it must be supported by some
object, as a table. Only in this way can we test the tactile sensibility
to pressure apart from the muscular sensibility to be spoken of pres-
ently.
TOUCH, 91
in the comparatively fixed parts (the trunk). Again, it is
finer on the anterior than on the posterior surface of the
hand, and decreases rapidly as we recede from the finger-
tips toward the wrist and elbow. We see from this that
the finger-tips are specially marked out as the organ of
tactile sensibility.*
This local separation of tactile sensations is of the
greatest consequence for knowledge. First of all, it is this
capability, added to the discrimination of pressure, which
forms the basis of our tactile discrimination of roughness
and smoothness. A very rough surface, such as that of a
piece of unplaned wood or of sand-paper, is appreciated as
such bj^ differences of pressure corresponding to eminences
and depressions at various points of the surface. In esti-
mating a rough surface, therefore, we must both distinguish
the several points and the degrees of pressure at these.
The sense of roughness and its opposite in their various
degrees is of importance in ascertaining not only the na-
ture of a surface, but also the texture of a substance, as
the fibrous texture of wood, woven materials, etc.
In the second place, this local discrimination forms the
foundation of the tactile knowledge of what is called ex-
tension, or the extendedness of outer things, by which is
meant the fact that they have parts occupying different
positions in space ; as well as the various modifications of
this extendedness which constitute differences of form and
magnitude in objects, as differences of direction and
length of line, form and extent of surface, etc. It is by
laying the hand or the two hands on the surface of an ob-
ject, such as a book, that we learn something of its figure
and size.
Finally, under touch is commonly included the sense of
temperature or the thermal sense. It is now known that
this sensibility is connected with special nerve-structure
* The tip of the tongue and the lips are also highly endowed with
tactile discrimination.
92 THE SENSES: SENSE-DISCRIMINATION.
distinct from those of the tactile sense proper, and not va-
rying in the same way as this varies at different portions
of the bodily surface. Hence the thermal sense is a sepa-
rate sense. At the same time, we usually test the temper-
ature of bodies by touching them, and this with the fin-
gers. And the appreciation of temperature thus takes place
in close connection with that of their tangible properties.
The child learns to know a metal and to distinguish it
from wood partly by the differences in the thermal sensa-
tions.*
Active Touch. — So far we have considered touch
merely as a passive sense, i. e., as sensibility to the action
of things on the tactile surface. But the fact that we
speak of touching bodies as our own action shows that it
is an active sense as well. In touching, we ourselves bring
the organ into contact with substances, and so -secure its
exercise. In other words, the organ is supplied with mus-
cles, the action of which is of very great importance as
enlarging the range of our experience and knowledge.
The first and most obvious advantage of this adjunct
of muscular activity is the multiplication of tactile impres-
sions. Just as the mobility of the insect's antennas en-
ables it to gain many more impressions of touch than it
would have if the organs were fixed, so the mobile arm,
hand, and fingers of the child greatly extend the range of
his tactile experiences. By such movements he is able to
bring the most sensitive part of the organ (the tips of the
fingers) into contact with a large number of objects, and
further to gain impressions of these in rapid succession,
and so discriminate them better one from the other.
This widening and perfecting of passive impressions is,
♦ This knowledge is less valuable than that of form or .weight,
partly because sensations of temperature are very variable, depending
on the temperature of the organ itself, and partly because the temper-
ature of bodies is a changing state, and not a fixed, invariable property,
AS weight.
MUSCULAR SENSE.
93
however, only one part of the gain resulting from the high
degree of mobility of the hand and the eye. Another and
no less important part is the new experience which accom-
panies these movements, and which constitutes a distinct
and very important source of knowledge. This experience
is known as the muscular sense.
Muscular Sense. — By this expression is meant the
sum of those peculiar *' sensations " of which we are aware
when we voluntarily exercise our muscles. These have
well-maffeed characters of their own. They constitute
distinctly active states. In singing, in moving the arm or
leg, in pushing a heavy body, we have a sense of being
bodily active, or of exerting muscular energy.
The muscular sense is important both as a source of
pleasure and as a means of knowledge. The child de-
lights to exercise his muscles, to feel his bodily power.
Certain modes of muscular exercise, as rapid rhythmical
movement, are known to be specially exhilarating. It is,
however, chiefly as a source of knowledge that we shall
now regard it.
The sensations which accompany muscular action may
be conveniently divided into two main varieties. These
are {a) sensations of movement or of unimpeded energy,
and {b) sensations of strain ot resistance, that is, of ob-
structed or impeded energy. The first are illustrated in
the sensations which attend movements of the arms or
legs in empty space ; the second are exemplified in the
sensations which accompany the act of pushing against a
heavy object, or holding a heavy weight in the hand.
{a) Sensations of movement present two well-marked
differences of quality : (i) In the first place, they vary
in character according to the direction of the movement.
The movement effected by one muscle or group of mus-
cles is felt to be unlike that carried out by another. Thus
the sensations attending the movements of the arm to the
right and to the left, up and down, are qualitatively un-
94 THE SENSES: SENSE-DISCRIMINATION,
like. And it is this difference in the sensations which
enables us to ascertain what is the particular direction of
any movement which we are executing. (2) In the second
place, these sensations vary in character according to the
velocity of the movement. The experience of moving the
arm quickly differs materially from that of moving it slow-
ly. And we are able to distinguish many degrees of ve-
locity.
(3) The sensations which arise when muscular energy
is impeded, as when we push with the shoulder or arms
against a heavy body, drag it, or lift it, have a distinct
character of their own. They have been called sensations
of resistance, or " dead strain." They exhibit, like those
of movement, nice distinctions of degree. We experience
a difference of sensation in pushing a heavy table and one
less heavy, and in lifting a pound and twenty ounces.
Each of these modes of muscular experience consti-
tutes an important additional source of tactile knowledge.
In truth, our information respecting the most fundamental
properties of things would be very vague and rudimentary
but for the addition of the muscular sense.
In the first place, it is the sensations of resistance
which give the child its immediate knowledge of the
deepest and most characteristic property of material
things, viz., what is known as impenetrability, under its
various modes, as hardness, density, inelasticity, etc.
The mere sense of pressure gained by way of an im-
mobile organ, say a paralyzed limb, could never supply
any distinct knowledge of this property ; this is directly
revealed in the experience of exerting our own energy
and finding it impeded by a force other than our own.
All our customary estimates of the degrees of hardness,
etc., of substances, are arrived at by the aid of muscular
discrimination. Further, the discrimination of weight,
though possible to a certain extent by way of passive
touch, is much more accurate when the muscular sense is
HEARING, 95
called in to help. If a person wants to estimate a weight
nicely, he lifts it and judges by means of the degree of
force he has to expend in so doing.
In the second place, the sensations of movement are
an important factor in the knowledge of the extendedness
of things, of the relative position of points, and of the
shape and size of objects. The rudimentary and vague
knowledge obtainable by means of the local discrimina-
tion of the skin needs to be rendered distinct and exact
by means of movement. Thus, as any one can prove for
himself, the idea of the shape and size of a small pencil,
or of a ring, is made much clearer when we pass the
finger-tip along it or round it, and so judge of it by the
direction and length of the movements. The blind
habitually examine the form of objects by the aid of
movement.
Hearing;. — The sense of hearing ranks high both as
a source of pleasure and as an intellectual or knowledge-
giving sense. The sensations which form the material of
music, those of pitch, together with their combinations in
rhythm, melody, etc., are among the most agreeable of
our sense-experiences. But the refined pleasures of music
presuppose intellectual capability in the shape of the dis-
crimination of notes, etc. The intellectuqj value of hear-
ing is due to the high degree of definiteness of its sen-
sations. In respect both of intensity and of quality fine
differences are recognizable.
The high intellectual character of hearing shows itself
very conspicuously in the qualitative differences among
sensations of sound. We have here the broad contrast
between musical and non-musical sounds or noises. The
former depend on regularly recurring or periodic vibra-
tions of the air, the latter on irregularly recurring or non-
periodic vibrations. In the case of musical sounds we
have the remarkable phenomenon of a scale of quality.
If we pass upward from a low note to a higher one
96 THE SENSES: SENSE-DISCRIMINATION.
through all distinguishable gradations, we experience a
continuous variation of sensation which is known as that
of pitch or height. These differences of pitch answer to
changes in the rate of vibration of the medium (the
atmosphere) ; the higher the note, the more rapid are the
vibrations. Our musical scale is made up of distinct
steps or intervals of this continuous series of gradual
changes.
Along with this scale of pitch-quality, there are the
differences known as timbre or ** musical quality," These
are the qualitative differences in sensations of tone an-
swering to differences in the instrument, as the piano, the
violin, the human voice.
In addition to this wide range of musical sensation the
ear distinguishes a vast number of non-musical sounds,
the characteristic ** noises " of different substances, such as
the roar of the sea, the rustling of leaves, and the crack of
a whip. We distinguish noises as jarring, grating, ex-
plosive, and so on. It is this side of hearing which is of
value for the knowledge of external things. The child
learns to recognize the characteristic sounds produced by
moving objects, as the plash of water, the rumbling of
wheels, etc.
Finally, there are what are known as articulate sounds,
those which constitute the elements of speech. These
differ from one another partly in point of musical quality.
Thus, it has been recently ascertained that the several
vowel-sounds differ from one another in much the same
way as the tones of different musical instruments. On the
other hand, the differences of consonantal sounds are non-
musical in character. In the ordinary classification of
these into the gutturals, sibilants, etc., we find differences
analogous to those among noises.
Enough has been said to illustrate the high degree of
refinement characterizing the sense of hearing. The deli-
cate and far-r?aching discrimination of quality, aided by
r.
SIGHT, Q7
the fine discrimination of duration, enables the ear to ac-
quire a good deal of exact information, as well as to gain
a considerable amount of refined pleasure. The delight
of music sums up the chief part of the latter. The former
is illustrated in the wide range of knowledge derived by-
way of that system of articulate sounds known as language.
As a set-off against these advantages, we see that hear-
ing has very little local discrimination. We can not dis-
tinguish two or more simultaneous sounds with any nicety
according to the position of their external source. Nor is
the organ of hearing endowed with mobility as the hand
is. Hence, hearing gives us no direct knowledge of the
most important properties of objects, their size and shape.
Sight. — The sense of sight is by common consent
allowed the first place in the scale of refinement. To this
fact there corresponds the delicate and intricate structure
of the organ, and the subtile nature of the stimulus (ether-
vibration). The eye surpasses all other sense-organs both
in the range and in the delicacy of its impressions. These
are at once the source of some of the purest and most re-
fined enjoyment, the pleasures of light, color, and form,
and of some of the most valuable of our knowledge.
In the first place, the eye is fairly discriminative of
degree. These degrees answer to all distinguishable grades
of brightness or luminosity from the self-luminous bodies
which we are only just capable of looking at, down to the
objects which reflect a minimum of light, and are known
as black. This discrimination is very fine, as may be seen
in our ability to note subtile differences of light and shade,
and this delicacy is of the greatest importance in the visual
discrimination of objects.
In sight, again, we have numerous and fine differences
of quality. Of these the most important are color-differ-
ences. The impressions of color, like those of pitch, fall
into a series of gradual changes. Passing from one ex-
tremity of the spectrum (or rainbow) scale to another, the
98 THE SENSES: SENSE-DISCRIMINATION,
eye experiences a series of perfectly gradual transitions.
These changes fall into the series, violet, blue, green, yel-
low, orange, and red, together with certain finer distinc-
tions, as indigo-blue, greenish blue. These differences of
quality accompany (as in the case of pitch-sensations)
changes in the rapidity of the vibrations of the stimulus,
viz., the rays of light. The rays at the violet end have
more rapid vibrations than those at the red end. These
color-impressions, while an important element of artistic
pleasure, are of great intellectual importance. The eye
learns to know and to recognize things in part by means
of their colors.
In addition to these differences of degree and quality
in the sensations of sight, we have in this sense, as in that
of touch, two endowments which furnish the basis of a
perception of extension and space, including the form and
magnitude of objects. The first of these is the discrimi-
nation of points by means of the distinct nerve-fibers, which
terminate in a mosaic-like arrangement in the retina.
Owing to this endowment, we can distinguish two points
of light, say two stars, when they lie very near one another.
This discrimination of points is finest in the central region
of the retina, known as the area of perfect vision. It is
by aid of this local discrimination that we are able in one
glance to distinguish a number of details of form, such
as the various parts of a flower or the several letters of a
word.
Valuable as this retinal discrimination of points is in
the perception of form, it needs to be supplemented by
the muscular activity of the eye. The organ of sight is
supplied with a system of muscles, by means of which it
executes a large variety of delicate and precise movements.
Sight is thus, like touch, an active sense. One result of
this activity, as in the case of touch, is to bring the most
sensitive part of the organ opposite the object we wish to
examine. In fixing the eye on a point, we are obtaining a
SENSE-IMPRESSIONS,
99
retinal image of it on the area of perfect vision. Another
result is that, in the act of moving the eye from point to
point of an object or of a scene, we bring the muscular
sense into play, and thus gain a better impression of the
relative position of the visible points, and of the form and
magnitude of objects. It is by tracing the path of a line
with the eye that we can best appreciate its perfect straight-
ness, or the exact degree of its curvature. In early life
more particularly this is the customary mode of acquiring
knowledge of form.
Attention to Sense-Impressions. — For the pro-
duction of clear sense-impressions it is not enough that
the sense-organ be stimulated. There must be a reaction
of the brain-centers and the co-operation of the mind in
the act of attention. Till this reaction follows, the im-
pression must, as pointed out in the preceding chapter,
remain vague and indistinct. This direction of mental
activity to an impression is the immediate condition of
assimilating it as intellectual material. By fixing the men-
tal glance on it, the intellectual functions are brought to
bear on it, and so it is drawn into the store of our mental
possessions, ready to be woven into the fabric of knowl-
edge.
Discrimination of Sensation. — At any one time we
may be acted upon by a multitude of external stimuli,
sights, sounds, etc. These present themselves at first as
a blurred or confused mass. The direction of attention
to any one of them separates it from the adjacent crowd
and gives distinctness to it. This fact may also be ex-
pressed by saying that it is " differenced " or discriminated.
To have a clear and definite sensation is to distinguish it
as something from the other sensations immediately pre-
ceding and accompanying it. As we have seen, this dis-
crimination is much finer in the case of the higher senses
— touch, hearing, and sight.
Identification of Sense-Impressions.— The direc-
lOO THE SENSES: SENSE-DISCRIMINATION.
tion of the attention to a sense-impression leads on not
only to the discrimination of it. After the repetition of
sensations of color, for example, a new sensation is at
once identified, as one of yellow, green. This involves the
persistence of traces of past similar sensations, and is a
rudimentary form of that assimilation of new material to
old on which all intellectual development depends.
Identification is exact in proportion to the fineness of
the discrimination. If a child can only say a certain col-
or is red, without being able to identify the precise shade
of red, he shows that his discrimination of color is only
partially developed.
Growth of Sense-Capacity. — From the above, it
follows that there is an improvement of sense as life ad-
vances. Although the child has the same sense-organs
and the same fundamental modes of sensibility as the
man, his sensations are more crude, vague, and ill-defined.
The repeated exercise of the senses in connection with
and under the control of attention leads to the gradual
differentiation of the several orders of sense-impression,
and the rendering of them definite in their character.
This growth of sense involves two things : {a) an increas-
ing power of sense-discrimination, and (b) a growth in the
power of identifying impressions through the cumulation
of "traces." In other words, our senses become more
delicate or acute in distinguishing impressions, and more
quick or keen in identifying them.
Improvement of Sense-Discrimination.— Of these
two aspects of sense-improvement, the discriminative is
the more important, since it limits the other. The infant's
sensations are at first confused one with another. The
first distinctions (next to that of the pleasurable and pain-
ful) are those of degree or quantity. Thus, the visual im-
pressions of light and darkness, of a bright and a dark
surface, are distinguished before those of colors. As the
senses are exercised, and attention brought to bear on
VARYING SENSE-CAPACIT^Yi' '/• , I'p:
their impressions, discrimination improves. With respect
both to degree and to quality this improvement is gradual,
beginning with the detection of broad and striking con-
trasts, and proceeding to that of finer differences. Thus,
the contrast of loud and soft, of heavy and light, is arrived
at long before nice differences of loudness or weight.
Similarly, the contrast of the reds with the blues is arrived
at before the finer differences between the several sorts of
red.* In this way the senses become more acute with ex-
ercise.
Differences of Sense-Capacity. — Striking differ-
ences of sense-capacity present themselves among differ-
ent individuals. These are of various kinds. Thus, A
may be superior to B in respect of what is called absolute
sensibility, or the quickness of response to stimulus. One
child is much more readily impressed by a faint smell or
sound than another. The tendency to respond to a very
weak stimulus, coupled with good retentive or identifying
power, would constitute a keen sense in the full meaning
of the word, that is, one which readily notes and identifies
impressions.
From these differences we must carefully separate in-
equalities in discriminative power. This is the important in-
tellectual side of sense-capacity. It is found to character-
ize the more educated and intellectual classes. It does not
vary with absolute sensibility. A may be more quickly
responsive to a stimulus than B, and yet not be more dis-
criminative.
These differences of discriminative capacity may be of
a more general, or of a special kind. Thus, A may sur-
* The exact order in which the colors are distinguished is not cer-
tain, and probably varies somewhat in the case of different children.
Prof. Preyer experimented with his little boy at the age of two, and
found that he learned to identify colors on hearing their names in the
following order: yellow, red, lilac, green, and blue. (" Die Seele des
Kindes," p. 6, etc. ; cf. Perez, "First Three Years of Childhood," p.
26, etc.)
,I02 THE . -SEN'SE^ : S^ENSE-DISCRIMINA TION.
pass B in his average sense-discrimination. Or he may
surpass the other in some special mode of discriminative
sensibility, as in the discrimination of colors or tones.
These inequalities are partly native and connected
with differences in the organs engaged. Good average
discriminative power probably implies from the first a fine
organization of the brain as a whole and special concen-
trative ability, whereas a particularly fine sensibility to
color, to tone, and so on, is connected rather with original
structural excellence of the particular sense-organ con-
cerned. It is this which fixes and limits the ultimate de-
gree of delicacy reached. A child naturally dull in dis-
tinguishing notes or colors will never become finely dis-
criminative in this particular region. At the same time,
the remarkable superiority of certain individuals (and
raceo) over others in respect of definite varieties of dis-
criminative sensibility presupposes special concentration
of mind and prolonged exercise of the discriminative func-
tion in this particular domain of impressions. This is
strikingly illustrated in the exceptional delicacy attained
by those who have occasion to employ a sense much more
than other people. In this way we account for the fine
tactile sensibility of the blind, the delicate gustatory sensi-
bility of wine- or tea-tasters, and so on.
The Training of the Senses.— By the training or
cultivation of the senses is meant the systematic exercis-
ing of the sense-organs (and of the attention in connec-
tion of these) so as to make them efficient instruments of
observation and discovery. The first branch of this train-
ing is the developing by suitable exercises of the discrim-
inative side of the senses. The special object of this
branch is to render the senses quick and exact in seizing
the precise shades of difference among the several impres-
sions presented to them. And the importance of this
exercise in sense-discrimination depends on the fact that,
in proportion as we discriminate our sense-impressions
MENTAL ELEMENT IN SENSATION. 103
finely, shall we be able to distinguish and know objects
accurately, and, as a result of this, be afterward able to
call up distinct images of them, and to think and reason
about them. Indeed, distinct and sharply defined sense-
impressions are the first condition of clear imagination
and exact thinking. The child that confuses its impres-
sions of color, form, etc., will as a consequence be only
able to imagine and think in a hazy and confused manner.
The exercise of the senses implies the direction of
attention on the part of the child to what is present. It
is thus, strictly speaking, the exercises of the mind under
the stimulus of sense-impressions. Sense-knowledge is
gained by the young mind coming into contact with things
immediately, and not mediately by the intervention of
another mind. Hence the function of the educator in
this first stage of the growth of knowledge is a limited
one. A good part of the exercise of the senses in early
life goes on, and it is fortunate that it does so, with very
little help from mother or nurse. The child's own ac-
tivity, if he is healthy and robust, will urge him to use
his eyes, his hands, and other organs in exploring things
about him.
Nevertheless, a good deal may be done indirectly to
help on this process of acquisition. The mother has the
control of the child's surroundings, and may do much to
hasten or retard the development of sense-knowledge by
a wise attention to them or an indolent neglect of them.
To supply children from the first with suitable materials
for the exercise of their sense-organs, is the first and
probably most important part of what is meant by train-
ing the senses, at least in very early life. Next to this
comes the more direct co-operation of mother, nurse, or
teacher in directing their attention to unnoticed sights
and sounds, etc., in their surroundings.
Method of Training. — The training of the senses
begins with the exercising the child in the discrimination
104
THE SENSES: SENSE-DISCRIMINATION.
and along with this in the identification of impressions.
This may be carried out in a less systematic way in the
nursery. The infant's surroundings, the toys to be
handled, the pictures to be looked at, and even the tones
of voice used in addressing it, should be chosen with a
view to a sufficient variety of impression. The natural
order of sense-development must be followed, the first
differences brought under his notice being broad contrasts,
as that of a hard and soft material, blue and yellow colors,
high and low tones, and finer distinctions following. With
variety should go a certain amount of repetition of im-
pressions, so that the pupil be exercised in identifying im-
pressions. Hence the surroundings should not be con-
tinually changed. A measure of sameness and perma-
nence is necessary to thorough familiarity with the various
sorts of sense-material.
A more systematic procedure can be gradually intro-
duced, aiming at a full and accurate knowledge of the
several sense-elements. Thus, in training the color-sense
the educator may best proceed by selecting first of all a
few bright and striking colors, as white, red, and blue.
Each of these must be made famiHar and its name learned.
After being presented separately, they should be shown in
juxtaposition, so that the differences may be clearly seen.
This involves a rudimentary exercise of the faculty of
comparison which in its higher form plays an important
part in thought. Juxtaposition, or the bringing of two
things side by side in space, or, as in the case of sounds,
in immediate succession in time, is the most valuable
instrument in exercising the senses. By seeing two colors
side by side, the individual character of each is made
more apparent, and the precise amount of difference ap-
preciated.
When a few elements have thus been thoroughly
learned, new ones may be added. In this way the child
will not only add to its stock of sense-materials, but w) f
DANGER OF OVER-EXERTION.
.105
have its former impressions rendered still more definite
by a grasp of more numerous and finer differences. Thus,
by adding yellow, orange, and so on, the learner will at-
tain to more distinct ideas of what is meant by red.
It must not be forgotten that these finer exercises in
sense-discrimination imply a severe effort of attention, and
are apt to be felt as a strain at first, both to the sense-organ
concerned, and to the brain. And it is of the highest im-
portance not to push them to the point of fatigue. Thus
in training the eye to a minute detection of differences of
form in letters, etc., and the hand to the nice reproduc-
tion of these differences, there is special danger of over-
stimulating the organ and inducing fatigue, and, if per-
sisted in, of causing injury to the organ.
If, however, the risk of over-exertion be avoided, it is
possible, by proceeding judiciously, not only to keep these
exercises from becoming wearisome, but even to make
them positively agreeable. The main source of a pleas-
urable interest here is the child's love of activity, mental
and bodily. The very employment of the sense-organs is
a pleasure to the healthy and strong child. This pleasure
will be the greater when muscular activity is also enlisted,
and an appeal made to the little one's nascent feeling of
power. Thus, in training the color-sense, after presenting
unlike and like colors to the child's notice, he may be en-
couraged to select and sort the colors for himself. The
active exercises of painting, drawing, and singing, in order
to reproduce impressions of sight and sound, are the best
means of training the corresponding senses.
Training of the Several Senses. — All the senses
need exercise, but in different ways. The lower senses,
being of but little value as knowledge-giving senses, claim
less consideration from the intellectual educator. The
cultivation and control of the palate have, however, an im-
portant bearing on physical education, on the disciplining
of the body to healthy habits ; and the due limitation of
I06 THE SENSES: SENSE-DISCRIMINATION.
the pleasures of taste, the checking of that common child-
ish vice, Nascherei, is one of the most valuable among the
early exercises in the virtue of temperance. Again, the
cultivation of the sense of smell, of sensibility to the
odors of flower and herb, pasture and wood, summer and
autumn, is an important ingredient in the formation of
aesthetic taste, and more especially the development of
that love of nature which is a prime factor in all real en-
joyment of poetry.
From its great importance, touch claims special con-
sideration in the education of the senses. The develop-
ment of this sense is secured, to a large extent, by the
child's own spontaneous promptings to handle and ex-
amine things. Still, the teacher may supplement this
irregular self-instruction by special systematic exercises.
The Kindergarten occupations, such as stick-laying, paper-
folding, modeling in clay, etc., all serve to increase the
discriminative sensibility of the organ of touch on its pas-
sive and on its active side. The teaching of the rudi-
ments of drawing and writing completes this branch of
sense-training. The perfect command of the hand in ex-
ecuting movements with a nice precision is the outcome
of a fine muscular sensibility developed by special con-
centration of the attention, and by practice.
The training of the ear is a well-acknowledged depart-
ment of elementary education. In learning to articulate
and to read, the child is called on first of all to distinguish
a number of elementary sounds as well as to discriminate
combinations of these. Along with this the muscular
sense is exercised in so managing the organ of speech as
to reproduce the precise sound required. Much the same
holds good with respect to the systematic exercise of the
ear in singing. Here, too, sounds have to be distin-
guished and identified. The first condition of singing
accurately is to have a finely discriminative ear which will
instantly detect the slightest degree of flatness or sharp-
TRAINING OF THE SEVERAL SENSES.
107
ness in the notes sung. And in conjunction with this, the
vocal organ must be exercised so that the modifications
answering to differences of pitch and force may be clearly-
distinguished and retained for future use.
The eye calls for the most careful and prolonged train-
ing, on account both of its intellectual and its aesthetic im-
portance. A systematic training of the color-sense, some-
what after the plan roughly sketched above, is a desidera-
tum both as an element of taste and as a matter of prac-
tical utility. And a careful discipline of the sense of form
on its passive and active side is included in the recognized
school exercises of reading, drawing, writing, etc. In truth,
in this early stage of education the cultivation of the eyes
goes on in close association with that of the hand. The
whole fruit of this companionship will appear by-and-by.
The separate exercise of the eye in the discrimination of
form-elements is illustrated in learning to read printed let-
ters as well as in the study of geometry.
Nowhere, perhaps, is the limit of the teacher's power
more plainly seen than in the education of the senses.
Since discriminative power depends on concentration of
mind and practice, the child's ability to discriminate col-
ors, tones, elements of form, etc., may be improved by ju-
dicious learning. Still, in every case a limit is sure to be
reached in time, beyond which no further distinctions are
possible. This limit, set by the structural perfection of
the organ concerned, is a different one for different chil-
dren. A child born note-deaf, for example, can never be
drilled into a fine discriminator of tones. Hence the need
of varying these exercises according to the capacity of the
pupil and the results obtainable from the exercise.
APPENDIX.
A useful account of the senses, from a physiological point of view,
is contained in Prof. Bernstein's "Five Senses of Man." On the im-
portance of the exercise and improvement of sense-discrimination, the
reader may consult Dr. Bain's •• Education as a Science," chap. iii.
6
CHAPTER VIII.
THE senses: observation of things.
Definition of Perception. — Sense-impressions are
the alphabet by which we spell out the objects presented
to us. In order to grasp or apprehend these objects, these
letters must be put together after the manner of words.
Thus, the apprehension of an apple by the eye involves the
putting together of various sensations of sight, touch, and
taste. This is the mind's own work, and is known as per-
ception. And the result of this activity, i. e., the distinct
apprehension of some object, is called a percept.
We see from this that perception is an act of the mind.
In the reception of the sense-impression, the mind is pas-
sive, dependent on the action of an external force ; but
in construing this as the sign of some external object, it is
essentially active. Perception is mental activity employed
about sense-impressions with a view to knowledge. The
first stage of this activity was discussed in the last chapter,
under the head of sense-discrimination. This corresponds
to the learning of the several letters. We have now to
consider the second stage, that corresponding to the learn-
ing of words and their meanings. We have to explain
how a child comes to regard its sense-impressions as signs
of the presence of certain external objects, as, for exam-
ple, certain sensations of sound as indications of a bell
ringing, a dog barking, etc.
Hov^^ Percepts are reached. — The seemingly simple
HO IV PERCEPTS ARE REACHED.
109
act of referring a sense-impression to an external object is
the result of a process of learning or acquisition. As lit-
tle as a child at first know>s the meaning of a word till
experience has taught him, so little is he able to construe
his sense-impressions as the signs of objects. In the first
weeks of life a child can not recognize the external source
of the sounds that strike on his ear. He has not learned
to connect the sound of the mother's voice with the mother
he sees ; nor has he even learned to recognize the direc-
tion of a sound, as is clearly shown by the blank, wonder-
ing look of his face, and the absence of a proper move-
ment of the head and eyes in the direction of the sound.
The apprehension of an object, say a bell, by the ear,
involves two mental processes : The first is the discrimi-
nation and identification of the impression. In order to
know that a particular impression of sound is that of a
bell, it must be identified as this impression and not anoth-
er, say that of a voice. This constitutes the first step in
the process of perception. It may be marked off as the
presentative or prehensive element. It presupposes pre-
vious experience of the impressions. Thus the child can
not identify a particular sound as that of a bell till after a
number of repetitions of this impression.
In the second place, the apprehension of the bell im-
plies that this particular impression has been interpreted
as coming from a particular object, viz., the bell. And this
means that on hearing this sound the child recalls the ap-
pearance of the bell to sight and its tactile qualities, hard-
ness, weight, etc. That is to say, the one actual sensation
of the moment, that of the sound, has recalled and rein-
stated a whole group of impressions answering to the several
features or qualities which constitute the object. This sec-
ond step may be called the interpretative or apprehensive part
of the process. And since the impressions recalled are
not directly presented but only represented, this step is
further known as the representative one. This act of
no THE SENSES: OBSERVATION OF THINGS.
construing or interpreting the impression presupposes that
in the child's past experience the impression of sound has
become connected with other impressions.
We see from this that the interpretation of sense-im-
pressions presupposes previous processes of a complex
kind, viz., discriminating a number of sensations of differ-
ent senses, and grouping or organizing these into a coher-
ent whole. There are thus two stages in the development
of percepts: (i) the initial stage of examining things, by
way of the different senses and learning to know them ;
and (2) the final stage of knowing again or recognizing a
thing.
Special Channels of Perception. — The sensation
of each sense tends to recall the other sensations of the
group to which they belong, and so are capable of being
interpreted by an act of perception. Thus, a child refers
sensations of smell to objects, as when he says, " I smell
apples," just as he refers sensations of light and color to
objects, as when he says, " I see a candle." Nevertheless,
when we talk of perceiving we generally refer to knowl-
edge gained at the time through one of the higher senses,
and more particularly sight. To perceive a thing means,
in e very-day parlance, to see it. Where sight is wanting,
touch assumes the function of the leading perceptual
sense ; and even in the case of those who see, touch is an
important medium of apprehending objects. Sight and
touch are thus in a special manner channels of perception.
The reason why the senses of touch and sight are thus
distinguished has been hinted at in the previous chapter.
We there saw that they were marked off from the other
senses by having local discrimination and an accompani-
ment of muscular sensation. Owing to these circumstances,
these two senses supply us with a wider and more varied
knowledge of objects than the other senses. In smelling
a flower, or hearing the noise of a passing vehicle, I can
only seize one aspect or quality of a thing ; in looking at
PERCEPTIONS OF TOUCH. m
it I instantly take in a number of aspects, as its color,
shape, and size.
The additional knowledge, gained by means of local
discrimination and movement, is, moreover, of a most im-
portant kind. This includes first the knowledge of the
position of things, and along with this a knowledge of
their "geometrical" or space properties, viz., figure and
magnitude. And, secondly, it includes a knowledge of
their " mechanical " or force properties, viz., resistance
under its several forms of hardness, weight, etc., as made
known by active touch. And these properties are the
most essential, forming the kernel, so to speak, of what we
mean by a material object.
Touch and sight do not stand on precisely the same
level as channels of perception. For, first of all, as we
shall see presently, the knowledge of geometric properties
is fuller and more direct in the case of touch than in that
of sight. And, secondly, with respect to the important
mechanical properties, hardness, weight, etc., our knowl-
edge is altogether derived from touch. Hence, tactile
apprehension is to be regarded as the primary and most
fundamental form of perception.
Perceptions of Touch. — These may be roughly di-
vided into (i) perceptions of space and extension, and more
especially the position, form, and magnitude of objects;
and (2) perceptions of things as concrete wholes, such as
a pebble, an orange, etc.
The first kind of perception may be illustrated by the
way in which a child learns the shape and size of a cube,
say a small wooden brick. Here the sensibility of the skin
to pressure, its local discrimination, and, lastly, the mus-
cular sense, all combine in the development of the percept.
The form of one of the surfaces is ascertained in different
ways : (i) by moving the fingers over it in various direc-
tions and noting how long the contact with the body lasts ;
(2) by passing the fingers about the boundary of the sur-
112 THE SENSES: OBSERVATION OF THINGS.
face and noting the uniformity of the direction of the
movement along each edge, the length of the movement,
and the change of direction at the angles ; and (3) by plac-
ing the extended hand over the surface and noting, by
means of the local discrimination of the skin, where the
edges touch the hand. The knowledge of any one of its
surfaces would thus involve the grouping of many sense-
elements together, and the knowledge of the whole cubical
form would further involve the grouping of a number of
these groups together and the completion of this aggregate
of experiences by taking the brick into the two hands, and
so gaining a clearer idea of its solidity.
After repeating this complex act of tactile inspection
again and again, the different members of the group would
cohere so closely that the recurrence of a part would suf-
fice to reinstate the whole. Thus the child, on merely
taking the brick into his hands, would recall the successive
experiences of movement just described. That, in this
way, a child is able to gain very clear perceptions of form,
is seen in the fact that the blind are capable of picturing
and reasoning about geometrical forms with great clear-
ness. And even in the case of children who have the use
of their eyes, the earliest impressions of form are gained
from tangible bodies, and to a large extent by the medium
of active touch.
In apprehending the presence of a whole concrete
thing, as a pebble, this group of impressions would be
taken up into a still larger aggregate. Thus, in learning
what a pebble is, a child connects what he has observed
respecting its form with the hardness, coldness, smooth-
ness, and weight. His knowledge of the pebble is the re-
sult of all this various sense-experience organized or united
into a seemingly simple mental product. Where, as in the
case of an apple or an orange, the other senses supply im-
portant elements (color, taste, and smell), the group of
tactile impressions is ample for a subsequent identification
PERCEPTION OF FORM BY THE EYE. 113
of the object. The child, on touching an orange, instantly
apprehends the thing as a whole, that is, recognizes it as
an orange.
Visual Perception. — As remarked above, sight is in
normal circumstances the leading avenue of perception.
This supremacy is due in part to the fact that in looking
we can apprehend things at a distance as well as near, and
also a number of objects at the same time, as the pictures
on the wall, the buildings of a street, etc. To this must
be added the fact that when we see things we can tell how
they would appear to touch. In other words, we translate
visual impressions into terms of the earlier and more ele-
mentary experiences of active touch. Seeing is thus to a
large extent a representative process and an interpretative
act of the mind.
Perception of Form by the Eye. — In the perception
of form the eye is up to a certain point independent of the
hand. Thus, in learning the direction and length of lines,
and the form and magnitude of objects as they might be
drawn on a blackboard, the organ of sight is developing
its own mode of perception. This visual perception, it is
plain, resembles the tactile perception in so far as it arises
out of a number of experiences, passive and active. Thus,
in finding out, by looking at the gable of a house, what a
triangle is, the child combines the experience gained in
moving the eye about the contour, with the composite im-
pression obtained by the local discrimina;tion of the several
parts by the retina. The precise direction and length of
each line presuppose these movements of the eye along
the outline of the object. It is only when these have been
executed many times that the perception of form by the
eye at rest becomes distinct. And this means that in look-
ing at a figure the impression of the retina suffices to recall
the experience of the moving eye.
The perception of any form, such as a cross, an ellipse,
or the letter M, is the outcome of a process of combining
114 ^^^ SENSES: OBSERVATION OF THINGS.
a number of form-elements or details and clearly appre-
hending their relations one to another. Thus, in appre-
hending the form of the cross the learner must distinguish
the vertical and horizontal arm, observing their directions
as well as their relative lengths. The more exactly each
element is discriminated, and the more clearly the rela-
lions of position, proportion, and number are seized, the
more perfect the final percept.
This perception of form as plane form, or form as it
can be represented on a flat surface, as a blackboard, is,
however, fragmentary and abstract. The forms of real
objects from which a child first gains his knowledge are
those of solid bodies having the third dimension, thick-
ness or depth as well as length and breadth. We see one
part of the surface of a sphere nearer the eye or advanc-
ing, another part farther off or receding. This discrimi-
nation of a solid form as distinguished from a flat drawing
involves the perception of distance.
Perception of Distance and Solidity. — The modern
"Theory of Vision," of which Bishop Berkeley was the
author, tells us that the perception of distance, though
apparently as direct as that of color, is really indirect and
acquired. In seeing an object at a certain distance, we
are really interpreting visual impressions by a reference to
movement of the limbs and to touch. We can only rea/-
ize the distance of an object by traversing, either with the
arm or with the whole body, the space that intervenes be-
tween us and it.
According to this doctrine, children do not at first see
things as we see them, one nearer than another. This is
proved by the experience of blind children on first obtain-
ing the use of their eyes. All objects appear to such as
touching the eyes. And they can not distinguish between
a flat drawing and a solid body. It is only after using
their eyes for some time that they learn to distinguish near
and far. The development of the perception of distance
PERCEPTION OF DISTANCE AND SOLIDITY, 115
takes place by the use of sight and touch together. A
child finds out how far a thing is from himself by moving his
limbs. Thus, an infant sitting up at a table finds out the
distance of something on the table by stretching out its
hands and noting how far it has to reach before it touches
the thing. When it is able to run about, the movements of
its legs become another measure of distance. In carrying
out these movements the eyes are also employed. The
child notes the difference to the eye when the object is
near and when it is farther away. Thus, he observes
that he has to make his eyes turn inward or converge more
in the former case,.and that the object looks more distinct.
After many repetitions he learns to connect these experi-
ences of active touch and these changing effects on the
eye. When this process of grouping or organizing experi-
ences is complete, the recurrence of the proper visual ex-
perience at once suggests the corresponding experience of
movement and touch. Thus the sensation of muscular
strain in looking at a near object instantly tells him that
the object is near and within his reach. The visual sen-
sation has become a sign of a fact known by the use of
his limbs. Seeing distance is thus a kind of reading, and
the meaning of the impression on the eye, like that of the
letters in a book, has to be learned from experience.*
The perception of solid bodies illustrates the same
thing. Here, too, the child has to interpret his visual im-
pressions by the aid of past experience and the knowledge
gained by active touch. That the eye has little knowledge
of solidity is seen in the fact that even an adult may easi-
ly be deceived in taking flat drawings for solid objects
(e. g., in the scenery of a theatre). The only way in which
we can distinctly realize that an object has thickness is by
taking it into the two hands.
* The perception of the reat magnitude of an object, as distin-
guished from the apparent magnitude which varies with the distance, is
closely connected with that of distance.
Il6 THE SENSES: OBSERVATION OF THINGS.
The apprehension of solidity by the eye is effected by
means of certain signs. Thus, we can move the eye from
a near to a more distant part of an object, and note the
difference in muscular sensations of the eyes. Even when
we do not move the eye, we have something to guide us in
the dissimilarity of the two retinal impressions. In look-
ing at a flat picture each eye receives a precisely similar
impression ; but in looking at a solid body their impres-
sions differ. Thus, in looking at a book held a little in
front of the face with its back toward us, our left eye sees
more of the left cover, while the right eye sees more of the
right. It is by noting this dissimilarity, and connecting it
with the fact of solidity as known by active touch, that a
child learns to recognize a solid object with the eyes.*
Intuition of Things. — In looking at an object, as
in touching it, we apprehend simultaneously a group of
qualities. These include first of all purely visual features,
as its degree of brightness, the distribution of light and
shade on its surface, its color (or distribution of colors),
and the form and (apparent) magnitude of its surface.
Along with these come the closely organized combinations
of sight and touch, viz., the solid shape, and the nature of
the surface as rough or smooth.f This may be called the
fundamental part of our intuition of a particular object.
In looking at a new object, as a crystal or a botanical
specimen, we instantly intuit or take in this group of
qualities, and they constitute a considerable amount of
knowledge about the object as a whole. In order to know
the thing as a whole, so as afterward to be able to recog-
nize it with the eye, this aggregate must be conjoined with
other qualities known by touch and by the other senses.
♦ The fact that the perception of solidity depends mainly on the
presence of two unlike visual impressions is proved by the stereoscope,
the two drawings of which, taken from different points of view, answer
to the two retinal images of a solid body.
t This is made known to sight by differences of light and shade.
PERCEPTION OF OUR OWN BODY.
117
Thus, in recognizing an orange a child invests it more or
less distinctly with a particular degree of hardness, weight,
and temperature, as well as with a certain taste and smell.
The recognition of a thing as identical with something
previously perceived is a complex psychical process. It
involves .not only the identification of a definite group of
impressions, but also the germ of a higher intellectual
process, namely, the comparison of successive impressions,
and the detection of similarity amid diversity or change.
Thus, a child learns to identify a particular object, as his
mother, or his dog, at different distances and in different
lights, and — a matter of still greater difficulty — according
to the particular position and visible aspect of the object,
as seen from the front or from the side, etc. Children
require a certain amount of experience and practice before
they recognize identity amid such varying aspects. And
in this they are greatly aided by hearing others call the
thing by the same name.
Perception of our own Body. — In close connection
with the perception of external objects the child comes
to know the several parts of his own body. The sensa-
tions which are not referred to external bodies are local-
ized by us in some part of our organism. Thus, organic
sensations, as skin-sensations of "creeping," muscular
sensations of cramp or fatigue, are localized in some defi-
nite region of the body, the arm, or the foot. And the
deep-seated feelings of comfort and discomfort connected
with the organs of digestion, etc., are also localized in a
less definite and vague manner. Such references are not
possible at the beginning of life. A child has to learn
where his bodily sensations are located ; and this he does
by learning to know the several parts of his body.
The child's own body, like an external object, is known
by means of the impressions it supplies to his senses, and
more particularly touch and sight. An infant examines
its legs, arms, etc., with its hands. By frequent excur-
Il8 THE SENSES: OBSERVATION OF THINGS.
sions of these over the surface of the body, the position,
shape, and size of the several parts become known. The
eyes, too, are engaged in these early observations, so that
a visual picture is gradually put together and combined
with the tactile perception. As this knowledge of the
bodily form is developed the several bodily sensations
become better localized. Thus, in inspecting his feet with
his hands the child is producing sensations of pressure in
the former. In this way the sensations having their origin
in that particular region of the bodily surface come to be
definitely connected with that part as known to touch and
sight. After this, whenever the child receives a sensation
by way of the nerves running to that part, he knows at
once that it is his foot that is giving him the sensation.
To a child his bodily organism is marked off from all
other objects by the fact that it is connected in a peculiar
way with his conscious life, and more particularly his feel-
ings of pleasure and pain. The experience of pressing
his foot with his hand differs from that of pressing a for-
eign body, inasmuch as there is not only a sensation in
the hand, but an additional one in the foot. Injuries to
the several parts of the bodily surface, and the applica-
tion of agreeable stimuli, as soft touches, come to be rec-
ognized as causes of painful and pleasurable sensation.
In these ways he comes to regard his body as that by
which he suffers pain and pleasure. At the same time
he learns that the movements of his body are immediately
under the control of his wishes, that his limbs are the
instruments by which he reacts on his environment, alter-
ing the position of objects, etc. Hence his body is re-
garded as a part of himself, and in early life probably
makes up the chief part of the meaning of the word *' self."
It is contrasted with all other and foreign objects, and in
a special way with the other human organisms he sees
around him.
Observation. — All perception requires some degree
DISTINCT AND ACCURATE OBSERVATION. 119
of attention to what is present. But we are often able to
discriminate and recognize an object by a momentary-
glance, which suffices to take in a few prominent marks.
Similarly, we are able by a cursory glance to recognize a
movement or action of an object. Such incomplete fugi-
tive perception is ample for rough, every-day purposes.
On the other hand, we sometimes need to throw a special
degree of mental activity into perception, so as to note
completely and accurately what is present. This is par-
ticularly the case with new and unfamiliar objects. Such
a careful direction of the mind to objects is commonly
spoken of as observation. To observe is to look at a
thing closely, to take careful note of its several parts or
details. In its higher form, known as scientific observa-
tion^ it implies too a deliberate selection of an object or
action for special consideration, a close concentration of
the attention on it, and an orderly going to work with a
view to obtain the most exact account of a phenomenon.
Hence we may call observation regulated perception.
Distinct and Accurate Observation. — Good ob-
servation must be precise and free from taint of error.
Many persons' observations are vague and wanting in full-
ness of detail and precision. The habit of close and ac-
curate observation of things, their features and their move-
ments, etc., is one of the rarest of possessions. It presup-
poses a strong interest in what is going on around us.
This is illustrated in the fact that a child always observes
closely and accurately when he is very deeply concerned,
as, for example, in scrutinizing his mother's expression
when he is not quite sure whether she is talking seriously
to him or not.
Good observation presupposes two things: (i) the ac-
curate noting of what is directly presented to the eye, or
the perfect performance of the prehensive part of the pro-
cess, and (2) a just interpretation of the visual impression,
or the perfect performance of the second or apprehensive
I20 THE SENSES: OBSERVATION OF THINGS.
part of the operation. Defects in the first are very com-
mon. Children fail to note the exact form and size of
objects, their situation relatively to other objects, etc. To
see a number of objects in their real order, so as to be
able to describe them accurately, is a matter of close,
painstaking observation.
Any defect in the prehensive part of the process natu-
rally leads on to faulty interpretation. Hasty and slovenly
observation of color, form, or magnitude leads the young
to false ideas of the objects they see, as when a child mis-
takes a lemon for an orange, two boys romping for two
boys fighting. And even if the visual element is carefully
noted, there will be an error of interpretation when the
impression of the eye has not been firmly connected with
the tactile and other experiences to which it is related as
parts of one whole experience. Thus, if a child after see-
ing some simple experiments with metals fails to properly
connect the several properties of malleability, fusibility,
with the lead, iron, etc., the sight of a piece of one of the
metals will be apt to reinstate the wrong properties. We
thus see that accurate knowing or recognition depends on
a careful learning or coming to know.
Defective and inaccurate observation is hindered by
mental preoccupation. Dreamy and absent-minded chil-
dren are, as a rule, bad observers. They only see things
indistinctly as in a haze. Anything, too, in the shape of
excitement and emotional agitation is inimical to careful
observation, because it is apt to excite vivid expectations
of what is going on, and so to lead to delusive perception.
Thus, if a child strongly desires to go out, it is disposed
to think that the rain has ceased when it is really still fall-
ing. Emotional children are very apt to read what they
wish and vividly imagine into the objects before them.
We see, then, that while perception has its representa-
tive element, that while the child who distinguishes his
visual impressions accurately but is unable to interpret
ACQUIREMENT OF DISCRIMINATION. 12 1
them never attains to anything but useless scraps of knowl-
edge, this representative factor has to be kept within due
limits, and not allowed to hide from view what is actually
before the eyes.
The highest kind of observation combines accuracy
with quickness. In many departments of observation, as
watching people's expressions and actions, or the scientific
observation of a rapid process of physical movement or
change, such as an astronomical and chemical investiga-
tion, rapidity is of the first consequence.
i^-- Development of Perceptual Power. — Our analysis
of perception has suggested the way in which our percepts
are gradually built up and perfected. In the first weeks
of life there is little if any recognition of outer things.
The child receives visual impressions, but these are not
yet referred to external objects. It is by the daily re-
newed conjunctions of simple sense-experiences, and more
particularly those of sight and of touch, that the little
learner comes to refer its impressions to objects. By con-
tinually looking at the objects handled, the visual percep-
tion of direction becomes perfected, as also that of dis-
tance within certain limits. The child learns to put out
his hand in the exact direction of an object, and to move
it just far enough.* The perception of the distance and
solidity of more remote objects remain^ very imperfect
before locomotion is attained. The change of visible
scene as the child is carried about the room impresses
* A child known to the present writer was first seen to stretch out
his hand to an object when two and a half months old. The hand
misses the exact point at first, passing beside it, but practice gives pre-
cision to the movement. The same child at six months knew when an
object was within reach. If a biscuit or other object Mas held out of
his reach, he made no movement, but as soon as it was brought within
his reach he instantly put out his hand to take it. On the other hand,
Prof. Preyer says his boy tried to seize the lamp in the ceiling of a
railway compartment when fifty-eight weeks old. (" Die Seele des
Kindes," p. 38.)
122 THE SENSES: OBSERVATION OF THINGS,
him, no doubt, but the meaning of these changes only be-
comes fully seized when he begins to walk, and to find
out the amount of locomotive exertion answering to the
diiferent appearances of things. It is some years, how-
ever, before he begins to note the signs of distance in the
case of remote objects. The same order shows itself with
respect to the development of the perception of solidity.
Thus a child learns in time to distinguish between the flat
shadows of things on the walls and the pictures in his
books, and real solid objects. But it is long before he
learns that the distant hills and clouds are bulging, sub-
stantial forms.*
After many conjunctions of impressions children begin
to find out the nature of objects as wholes, and the visible
aspects which are their most important marks. That is
to say, they begin to discriminate objects one from an-
other by means of sight alone, and to recognize them as
they reappear to the eye. Development follows here as
elsewhere the line of interest. It is the objects of great-
est interest, such as the bottle by which the infant is fed,
that are first apprehended as real objects. After some
months of tactile investigation the interpretation of visual
impressions becomes more easy and automatic. Sight now
grows self-sufficient. What may be roughly marked off
as the touching ^ge gives place to the seeing age. Hence-
forth the growth of perception is to a large extent an im-
provement of visual capability.
At first this power of discerning the forms of objects
with the eye is very limited. A child will note one or two
prominent and striking features of a thing but overlook
the others. Thus, in looking at real animals or at his toy
♦ M. Perez (" First Three Years of Childhood," pp. 226, 227) re-
marks that a child of six months will take a flat disk with gradations
of light and shade for a globe. He also remarks that children of fif-
teen months and more arc liable to make absurd blunders as to the
distance of remote objects, hills, the horizon, etc.
DEVELOPMENT OF PERCEPTUAL POWER. 123
or picture imitations, he will distinguish a quadruped from
a bird, but not one quadruped from another. Similarly,
he will distinguish a very big dog from a small one, but
not one dog from another of similar size.
The progress of perception grows with increase of
visual discrimination ; that is to say, of the capability of
distinguishing one color, one direction of a line, and so
on, from another. It presupposes, further, the growth of
the power of attention which is the main ingredient in ob-
servation. As experience advances, children find it easier
to note the characteristic aspects of things and to recog-
nize them ; and they take more pleasure in detecting their
differences and similarities. In this way their observations
tend gradually to improve in distinctness and accuracy.
Not only so, an increased power of attention enables them
to seize and embrace in a single view a number of details.
In this way their first vague, *' sketchy " percepts get filled
out. Thus, a particular flower or animal is seen more
completely in all its details of color and its relations of
form. At the same time they acquire the power of appre-
hending larger and more complex objects, such as whole
buildings, ships, etc. ; and, further, assemblages of many
objects, as the furniture in a room, or the plants in a gar-
den, in their proper relative positions.
The observing powers may develop in different direc-
tions, according to special capabilities and special circum-
stances. The possession of a particular mode of discrimi-
native sensibility in a high form, and a strong correlated
interest in the particular class of impressions, will lead to
a special consideration of things on that side. Thus the
child with a fine eye for color will be specially observant
of the color-side of objects. Again, the faculty of obser-
vation may grow in rapidity of action, and in grasp of a
multitude of objects, according to the individual's special
powers of attention. Once more, the development of a
particular interest in a class of objects, as animals, flowers,
124 THE SENSES: OBSERVATION OF THINGS,
faces, etc., will determine a special acuteness of observa-
tion in respect of these. Thus a boy with a marked love
of horses becomes specially observant of their forms, ac-
tions, etc. So a boy with a strong leaning to mimicry and
a keen, humorous interest in the expression of people's
faces, etc., will be particularly observant in this direction.
It may be added that particular enlargements of tactile
and other experience will serve to give a particular depth
and richness of suggestion to the individual's percepts.
Thus a person who acquires special knowledge of the tan-
gible properties of natural substances, woven fabrics, etc.,
will see more' in these objects than another person.
Training of the Observing Powers.— This branch
of intellectual training goes on in close connection with,
and is at the same time the completion of, that training
of the senses on their discriminative side which was con-
sidered in the last chapter. The first years of life are
marked out by nature as the age for exercising the observ-
ing powers. The objects that surround the child are new
and excite a vivid interest. He spontaneously spends
much of his time in manipulating and scrutinizing things.
The overflowing muscular activity of a healthy child is
highly favorable to experimental investigation.
The beginnings of the education of the observing
powers belong to the nursery, and consist in supplying the
child with ample room to move about and a good stock
of objects of interest for manual and visual inspection.
Nothing is more fatal to this early development than
checking muscular activity, forbidding children to touch
and examine things.* By a free exertion of activity the
child will learn for himself to organize his tactile and
visual experiences so as to become proficient in interpret-
* As Miss Edgeworth observes, the best toys for the infant are
things that can be grasped without danger, as ivory sticks, balls, etc.,
by help of which differences of size and form may be learned. (" Prac-
tical Education," i, pp. 7, 8.)
EXERCISE IN OBSERVING FORM. 125
ing the visual signs of distance, solidity, etc. The addi-
tion of flat representations of solid objects in picture-
books is a valuable supplement to this first domestic en-
vironment, since they help to fix the child's attention in a
new way on the purely visible side of things, the differ-
ence and at the same time the similarity between the real
solid thing and its pictorial representation. A more act-
ive direction of the observing faculty is required when
the child grows and is capable of better fixing his attention
on objects. This is the moment for calling his attention
to less obtrusive objects at a distance, and so carrying
forward the process of self-education to a more advanced
point.
Exercise in observing Form. — The transition
from the nursery to the school should be marked by a
more systematic training of the observing powers. This
properly begins with exercising the child in the more ac-
curate perception of form. The Kindergarten system has
this as its chief aim. The principles which govern this
early department of training are as follows : (i) The per-
ception of form is grounded on the child's active experi-
ences and the use of the hand. It is by the spontaneous
outgoings of his muscular energy in examining objects and
constructing them that all perception of real form arises.
(2) The development of the perception of form should
proceed from a conjoint tactile and visual, to an inde-
pendent visual perception. (3) The observation of form
should be exercised conformably to the general laws of
mental development, viz., passing from the rude and in-
definite to the exact and definite, from the concrete to the
abstract, and from the simple to the complex. The Kin-
dergarten gifts and occupations clearly satisfy these con-
ditions in general. Froebel was psychologically right in
utilizing the child's spontaneous activity, in setting out
with tangible objects, as the ball, etc., and in attaching so
much importance to the exercise of the child's construct-
126 THE SENSES: OBSERVATION OF THINGS.
ive activity in the reproduction of form by the occupa-
tions of modeling, stick-laying, paper-folding, etc. All
such exercises involve a recreation of form by actions of
the hand similar to those by which the infant spontaneous-
ly investigates the form of things. Hence they are to be
regarded as the natural completion of the earlier training
of the nursery.
Such exercises do not, however, constitute all that is
meant by training the child in the perception of form.
From an early period he is interesting himself in the
forms of natural objects, as animals, trees, flowers, etc.,
as well as buildings, articles of furniture, etc. And he
should be exercised in a more close and exact observation
of these forms. The child naturally observes at first only,
the more salient features of an object, such as the tallness
of the poplar, the long neck of the swan, which may after-
ward serve as a rough mark for identifying the object.
How little he really notes may be seen by his first rude
attempts at drawing the human figure, the horse, etc. The
development of the perception of form proceeds analyti-
cally, the rough outline being first apprehended, and then
the several details. The educator should follow this order,
and practice the observer in attention to the minuter de-
tails of form. In this way the child will grow more dis-
criminative in his perceptions of form and learn more
about the minute parts of common and familiar objects.
Here, again, the hand should be called in, in order to
reproduce what is seen. The child's spontaneous impulse
to imitate nature by drawing is one of the most valuable
ones to the educator. Compared with modeling, drawing
is to a certain extent abstract, since it separates the visible
form from the tangible. Accordingly it is best taken up
after modeling, building, etc. At the same time the child
commonly manifests the impulse to draw at an early age,
and the satisfaction of the impulse provides an excellent
means of gaining a closer acquaintance with visible form.
CONCRETE OBJECTS. 127
Not only so, by employing the hand in the production or
creation of form by definite manual movements, drawing
supplies a valuable additional means of training the eye
and the hand in unison, and so of perfecting the connec-
tions between touch and sight. A child who has become
skillful in drawing has not only acquired a useful manual
art, but has helped to develop his power of seeing^ i. e., of
deciphering the symbols that present themselves to his
eye. In these exercises the teacher should be satisfied
at first with rough and approximate imitations of natural
forms, and aim at making these more close and accurate
by practice.*
A more advanced stage in the visual perception of form
is reached when the learner takes up the abstract consid-
eration of form by a study of the elements of geometry.
A knowledge of lines, curves, angles, etc., should distinct-
ly follow a certain amount of exercise in the observa-
tion and reproduction of concrete forms. To distinguish
a straight line or a right angle is a dry and uninter-
esting exercise compared with noting the form of some
real object, and involves a certain development of the
power of abstraction. Such exercises should be com-
menced by references to concrete forms, as the window-
frame, the edge of the house, its gable, etc. In this way
the child will gain an interest in the subject, and at the
same time further develop his perceptions of concrete forms
by a clearer recognition of their constituent parts.
The Object-Lesson.— After the exercise of the
child in the perception of form comes the training of the
senses as a whole in the knowledge of objects and their
constituent qualities. The systematic development of
this side of the training of the senses gives us the object-
lesson. By this is meant the presentment to the pupil's
senses of some natural substance, as coal, chalk, or lead ;
* On the best way to exercise the child in drawing, see Mr. Spen-
cer's "Education," chap, ii, p. 79, and following.
128 THE SENSES: OBSERVATION OF THINGS,
some organic structure, as a plant or animal ; or, finally,
some product of human industry, as glass or a piece of
furniture ; and such a detailed and orderly unfolding of
its several qualities, its capabilities of being acted on by,
and of acting on, other things, its relations of depend-
ence on surroundings, etc., as will result in the fullest
and clearest knowledge of the object as a whole and its
conditions. It is evident, from this general description,
that the object-lesson makes a special appeal to the sev-
eral senses, and, while thus exercising the senses separate-
ly, helps to train the learner in the connecting and organ-
izing of a number of impressions. Thus, in an object-
lesson on one of the metals there is an appeal made to the
sense of touch (sensations of hardness, smoothness, etc.),
and in one on salt, an appeal to the sense of taste. The
object-lesson thus falls into two parts : (i) the detailed
exposition and naming of the various qualities, and (2)
the summing up of the results in a description of the
whole thing. The object-lesson is a training in close ob-
servation of objects ; and, since the first stage of science
is observation, including experiment, this form of instruc-
tion constitutes a fit introduction to the study of physical
science. Its value depends, first of all, on the extent to
which the observing powers of the class have been made
use of. The teacher must not tell the pupils what the
object is, but stimulate them to obser/e for themselves.
Again, it depends on the clearness and precision with
which the several properties have been unfolded, so that a
complete and accurate idea of the whole may be attained.
Once more, it involves the proper use of juxtaposition, so
as to exercise the observer's power of comparison and dis-
crimination. And, lastly, it implies that the result of each
separate observation has been carefully recorded by a
suitable name. The object-lesson, properly carried out,
is one of the best methods of developing in children a
habit of observation and a taste for scientific experiment
PURPOSE OF THE OBTECT-LESSON. 129
The object-lesson aims at nothing beyond the training
of the observing powers themselves. Its purpose is real-
ized when the object has been accurately inspected and
its properties learned. Hence it must be marked off from
all appeals to the senses which subserve the better imagi-
nation and understanding of a subject dealt with mainly
by verbal instruction, such as the use of models and maps
in teaching geography ; coins, pictures, etc., in teaching
history ; and such an apparatus as Mr. Sonnenschein's in
teaching the elements of number. All these exercises
call in the aid of the senses according to the general prin-
ciple of modern education, that knowledge begins with the
apprehension of concrete things by the senses of the child.
While the calling in of the pupil's observing powers is
thus a characteristic of the right method in all branches
of teaching, there are some subjects which exercise the
faculty of observation in a more special manner. Thus,
the study of geometry and of languages help, each in its
own special and restricted way, to exercise the visual ob-
servation of form. But the study which most completely
and most rigorously exercises the faculty of observation is
natural science. A serious pursuit of chemistry, mineral-
ogy, botany, or some branch of zoology, as entomology,
trains the whole visual capacity, and helps to fix a habit
of observing natural objects, which is one of the most val-
uable rewards that any system of education can bestow.
It is not to be forgotten, however, that the best train-
ing of the observing powers lies outside the range of
school exercises. A habit of close observation of nature
is best acquired in friendly association with, and under the
guidance of, an observant parent or tutor, in hours of
leisure. A daily walk with a good observer will do more
to develop the faculty than the most elaborate school
exercises. The training of the observing powers is indeed
that part of intellectual education that most requires the
aid of other educators than the schoolmaster. And one
130 THE SENSES: OBSERVATION OF THINGS.
evil resultingf from our modern aggregation into big towns,
and our growing school demands on the time and ener-
gies of children, is that so little opportunity and energy
remain for those spontaneous beginnings in the observa-
tion of nature, the forms of hill and dale, the movements
of stream, waves, etc., the forms and movements of plants
and animals, which are the best exercise of the observing
faculty ; and for those simpler and more attractive kinds
of scientific observation, e. g., collecting birds' eggs, fossils,
etc., which grow naturally out of children's play-activity.
APPENDIX.
On the training of the observing powers, the reader will do well to
consult Mr. Spencer's " Essay on Education," chap, ii, and Miss You-
mans's little work on the "Culture of the Observing Powers of Chil-
dren." The function of the nursery in drawing out the observing
faculty is well illustrated by Miss Edgeworth, " Practical Education,"
chap, i, " Toys." The difficult subject of the object-lesson is dealt
with in a suggestive way by Dr. Bain, " Education as a Science," chap,
viii, p. 247, etc. ; and by Mr. Calkins, " New Primary Object-Lessons "
(Harper & Brothers), p. 359, etc. The German reader may with ad-
vantage read Waitz, " Allgemeine Paedagogik," part ii, section i,
" Die Bildung der Anschauung."
a^^j(r. jr^K
CHAPTER IX.
MENTAL REPRODUCTION. — MEMORY.
Retention and Reproduction. — The senses are the
source of all ourk nowledge about external things. But,
if we were only capable of observing objects, we could
gain no lasting knowledge about anything. Knowledge
of things is not a momentary attainment, vanishing again
with the departure of the things ; it is our enduring pos-
session, which we can make use of at any time, whether
the objects are before us or not.
This persistence of the impressions which objects
make on our minds through the senses is due to that im-
portant property of the mind called retentiveness. This
property, as was pointed out in an earlier chapter, is con-
nected with the physiological fact that the brain centers
are permanently modified by their various modes of activi-
ty. Thus the activity of the visual centers involved in
seeing and observing a flower or a person's face leaves as
its after-result a lasting trace of this activity, by the help
of which we can afterward recall the impression of the
object and think about it. This independent activity of
the brain is seen in a striking form in the case of one who,
like Milton, has lost his sight, yet can distinctly recall the
objects he has seen in the past.
Retentiveness shows itself in the ability to reproduce
the impression when occasion presents itself. Thus the
mind retains the impression of a person's face, of a tune,
7
132 MENTAL REPRODUCTION.— MEMORY.
and so forth, when it can afterward revive or recall this.
We know nothing about retention except through the fact
of mental revival or mental reproduction. It is true that
the mind can not always recall what it has retained. A
child is sometimes tenacious in retention, and at the same
time slow and awkward in recalling what he knows. On
the other hand, it is evident that what we can not repro-
duce at any time is not retained. The teacher necessarily
judges what a child has retained of a lesson by the amount
he can reproduce under favorable conditions.
Reproduction and Representation. — Whenever
the mind thus recalls what is no longer present to the
senses the process is called representation, i. e., the act in
which the mind /v-presents to itself what was before pre-
sented. Thus, in recalling our absent home or friend, we
see with the mind's eye the object we actually saw when
it was present. This process is also called reproductive
imagination, because in thus mentally realizing an object
in its absence, we are really exercising a form of imagina-
tion. The result of the operation is known as a mental
image. The image is the copy of the percept. We pict-
ure the house as it actually presented itself to our eyes,
with its proper shape, color, etc. Only, as a rule, our
images are much less complete and distinct than our per-
cepts. In recalling a friend's face, we do not ordinarily
represent all its features as they would actually appear •>
when the person was before our eyes.
As was pointed out in the last chapter, there is an
element of representation in perception. In seeing a
globe, for example, we are reproducing tactile experiences.
Further, in recognizing a familiar object, as our house or
a friend's figure, we are plainly recalling past percepts of
this object. This, however, is a lower form of reproduc-
tion than that which takes place when the object is no
longer present ; for in this case there is no presentative
element, and the representation is more complete and
CONDITIONS OF REPRODUCTION. 133
independent. It is this independent activity of the mind
that we specially think of when we talk of representing or
picturing objects.
While we naturally think first of mental pictures, i. e.,
copies of visual percepts, when we talk of images, we must
be careful to include under the term copies of percepts
and sense-impressions generally. Thus we must say that
the mind imagines or forms images of sounds, as words,
etc., as well as tactile percepts, odors, and tastes. The
most important images are copies of visual and auditory
percepts.
This mental region of pure representation roughly
answers to what we commonly call memory. To remem-
ber a thing is to retain an impression of it, so as to be
able to represent or picture it. Everything that we learn
has thus to be taken possession of by the mind. The
knowledge that the child gains, whether by the direct
examination of objects or by wa y of words, is acquired
for the express purpose of retaining and recalling. Even
the higher and more abstract kind of knowledge has to
be stored up in the mind for subsequent reproduction.
Hence the laws of reproduction are of special interest to
the educator. He has to do with the process of learning,
or acquisition, of which reproduction is the chief ingredi-
ent. To understand how to control and direct these pro-
cesses, with a view to the maximum result in the shape of
clear and abiding knowledge, is one of the chief objects
of a study of mental science.
Conditions of Reproduction.— The most general
condition of reproduction is a certain degree of recency
of the original impression. We readily recall any object
or incident of the immediate past, such as the appearance
and voice of the person we have just been speaking with.
Older impressions are, as a rule, less easily recalled. The
longer the interval between the presentation and the
representation, the less distinct and prompt will be the
134
MENTAL REPRODUCTION.-^MEMORY.
latter. The lines the child can repeat a few minutes after
going over them will tend to disappear after an hour or a
day or two. It is thus apparent that the after-impressions
left by what we see, hear, etc., tend to grow less and less
vivid and distinct as time elapses. The scenes, person-
ages, and experiences of our remote past are for the
greater part lost to us.
Coming now to more special conditions, we may say
that the capability of representing an object or event some
time after it has been perceived depends on two chief
circumstances. In the first place, the impression must
be stamped on the mind with a certain degree of force.
This circumstance may be called the depth of the impres-
sion. In the second place, there is needed in ordinary
cases the presence of something to remind us of the ob-
ject or to suggest it to our minds. This second circum-
stance is known as the force of association.
(A) Depth of Impression : Attention and Re-
tention.— In the first place then (assuming that there has
been only one impression) we may say that a distinct
image presupposes a certain degree of perfection in the
impression. A bright object distinctly seen is recalled
better than a dull one obscurely seen. The chalk diagram
on the blackboard stands a better chance of being recalled
than a less forcible impression. For this reason actual
impressions are in general much better recalled than prod-
ucts of imagination. A child will generally recall the
appearance of a place he has actually seen better than
one that he has heard described. The habit of repeating
words audibly when we want to remember them is based
on this principle.
Again, the permanence of an impression is determined
not merely by its external character, but by the attitude
of the mind in relation to it. If our minds are preoccu-
pied, even a powerful impression may fail to produce a
lasting effect. Hence we have to add that the permanence
REPETITION AND RETENTION, 135
of an impression depends on the degree of interest excited
by, the object, and the corresponding vigor of the act of
attention. All strong feeling gives a special persistence
to impressions, by arousing an exceptional degree of in-
terest. Where a boy is deeply affected by pleasurable
feeling, as in listening to an attractive story or in watch-
ing a cricket match, he remembers distinctly. Such in-
tensity of feeling, by securing a strong interest and a close
attention, insures a vivid impression and a clear discrim-
ination of the object, both in its several parts or details,
and as a whole. And the fineness of the discriminative
process is one of the most important determining condi-
tions of retention.
The interest determining the force of attention may,
as we have seen, arise directly out of some aspect of the
object, as its novelty, beauty, its suggestiveness, and so
on. A pleasurable feeling, flowing from the perception
itself, is the best guarantee of close attention and fine dis-
crimination. The events of our past life which are per-
manently retained commonly show an accompaniment of
strong feeling (wonder, delight, awe, and so forth).
Where this powerful intrinsic interest is wanting, a vigor-
ous effort of voluntary attention may do something to
bring about a permanent retention.
Finally, it is to be observed that our minds are not al-
ways in an equally favorable state for the retention of
impressions. Much will depend on the degree of mental
vigor and brain vigor at the time. A fresh condition of
the brain, such as is realized after a period of repose, is
necessary to a deep and lasting after-trace of retention of
impressions.*
Repetition and Retention. — We have just assumed
that the object or event recalled has been perceived but
* Prof. Bain considers that acquisition or storing up new impres-
sions is of all forms of intellectual activity that which involves the
largest consumption of brain-force.
136 MENTAL REPRODUCTION.— MEMORY.
once only. But a single occurrence of an impression
rarely suffices for a lasting retention. Since every impres-
sion tends to lose its effect after a time, our images re-
quire to be re-invigorated by new presentations of the ob-
ject. Most of the events of life are forgotten just because
they never recur in precisely the same form. The bulk
of our mental imagery, the natural scenery, buildings, per-
sons, etc., that form our surroundings, answer to objects
which we see again and again. Here, then, we have a sec-
ond circumstance determining the depth of an impression.
The greater the number of the repetitions, the more endur-
ing will be the image. Where the repetition of the actual
impression is impossible, the repeated reproduction of it
serves less effectually to bring about the same result.
By repeating to ourselves internally a person's name again
and again soon after hearing it, we help to fix it in the
memory.
The repetitions must not only be numerous but fre-
quent. In learning a new language we may look up in a
dictionary an uncommon or rarely occurring word a good
number of times and yet never gain a firm hold on it,
just because the repetitions are not frequent enough ;
whereas, if the word is a common one, and occurs frequently,
the same number of references to the dictionary will more
than suffice. The reason of this is that the after-impres-
sions tend to fade away after a little time, so that each ef-
fect must be followed up by another soon enough. The
process may be likened to that of damming a stream with
stones. If we throw in the stones with sufficient rapidity,
we may succeed in fixing a barrier. But if we throw in
one to-day, and another to-morrow, the effect of the first
throw will be obliterated by the force of the stream before
the reinforcing effect of the second is added.
These two conditions, interest and repetition, take the
place of one another to a certain extent. The more in-
teresting an impression, the fewer the repetitions necessary
ASSOCIATION OF IMPRESSION. 137
to fix it in the mind. This is illustrated in the words of
Juliet :
" My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound."
On the other hand, the more frequently an impression
recurs, the less interesting does it need to be in order to
find a lodgment in our minds. As has been humorously ob-
served, even matters of such little interest to us as the fact
that Mr. G. sells Eureka shirts stamp themselves on our
memory after they have been repeatedly forced on our at-
tention by a sufiicient profusion of advertisements. Nev-
ertheless, in ordinary cases both conditions must be pres-
ent in considerable force. This certainly applies to the
larger part of school acquisitions. Interest is rarely
so keen here as to be able to dispense with a number of
repetitions. On the other hand, no number of repetitions
of a lesson will avail if there is no interest taken in the
subject, and the thoughts wander.
(B) Association of Impression. — ^When an impres-
sion has been well fixed in the mind there remains a pre-
disposition or tendency to reproduce it under the form of
an image. The degree of facility with which we recall
any object always depends in part on the strength of this
predisposition. Nevertheless, this predisposition will not
in ordinary cases suffice in itself to effect a restoration
after a certain time has elapsed. There is needed further
something present to the mind to suggest the image, or
remind us of the event or object. Thus the sight of a
place reminds us of an event which happened there, the
hearing of a person's name of that person, and so on.
Such a reminder constitutes the ''exciting" as distin-
guished from the " predisposing " cause. The reason why
so many incidents of our past life, including our deeply
interesting dream-experiences, appear to be wholly for-
gotten is that there is nothing in our present surround-
ings that distinctly reminds us of them.
138 MENTAL REPRODUCTION— MEMORY.
Whenever we are thus reminded of an impression by
some other impression (or image), it is because this is
somehow connected in our minds or " associated " with
the first. Thus the event is associated with the place
which recalls it, and the person with his name. Hence
we speak of association as the second great condition of
reproduction.
Different Kinds of Association. — One impression
may be associated with another in different ways. Let A
stand for the antecedent or reminder, B for the conse-
quent or the representation called up. Then A and B
may correspond to two objects locally connected, as two
adjacent buildings, or to two events following one another
in time, as sunset and the coming on of darkness. Or,
again, they may stand for two like objects, as a portrait
and the original. These various kinds of connection are
reduced by the psychologist to the smallest number of
principles or laws of association. They are commonly
brought under three heads, viz., contiguity, similarity, and
contrast.
(I) Association by Contiguity. — Of these kinds of
association the most important is that known as contigu-
ous association, or association by contiguity. By this is
meant the association of two or more impressions through,
or on the ground of, their connection in time. Its law
may be stated briefly as follows : Presentations, impres-
sions, or experiences which occur together, or in im-
mediate succession, will afterward tend to revive or sug-
gest one another.
This principle is illustrated throughout the whole pro-
cess of learning, both from the actual inspection of things,
and by way of others' instruction. Whenever the mind
connects two or more impressions, facts, objects, or ex-
periences, because they have occurred or presented them-
selves together, this is an illustration of the law of con-
tiguity. Thus, in coupling an action with the person who
ASSOCIATION BY CONTIGUITY. 139
performs it, or a thing with its name, or an event with the
place where it occurred, we are illustrating this principle.
The more important varieties of contiguous associa-
tion may be brought under the following heads : (i) First
of all, we have impressions, actions, or events, which occur
together or in immediate succession, as the sight of a bell
swinging and its sound, the shining of the sun and the
feeling of warmth, one bit of a tune and the following bit.
Among the successions of actions and events the most
important are those of cause and effect. The child comes
to know that the sun warms, that rain wets, that hard
bodies hurt, that his own actions produce certain results,
e. g., the removal of obstacles by noting how one thing
follows another, i. e., by connecting things according to
the law of contiguity. (2) Next may be mentioned asso-
ciations with objects including persons. Thus the child
connects the various properties and powers it discovers in
things, such as the divisibility and the combustibility of
wood with this substance, -the voice, gestures, etc., of per-
sons with these ; also the uses to which things may be put
and the gratifications to be obtained from them with the
objects themselves, such as the ball's capability of being
rolled, the capability of the toy-bricks to support others,
and so forth. (3) Our next group consists of local asso-
ciations, which play a conspicuous part in memory. These
include (a) connections of objects with places, as the
cowslips with the fields, books, toys, etc., with the places
where they are put away and kept ; (I)) events and places,
as the meal, the lesson, the punishment, and so on, with
the room in which they take place ; and (^) places with
other and contiguous places, and features of the environ-
ment with others which are contiguous in place, as the
sea and the sandy shore, the river and the bridge across
it, one house or street and the adjacent one.
All learning by instruction, too, illustrates the same
law. In learning about distant places and about the past
140 MENTAL REPRODUCTION.— MEMORY,
history of his country, the child has to build up associa-
tion of time and place like those he builds up in the
course of his daily observations of the things around him.
More than this, learning proceeds very largely by aid of
verbal associations, and more particularly associations of
things with words, and one word with another. In learn-
ing the names of objects, places, persons, etc., the child is
linking together impressions that occur at the same time.
Thus he learns the name of a person by hearing the sound
while the person is present. On the other hand, commit-
ting anything to memory by stringing on a series of words
illustrates the association of consecutive impressions. One
word of a verse has to be connected with the following, and
so on.
Strength of Associative Cohesion.— The law of
contiguity speaks of a tendency to call up or suggest. This
means that the suggestion does not always take place, that
the antecedent is not always followed by the consequent,
and that, in some cases, the sequence is much more
prompt than in others. We may easily see by observation
that this is so. Thus we sometimes hear names of persons
and places without representing the corresponding objects ;
in other words, the names do not call up the appropriate
images. In other cases, again, the revival is certain and
rapid, as when a familiar word in the native tongue, as
** home," *' father," calls up the idea which it symbolizes.
Indeed, in a certain class of cases, the revival is so rapid
that the mind is hardly aware of a transition from ante-
cedent to consequent. Such are the suggestions of a
vocal action by the connected sound (articulate or musi-
cal), of a manual movement by a visible sign, and of a
feeling, say of anger, by the visible expression. We ex-
press this fact by saying that there are different degrees of
cohesion among our impressions, and consequently differ-
ent degrees of suggestive force.
On what Suggestive Force depends.— The sug-
ON WHAT SUGGESTIVE FORCE DEPENDS, 141
gestive force in any case depends on the same two cir-
cumstances as we found governing the persistence of im-
pressions regarded as single or apart. These are first the
amount of attention given to the impressions when they
present themselves together ; arid secondly, the frequency
of their concurrence.
Two impressions may become closely associated with
one another by a special act of connective attention at
the time. Thus, when a child is greatly interested in a
stranger, and pays particular attention to his name at the
same time, he in a manner makes one object of them, so
that the recurrence of the one suggests the other. In
learning a lesson in geography the child has to firmly
conjoin things, e. g., a town with the country in which it
lies, the river on which it stands, etc. The greater the
force of attention directed to two objects, and the more
closely the mind grasps them by one act of attention, the
stronger will be the resulting association. This presup-
poses a development of the power of attention in grasping
a plurality of objects in their relations of time, place, etc.
It is to be added that this work of conjoining impressions
is only possible when the mind is free from preoccupation,
and the brain is in a fresh and active condition.
It is, however, but rarely that a single conjunction of
two experiences effects a permanent association. Repeti-
tion of the original experiences is necessary in the great
majority of instances. All our enduring knowledge about
the things around us, the varying phases of earth and sky,
the locality we live in, the persons we are familiar with,
involves repetitions of impressions together or in company
with one another. The child's association of sunlight and
warmth, of a street with the interesting shops in it, of a
person with his acts of kindness, is the result of many im-
pressions. The more frequent the conjunction of the im-
pressions, the stronger the resulting bond of association
between them. The closest associations, such as those
142 MENTAL REPRODUCTION.— MEMORY.
between vocal actions and the resulting sounds, words,
and the things named, the movements of expression, and
the feelings expressed, are the result of innumerable con-
junctions extending throughout life.
Trains of Images. — All that has been said respect-
ing pairs of impressions and the resulting representations
applies also to a whole series. A good part of our knowl-
edge consists of trains of images answering to recurring
and oft-repeated series of sense-impressions. Thus our
knowledge of a street, and of a whole town, consists of a
recoverable train of visual images. In like manner, we
are able to recall a series of visible movements or actions,
as those of a dance, and a succession of sounds, as those
of a tune. Our knowledge of every kind is closely con-
nected with language, and is retained to a considerable
extent by help of series of words. Again, our practical
knowledge, our knowledge how to perform actions of
various kinds, such as dressing and undressing, speaking
and writing, is made up of chains of representations.
All such chains illustrate the effects of attention and
of repetition. The more closely a child has attended to
the order of a series of notes or words, events in a story,
and so forth, the better will the several links of the chain
be connected. And the more frequently the series has
been gone over, the easier will it be for the mind after-
ward to reproduce it. In cases where the repetitions
have been very numerous, the mind is able to retrace the
succession with perfect ease and in a semi-conscious way,
as in going over the alphabet, the numerals, etc.
At first these trains of representations are not self-
supporting. They are bound up with, and dependent on,
actual presentations. Thus a child learning a tune is able
at first only to recall the successive notes step by step as
he hears the tune sung (or plays it himself). That is to
say, revival is still dependent on the stronger suggestive
force of actual impressions. Gradually the series of
VERBAL ASSOCIATIONS. 143
images becomes independent of the exciting force of im-
pressions. Thus, when the tune is perfectly learned, the
child's mind can run over the whole without any aid from
the ear.
Verbal Associations. — Among the most important
of our associations are those of words. Language, being
the medium by which we convey our impressions and ex-
press our thoughts one to another, plays a conspicuous
part as a suggestive force. We habitually recall our im-
pressions by the aid of verbal signs. This is especially
true of all the knowledge we gain from others, or learn
by instruction and reading. Such knowledge, more par-
ticularly the more abstract kinds, is embodied in, and re-
produced by, words.
Every word is in itself the result of joining together
a number of elements. The first step in learning to
speak is the linking on of a definite variety of vocal
action to its proper sound. Later on, when the child
learns to read, he combines with this associated couple
the visual symbol, viz., the printed word. Finally, in
learning to write, the child builds up new associations be-
tween definite groups of finger-movements and the C9rre-
sponding visual symbols.
Again, in learning language, there are not only these
associations between the different constituents of the
word, but also the connecting of the word as a whole
with its proper idea. Learning to speak, to read, and to
write, plainly includes this further connection between
the word symbol and its meaning.
These verbal groups are capable of becoming associ-
ated in definite series, and it is by the aid of such series
that our knowledge of things in their order of time and
place is retained. This applies to what the child himself
observes, for he loves to describe what he has seen to
others, and in so doing he makes his knowledge more
lasting by embodying it in series of words. And it ap-
144 MENTAL REPRODUCTION.— MEMORY,
plies still more to all the knowledge gained by others' in-
struction. Here the facts are presented to him by the
medium of language, which thus naturally comes to be
taken up into the whole mental impression retained.*
(II) Association by Similarity. — Although the
principle of contiguity covers most of the facts of mem-
ory, it is usual to lay down other principles of association
as well. Of these the most important is association
through similarity. This principle asserts that an impres-
sion (or image) will tend to call up an image of any ob-
ject previously perceived which resembles it. Thus the
face or voice of a stranger suggests by resemblance an-
other and familiar one ; a word in a foreign language, a
word in our own, and so forth. The more conspicuous
the point of resemblance between two things, and the
greater the amount of their resemblance compared with
that of their difference, the greater the suggestive force.
This kind of association is plainly marked off from the
first. Contiguity associates objects, events, words, etc.,
which present themselves together, or at (or about) the
same time in our experience. Similarity, on the other
hand, brings together impressions, objects, and events
widely remote in time. Thus a face or a bit of landscape
seen to-day may remind us of another seen years ago in a
distant part of the globe.
The acquisition of knowledge is greatly aided by this
"attraction of similars," as it has been called. If every-
thing we had to learn, whether by actual observation or
by books, were absolutely new, the burden would be in-
supportable. When a boy or a girl studies a new language,
for example, the similarities very greatly shorten the labor.
Thus, when the German word Vogel calls up the familiar
* It is not meant that all the elements of the word are equally dis-
tinct in all cases. When a child learns something by oral instruction
he will recall the sounds ; when he learns from a book, he will rather
recall the visible words.
ASSOCIATION BY CONTRAST.
145
name fowl, its meaning is at once fixed. The new acquisition
is permanently attached to the pre-existing stock of acqui-
sitions through a link of similarity. Or, as we commonly
express it, the new is assimilated to the old. It may be
added that every discovery of similarity in the midst of
diversity is attended by a feeling of pleasurable excite-
ment or elation ; and this acts as a powerful force in bind-
ing together the similar things in the memory.
(Ill) Association by Contrast. — In addition to the
principle of similarity, another principle of association
known as contrast is frequently laid down. By this is
meant that one impression, object, or event, tends to call
up the image of its opposite or contrast. Thus it is said
that black suggests white ; poverty, wealth ; a flat country,
a mountainous, and so forth.
The part played by contrast in memory is due to the
fact that all knowledge begins with marking off one thing
or one property of a thing from other and different ones.
The first step in acquiring knowledge is to discriminate.
The child first discriminates impressions and objects of
the same kind which are widely unlike, or opposed to
one another, as light and dark, sweet and sour, a big and
a little dog, etc. This would tend to build up in the
child's mind a number of associations between contrasting
things. It may be added that all strong dissimilarity is in
itself impressive, and tends to stamp itself on the mind.
Children are struck by contrast as they are by likeness.
Thus the sight of a tall and a short person walking together,
or of something very unusual, as a dwarf, is certain to
arrest their attention, and so to further the retention of a
vivid after-impression of the objects in association. In
learning, this principle may be made use of. Thus, a
strongly marked contrast in two contiguous countries, or
two consecutive reigns in English history, helps to fix the
association in the learner's mind.*
Mr. Fitch gives a good example of the effect of contrast or unex-
^
/^7 7^/?rr^
146 ^MENTAL REPRODUCTION.— MEMORY.
Complex Associations. — So far it has been assumed
that association is simple, that each element of knowledge
only enters into a single associative combination. But
this does not correspond with the facts. Association is
highly complex. One element may enter as a member
into a number of distinct combinations. Thus the image
of the Colosseum at Rome is associated with that of events
in my personal history, of pleasant days passed at Rome,
of historical events, such as the gladiatorial combats of the
Empire, its conquests and luxury, etc. The threads of
association are not distinct and parallel, like the strings of
a harp, but intersect one another, forming an intricate
network.
Co-operation of Associations. — One result of this
complexity is that different threads of association con-
verge in the same point ; so that the recalling of a fact
may take place by the co-operation of a number of sug-
gesting forces. The general effect of such co-operation
may be stated in the principle that the more numerous the
associations between a particular impression and other
mental elements, and the more firmly it is associated with
each, the more likely is it to be recalled.
In recalling a series of words, for example, as those of
a poem, the child's mind may travel along any one of a
number of parallel paths. Thus it may move now along
that of the sounds, now along that of the visual signs, and
now along the series of images or ideas corresponding to
the objects described and events narrated. And thus, if
the members of one series are not firmly knit together, his
mind can make use of the other series. Thus, in forgetting
how the sounds follow one another, it may take advantage
of the visual series, the images of the printed words.
To take another and somewhat different kind of ex-
pectedness in imprinting a fact on the memoiy, viz., leaniing for the
first time that " Rule Britannia " was written by Thompson, the singer
of quiet pastorals. " Lectures on Teaching," p. 130.
OBSTRUCTIVE ASSOCIATIONS.
147
ample : the date of an historical event is associated with
that of simultaneous events at home or abroad, and of
preceding and succeeding events. And so a child may
recall it by way of any one of these channels. These com-
binations include associations by similarity as well as by
contiguity. A person's name may be recalled not only by
recalling his appearance, the book of which he is the
author, and so on, but also by way of some other name
which it resembles. Thus the succession of Saxon kings
is aided by the similarity of their names. In like manner
the learning of the verses of a poem is aided by the simi-
larities of meter and rhyme.
Obstructive Associations.— While looked at from
one point of view the fact of the complexity of association
is an aid to memory, looked at from another it is an ob-
struction. If an impression or fact is associated with a
number of other impressions, disconnected one with an-
other, then the mind in setting out from this image is
liable to be borne along any one of a divergent series of
paths. Accordingly it is less likely to strike upon any one
particular path that is required at the moment. It is like
being in a town and having to find one's way out in a par-
ticular direction, instead of being outside and having to
find the way into it. The multiplicity of paths which was
an advantage in the one case is a hindrance in the other.
The errors of confusion into which children are apt to fall
when, in repeating a poem, singing a tune from memory,
and so forth, they go off on a wrong mental tack, are due
to the fact that certain members of the series they are
recalling, e. g., phrases of the poem or of the tune, enter
into other associations, and so lead their minds astray.
This effect of association in leading the mind away from
what is wanted has been marked off as obstructive associ-
ation.
Active Reproduction : Recollection.— The repro-
duction of impressions is very often a perfectly passive or
148 MENTAL REPRODUCTION.— MEMORY.
mechanical operation, in which there is no control of the
process by the will. In many of our idle moments, as in
taking a walk in the country, the mind abandons itself to
the forces of suggestion.
In contrast to this passive reproduction, there is an
active reproduction in which the will co-operates. Here
the succession of images is still ultimately determined by
the laws of association. The will can not secure a revival
of any impression except by the aid of these laws. A child,
for example, can not recall yesterday's lesson simply by
resolving, if the lesson has not previously been learned
and connected with other knowledge. But he can by an
effort of will guide and control the operations of his mind
at the time, and so aid in the reproduction of what he has
learned. This active side of reproduction is best marked
off as recollection.
The will exerts itself here in an act of mental concen-
tration, which serves to give greater distinctness and per-
sistence to what is before the mind. Thus, if a child is
asked the date of a certain battle, he may by an act of
concentrated attention give clearness and fullness to the
image of the battle. And by so doing he helps to give
effect to the associative force connecting the event and the
date. Not only so, the will accomplishes an important
work in resisting obstructive associations, turning away
from all misleading suggestions, and following out the
clews. The revival of an impression, as of a name, or an
event, is very often a gradual process. We are often dimly
aware beforehand of the character of the impression or
fact we desire to call up clearly. And by a resolute effort
we may keep pursuing the right path till we reach it.
It is not only in this form of a severe effort to recall
what is temporarily forgotten that the co-operation of the
will is important. It enters, in a less marked manner, into
all our ordinary processes of mental reproduction. Even
in repeating a well-learned poem the child's will, by an
RECOLLECTION. 149
effort so slight that he may be scarcely aware of it, steadies
the whole operation, securing the due succession of the
several members of the train, and the avoidance of mis-
leading suggestions. And the relaxation of this attitude
of attention at any moment would be fatal to the repro-
duction.
This ability to control the reproductive processes
reaches its highest development in a habit of going over
the contents of memory, and following out, now one path,
now another, according to the purpose in hand. It is this
ability which is illustrated in the readiness of a child to
find facts associated with a particular place or period,
examples, analogies, etc., when called upon to do so.
This ready command of the mind's store of knowledge by
the will presupposes that there has been an orderly ar-
rangement of the materials, that when new acquisitions
were made, these were linked on (by contiguity and simi-
larity, to old acquisitions. It is only when there has been
the full co-operation of the will in this earlier or acquisi-
tive stage that there can be a ready command of the ma^
terials gained in the later stage of reproduction.
CHAPTER X.
MEMORY (continued).
Memory and its Degrees. — Memory is the power
of retaining and reproducing anything that has been im-
pressed on the mind, whether by way of the senses or
through the medium of language. Its laws were consid-
ered in the foregoing chapter. We have now to examine
into the several varieties of this mental power, and its
mode of development.
The degree of perfection with which we remember
anything may be measured by two main tests^(i) the
length of time during which the mind retains the impres-
sion, and (2) the degree of distinctness of the images
recalled and the readiness with which they are recalled.
A child remembers well when he remembers long and per-
manently. And he remembers well when he can call up
distinctly what he has learned.
Although we commonly speak of memory as if it were
a simple indivisible faculty, it would be more correct to
say that it consists of a number of distinct powers, as the
retention of sights, sounds, and so forth. It is one thing
to recall a musical sound or a series of such sounds, an-
other to recall a group of visible objects. There are as
many compartments of memory as there are kinds of im-
pression. Thus there is a memory for visual impressions,
and another for auditory impressions. Within the limits
of one and the same sense, too, there are distinct differ-
REVIVABILITY OF IMPRESSIONS. 151
ences of memory. Thus the memory for colors is differ-
ent from the memory for forms, the memory for musical
sounds from the memory for articulate sounds. In addi-
tion to these retentions of passive impressions there are
retentions of active experiences, as our various manual
movements and our vocal actions.
Speaking generally, and disregarding for the present
individual differences, we may say that the higher the
sense in point of discriminative refinement the better the
corresponding memory. We appear to recall sights best
of all. Our knowledge of things is largely made up of
visual pictures. Next to sights come sounds. As pointed
out above, words play an important secondary part in the
memory of things. Then follow touches, which are less
easily revived, and finally smells and tastes,* which are
only faintly revivable. Further, since the muscular sense
is characterized by a high degree of refinement, the reten-
tion of our active experiences is in general relatively good.
It must be remembered, too, that our muscular experi-
ences are uniformly accompanied by passive impressions,
and that these serve materially to support the retention.
Thus the child recalls the manual movements involved in
•J
writing or in playing the piano, by the aid of visual images
of his moving hands.
Beginnings and Growth of Memory. — Memory
presupposes a certain exercise of the senses and the
growth of perception. Images do not appear till sense-
knowledge has reached a certain stage of development.
The inability of the infant mind to keep up an image
even a short time after an impression is illustrated in
the fact that after examining a biscuit-tin and finding
nothing in it, it will presently put its hand in again, quite
losing sight of its previous experience. On the other
* It has often been remarked that though we dream of banquets, it
is the look of the delicious viands that we imagine rather than their
flavors.
1 5 2 MEMOR Y— {CONTINUED),
hand, children, even in this early period, clearly display
the lower form of retentive power, viz., that of recog-
nizing objects when they reappear after an interval.
Thus a child less than three months old will remember
the face of his nurse or father for some weeks. The
first distinct images are the result of many accumulating
traces of percepts. They are such as are closely associ-
ated with, and so immediately called up by, the actual im-
pressions of the moment. The interesting experiences of
the meal, the bath, and the walk are the first to be dis-
tinctly represented. As the interest in things extends, and
the observing powers grow, distinct mental pictures of ob-
jects are formed. A child of three months who had been
accustomed to watch a bird singing in a cage, when it
happened to see the cage without the bird, showed all the
signs of bitter disappointment.*
Repetition of Experience. —As experiences repeat
themselves and traces accumulate, the mental images be-
come more distinct, and are more firmly associated ; also
the number of representations and of associative links in-
creases. The learning of the meaning of words, which
begins about the age of six njpnths, i. e., several months
before the actual employment of them, greatly enlarges the
range of suggestion.f After this the mother or the nurse
is able to call up the image of absent objects, such as per-
sons or animals, by talking of them. The repetition of
conjunctions of experience further brings about whole
groups and series of representations. The child's mind is
able to pass not only from the actual impression of the
♦ M. Perez. " The First Three Years of Childhood," p. 147. Mr.
Darwin, in some notes of one of his children, records the first distinct
appearances of ideas or images at five months. At this age the child,
as soon as his hat and cloak had been put on, became very cross if not
taken out at once.
f Mr. Darwin's boy at the age of seven months would turn and
look at his nurse when her name was pronounced.
HOW MEMORY IMPROVES. 153
moment to the image of something immediately accom-
panying it, but from this last to another image, and so on.
Thus a child of eighteen months will mentally rehearse a
series of experiences, as those of a walk : " Go tata, see
geegee, bowwow," etc.
New Experiences. — The child's experience is not a
mere series of repetitions. There is a continual widen-
ing of the range of objects and impressions. This exten-
sion is due in part to the expansion of his interest in
things, and in part to the changes in his environment. In
this way fresh materials are being stored up in the mem-
ory. And the growth of memory shows itself in the in-
creasing range and rapidity of these new acquisitions.
These two aspects of the growth of memory, the attain-
ment of a firmer hold on what has been learned, and the
extension of the area of acquisition, are to a certain extent
opposed. The further fixing of the old uses up mental
energy required for adding new elements to the stock of
acquisitions. The conservative tendency in memory
works against the progressive. And conversely, the throw-
ing of mental energy into the work of acquiring new
knowledge tends to the displacement of the old. This lat-
ter effect is more manifest in early life.* The child has
his past impressions rendered indistinct by the flood of
new ones that excite his interest and engage his mental
energy. This effect, however, begomes less noticeable as
his powers gain in strength. A child of six or eight years
manages to lay up new materials with far less loss of old
ones than one of three or four. And this advantage is due
not merely to an improvement in the capacity of memory,
but in part to an increased ability to discover the links of
association between the new and the old.
How Memory Improves. — This process of growth,
this continual increase in the store of acquisitions, implies
* In old age the other effect, the exclusion of new acquisitions by a
tenacious clinging to the old, is most apparent.
154 MEMORY— {CONTINUED).
an improvement in the power of seizing and retaining
new impressions. By this is meant that any particular ac-
quisitive task will become easier, and that more difficult
feats of retention will become possible.
The progress of retentive and reproductive power may
be viewed under three aspects. First of all, impressions
will be acquired or stored up more readily (for a given
time). Less concentration and fewer repetitions are
needed for the fixing of an impression. Or, to put it
otherwise, a given amount of concentration and repetition
will lead to a storing up of more material, that is, more
complex groups of impressions. This may be called in-
creased facility in acquisition. Secondly, impressions are
retained longer. A given amount of effort in the acquisi-
tive stage will result in a more enduring or permanent re-
tention. This aspect may be marked off as an increase in
the tenacity of memory. Thirdly, this progress implies a
more perfect form of revival. That is to say, impressions
will be recalled more readily and with a higher degree of
distinctness and fidelity than formerly.
Causes of Growth of Memory. — This increase in
retentive power is due to some considerable extent to the
spontaneous development of the brain powers. All men-
tal acquisition appears to involve certain formations or
structural changes in the brain. The capability of the
organ of undergoing these changes, or what has been
called its plastic power, increases rapidly during the early
part of life. Impressions of all sorts stamp themselves
more deeply on the mind of a child ten years old than on
that of a child three or four years old, owing to this
greater plasticity of the brain. This condition explains
the precocity of memory. It is commonly said that the
power of storing up new impressions reaches its maximum
in early youth, and the fact is undoubtedly connected
with the physiological fact that later on the structure of
the brain is more set, or less modifiable.
VARIETIES OF MEMORY. 155
While the development of memory is thus dependent
on the gradual unfolding of the plastic power of the brain,
it is not wholly determined by this. A child whose facul-
ties were not duly exercised by the supply of external ob-
jects, and of impressions to be stored up and recalled*
would not attain to the normal degree of retentive power
of his years. The actual progress of memory, the im-
provement in the aptitude to acquire and reproduce
knowledge, is the result of a constant exercise of the
faculty. The precise effects of this exercise will be
spoken of presently when we come to consider the differ-
ent directions in which memory is susceptible of develop-
ment.
Varieties of Memory, General and Special. —
There is probably no power which varies more among
individuals than memory. The interval which separates
a person of average memory from one of the historical
examples, as Joseph Scaliger, Pascal, or Macaulay, seems
scarcely measurable.*
One person's memory may differ from another's in a
number of respects. In the first place, one learner may
exhibit more of one of the properties of a good memory
specified above. For example, one boy will be quick in
acquiring, but not correspondingly tenacious, illustrating
the saying '* easy come, easy go." Another boy will re-
tain firmly what he has once thoroughly learned, but be
wanting in readiness in bringing out and using what he
knows. On the other hand, a boy may show himself
particularly smart in recalling and displaying his knowl-
edge, and yet, like many a fluent talker, be only a super-
ficial learner. These differences give well-marked peculiari-
ties of character to the memories of different individuals.
In the second place, there are very distinct differences
* Casaubon says of Scaliger : " He read nothing (and what did he
not read ?) which he did not forthwith remember." Pascal says he
never forgot anything which he had read or thought.
156 MEMORY— {CONTINUED).
amcng children and adults with respect to the range of
memory, or the amount and variety of material which can
be retained. Some persons of exceptional endowment
have a good average power of retaining impressions of all
kinds, whereas there are others who have a low average
capacity. This would be called a difference in general
memory.
From these differences in average power of retentive-
ness we may distinguish differences in special directions,
or special memory. Thus, for example, one boy will be
found to have a good retentive power for impressions of
sight or of hearing as a whole, whereas others will show
a deficiency on this side. Or, again, a child may display
special aptitude in retaining some particular variety of
these, as impressions of color or of musical sound. Or,
once more, our memory may display particular strength
in the retention of some circumscribed group of objects^
as faces. In this way arise what are known as the musical
memory, pictorial memory, the memory for faces, scenery,
etc. As illustrations of such exceptional retentive power
in particular directions, may be mentioned Horace Vernet
and Gustave Dor^, who could paint a portrait from mem-
ory ; Mozart, who wrote down the ^^ Miserere** of the Sis-
tine Chapel after hearing it twice.
Even differences in general power of memory prob-
ably turn to a considerable extent on special differences,
namely, in verbal retention. Although to recall words
is not the same as to recall things, the latter operation can
not be carried on to any considerable extent apart from
the former. Hence a large, capacious memory has in all
cases been largely sustained by an exceptional verbal re-
ten tiveness.
Besides the points of difference just enumerated, there are others
which are by no means unimportant. Thus we find that memories
vary not only with respect to the particular impressions which are best
recalled, but also with respect to the particular mode of grouping
CAUSES OF DIFFERENCE. 157
\vhich is most successful. Thus, some appear to connect visible objects
locally better than others ; whereas these last may have a better power
of linking together successive pictures answering to events. The
former would have a better local, pictorial, or geographical memory,
the latter a better historical, or possibly a better scientific memory.
Closely connected with these differences are those due to the habitual
way of committing things to memory, or arranging acquisitions in the
mind. Some minds tend to connect things with their adjuncts of time
and place, whereas others rather arrange their impressions according
to their relations of similarity, cause and effect, etc.
Causes of Difference. — These differences are plainly
due either to native inequalities or to differences in the
kind and amount of exercise undergone in the course of
the past life. There are native differences with respect to
the average retentive power, by reason of which one child
is from the first capable of retaining impressions of all
kinds more easily than another. Such inequalities are no
doubt connected with differences in the degree of struct-
ural perfection of the organs as a whole, namely, the
sense-organs and the brain. As Locke observes, "An
impression made on bees-wax or lead will not last so
long as on brass or steel." * In addition to these origi-
nal differences of brain plasticity as a whole, there are
special differences connected with the varying degrees of
perfection of particular sense-organs. Thus a child with
a good natural ear for musical sounds would be likely to
retain these impressions better than another child wanting
this sense-endowment. And this for a double reason:
(i) because such a superiority would imply a finer dis-
criminative capacity in respect of sound (and retentive-
ness varies roughly with the degree of discrimination) ;
and (2) because this natural superiority commonly carries
with it a special interest in the impressions concerned. A
child with a good ear for musical sounds will in general
take special pleasure in noting their peculiarities.
At the same time it is clear that the differences observ-
* " Concerning Education," § 176.
158 MENTAL REPRODUCTION.— MEMORY.
able in people's memories are due in part to differences of
circumstances, exercise, and education. While in the case
of every individual the amount of "natural retentiveness "
or degree of " brain plasticity " limits the power of memory
as a whole, much may be done by suitable exercise to
improve the faculty within these limits. The discipline
of the school, if judicious, tends very materially to im-
prove the child's memory by developing the potential
capacities of his brain.
It is, however, in the improvement of memory in
special directions that the effects of exercise are most
conspicuous. Assuming the whole retentive power of the
individual's brain to be a definite quantity not susceptible
of being increased by exercise, it is evident that his special
circumstances and education will determine the particular
channels into which this brain-energy is diverted. It is
well known that the habitual direction of the mind to any
class of impressions very materially strengthens the reten-
tive power in respect of these. The blind not only per-
ceive by touch better than those who see, but recall and
imagine touches in a way that we perhaps can hardly
understand. Owing to this effect of habitual concentra-
tion each mind becomes specially retentive in the direction
in which its ruling interest lies. Thus every special em-
ployment, as that of engineer, linguist, or musician, tends
to produce a corresponding special retentiveness of mem-
ory.
It is of the greatest importance to understand the pre-
cise effects of exercise on the improvement of memory as
a whole and in special forms. As already pointed out,
there are limits set to the retentive powers of every indi-
vidual. The whole aggregate of acquisitions is determined
by the child's co-efficient of brain plasticity. Conse-
quently, energy used up in strengthening the memory on
one side necessarily hinders an equal development of it on
other sides. Not only so, the exercising of the memory in
TRAINING OF THE MEMORY. 159
any given direction develops certain predominant interests
and modes of association which tells against the conquest
of a new region of acquisition. Thus, a boy who has been
absorbed in linguistic study, in analyzing the forms of
verbal structure, is, pro tanto^ disqualified for a genuine
study of literature, as such. His habit of considering
grammatical forms would impede the free concentration
of the thoughts on the quaUty of the ideas and of the
literary style.*
There is no doubt a set-off against this. All learning
is one and the same process. Consequently, the learning
one thing well will undoubtedly help the pupil to attain
the art of learning things well generally. Thus, the attain-
ment of readiness and skill in mastering materials, in fixing
the thoughts, in arranging, and so on, will very materially
reduce the labor of learning a new subject.
Again, so far as the new subject presents points of
analogy and attachment to the old one, the earlier attain-
ments will of course further the later ones. Thus, a boy
who has mastered one science will be better placed for
attacking another. This helpful effect, however, is most
apparent where the new and the old subjects belong to
the same domain of learning. The mastery of a number
of languages helps the acquisition of a new one to so large
an extent that a man can go on gaining in the power of
learning languages long after the period of greatest plas-
ticity of brain is past. ^^-^X^Ay. ^ 4^-
Training: of the Memory. — To exercise and im-
prove the memory is allowed by all to be one chief part of
the business of the educator, and more especially the
school-teacher. Hence it is a matter of importance to
understand what is involved in the training of the faculty,
and by what methods it may be best effected.
* This is emphasized by Beneke, who observes that " every mental
connection already formed, and formed with a certain degree of
Strength, is prejudicial to the formation of the new connection."
l6o MENTAL REPRODUCTION.— MEMORY.
The training of the memory aims directly at exercising
the child in storing up and reproducing a quantity of val-
uable intellectual material, impressions, facts, and truths.
This material is obtained either directly by the observa-
tion of real things, as in the object-lesson, or indirectly by
way of verbal instruction. The more firmly the knowl-
edge is retained, and the more readily and distinctly it is
reproduced, the better the training.
Along with this result, the accumulation and mastery
of so much knowledge, the educator aims by means of
such acquisition at improving the child's power of acquir-
ing and retaining other knowledge than that learned in the
process. In other words, he seeks to produce a good type
of the acquisitive or learning faculty in general. As
Locke puts it, "the business of education is not, as I
think, to make them (the young) perfect in any one of the
sciences, but so to open and dispose their minds, as may
best make them capable of any, when they shall apply
themselves to it." * And so far as the teacher makes this
wider result his object, he will be guided in his choice of
materials, as well as of method, by their fitness to contribute
most effectually to the improvement of the learning faculty.
The culture of a child's memory claims the educator's
attention from the first. As a precocious faculty it needs
to be exercised by the parent before the period of school
life. The fact that early impressions are the most lasting
makes it specially important that a right direction should
be given to the first development of the faculty.f
This regulation of the acquisitive processes may be said
to begin with the use of language by the nurse and the
mother in naming to the child the various objects of sight.
The systematic training of the memory should be first car-
ried out in close connection with observation. The mean-
♦ " Of the Conduct of the Understanding," ed. by Prof. Fowler, p. 44.
f " Natura tenacissimi sumus eorum, quae rudibus annis percepi-
mus." (Quintilian.)
TRAINING OF THE MEMORY. i6i
ing of words should be taught by connecting them with
the real objects, that is to say, by simultaneously naming
and pointing out an object. The naming of the proper-
ties and effects of things is an important completion of the
object-lesson. As supplementary to this, the child should
be exercised in recalling by means of words the impres-
sions directly received from external objects. The parent
can do much to develop the memory of the child by en-
couraging him to describe what he sees, to narrate the
day's experience, and so forth.
After a sufficient store of first-hand knowledge has
thus been accumulated, the memory should be trained in
the acquisition of knowledge about things at second-hand,
that is to say, through the medium of instruction. The
early period of school life is said to be the most favorable
one for the building up of such verbal acquisitions. It
costs less effort in this early stage of development to learn
the concrete facts of history, geography, or language, than
it would cost at a later date. Hence it has been called
the *' plastic period."*
In training the memory the different characteristics of
a good memory should be kept in view. These, as already
pointed out, are: (i) aptitude in applying the mind to a
subject and acquiring knowledge ; (2) a firm grasp of
what is thus learned, or tenacity of memory ; and (3)
readiness in recalling and making use of what has been
stored up in the mind. To this some would add a fourth
excellence, viz., fidelity or accuracy in reproduction, f A
* Prof. Bain regards the period of maximum plasticity as extending
from about the sixth to the tenth year. (** Science of Education," p.
186.)
f Quintilian says, " Memorise duplex virtus : facile percipere et
fideliter continere." Dugald Stewart distinguishes between quickness,
tenacity and readiness ('* Elements of the Philosophy of the Human
Mind," chap, vi, § 2). J. Huber adds the fourth excellence, fidelity
('* Ueber das Gedachtniss"). Mr. Quick has pointed out that a good
memory brings "into consciousness what is wanted, and nothing else.**
1 62 MENTAL REPRODUCTION.— MEMORY.
glance at these suggests that there are two main divisions
in the art of training the memory : («) the calling forth of
the pupil's power of acquisition, or aptitude in storing up
knowledge ; (^) the practicing him in recalling what he
has learned. In respect of each part, a judicious and
effective training will proceed by recognizing the natural
conditions of retention and the particular stage of devel-
opment reached. Although in practice these run on to-
gether, we may, to a certain extent, treat them as separate
processes.
(a) Exercise in Acquisition. — In this stage the first
rule to be attended to is to take the child at his best.
Committing anything to memory is a severe demand on
the brain energies, and should so far as possible be rele-
gated to the hours of greatest vigor and freshness. The
morning is the right time for learning. Heavy preparation
work in the evening, especially in the case of young chil-
dren, is distinctly injurious. At the same time, the prac-
tice of refreshing the impressions of the day by going over
notes of lessons has undoubted advantages ; and many a
learner has testified to the fact that rehearsing a lesson
before falling asleep is an aid to the lively reproduction of
it on the morrow.
The next rule is that every resource should be used to
make the subjects to be learned as interesting as possible.
The complaints of many distinguished men about the
drudgery of school learning may remind us how easy it
is to overlook this condition. A large number of boys
have, like the old writer Schuppius, taken heart by com-
mitting things to memory "in spem futurae oblivionis." *
It has been observed by an eminent living teacher that
" the memory of the young is very good if they care for
what they are about." In order to secure this condition
♦Quoted by Mr. Quick in a highly interesting lecture, on *'Thc
Teacher's Use of the Memory." See " Journal of Education," July,
1884.
EXERCISE IN ACQUISITION, 163
we must consult the learner's natural tastes to some extent,
and keep in view what Locke calls " the seasons of apti-
tude and inclination." And we must further seek to de-
velop an interest in the subjects studied. The (awaken-
ing of interest consists not only in developing the intrin-
sic attractiveness of subjects, but also in helping the child
to realize the uses of knowledge, and the power it brings
to its possessor. \ Perhaps one of the chief drawbacks of
school as compared with home teaching is that it tends to
put the day's lessons so completely outside the circle of
home-interests that the pupil comes to look on the knowl-
edge gained as something artificial and unreal. Where,
on the other hand, the lessons are given at home and
under the supervision of an intelligent mother or father,
the attractions of learning are vastly increased by the
opportunities opened up for applying it.* The parents
should always co-operate with the teacher in seeking to
work against this tendency to divorce knowledge from the
real interests of life. To a child toiling with the difficul-
ties of French or German, a half-hour's easy chat in that
language with the father or mother will bring a stimulus
the school-master can never provide. The mere talking
over the day's lesson with a sympathetic parent is a pow-
erful encouragement. Dr. Johnson tells us that when a
child he used, after acquiring a new piece of knowledge,
to run and tell it to an old woman of whom he was fond,
and that this practice helped to imprint what he learned on
his memory.
Again, in training the memory a judicious use must be
made of the principle of repetition. This condition should
be observed in giving the instruction. Thus, when the
teacher writes the chief points of an oral lesson on the
*Miss Edgeworth emphasizes the importance of cultivating the
memory and the inventive faculty together. " Children who invent ex-
ercise their memory with pleasure from the immediate sense of utility
and success." " Practical Education," vol. iii, p. loi.
1 64 MENTAL REPRODUCTION.-MEMORY.
blackboard he introduces a new sense-medium, the eye,
and so tends to fix the subject by the force of repetition.
Revision lessons, going over the work of the term, are an-
other illustration of the value of repetition. In addition
to this, the pupils should be encouraged to ruminate on
the subject-matter of the lesson after it is over, to write
out an epitome of it, and to talk it over. And here again
the parent may supplement the work of the teacher. The
advantage of writing out and giving an oral account of
what has been learned, soon afterward, is that it requires a
steady concentration of the thoughts on the subject. Any
system of instruction that does not allow adequate time
for this mental brooding over new acquisitions is con-
demned on that account. All hurry in getting over the
ground is fatal to permanent recollections. Seneca ob-
serves : " Dediscit animus sero quod didicit diu."
Lastly, the educator should make ample use of the
laws of association. This includes two things : (i) the
connecting of the several parts of the new matter in the
best possible way one with another; and (2) the connect-
ing of the new acquisition with the old. Thus, in teach-
ing a geographical fact, say the position of Liverpool, its
relations to other places, as America, Manchester, etc.,
should be made clear. Similarly, in narrating an historical
event its several actions and incidents should be clearly
set forth in their order of time, also the antecedent and
attendant circumstances fitted to throw light on the causes
of the event be added. There should, moreover, be a
certain order of procedure, the more important events
being used as a central thread about which the subordi-
nate events are entwined. In this way the materials are
arranged, and the retention greatly promoted.
Again, in connecting the new with the old, all available
aid should be derived from tracing similarities under the
form of analogies, e. g., between the Norman invasion of
England and the earlier invasions. As supplementary to
LEARNING BY HEART, 165
this, the teacher should bring out the points of difference
and contrast between the events, e. g., between the effects
of the Saxon and Norman invasions on the population of
the island. We thus see that the most effectual way of
arranging the materials for purposes of retention is pre-
cisely that which best subserves the understanding of the
whole,*
Learning by Heart. — Among tfie most constant of
the associations resorted to by the teacher are the verbal
ones. Teaching necessarily proceeds by the medium of
language. And the pupil helps to remember what he
learns by the aid of words. The full use oi these verbal
associations is seen in what is known as learning by heart.
This implies that the learner firmly retains a piece of
knowledge in a definite verbal form, which form serves as
a support of the ideas acquired as well as a medium for
reproducing these. The learning of the multiplication-
table, grammatical rules, and poetry illustrates the pro-
cess.
There is an obvious danger in this mode of learning ;
it tends to a mechanical habit of committing words and
not ideas to memory. That is to say, the mind of the
learner uses the verbal series not simply as a support of,
but as a substitute for, the sequence of ideas. This par-
rot-like mode of learning is particularly insidious, because
it appears to save the learner, and certainly saves the
teacher, a good deal of trouble. The verbal memory is
strong in children, and they are prone to lean on it to ex-
cess ; and it is plainly a much simpler problem for the
teacher to test whether a child has retained the verbal
form than whether he has grasped the ideal substance.
Owing to these and other reasons, such as the greater
value attached to the verbal memory when books were
* Miss Edgeworth remarks that the order of time is the first and
easiest principle of association. Arrangement according to logical
connection will follow later. *' Practical Education," vol. iii, p. 92.
1 66 MENTAL REPRODUCTION.— MEMORY.
scarce, the older method of teaching was characterized by
the predominance of merely verbal acquisition. And the
chief direction of modem educational reform has been the
substitution of a real knowledge of things for a mere
knowledge of words. Hence the practice of learning by
heart has fallen into disfavor. "Learning by heart," says
Locke, "... I know not what it serves for but to mis-
spend their time ai!d pains, and give them a disgust and
aversion to their books." Pope satirizes the practice in
the " Dunciad " :
" Since man from beast by words is known,
Words are man's province, words we teach alone."
It is probable that this revolt from the tyranny of
words has led educationists to undervalue the real service
of language in learning. In many cases the embodiment
of knowledge in a precise verbal form is necessary, e. g.,
in arithmetical and other formulae, the rules of grammar,
the laws of science.* And in every case the verbal mem-
ory should be allowed a certain play. As was pointed
out above, the men who have been most remarkable for
learning have been greatly helped by their verbal memory.
And in early life, when the aptitude of committing words
to memory is so strong, it would be folly to make no use
of it in education. What the teacher has to take care of
is, that he does not use the child's verbal memory to urge
him on to learn what he can not yet understand ; that the
ideas are firmly retained along with the words, and that
the pupil is not slavishly dependent on them, and can put
his knowledge into other forms when required.
It might be well to distinguish between learning by
heart and learning by rote^ confining the former to the
legitimate practice of learning by help of a definite verbal
form, and reserving the latter for the pernicious practice
* This has been well illustrated by Mr. Fitch. ** Lectures on Teach-
ing," p. 131, and following.
ART OF MNEMONICS. 167
of learning words instead of the facts and truths they
represent. Thus, in committing a poem to memory, it is
important to distinguish an accurate reproduction of the
whole poem, words and ideas, from the parrot-like repro-
duction of the mere sounds. It is evident that the former
is by far the more interesting exercise. And it may be
added that in reality it is the easier too. Where the child
has only the verbal associations to help him, he is much
more likely to forget than when he grasps the meaning
too, and so has as an additional aid to recollection in the
links of connection that join together the successive ideas
— a fact that might easily be tested by giving a child first
a poem dealing with a very abstruse subject and quite
above his comprehension, and afterward a simple and
attractive ballad.*
Art of Mnemonics. — In ancient times great impor-
tance was attached to certain devices for aiding memory
and shortening its work, which devices have been known
as artificial memory, memoria technica, and the art of
mnemonics. Thus, among the Greek and Roman teachers
of oratory, much emphasis was laid on a topical memory,
i. e., the connecting of the several heads of a discourse
with different divisions of a house or other building, so as
to recover them by the aid of visual pictures of these
places. And in modern times attempts have been made
to shorten the process of learning, dates, etc., by mne-
monic word-forms, and lines. This idea of relieving
memory owed much of its apparent importance to the
theory that the main business of learning is to commit
words to memory. When this theory obtained, learning
was necessarily a dry occupation, and the pupil's mind
was wearied by excessive tasks in verbal acquisition.
* Strictly speaking, what is called learning by rote derives some as-
sistance from the associations of the ideas. As Jean Paul Richter
dryly observes, word-memory, as distinct from thing-memory, would be
best tested by committing to memory a sheet of Hottentot names.
l68 MENTAL REPRODUCTION.^MEMORY,
Hence the eagerness to find devices for shortening the
toil. Now, that this theory is abandoned, less importance
is attached to a mnemonic art. When things are taught
only in so far as they can be understood, it is held that
the relations of place, time, cause and effect, etc., between
the facts should form the main basis of acquisition. In
other words, the more things are connected in their
natural relations, the less will be the task imposed on the
verbal memory.*
Although there are no definite rules for aiding the
memory which are valid in all cases, there is such a thing
as a skillful management of the memory. This will in-
clude the formation of habits, not only of concentration
and repetition, but of selecting and grouping or arranging.
Memory-labor is greatly economized by detecting what is
important and overlooking what is unimportant. When
Simondes offered to teach Themistocles the art of mem-
ory, the latter answered, "Rather teach me the art of
forgetting." Children are apt to overload their minds
with useless matter, and they should be exercised in selec-
tion. The labor of memory is lightened, too, by finding
appropriate " pegs " on which to hang new acquisitions.
Among these pegs must be reckoned the places in which
information can be found. To associate book-knowledge
with particular books, and places in these, other kinds of
knowledge, with particular persons (experts), is a great
saving of memory-labor. This has been called the index-
memory.
Learners will unconsciously further the work of learn-
ing by all manner of devices that can not readily be re-
duced to a definite formula. Thus, one child in learning
* For an account of the different systems of mnemonics, see article
*• Mnemonics," " Encyclopaedia Britannica," and article " Memory," in
"Chambers's Encyclopaedia" ; and for a critical inquiry into the value
of artificial aids to memory, see Dugald Stewart's " Elements of the
Philosophy of the Human Mind," chap, vi, § 7.
EXERCISE IN RECALLING. 169
that the Tudors are followed by the Stuarts will notice
the odd sequence, T. S. ; and by so doing will retain the
succession more easily. In learning a foreign language,
the pupil will often shorten the labor by discovering slight
and fanciful resemblances between the new vocables and
familiar words in his mother-tongue. Such devices are
perfectly allowable so long as the subject-matter is con-
nected in an arbitrary way only, as in the case of names
of sovereigns, chief towns, etc., lists of irregular verbs,
and so forth. They only become mischievous when they
draw off the attention from natural and logical relations.
Where the matter committed to memory is such as re-
quires to be learned in a definite verbal form, the use of
alliteration and verse-form, as in the well-known mne-
monic lines in grammar, logic, etc., is a valuable aid to
the memory.
The aids thus resorted to will differ in the case of dif-
ferent children. Some children will remember ideas
better by the aid of visual pictures, others better by
series of sound-representations. The young are wont to
help themselves out of the difficulty of retaining what is
difficult, e. g., letters, numbers, dates, by the aid of visual
forms (geometrical schemes, and so on). And teachers
would do well to find out these spontaneous tendencies
of children's minds, and to aid them in the process of
economizing intellectual labor.
(b) Exercise in Recalling. — In addition to exercis-
ing the child in committing to memory, the teacher has
to exercise him in reproducing what has been learned. He
does this for a variety of reasons. First of all, he requires
to test the child's power of retention and the tenacity of
his memory. Again, he continually needs to recall past
acquisitions in order to make sure of taking the pupil on
to an intelligent grasp of new ones. In expounding any
subject, the elements learned at the outset are required
from time to time as the pupil advances to the higher
I/O MENTAL REPRODUCTION.--MEMORY.
stages. And here the child should be required to repro-
duce for himself. Lastly, it is desirable to examine chil-
dren in a wider and more searching way as to what they
have learned, with a view to make them ready in looking
up facts when they are wanted, finding illustrations of
principles, and so forth. Such exercises tend to develop
readiness in reproduction, a quality hardly less valuable
than retention ; for, as Locke observes, " the dull man who
loses the opportunity while he is seeking in his mind for
those ideas that should serve his turn, is not much more
happy in his knowledge than one that is perfectly ignorant."
This part of the training of the memory should be car-
ried out partly by the parents and partly by the school-
teacher. The home can be made the field of such exer-
cise by encouraging the child in recalling what he has
momentarily forgotten, in recounting his experiences, in
giving a sketch of his day's lessons, and so forth, and
thus practicing him in the voluntary command of his ac-
quisitions, in clearness and accuracy of description, and
in an orderly method of arranging his materials. But it
is to the teacher that we must look for the systematic ex-
ercise of the memory in this respect. Skill in putting
questions and in examining is one chief qualification of a
good educator. How to separate real from merely verbal
knowledge, and thorough knowledge from a superficial
smattering ; how to eliminate the effects of hasty " cram "
and to make sure of a firm, tenacious grasp of knowledge ;
how to test the valuable quality of promptness in repro-
duction, without discouraging those who are tenacious
though slow — these are among the difficult problems of the
modern teacher and examiner. / > / - ,/in^'^ 3 ' -
Subjects which exercise the Memory.— -All
branches of study exercise the memory in some measure.
The student of the higher mathematics remembers the
principles and the demonstrations of his science, and this
largely by the aid of language or other visual symbols.
EDUCATIONAL VALUE OF MEMORY, i;i
But when we talk of a subject exercising the memory we
mean more (or less) than this. We refer to those subjects
which have to do mainly with the particular, and the con-
crete, and which appeal but little to the understanding.
Such subjects are natural science, in its simpler or de-
scriptive phase, geography, history, language, and the
lighter departments of literature. Arithmetic, though now
recognized as a subject which necessarily calls forth the
child's powers of generalizing and reasoning, also makes
heavy demands on the verbal memory.
As was pointed out above, exercise tends to improve
the capacity of learning in particular directions rather
than as a whole. A pupil who has exercised his memory
mainly in the study of literature, though he will have
greatly strengthened it in the further acquisition of this
kind of knowledge, will not have materially added to his
capacity of learning other subjects, as natural science.
It would seem to follow from this that a full and com-
plete exercise of memory involves the taking up of a
number of subjects, as literature, science, and so on. A
certain range and variety of subjects is thus good for
the learner. At the same time, a considerable number
of disconnected subjects carried on together is preju-
dicial to the memory, by preventing that firm joining to-
gether of elements into a compact whole which is the
condition of the best kind of memory. " Aiunt," writes
Pliny, "multum legendum esse, non multa." Locke held
that the true secret of learning is to learn one thing at a
time ; and so admirable a scholar as Lessing tells us he
followed this rule in his self-education. And it is very
doubtful whether our modern fashion of introducing so
many new subjects at the same time is the most efficient
method of training the memory.
Educational Value of Memory. — The value set
on the training of the memory at different times and by
different writers has been a very different one. The old
172 MENTAL REPRODUCTION.— MEMORY.
idea was to identify memory and knowledge. " Tantum
scimus quantum memoria tenemus." As already ob-
served, to know a thing implies that an impression is re-
tained. Knowledge is the more or less permanent after-
result of a past process of learning or coming to know.
This is apparent to all. The difficulty begins when we
ask what is the relation of memory to the higher faculties
of judgment, imagination, etc., and to that fuller knowl-
edge which we call understanding. That a certain devel-
opment of the memory is necessary to the due discharge
of the higher intellectual functions follows from the laws
of mental development, and will be fully illustrated by-
and-by. Unless the mind is stored with a good stock of
concrete impressions there will be no materials for the
imaginative or inventive faculty to combine, or for the un-
derstanding to reduce to general concepts. As Kant
observes, **The understanding has as its chief auxiliary
the faculty of reproduction." Every great writer and dis-
coverer has taken pains to cultivate his memory.*
On the other hand, it is a matter of common testimony
that the cultivation of memory to a high point may be
hurtful to these higher faculties ; " beaucoup de memoire,
peu de jugement," says the French proverb. Similarly,
Pope observes :
** Thus in the soul while memory prevails,
The solid power of understanding fails."
This points to a real danger in exercising the memory.
Its importance has been, and still is perhaps, greatly over-
rated. This was the characteristic fault of the old method
of loading children's minds with a mass of ill-digested
learning.! The precise value of the memory in relation
* Dugald Stewart says he can scarcely recollect one man of genius
who had not " more than an ordinary share " of retentive power.
f Miss Edgeworth gives an interesting explanation of the reasons
why so much importance was attached to memory up to recent times.
" Practical Education," vol. iii, p. 57, etc
EDUCATIONAL VALUE OF MEMORY. 173
to the understanding of facts and the practical applica-
tions of knowledge should never be lost sight of. In
training the memory, the teacher should exercise the judg-
ment at the same time in the selection of what is really
important. In this way overloading the mind will be
avoided, and the higher faculty will be improved. Further,
as Dugald Stewart observes in his remarks on what he
calls a " philosophical memory," the learner, in commit-
ting new materials to memory, should be exercised in that
orderly arrangement of acquisitions, and that classification
of facts under their proper heads, which is not only a great
saving to the memory, but secures in the very process of
storing up materials of knowledge a certain amount of
exercise of the understanding itself.
APPENDIX.
On the development and cultivation of the memory the reader will
do well to consult Dugald Stewart, " Philosophy of the Human Mind,"
part i, chap, vi ; Locke, " Some Thoughts on Education," especially
sec. 176 ; Miss Edgeworth, " Essays on Practical Education," vol. ii,
chap, xxi ; Mdme. Necker, " L'Education," livre vi, chap, vii ; J. G.
Fitch, " Lectures on Teaching," chap, v ; Beneke, " Erzieh.- und Unter-
richtslehre," vol. i, sects. 20-22 ; Waitz and " AUgem. Paedagogik,"
2d part, 3d sec. There are some good remarks on the cultivation of
memory in Kant's essay, " Ueber Paedagogik."
CHAPTER XI.
CONSTRUCTIVE IMAGINATION.
Reproductive and Constructive Imag^ination. —
In the act of reproduction the mind pictures objects and
events by means of what are called images ; and thus re-
production is a form of imagination. But what is popu-
larly known as imagination implies more than this. When
we imagine an unfamiliar coming event, or a place which
is described to us, the images in our minds are not exact
copies of past impressions. The results of our past expe-
rience, or the contents of memory, are being in some way
modified, transformed, and recombined. Hence this form
of imagination has been marked off as productive imagi-
nation.
This process of producing new images and groups of
images out of old materials appears in a number of differ-
ent forms. In its lower developments it is a comparatively
passive process, in which the will takes no part, and the
movements of which are capricious and swayed by feeling.
The childish fancy illustrates this lower variety. The
higher form is an active process, in which the will directs
the several steps to a definite result. This more perfect
form of imaginative activity is known as constructive im-
agination.
The Constructive Process. — This process of con-
struction may be said roughly to fall into two stages, (a)
Of these the first is the revival of images of past objects.
THE CONSTRUCTIVE PROCESS. 175
scenes, etc., according to the laws of association. Thus, a
child, in building up an idea of Africa, of the Spanish
Armada, and so on, necessarily sets out with facts of his
own experience recalled by memory. It is the same with
his more fanciful creations of fairy-land and its inhabit-
ants.
It follows that the excellence of the constructive pro-
cess is, in every case, limited by the strength and clearness
of the reproductive faculty. Unless memory restore the
impressions of past experience we can not picture a new
scene or a new event. Thus, unless a child recalls, with
some measure of distinctness, one or more of the blocks
of ice which he has actually seen, he can not imagine an
iceberg or a glacier. The more readily the reproductive
faculty supplies the mind with elements, the better the
result is likely to be.
{b) The images of memory being thus recalled by the
forces of suggestion, they are worked up as materials into
a new imaginative product. This is the formative or con-
structive act proper. The process resembles that of build-
ing a new physical structure out of old materials. These
have to be broken up, what is useless rejected, what is
useful and congruous with the rest selected, and the whole
put together in an orderly way so as to build up a new
structure.
This part of the process is the work of the will, guided
by a clear representation of the result aimed at, and by a
steady judgment as to what is fitting for the purpose in
hand. And it is on the quality of this guiding sense of
fitness that the excellence of the result mainly depends.
When this is wanting, the materials supplied by reproduc-
tion remain in a disorderly mass, and confuse the mind.
And the more completely the will, directed by the sense
of what is fitting, masters the chaos, the more perfect the
final formation. According as a poet, for example, has a
clear and discriminating, or a dull and obtuse, sense of
176 CONSTRUCTIVE IMAGINATION,
what is beautiful, harmonious, etc., his constructive work
will be well or ill performed.
This constructive activity assumes a lower and a
higher phase. In the case of a child listening to a story
it is directed from without, and subserves the reception
of knowledge. In the case of a poet creating a new
scene or action it is directed from within, and subserves
origination.
Various Forms of Construction. — The essential
process in imagination, viz., construction, enters into a
variety of mental operations. These may be grouped
under three main heads: (i) construction as subserving
knowledge about things; {2) practical construction as
aiding in the acquisition of knowledge how to do things,
or to adapt means to ends ; and (3) construction as satis-
fying the emotions. The first may be called the intellect-
ual imagination ; the second, the practical imagination
or invention ; and the third, the aesthetic or poetic imagi-
nation. . * r.
(A) Intellectual Imagination. — Every extension of
knowledge beyond the bounds of personal experience
involves some degree of imaginative activity. This is seen
alike in the acquisition of new knowledge from others re-
specting things, places, and events, and also in the inde-
pendent discovery of new facts by anticipation. The first
is the lower or receptive form of imagination, the second
the higher and more originative.
(i) Imagination and Acquisition.— The process of
recalling, selecting, and regrouping the traces of personal
experience is illustrated in every case of acquisition.
What is ordinarily called "learning," whether by oral
communication or by books, is not simply an exercise of
memory ; it involves an exercise of the imagination as
well. In order that the meaning of the words heard or
read may be realized^ it is necessary to form distinct men-
tal images of the objects described or the events narrated.
REDUCING THE ABSTRACT. ly'j
Thus, in following a description of a desert, the child be-
gins with famihar experiences called up by the words
"plain," *'sand," and so on. By modifying the images
thus reproduced by memory he gradually builds up the
required new image.
It may be noted that here as elsewhere knowledge
consists in discriminating and assimilating. The child
has to assimilate what is told him in so far as it is like his
past observations, and at the same time to note how the
new scene diifers from the old ones. The formation of a
distinct and accurate image will greatly depend on the
degree of perfection attained in this part of the process.
In following a description children are apt to import too
much into their mental picture, taking up the accidental
associations with which their individual experience has in-
vested the words used. And by so doing they do not
sufficiently distinguish between the new and the old.
That is to say, the process of selection is incomplete.
On the success of this imaginative effort depends to
an important extent what is known as the understanding of
the description. If, for example, the mind of a child, in
following a description of an iceberg, does not distinctly
realize its magnitude, he will not be prepared to under-
stand the dangers arising to ships from such a floating
mass. Here we see the close relation between clear imagi-
nation and clear thinking — a relation to be spoken of again
by-and-by.
Reducing the Abstract to the Concrete.— This
imaginative realization of an object or process by the aid
of descriptive terms is exceedingly difficult. Language
is in its nature general and abstract. Hence all verbal
description involves a gradual process of reducing lifeless
generalities to a living concrete form. This is effected
by adding to the general name a number of qualifying
terms, each of which helps to mark off the individual
thing better from other things. Thus the teacher, in de-
178 CONSTRUCTIVE IMAGINATION.
scribing a desert, probably begins by some general term,
as a big place, and gradually makes this definite and con-
crete by adding limiting or qualifying epithets, such as
flat, bare, and so forth. In like manner, in describing a
king or a statesman, he progressively individualizes the
person by enumerating his several physical and mental
qualities, such as tall, handsome, wise, and so forth. The
process of realizing the description turns on the combina-
tion of those several qualities into a concrete object.
The scientific description of a new animal or plant by
means of a highly technical terminology illustrates the
difficulties of this process of ''concreting the abstract" in
a yet more marked manner.
(2) Imagination and Discovery.— The discovery
of new facts is largely a matter of careful observation and
patient reasoning from ascertained facts and truths. Yet
imagination materially assists in the process. The inquir-
ing, searching mind is always passing beyond the known
to the unknown in the form of conjecturings. To guess a
fact, whether it be a fact of the world around us or some-
thing known to another, involves the bringing together of
elements of previous knowledge, combining these in cer-
tain ways, and so feeling our way by a series of tentatives
to the particular combination required. The power of
thus divining what is hidden by the activity of imagina-
tion is variously known as insight into things and invent-
iveness. The child shows the germ of this capability
when picturing to himself the make of his toys, the mech-
anism of the clock or the piano, the way in which plants
nourish themselves and grow, and so on. The scientific
discoverer shows it in a higher form in inventing hypoth-
eses for the explanation of facts, and in imagining the as
yet unobserved results of his reasoning processes.
(B) Practical Contrivance.— A process of construc-
tion enters into the several departments of practical ac-
quisition, such as learning to use the voice in speaking
."ESTHETIC IMAGINATION.
179
and singing, manual contrivances and inventions, both
useful and mechanical on the one hand, and artistic on
the other hand. In these various exercises of practical skill
and contrivance the child is called on to recall what has
been already learned, and to separate and recombine this
in conformity with new circumstances and new needs, A
good deal of the child's mental energy finds its natural
vent in the direction of practical contrivance or inven-
tion.
Much of this new motor acquisition is guided by
others' actions. The impulse of imitation leads a child to
attempt the actions which he sees others perform. This
is seen plainly enough in his play, which is largely a
mimicry of the serious actions of adults. This is the re-
ceptive side of practical construction. The exercises of
the school, such as singing, writing, the movements of
drilling, and so forth, illustrate the same process. The
simpler actions of the voice, fingers or limbs, which are al-
ready mastered, are combined in more complex operations
under the guidance of an external model or copy.
From this lower and receptive form of practical con-
trivance we must mark off that higher and more original
form which we know as free invention. Children find
out many new combinations of movement for themselves.
The mere pleasure of doing a thing, and of overcoming a
difficulty, is an ample reward for many an effort in practi-
cal construction. Such activity is, moreover, closely con-
nected with the impulse of curiosity, the desire to find
out about things, their structure and less obvious qualities.
In this way practical invention assists in the discovery of
facts and truths. A considerable part of a boy's knowl-
edge of things is thus gained experimentally^ that is to say,
by means of actively dividing, joining together, and other-
wise manipulating objects.
(C) Esthetic Imagination. — Esthetic or poetic
imagination is distinguished from the other forms in being
9
l8o CONSTRUCTIVE IMAGINATION.
subservient, not to the pursuit of knowledge, whether
knowledge about things or knowledge how to attain re-
sults, but to emotional gratification of some kind. It in-
volves the presence of some feeling, such as love or admira-
tion for the beautiful, and it is this feeling which consti-
tutes its stimulus and controlling force. This is illustrated
in the wild dreams of the romantic boy or girL The pro-
ductive work of imagination, by bringing enjoyment to
the mind that indulges in it, strengthens the force of the
stimulating emotion, and so tends to sustain and intensify
itself.
We have seen that imagination is able (within certain
limits) to vary or transform the actual events of pur ex-
perience. Under the stimulus of an emotion, such as the
love of the marvelous or the beautiful, imagination is wont
to rise above the ordinary level of experience, and to pict-
ure objects, circumstances, and events surpassing those
of every-day life. The ideal creations of the imagination
are thus apt to transcend the region of sober fact. The
child's fairy-land and the world of romance, which the poet
and the novelist create for us, are fairer, more wonderful
and exciting than the domain of real experience.
Risks of Uncontrolled Imagination. — The indul-
gence in these pleasures of imagination is legitimate within
certain bounds. But it is attended with dangers, moral
and intellectual. A youth whose mind dwells long on the
wonders of romance may grow discontented with his actual
surroundings, and so morally unfit for the work and duties
of life. Or, what comes to much the same, he learns to
satisfy himself with these imaginative indulgences ; and
so, by the habitual severance of feeling from will, grad-
ually becomes incapable of deciding and acting, a result
illustrated by the history of Coleridge and other *' dream-
ers." This constitutes a serious moral danger.
Again, an unlimited indulgence in the pleasures of
imagination is attended with grave intellectual dangers
INTELLECTUAL VALUE OF IMAGINATION, i8i
So far as imaginative activity is liberated from the control
of will and judgment, and given over to the sway of emo-
tion, it hinders the attainment of truth. In extreme cases
it leads to such an exaggerated realization of the objects
imagined as to give rise to delusion, as in the case of the
dreamy child and the novel-reader. And, when it falls
short of this, the sway of feeling gives such a violence and
a capriciousness to the movements of imagination as to
unfit it for the calm and steady pursuit of truth. Strong
feeling prevents a clear discriminating vision of facts, and
leads to vagueness and exaggeration. Thus, if a child is
powerfully affected by the pathetic aspect of an historical
incident, as the execution of Mary of Scotland, his mind,
fascinated by this aspect of the event, will be unfitted to
imagine fully and impartially all the essential circumstances
of the case, so as to arrive ^t a complete grasp and under-
standing of the whole. '
Intellectual Value of Imagination. — It has been
customary to oppose the imagination to the understanding.
To the ordinary practical intelligence the imagination
seems a useless ornamental appendage to the mind, serv-
ing, like the peacock's tail, only to retard its progress.
And writers on the human mind have followed the popu-
lar judgment in taking a low view of the intellectual serv-
ices of this faculty. That there is a certain measure of
truth is now apparent. Imagination, when given over to
the caprices of feeling, is antagonistic to the pursuit of
knowledge. At the same time, the view that imagination
is uniformly opposed to intellect is erroneous, and has its
roots in the more abstract psychology of an earlier age,
according to which the mind is a bundle of disconnected
faculties. A deeper insight into the organic unity of mind,
and into the way in which different forms of mental activ-
ity combine in what looks like a simple operation, shows us
that imagination, instead of lying wholly outside of intel-
lect, constitutes an integral factor in intellectual processes.
I82 CONSTRUCTIVE IMAGINATION.
Development of Imagination. — Just as memory
only begins to develop when the faculty of perception has
been exercised up to a certain point, so imagination only
distinctly appears when memory has attained a certain
stage of perfection. This applies alike to construction as
concerned with objects and with actions. The child must
be able to recall distinctly a number of previous sense-
experiences before he can build up new pictures of what
is going to happen, or strike out new combinations of
movement.
Germ of Imagination. — In a sense the infant may
be said to show the germ of imagination when letting his
mind dwell on an absent object, as the mother who has
just left the room, or when he anticipates some new ex-
perience, as the taste of an untried fruit ; but it is not till
language is mastered that the activity of the faculty be-
comes well marked. It is in listening to the simple narra-
tions and descriptions of the mother or nurse that the
child's power of fashioning new images is first exercised.
It is noteworthy that children only manifest interest in
such narrations after they have been accustomed to a ver-
bal recital of their own personal experiences.* The capa-
bility of representing a new series of events depends on
the exercise of the reproductive imagination in recalling
old successions. But when this power of ready reproduc-
tion has attained a certain strength, children display a
keen interest in listening to new recitals. They show great
liveliness and rapidity of fancy in following and realizing
these narrations. As Madame Necker observes, **the
pleasure which the narration of the most simple stories
affords children is connected with the vivacity of the im-
ages in their minds. The pictures which we call up within
them are perhaps more brilliant and of richer coloring
♦ M. Perez observes that a child of twenty months delights in re-
counting his own little experiences, though he is not yet keen to hear
stories. (" First Three Years of Childhood," p. 96.)
THE FANCY OF CHILDREN. 183
than the real objects would be." And this vividness of
the mental imagery, and intensity of realization of what is
narrated to them, is further shown in the jealous concern
they display for fidelity to the original version when a
story is repeated.
Children's Fancy. — After a certain amount of ex-
ercise of constructive power in this simple receptive form,
the child shows a spontaneous disposition to build up
fancies on his own account. The marvels which his new
world presents to his mind, together with the delightful
consciousness of possessing a new power, seem to be the
chief forces at work here. At first this activity of fancy
manifests itself in close connection with the perception of
actual objects. This is illustrated in children's play.
Play offers ample scope for practical ingenuity : it is the
natural outcome of the active impulses of childhood, its
love of doing things and of finding out new ways of doing
them. - But it owes its interest to another circumstance,
namely, that it is a mimicry and kind of make-believe of
the actions of adults. When at play the child realizes by
an exercise of fancy the objects and actions which he is
mimicking. The actual objects supply a basis of reality
on which the imagination more easily constructs its fabric.
By the "alchemy of imagination," as it has been called,
the doll becomes in a manner transformed into a living
child, the rude stick into a horse, and so on. A very
rough basis of analogy will suffice for these creations of
fancy : hence a boy will derive as much pleasure from a
broken and shapeless hobby-horse as from the most life-
like toy. Play thus illustrates in a striking manner the
liveliness of children's fancy. In their spontaneous games
they betray the germs of artistic imagination : they are in
a sense at once poets and actors.
This exuberance of imaginative activity shows itself
commonly too in another form. A child of three or four
years who has heard a number of stories will display great
1 84 CONSTRUCTIVE IMAGINATION.
activity in modeling new ones.* These fabrications show
the influence of the child's own experience and observa-
tion as well as of the narratives of others. At this period
free spontaneous fancy is apt to assume extravagant
shapes. A strong susceptibility to the excitement of the
marvelous, and a childish love of what is odd and grotesque,
often supply the impelling force in these constructions.
Young children are wont to project themselves in fancy
to distant regions of space, and to transform themselves
into other objects. Thus, a child barely three years was
accustomed to wish she might live in the water with the
fishes, or be a beautiful star in the sky. The daring of
these combinations is to a considerable extent accounted
for by the child's ignorance of what is impossible and im-
probable in reality. To the young mind to fly up into the
sky is an idea which has nothing absurd about it. The
riotous activity of children's fancy is thus due in part to
the want of those checks which a fuller experience and a
riper judgment necessarily impose.
Imagination brought under Control.— The prog-
ress of experience and the growth of knowledge lead to a
moderation of childish fancy. From the first spontaneous
form, in which it is free to follow every capricious impulse,
it passes into the more regulated form, in which it is con-
trolled by an enlightened will. That is to say, its activity
becomes directed by the sense of what is true, life-like,
and probable. This shows itself even in the matter of
fiction. The old nursery tales cease to please. Stories
bearing more resemblance to real life, histories of children,
their doings and experiences, take their place. In this way
the earlier impulses, the love of the marvelous, the liking
* These fanciful creations are often built up on a slender basis of
observation. Thus a little girl (sf years) once found a stone with a
hole in it, and set to work to weave a pretty fairy-tale respecting it.
To her fancy it became the wonderful stone, having inside it beautiful
rooms, and lovely fairies who dance, sing, and live happily.
LATER GROWTH OF IMAGINATION, 185
for the grotesque and ridiculous, are replaced by higher
ftiotives, a desire to learn about things, and a regard for
what is true to nature and life ; and this result is seen
still more clearly in the gradual subjection of the imagina-
tion to the ends of knowledge and truth. As youth pro-
gresses, more and more of imaginative activity is absorbed
in reading and learning about the facts of the real world-
Later Growth of Imagination. — Although through
the development of the powers of judgment and reasoning
the child's wild fancy becomes curbed, it is a mistake to
suppose that the imaginative powers cease to grow. We
are apt to attribute to children a high degree of imagina-
tiveness just because we are struck by the boldness of
their conceits. But the same child that performs one of
these *' feats of imagination" would find it -difficult to
form a clear mental picture of an animal or a city that
was described to bim. The power of imaginative con-
struction goes on developing, with the gradual enrichment
of the memory, by the fruits of experience, as well as with
the repeated exercise of the faculty.
This higher development of the imaginative faculty
means, first of all, increased facility in grouping elements
of experience. A piece of imaginative work of the same
degree of complexity comes to be executed in less time
and with less effort. Thus the child of twelve follows a
book of travel or an historical narrative with greater facility
than one of six. Similarly, the advanced student of botany
or zoology finds it easier to realize a description of a plant
or animal than a tyro in the science. In the second place,
this progress implies an increase in the difficulty of the
operations which become possible. By more difficult
operations must be understood either more complex com-
binations, such as the visualizing of a large and intricate
scene, say a battle ; or combinations more remote from
our every-day experience, as the scenery and events of
* Paradise Lost/' or the life of primitive races.
I86 CONSTRUCTIVE IMAGINATION.
Varieties of Imaginative Power.— Different per-
sons differ in power of imagination no less markedly j>er-
haps than in that of memory. These differences may be
either general or special. One boy will display superior
constructive ability generally. More commonly, excel-
lence in imaginative capability shows itself in some special
direction. Thus, we have a good imagination for visible
objects, for musical combinations, for practical expedients,
and so forth. And as a more circumscribed development
we find a specially good power of imagining natural
scenery, faces, or historical incidents.
These differences plainly depend partly on native in-
equalities and partly on differences in surroundings, the
influence of companionship, and special exercise and train-
ing. Children differ from the first in their formative
power as a whole. Some minds are able to readily recast
the various results of their experience, while others find it
hard to break up the mental connections forged by ex-
perience. Again, we commonly observe a special bent to
one kind of imaginative activity, which is the outcome of
a specially good sense, with its accompanying superior
degree of retentiveness. In this way the born painter,
with his fine eye and his good memory for color, would
naturally find it easy to exercise his imagination on this
material. Not only so, the emotional susceptibilities and
the special interests of the individual have much to do
with fixing the special line of development of the imagina-
tion. A naturally strong liking for scientific observation
and discovery leads a boy to exercise his imagination in
relation to natural phenomena and their laws, whereas a
deep feeling for the beautiful aspect of things would impel
the imagination to follow the line of artistic or poetic com-
bination.
While in this way much of the difference, with respect
both to the general and to the special development of
imaginative power, is predetermined by natural aptitude
IMAGINATIVE TRAINING. 187
and inclination, the influence of surroundings and of edu-
cation is a considerable one. Systematic training will
never make a naturally unimaginative child quick to im-
agine, but it may materially improve the power, and
even raise it to a respectable height in some special direc-
tion.
Training of the Imagination. — The notion that
the educator has a special work to do in exercising and
guiding the imagination of the young is a comparatively
new one. The common supposition of the inutility, not
to say the mischievous nature, of the faculty touched on
above naturally led to the idea that if the educator had
anything to do with the imagination of his pupils, it was
solely by way of repressing its activity. It is to be hoped,
however, that a clearer apprehension of the scope of imag-
inative activity, and the important part it plays in the
operations of intellect, will turn teachers' attention more
and more to the problem of helping to develop the faculty
in a healthy and worthy form.
As has been pointed out above, the imagination, in the
unregulated form of fancy, is a precocious faculty. Chil-
dren often show a liveliness, a rapidity, and a daring in
their fancies which astonish their elders. This precocity
of the imaginative faculty points to the need of an edu-
cational discipline of it at an early stage of mental devel-
opment. In truth, the work of training the imagination
should begin and be carried to a certain stage in the
child's home.
Twofold Direction of Imaginative Training.—
The peculiar position of imagination, in relation to the
intellect on one side and to the feelings and character on
the other, gives rise to educational problems of peculiar
complexity. The teacher must keep in mind the several
aspects and functions of this mental power, if he would
assign it its proper place in a scheme of mental training.
Speaking broadly, we may say that the discipline of the
1 88 CONSTRUCTIVE IMAGINATION.
imagination has a negative or prohibitory, and a positive
or regulative side.
(a) Restraining Fancy.— It follows, from what was
said above respecting the intellectual and moral dangers
of an excessive indulgence of the imagination, that the
faculty may need to be curbed and restrained. The edu-
cator must remember that, as Miss Edgeworth observes,
imagination, like fire, *'is a good servant, but a bad mas-
ter." In the case of children the liveliness of their fancies,
their ignorance and timidity, expose them to special risks
from this source. The fact that children are apt to take
all stories of fairy, giant, and so on as gospel imposes
special obHgations on the parent and teacher. Their
minds may easily be overexcited by stories. Not only so,
children are wont to believe in the reality of their dreams,
and many a child has suffered much from haunting recol-
lections of its nightmare fancies.* Every care must be
taken to ward off and dispel dismal fancies. And, further,
a too decided bent to imaginative indulgence, to building
castles in the air, and to reverie, should be corrected by
calling forth the faculties of the child's mind in grappling
with real facts, and in attractive and useful kinds of ac-
tivity.
In thus repressing childish fancy, however, much dis-
crimination and judgment is needed. Educators have
been wont, perhaps, to overestimate the evils of children's
flights of fancy. The imaginative creation of a glorious
realm of fairy-land is natural and appropriate to childhood.
It is the source of much pure delight, and the fond de-
lusion tends, in ordinary cases, to disappear with so little
suffering that its harmful effects become evanescent. It
is only in special cases, where there is a specially lively
fancy and a too tenacious hold on the imaginary world,
with a corresponding want of interest in adjacent reali-
* Beneke tells us that both Erhard and Kaspcr Ilauser, when chil-
dren, believed in the reality of their dreams.
CULTIVATING THE IMAGINATION. 189
ties, that a decided interference by the educator is called
for.
(b) Cultivating the Imagination.— While the edu-
cator has thus to check and limit the activity of youthful
fancy in certain directions, he has also an important
function to discharge in aiding to develop the faculty.
He should remember that the playful activity of the fancy
at this early period is valuable as a preparation for the
serious intellectual work of later years. Just as the in-
fant's plump unformed hand, by its seemingly idle and
purposeless manipulations of whatever comes within reach,
is acquiring strength and precision of movement for the
labors of after-life, so the imagination develops into a
strong and flexible organ by what are apt to seem to older
people foolish indulgences. The parent should not be
too anxious to check even the vagaries of childish im-
agination. To a large extent these may be left to correct
themselves. So long as t"hese sportive flights of fancy
direct themselves to what is wonderful, teautiful, or
merely grotesque, and steer clear of the sensational and
horrible, they are not likely to do much mischief either to
the intellect or to the character.
But the parent should not leave the child's fancy alto-
gether to follow its own wayward will, but should seek to
aid in developing and guiding it into healthy channels of
activity by supplying appropriate objects. The habitual
narration of stories, description of places, and so on, is an
essential ingredient in the early education of the home>
The child that has l)een well drilled there in following
stories and descriptions, will, other things being equal, be
the better learner at school. Such exercises train the
young mind in fixing the attention and in taming the
fancy, compelling it to move within prescribed lines laid
down l3y another. The early nurture of imagination by
means of good wholesome food has had miich to do
with determining the degree of Imaginative power, and,
I go CONSTRUCTIVE IMAGINATION.
through this, of the range of intellectual activity ulti-
mately reached.
In order to train the imagination wisely, we must at-
tend to the natural laws of its operation. Thus it is ob-
vious that the first constructive tasks imposed should be
simple, and so adapted to the limited experiences of the
child. The first condition of success in every attempt to
call the child's imagination into play is to make sure that
he has the necessary stock of experiences out of which
the picture has to be constructed. Such experiences are
needed not only to supply the elements or details of the
mental picture, but also to provide analogies which may
serve as a rough model for the composition. Thus, to
take a simple example, a child will be aided to form a
mental picture of a snow mountain not only by recalling
the mountain form and the white snow, but also by re-
ferring to some familiar object which shall serve as a pro-
totype of the whole, say a loaf of sugar.
The second main condition of success is to awaken a
lively interest or motive. The materials provided for
constructive activity, the scene described, or the action
narrated, must be interesting and attractive to the child, as
well as within his grasp. The child's feelings must be ap-
pealed to by the pretty, amusing, pathetic, or noble aspect
of the theme. It is only when the feelings are thus gently
stirred that the imagination is lively. At the same time
the emotional effect must not be allowed to become
strong and violent, so as to interfere with distinctness of
imagination and a full impartial grasp of all the elements
of the description. This shows that in training the im-
agination we need to study the emotional side of child-
nature and its many individual varieties.
Once more, the imagination, like every other faculty,
must be called into play gradually. Not only should the
conservative operation be adapted to the growing ex-
perience of the child, and the natural order of unfolding
CULTIVATING THE IMAGINATION. 191
of his feelings, it must be suited to the degree of imagina-
tive power already attained. Thus descriptions and nar-
rations should increase in length and intricacy by gradual
steps. The first exercises of the imagination should be by
means of short, telling narrations of interesting incidents
in animal and child life. Such stories deal in experiences
which are thoroughly intelligible and interesting to the
child. The best of the traditional stories, as that of
Cinderella, are well fitted by their simplicity as well as by
their romantic and adventurous character to please and
engross the imagination. And fables in which the moral
element is not made too prominent and depressing, and in
which the child's characteristic feelings, e. g., his love of
fun, are allowed a certain scope, will commonly be
reckoned among his favorites. As the feeling of curiosity
unfolds, and the imaginative faculty gains strength by ex-
ercise, more elaborate and less exciting ^stories may be
introduced.
It is to be feared that a good deal of so-called chil-
dren's literature offends by inattention to these obvious
conditions of success. It is not needful to speak of the
'* nightmare " and strongly sensational stories which injure
children's minds by disposing them to dwell in a morbid
way on images of the terrible, and vitiate the taste by be-
getting a craving for sensational excitement. For, though
examples of such pernicious child's literature might be
found in classical collections of fairy-tales, the judicious
parent may be trusted to guard his children from injury in
this direction. Nor need one refer to the patently didactic
and " goody " stories which commonly weary children —
when they succeed in engaging any measure of their at-
tention at all. For these seem to be rapidly growing old-
fashioned. It is more important to call attention to a be-
setting fault in recent children's literature, viz., that of
describing experiences, situations, impressions and feel-
ings quite out of their mental reach. The writers of chil-
192 CONSTRUCTIVE IMAGINATION.
dren's books but too rarely have the art of looking at the
world with the eyes of a young person. It is no doubt
true that children's literature has of late greatly improved
in point of naturalness, brightness, picturesqueness, and
other good qualities ; still, this vice of writing over chil-
dren's heads is a serious drawback to its educational
value.
Exercise of the Imagination in Teaching. — The
main proposition emphasized in this chapter is that the
imagination is necessarily exercised in the work of in-
structing the child in the knowledge of the realities which
surround him. This is apparent in the beginnings of
teaching. The intelligent parent who talks to the child
about the wonders of nature, the formation of clouds and
rain, the movements of the earth and the stars, the flow of
sap in the plant, and the ways of animals, is continually
calling forth the learner's imaginative powers. And all
verbal instruction in the facts of human experience, the
lives of the great and good, the habits of different races
of mankind, the history of the nations, and so forth, opens
up another wide and attractive arena for the exercise of
the imagination. There is a special value in thus training
the imagination in connection with the process of acquir-
ing real knowledge. The necessity of grasping and under-
standing realities disciplines the fleet-winged faculty to a
certain sobriety of movement, and thus fits it to be the
useful ally of the understanding.
As we have seen, the imagination is called into activity
in all branches of teaching. In some branches, as history
and geography, it is more especially exercised. Here,
then, a knowledge of the laws of operation of the faculty
will be a matter of great importance to the teacher.
Here, too, the first thing to attend to is to take care to
call up the needed past impressions in a vivid and distinct
form. This end will be secured to some extent by a wise
selection of words. These must, so far as possible, be
IMAGINATION IN TEACHING.
f93
simple and homely» so that they may call up the images at
once. More than this, the teacher should remind the
child of facts in his experience, the recollection of which
may contribute to the production of a distinct idea of the
place, scene, or event. Thus, in describing an historical
event, the several features must be made clear by parallel
facts in the child's small world, and so the whole scene
made distinct by the help of analogies. This requires a
good deal of knowledge of child-life and much skill in
searching out analogies. In thus utilizing the child's own
experiences, however, the teacher must be careful to help
the child to distinguish the new from the old, and not to
import into the new image the accidental and irrelevant
accessories of his experience.
Once more, the teacher must seek to follow the natural
order in excTcising the imagination. He should remember
that all knowledge proceeds from the vague and indefinite
to the definite and exact, that clear ideas are formed by a
gradual process of development. There is first a dim out-
line, a blurred scheme, and this gradually grows distinct
by additions of detailed features. Thus the description
of a country best begins with a rough outline of its con-
tour, its surroundings, and its larger features, as mountain-
chains, etc. Similarly, historical narrative, say that of a
particular reign in English history, best sets out with a
recital of the leading events, which may serve as a rough
scheme or outline of the whole, into which the details may
be fitted. There is an orderly procedure in description
which is needed by the imagination as much as by the
understanding. A sudden plunge into details, and a dis-
connected enumeration of these, are fatal to an orderly
construction.
Again, in successively unfolding the different parts of
such a complex subject as the history or geography of a
country, that order should be 'followed which is most
favorable to imaginative activity. ThTrs the progress
194 CONSTRUCTIVE IMAGINATION.
should be, so far as possible, from the known to the
unknown. In geography, for example, the teacher, after
a brief elementary account of the earth, starts with the
child's own country and locality, and so passes gradually
to more distant parts of the globe, where the natural
features and the human life are strange, and therefore
difficult to realize. Also, what is relatively simple and
interesting should precede more complex and difficult
matter. Thus, the first instruction in history should be
quasi-biographical and a natural development of the early
story, and the larger and more intricate study of the his-
tory of peoples, of the growth of constitutions, and so
forth, reserved for a later stage of development.* Simi-
larly, in teaching geography, the human interest should at
first be made prominent by connecting description with a
narration of some real or imaginary journey, with its ad-
ventures, dangers, etc.
Finally, in all such teaching by way of verbal descrip-
tion, the imagination of the learner should be assisted by
a judicious use of actual sense-impressions. The im-
portant aid rendered to the child's imagination by globes
and models, and, in a less degree, by maps of countries, is
recognized in modern systems of instruction. The ad-
vantage derivable from these is due to the circumstance
that the products of imagination are at best only a rough
approximation, in respect of fullness and distinctness, to
the actual perception of a thing. Moreover, description
of places by means of language always has to encounter
the obstacle that it can only pre'^ent the parts of a locality
or scene in succession, naming first one and then another ;
whereas the imagination requires to bring these together
in one simultaneous view. The model or map lifts the
mind above this difficulty by presenting the parts together
♦ In Mr. Fitch's valuable chapters on the teaching of geography and
history (" Lectures on Teaching," chaps, xii and xiii) the reader may see
a good illustration of the proper way to deal with the imaginative faculty.
EXERCISE OF INVENTION. 195
side by side as we should actually see the localities them-
selves. Much the same applies to the aid rendered to the
historical imagination by pictures and coins, and, better
still, a visit to ancient buildings, like the Tower of Lon-
don, museums of historical antiquities, etc.
While the teaching of these comparatively concrete
subjects always involves the activity of the imagination
in some measure, the teacher of them may appeal to the
faculty in very various degrees. There is a picturesque
way of describing a country, and of narrating an incident
in history, in which the chief aim of the instructor is to
convey a lively picture of some scene or event. Here the
wonderful, stirring, or touching aspects of the scene or
event are emphasized ; and, further, much attention is
given to detail, so that the mind may have a full pictorial
representation of the concrete whole. On the other hand,
the special object of the lesson may be to exercise the
learner in grasping and understanding the facts presented
in their relation one to another, and to other facts. This
would demand a more rigorous control of the feelings, a
less full and vivid imagination of the details, and a certain
simplification, so that the more essential features and the
determining conditions may be readily seized by the
learner's mind. To know just how far to excite the
pictorial imagination of the learner, according to the
nature of the subject and the special objects of the lesson,
is one of the secrets of a skilled instructor.
Exercise of Invention. — As was pointed out above,
the constructive process enters into many other mental
operations besides those which we are accustomed to call
the work of imagination. In finding out anything, in the
practical application of knowledge in useful contrivance,
and in artistic invention, the child is exercising his con-
structive powers. And one important part of education
concerns itself with the development of this faculty of in-
ventiveness.
196 CONSTRUCTIVE IMAGINATION,
Taken in this wide sense, the faculty of invention, or
ingenuity in device, may be exercised in every department
of life and study. Thus, in making known to the child
the facts of nature and life, he should be invited to use
his powers of bringing together what he already knows, in
order to find out for himself, so far as he is able, what he
desires to know. One important reason for not telling a
child everything is that, by compelling him to find out for
himself, the educator exercises and strengthens the dis-
covery or inventive faculty. The more intellectual class
of games, too, may be turned to good account as an exer-
cise of inventiveness. The task of tracking the mental
path through a labyrinth of suggestions to some particular
idea of a person or thing by help of successive clews
(as in the old-fashioned game of "How? When? and
Where?") is a valuable exercise of the child's mind in
those very processes of searching out the new by the light
of the old, by which great scientific discoveries are made.
Mechanical contrivance and practical inventiveness in
general are further developed to a certain extent by the
spontaneous and playful activity of children. The edu-
cator must be careful not to interfere too much with the
perfectly free and sportive character of the activity, for
by so doing he would rob it of much of its charm and of
its value. The full exercise of invention presupposes that
the child is free to choose his own designs and plans.
The domain of play must be respected, and only a general
supervision of these self-prompted activities maintained.
In the choice of toys it is important to select those which
offer the greatest scope for contrivance. A toy is not
something to look at and observe merely, but it must
admit of being played with or done something with ; and
the more possibilities of various constructive activity a
toy offers, the better it is as a toy. Jean Paul Richter
says that the best toy of all is a heap of sand, along with
which a box of bricks may be taken. As the child grows
EXERCISE OF INVENTION, 197
older his mechanical constructiveness should be called
forth by useful occupations, such as gardening, carpenter-
ing, and so forth.*
The faculty of inventiveness should be encouraged to
exercise itself in other directions too. The artistic and
dramatic impulses should be utilized as motives to inven-
tion. A valuable part of the intellectual culture of the
home is the directing of children's activities into such
useful and refining exercises as planning out the garden-
plot, adorning the room, inventing little dramatic specta-
cles, and so forth. A game like acting charades is an ex-
cellent means of calling into play the children's readiness
and fertility in invention, that most useful capability of
laying under contribution the store of acquisitions so as
to arrive at some new result or produce some new effect.
The training of manual and artistic constructiveness is
one of the chief objects aimed at in the Kindergarten
exercises already spoken of. It must, however, be re-
membered that the directly controlled activity of the
Kindergarten does not afford quite the same scope for
development of individual inventiveness as play properly
so called. Here all have to construct according to a
definite external model. Such exercises serve the useful
purpose of training the hand in dexterity, in combining
movements, and developing the taste by presenting good
models. In addition to this good result, ingenuity is
called forth in a measure in discovering the proper way to
reproduce the pattern. Not only so, all such imitative
work may be made a means of ultimately developing the in-
ventive faculty in the production of original design. The
models supplied by the teacher give the child a standard
by the aid of which he is the better fitted to strike out
new plans. And this effect of the manual exercises of the
* The training of mechanical ingenuity by various manual employ-
ments is well illustrated by Miss Edgeworth. (" Practical Education,"
chap, i, p. 33, and following.)
198 CONSTRUCTIVE IMAGINATION.
school should be secured by the co-operation of the
parent at home in encouraging the child to turn his
attainments to fresh uses.
APPENDIX.
On the cultivation of the imagination the reader may consult Miss
Edgeworth, " Practical Education," chap, xxi (on Invention) and chap,
xxii ; Mdme. Necker, " L'Education," livre iii, chap, v, and livre
vi, chaps, viii and ix ; Beneke, op. city sects. 23, 24 ; Waitz, op, cit^
sec. 10 ("Vom Spiele"); Pfisterer, " Paedagogische Psychologic,"
sec. 14.
CHAPTER XII.
ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
Apprehension and Comprehension. — The intel-
lectual operations hitherto considered have had to do with
individual things. To perceive, remember, and imagine
have reference to some particular object, as the river
Thames, or a particular occurrence, as the opening of the
new law-courts. But we may reflect and reason about
rivers or ceremonies in general. When we do so we are
said to think. In thinking we are concerned not with sin-
gle objects with all their individual peculiarities, e. g., this
oak-tree, with its particular size, twisted shape, etc., but
with certain qualities of these objects common to these
and many others, e. g., the general characters of oaks or
of trees. In other words, when we think our minds are
occupied about the qualities of things, their relations one
to another, and the general classes into which they natu-
rally fall.
Thinking is closely related to understanding, and in-
deed the two words are often used to mark off the same
region of intellectual operation. When we view an object
as a concrete whole, we apprehend it ; when, however, we
regard it under some aspect common to it and other
things, we comprehend it. Thus the child apprehends this
particular building, that is to say as an individual thing
distinct from surrounding things, having a particular shape,
size, etc. ; he comprehends it when he recognizes it as one
200 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
of a class of things, as buildings or products of human
labor. To understand things is thus to assimilate them
to, or to class them with, other things.
Stages of Thinking. — It is common to distinguish
three stages of thinking. First of all, there is the forma-
tion of general ideas, general notions, or concepts, which
may be said to constitute the elements of thought, such
as " material body," " weight." This is called conception.
Next to this comes the combining of two concepts in
the form of a statement or proposition, as when we say
"material bodies have weight." This is termed ah act of
judging. Lastly, we have the operation by which the mind
passes from certain judgments (or statements) to certain
other judgments, as when from the assertions " material
substances have weight," " gases are material substances,"
we proceed to the further assertion " gases have weight."
This process is described as reasoning, or drawing an in-
ference or conclusion.
The General Notion or Concept. — A general idea
or concept is the idea in our minds answering to a general
name, as soldier, man, animal. When we use these terms
we do not form complete pictures of individuals with their
several peculiarities. Thus the term soldier does not call
up the full impression of some one individual that we hap-
pen to know, with his proper height, style of uniform, etc.
Still less when we use the name animal are we distinctly
imagining some particular individual, as our dog Carlo or
the elephant Jumbo. The general idea or notion is thus
not a pictorial representation of a concrete thing, but
a general abstract representation of those qualities which
are common to a number of things.
At the same time, it is obvious that there is a close
connection between a concept and the corresponding
image. If, for example, we had never seen or heard a
description of individual soldiers, we could not form the
general idea, or think of the class, soldier. More than
HOW CONCEPTS ARE FORMED. 20 1
this, if we could not at the moment of using a general name
recall particular examples with some degree of distinctness,
the name would be devoid of meaning for us. In thinking
of any general class, as a plant, our minds are represent-
ing individuals, only in a comprehensive and abstract way.
That is to say, we have the power of putting out of sight
for the moment their individual peculiarities, and of fixing
the attention on their common or general qualities. Thus,
in thinking of *' tree," we indistinctly recall the elm, oak,
and so on ; but what we specially bring into view is the
common features of trees, arrangement of branches on a
trunk, and leaves on the branches, etc.
How Concepts are formed. — From this slight ac-
count of the concept, we may see that it is fashioned out
of percepts and images. It is the result of a process of
elaboration carried out on the impressions supplied by
concrete individual things.
In the case of the less general or abstract notions, such
as gold, dog, oak-tree, this growth of general ideas is a
comparatively passive process of assimilating the like to
the like. A child forms an idea of horse, house, and so on,
with very little mental effort. In the case of the more
abstract notions, however, as metal, animal, or plant, there
is involved a special activity of mind. It brings into ex-
ercise what is commonly called the faculty of abstraction.
Hence the process of conception in this higher form is one
of the later intellectual operations.
This operation of elaborating concrete impressions
into concepts is com.morJy said to fall into three stages :
(i) comparison, or comparing individuals one with an-
other; (2) abstraction, or withdrawing the mind from in-
dividual differences and fixing it on common qualities ;
and (3) generalization, or the formation of the idea of a
general class on the ground of these common qualities.
(A) Comparison. — By an act of comparison is meant
the voluntary direction of attention to two or more objects
202 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION,
at the same moment, or in immediate succession, with a
view to discover their differences or their agreements.
The objects may be both present together, and placed in
juxtaposition, as when a teacher compares the handwriting
of a child with the copy ; or, as often happens, may be
(either wholly or in part) represented, as when we recall a
person's face in order to compare it with another which
we are now observing.
As we saw above, a child in perceiving an object dis-
criminates and assimilates. Thus, in recognizing a figure,
as that of his father, he marks off the object in respect of
height, etc., from other objects. In like manner, when he
recognizes an object, as an orange, he assimilates it to
other and previously seen objects. Yet here the differ-
ences and similarities are only implicitly seized, and not
rendered explicit. The child does not distinctly recall
other figures from which that of his father differs, nor does
he distinctly recall other oranges which the present one
resembles.
The explicit setting forth of differences and similarities
takes place by means of comparison. In this we place the
objects differing or agreeing in mental juxtaposition, so as
to distinctly view them as related by way of similarity or
dissimilarity. This act of comparison marks a certain
development of intellectual power. An infant can distin-
guish and recognize a person, say its mother, but it can
not compare one person with another.
This act of comparing two objects illustrates the high-
est kind of exercise of the power of voluntary concentria-
tion. The attention has to pass rapidly from one to the
other, and grasp them together, so that their relation of
dissimilarity or similarity may become apparent and well-
defined.
Conditions of Comparison. — It is obvious that the
act of comparison may be furthered by certain favorable
conditions. Thus it is in general a distinct advantage to
CONDITIONS OF COMPARISON, 203
have the objects compared actually present to the senses.
A child can compare two things, as brass and gold, or a
butterfly and a moth, much better when he sees them both
at the same time than when he has to recall what he has
seen. Where it is necessary to compare something present
with something absent, it is desirable to make the image
of the latter as distinct as possible.
Again, it is very important to bring the objects into
juxtaposition. Thus, in trying to see whether, and in what
respects, the brass differs from the gold, the child should
have them close together before his eyes. Or, if the ob-
jects compared are in their nature fleeting, as musical
sounds, it is necessary to make them follow one another
immediately.
Besides these external aids to comparison, there are
certain internal conditions. The mind must be calm and
free from all preoccupation, and must have the vigor and
energy necessary to such a severe effort of attention. We
may compare two things either on the side of their simi-
larity or on that of their difference. Thus a child may
fix his attention on the similarity in size between the moth
and the butterfly, or on the difference between them.
Which of the two shall specially engage his attention will
depend on certain circumstances. Where two things are
very unlike, and the resemblance between them relatively
small and unimpressive, as the two metals gold and quick-
silver, it is proportionately difficult to detect the latter.
Again, some persons have a special aptitude and readi-
ness in seeing similarities, others in seeing differences.
And, lastly, a person may come specially prepared to see
either likeness or unlikeness. Thus, if a child is asked
how two objects resemble one another, he naturally looks
out for the similarity between them.
We may now pass to the special form of comparison
necessary to conception. Here, it is evident, the mind is
on the lookout for likeness. In extricating the common
ID
204 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
qualities of iron, lead, and other metals, we are seeking to
trace out or detect the similarities of things.
The conditions here are a number of objects brought
together before the mind, either directly by way of the
senses, or indirectly by means of the reproductive imagi-
nation. The objects being thus present, the mind is
called upon to pass its attention from one to the other,
with a view to detect the features or qualities which are
manifested by all alike.
(B) Abstraction. — The next stage of the process of
conception, which is closely connected with the first, is
known as abstraction. This means the withdrawing of
the attention from certain things, in order to fix it on
others. It is thus a peculiar exercise of the analytic and
selective function of attention. Thus a child that fixes
its eye specially and exclusively on some feature of an
object, as the brightness of a candle-flame, or the size of a
large apple, is in a manner abstracting.* In its higher
meaning, however, abstraction always involves the turning
away of the mind by an exercise of will from what is at-
tracting it at the moment. Thus the diligent student is
displaying the power when he resolutely withdraws his
thoughts from the sights and sounds of his surroundings
and fixes them on some subject of internal reflection.
The way in which abstraction enters into conception
is in the turning away the attention from, the individual
differences of the things compared. These are on the
surface and striking, and so apt to engage the attention.
Thus a child finds it hard to fix his attention on the com-
mon aspects of tin, lead, brass, etc., because of their im-
pressive differences of brightness and color. Similarly, he
finds it difficult to direct his mental eye to the common
property in a variety of tools, as a gimlet, saw, hammer,
etc. To resist the attractions of the individual diversities,
and resolutely turn the attention in the direction of the
* See Perez, " First Three Years of Childhood," p. 189.
CONCEPTION AND NAMING.
205
less potent aspect of their similarity, involves a severe
effort of will. It is a manifestation of the highest power
of voluntarily concentrating the attention in any direction
desired.
(C) Generalization. — The third and final stage of
the process of conception is generalization, or the forma-
tion of a class of objects. By discovering, for example,
that lead, iron, gold, and so on, have certain properties in
common, the child mentally places them together in a class,
viz., metals.
In so doing, the child is generalizing. The class is in
its nature general. It is not limited to the several objects
examined, which are only particular specimens of the class.
Nor in forming the class does the mind bring together and
distinctly realize a definite number of things in a collec-
tion, as a class of children in a school. In creating a class,
metal, the little discoverer need have no knowledge as to
the number of things to be included in it. He has simply
invented a new compartment, into which he is prepared to
put whatever is found to have the necessary qualities.
Conception and Naming. — This process of forming
concepts is completed by the act of naming the things
classed. A name is a general sign or symbol which can
stand for any one of an indefinite number of things. With-
out the aid of such a sign the mind could not arrange
things in classes. We could form no idea of man or ani-
mal in general if we had not a common name to give the
things.
The name has a twofold function and use in connec-
tion with abstraction and generalization : (i) It helps the
mind to clearly mark off, define, and indicate the qualities
that have been discovered by means of abstraction. Thus,
by calling iron, lead, etc., " metal," we clearly separate
out the common qualities and fix them in the mind for
further use. (2) The name is the bond by which the mind
ties together the several members of the class. In invent-
2o6 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
ing the name we are providing ourselves with a general
mark by which we can afterward recognize an object as a
member of a particular class.
This double use of the name corresponds to the two
functions which logicians attribute to names. These are
known as {a) the denotation or extension of a term, and
(b) its connotation or intension. The denotation refers to
the things included in the class, and to which the name
can be applied, as this, that, and the other piece of iron,
lead, brass, etc. The connotation refers to the qualities
signified by the name, and the possession of which is neces-
sary to admission to the class or compartment, as hard-
ness, metallic luster, etc.
From this account of the concept we can see what are
its chief uses: (i) It helps us to retain our knowledge
better, by allowing us to bring together many detached
observations. Thus the child who has formed the notion
of a class, metal, will thereby have gathered up into one
comprehensive whole a number of separate and scattered
percepts. (2) It is necessary to the orderly arrangement
of our observations. By classing things we reduce their
perplexing diversities to unity, and their intricate confusion
to order. By the aid of our concepts we refer each object
as it presents itself to its proper mental compartment, and
so master and comprehend it. (3) It prepares the way for
finding out the general laws that govern things, and so for
explaining what we see.
In order that these ends be realized, it is necessary to
connect our general notions with particulars, and our
names with the things for which they stand. The concept
is a name which stands for certain qualities in real objects,
and which we are prepared to apply to any one of these
when it presents itself. It ceases to have any meaning and
value when the name is divorced from the things which it
is intended to represent.
Discovering the Meaning of Words. — In this ac-
MARKING OFF SINGLE QUALITIES. 207
count of the formation of concepts we have supposed that
the child brings objects together and compares them on
his own account without any guidance from others. And
this supposition answers to what actually takes place in
certain cases. Children discover resemblances among
things, and call them by the same name quite spontane-
ously and without any suggestion from others. At the
same time, it is obvious that the greater part of their gen-
eral ideas are formed (in part at least) by listening to
others and noting the way in which they employ words.
The process is in this case essentially the same as before.
A child finds out the meaning of a word, such as " animal,"
"gentleman," and so forth, by comparing the different in-
stances in which it is used, abstracting from the variable
accompaniments, and fixing the attention on the common
or essential circumstance.
iV»-\- Degrees of Abstraction. — Our less abstract con-
cepts involve, as we have seen, but little active compari-
son. In arriving at the ideas of cat, house, and so on, the
child finds no difficulty in turning away from differences.
Resemblance here preponderates over difference, and the
exercise of the power of abstraction is slight. It is only
when he is called on to carry the process of abstraction
further, and seek out more widely extended points of simi-
larity, that a serious effort is required. Thus, in finding
out what is common among dogs, horses, and other ani-
mals, houses, churches, and other buildings, the child needs
to concentrate his mind closely, and turn away from many
and striking differences. Speaking roughly, we may say
that the wider the range of objects compared the smaller
will be the amount of resemblance among them. And the
more dissimilarity thus preponderates over similarity the
greater will be the effort of abstraction required.
Marking off Single Qualities. — A higher exercise
of abstraction is seen in the singling out for special con-
sideration of some one of the common qualities of objects,
208 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
as when we view a cannon-ball as round, heavy, and so
forth. This stage of abstraction is represented by the use
of adjectives or qualifying terms, supplemented by what
logicians call abstract names, as weight, figure, etc. Here
the process of breaking up or analyzing complex percepts
is carried to a still further point. By inspecting and com-
paring things in this more abstract way our knowledge
gains in exactness. Thus the child that can separately
attend to the several qualities of water, as its fluidity,
transparency, etc., has reduced his knowledge of the sub-
stance to a more distinct and precise form.
Varieties of Concepts. — The general ideas that we
form are as various as the things we observe and the quali-
ties they exhibit. Material objects present a number of
distinct aspects or points of view, each of which may be-
come the basis of a generalization. Thus we may bring
together chairs, tables, and so on, under the head of furni-
ture ; or, looking at their material substance merely, we
may class them as wooden things. An orange may be put
into as many classes as it has qualities, as a round or
spherical body, a colored body, a vegetable product, and
so forth. Again, things may be classed in their bearing
on our welfare, as useful or beneficial, and according to
their beauty or picturesqueness.
In addition to material things, there are their several
movements, as falling, rolling, hopping, etc.; their actions
one on another, such as striking, bruising, breaking ; the
changes that bodies undergo, as expansion, contraction,
growth, decay ; and, further, the sequences of natural
events, such as morning and noon, spring and summer.
All these changes and occurrences present certain resem-
blances in the midst of differences, and our notions of
them are reached by a process of abstraction.
Notions which involve Synthesis.— Many of our
notions involve, in addition to the process of abstraction
and analysis just illustrated, a process of putting together
IDEAS OF MAGNITUDE AND NUMBER, 209
the results of abstraction in new combinations, or what is
known as synthesis. This is illustrated in school studies,
as history, in which the learner has to build up out of the
results of observation and abstraction such notions as
"Roman emperor," "feudal system," etc.
In many instances this process of synthesis is based on
an operation of constructive imagination. By this the
mind fashions a concrete image, which gives the peculiar
form or structure to the concept. In this way a boy would
build up an idea of a Roman consul, of a volcano, and so
forth. In other cases, however, this basis of constructive
imagination is wanting. Conception passes beyond the
limits of distinct visual representation.
ij (A) Ideas of Magnitude and Number. — This pro-
cess of transcending the limits of imagination is illustrated
in the formation of ideas of all objects of great magnitude.
Our notion of city, planet, or nation, the distance from
the earth to the sun, and so forth, does not correspond to
any object that we can distinctly see and picture. Such
ideas are the vaguely realized results of a process of add-
ing together or multiplying smaller and perceptible magni-
tudes, as a house, a ball, a crowd, a small distance.
This process is most clearly illustrated in the building
up of the ideas of all the larger numbers. In the case of
small numbers, as 3, 4, 5, we can distinctly perceive a dif-
ference in the aggregate of objects by the senses. A group
of 3 objects looks different from one of 4. Hence, the first
exercises in counting set out with concrete visible groups.
Even in the case of these smaller numbers, however, a
process of composition and decomposition (synthesis and
analysis) is necessarily involved. A child only fully ap-
prehends what 5 things are when he has taken the group
apart, and can produce it by adding unit to unit. In the
case of the larger numbers, such as 20, 50, 100, etc., this
process of adding or summing makes up the whole meaning
of the number. The numeral 100 does not correspond to
210 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
a visual percept or an image. It stands as a symbol foi
the result of a process of summing or counting performed
on units (or small groups of these) which are themselves
sensible objects, and so picturable.
(B) Notions of Geometry, etc.— This synthetic
activity is illustrated in a somewhat different way in the
formation of the notions of geometry. Our idea of a
mathematical line, a circle, and so forth, does not exactly
answer to any observable form. No straight line, for in-
stance, discoverable in any actual object, perfectly answers
to the geometric definition. Even the most carefully
drawn line would be found, on closer inspection, to devi-
ate to some extent from the required type. It follows that
these notions involve more than a simple process of ab-
straction, such as suffices, for example, for the detection
of the quality color, or weight. They presuppose, in ad-
dition to this, a process of idealization. The student of
geometry, in thinking about a perfectly straight line, has
to frame a conception of an ideal limit, to which actual
forms only roughly approximate. The notion thus repre-
sents, like that of a large number, the result of a prolonged
mental process which surpasses the limits of distinct im-
agination. Hence, the peculiar difficulty which many a
beginner at the science experiences in attaching any reality
and meaning to these forms ; and hence, too, the peculiar
poetic charm of the science to many.
It is much the same with the notions smooth plane,
perfect fluid, rigid body, etc., in physics. In framing these
notions the student is called on to modify, perfect, or ideal-
ize the results of abstraction, to form ideal notions which
transcend the limits of distinct imagination, and yet which
are definite enough for the purposes of scientific reason-
ing. This constitutes one of the main difficulties of the
science.
The distinction between notions answering to pictures
and those which can not be reduced to images is related
MORAL IDEAS: IDEA OF SELF. 21 1
to the distinction drawn by logicians between symbolic
and intuitive knowledge. We are said to have an intuitive
knowledge of the number 3, or of the figure triangle, be-
cause we can picture them. But we have only a sym-
bolic knowledge of the number 1,000, or of the figure
chiliagon (one of a thousand sides). Leibnitz, who empha-
sized this difference, adds that intuitive knowledge is more
perfect than symbolic. This illustrates the importance of
the function of imagination in relation to thought.
Moral Ideas : Idea of Self. — By a process of ab-
straction similar to that whereby the child learns to group
external objects according to their resemblances, he comes
to a knowledge of the inner and moral world, his own
mind and character. His idea of self begins with the
perception of his own organism, as the object in which he
localizes his various feelings of pleasure and pain. Even
this partial idea is slowly acquired. As Prof. Preyer points
out, the infant does not at first know his own organism as
something related to his feelings of pleasure and pain.
When more than a year old his boy bit his own arm just
as though it had been a foreign object.* This crude and
material form of self-consciousness seems to correspond to
the early period of life, in which the child speaks of him-
self by his proper name.
As the power of abstraction grows, this idea of self be-
comes fuller, and includes the representation of internal
mental states. The child does not at first reflect or turn
his attention inward on his own feelings. He is glad or
sorrowful, but as soon as the momentary feeling is over he
is apt to forget all about it. His attention is absorbed in
outward things. To attend to the facts of the inner life
implies an effort, an active withdrawal of the mind from
the outer world. This only occurs later on, and first of
all in connection with the development of certain feelings,
as love of approbation, pride in displaying his prowess, etc.
* " Die Seele des Kindes," p. 360.
212 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
The influence of others is an important factor in the
growth of this fuller idea of self. More particularly its
development would be promoted by the experience of
moral discipline and the reception of blame or praise. It
is when the child^s attention is driven inward, in an act of
reflection on his own actions as springing from good or
bad motives, that he wakes up to a fuller consciousness of
self. The gradual substitution for the proper name of
"me," "I," "my," which is observable in the third year,
probably marks the date of a more distinct reflection on
internal feelings, and consequently of a clearer idea of
self as a conscious moral being.
A further process of abstraction is implied in arriving
at the idea of a permanent self, now the recipient of im-
pressions from without, now the subject of feelings of
pleasure and pain, hopes and fears, and now the cause of
outward actions. The image of the enduring and always
present object, the bodily self, undoubtedly contributes
an important element to this idea. But this supplies only
the more concrete or pictorial part of the representation.
The assurance of an enduring mental self, one and the
same through all the changes of feeling, involves a certain
development of the child's memory, and the power of real-
izing that he has had a past and a continuous history.
The highest outcome of this process of abstract reflec-
tion is the knowledge of self as having definite capabili-
ties, intellectual and moral. Such an abstract idea of self
presupposes many comparisons of states of mind, feelings,
actions, etc. Thus a child builds up his idea of himself
as susceptible to pain, as able to understand, to obey, etc.,
by bringing together many of his past experiences, and
seeing what is common to these.
Notions of Others. — In close connection with this
development of self-knowledge there grows up the knowl-
edge of other conscious beings. It is probable that the
child is instinctively disposed to endow with conscious*
CONCEPTION AND DISCRIMINATION,
213
ness any external object which resembles himself in any-
way, and more particularly in the power of self-movement.
But this personification of things is checked by the growth
of knowledge and discriminative power. The child learns
now to distinguish between inanimate and animate objects,
and between the several grades of the latter. When this
stage is reached, he is in a position to form more accurate
ideas respecting other human beings.
The knowledge of self and of others reacts one on the
other. The child is only able to think of others, e. g., his
mother or brother, as conscious beings, by endowing them
with feelings analogous to what he has observed in himself.
On the other hand, the observation of others materially aids
in the development of a fuller and more accurate knowl-
edge of self. Thus, by seeing what another child can do
by trying, he learns more of his own powers ; by witness-
ing new forms of suffering, he imaginatively realizes more
of his own capacity to suffer, and so forth.
By comparing different actions of the same person
and actions of different persons, the child learns to group
them in classes, as kind, wise, good people ; and in this
way his ideas of others grow more distinct. By a higher
exercise of the power of abstraction he is now able to
mentally place each individual of his acquaintance in some
definite compartment or category, according to the particuy
lar qualities which he displays.
Conception and Discrimination. — The formation of
concepts involves, as its main factor, the function of as-
similation in its higher form of detecting resemblances in
the midst of differences. At the same time, the other
great intellectual function, discrimination, is also exercised
in the process. In classing things, the mind always refers
more or less explicitly to differences. In forming the con-
cept animal, for example, we are not only connecting many
unlike things on the ground of their resemblances (animal
structure and functions), but are marking these off from
214 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
other things lacking these points of similarity (plants and
inanimate objects). When we think of European we are
tacitly referring to non-Europeans (Asiatics, etc.). Indeed,
we can not constitute a class by the presence of certain
marks without at the same time drawing a line about it or
limiting it, and so implicitly distinguishing it from other
things wanting these marks. In all cases where there are
well-marked contraries or opposites, as heavy — light, sweet
— bitter, good — bad, and so on, this process of discrimina-
tion becomes more explicit. To bring an object under
the class of light bodies is to set it over against the class of
heavy ones.
Classification. — The orderly, systematic review of the
agreements and the differences among things leads to what
is called classification. To classify things is to view them
in such a way that their different degrees of resemblance
and difference may be clearly exhibited. This takes
place by proceeding through a series of gradations from
notions of a low degree of generality to those of a higher
degree. Thus, supposing we have the concepts "plow,"
"spade," and so forth, we may group them under a more
general head, " agricultural implements." With these we
may take other things, such as carpenters' " tools," " sur-
gical instruments," "machines," ^c, and bring them
under a still more general head, " instruments of labor."
Any lower class is called, in relation to the higher class
under which it is brought, a species ; and the higher class
is called, in relation to the lower, a genus. In each step of
this process we are co-ordinating^ or placing side by side,
certain lower classes or species, marked off from one an-
other by particular qualities (e. g., surgical and agricult-
ural use), and subordinating them under a larger class or
genus.
In this upward movement of thought from smaller to
larger classes, or species to genera, we continually discard
differences (e. g., surgical, agricultural use) and bring into
CLASSIFICATION. 215
view a wider similarity (e. g., quality of being an aid to
labor of some sort). But we may set out with a large
class, and by a downward movement break it up into
successively smaller classes. For instance, given the class
plane figure, we may break it up into rectilinear and cur-
vilinear ; each of these classes, again, may be further
broken up into sub-varieties. Thus the rectilinear figures
may be separated into three-sided figures, four-sided, and
so on. This downward movement from the general to
the particular is known as division. It proceeds not by
a gradual elimination of differences, but by a gradual ad-
dition of them by a process of qualification, or what is
called by logicians "determination." Thus the notion
figure is further determined by the addition of the qualifi-
cation rectilinear ; this again by the addition of three-
sided, and so on. In this way the differences among
things, as well as their resemblances, are clearly brought
into view.
The most elaborate examples of this orderly arrange-
ment of things is seen in the classifications of natural his-
tory, mineralogy, zoology, and botany. But any general
notion may thus be connected with other cognate or allied
notions, and so the germ of a classification obtained. In
this way we bring together the classes house, church, etc.,
under the genus building ; or, to illustrate the reverse
process, we divide the class book into sub-classes accord-
ing to its purpose (amusing, instructive) or size (octavo,
etc.). Even the notions corresponding to abstract names
admit of this orderly treatment. For example, we can
classify the several sorts of color, movement, human
action, virtue, and so forth. By thus arranging things in
a systematic way, and so bringing into light their simi-
larities and their differences, we prepare the way for a
systematic inquiry into their unknown properties and the
laws that govern them.
CHAPTER XIII.
ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION {continued).
In the preceding chapter we examined into the nature
of the process of abstraction and its results in what is
known as the concept. In the present chapter we shall
consider the natural defects of our notions, and the best
way to correct them.
Imperfection and Perfection of Notions. — Our
every-day notions are apt to be defective in a number of
ways. It is easier for the mind to become indistinct in its
notions than in its percepts or its images. This special
liability of concepts to grow indistinct is connected with
the very nature of the conceptual process, and with
the fact that its results are embodied in language. It is
possible to use words for every-day purposes with only a
very rough notion of their purport. Many of the opera-
tions of reasoning can be carried on with only a moment-
ary glance at the meaning of the terms employed. Hence
the wide opening for vague concepts.
Distinctness of Concepts.— By a distinct, clear, or
well-defined concept is meant one in which the several
features or characters of the objects thought about are
distinctly represented. Thus a boy has a distinct idea of
coal when he clearly distinguishes and grasps together as
a whole its several qualities, as its black color, its frangi-
bility, combustibility, etc. On the other hand, an idea is
indistinct, hazy, or ill-defined when the constituent quali-
ties of the objects are not thus distinctly represented.
INDISTINCTNESS OF CONCEPTS. 217
Closely connected with the distinctness of a concept,
as just defined, is its distinctness with respect to other con-
cepts. By this is meant that the idea is carefully distin-
guished from other and partially similar concepts. Thus
we have a distinct idea of a nut when we distinguish the
group of characters constituting it from those of an ordi-
nary fruit ; of a planet, when we distinguish the characters
from those of a fixed star, etc. On the other hand, a con-
cept is indistinct when it is apt to be confused with a kin-
dred concept. Thus a boy studying history has confused
notions when he does not discriminate an aggressive from
a defensive war, a limited from an absolute monarchy, and
so forth.
We can best test the distinctness of a concept by our
facility in applying the name or recognizing a member of
the class when it presents itself. In general all want of
distinctness, whether of the first or second kind, must tend
to interfere with a prompt and accurate naming of objects.
Want of distinctness in the connotation leads to want of
certainty with respect to the denotation. At the same
time, we are often able to name things readily when our
concepts are far from being perfectly distinct. Thus an
ordinary child will at once recognize a fruit, and yet be
unable perhaps to say what the constituent fruit-marks are.
This suggests that a concept may be distinct in the second
sense without being so in the same degree in the first. The
cluster of marks is represented with sufficient distinctness
for keeping the name apart from other names, and for ap-
plying it roughly to the objects we meet with ; but there
is no careful analysis of these characters.
Causes of Indistinctness of Concepts.— The im-
perfections just spoken of may arise from either of the
causes stated above. Many notions are indistinct from
the first because the percepts and images are so, or be-
cause the process of abstraction has never been carried
far enough to bring into distinct relief the common char-
2l8 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
acters of a class of things. This last remark applies with
special force to the notions of the young and uneducated,
who can in most cases distinguish the more familiar classes
of objects, such as oak, tree, church, and so on, but who
have not carefully reflected on the contents of their
notions.
But, again, our notions are apt to become indistinct (in
both senses) from the lapse of time and the imperfections
of memory. The concept grows out of images of real
things, and if our images fade from memory our notions
necessarily grow hazy. A boy that is always forgetting
the concrete illustrations of class-names, as water-shed,
Roman consul, transitive verb, and so on, is sure to lapse
into vague ideas of these classes.
Finally, there are certain features of language which
promote indistinctness, especially in early life. The fact
that the child is hearing a highly developed language
spoken about him, which embodies the finer distinctions
of mature intelligence, must tend to bewilder his mind at
first. He finds it hard to distinguish between closely
related and overlapping words, " healthy " and " strong,"
"sensible *' and "clever," and so forth. And then there
is a more serious source of perplexity of an opposite kind,
viz., that arising from the imperfections of language, and
more particularly the ambiguities of words. Such ambi-
guities, by hiding a variety of meanings under one word
(e. g., pretty, as nice-looking and as moderately), tend to
bafile the child in trying to discriminate one idea from
another. This mischief is of course greater where words
are used loosely by others. A mother, for example, that
does not distinguish between mere inadvertence and cul-
pable carelessness, and the teacher that is apt in his im-
patience to call mere ignorance and intellectual slovenli-
ness by the same name, adds seriously to the difficulties of
the young student of language.
Accuracy of Concepts. — ^We have to distinguish
INACCURACY OF CONCEPTION.
219
between the mere indistinctness of a concept and its posi-
tive inaccuracy. A distinct notion depends on our clearly-
representing the marks we take up into our notion : an
accurate notion depends on our taking up the right ele-
ments, i. e., the common characters of the class, and no
others. Or, to express the same thing in different lan-
guage, an accurate concept is such that the name in which
it is embodied will cover all the things commonly denoted
by that name, and no others.
Inaccuracy of conception, like mere indistinctness,
may arise either through an imperfect performance of the
initial processes of comparison and abstraction, including
the discrimination of one group of things from another, or
through a subsequent process of decay or disintegration
of the concept.
j/ (A) Inaccurate Notions depending on Imperfect
Abstraction. — To begin with, then, a notion may be
inaccurate because the process of abstraction or notion-
formation is incomplete. The first notions of all of us are
loose and inexact, answering to a rough and hasty process
of inspecting the objects. Owing to these imperfections,
the notions are inaccurate ; that is to say, the range of the
name is not co-extensive with that of the things commonly
or properly denoted by it. In this way our class, or the
denotation of our name, becomes too narrow or too wide.
In the first place, a notion may be formed on too nar-
row an observation of things, the consequence of which is
that accidental features not shared in by all members of
the class are taken up into the meaning of the word as a
part of its essential import. For example, a child that has
only seen red roses is apt to regard redness as a part of
the meaning of rose ; and one whose knowledge of metals
includes only the more familiar examples, iron, etc., nat-
urally includes hardness and solidity in his idea of the
class, which would thus exclude quicksilver. We are all
apt to take up into our notions the accidental associations
220 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION
of our individual experience, the place and time in which
we live. Thus man to an English child includes the
notion of a white skin, government that of a sovereign,
and so on. Such notions are too narrow.
In the second place, a notion may be inaccurate by
giving the class too wide an extent. If the mind's obser-
vation of things is superficial and hasty, only a part of the
common traits or marks, viz., those which are conspicuous
and impressive, are embodied in the name. The notions
of children and of the uneducated are apt to be too wide.
They pick up a part, but only a part, of the significance
of the words they hear employed. Thus they observe
among different creatures called " fish " the conspicuous cir-
cumstance that they live in the water ; and so they make
this the whole meaning of the word, and are ready to call
a porpoise or a seal a fish. In a similar way a child will
call all meals "tea," overlooking the fact that "tea" is a
more special name than " meal," pointing to a particular
hour of the day.
(B) Inaccurate Notions depending on Loss of
Elements. — While notions may thus be inaccurate at the
outset, owing to defective observation, they tend still fur-
ther to become so by the lapse of time and the gradual
obliteration of some of their elements. Every successive
loss of such elements involves a growing divergence be-
tween the name and the things denoted. In other words,
the concept grows too wide. As names are emptied of
their full significance they thus become too inclusive.
Thus a child that forgets that " unkind " implies an inten-
tion to hurt another will call its playmates or its mother
unkind where there has been no such intention. The
converse error, too, of allowing accidental accompaniments
to insinuate themselves into, and blend with, the notion,
is not uncommon. Thus, as Waitz observes, a boy, after
having been taught that the size of an angle is independ-
ent of the length of the lines that form or inclose it, easily
ON REVISING OUR NOTIONS. 221
lapses into the error of embodying this accidental element
in his notion of angular magnitude.
It is only necessary to remind the reader that indis-
tinctness of conception is closely related, and commonly
leads on, to inaccuracy. Where our ideas of things are
hazy, there is a peculiar danger of dropping essential ele-
ments and of taking up accidental ones, and so of making
our classes too wide or too narrow. Not only so, such
indistinctness is highly favorable to confusing ideas one
with another and substituting for the proper meaning of a
term that of some kindred term.
On Revising our Notions.— It follows from the
above that the formation of a perfect concept includes not
one process of comparison and abstraction only, but a suc-
cession of such processes, by the aid of which the first
rough draughts of our ideas are improved, and also the
tendencies in words to lose their significance counteracted.
Defective conception at the outset can only be made good
by more searching inspection of the things submitted to
examination, and also by a wider and more varied observa-
tion of objects in their similarities and dissimilarities.
Not only so, even when the concepts have been prop-
erly formed, they can only be kept distinct, and conse-
quently accurate, by going back again and again to the
concrete objects out of which they have in a manner been
extracted. Only when we do this shall we avoid the error
of taking empty names for realities, and keep our repre-
sentations fresh and vivid. If the educator wants to avoid
that divorce of words from things against which Comenius
protested, he must continually revivify the notions of his
pupils by reverting to concrete illustrations.
Relation of Conception to Imagination.— The
above remarks help to bring out still more distinctly the re-
lation between imagination and thought. As we have seen,
a notion differs from an image in that it contains a repre-
sentation of common features only, and not of individual
222 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
peculiarities. When words tend strongly to call up images
of particular concrete objects, the processes of thought are
obstructed. The highly imaginative mind which instantly
reduces a word to some concrete instance is heavily handi-
capped in following out trains of abstract thought.* The
many interesting accompaniments of the individual things
interfere with the grasping of their general aspects.
At the same time, notions are formed out of images.
Thinking is thus based on imagination (both reproductive
and constructive). The meaning or content of a word is
wholly derived from the inspection of concrete things.
Hence, a notion, in order to have substance in it and to
be well-defined in shape, must be continually supported
by images. In order to think clearly, a child must be able
to imagine distinctly, to call up as occasion requires indi-
vidual members of the class.
On Defining' Notions. — Our notions are rendered
distinct and accurate not merely by going back to con-
crete facts or examples, but by a number of supplementary
processes, which may be grouped under the head of defini-
tion. To define a word in the logical sense is to unfold
its connotation, to enumerate more or less completely the
several characters or attributes which make up its mean-
ing. As we have seen, we form many concepts, such as
"metal," "man,** "civilized country," before we are able
to represent distinctly the several attributes included in
the connotation of words. It is only when the mind's
power of abstraction increases that this higher stage of
* This is, of course, generally the case with the young and the un-
educated. The narrowness of their experience, and the feebleness of
their powers of abstraction, cause words to be pictorial, descriptive of
concrete individuals rather than symbolically representative of classes.
This tendency is amusingly illustrated by Mr. Galton. Some one
began narrating, '* I am going to tell you about a boat." A young lady,
of an imaginative turn, being asked what the word "boat" called up,
answered, ** A rather large boat, pushing off from the shore, full of
ladies and gentlemen." ("Inquiries into Human Faculty," p. no.)
DISCRIMINATION OF NOTIONS. 223
analysis becomes possible. When this has been carried
out, the mind will be able to retain the essentials of the
concept by means of the verbal definition. When, for ex-
ample, the child has learned that glass is a transparent sub-
stance, composed of certain materials, brittle, easily fused
by heat, a bad conductor of heat, and so on, the string of
properties stored up by aid of the verbal memory will serve
to give distinctness to the concept.
A second and subordinate part of this process of defini-
tion of names consists in the discrimination of the notion
from other notions. The precise meaning of a word is
only brought out by setting the notion over against its op-
posite or contrast, and by discriminating it from nearly
allied notions. Thus, for example, the notion " wise " is
elucidated by contrasting it with "foolish," and further
by distinguishing it from allied notions, as "learned."
Clear thinking implies a habit of distinguishing words and
their meanings carefully one from another. Similarly,
" rude " should be contrasted with "polite," and "distin-
guished " from " uncouth " or " awkward ;" " brave *' con-
trasted with "cowardly," and "discriminated" from "fool-
hardy."
Finally, our notions may be defined or rendered more
sharp in outline by a reference to a classification of things.
Logicians say that the best way to define a class name
(especially when the qualities are too numerous, and many
of them too imperfectly known, for us to enumerate them
completely) is to name the higher class, or " genus," and
add the "difference," that is, the leading features which
mark off the class from co-ordinate classes. Thus we may
define a parallelogram by saying that it is a four-sided fig-
ure (higher class), having its opposite sides parallel (dif-
ference). Such a definition serves to fix in the mind some
of the more important marks of the objects, and to keep
the concept distinct from other concepts (e. g., those of
other four-sided figures).
224 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
Not only so, the practice of dividing a term, or point-
ing out the several smaller classes composing the class,
serves to clear up or define our notions. Since a concept
is formed by means of an inspection of things, an occa-
sional reference to the whole extent of things covered by
a name helps to give reality and body to the concept.
Thus, in teaching a child the meaning of a term like metal,
it is well to connect it in his mind with all the principal or
more familiar varieties. In fact, the two processes here
touched on, bringing out the connotation (logical " defini-
tion ") and exposing the denotation (logical " division "),
are mutually complementary.
Growth of Conceptual Power.— The power by
which the mind frames general notions is merely an ex-
pansion of powers which show themselves in a rudiment-
ary form in the earlier processes of perception. Thus the
powers of comparison and of abstraction in its wide sense
are developed, in connection with the process of percep-
tion itself, in carrying out those detailed operations of
examining objects of sense on all sides which are involved
in the formation of clear percepts. Again, the power of
seizing similarity in the midst of diversity, which is the
essential process in building up notions of classes and the
qualities of things, manifests itself in a lower form in the
first year of life. To recognize the mother's voice, for
example, as one and the same through all the changes of
loudness and softness and all the variations of pitch, or
her figure through all the changes of light, distance, and
position, clearly implies a certain rudimentary power of
comparing unlike impressions and detecting likeness amid
this unlikeness.
Early Notions. — The gradual development of the
power of comparing objects and comprehending them in
classes is one of the most interesting phases in the mental
history of the individual. By a careful observation of
children at the time when they begin to understand and
GROWTH OF CONCEPTION. 225
use words, we may learn much as to the way in which this
power spontaneously develops. More particularly, it is in-
structive to watch the way in which children about a year
or fifteen months old invent names of their own, and spon-
taneously extend the words they learn from others to ana-
logical cases.
As might be expected, the first notions which children
form correspond to narrow classes of objects having a
number of striking points of resemblances ; and, further, to
those varieties of things which have a special interest for
the young learners. Thus a child readily connects by one
name particular varieties of food, as milk and pudding.
In like manner he soon learns to assimilate certain classes
of toy, as doll, picture-book, and other objects having
well-marked resemblances, as hat and clock, etc. For the
same reason, he at once extends terms, as "puss," '*papa,"
which have first been applied to definite individuals, to
other individuals, on the ground of numerous and promi-
nent similarities.
Growth of Conception and of Discrimination.—
It is to be noted that the child's concepts grow in clear-
ness and definiteness with the power of noting differences
as well as likenesses.* At first there seems to be no clear
discrimination of classes from individuals. The name is
used for a number of objects as seen to be alike, but, so
far as we can see, without any clear apprehension whether
they are the same thing or different things. This is prob-
ably true of the extension of the word " papa " to other men
besides the father. The concept becomes definite just in
proportion as differences are recognized and the images of
individual objects, this and that person, this and that dog,
and so on, acquire separateness in the mind. This same
circumstance explains another fact, namely, that the child
* M. Perez says that children of about fifteen months, though
eagerly on the lookout for resemblances, are very little so for differ-
ences. (•' First Three Years of Childhood," p. 195.)
226 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
often uses the names of genera (if not too large classes)
before those of species. Thus he lumps together animals
resembling dogs, as goats, under the name ** bow-wow."
In like manner he will apply a word like " apple " to fruit
generally, or a certain wide group of fruits, as " apple,"
" pear," "orange," etc. Similarly, he will understand in a
rough way the meaning of the word " flower " before he
comprehends the names " daisy " or ** rose."
Formation of more Abstract Conceptions. — A
higher step is taken when the child forms classes founded
on a single property. The first examples of this higher
power of abstraction have to do with aspects of objects of
great interest to him. He first displays a considerable
power of generalization in grouping together edible things.
Mr. Darwin, in his interesting account of the early devel-
opment of one of his children, tells us that when just a
year old he invented the word " mum " to denote different
kinds of food. He then went on to distinguish varieties
of food by some qualifying adjunct. Thus sugar was
" shu-mum." * Attention to common visual features comes
later. A little boy known to the present writer, when in
his eighteenth month, extended the word " ball " to bub-
bles which he noticed on the surface of a glass of beer.
This implied the power of abstracting from color and size
and attending to the globular form.
As experience widens and the power of abstraction
strengthens, less conspicuous and more subtile points of
agreement are seized. Children often perplex their elders
with their use of words just because the latter can not
seize the analogy between things or events which the
young mind detects.f By degrees the young mind ad-
* See his article, " Biographical Sketch of an Infant," in " Mind,"
July, 1877 (vol. ii) ; cf. M. Taine's account of a little girl's first gen-
eralization of sweet things under the name " cola " (chocolate) in the
same volume of " Mind," p. 256. See also M. Taine's work, "On In-
telligence," vol. ii, book iv, chap, i, § i, par. ii.
f For example, a child of two and a half years, seeing a number of
PROGRESS OF DISCRIMINATION.
22J
varices to the formation of more abstract ideas. One of
the earliest of these is that of disappearance, or the state
of being absent, commonly expressed by the sign " ta-ta "
or some similar expression.*
Use of Adjectives. — A distinct progress in the
child's power of abstraction is seen when objects come to
be qualified by the use of adjectives. A child will, from
the first stage of speech, pick up and use a few adjectives,
such as "hot " and " nice," which answer to simple sensa-
tions of very great interest to him. A more difficult
achievement is seizing the meaning of a relative term, such
as " big." The boy already referred to first employed this
word when he was nearly twenty-two months old. See-
ing a rook flying over his head, he called out, " Big bird."
Among these more abstract conceptions reached in
this early period of life, those of number and time deserve
a passing notice. Prof. Preyer says that his boy in his
twenty-sixth month had not the remotest idea of number.
Another boy, already referred to, when twenty-two months
old, distinguished one object from a plurality of objects,
and this was long before he could distinguish two from
three, and so on. He called any number of objects (be-
sides one) *' two, three, four," according to the formula
taught him by his mother. When three and a half years old,
the same child still confused number with size. Thus, on
seeing beads of three^ sides, he called the smallest "four,"
the next " five," and the largest " six." f In like manner this
fowls perched in a row on a fence, said, " They are having tea." He
had associated the idea of sitting in a row with sitting up at table.
* Prof. Preyer ("Die Seele des Kindes," p. 295) says his boy
reached this notion of disappearance by the fifteenth month. The
boy known to the writer certainly used the sound ta-ta or d b (all gone)
for signifying the disappearance as well as the absence of a thing when
he was sixteen months old.
f This answers to the fact that many savage races can not count
above five, i. e., beyond the point at which differences of number are
plainly apparent to the eye. The lower animals seem to have only the
II
228 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION,
child marked off all periods of the past under the head of
"yesterday," and all periods of the future under the head
of "to-morrow" or **by-and-by." A considerable ad-
vance in intelligence (including observation, etc.) is nec-
essary before children can pass from this rough discrimi-
nation of one and many to the recognition of particular
numbers, and from- a mere discrimination between past
and future to the recognition of definite divisions of time,
as yesterday, to-morrow, last week, next week.
Period of Fuller Development. — The power of ab-
straction, of analyzing things and discovering their com-
mon aspects, qualities and relations, only attains its full
development slowly. The denotation of names is learned
long before a careful analysis of their connotation is car-
ried out. This is seen plainly in the lateness of the com-
prehension and use of abstract names. As M. Perez ob-
serves, a child of two will perfectly understand the phrase,
** This glass is larger than the stopper," but will not under-
stand the expression, " The size of that house there." *
The clear grasp of more abstract notions, including those
of mental and moral qualities, belongs to the stage of
youth as distinguished from that of childhood. The ear-
lier period is pre-eminently that of concrete knowledge.
During this time the number of concepts formed is com-
paratively small, and these are such as involve the presence
of numerous or obvious resemblances. But from about
the twelfth year a marked increase in the power of abstrac-
tion is commonly observable. In cases where the powers
most rudimentary perception of numbers. M. Perez (" The First
Three Years of Childhood," p. 185, etc.) tells us that this corresponds
to an animal's distinction of number. A cat with only one kitten left
it out of a number was miserable ; but when two were left it out of
five it was contented. It thus distinguished between one and many.
Sir John Lubbock lately remarked that if four eggs are in a nest, one
may be taken without troubling the mother ; but if two are removed,
she commonly deserts the nest.
♦ Ibid,^ p. 184.
INCREASE OF CONCEPTUAL POWER,
229
of observation and of imagination have been properly cul-
tivated we may notice at this stage a strong disposition to
view things under their common aspects. And, conform-
ably to this, the language employed becomes more general
and more abstract.
How Progress in Conceptual Power is to be
measured. — This advance may be measured in different
ways. As the power of abstraction grows, particular im-
pressions and observations are brought more and more
under general heads. Again, it is noticeable that concepts
on the same level of generality are framed with greater
and greater facility. Less time and effort are needed to
form a new notion. Once more, the concepts reached
show a higher degree of generality and are more abstract
in character. The use of such words as "action," "life,"
"idea," marks d considerable step onward. The progress
of conceptual power is marked further by an increased
distinctness in the concepts formed, and a greater facility
in defining the terms used, and in distinguishing them
from other terms with which they are apt to be confused.
Varieties of Conceptual Power. — Individuals dif-
fer considerably in their power of abstraction. Some
minds are much quicker in seeing similarity amid diver-
sity, in spying analogies among things, and in bringing to
light the common aspects of objects. These differences
turn partly on inequalities in power of attention, of draw-
ing off the thoughts from what is attractive, and fixing
them on what we desire to note. They depend too, in
part, on inequalities in the mind's assimilative power. As
already remarked, it is probable that some persons have a
special bent of mind to the detection of similarity, whereas
others lean to the perception of differences.
What is called a good power of abstraction shows itself
in a general facility in detecting the common qualities and
relations of things. At the same time, we commonly find
the faculty manifesting itself in a special form in some
230 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION,
particular domain of percepts and ideas. Thus one boy
will show a special power of abstraction in classing natural
objects, as minerals and plants ; another, in analyzing
physical processes ; another, in constructing the ideal no-
tions of mathematics ; and another, in seizing types of
human character and classes of motive.
These differences, again, clearly depend in part on
native peculiarities. Children are not endowed at the
outset with the same degree of assimilative power. A
child at three years will often display a marked quickness
in tracing out similarities in the forms of objects, manners
of persons, and so forth. Moreover, the peculiar mental
constitution and individual tastes may give a special bent
to a definite form of conception. Thus, other things being
equal, a boy with an eye closely observant of the forms of
objects will show a special readiness in dealing with the
concepts of geometry, while another with abundant mus-
cular activity and a strong bent toward practical contriv-
ance will naturally occupy himself in forming notions
about Nature's processes, the notions with which mechan-
ics specially deals.
At the same time, the degree of power of abstraction
attained generally, or in any special direction, turns to a
considerable extent on the amount of exercise, training, or
culture undergone. Speaking roughly, we may say that
the educated youth is most clearly marked off from the
uneducated by the possession of a large stock of general
notions and a facility in noting and detaching the common
aspects of the things about him. And it is no less mani-
fest that special devotion to any branch of study, as lan-
guages or mathematics, will in average cases result in a
marked increase in a special conceptual aptitude in this
particular region.
Training the Power of Abstraction. — The prob-
lem of exercising the power of abstraction and generaliza-
tion is attended with peculiar difficulties. Children, it is
EXERCISE IN CLASSING OBJECTS. 231
commonly said, delight in the concrete, and find abstrac-
tion arduous and distasteful. Nevertheless, it is certain
that they spontaneously occupy their minds in discovering
resemblances among things and in the more simple kinds
of generalization. There is, indeed, a real intellectual
satisfaction in discovering similarities among things. A
young child's face may be seen to brighten up on newly
discovering some point of similarity.* And to some ex-
tent this pleasure may be utilized in calling forth and de-
veloping the child's powers. His lack of interest in gen-
eralities is often due to the fact that his mind is not sup-
plied with the necessary concrete examples out of which
the notions have to be formed. f
Exercise in Classing Objects. — The training of
the conceptual power should begin in connection with
sense-observation. As pointed out above, the analysis of
objects into their constituent parts and qualities is the
way in which the power of abstraction first displays itself
And this exercise should be carried on hand in hand with
the comparison of one object with another. In this way
the first lessons in classifying objects and noting their ab-
stract qualities should arise naturally out of the exercises
involved in the training of the senses and the observing
faculty. The impulses of activity should here be enlisted
as far as possible in picking out and sorting objects, so as
to lend a more vivid interest to the exercises.
The process of generalizing may be still further aided
by a judicious selection of particulars for inspection.
Here the teacher should remember that it is first impres-
* E. g., when a boy (twenty-six months old), watching a dog pant-
ing after a run, exclaimed with evident pleasure, " Dat like a puff
puff" (locomotive).
f " There is nothing the human mind grasps with more delight
than generalization or classification, when it has already made an accu-
mulation of particulars ; but nothing from which it turns with more
repugnance in its previous state of inanition." (Isaac Taylor.)
232
ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
sions which last, and that the examples of a class first
studied serve to give the impress to the resulting notion.
Hence, the examples first brought under the attention of
the pupil should be such as most clearly exhibit the char-
acteristic qualities of the class, and therefore best serve as
the representatives of the same. Thus, to take an obvious
example, in building up the class ''food," common and
familiar varieties, as milk, bread, etc., should be taken
rather than exceptional varieties. So, in an elementary
lesson on botany, good average specimens of a plant,
showing the typical form, should be preferred to unusual
or extreme examples. For a similar reason the best speci-
men of an island to take at the outset is one like Iceland,
surrounded by a large mass of water, rather than one
which, like Newfoundland or the Isle of Wight, has the
striking accidental accompaniment of being a sort of ap-
pendage to a main-land. So, again, the teacher should be
careful, in leading up to geometrical concepts, to make his
representative instances typical. Thus the first triangle
to present to the eye should not be an extreme form, as
an isosceles triangle with a very narrow base, but one in
which each of the three sides and angles is distinct and
apparent.
It is well at the outset to reduce as far as possible by
practical expedient the attractive force of individual pe-
culiarities against which the faculty of abstraction has to
work. This is effected, in geometrical teaching, by the
device of separating form from its concrete embodiment,
and more particularly the interesting concomitant of color.
The drawing of a line or circle on the blackboard is an
enormous aid to the formation of the abstract ideal notion
of a perfect form separate from substance. The same de-
vice is available, to some extent, in dealing with the forms
of concrete objects. Thus it is a great advantage to
present the typical form (or forms) of the mountain by an
outline drawing before going on to consider the individual
TEACHERS GIVE TOO FEW EXAMPLES, 233
specimens with their several irregularities and peculiarities.
So, again, it is a great help, in building up the simpler
notions of number, to begin with plain and not highly
interesting objects, such as small pebbles, where the
diverting influence of color and pleasurable association
is reduced to a minimum.
Again, a sufficient variety of instances must be sup-
plied in every case in order to avoid haste in comparison,
and subsequent indistinctness and inaccuracy in concep-
tion. As Waitz observes, the learner must be led to see
the whole extent of the abstraction, and be able to repro-
duce this if it is not to suffer in point of clearness and its
applicability to single cases not to be indefinite. Nothing
is more fatal than haste in slurring over the preliminary
process of laying a broad and firm foundation of abstract
conception in observation of concrete examples. No
doubt a certain discretion may be observed here. The
number of instances necessary to a clear concept is not
the same in every case. As Dr. Bain remarks,* a child
can be led to see a single quality, such as weight or trans-
parency, by means of one or two well-chosen examples,
whereas in the case of classes constituted by a number of
connected properties, as metal, plant, etc., a large number
are needful. Nevertheless, it may be safely maintained
that teachers are in all cases apt to supply too few ex-
amples. Even the ideas of number can not be properly
grasped without a variety of objects. The essential idea
of number, as something independent of the particular
local arrangement of the objects, can only be made clear
by varying this — e. g., by presenting three as three dots or
marbles in a line, as a triangular arrangement, and so on.
Further, a child only fully seizes the abstract idea of three,
four, etc., as distinct from three beads, and so forth, by
comparing groups of different objects, as beads, trees, etc.
The building up of the elementary ideas of number ought
* " Education as a Science," chap, vii, p. 197.
234 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
to be carried out in part under the parent's guidance in
the observation of a large variety of every-day groups.
Once more, throughout this process of training the
power of abstraction, the teacher should seek to combine
the exercise of discrimination with that of assimilation.
Thus he should invite the child to distinguish transparent
from opaque bodies, solids from fluids, organic from in-
organic bodies, triangles from quadrangles, and so forth ;
and the child should be trained in the systematic arrange-
ment of classes by the processes of classification and
division. In this way his concepts will grow in point of
definiteness and orderly arrangement.
Finally, this operation of comparing and classing should
be supplemented by naming the objects thus grouped to-
gether, and pointing out in the form of a definition the
more important of the traits they have in common. This
part of the process is attended with its own peculiar risks.
Looseness in definition is not uncommon among parents
and teachers. The rules of definition must be observed,
essential and important qualities selected, and a sufficient
enumeration of them given to enable the pupil to recog-
nize members of the class. The test of a good definition
is that it tells us as much as possible about the distinctive
nature of the things denoted by the term, and so helps us
to identify them. To secure this result it is not necessary
to take the pupil at the outset into a survey of all the
more obscure properties of things. Thus the term " metal "
can be defined well enough for children's purposes with-
out exhaustively setting forth all that the chemist under-
stands by it; and, similarly, " plant," without bringing into
view all that a botanist understands by the term. In
thus using definitions, however, the teacher must be on
his guard against a substitution of the verbal formula
used in defining terms for a grasp of the real things them-
selves and their qualities. The definition must be based
on, and grow out of, an actual inspection of things, and
COMPARISON OF REAL OBJECTS, 235
the vitality of the notion maintained by continual recur-
rence to concrete objects in the way of identifying them,
picking them out from a crowd of objects, and so on.
The leading motto of modern education, " Things before
names," makes it desirable to base all definition on a com-
parison of real objects. This truth is clearly recognized
in teaching the elements of subjects that are commonly
supposed to set out with definitions, as arithmetic, geome-
try, and physics. It is vain to plunge a boy into the defi-
nitions of Euclid till he has been exercised in building up
ideas of the simpler geometrical forms by inspecting actual
objects. And it is now coming to be recognized that the
teaching of grammatical distinctions must follow the same
rule. That is to say, the real meaning of a part of speech,
or its function in a sentence, can be best arrived at by in-
specting actual instances of spoken or written sentences
and comparing a number of such one with another.
Explaining Meaning of Words. — A special diffi-
culty in developing children's powers of abstraction arises
in connection with the formation of those notions which
can not be reached by a direct inspection of objects.
All instruction involves the unfolding of the meaning of
general terms. In the most elementary lesson in geogra-
phy or history a certain number of such terms are neces-
sarily employed. In moral instruction, new and difficult
words have from time to time to be introduced and ex-
plained. The art of setting forth the meaning of a new
term by well-chosen concrete example and in suitable
language is one of the distinguishing marks of a good in-
structor. Where the child has had experience of concrete
examples, as in the case of moral qualities, it i^ best to
appeal directly in the first instance to this. Thus temper-
ance, justice, and so forth, should be made real by refer-
ence to examples in the child's own life of the quality
itself and of its opposite. But this should be supple-
mented by a reference to distinguished historical or liter-
236 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
ary examples, as the patriotism of Horatius, the bravery
of Grace Darling, etc. And where, as in explaining many
of the terms used in history, the instructor can not appeal
to examples in the child's experience, the utmost use must
be made of the analogies which that experience affords in
order to secure the construction of clear typical images,
and so of clear notions.
Controlling the Child's Use of Words.— There
is perhaps no part of intellectual training which requires
so much careful attention as the control of the child's use
of words. On the one hand it is an evil for a child to
pick up and use words just because they are used by his
elders and sound grand, before he can attach precise ideas
to them. " When," says Madame Necker, " the want of a
word has preceded the possession of it, the child can apply
it naturally and justly.*' But as his intelligence and his
needs grow, new words should be introduced and ex-
plained. As the same writer observes, " the power of ex-
pressing our thoughts helps to clear them up."
The educator , should keep jealous watch over the
child's use of words with the view of guarding him against
a slovenly application of them. Looseness and vagueness
at the outset are apt to induce a slovenly habit of think-
ing. This danger can only be averted by exercising the
learner in making his notions as clear as possible. He
should be well practiced from the first in explaining the
words he employs. It is of great importance to see that a
child never employs any word without attaching some in-
telligible meaning to it. He should be questioned as to
his meaning, and prove himself able to give concrete in-
stances or examples of the notion, and (where possible) to
define his term, roughly at least. The meaning which he
attaches to the word may be far from accurate, to begin
with. But the educator may be satisfied with a rough ap-
proximation to accuracy as long as the meaning is definite
and clear to the child's mind. As knowledge widens, the
PUPILS ADVANCED TOO RAPIDLY. 237
teacher should take pains to supplement and correct these
first crude notions, substituting exact for rough and inex-
act definitions.
Order of taking up Abstract Studies. — The vari-
ous subjects of instruction exercise the powers of abstrac-
tion in a very unequal degree, and so should be taken
up at different times. The strength of faculty involved in
the classification of natural objects is so slight that it may,
as observed, be commenced in the age of observation in
the nursery and Kindergarten. The exercise of abstrac-
tion in building up ideas of number belongs to a later
period. Few children, I suspect, are ready for this till
they reach their fourth or fifth year. And the same ap-
plies to the formation of elementary geometrical ideas.
The careful classifications of natural history, as that of
plants, presuppose a still higher power of comparing, as-
similating, and discriminating things. A yet more decided
leap is taken when we pass from these to the higher ab-
stractions of physical science, as force, momentum, the
more difficult mathematical conceptions, as sine of an
angle, and the more abstruse ideas of history and mor-
als, as state, representative government, justice, and so
forth.*
The problem when it is possible and most advanta-
geous to take up these more abstract subjects, is one of the
most perplexing ones in the art of education. Individuals
appear to differ so much in respect of the rapidity of this
side of intellectual development that no universal rule
can be laid down. One may, however, safely say that, in
the past, teachers have been in the habit of taking pupils
on to these higher exercises too soon, and it is probable
that the pressure put on the modern teacher to get through
a number of subjects in a short time leads to an injudi-
* One of the most difficult points to determine in the order of
abstractness is the proper position of grammar, in its more logical as-
pects. See Bain, *' Education as a Science," p. 213.
238 ABSTRACTION AND CONCEPTION.
cious, if not wasteful and positively injurious, introduction
of abstract studies before the mind is fully prepared for
them.
APPENDIX.
On the early developments of the powers of abstraction the reader
should consult M. Perez's volume, " The First Three Years of Child-
hood," chaps. X, ii, iii, and iv ; also the work of Prof. Preyer, " Die
Seele des Kindes " (s**' Theil).
On the training of the powers of abstraction the reader would do
well to read Locke's valuable chapters on the " Imperfection and Abuse
of Words," " Essay," book iii, chaps, ix-xi. The difficulties of exercis-
ing the powers of abstraction and the best means of alleviating these
are well dealt with by Dr. Bain, " Education as a Science," chap, vii,
pp. 191-197. The German reader should also consult Beneke, op. cit.,
%% 26-38, and Waitz, •' Allgemeine Paedagogik," 2*" Theil, § 21, and
Pfisterer, " Paedagogische Psychologic," § 27. In connection with this
subject the teacher should read those chapters in logic which deal
with terms and their distinctions, and with the processes of division
and definit'on (e. g., Jevons, " Elementary Lessons in Logic," iii, v, and
xii).
CHAPTER XIV.
JUDGING AND REASONING.
The process of abstraction and conception unfolded in
the last chapter prepares the way for the higher develop-
ments of thought, viz., judging and reasoning. These
operations are so closely connected that it is best to con-
sider them together.
Nature of Judgment. — In common life, to judge is
to come to a decision about a question, as the judge does
in a court of law. This presupposes a question, room for
doubt, and a complicated process of weighing evidence.
In mental science the term is used in a more comprehen-
sive sense. We judge, whenever we affirm or deny one
thing of another, whether the matter is clear and certain, as
in saying, "This is a rose," "Two and two make four," or
one that admits of doubt, as " This plan is the best." The
act of judging is seeing that a thing is so, and being ready
to affirm it.
The result of the act is called a judgment. Every
judgment admits of being expressed in a statement, or
what logicians call a proposition. The " subject " of the
proposition answers to the thing about which we affirm,
and the predicate to that which is affirmed. Thus, in the
statement, " Fire warms," the mind is predicating some-
thing about fire, the subject, viz., that it has the power of
warming.
It is evident that to affirm one thing of another in-
240 JUDGING AND REASONING.
volves a reference to fact or reality. When a child says
that its food is hot, or that a plate is dirty, it thinks of the
object as actually in this condition. That is to say, judg-
ment implies belief about a fact. Where we do not be-
lieve that a thing really has that which is predicated, we
do not judge. Again, it is plain that, since in judging we
represent a thing as being so or so, our judgment may be
correct or incorrect or mistaken, according as the repre-
sentation does or does not accord with the real fact.
And, finally, for the same reason the proposition which
declares the judgment may be either true or false.
That which we predicate or pronounce about a thing
in our statement is not in every case the same. Some-
times we comprehend a thing in a class, or endow it with
certain qualities, as in the affirmations, *' This is a flint,"
"This knife is rusty." In others we set forth a relation
between things, as in the propositions, " Ireland lies to the
west of Great Britain," '' Heat softens bodies." One im-
portant class of affirmations has to do with the relation of
similarity and dissimilarity, as in the judgments, " French
resembles Latin," " The opposite sides of a parallelogram
are equal," " Any two sides of a triangle are greater than
the third."
All predication affirms likeness or unlikeness, either
explicitly or implicitly. Thus, in placing an object in a
class, and less distinctly in attributing to it a certain qual-
ity, we are assimilating it to other objects. So again in
predicating a relation, as that of cause and effect, between
things we are assimilating the particular causal agent as
such to other known causes.
It may be seen from this short account of judgment
that it is co-extensive with the whole area of knowledge.
Everything that we know or think that we know involves
an element of judgment, and when it becomes distinct
knowledge can be explicitly set forth in a proposition.
Thus, even in our every-day acts of perception, we implic-
CONCEPTS AND JUDGMENTS, 241
itly affirm that what we see is a real tangible thing, that
it lies at a particular distance from us, that it presents cer-
tain features, and so forth. The simplest act of analysis
performed on an object of perception thus involves the
rudiment of a judgment. This may not become explicit
and express itself in a proposition (audible or inaudible),
but the essential activity of judging is present in some
measure.
Relation of Concept to Judgment.— It is evident
that a judgment, as connecting two ideas one with another,
is a more complex mental product than a concept. Every
explicit act of judgment implies a concept already formed.
We can not affirm anything of a concrete individual ob-
ject, as when we say, " This stone is a fossil," or " This
substance is transparent," without already having the idea
of fossil or of transparency.
On the other hand, while the judgment thus presup-
poses the concept, the formation of the concept itself
involves a rudimentary form of judging. Thus a child
can not form the idea " heavy " without comparing heavy
objects and implicitly affirming them to agree in respect
of this quality. Every successive stage of generalization
is thus carried out by a process of judging things to be
similar. And in building up the more complex concepts
of classes, as "iron" or "metal," the child is connecting
a number of qualities, e. g., weight, hardness, metallic
luster. This work of combining qualities goes on gradu-
ally as he comes to discover new properties in things, and
is carried out by successive acts of judging. That is to
say, the result of an act of judgment becomes embodied
in a concept. After finding out, for example, that iron is
softened by heat, the child will take up this fact into his
idea of iron, which thus becomes fuller and richer. We
see, then, that the successive developments of our concepts
are effected by means of acts of judgment, and every such
enlargement of a concept supplies an element for a higher
242 JUDGING AND REASONING,
form of judgment. Thus the growth of conception and
judging go on together and assist one another.
Process of Judging. — The mental operation which
leads up to decision and affimation may be brief and
simple, or prolonged and intricate. Speaking generally,
however, we may say that judging involves (a) materials
for judgment ready to hand, and (p) a process of reflecting
on these in order to see to what result they point.
(a) The materials which enable us to judge about
things are supplied either by our own personal experience
or by the words or testimony of others. Experience and
authority are thus the two great sources of our facts or
data.
It is evident that the ability to judge about any matter
presupposes careful observation in the past and ready,
reproduction. I can not decide whether this flower is an
orchid, or this stone an onyx, unless I have carefully
noted the characters of the class, distinguishing it from
other classes. Moreover, unless we observe and recall
things in their true connections of time and place, we
shall not be in a position to decide about them. Thus, in
judging as to the nature of a rock, we need to recall not
only the exact appearance of the rocks it resembles, but
their position in relation to other strata.
The testimony of others, including tradition and au-
thority, is a great additional source of materials of judg-
ment. A child that trusted exclusively to his own experi-
ence, and attached no value to others* statements, would
not be in a position to decide about many matters. But
authority can easily exercise an excessive influence on
judgment. A person who believes a thing just because he
is told, when he might find out for himself whether the
fact is really so, is not using his materials.
(J?) The process of reflection on the materials involves
an act of will. To come to a sound decision on a matter
of any difficulty implies that the mind rejects what is
WHAT JUDGING IMPLIES. 243
irrelevant, steadily keeps in view all the relevant facts,
and weighs well 'the precise bearing of each fact on the
case. And all this is a special exercise of the power of
voluntarily concentrating the thoughts. The higher this
power of voluntary control of the mental contents, the
more clear and rapid the decision.
To judge brings into full play the functions of assimi-
lation and discrimination. In order to judge about any
matter, we must be able to detect its affinities to what is
already familiar. To say, " This is a flint," implies that
the mind classes the object with previously known objects
on the ground of certain resemblances. And while assimi-
lation is thus a prominent ingredient in judging, discrimi-
nation is no less conspicuous. An act of sense-discrimi-
nation is the simplest type of judgment. And in classing
an object, e. g., a flint, the mind has to carefully distin-
guish the essential marks of this from those of other
stones with which it might be confounded. It is only
when we thus discriminate, and by discriminating assimi-
late the new to the old in their essential affinities, that we
are able to judge accurately.
As a last element in this process of voluntary reflection
and control we have the repression of feeling and inclina-
tion. When we strongly desire to find a thing so and so,
our minds are apt to be biased in this direction. To
judge well whether a course is wise or right presupposes
that we keep down any inclination or disinclination to this
course.
The process of judging having been carried out, there
remains the expression of the result reached in suitable
language. This is by no means an insignificant part of
the operation. Persons who do not clearly seize the
meaning of terms, and who are lax in their use of language,
are apt to express their decisions badly. Clear thinking
includes the ability and disposition to give as precise a
form as possible to the expression of the thought.
244 JUDGING AND REASONING.
Affirmation and Negation. — The simplest type of
judgment is an affirmation, a positive assertion that a
thing is so and so. But all our judgments are not affirma-
tive. Logicians distinguish between affirmative and nega-
tive judgments and propositions. We may deny as well as
affirm, or say that a thing is not, as well as that it is.
Negation refers back to a previous affirmation actually
made or suggested to the mind. Thus, to say, " It is not
going to rain," implies that the corresponding affirmation
(" It is going to rain ") has actually been made by some-
body, or has somehow been suggested by a question, " Is
it going to rain ? " or otherwise. Negation is the putting
away or the rejection of an affirmation as untrue or false.
Our minds are unable to combine the ideas answering to
subject and predicate in the way proposed.
It is evident that while affirmation is to a large extent
based on a discovery of similarity, negation is based on
the detection of difference. If I say, " This is not a real
fossil," or "This is not an equilateral triangle," it is be-
cause I discriminate the features presented by the object
before me from those of the class. Negative judgments
are of high importance as setting forth distinctions be-
tween things. The mind that is acute in distinguishing
facts and ideas naturally resorts to this type.
Logicians tell us that every statement which can be
made or proposed must be either true or false : e. g.,
" Either this flower is an orchid or it is not." Hence it
follows that, whenever called on to judge about a matter,
the mind has to decide between an affirmation and a nega-
tion. For example, we have to make up our minds
whether this is a real diamond or a spurious one, whether
this boy is guilty or is not guilty, that is, innocent. Hence
an act of judgment (when its meaning is made explicit) is
in every case a choice between two alternatives, and so it
resembles the decision of a judge, to which, as already
pointed out, the expression " to judge " seems originally to
SUSPENSION OF JUDGMENT, 245
refer. The ability to decide or make up- one's mind about
any matter thus depends on the mind's power of discrimi-
nating (i) what tells for, and what tells against, a proposi-
tion ; and (2) which of the considerations (or groups of
considerations) has the greater importance.
Belief and Doubt. — So far it has been assumed that
the mind must decide one way or another about any mat-
ter presented to it. But this is not the only alternative.
We may waver between affirming that this is a real dia-
mond and denying it, in which case we are said to suspend
our judgment. The mental state thus induced is one of
doubt.* Thus I may feel altogether uncertain whether it
is going to rain or not, and so can not be said to form any
judgment about the matter. This state of mind is op-
posed to and excludes the state of belief or definite assur-
ance. When we definitely make up our mind about a
matter, we say we " are satisfied " that it is so ; and this ex-
pression shows that our minds are at rest, and we feel
ready to act. When, on the contrary, we doubt, our minds
are pulled in two directions, there is a sense of conflict or
discord, and action is impossible. Doubt is a more com-
plex mental state than belief, involving a grasp of a plural-
ity of opposing considerations. Hence it shows itself
later in the history of the child.
Extent of Judgment. — The distinction between af-
firmative and negative judgments is called one of quality.
In addition to this, logicians recognize a distinction of
quantity, or extent. Thus some propositions affirm or deny
something of an individual thing, as, " This is a shell."
These are called singular propositions. Others, again,
predicate something of classes of things. Of these some
affirm about a whole class, as, " All shells are built by ani-
mals.'* These are universal propositions. Others, again,
* The etymology of the word {dubio, from duo^ cf. German zweifeln,
from zwet) suggests this oscillation of mind between two conflicting
alternatives.
246 JUDGING AND REASONING.
assert something about a portion of a class, as, " Some (or
many) shells are found in the sea." These are known as
particular propositions.
It is obvious that these judgments differ greatly in their
value. The most important class of judgments are the
universal. These are far more difficult to reach than sin-
gular or particular judgments. And it is by help of these,-
as we shall see presently, that we are able to reason clear-
ly and securely.
Perfection of Judgments : Clearness.— Our judg-
ments, like our notions, have different perfections or ex-
cellences. And according to the degree in which these
manifest themselves we say that a person has a high or low
power of judgment.
Of these perfections the first is clearness. By this is
meant that the concepts combined in the judgment be dis-
tinct, and that the relations involved be distinctly appre-
hended. Want of distinctness in terms leads to indefinite-
ness in statement. The judgment, " Vice is debasing," has
just as much clearness to a boy's mind as belongs to the
ideas "vice" and "debasing." Not only so, a judgment
can not be clear unless the mind discerns all that is imme-
diately implied in the assertion, the equivalence of the as-
sertion to other verbally unlike statements, and its incom-
patibility with other contradictory statements.
Judgments tend to be indistinct in a number of ways.
A common source of indefiniteness is imperfect observa-
tion, which may give rise to the vague apprehension of
some relation of things, though the exact nature of this
relation is not made clear to the mind. Thus if a boy
fails to observe how an object was situated relatively to
other adjacent objects, or what was the exact order of
events in a natural process, he is not in a position to
judge about it. Again, defects of memory, by leading to
indistinct reproduction, are a great obstacle to clearness of
judgment. If the mind fails to recall the exact qualities
HINDRANCES TO JUDGMENT. 247
of things, it will be incapable of making definite assertions
about them.
Again, it is to be noted that, as in the case of concepts^
so in that of judgments, what was once clear may become
hazy or indefinite by the separation of words and ideas.
When a boy forgets the facts on which a principle is
based, he has no longer a clear perception of its reality and
truth. In this way truths, at first clearly apprehended, may
in time, by mechanical repetition, pass into lifeless formulae,
in which there is no clear apprehension of the contents
and no vivid belief.
Once more, the intrusion of feeling into the intellectual
domain inevitably leads to vagueness of judgment.
Strong feeling is incompatible with careful observation, fine
discrimination of ideas, etc. Judgments passed under the
influence of strong emotion are in general character-
ized by vagueness and exaggeration.
Vagueness of judgment is apt to show itself in a special
degree in those beliefs and opinions which we passively
adopt from others without seeking to make them our own
by personal observation and reflection. A too easy habit
of donning the prevailing views of those about us is fatal
to the exercise of a clear judgment.
Accuracy of Judgment. — Again, our judgments,
like our notions, may be accurate or inaccurate. An ac-
curate judgment is one which corresponds precisely to the
realities represented, or which faithfully expresses the re-
lations of things. Want of clearness in judging leads on
naturally to looseness of judgment. Propositions which
are not clearly understood tend to be w/i-understood.
The more flagrant forms of inaccuracy arise from inaccu-
rate observation and inexact reproduction. Strong feel-
ing, too, may bring about a considerable divergence of
statement from reality.
In addition to these sources of inaccuracy, we have to
recognize the imperfections and limitations of each,.indi-
248 JUDGING AND REASONING.
vidual's experience. Our judgments are the outcome of
our special type of experience, our individual associations.
Accuracy of judgment thus presupposes the interaction of
the individual and the social intelligence. The child has
continually to rectify his judgments about thmgs by a
reference to the standard of common experience.
Other Merits of Judgment. — Besides clearness and
accuracy of judgment there are other excellences arising
out of the way in which the mind decides and abides by
its decisions. Thus a certain degree of promptness in
decision is a condition of a good faculty of judging. A
mind drawn hither and thither by conflicting tendencies,
and unable to master these, is weak in judgment. Chil-
dren are often unable to decide which is pleasantest or
best, just because their minds are mastered by the con-
tending ideas. On the other hand, there is the opposite
fault of impulsiveness or rashness, that is to say, an over-
eagerness in coming to a decision, accompanied by an im-
patience of the delay involved in reflecting, weighing
evidence, etc. This is still more common in children
than the other defect. A good faculty of judgment com-
bines promptness with deliberateness.
Again, a decision is good when it is more than moment-
ary, and exhibits a certain degree of stability. It is
natural and proper that a decision when arrived at should
persist. Such persistence is clearly necessary to fixity of
opinion about things, and to the maintenance of consist-
ency among our beliefs. To assert one thing to-day and
another thing to-morrow shows a feeble and untrained
faculty of judgment. Vacillation in opinion, e. g., about
the worth of things, the characters of others, and so forth,
is common in the unformed mental state of childhood.
On the other hand, our judgments are liable to be modi-
fied by new influences, whether new facts of experience,
new communications from others, or, finally, further pro-
cesses of reflection on our data. Hence, if firmness and
INDEPENDENCE IN JUDGMENT. 249
consistency of judgment are a merit, obstinacy is clearly a
defect. Persons of narrow experience and rigid mental
habits show this narrowness. In children this rigidity is
rare. Openness of mind is proper to the stage of igno-
rance. The first condition of mental growth is that we
keep our minds open to new impressions, and the longer
we retain something of the child's susceptibility to new
impressions, the longer shall we continue to grow. Ex-
cellence of judgment is thus seen here, too, to lie between
two extremes, viz., instability and obstinacy.
Closely related to the quality of stability is that of in-
dependence. When there is no strong individual opinion,
the mind is at the mercy of the social surroundings of the
time. Children of a less robust character are prone to an
excessive leaning on the judgments of their parents or
companions. On the other hand, a disregard of the be-
liefs of others is the mark of an obstinate and intractable
intelligence. An opinionated, priggish child, that is above
correction by others, is as disagreeable as it is happily rare.
Here, again, excellence of judgment lies between two ex-
tremes. A mind that judges well about things combines
a measure of intellectual independence with a due regard
for the claims of others' convictions. /
/ Inference and Reasoning. — Whenever the mind
passes from one fact to another, regarding the first as a
sign of the second and accepting it previously to actual
observation, it is said to infer. Thus we infer when we
notice that the sky is overcast, and predict a shower of
rain. The belief in the coming shower is produced by
the observation of something which our experience has
led us to regard as a mark of this event.
It is evident from this example that inference is based
on the detection of similarity among facts or experiences.
Thus I predict the shower because I identify the present
aspect of the sky with previously observed appearances
which were actually followed by rain. In recognizing a
250 JUDGING AND REASONING.
part of the whole present situation, viz., the lowering sky
as similar to the previous one, I recognize the other parts,
viz., what followed, the rain. In inference, we identify
things or events in their connection with or their relation
to other things or events, and so are able to go beyond
what we actually see at the moment — the known — to what
we do not see — the unknown.
Inference may assume a lower or a higher form. In
the former, the mind passes at once from particular facts
in past experience to other facts, without clearly setting
forth the ground or reason of the conclusion. Thus a
child infers that this water will wet, this grown-up person
be able to tell him something he wants to know, and so
forth, without making clear to his mind the general truth
that all water wets, or that grown-up people are in general
superior in knowledge to children. This way of inferring
from particulars to particulars may be called implicit
reasoning. It is the primitive and instinctive mode of
inference. The lower animals, when inferring as to the
proximity of prey, enemies, and so forth, do so in this
way. And children, before they acquire the use of gen-
eral language and abstract ideas, habitually draw conclu-
sions in this informal manner. From this primitive and
informal inference we have to distinguish explicit, formal,
or logical reasoning. In this process the mind distinctly
seizes a general truth and makes this the ground of its
conclusion. Thus, when a child grows in intelligence, he
will learn and understand that adults are better informed
than children ; and, seizing this truth, he will be able to
reason that any given individual will show the same char-
acteristics.
The advantages of this formal procedure are apparent.
So long as a child pisses directly from one fact to another
on the ground of similarity or analogy, his conclusion is
more or less precarious. If, for example, a boy infers that
a piece of wood will float because other pieces have float-
THE ELEMENT OF INFERENCE. 251
ed, he may make a mistake. If, however, he first satisfies
himself on the general question whether all sorts of wood
float, he will be able to conclude with certainty. These
advantages of definiteness and certainty lead to the
gradual adoption of the higher and logical form of rea-
soning, so far as it can be made use of. All the higher
processes of thought, including the whole of what we
mean by science, are illustrations of explicit or logical
reasoning.
Relation of Judging to Reasoning. — We may
now understand the relation of judging to inferring. In
its higher or more developed form reasoning presupposes
judging. Formally considered, reasoning is passing from
certain judgments to other judgments. Thus, before a
boy can explicitly argue that a particular substance will
float in water, he must have already judged that all sub-
stances of a certain order (e. g., those lighter than water)
will do so.
While, however, judgment is thus necessary to formal
reasoning, there is an element of inference in most, if not
all, our processes of judging. Thus, in the simple act of
recognizing an object by certain marks, the mind com-
monly goes beyond what is actually observed at the mo-
ment. If, for instance, I say, " This is a flint," I virtually
assert that it is hard, that I can strike sparks out of it, and
so forth. And this ingredient of inference becomes much
more distinct in certain complicated processes of judging,
e. g., as to the genuineness of a coin or a picture.* Finally,
it is plain that every process of reasoning ends in a judg-
ment as its result or conclusion. In this way our reason-
ing processes help us in reaching our judgments ; while,
reciprocally, our judgments, when reached, become start-
* Our every-day judgments about matters of probability are really
inferences from past experience, often of an " instinctive " or semi-
conscious character, but capable, to some extent, of being set forth
formally according to certain laws or principles of probability.
12
252 JUDGING AND REASONING.
ing-points for new processes of reasoning. The relation
is one of mutual dependence, similar to that between con-
ception and judging.
Inductive and Deductive Reasoning. — The full
explicit process of reasoning by way of a universal judg-
ment is commonly said to fall into two parts or stages.
{a) Of these, the first is the operation of reaching a general
truth or principle by an examination and comparison of
facts : this is known as induction. (^) The second stage
is the operation of applying the truth thus reached to
some particular case: this is known as deduction. In-
duction is an upward movement of thought from particu-
lar instances to a general truth, principle, or law ; deduc-
tion a downward movement from some general principle
to a particular conclusion.
(A) Nature of Inductive Reasoning.— The pro-
cess of inductive reasoning illustrates the fundamental
activity that underlies all thinking, viz., the detecting of
similarity amid diversity. Let us examine an instance of
deductive reasoning. The child observes that his toys,
spoons, knives, he himself, and a vast multitude of other
objects, when not supported, fall. He gradually compares
these facts one with another, and seizes the essential cir-
cumstance in them, and the general truth implied in
them. He notes that what all these things have in com-
mon is that they are material bodies. He then detaches
this circumstance, and along with it the incident (falling
to the ground) which has invariably accompanied it.
That is to say, he judges that all material bodies tend to
fall.
It is obvious that, in reaching this universal truth, the
young investigator is going far beyond the limits of actual
observation. For the proposition includes every or any
material body wherever met with. It is thus a process of
inference, and its result a conclusion.
The process is clearly related to that of generalization
CHILDISH INDUCTIONS, 253
described above.* In each case we trace out a similarity
among a diversity of things. The difference is that, where-
as in the case of generalization we assimilate things merely
as such, in the case of induction we assimilate things viewed
in their connection with some other thing. Moreover, just
as there are higher and lower conceptions, so there are
higher and lower inductions. The child begins with a
number of narrow inductions, e. g., "Flies die," "Birds
die," and so forth. He then compares these one with
another, and, extracting what is common to them, reaches
the higher truth, " All animals die." Later on he couples
this with the kindred truth similarly reached, " All plants
die," and so arrives at the yet more comprehensive induc-
tion, " All living things die. "
Spontaneous Induction. — Although children com-
monly draw inferences directly from particulars, they show,
when they acquire the power of abstraction and the com-
mand of words, a tendency to draw general conclusions
from the facts of their experience. An instance or two,
especially if they are striking and impressive, may suffice
to beget the inference to a general rule. One experience
of the burning properties of fire is enough for an induc-
tion : " The burnt child dreads the fire." This natural
impulse leads in early life to hasty induction. Here is an
example : A boy of two and a half was accustomed to
dwell on the fact that he would in time grow to be big.
One day, as he was using a small stick as a walking-stick,
his mother told him it was too small ; on which he at once
remarked, " Me use it for walking-stick when stick be big-
ger." He had implicitly argued that all things tend to
grow bigger in time. The inductions of the young and of
the uneducated are often of this type. The tendency of
all of us is to argue that what is true of ourselves, and of
* Indeed, induction is often called generalization, as when we speak
of " a hasty generalization," meaning a general statement hastily built
up from fact or experience.
254 JUDGING AND REASONING.
our own little sphere of observation, is true of mankind
and of things generally.
Regulated Induction. — This natural impulse to build
up general conclusions on a narrow and precarious basis
becomes corrected by wider experience as well as by edu-
cation. Thus the child that argues that all nurseries have
a rocking-horse like his own, that all dogs take to the
water, and so on, learns, either by his own observations or
from what others tell him, that his conclusion is hasty and
inaccurate. Pulled up, so to speak, in his early attempts
to reach a general truth, he grows more cautious. The
impulse to comprehend particular facts under a general
truth is not arrested ; it is simply guided and controlled.
Induction now proceeds in a more circumspect and me-
thodical manner. The young inquirer takes pains to col-
lect a wider variety of observations, and so learns to dis-
tinguish between what is true of a part of a class and what
is true universally. Not only so, he examines the instances
he thus collects more closely, in order to ascertain their
deeper and essential, as distinguished from their super-
ficial and accidental, resemblances. Thus, for example,
he finds out that the fact of growth is connected with life,
and he will consequently restrict the idea to living things.
Induction and Causation. — Among the most im-
portant truths reached by way of this process of inductive
comparison are those having to do with the causes of
things. In order to produce any result, we must know the
conditions which regulate or determine it. We can only
predict events with certainty when we know the circum-
stances on which they depend. Hence, inquiry into the
causes of things has always constituted a chief part of
human investigation. This is seen in the very use of the
word ** reason." To find the reason for an occurrence
commonly means to ascertain its cause, and so to explain
how it happened or was brought about.
Children's Idea of Cause.— The child's daily ex-
DEVELOPING THE IDEA OF CAUSE. 255
perience is continually presenting events or occurrences
in a certain order. Thus he soon finds out that food satis-
fies hunger, that water quenches thirst, that a hard blow-
gives him pain, and so on. He soon learns, too, that his
own actions produce certain results. Thus he discovers
that he can break a stick (if not too stout) by bending it,
that he can open the door by turning the handle and then
pulling (or pushing), etc. Later on he observes that things
about him are related to one another in the same way ; for
instance, that the appearance of the sun is connected with
daylight, of rain with muddy streets. Numerous experi-
ences of this kind gradually suggest to his mind the idea
of cause. He then goes beyond the limits of the cases of
causal dependence which he has actually observed, and
mounts to the universal principle : everything that happens
has its cause.
There is good reason to suppose that the child molds
his first idea of cause on the pattern of his own actions
and their results. The first inquiries of young children,
*' Who made the snow ? " " Who made the flowers grow ? "
and so forth, point to this conclusion. The production of
any natural result is thought of as brought about by a con-
scious action analogous to his own actions. The full de-
velopment of this idea is seen in the common supposition
of young children that everything has its use or purpose.
The meaning of the question " Why ? " in the mouth of a
child of three or four seems equivalent to, " For what pur-
pose or end ? " It is only after a certain development of
intelligence has been attained that children learn to dis-
tinguish between the sphere of human action with its pur-
pose or end, and that of natural or physical causation.
Natural Reasoning: about Causes. — The natural
impulse of the young to rise from particulars to generalities
is illustrated in a peculiarly striking manner in their in-
ferences as to the causes of things. The early age at which
they begin to inquire into the causes of events favors the
256 JUDGING AND REASONING.
hypothesis that they have an inherited disposition to think
in this way, that is to say, to view events as dependent on
certain antecedent conditions. The play of this natural
impulse results in many hasty inductions. A very slight
analogy between things often leads a child to conclude
that they have the same cause or can be acted upon by
the same forces. This shows itself in an amusing form in
the early reasonings of children. Thus a boy two years
and ten months old said one day he would put water on
some bits of bread lying on his plate in order to get rid
of them. He here reasoned badly from the analogy of
dissolving sugar in milk, etc.
Hasty induction with respect to causes shows itself,
too, in other ways. The desire to find some cause for a
thing often leads to the fixing of the mind on any attend-
ant circumstance, though this may be only accidentally
present in the case, and has nothing to do with the effect
produced. Thus a little boy of two once argued that milk
was white because it came from a white cow which he had
happened to see ; and on another occasion, finding his
milk cold, he said, ** Cold cow make milk cold." *
Again, the mind is apt to argue that a thing is always
produced by one and the same cause, and this leads to
error. Thus a child when just two years old, having one
day scratched himself, and, being asked how the blood
came on his hands, said, " Fell down on path," and a few
months later the same child argued that the slipping off
of his glove was the result of the wind blowing it off. In
these cases the impulse to account for things by aid of
causes already known led to a total neglect of observation.
Children argue that all pretty things are bought in shops,
that plants injured by the wind have been broken by hu-
man hands, and can be mended by the same, and so forth.
* It is probable that each of these hasty inferences was based on
observations of the transmission of a quality or state from one body to
another.
INDUCTIVE REASONING.
257
Regulated Reasoning about Causes.— The care-
ful discovery of causes is often a very difficult process,
and always implies an orderly method of procedure.
This is seen in its perfect form in scientific investigation.*
Among the more important processes here involved are a
careful observation and retention of a variety of instances
of the effect produced, and further a painstaking analysis
of these instances, and a discrimination of what is invaria-
ble and essential in the circumstances from what is varia-
ble and accidental. Thus, in order to ascertain the causes
of combustion, we compare numerous instances, as the
burning of coal in the grate, the gas flame, and so forth,
and by analyzing these, and eliminating what is accidental,
arrive at the common circumstance, the presence of cer-
tain combustible substances, and of oxygen, with which
these tend to combine.
The process of scientific induction implies, further,
active experimenting with things. By this means we can
vary the surroundings of the phenomenon or process we
are observing as we like ; and by so doing are far better
able to ascertain what circumstances can be taken away
or eliminated without affecting the result, and what can
not. Thus, in inquiring into the cause of combination, we
find that the nitrogen of the air can be removed and the
process of combustion still go on, while the oxygen can
not thus be dispensed with.
It is evident, from this brief inquiry into inductive rea-
soning, that, in order to carry out the process properly,
much care and industry are needed. Good induction
presupposes a trained faculty of observation. A thorough
examination of facts includes two things : (a) the inspec-
tion of a sufficient number of instances, and (p) the ade-
quate scrutiny and analysis of the facts that are observed.
* The term " induction " is commonly restricted to this orderly and
exact type of investigation, the term " generalization " being used for
rough every-day modes of reaching general propositions.
258 JUDGING AND REASONING.
A defect in respect of the first condition leads to " hasty
generalizing," as when a child says that his parent or
teacher is unfair by confining his attention to one or two
ambiguous cases, and not considering his general manner
of acting. A defect in respect of the second condition
tends to beget misapprehension, as when the child calls
his teacher unfair on the ground of one or more actions,
a deeper examination of which would show that there was
no real injustice involved. Finally, the due performance
of the inductive process implies that the investigator
keeps his mind free from prepossession and bias, ready to
accept any truth which the facts reveal to him, whether
they answer to his expectations and his particular inclina-
tions or not.*
* The reader should note the close correspondence between the
sources of erroneous induction and those of inaccurate conception
mentioned above.
CHAPTER XV.
JUDGING AND REASONING {contmugd) .
Deductive Reasoning. — By induction the child
reaches a large amount of general knowledge about
things, including the properties of substances, the causes
of changes in things, the laws that govern human action,
and the simpler truths of space, quantity, and number. In
arriving at these, he is of course greatly aided by others*
instruction, and in many cases he derives his general
knowledge in the first instance exclusively from what
others tell him. Having thus amassed a quantity of gen-
eral knowledge, he is able to pass on to the second stage
of explicit reasoning, namely, deduction. By this is
meant reasoning downward from a general truth or prin-
ciple to some particular case or class of cases. Thus a
child who has found out, partly by observation and partly
by instruction, that all persons are liable to make mis-
takes, is apt to apply the truth by arguing that his mother
or his governess makes mistakes. The type of deductive
reasoning when fully set forth is known as a syllogism,
and is as follows :
All animals suffer pain.
Flies are animals.
Therefore they suffer pain.
Or for negative arguments :
No lazy children get on.
This is a lazy child.
Therefore he will not get on.
26o JUDGING AND REASONING.
The essential process here, as in induction, is detect*
ing similarity or assimilation. We bring a particular case
(e. g., flies) under the general rule or principle (animal
suffering) ; and we do this because we recognize identity
between the particular case and the cases included under
the general rule.
While the recognition of likeness is thus the essential
process in deduction, discrimination plays an important
subordinate part. In all arguments by which we read
negative conclusions, we are especially engaged in distin-
guishing things, qualities, or promises which differ. Thus
when a parent, reasoning with his child, says, " That boy is
not a gentleman, for no real gentleman despises the poor,"
he is distinguishing between the genuine marks of a gentle-
man and those which point to a vulgar, ungentlemanly
type of mind.
Application of Principles and Explanations.—
Deductive reasoning may begin at one of two ends. We
may have a principle given us and be asked to draw con-
clusions from it. This is applying a principle, or finding
out new illustrations of a truth. New discoveries may be
made by a skillful combining of truths already known.
Thus, for example, a child, after being told, or having dis-
covered, that air has weight, and that it is elastic or com-
pressible, might find out for himself that the lower strata
must be denser than the higher. In this way the mind is
able to anticipate observation, and to conclude beforehand
as to how things will happen.
On the other hand, we may set out not with a general
truth, but with a particular fact or statement, and seek for
some more general truth under which it may be brought.
This is known as explanation. Explanation, in its sim-
plest form, is throwing light on a new and unfamiliar fact
by pointing out its analogy to some familiar fact. This is
the only explanation possible in the case of young children
who can not yet grasp general principles. A higher kind
REASONING A DETECTION OF SIMILARITY. 261
of explanation is including a particular case under some
general principle. Thus we explain a natural occurrence,
as the trade-winds or the rising of water in springs, by re-
ferring to the known agencies which produce them. Simi-
larly, we find a reason for a statement by bringing it under
a more general rule. Thus the teacher justifies some com-
mand or prohibition, e. g., " cribbing " from another, by
presenting it as a special case of a more comprehensive
rule, e. g., unfairness or deceit.*
Regulated Deduction. — The processes of deductive
reasoning may lead to a valid or invalid conclusion. It
is the business of logic to point out what conditions must
be satisfied in order that a conclusion may be accepted as
valid.
Without going into the technical details of deductive
error or fallacy, we may point out that, since reasoning is
essentially a detection of similarity, the great source of
erroneous reasoning is confusion of things that are not
really and fundamentally similar ; in other words, a want
of discrimination. The bad reasoner can not see where
similarity ends and difference begins. Among the most
common errors in deductive argument are those arising
from the ambiguity of terms. When the mind fails to
distinguish between different shades of idea attaching to
the same word, it is exceedingly liable to go astray.
Thus if it were argued that, since all knowledge is the
result of self-education, children would be much better
for being left to themselves, the reasoner might be con-
victed of confusing two meanings of self-education, viz.,
that of a gifted youth like Pope, who takes his education
into his own hands, and that which every child can and
may be expected to carry out under the stimulation and
guidance of others. Our very eagerness to find a reason
for a fact may precipitate us into this confusion of ideas,
* On the different meanings of " explanation," see Jevons's " Ele-
mentary Lessons in Logic," chap. xxxi.
262 JUDGING AND REASONING,
and so into loose reasonings. And any agitation of feel-
ing, by blunting for a time the discriminative power, is
greatly favorable to such confusion of thought.
This liability to confused thinking is furthered by the
circumstance that, in our processes of reasoning, words
tend to become the substitutes of clear ideas about things.
A mind exercised in argument can easily appreciate the
logical relations between any given propositions without
going to the trouble of carefully scrutinizing the meaning
of the terms. Hence, the risk of accepting what is told
us by others without a(fequate critical examination of the
ideas involved. If there is only the appearance of a log-
ical order in another's statements, we are strongly disposed
to accept the reasoning as valid.
Other Forms of Reasoning : Analogy.— In ad-
dition to induction and deduction it is usual to specify
other forms of reasoning. Of these the most important
is known as analogy. When we reason by analogy we
perceive a certain partial resemblance between things,
but are unable to detect that perfect identity in essential
features or circumstances on which induction proceeds.
Thus it is to reason from analogy to say that, since the
relation of the mother country to a colony, or of a teacher
to his pupils, resembles that of a parent to a child, the
same feelings should be excited in the former as in the
latter case ; or to argue that, because other planets resem-
ble our earth in certain respects, they agree with it further
in the possession of living forms.
Since there is only a partial resemblance in these
cases, the conclusion can never have the certainty of a
proper scientific induction. Hence, this form of reason-
ing should only be resorted to where the processes of
induction and deduction are impracticable. The teacher
has often to illustrate a subject by analogies and parallel
cases. Mental and moral qualities are to a certain extent
illumined by analogies with material properties and pro-
EARLY JUDGMENTS. 263
cesses. Not only so, before the child is able to carry out
the processes of analysis, etc., necessary to induction, he
is only able to reason from analogy, e. g., an unanalyzed
perception of resemblance ; and so the educator must
content himself with partial explanations of Nature's pro-
cesses based on analogy. The value of such analogical
reasoning depends on the detection of real as distinguished
from false points of analogy, and on its being resorted to
only as a provisional explanation, and a stepping-stone to
a truly scientific explanation.
Development of Powers of Judging and Rea-
soning.— The processes of judging and reasoning in
their clear and articulate form show themselves later than
the process of conception. A child a year old will, as we
have seen, name objects, and form rudimentary notions
about things, but he can not yet form explicit judgments.
In the early period of speech we have only rude germs of
affirmation, as when a child exclaims " Bow-wow ! " (there
is a dog), or "oti " (this food is hot), and so forth. An
interesting variety of these compressed judgments is the
sign of disappearance (e. g., ta-ta), which, as M. Perez re-
marks, seems to imply ceasing to exist.* The first ex-
plicit judgments are concerned with individual objects.
The child notes something unexpected or surprising in an
object, and expresses the result of his observation in a
judgment. Thus, for example, a child, whom we may
call C, was first observed to frame a distinct judgment
when nineteen months old, by saying " Dit ki " (sister is
crying).
These first judgments have to do mainly with the
child's food, or other things of supreme practical interest
to him. Thus, among the earliest attempts at combining
words in propositions made by C, were the following :
" Ka in milk " (something nasty in milk) ; " Milk dare
now " (there is still some milk in the cup). Toward the
* " First Three Years of Childhood," p. 170.
264 JUDGING AND REASONING,
end of the second year the range of discernment shows
a marked extension, the child coming now to observe and
remark on anything new or striking in the objects that
present themselves, such as unusual size, position, etc.
Thus, at this date, C was observed to exclaim *' Dat a big
wow-wow " (that is a large dog) ; " Dit naughty " (sister is
naughty) ; ** Dit gow ga " {sister is down on the grass).
As the observing powers grow, and the child's interest in
things widens, the number of his judgments increases.
And as his powers of comparing objects and detecting
their relations develop, his judgments gradually take on a
more penetrating character. This progress in affirming is
of course dependent on the advance of the child in the
command of words, and the constructive skill necessary
to framing sentences. The transition to more elaborate
statements shows itself by the end of the second year in
tentatives of this type : " Mama naughty say dat."
An interesting phase of this early stage of the growth
of judgment is the acquisition of the signs of negation,
" no," " not." The first sign of negation is a shake of the
head ; but this is used as a mark rather of unwillingness or
disinclination than of logical rejection. C did not make
a distinct negative statement till well on in his third
year.
The employment of the sign " no " presupposes a
knowledge of two alternatives (truth and falsity.) It is
greatly aided by the habitual employment of questions.
A question when understood brings home to the mind
two opposed and mutually exclusive statements. The
way in which the negative particles are first used is very
instructive. C (early in his third year) was in the habit
of framing a statement and then appending the sign of
negation thus : " N [his name for himself] go in water —
no." It was observed, further, in the case of two chil-
dren, that during the third year they were apt to couple
affirmative and negative statements, e. g., *' This I's cup,
DEVELOPMENT OF THE JUDGMENT. 265
not mama's cup " ; ** This a nice bow-wow, not nasty
bow-wow." This suggests that a child, when he first
begins to understand the meaning of a negation, feels im-
pelled, when making an affirmation, to set forth explicitly
the negation implied.
As intelligence develops, the child's sphere for judging
is gradually widened. The exercise of imagination opens
up to him many new subjects to judge about, e. g,, the
ways of men and animals. At the same time, the accumu-
lation of the fruits of his own experience supplies him
with fuller means of judging about things. Not only so,
he now becomes capable of judging not only about par-
ticular objects, but about classes. Thus he picks up and
repeats the general statements made by those about him,
as, for example, '' Naughty children play with the dirt."
The extension of the vocabulary and the progress of ab-
straction and conception gradually lead to a more abstract
type of judgment.
The growth of the power of judging is marked by an
increase of a cautious and critical spirit in relation to
affirmation. Things and their relations are more firmly
discriminated, and as a consequence are described more
clearly and minutely. Again, the tendencies to exaggera-
tion and misstatement due to the influence of feeling (e. g.,
the desire to astonish or amuse) are gradually checked, and
so the judgments gain in point of accuracy or fidelity of
representation. Along with these changes, we may note
that the child's tendency to give reality to the produc-
tions of fancy is brought under restraint. By the aid of
his growing experience he is able to fashion a rudiment-
ary standard of what is possible and impossible, probable
and improbable ; and as a result of this he becomes more
cautious in making assertions. Finally, this progress in
critical discernment shows itself in examining and reject-
ing what is unconnected with what he already knows.
The approach of the close of childhood is appropriately
266 JUDGING AND REASONING,
marked by a considerable increase of independence in
judging about things.
Growth of Reasoning Power. — In close connec-
tion with this progress in judging there goes on the devel-
opment of the power of inferring or drawing conclusions.
At first, as observed, the process is implicit, from particu-
lars to particulars, from one fact or situation to another
more or less like it. The first exercise of the power is
seen in doing things, in adopting means to ends by the
help of analogies, with previous experience. Thus the
first distinct trace of a reasoning operation in the case of C
appeared when he was seventeen months old. He asked
for bread and butter (which he called " bup "). Not being
immediately attended to, he stretched out his hand toward
the bread-knife lying on the table, still repeating the
sound. This action of pointing was manifestly an exten-
sion to a new case of the known results of pointing, and
moreover implied the recognition of a relation between
the knife and the satisfaction of his want. A more ad-
vanced step was noted at the end of the twenty-first
month. His father told him not to eat some brown sugar
which he was taking out of a bag. He answered promptly
and emphatically " Ni ! " This was clearly finding a
reason by way of justification, "I eat it because it is
nice."
First Reasonings about Cause. — As already ob-
served, the child's first reasonings about cause are very
crude. He snatches from his past experience any analo-
gous case in order to explain the happening of things.
This leads to an anthropomorphic interpretation of events.
For example, C in his twenty-fourth month found a peb-
ble in his box of bricks. His mother asked him what it
was doing there, and he replied, '* Wa pay bricks." *
♦ That is, " Wants to play bricks." In justice to C, it must be
added that he instantly went on to reflect. Looking at the pebble, he
sagely observed, " No ands " (" It has no hands ").
EARLY REASONINGS ABOUT CAUSE.
267
Early in his third year he got into the way of asking who
made this and that thing. He argued that everything
imperfect, such as a flower without a stem, could be
" mended." Again, noticing pips in an orange, he asked,
" Who put pips there — cook ? "
By the end of the third year a child is wont to perplex
his mother by asking the "why "of everything. This is
an important moment, as indicating the development of a
vague general idea that things have their causes and rea-
sons, and are capable of being explained. But the type
of causation is still anthropomorphic. He looks at things
as occurring for a purpose, and can only understand them
in so far as they present some analogy to his own pur-
posive actions.
As the child's mind develops, he shows greater power
in examining what he sees, analyzing it into its constitu-
ent parts, and comparing his experiences one with another.
In this way wider inductions and truths of a more abstract
character are gradually arrived at. At the same time, his
power of discriminating things progresses, and leads to a
more careful discernment of the elements of his experi-
ences, and so to greater caution in making general state-
ments. Thus children from about the end of the fourth
year may often be observed to use the expressions, '' Some
persons," " Many persons," '* generally," and so forth.* It
is by the same progress in discriminative power that the
regions of natural events and conscious action are gradu-
ally distinguished one from another, though the completion
of this distinction probably falls toward the end of child-
hood, if not later.f
The same line of remark applies to the progress of
deductive reasoning. A boy of three or four will apply a
simple rule to a particular example. But such applica-
* See a good instance given by M. Perez, ibid., p. 177.
t A girl aged five years nine months once asked her mother,
" What makes the wind, mama ? Is it a great big fan somewhere ? "
268 JUDGING AND REASONING,
tions are of the most obvious kind. To recognize that a
thing is heavy, and so capable of hurting, or that pulling
fiies to pieces is cruel, and so wrong, demands but little
power of tracing out similarity in the midst of difference.
The growth of reasoning power manifests itself in dis-
covering the less obvious applications of a rule or prin-
ciple, as that it is cruel to deceive another. This is the
result of many exercises of the faculty. As the child's
stock of general truths increases, he will find more and
more scope for exercising his reasoning powers in drawing
conclusions from them. A boy of five or six delights to
apply the truths he knows by way of accounting for what
he sees. Later on, after his powers of deductive reason-
ing have been thus strengthened in these comparatively
simple exercises, he will be able to perform the more pro-
longed and difficult feats of argument, such as working
out a demonstration in Euclid.
Varieties of Power of Judging and Reasoning.
— There are well-marked differences among individuals in
respect of their ability to judge and to reason about things.
Thus one person can more readily compare any given
material, part with part, and decide on the particular
point raised. In the uncertain region of opinion, as dis-
tinguished from that of demonstrable truth, individuals
display a surprising amount of difference in the way in
which they judge.* So, too, we remark differences in
people's ability to reason about things. Thus of two men
face to face with the same group of facts, one will leap
quickly to the general law or principle underlying them,
while another will fail to detect it. Similarly, one man
much more readily brings new facts under old truths than
another.
These differences, like those in the case of the other
♦ This fact is satirized by Pope in the lines —
" 'Tis with our judgments as our watches ; none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own."
DIFFERENT TYPES OF MIND. 269
faculties, are general or special. A may have a better
faculty of judging on various sorts of matter than B ; or,
as commonly happens, he will show a marked superiority
in a certain domain, e. g., practical matters, matters of
taste, and so forth. In like manner, A may be a better
all-round reasoner than B, or show his superiority in some
special direction. Thus there is the 'inductive mind,"
quick in the observation and analysis of facts, and delight-
ing to trace out the laws of phenomena, the type of the
physical inquirer. On the other hand, there is the de-
ductive or demonstrative mind, given to dwelling on
abstract truths rather than on concrete facts, and skillful
in combining these into an orderly argument, the type
of the mathematician. Not only so, excellence of rea-
soning power commonly displays itself in relation to
some particular kind of subject-matter, as the domain
of human action and history, geometry, or the science
of physics. These differences, like other intellectual
inequalities, turn partly on inequalities of native apti-
tude, and partly on differences in circumstances and
education.
The power of judging well presupposes a native ability
to dissect a subject-matter, compare, discriminate, and so
forth. But it is a power that receives much of its peculiar
character from experience and education. Judging is the
outcome of experience, and will vary as this. Not only
so, a ripe power of judgment in any region of experience
presupposes special exercise in that domain. To judge
on a doubtful point in a classification of plants implies
the trained botanist's faculty. Similarly, in the case of
the ability to reason well. Individuals are not at the out-
set equally endowed with the powers of abstraction, of
tracing similarity veiled under superficial difference, nec-
essary to reasoning. But the special direction of the
reasoning faculty depends largely on special practice. A
boy of an active and mechanical turn, given to observing
270 JUDGING AND REASONING.
the action of Nature's forces, will tend to become a pro-
ficient reasoner in that domain.*
Training the Faculty of Judgment.— The train-
ing of a child's power of judging begins in close connec-
tion with the exercise of the observing powers. He
should be encouraged to compare the size and shape of
objects, to note the signs of distance, and so forth.f He
should then be induced to express the results of his obser-
vations in words, to describe the object he has seen, to
narrate something which has happened to him. As sup-
plementary to this, he should be exercised in repeating
carefully what he has heard, and in accepting and reject-
ing propositions. Here the parent or teacher should aim
at caution in judgment. The natural propensity to accept
as certain what chimes in with our wishes and inclinations
should be checked. | In close connection with this the
child should be exercised in accuracy of statement. The
natural tendency of the young to exaggerate needs to be
carefully watched and counteracted. The child should be
accustomed to think well about the words he uses, to see
all that is implied in them, as well as all that is contra-
dicted by them. By such exercises he will be led to reflect
on his own mental operations, and so to give greater pre-
cision to his thoughts.* And here a knowledge of the
logical processes, relations of propositions included under
the term ** opposition," and also of the processes of ob-
version and conversion, will prove serviceable to the
* The effect of practice or habit in improving the reasoning power
in special directions is well shown by Locke. ('* Of the Conduct of the
Understanding," sec. 6, pp. 20, 21.)
f See Miss Edgeworth, *' Practical Education," iii, p. 196.
:f "That point of self-education which consists in teaching the
mind to resist its desires and inclinations, until they are proved to be
right, is the most important of all." (Prof. Faraday.)
* " L'enfant qui s'attache a bien choisir un terme, conndit ct juge
la pensee qu'il veut exprimer ; il y a en lui ce retour de Tintelligencc
sur clle-meme qui constitue la reflexion." (Madame Necker.)
LIMITATION OF JUDGMENTS. 271
teacher.* At the same time, this regulation of judgment
is a matter of some delicacy. Children delight in vivid
and picturesque statement, and a touch of exaggeration is
perhaps pardonable. A too strict insistence on precision
in the early stages may easily discourage confidence, and
lead to an untimely hesitation in judgment.
A perplexing problem in the training of the judgment
is to draw the line between excessive individual independ-
ence and undue deference to authority. The power of
judging is, as we have seen, more fully exercised when the
child forms an opinion for himself than when he passively
receives one from his mother or teacher. To exercise the
judgment is thus to draw out his power of judging for him-
self. And this can be very well done in certain regions
of observation, as, for example, in judging about the beauty
of natural objects and works of art. On the other hand,
it is obvious that, with respect to other matters, the child's
liberty of judging must be curtailed. It would not do to
allow a young child, with his limited experience, to decide
what is possible or probable in a situation of any complex-
ity, and still less to permit him to pronounce on the right-
ness or wrongness of an action. To combine the ends of
authority and of individuality in respect of judging re-
quires much wisdom and skill in the trainer of the young.
Differences of children's temperament must here be taken
account of. An indolent, timid child, wanting in self-
reliance, and disposed to rely on others to excess, requires
another regime from that suitable to an over-confident
child.
As the intelligence develops, greater scope should be
given the child for the exercise of his judgment. Thus, by
widening the sphere of his free activity, the parent calls
forth his practical judgment. An important region for
* The subject of obversion, by which every affimative proposition
may be expressed as a negative one, and vice versa^ is dealt with by
Dr. Bain. (" Logic," " Deduction," bk. i, chap, iii.)
272 JUDGING AND REASONING,
the unfettered play of the faculty is that of matters of taste.
The child should be encouraged to judge for himself what
is pretty, and so forth. The power of deciding on doubt-
ful matters of motive, wisdom, and testimony may be ex-
ercised by an intelligent study of history. Here, too, there
is scope for the exercise of the moral judgment. Finally,
the study of literature exercises >n a special way the critical
or aesthetic judgment.
Training of the Reasoning Powers.— The work
of training the young in careful processes of reasoning
must go on hand in hand wiA the development of his
power of judgment. In the earliest stage (from about the
beginning of the fourth year) the mother is called on to
satisfy the child's curiosity or desire for explanation. This
period is an important one for the subsequent development
of the child. Parents are apt to think that children not
infrequently put questions in a half-mechanical way, with-
out any real desire for an explanation, and even for the
sake of teasing. This view, however, as we shall see later
on, is probably erroneous. Children are no doubt capri-
cious in their questionings ; their curiosity is restricted in
its range, and momentary in its duration. Still, their ques-
tionings may in general be accepted as expressing at least
a passing desire for knowledge. And, so far as this is the
case, it is well to heed and satisfy them so far as may be.
It seems a good rule to give an explanation wherever the
nature of the subject allows of a simple one. This is
Locke's advice, " Encourage his inquisitiveness all you can,
by satisfying his demands and informing his judgment, as
far as it is capable " (** Some Thoughts concerning Educa-
tion," § 122).
At the same time, the 'educator should take care in an-
swering children's questions not to indulge them in intel-
lectual indolence and weak dependence on others. They
should be stimulated to find out to some extent for them-
selves the reasons of things. "A word or two," writes
LIMITATION OF REASONING. 273
Madame Necker, " in order to put him on the way, often
in order to make him discover that by thinking well about
the matter he might have been able to assure himself, these
words, I say, will be seeds which will fructify with time."
In some cases, no doubt, children's questions are apt
to be very awkward, and even unanswerable. Thus a little
girl of four and a half years once drove her mother to one
of the most difficult problems of philosophy — thus: She
sees a wasp on the window-pane, and wants to touch it.
Her mother says, "No, you must not ; it will sting you."
Child : " Why doesn't it sting the glass ? " Mother : " Be-
cause it can't feel." Child: *'Why doesn't it feel?"
Mother: "Because it has no nerves." Child: "Why do
nerves feel?" The young must be accustomed to the
idea that there are many things that they can not yet un-
derstand, and be exercised in taking some truths on trust,
and not insisting on knowing the " why " of everything.
George Eliot says somewhere, " Reason about everything
with your child, you make him a monster, without rever-
ence, without affections."
But the training of the reasoning powers includes more
than the answering of the spontaneous questionings of
children. The learners must be questioned in their turn
as to the reasons of things, and the causes of what they see
happening about them. A question sets a child thinking,
raises a new problem in his mind, and so stimulates his
powers of thought. Not only so, the asking the why and
wherefore of things helps to familiarize the child's mind
with the truth that everything has its cause and its explana-
tion. The parent or teacher should aim at fixing a habit
of inquiry in the young mind by repeatedly directing his
attention to occurrences, and encouraging him to find out
how they take place. Here, of course, great discernment
must be shown in selecting problems which the child's
previous knowledge will enable him to grapple with. This
exercise of the child's mind, in discovering the reasons of
274 JUDGING AND REASONING,
things, involves a method, training in orderly recollection ;
in going back to his past experiences to search for fruitful
analogies, and to his acquired principles for the true ex-
planation.
The systematic training of the reasoning powers must
aim at avoiding the errors incident to the processes of in-
duction and deduction. Thus children need to be warned
against hasty induction, against taking a mere accidental
accompaniment for a condition or cause, and overlooking
the fact that one result may have a plurality of causes.
This systematic guidance of the child's inductive processes
will be much better carried on by one who has studied the
rules of inductive logic. In like manner the teacher
should seek to direct the young reasoner in drawing conclu-
sions from principles, by pointing out to him the limits of
a rule, by helping him to distinguish between the cases
that do and those that do not fall under it, and by famil-
iarizing him with the dangers that lurk in ambiguous lan-
guage. And here some knowledge of the rules of deduct-
ive logic will be found helpful.
Subjects which exercise the Reasoning Fac-
ulty.— The training of the reasoning faculty should
be commenced by the mother and the elementary teacher
in connection with the acquisition of common every-day
knowledge about things. Its completion, however, belongs
to the later stage of methodical school instruction. There
is no subject of study which may not in the hands of an
intelligent and efficient teacher be made helpful to this re-
sult. Thus the study of physical geography should be
made the occasion for exercising the child in reasoning as
to the causes of natural phenomena. History, again, when
well taught, may be made to bring out the learner's pow-
ers of tracing analogies, of discovering the causes and
effects of human action, and deducing particular results
from well-ascertained principles.
The teaching of science is, however, the great agency
INDUCTIVE AND DEDUCTIVE SCIENCE.
275
for strengthening and developing the reasoning powers.
Science is general knowledge expressed as precisely as
possible, and the study of it serves to give accuracy to all
the thinking processes. Science is further an orderly ar-
rangement of knowledge according to its dependence. It
sets out with principles gained by induction, and then pro-
ceeds in a systematic way to trace out deductively the conse-
quences of these principles. It thus serves to train the
reasoning powers in an orderly and methodical way of pro-
ceeding.
Some sciences exhibit more of the inductive process,
others more of the deductive. The physical sciences are
all, to some extent, inductive, resorting largely to observa-
tion, experiment, and proof of law by fact. And some of
these, as, for example, chemistry and physiology, are mainly
inductive. In these the inquirer is largely concerned with
observing and analyzing phenomena and arriving at their
laws. Hence they provide the best training of the mind
in the patient and accurate investigation of facts, and the
cautious building up of general truths on a firm basis of
actual observation. On the other hand, the mathematical
sciences are almost entirely deductive. Here the princi-
ples, being simple and self-evident, are stated at the outset
in the shape of axioms, etc.; and the development of the
science proceeds by combining these principles in ever
new ways, and arriving at fresh results by a process of rig-
orous deduction. This process of demonstration, which
shows how the conclusions necessarily follow from the prin-
ciples, is an exercise of the logical faculty of very peculiar
value. Hence mathematics has commonly been held up as
the best instrument for disciplining the mind in exactness
and consistency of thought.
Method in Teaching". — All sciences as they progress
tend to grow deductive, that is to say, deduction plays a
larger and larger part in them. This is illustrated in the
growing application of mathematics or the science of quan-
13
276 JUDGING AND REASONING.
tity to the physical sciences, chemistry, etc. Here the
laws reached by induction are set forth at the outset as
the first principles of the science, from which the explana-
tion of particular phenomena is deduced. In these cases,
then, we see the proper order of expounding a subject,
when the knowledge of it is complete, deviates from the
natural order of arriving at knowledge by the individual
mind when left to itself. In other words, the " method of
instruction" is not necessarily the same as the "method
of discovery."* Since the teacher represents the results
of all past investigations, he may start with the principles
reached last of all in the actual history of human discovery,
and set forth the consequence of these. At the same time,
the natural order of discovery ought never to be lost sight
of. In some cases, as in teaching the rules of grammar, it
may be desirable to proceed according to an " inductive
method," i. e., leading the pupil up from an inspection of
words in actual use to a comprehension of the laws that
govern their use. And in no cases ought principles to be
taught before some examples are given. It is now admitted
that the elementary principles of number, or the simple
propositions of arithmetic, are best taught by means of an
inductive operation carried out on concrete examples of
number. Not only so, even such " self-evident " truths as
the axioms of geometry require, as mathematical teachers
are well aware, a certain amount of concrete illustration.
So obvious a principle as that if equals be added to equals
the wholes are equal should be illustrated and firmly
grasped by aid of concrete examples. The words of
Seneca in reference to practical training apply to theoretic
instruction also :
" Longum iter est per pnecepta :
Breve et efficax per exempla."
Thus, in every case, the right method of teaching a sub-
* See Jevons's " Elementary Lessons in Logic," lesson xxiv.
METHOD IN TEACHING, 277
ject proceeds to some extent according to the order of
discovery.
The full consideration of the subject of method does not belong
here. The broad distinction between induction and deduction only
enables us to deal with it in part. Another important logical distinc-
tion bearing on the problem is that of analysis and synthesis. In the
first we set out with the complex and resolve it into its simpler parts ;
in the second we reverse the problem, and, starting with the simple,
build up the complex. The distinction is to some extent parallel to
that between induction and deduction. In observing facts and arriv-
ing at the common principles that underlie them, we resort to analysis.
On the other hand, in reasoning deductively, as in Euclid, we proceed
synthetically by combining elementary facts and principles. There is
often a choice between proceeding analytically or synthetically, e. g., in
teaching a new language.
Closely connected with the subject of method, or the best way of
teaching a single subject, is that of the best order of dealing with the
different subjects of teaching. This is broadly determined by psycho-
logical principles, the laws of the growth of faculty. Psychology tells
us that subjects appealing mainly to memory and imagination (e. g.,
geography and history) should precede subjects exercising the reason-
ing powers (mathematics, physical science). This fixes what has been
called the psychological order. But wkhin these broad limits the
special arrangement to be followed has to be determined by logical
considerations. That is to say, we have to consider the relative sim-
plicity of the subjects, and the dependence of one subject on another.
This gives us the logical order. By such considerations we arrive, for
example, at the rule, that some knowledge of mathematics must pre-
cede the study of physics ; that some knowledge of mechanics, chem-
istry, etc., must precede the study of physiology, and so forth.*
APPENDIX.
On the training of the faculty of judging and teasoning, the student
should read Locke's little work, " Conduct of the Understanding " (ed.
by Prof. T. Fowler) ; Miss Edgeworth, " Practical Education," chap.
* In connection with this subject, the reader should read Prof. Bain,
"Education as a Science," chap, vi, "Sequence of Subjects — Psycho-
logical," chap, vii, ''Sequence of Subjects — Logical" ; also the classifi-
cation of the sciences according to their degree of abstraction, by Mr.
Herbert Spencer.
278 JUDGING AND REASONING.
xxiii. He should further master the elements of deductive and induct-
ive logic as expounded in such a work as Prof. Jevons's " Elementary
Lessons." Finally, on the application of logic to educational method,
the student may consult Bain, " Education as a Science," chaps, vii
and viii ; Fitch, " Lectures on Teaching," chap, ix and following ; Th.
Waitz, "Allgemeine Paedagogik," § 22.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE FEELINGS : NATURE OF FEELING.
Having now briefly reviewed the growth of intellect,
we may pass on to trace the second great phase of mental
development, the growth of the feelings.
Feeling defined. — The term " feeling " marks off those
mental states which are pleasurable or painful. These
may be immediately connected with bodily conditions, as
the sensations of hunger, or may accompany some form
of mental activity, as the emotions of hope or remorse.
While all feeling has the characteristic of being pleasur-
able or painful, agreeable or disagreeable, in some de-
gree, there are many feelings which are of a mixed char-
acter, such as the bodily feeling of tickling and the mental
feeling of grief at the loss of a friend. Feelings exhibit
all degrees of intensity, from the quiet current of satisfac-
tion which attends the consciousness of doing right, up to
the violent excitement of a transporting joy.
The feelings constitute a distinct, well-marked phase
or division of mind. Our pleasures and pains make up
the interesting side of our experience. The objects of the
external world only have a value for us in so far as they
affect our sensibilities or touch our feelings. Since the
feelings are the elements of happiness and its opposite,
the study of them is an important part of the science of
well-being.
But feeling is not merely a subject of great importance
28o THE FEELINGS: NATURE OF FEELING.
in itself : it stands in certain relations to the other two
sides of mind. On the one side, it is connected with the
exercise and development of the intellect. Although
feeling, in its more violent forms, opposes itself to intel-
lectual activity, in its more moderate degrees it supplies
the interest which quickens and rouses the faculties. The
culture of intelligence is accordingly limited by the devel-
opment of the feelings. Conversely, the cultivation of the
intellect promotes the growth of all the higher and more
refined feelings, as the sense of beauty, truth, etc. In this
way the development of knowing and feeling are closely
connected and intertwined.
On the other side, feeling stands in intimate connec-
tion with action and will. It supplies the stimulus or
motive force which excites the will to action. The incen-
tives or motives which urge us to do things are the im-
mediate products of the several emotional sensibilities.
The habitual directions of conduct follow the lead of the
dominant feelings.
The Diffusion and Effects of Feeling. — Every
feeling is a mode of mental excitement, and as such has
a certain tendency to persist and to master the mind.
All our stronger feelings, when fully excited, have a
gradual rise and subsidence, the stages of which we can
easily trace. A child carried away by hilarious excite-
ment or angry passion shows this course of gradual rise
and fall, expansion and contraction. When the current
of feeling is thus allowed to rise and swell, as in all forms
of passionate excitement, well-marked effects, both mental
and bodily, are observable. Strong and violent feeling
agitates the mind, weakens and often paralyzes the power
of voluntary or selective attention, and disturbs the nor-
mal flow of the thoughts. Thus a child in a passion of
grief or anger is overwhelmed with the agitation, and
unable to reflect and to judge. The force of the emo-
tional excitement keeps whatever ideas are congruous
FEELING WARPS THE INTELLECT. 28 1
with the feeling and fitted to sustain it vividly before the
mind, and excludes others. Thus the mind of the angry-
child is dominated by the idea of some real or fancied
injury, and can not view impartially all the facts of the
case. And even less agitating forms of feeling show the
same effect on the mind in a less striking degree, by caus-
ing it to dwell too much on certain aspects of a subject,
and so to form a one-sided and biased view of the
matter.
The clear understanding of this effect of feeling in
warping the intellectual mechanism is of the greatest con-
sequence to the teacher. Illustrations of it have already
been given in connection with the training of the imagina-
tion and of the judgment. The teacher who aims at free-
ing the child's mind from prejudice, and rendering its
intellectual processes orderly and steady, must be on the
watch for this disturbing action of the insidious forces of
emotion. Even good feelings, as pity for one in adversity,
if allowed to gain the ascendancy in the mind, are apt to
obscure the intellectual vision. The well-known effect of
strong commiseration for an individual in rendering per-
sons unjust in their judgments is explained by this circum-
stance. The excessive indulgence in compassion unduly
narrows the field of mental vision, shutting out from view
much that is relevant and necessary to a fair estimate of
the action as a whole.
Along with these mental disturbances, there are im-
portant physical or bodily effects of feeling. The close
connection between mind and body is nowhere more
plainly illustrated than in the immediate physical effects
of states of feeling. All emotional excitement radiates,
so to speak, over the organism, bringing about great
changes in the vital processes (action of the heart, respira-
tion, etc.), and throwing the muscles into violent activity.
A severe shock, whether of grief or of joy, has been known
^0 produce serious physical results ; from all which it is
282 THE FEELINGS: NATURE OF FEELING.
evident that the due control and repression of violent feel-
ing of all kinds is a matter of great educational impor-
tance, as well in the interests of the child's physical well-
being as in those of his moral well-being.
In addition to these physical accompaniments of vio-
lent feeling or passion, there are the characteristic bodily
accompaniments of our ordinary feelings, including those
external manifestations which are commonly called expres-
sion, facial movements, gestures, modifications of vocal
utterance, changes in circulation leading to pallor, and so
on. Pleasure and pain have their distinct manifestations,
as the look of joy, the elated attitude of body, and the
look of sadness and depression. And the same applies to
some extent to the several kinds of pleasurable or painful
feeling, as anger, fear, and love. So close is this connec-
tion between the feeling and its bodily manifestation that
the adoption of the external signs of an emotion (look,
gesture, etc.) may often suffice to induce a certain strength
of the corresponding feeling. This is illustrated in the
workings of sympathy, which appears to begin with the
imitation of the external signs of feeling, e. g., the facial
signs and vocal effects of grief.
The understanding of the bodily manifestations of feel-
ing is of great educational importance. Children may to
some extent be encouraged to adopt a feeling by assuming
its external expression. On the other hand, a feeling may
often be repressed, partially or entirely, by controlling its
bodily manifestations.
Further, the ability to read and interpret the effects
and expression of feeling is of great importance for the
accurate observation of the emotions of children. The
feelings of the young, who, as a rule, not having yet learned
the art of self-control and disguise, are very frank in ex-
pressing their emotional states, can be very fairly estimated
by -means of their external manifestations. By such ob-
servation we may readily compare one child with another
CONTRASTED MODES OF FEELING. 283
in respect of the intensity of a particular feeling, say pity,
or remorse, or may inquire into more general differences,
as liveliness and quickness of emotion as a whole. By
such means we may gain a clearer insight into the pecul-
iarities of a child's emotional temperament, and so be in a
much better position to deal with it for intellectual and
moral purposes.
Pleasure and Pain. — The two strongly contrasted
modes of feeling, pleasure and pain, have their conditions
or causes, the knowledge of which is of great importance,
both by way of securing the happiness of the young, and
of working on their active impulses.
Pleasure is the accompaniment of the moderate and
suitable activity of some organ or faculty of the mind.
Moderate stimulation of the palate, of the higher senses, of
the muscular energies, and of the mental faculties, is at-
tended by a sense of enjoyment.
When, however, the stimulation passes a certain limit,
the pleasurable eifect diminishes and rapidly passes into
a distinctly painful effect. Thus, when the light of the
rising sun exceeds a certain intensity, the eye is fatigued
or "blinded"; similarly, violent muscular exercise or a
severe strain of the mental powers is disagreeable and fa-
tiguing.
Again, pain may be occasioned by the want of an ap-
propriate stimulus. Examples of this are to be found in
the restlessness and uneasiness of an active boy who can
not indulge in muscular activity, and in the mental condi-
tion known as tedium, ennui^ dullness, which is induced by
the absence of wholesome mental occupation. In a some-
what similar way pain is occasioned by all obstructions to
activity. A feeling of inability to lift a weight or find a
reason for a thing is disagreeable.
It appears to follow that pleasurable activity lies be-
tween two extremes, excessive or strained exercise on the
one hand, and defective or impeded exercise on the other.
284 "^^^ FEELINGS: NATURE OF FEELING.
The terms moderate, excessive, and defective are here
relative to the natural strength and the acquired habits of
the organ or faculty. A boy with well-developed muscles
needs more exercise than another. So a strong and active
brain requires more to think about.
Effects of Pleasure and Pain.— The suitable and
moderate activity of an organ is beneficial to that organ
and furthers its permanent efficiency. On the other hand,
unsuitable and excessive activity injures the organ and
impairs its future efficiency. We may say, then, that
pleasure furthers, whereas pain obstructs, a healthy, effi-
cient state of the organ concerned. Not only so, since the
several organs of the body stand in the closest relation
one to another, the state of any one necessarily affects
that of the others. As pointed out in an earlier chapter,
the over-stimulation of the brain tends to impair the func-
tions of the bodily organs. On the other hand, a flow of
happy mental activity conduces to the perfect discharge
of these functions. In this way all pleasurable states,
when not carried to the point of boisterous and exhaust-
ing excitement, have an exhilarating effect on the whole
organism, expediting the processes of digestion, respira-
tion, and so forth. And conversely, painful states have a
depressing and lowering effect on the organism as a whole.
Intense grief or terror involves a hurtful drain on the
nervous energies, impeding the action of the heart, etc.,
and diminishing muscular power.
The educational bearings of these principles are appar-
ent. The ends of intellectual training dictate the same
rule as those of humanitarianism : Make school-work as
pleasant as possible. The best kind of intellectual activity
is that attended by a flow of pleasurable emotion. Such
pleasure is at once a sign that the activity is normal and
right, and a guarantee of prolonged and fruitful activity.
One of the greatest gains of modern educational reform is
the clear enunciation of the principle that learning, in the
STUDY SHOULD BE PLEASURABLE.
285
true and complete sense, is only possible when the sense
of irksomeness and drudgery gives place to a pleasant
consciousness of free and natural movement.
This rule does not mean that the teacher should be
always aiming at the more intense forms of delight.
Such an end is unattainable, and is moreover undesirable.
Moderate and quiet enjoyment is that which best com-
ports with the calm mental attitude of thinking. Nor
does the rule exclude all that is disagreeable. The
learner must encounter difficulties, and it is well that he
should. The occasional sense of a teasing difficulty, of
foolish negligence, and so forth, is needed to screw up
the faculties to their highest degree of tension. But such
occasional rebuffs need not interfere with the general
pleasurableness of study. So far from this, the very
temporary annoyance may, by becoming the starting-
point for a fuller exertion of the mental powers, subserve
a deeper enjoyment in the end.
Monotony and Change.— Our feelings of pleasure
and pain are governed by the law of change or contrast
of mental state already referred to. A cause of pleasure,
if it remains unchanged, tends to lose its effect. Pro-
longed bodily activity loses the first delightful sense of
freshness. On the other hand, change of activity is a
known cause of enjoyment. Variaiio delectat. The tran-
sition from the school-room to the play-ground, from the
holidays to the work of the school, from town to country,
and so on, is exhilarating. The delights of novelty are
only a more striking illustration of the same principle.
A like result shows itself in the case of prolonged
causes of pain. A patient suffers less from prolonged
bodily pain (supposing the cause not to increase), and we
all suffer less from enduring worries and troubles when
we "get used" to them. What is known as the deaden-
ing of the more delicate modes of sensibility illustrates
the same principle. Thus a child's sense of shame is
286 THE FEELINGS: NATURE OF FEELING.
dulled by a too frequent wounding of the feeling by
humiliating words, ridicule, etc. The horror at the sight
of pain, death, etc., is blunted by familiarity. As Hamlet
says, hpropos of the grave-digger who sings over his work :
" The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense."
Accommodation to Surroundings. — The effect of
prolonging the causes of pleasure and pain in diminishing
the intensity of the feeling evidently implies a change in
the condition of the organ concerned. There is a process
of adjustment or accommodation of the organism to its
surroundings.
A striking example of this power of self- adjustment is
seen in the fact that a stimulus which at first is distinctly
disagreeable may in time become not only indifferent but
positively pleasurable. This is illustrated in the acquired
likings of the palate, the fondness for alcoholic drinks,
bitter condiments, and so on. Another illustration is seen
in the effects of exercising an organ or faculty. The
growth that results from a regular periodic exercise of
muscle or brain implies an accommodation of the organ
to a greater strength of stimulus, so that an amount of ex-
ercise which was at first excessive and painful becomes
enjoyable.
One other effect of the prolongation or frequent re-
newal of stimulation remains to be touched on. What is
customary, though it loses the first fresh charm, becomes
endeared by habit, so that when deprived of it we suffer.
It is owing to this principle that a child is fixed in certain
definite lines of bodily and mental activity. He finds a
quiet satisfaction in going through the round of tasks, etc.,
he is accustomed to, and resents any interruption of the
customary order.
The craving for change and the clinging to what is
customary are the two great opposed principles of our
emotional experience. A certain amount of variety and
novelty is necessary to prolonged enjoyment. Yet if the
NEED OF NOVELTY AND VARIETY. 287
change from the old to the new is great and abrupt there
arises the painful sense of loss. In early life the law of
change is the dominant one. Children delight in new im-
pressions, and crave for the excitement of change. As a
rule, too, they soon forget old friends and surroundings,
and know little of longings for what is past. This means
that they are in the plastic state of youth, in which the
mind easily adapts itself to the new, and is but little
bound by the ties of habit. But the love of change in its
more intense form is a mark of a particular temperament,
and children exhibit considerable differences in this re-
spect. Timid, clinging natures much more readily attach
themselves to their customary surroundings, and feel a
new environment to be strange and discordant. As a rule,
boys with their active adventurous nature are more under
the dominion of novelty than girls.
The principles of change and habituation in relation to
the feelings have important educational applications. A
recent writer has said that " monotony is the greatest
enemy a teacher has to deal with."* However this be, it
is certain that the most effective way to divest learning of
all irksomeness is to introduce as much novelty and variety
as possible, both in the materials presented and in the
manner of presenting them. At the same time, the teacher
can not be always opening up new and agreeable vistas.
He must resort to repetition for the sake of thoroughness
of apprehension and firmness of retention. He may even
be justified in certain cases in persevering with what is
distasteful to a child if there is reasonable ground to hope
that the learner will, by a process of accommodation and
growth, find the subject congenial by-and-by. It is only
in the earlier stages of instruction that the pleasure of
novelty can be frequently indulged in. The aim of the
teacher is to develop fixed or permanent interests, that is
to say, to direct the emotional energies into habitual chan-
* "Theory and Practice of Teaching," by the Rev. E. Thring, p. 189.
288 THE FEELINGS: NATURE OF FEELING.
nels. And this, as we have seen, involves a certain loss of
freshness, though this is amply compensated by the de-
velopment of a strong attachment to what has grown cus-
tomary, and become in a sense a necessary part of our
existence.
Varieties of Pleasure and Pain.— The feelings of
pleasure and pain fall into two main groups : (i) those
arising from nervous stimulation, and (2) those depending
on some form of mental activity. The first, commonly
known as ** sensations," may be called sense-feelings ; the
second are best distinguished as emotions.
(A) Sense-Feelings.— These, again, fall into two
distinct groups : (a) those connected with the state of the
vital organs, or the organic sense-feelings ; and (b) those
arising from the exercise of the organs of special sense and
the muscles.
The first group, being connected with the discharge
of the lower vegetal functions, are the first to manifest
themselves in the development of the child. The infant
is subject to a number of disturbances of the functions of
digestion, circulation, etc., and these disturbances may
give rise to a considerable amount of suffering. Attention
to these signs of impeded function forms an important
part of early physical education. Owing, too, to the close
connection of body and mind, these states of physical
comfort and discomfort profoundly affect the temper and
mental tone of the child. A child suffering from indiges-
tion, cold, and so forth, is predisposed to be cross and ill-
manageable. Indeed, such organic evils when neglected
may, by inducing a chronic irritability, foster the germs of
bad emotional traits, such as fretfulness and quarrelsome-
ness.
The pleasures and pains connected with the activity of
the sense-organs are of a higher order, and show them-
selves later in the history of the child. The delight of
color and of sweet sound marks the growth of the higher
- DEVELOPMENT OF EMOTION, 289
animal and distinctly human functions. We only see a
crude trace of it in the first months of life ; its fuller
development presupposes a measure of intellectual activity,
viz., discrimination, and belongs to a much later period.
Finally, the feelings connected with the activity of the
muscles presuppose a certain development of the organs
and a certain command of them by the will. The infant
obtains only a limited enjoyment from the use of his
motor organs. It is later on, when he grows stronger, can
run about and perform a variety of actions, that he
realizes the fuller delights of muscular activity.*
(B) The Emotions. — The higher feelings or emo-
tions, again, fall into certain well-marked varieties of
pleasurable and painful susceptibility, such as the satis-
factions and correlative dissatisfactions of self-esteem,
affection, the moral sense. These, like the sense-feelings,
may be best considered in the order in which they mani-
fest themselves. But before taking them up in detail we
will consider the general laws according to which the
emotions develop.f
Development of Emotion. — The same general laws
of mental development which we have found to hold good
in the case of the intellectual faculties apply also to the
emotions. These are deepened and fixed by exercise, or,
as we commonly express it, indulgence ; and there is a
progress from feelings simple in their composition, involv-
ing little mental representation, to feelings complex in
their nature, and implying a high degree of representative
activity.
* When speaking of the organic feelings, we have to dwell on the
painful or disagreeable side as being the more conspicuous. In the
feelings connected with the use of the senses, especially hearing and
sight, the pleasurable side is the more prominent.
f In most cases it is the pleasurable side of the feeling or suscepti-
bility which is specially indicated by the name, as when we speak of
the love of approbation or of self-complacency. In the case of fear,
however, we clearly have to do with a painful feeling.
290 THE FEELINGS: NATURE OF FEELING,
(i) Instinctive and Hereditary Element. — Our emotions
spring out of certain instinctive germs. The child is so
constituted as to be affected with the particular feeling
called anger or fear when the appropriate circumstances,
sense of being thwarted, consciousness of danger, present
themselves. And this instinctive rudiment of emotion is
not the same in all cases. We find that similar circum-
stances and experiences do not result in the same intensity
of emotion in different children ; and this shows that they
are born with dissimilar emotional tendencies or disposi-
tions. The sum of these native or instinctive dispositions
constitutes the child's emotional nature or temperament.
Such differences in emotional capacity are connected with
physical differences, including diversities not only in the
structure and mode of working of the brain and nervous
system, but in the constitution of the muscular system and
of the vital organs engaged in the outgoings of feeling.
The instinctive foundations of feeling include, besides
these capacities to feel in different ways, certain transmitted
associations. For example, the infant smiles, when only a
few weeks old, at the sight of his mother's face. This im-
plies that there is an inherited tendency to feel pleasure
of a particular kind in connection with this particular im-
pression, viz., the sight of the human face. Again, there
is good reason to suppose that the child has an instinctive
fear of strange men, and of certain animals. Such trans-
mitted associations appear to point to the effects of ances-
tral experience. Numberless experiences of the pleasures
of human companionship, and of the dangers connected
with strangers and wild animals during the past history of
the race, have left their organic trace in the shape of an
inherited association.
(2) The Effect of Exercise^ Experience y etc."— In the sec-
ond place, every emotion in its developed form presup-
poses certain experiences and a process of acquisition
within the individual life. The feelings, like the intellect-
FEELINGS DEEPENED BY EXERCISE. 291
ual operations, become strengthened and perfected by ex-
ercise of the natural capabilities.
Every experience of pleasure or pain leaves its after-
trace on the mind. Just as every exercise of the powers
of attention leaves the mind and the connected brain-
centers modified and more strongly disposed to that par-
ticular kind of activity, so every indulgence of a feeling
tends to strengthen the corresponding disposition. The
child that has fully indulged a feeling of anger or of vanity
is much more ready to fall into that mode of feeling again.
It follows from this effect of exercise that every feeling
tends (within certain limits) to become deeper by repeated
indulgences. Traces of previous feelings of a like kind
mingle with the new feeling ; or the new feeling wakens
echoes of previous like feelings. In this way, for example,
a child's feeling of gratitude toward one who is in the
habit of being kind to him is gradually deepened by an
accumulation of emotional traces.
As a final result of this persistence of emotional traces
we have what is called revived or " ideal " feeling. After
having had actual experience of fear or anger, a child is
able, when his representative power is sufficiently devel-
oped, to recall and imagine the feeling. Thus he can re-
call a fit of anger, and can imagine himself feeling angry
again by supposing himself in new circumstances, and can
enter into another's feeling of anger when he sees it ex-
pressed. This ability to reproduce and realize a state of
feeling, when no longer actually present, constitutes a most
important attainment in emotional and moral development.
Association of Feeling. — This revival or represen-
tation of feeling takes place according to the law of con-
tiguity. A feeling of pleasure or of pain is recalled to the
mind by the recurrence of the impression or object of
which the feeling was an accompaniment. Thus, to take
a simple case, the sight of a cool stream on a hot day calls
up the pleasurable experience of a plunge. The presence
292 THE FEELINGS: NATURE OF FEELING,
of a person who has done us a kindness gives us pleasure
by calling up in our mind the agreeable recollection of this
kindness.* These associations embrace not only the ob-
jects and circumstances which cause the feeling, but col-
lateral accompaniments. Thus a child may take a violent
repugnance to a room or a house where it has had a dis-
agreeable experience. A liking for a person may take its
rise in some quite accidental association with a very agree-
able experience.
The growth of emotion depends on the readiness with
which such associations are formed, and the strength of
these associations. Children of a lively emotional tem-
perament are quick in investing places, objects, and per-
sons with agreeable and disagreeable associations, and, as
a consequence, easily acquire strong likings and dislikes.
Many emotions in their fully-developed form are com-
posite feelings, made up of many simpler feelings, both
sense-feelings and simpler emotional states, which coalesce
in a mass of feeling. Such coalescence takes place by the
aid of association. It is the result of a number of agree-
able or disagreeable associations successively attaching
themselves to one and the same object. In this way arise
the child's permanent likings for his favorite toys and
books, his home surroundings, the streams and woods
which are his frequent resort, and his brute and human
companions. The more numerous and varied the experi-
ences which combine in these associations, the greater the
volume of the resulting feeling.
Habits of Feeling. — The highest result of these pro-
cesses of association is the formation of a permanent habit
of feeling. A child who has contracted a strong liking or
disliking for a person or a place can not see or think about
* The reader should compare this with what was said in chapter ix
on the effect of feeling in fixing impressions on the mind. A feeling
associated with an impression strengthens this, and conversely is itself
revived by its medium.
GROWTH OF THE EMOTIONS,
293
the object without experiencing a revival of the feeling.
In this way are developed customary or habitual modes of
feeling toward the various objects of his surroundings.
The formation of these fixed habits or dispositions consti-
tutes one important part of emotional development.
The formation of these fixed habits involves a loss of
the early intensity, and a growth in respect of calmness
and depth. Children's feelings are strong and explosive ;
feelings of older people are calmer, but more lasting. This
illustrates the effect of custom touched on just now. At
the same time, the growth of an emotional habit implies a
large increase oi potential intensity. Thus the calmer and
riper love of a boy of fifteen for his mother includes a
much higher capacity of feeling strongly when occasion
calls for it, e. g., when meeting her after an interval of
separation, or receiving some unlooked-for kindness from
her. The effect of repetition and custom shows itself, too,
in the growth of periodic cravings for the beloved object,
and in a greatly intensified susceptibility to the sufferings
of losing the valued possession.
Order of Development of the Emotions.— The
various emotions, like the intellectual faculties, appear to
unfold themselves in the order of increasing complexity
and representativeness. Thus the feeling of fear comes
among the earliest, because it is simple in its composition,
and involves a lower degree of representative power. All
that is needed to develop a feeling of dread is a physical
suffering and a degree of retentiveness sufficient to build
up an association of this with an object or place. A feel-
ing of affection for a person comes later than this, because
it involves a greater complexity of experience and a higher
degree of retentive power.
We may, for our present purpose, conveniently divide
the emotions into three classes, answering roughly to three
grades of complexity : (i) The first group are the so-
called egoistic feelings. As the name suggests, they have
294 THE FEELINGS: NATURE OF FEELING,
to do with the individual, his wants, interests, and well-
being. They all have a common root in the instinct of
self-preservation and self-furtherance. Being of the great-
est consequence for the maintenance of the individual life,
they are the first to be developed. They include the well-
known feelings, fear, anger, love of power, and so forth
Some of them, as anger and envy, are directed toward
others, and, since they serve to divide individuals one from
another in an attitude of antagonism, are known as anti-
social feelings.
(2) The second group consists of the social feelings.
These, as the name suggests, have the general character of
being favorable to others, and so subserve human compan-
ionship and friendship. Hence they have a higher moral
value than the egoistic feelings. Being unconnected with
the instinct of self-preservation, and serving rather to
check the action of this, they manifest themselves later in
the history of the child. These feelings include a number
of emotions of very unequal value, from a liking for ah-
other's approving smile up to a perfectly disinterested
sympathy, and from a restricted and largely egoistic love
for a parent up to a wide-spreading emotion of benevo-
lence.
(3) The third group consists of highly complex feel-
ings, which are commonly known as sentiments, such as
patriotism, the feeling for nature, for humanity. These
are commonly brought under three heads : the intellectual
sentiment, or the love of truth ; the aesthetic sentiment, or
admiration of the beautiful ; and the moral sentiment, or
reverence for duty. These emotions in their developed
form attach themselves to certain abstract ideas — truth,
beauty, moral goodness. Hence they presuppose a much
higher stage of mental development than the other two
groups. Their culture forms the last and crowning phase
of the education of the emotions.
Characteristics of Children's Feelings.— The feel-
CHILDREN'S EMOTIONS, 295
ings of early life are, as already hinted, to a large extent
egoistic. The germ of affection may be detected, but this
has little of a disinterested character. And though the
rudiment of aesthetic taste is present, this is confined to
the sensuous side of things (brightness, color, etc.). At
the beginning of life the bodily pleasures and pains make
up the chief part of the experience of feeling. Among
these must be included the pleasures and pains of appe-
tite, which form so conspicuous an ingredient in the early
experience of feeling. Even those traces of emotion
properly so called which appear at this time are closely
allied to these lower sense-feelings. Thus temper is at
first the immediate outcome of physical pain, envy the out-
come of greediness, and so forth. In the first years of life
feeling is bound up with the bodily life and the lower forms
of sensation.
Another characteristic closely connected with this is
that the emotional states of the child are immediately de-
pendent on actual impressions. Fear is excited by the
sight of a dog, but not yet by a mental image of it. In
other words, the child's emotions are only directly excited
by present objects. The low degree of representative or
imaginative power does not allow as yet of a reproduction
and ideal gratification of feeling.
This predominance of the physical element and the con-
trol of feeling by present circumstances may help us to
understand other characteristics of childish feeling. Its
most striking feature is its intensity and violence. We
commonly talk about the passionateness of children.
The outbreaks of childish temper are in their stormy vio-
lence and their complete mastery of the mind unlike any-
thing that occurs in later life — at least in the case of those
who have learned to govern their passions. This turbulence
of emotion, which produces the most marked effects on
the mind and body alike, is connected with the absence
of reflected power. The physical discomfort is all-absorb-
296 THE FEELINGS: NATURE OF FEELING.
ing while it lasts, because the child is unable to bring
memory and reflection to his aid, so as to recognize the
triviality of the cause, the fugitive nature of the pain, and
so forth. Similarly, the sight of a dog fills the mind of a
timid child with terror for the time, because the mind is
unable to recollect and reflect. And while the subjuga-
tion of the mind by feeling is thus favored by the intellect-
ual weakness of the child and his low degree of representa-
tive power, it is also furthered by the backwardness of his
moral development, the want of a sense of the unseemliness
and mischievousness of immoderate passion, and the want
of the power of will needed to check and curb the forces
of emotion.
With this violence of childish feeling there is corre-
lated another characteristic, viz., its fugitiveness. The
passionate child differs from the passionate man in the
transitoriness of his outbreaks. This is their redeeming
side. There is something almost amusing in watching the
storm of passion suddenly stilled by the suggestion of
some divergent train of ideas. The little sufferer who has
been thrown into an agony of distress by the accidental
breakage of a toy is at once restored to his usual serenity
and cheerfulness by the introduction of some new and di-
verting object.
This outwardness of feeling or dependence on present
external circumstances shows itself further in the charac-
teristic changeableness and capriciousness of children's
emotions. The child has but few fixed likings or antipa-
thies. To-day he is full of caresses for his nurse or his
toy-animal ; to-morrow he varies his mood and heaps
abuse on his favorite. The annoyance of the present mo-
ment is not supplemented and counterbalanced by the re-
membered gratifications of the past. Each feeling is thus
the result of the present circumstances and experience : it
does not gather up the results of many successive experi-
ences.
REGULATING YOUTHFUL EMOTION. 207
I
The Education of the Feelings. — The cultivation
and management of the feelings forms a large and im-
portant part of education. Viewed in one way, this edu-
cation of the feelings has as its object the child's own
happiness. From this point of view the special object
would be so to regulate the feelings of the young as to
provide them with the richest and most varied means of
happiness. This aim again culminates in the cultivation
of the mind as a whole, and the development of intel-
lectual interests and aesthetic taste. And this direction of
emotional culture connects itself very closely with intel-
lectual education. Finally, the educator may consider
the feelings rather from a practical and ethical point of
view as providing the motives or springs of action. And
here his special aim will be to convert emotional force
into the best stimulus to the will, so as to render the child
efficient in the discharge of the duties of life. This prac-
tical view, while including a reference .to the individual
child's own happiness, is more specially concerned with
the claims of others and the obligations of the individual
to the community. It connects itself closely with the
ends of moral training.
When we speak of the educator aiding in the develop-
ment of the feelings, we imply that the emotional sensi-
bilities of the individual are to some extent acted on by
his social environment. This may not at first sight seem
evident. The means of stimulating the intellectual powers
of the child lie in the parent's or teacher's hand. He can
set objects before his eye, communicate knowledge by
means of words, and so directly act upon his faculties.
But how is he to work on the feelings of the child ? how,
for example, excite a feeling of pity or of shame in the
breast of a child ? Yet observation shows that children's
feelings are to a considerable extent under the control of
those with whom they live ; and we have to inquire into
the means by which this influence is excited.
298 THE FEELINGS: NATURE OF FEELING.
The culture of the emotions falls into two well-marked
divisions : (a) the negative culture, or the due limitation
of the forces of passion ; and {b) the positive culture, or
the calling forth and developing of the feelings.
(a) Repression of Feeling. — There are emotions
which are apt to exist in excess, such as fear and the anti-
social feelings. These must to a certain extent be re-
pressed, whether for the child's physical or moral good, or
in the interests of others. In truth, one great aim of the
educator is to bring the turbulence of children's feelings
under restraint.
The problem of subduing the force of feeling in the
young is in some respects a peculiarly difficult one. As
we have seen, their passionate outbursts are marked by
great violence, and this makes it difficult for the educator
to reach and influence the child's mind when under the
sway of emotion. Moreover, the great agency by which,
as we shall see by-and-by, the force of feeling is checked
and counteracted, namely, an effort of self-restraint, can
not be relied on in the case of young children, owing to
the feebleness of their wills. At the same time, the mo-
bility of the child's mind is favorable to the diversion of
his attention from the exciting cause of the passion, and in
this way it is in ordinary cases easy for the educator to quiet
the turbulence of passion after its first violence is over.
In addition to thus seeking to subdue the force of
passion when actually excited, the wise teacher will aim
at weakening the underlying sensibilities. In the matter
of the feelings it is emphatically true that prevention is
better than cure. Thus he has to take care that children
with a strong disposition to violent temper should not be
exposed to circumstances likely to inflame their passion.
An envious child ought not to be placed in a situation
which is pretty certain to excite this feeling. An emo-
tional susceptibility may to some extent be weakened and
even " starved out " through want of exercise.
CONTROL OF THE EMOTIONS. 299
Again, feelings may be weakened by strengthening the
intellectual side of the child's mind, adding to his knowl-
edge, and exercising his powers of reflection and judg-
ment. In this way, for example, children's first foolish
terrors will be undermined by the gradual melting away
of childish superstitions under the general influence of a
truer knowledge of Nature and her laws. Similarly, the
violence of grief is tempered by the development of the
faculty of judgment, and the ability to compare things and
view them in their real proportions.
Finally, the weakening or deadening of an unlovely or
injurious feeling is besi effected by strengthening some
opposed type of feeling. Thus every exercise of a feeling
of regard for others' good qualities tends to enfeeble a
child's conceit. Every exercise in kindness and con-
sideration for others helps to weaken the impulses of
anger and envy. The educator, as Waitz remarks, aims
at curbing and weakening the lower egoistic feelings by
developing the higher social and moral sentiments.
(b) Stimulation of Emotion. — What we call the
culture of feeling is, however, largely concerned with the
problem of strengthening and developing certain emo-
tions. This applies in a special manner to the higher
feelings, viz., the social feelings and the abstract senti-
ments. The formation of the higher interests, intellectual
and sesthetic, and the development of good feelings toward
others, and a sense of duty, implies that the educator set
himself directly to excite and call forth feeling.* Since
feeling grows by exercise, the educator must use means to
call forth the particular emotional susceptibility into full
* Waitz argues well against the idea (originating in Rousseau's
general conception of education) that the educator's function in rela-
tion to the feelings is merely to restrain and not to stimulate. He
points out that while repression is the main thing in the earlier stages
of development, stimulation becomes more and more important as the
child advances. (" Allgeraeine Paedagogik," pp. 146-147.)
14
3CX) THE FEELINGS: NATURE OF FEELING.
and vigorous play. There are two principal agencies of
which the educator can avail himself here, (i) First of
all, the child may be introduced to objects or circum-
stances which are fitted to excite a particular feeling.
Thus, by presenting to a child some instance of suffering,
the parent aims at directly evoking a feeling of pity. In
a similar way, pretty objects, stories, etc., serve to call
forth the feeling of aesthetic admiration. As supplement-
ary to this presentation of suitable objects, the educator
may, by inducing the child to put forth his activities, set
him in the way of acquiring new experiences for himself
and so of discovering new modes of pleasure. In this
manner an indolent, unambitious child may be roused to
activity by a first taste of the pleasures of success and the
delight of well-earned commendation. All intellectual
training aims at developing certain feelings or interests by
calling forth corresponding modes of mental activity.
(2) In the second place, much may be done by the
habitual manifestation of a particular feeling by those
who constitute the child's social environments. Children
tend to reflect the feelings they see expressed by their
parents, teachers, and young companions. The explana-
tion of this process of emotional imitation will be supplied
when we come to deal with the subject of sympathy.
Here it is enough to refer to it as one of the great instru-
mentalities by which the educator may help to mold the
growing emotional nature of the child.
The aim of the educator in developing the feelings
should be to build up strong and permanent attachments
or affections for worthy things, persons, and modes of
activity. And here the principles of repetition and asso-
ciation become important. The feeling for the home, for
the school, for the teacher, and for school-work is highly
composite, the product of a slow process of accumulation
and growth. If the educator wants to develop a strong
liking for a subject of study, he must manage to present it
MANAGEMENT OF THE EMOTIONS. 301
in a pleasurable light, to connect it by as many associa-
tions as possible with what is agreeable. Similarly, in
seeking to excite a permanent feeling of affection for him-
self, he has to build up a mass of agreeable feeling. He
should remember, too, that even accidental associations
exert a powerful influence, and seek as far as possible to
make all the surroundings and accompaniments of what
is to be esteemed or admired worthy and impressive.
In order to help in building up such a lasting affection,
the educator must be on his guard against a too frequent
indulgence of feeling on the one hand, and a too fre-
quent wounding of the susceptibility on the other. A boy
who is continually being caressed by his mother or praised
by his teacher is apt to set little store by these things.
No feeling must be indulged up to the point of satiety.
And, on the other hand, the educator should bear in mind
that the frequent wounding of any feeling is apt to deaden
it. A boy who never got praise when he felt he deserved
it would tend to grow indifferent to it. Affection unre-
quited dies from starvation. The more delicate feelings,
as shame, as Locke observes, " can not be kept and often
transgressed against." *
One more general caution may be added. The edu-
cator must be on his guard against spurious sickly feel-
ings and the mere outwar^. affectation of feeling. The
very eagerness of the parent or teacher to cultivate good
feelings, and the wish of children to please, are, as Locke
points out, favorable to the growth of affectation.f The
educator must not try to force feelings, or, by looking out
for the expression of feeling, induce children to try to
simulate the appearance of sensibility, j! nor must he allow
* " Thoughts concerning Education," § 60.
f " On Education," § 66.
X " Nothing," says Miss Edgeworth, " hurts young people more than
to be watched continually about their feelings, to have their counte-
nances scrutinized, and the degrees of their sensibility measured by
302
THE FEELINGS: NATURE OF FEELING.
children's natural wish to please lead them spontaneously
to an affectation of pleasing sentiments. He must be
severe in discriminating a genuine and worthy feeling, say
of pity or remorse, from its unworthy and sentimental
imitation, and the more outward show for the inward re-
ality ; and he must not allow feeling to divorce itself from
action and to lapse into mere emotional indulgence, in-
stead of becoming efficient as a motive to conduct.
the surveying eye of the unmerciful spectator." (" Practical Educa-
tion," chap. X.)
CHAPTER XVII.
THE EGOISTIC AND SOCIAL FEELINGS.
In the previous chapter a general account was given
of the nature of feeling. We may now go on to consider
the feelings in detail. Here we shall follow the order of
development and begin with the egoistic feelings, briefly
discussing a few of the more prominent types, such as
fear, anger, love of activity, with which the educator is
specially concerned.
(A) Egoistic Feelings : Fear.— One of the earli-
est feelings to be developed is fear, the more intense de-
grees of which are marked off as terror. This is the
simplest form of an emotion pure and simple, that is to
say, a feeling which has no admixture of present sensa-
tion, but springs out of mental activity. Fear arises from
the idea and anticipation of evil, and thus involves a sim-
ple act of mental representation. It presupposes a pre-
vious experience of pain in some form, and the formation
of an association between this experience and its cause or
accompaniment. Thus the child's proverbial dread of the
fire is the natural consequent of some actual experience
of its burning quality. At the same time there is good
reason to suppose that certain forms of fear are aided
by inherited association. Children of a certain age are
apt to display fear in the presence of animals and strange
persons, before their experience can have led them to con-
nect any idea of danger with these objects. And the
304 THE EGOISTIC AND SOCIAL FEELINGS,
timidity shown by children when they begin to walk can
not easily be explained as the result of individual experi-
ence.*
While experience is thus necessary, in the first place,
to suggest danger, it is not necessary that a child should
have had experience of the particular form of evil sug-
gested in a given case. When once his mind has grown
familiar with certain varieties of pain, the exercise of his
imagination may suffice to excite fear in the presence of
new and unknown evils. It is easy to excite fear in a
child's mind by any suggestion of unexperienced evil,
e. g., falling into water, a fact well known to a certain
class of nurse-maids and others.
In its more intense forms fear is always bound up with
an indefinite representation of the threatening evil. Where
the mind distinctly realizes the precise nature and extent
of a suffering, the more striking characteristics of fear are
wanting. Hence some of the most distressing forms of
childish fear arise in presence of unknown and therefore
immeasurable possibilities of evil, e. g., when threatened
with being handed over to the policeman. f The agitating
effect of fear is further increased by the uncertainty of
the evil. It is harder to calmly face an uncertain misery
than a certain one.
As a form of painful feeling, we should expect fear to
have a depressing effect on the mental and bodily activi-
ties. But the peculiarity of the emotion is its unnerving
and disabling character. The intellectual processes are
arrested, the attention is rigidly held by the exciting ob-
* For a discussion of the question how far fear is inherited, see Pe-
rez, *' First Three Years of Childhood," p. 62, etc. ; Preyer, " Die Seele
des Kindes," p. 104, etc A question much disputed by educationists,
from Locke downward, is whether children have an instinctive fear of
the dark. Locke is positive that the fear of the dark is not instinctive.
("On Education," ed. by Quick, p. 118.)
f An excellent illustration of the cniel effect of such boundless
terror is given by Mr. Anstey in his story, ** The Giant's Robe."
THE USES OF FEAR. 305
ject, and the imagination is apt to be inflamed to a peril-
ous degree. Abject terror thus deprives the mind of all
power. And there is something analogous to this in the
physical prostration which accompanies the state. In its
extreme degrees fear may bring about serious bodily de-
rangements.
Children are in general much disposed to this emotion.
A little experience enables them to realize their special
liability to evil, their bodily weakness, their ignorance, and
their inability to cope with danger. And this result is
furthered by their instinctive tendency to dread. A cer-
tain timidity seems to be appropriate to childhood ; and
it is natural to suppose that the native proneness to fear
is one of the instinctive endowments that help to subserve
the great end of self-preservation. This characteristic is,
moreover, intimately connected with the earliest form of
the social instinct, viz., the impulse to seek the society of
others as a mode of security, and to depend on them for
protection and guidance.*
The educator is concerned with this feeling in differ-
ent ways. First of all, he has to guard children against
all groundless and debasing forms of the emotion, more
particularly superstitious terror and the fear of the dark.
It is of the first importance, as Locke says, to avoid all
suggestions which give rise to childish fright. Careless
parents, by over-indulging children in sensational stories
about hobgoblins and so forth, often excite a timidity in
the young mind of which they are unaware. The educa-
tor needs to watch carefully for the causes of children's
fear. Children often connect ideas of danger with things
as the result of accidental associations. Miss Edgeworth
gives as an instance the dread of a child for a drum which
he first saw played by a Merry- Andrew in a mask. Chil-
* At the same time this feeling acts as a powerful check to the
social feelings ; more particularly it shows itself in the common timid-
ity and shyness of children in the presence of strangers.
3o6 THE EGOISTIC AND SOCIAL FEELINGS.
dren's tendency to fear must be corrected by the develop-
ment of the opposite feeling of courage and self-confi-
dence ; and their wills should be exercised in a habit of
courageously facing the sources of dread. In this way
much of childish fear will disappear. Finally, the great
remedy for abject and injurious terror is the development
of intelligence, which dispels many of our early fears as
purely imaginary, and enables us to measure the exact
dimensions of any particular form of evil and to assign it
its proper value.*
While the educator has thus to restrain fear and rob
it of its overpowering and debasing force, he has at the
same time to preserve and make use of the feehng in its
milder forms. After a certain amount of experience,
timidity is apt to give place to a foolish recklessness in
encountering danger. In the first delightful sense of
growing strength the boy is liable to exaggerate his ability
to cope with danger. And here it is desirable to cultivate
a certain cautiousness and apprehensiveness. And gen-
erally the educator, while discouraging excessive and
harmful varieties of the emotion, as the dread of being
laughed at, has to call forth and strengthen the emotion
in relation to proper and worthy objects^ as wrong actions
and the loss of others' esteem.
Finally, the educator needs the emotion of fear as a
motive force. Every governor has to work to some ex-
tent on the fear of the governed, and the teacher is no
exception. Here, however, he must be careful not to ex-
cite the emotion in its unnerving and prostrating intensity.
The policy of compelling by threat, if carried out to its
cruel extremity, must necessarily defeat its own end. By
exciting terror in children we deprive them of the power
of doing the very things which we require. Where, how-
ever, the evil is definite in character, and of dimensions
* On the way to deal with childish fears, see Locke, " On Educa-
tion," § 115, and following.
ANGER AS AN EMOTION.
307
which can be grasped by the pupil's mind, the agitation
of terror is eliminated, and the will is spurred to activity
by a calm apprehension of a realizable amount of suffer-
ing.
Anger, Antipathy. — To the same class of simple
primitive feelings as fear must be referred the emotion of
anger. This resembles fear in the fact that it springs out
of an experience of pain. But, unlike fear, it has a dis-
tinctly pleasurable ingredient. We speak of the gratifica-
tion of the angry passions. The feeling of anger proper
contrasts with fear in having as its accompaniment an
energetic form of activity. A child in an angry passion
is not prostrated and paralyzed as in the state of fear, but
is thrown into a state of violent muscular action. At the
same time the violence of the activity and its irregular
and spasmodic character make it baneful and destructive
of energy. A fit of angry temper exhausts the strength
of the child.
In its simplest form, as seen in the passionate outbreak
of an infant at the beginning of life, anger is the direct
outcome of physical pain, and may be described as the
instinctive revolt of a sentient creature against the dispen-
sation of suffering. Later on, this crude type of feeling*
in which the physical element predominates, becomes dif-
ferentiated into the emotion of anger proper.* This feel-
ing is based on a consciousness of another's action op-
posed to the child's own, and involves a rudimentary
sense of injury. It is closely connected in its origin with
the animal impulse of combat, and probably derives its
energetic character from this circumstance. It thus has
its root, like fear, in the instinct of self-preservation. It
is the accompaniment of the outgoings of the impulse of
self-defense against an adversary. And the deep pleasure
which attends the indulgence of angry passion is probably
* Mr. Darwin says anger proper is distinctly manifested before the
fourth month.
3o8 THE EGOISTIC AND SOCIAL FEELINGS.
connected with the circumstance that the passion is the
most rousing to the energies alike of body and of mind, •
and includes the satisfaction of the most powerful of out
animal instincts.
Children are notoriously much under the dominion of
this primitive passion. They resent suffering, and vent
their resentment in outbreaks of impotent childish wrath,
screaming, dashing things to the ground, and, in extreme
cases, casting themselves in a kind of mad despair on the
floor. Not being able as yet to distinguish in moments
of mental agitation between intentional and unintentional
injury, they are at such times wont to pour out the vials
of infantile wrath on the unoffending heads of their doll,
toy-horse, or any other inanimate thing which happens to
cause them annoyance.
Anger shows itself in a variety of forms. In its pure
form of retaliation it has as its exciting cause the percep-
tion of another's injurious action or intention. Being
closely allied in its origin with the instinct of combat, it
accompanies all the more exciting varieties of contest in a
more or less distinct form. As a mere delight in annoy-
ing and injuring, it frequently associates itself with the
love of power in its coarser and more brutal forms, and
constitutes a prime ingredient in the well-known boyish
type, the bully. It commonly combines with the strong
destructive instincts of children in fostering that love of
cruelty to animals of which they are commonly accused.*
It makes its harsh voice heard in the shout of cruel boyish
ridicule. In a less pleasurable and triumphant form the
feeling of anger shows itself as a nascent hatred or spite
in the child's envy at another's happiness, and, more par-
♦ According to Dr. Bain, there is an instinctive delight in the wit-
nessing of suffering, which forms the core of the gratification of the
malign passion. But Locke thinks cruelty is due to bad education.
See "On Education," sec. 66.
THE ANTI-SOCIAL FEELINGS, 309
ticularly, his jealousy at seeing another child caressed and
favored.*
When it takes a firm root in the mind, anger may de-
velop into a permanent antipathy or dislike to a person.
Children show an animal-like readiness to contract such
lasting dispositions to those who have (actually or appar-
ently) done them harm or offered them offense.
As the anti-social feeling which divides man from man,
the instinct of retaliation, though useful and necessary to
the individual, makes a heavy demand on the restraining
forces of the educator. It would clearly be fatal to the
happiness and the moral development of the child to hu-
mor its temper and to allow its outbreaks of angry passion
to go unchecked. The brute-like violence of infantile
temper must be assuaged. But this can not be done by a
mere employment of physical force. When, to take Rous-
seau's example, the nurse beats a child for crying, the dis-
cipline is not likely to calm its passion or cure its irritability.
The passionate child must be appealed to on its human
and reasonable side. Thus all provocatives of violent
passion must be avoided. The parent must not, for ex-
ample, madden an irascible child by exciting its envy.
Having himself to occasion a considerable amount of an-
noyance by the restraints of discipline, he must take par-
ticular pains to allay vindictive feelings in relation to him-
self. To this end he should avoid every appearance of
irregularity, caprice, and unfairness in his mode of man-
agement. The sense of right is based on custom, and a
child that is customarily allowed an indulgence smarts
under a nascent sense of injustice when this is withheld.
Thus a mother who in nine cases out of ten allows a child
a light on going to bed, and in the tenth instance forbids
this, excites a legitimate anger, closely analogous to moral
indignation.
* For an account of the feeling of jealousy as manifested by chil-
dren and young animals, see Perez, op. cit., p. 70, and following.
310 THE EGOISTIC AND SOCIAL FEELINGS.
Again, the educator should call forth the child's reflect-
ive powers, and cultivate a juster and sounder view of
things. As Miss Edgeworth well says, h propos of the man-
agement of children's temper, '' you must alter the habits
of thinking, you must change the view of the object, be-
fore you can alter the feelings." * Thus a cross and queru-
lous child should be led to see that much which appears
to be an intended injury to itself is not so, that playmates
are apt to overlook the results of their actions, and that
their parents and teachers are their friends, having their
true interests at heart. And, as the child's powers develop,
an appeal should be made to the will to exert itself in
checking and bringing under the turbulent forces of pas-
sion. Lastly, the anti-social impulses should be limited
and counterbalanced by the assiduous cultivation of the
social and kindly feelings. Discipline and a growing sense
of the unseemliness of violent passion may suffice to check
its outbreaks ; but the only adequate security against the
indulgence of internal malice, hatred, and the other un-
holy progeny of anger, is the formation of a humane and
generous disposition.
Here, too, as in other cases, the educator must remem-
ber that his function is not that of extirpating something
wholly bad. The impulse of injury is a necessary endow-
ment, and has its proper and legitimate scope. It is no
doubt true that society, by taking the punishment of the
more flagrant offenses into its own hands, deprives the
individual of the fullest indulgence of his vindictive in-
stincts. At the same time it is equally plain that it allows
him a certain modest field for the exercise and manifesta-
tion of the retaliative impulse. No form of government,
whether that of the school or of the state, relieves the
individual of all necessity of self-defense. On the con-
trary, he is expected to assert his own rights, and to meet
injury by a manifestation of those instincts which Nature
* •' Practical Education," chap, vu
DEFENSIBLE ANGER.
311
has provided for our self-protection. A child that is
tame and spiritless, and allows the bully to indulge his
love of power to the utmost, proves himself to be unfitted
to take his part in the battle of life. And such servile
submission, so far from being praised by the moral educa-
tor, should if needful be denounced.
Not only so, anger is needed to give life and vigor to
higher and nobler sentiments. The instinct of retaliation,
so brutal and cruel when untamed, is susceptible of be-
coming softened and refined into a worthy feeling. In
the indignant revolt of the child-mind against the very
idea of cruelty, whether to man or brute, anger is not only
stripped of its unloveliness, but assumes a pleasing and
even admirable aspect. By cultivating a wide sympathy
with the sufferings of others, the educator may help to
humanize the instincts of resentment, by transforming
them into a genuinely disinterested and impassioned sense
of justice.
Love of Activity and of Power. — We now come to
a feeling of a different order, viz., the love of activity. It
is egoistic, since the pleasure which the child experiences
in exerting his powers is connected with and subserves
the maintenance and furtherance of him as an individual.
At the same time it is a feeling which the educator has
rather to foster and utilize as a motive than to repress. It
supplies one of the well-known educational motives.
As pointed out above, all activity, when suitable to the
powers exerted, is attended with a sense of enjoyment.
Where there is a vigorous body and brain, and an ade-
quate recuperation of the powers by periods of repose,
there arises a strong disposition to activity, so that the
slightest opening or stimulus is seized and utilized. This
readiness to act is known as the " spontaneous activity "
of the child. Healthy children are eager to be doing
something. And this spontaneous energy vents itself not
only in muscular action, but in an exercise of the sense-
312
THE EGOISTIC AND SOCIAL FEELINGS,
organs and the brain in examining objects. The pleasure
directly springing from and accompanying this discharge
of nervous force constitutes the sensuous basis of the love
of activity.
The feeling acquires more of the dignity of an emotion
when the spontaneous activity meets with a momentary
check. This excites a special exertion of energy and in-
volves a much more distinct consciousness of the action
as our own. One may easily observe the germ of this
feeling in a child of two or three months when absorbed
in some exciting effort, as trying to lift a heavy object or
to reach one lying barely within its reach. The overcom-
ing of the difficulty is accompanied by a look of elation
and a grunt of satisfaction. Here we have the first rude
trace of the emotion of power. In the intensification and
prolongation of its activity under the stimulus of an ob-
stacle the child has woke up to a clearer and fuller con-
sciousness of its powers.
The pleasurable feeling of power is experienced when-
ever the child succeeds in doing something — whether a
physical or mental act — that it could not do, or was not
aware of being able to do, before. It is also enjoyed
when any action, which was before felt to be difficult,
becomes sensibly easier. It is thus connected with prog-
ress or growth, and involves a feeling which is directly
satisfied by a comparison between the past and the pres-
ent. The feeling of power further derives much of its
gratification from the social surroundings. In the face of
its elders, parents, teacher, etc., the child is no doubt con-
scious rather of its weakness than of its strength. And
this sense of power may readily grow into a distinctly
painful feeling. But children have a way of recouping
themselves for any humiliation from this source by em-
phasizing to the utmost any superiority to other chil-
dren of which they are able to boast. And, in thus as-
serting their superiority to others, they are apt to realize
THE FEELING OF POWER.
313
the keenest satisfaction of the feeling of power. In this
mode of gratification, however, the emotion has an anti-
social character. In its more exciting forms it owes much
of its pungency to the admixture of an element of malig-
nant satisfaction, whether the delight of the bully in
crushing the weak, or the less ignoble rejoicing of the
successful antagonist over his more equal rival.
The feeling of power is capable of growing into a per-
manent and habitual emotion, the agreeable conscious-
ness of ability to do things. This is a higher form of the
emotion, involving more elaborate processes of compari-
son and abstraction. In this permanent form it enters
into what we call pride or self-respect.
The development of the love of activity and power
must be checked in certain directions. Children are, as
Locke observes, greedy of dominion, and desire supe-
riority over others not only in physical and intellectual
strength, but also in material possessions. The desire for
power must be moderated and kept within due limits.
When thus restrained, however, it becomes a most valu-
able incentive to exertion. A right ambition to get on, to
grow in strength, knowledge, and skill, is the prime source
of youthful effort.
To enjoy the sense of power, the child must, it is evi-
dent, have a certain liberty of action. The suffering of
restraint is the consciousness of fettered energy. A child
only does his best at anything when he enjoys a sense of
spontaneous exertion and self-activity. To throw an ap-
pearance of spontaneity into school-work is the most cer-
tain means of rousing his energies to their full tension.
The Kindergarten undoubtedly owes much of its popularity
among children to the fact that it so easily presents itself
to their minds as a sort of more serious play-room.
In the higher stages of education there seems less room
for the action of this principle. Teaming can not be re-
duced to a highly enjoyable experience of self-activity.
314 THE EGOISTIC AND SOCIAL FEELINGS.
The very conception of teaching involves external restraint,
and this excludes the full delight of spontaneous activity.
Not only so, the teacher must do very much to assist the
faculties of the child, and so keep him in mind of his in-
tellectual weakness. Yet this very circumstance makes it
all the more important to secure some scope for a free,
enjoyable consciousness of power. The mode of instruc-
tion that humiliates the child to the utmost by discourag-
ing his spontaneous exertion of faculty and insisting on
the fact of his stupendous ignorance is as fatal to intellect-
ual development as it is disagreeable. So far as comports
with the exigencies of teaching, the faculties of the learner
should be called upon in discovering things, so that he
may experience that pleasurable consciousness of doing
something for himself which is the most potent stimulus
to exertion.
Not only so, the more the teacher by the influence of
his personality takes away from the mode of instruction
all appearance of restraint, and raises learning to the level
of a dignified pursuit which it is a privilege and honor to
follow, the more likely are the learners to throw themselves
heartily into their studies. Children never have such a
keen sense of growing power as when they are trusted
with some new and important task. Even the least invit-
ing kind of work has been known to grow not only pala-
table but actually desirable when thus invested with the
semblance of responsibility and dignity.* Children should
be accustomed to look on each new stadium of study as a
larger privilege, a recognition of the fact that they have
more power than they had, and a step onward to the full
fruition of manhood's functions.
♦ Mark Twain gives a delightfully humorous, but at the same time
strikingly true, illustration of this in the way in which Tom Sawyer
made the other boys eager to relieve him of the work of whitewashing
the fence by pointing out that a body does not " get a chance of white-
washing a fence every day."
THE EMOTION OF RIVALRY. 315
Finally, children should be led so far as possible to
realize the advantages which intellectual development
brings with it. This was touched on in connection with
the training of the memory. The growing ability to con-
verse with others, due to expanding intelligence, is itself no
small gain to a child. One may often note the look of
pained bewilderment on a child's face who overhears his
parents discoursing of what lies too high for his young
intellectual wing. Most of us can remember as one of the
most delightful experiences of life the first sense of "grow-
ing up " when we were allowed to sit up in the evening
and listen to the older people's book. And, in so far as
the knowledge acquired at school is felt to bring the
child nearer the wider and mysterious circle of adult
ideas, it will acquire a new charm by gratifying his ambi-
tion. And for a similar reason every discovery of the
practical utility of knowledge will serve to quicken the
desire for it.
Feeling of Rivalry. — Closely connected with the
feeling of activity is the emotion of rivalry. This, too,
springs out of conscious activity. It is the feeling which
attends the putting forth of exertion in competition with
another. It is the familiar form of emotional excitement
which accompanies all combat. This excitement is partly
the result of the more strenuous activity which the stimulus
of competition evokes. But its chief ingredient is the de-
light in combat, in proving our superiority to another by
defeating him in some exercise of strength or skill. Its
full fruition is the elation of victory.
The feeling of rivalry is one of the earliest to be devel-
oped. It has its roots in the instinct of combat, which
we see clearly illustrated in the play as well as the more
serious contests of children and young animalSc Children
are much under the sway of this feeling. Association with
other children gives constant opening for the excitement
of contest. And many a child that if left to itself would
3i6 THE EGOISTIC AND SOCIAL FEELINGS.
be comparatively inactive is roused to strenuous exertion
by this stimulus.
The feeling manifests itself in a variety of forms. In
some of these its anti-social character or tendency is hardly
observable, whereas in other forms this is manifest. Much
of children's activity has an element of competition in it,
though no distinct feeling of antagonism, leave alone anger,
is developed. This remark applies to many things they
do under the stimulus of example and leadership. A child
that tries his hand at doing something he sees another
child doing is concerned rather with proving his own abil-
ity to do something than to gain a victory over a com-
petitor. The feeling here is one of personal ambition,
with the impulse of rivalry in the background. The same
remark applies to much of the later activity of life.
The feeling becomes more distinct, and shows its anti-
social character better in those situations of contest proper
where mastery is directly aimed at. In the case of bodily
combat, or fighting " in earnest," the feeling of rivalry is
at its maximum intensity, being sustained and inflamed by
angry passion. In more friendly contests of physical
strength or skill, the feeling is purer, anger being absent.
The anti-social tendency of the feeling, however, is plainly
seen in the fact that triumph over competitors naturally
leads on to contemptuous " crowing," while, on the other
hand, the sting of defeat often secretes within it the germ
of hatred. In more prolonged contests, as those of the
school, we commonly observe a tendency in the competi-
tion to foster hostile feelings toward the rival. In this
way all contests, as the very name suggests, approximate
to the situation of hostility.
The educational treatment of this feeling is a matter of
peculiar difficulty. It is so strong an incentive to mental
as well as to bodily exertion, and is so directly fostered
by the circumstances of the school, that the teacher can
not afford to do without it. Nor should he seek to do so.
DANGER OF l^HE FEELING OF RIVALRY. 317
The impulse is one of the most deeply implanted and
most necessary. It lies at the root of most human activity.
The teacher is accordingly justified in appealing to it
within certain limits.
Being an anti-social feeling, rivalry requires the educa-
tor's careful watching, lest it grow into a feeling of hos-
tility and lasting antipathy. This applies with special
force to the school, where the teaching of numbers to-
gether offers a wide scope for this feeling. The mode of
teaching by assigning prizes has the great drawback that
it tends to develop the impulse of rivalry in excess. A
boy who gets into the way of looking at a companion as a
possibly-successful claimant for the prize he covets is
hardly likely to entertain very kindly feelings toward him.
As Miss Edgeworth reminds us, superior knowledge is
dearly acquired at the price of a malevolent disposition.*
Rivalry is a feeling to be kept in the background.
Children should be encouraged to excel rather for the
sake of the attainment itself than for that of taking down
another. In other words, the scholar's prevailing motive
should be worthy ambition, or desire to get on, rather than
the distinctly anti-social impulse of rivalry. As Rousseau
and others have pointed out, the teacher can further this
result by his mode of apportioning praise, grounding his
estimate on a comparison between what the pupil has been
and what he is, and not between what he is and what
somebody else is not. In addition to this, the educator
should seek to counteract the tendency to the indulgence
of hostile sentiments in any form of competition by devel-
oping the social feelings, and more particularly sympathy
with the sorrows of another. In this way the heat of con-
test will be tempered, and the delight for triumph dashed
by regret at the humiliation of another ; the selfish feeling
of rivalry will pass into the more generous sentiment of
emulation.
* " Practical Education," chap. x.
3i8 THE EGOISTIC AND SOCIAL FEELINGS. .
Love of Approbation and Self-Esteem. — We pass
now to another and very different type of feeling. In
what is known as the love of approbation we seem to
have to do with a feeling of high moral rank, needing to be
stimulated rather than to be repressed, like the feelings of
fear, anger, or rivalry.
The love of approbation is a special form of the more
general sentiment, love of others' good opinion and of
praise. Its essential ingredient is the gratification which
the mind receives from the notice, commendation, and
good opinion of another. This feeling is instinctive. A
child a year old may be seen going to its mother to show
her something he has done, and to obtain her look and
words of commendation. It has its roots in the same pri-
mal instinct out of which the other egoistic feelings spring,
viz., the impulse of self-conservation and self-assertion.
Praise is the sign of another's recognition of our impor-
tance or merit, and pleases us by gratifying our instinctive
tendency to attach importance to ourselves. It is thus
closely connected with the feeling of self-complacency and
self-esteem. The instinctive desire for others' good opin-
ion has probably been built up, or at least strengthened,
by the forces of heredity. The experiences of many gener-
ations of the material advantages flowing from others*
recognition and good opinion would tend to beget an in-
herited liking and craving for notice and commendation.
Each child's experience tends, moreover, to deepen the
instinctive love of approbation by showing how much his
welfare depends on his winning and keeping others* favor-
able opinion.
The disposition to look to others for commendation is
natural and appropriate to childhood. Just as the child is
physically dependent, so he is intellectually and morally
dependent. In early life children can not form independ-
ent judgments as to the worth of their actions. Hence
they look to others and lean on their estimates. The in-
LOVE OF APPROBATION.
319
stinct is thus of special use in early life by helping to
quicken ambition at a time when the incentive of self-
satisfaction is relatively feeble. As Locke has it, reputa-
tion is the proper guide and encouragement of children
till they grow able to judge for themselves.
The desire for others' good opinion is, as we have seen,
distinctly egoistic. At the same time it has a social side
as well. For, in desiring to stand well with others, the
child is paying these a certain respect. Moreover, he has
to attend to what pleases them and offends them, and so
is put in the way of reaching a much higher motive, viz.,
the desire to give pleasure to others.
This double aspect of the feeling reflects itself in the
unequal dignity of its several forms. A strong craving
for others' consideration and praise, without any reference
to the value of the praise, is one of the most disagreeable
and baneful of moral traits. It makes a child vain of
what is no worthy subject of pride, as his good looks,
envious of those who win more than himself, and over-
bearing toward those who are less fortunate. In its least
discriminating and more vulgar form, thirst for popular
applause and glory, it is no doubt a mighty stimulus to
effort, but it enfeebles the character by inducing a habit of
estimating things wholly by a reference to what others
think and extol.
On the other hand, a discriminating love of others'
good opinion, a strong sense of the value of certain per-
sons' approval, is bracing and elevating. Where the de-
sire for esteem is directed by affection and admiration, its
influence is one of the highest of educational forces. The
habit of constantly looking for the " Well done ! " of
mother or teacher is of the greatest moral value.
In appealing to this motive, the educator should tem-
per and restrain the feeling, and keep it from becoming an
unthinking greediness for mere applause or glory. He
should enlighten the feeling by pointing out how much
320 THE EGOISTIC AND SOCIAL FEELINGS,
more valuable some persons' commendation is than oth-
ers'. He should be careful, too, in apportioning praise, to
avoid occasion for envy. Not to recognize effort, merit,
where such is supposed to exist, is one of the greatest of
childish sufferings. And to see another praised when the
child thinks itself entitled to the sweets of commenda-
tion is an experience prolific of bitter and hostile feel-
ings.
Finally, the teacher should remember that the end of
education is self-reliance and independence. While it
is well for a child to go by what others say, it is not well
for a youth to take the measure of his own worth alto-
gether from others. By sifting and distinguishing whose
good opinions are most valuable, a child should be gradu-
ally forming a standard for independent self-estimation.
As the school-life nears its close, the habit of looking for
the teacher's approval should give place to the habit of
self-scrutiny and self-judgment. Self-esteem and self-sat-
isfaction are now adequate motives.
Children vary much in respect of the two related
feelings, love of praise and self-esteem. Some are much
more dependent than others on external commendation.
Each extreme is bad, and should be guarded against.
Excessive leaning on others' estimates leads, as we have
seen, to weakness of character. It leaves no room for a
proper self-respect or pride, in the good sense of this term.
On the other hand, nothing is more unseemly or a greater
obstacle to intellectual and moral development than an
excessive and obstinate self-conceit in the face of others*
opinion. A priggish child, that has been indulged in
forming exaggerated estimates of his importance under
the baneful influence of parental "bringing out," is the
most unpromising material for the educator. And one of
the most valuable functions of the school with its larger
community is to correct such home-bred vanity by intro-
ducing a higher and less partial standard of reputation.
THE SENTIMENT OF ATTACHMENT.
321
and making the child feel in daily collision with his equals
and superiors the limits of his attainments.
Miss Edgeworth, in her excellent chapter on vanity, pride, and am-
bition, uses the term " vanity" for excessive dependence on others' good
opinion, "pride" for the higher forms of self-complacency ("Practi-
cal Education," chap. xi). These distinctions, however, do not per-
fectly coincide. Vanity is sometimes far in excess of others' opinions,
and sometimes approximates to a solitary and illusory persuasion of
worth. Pride is the higher and more intelligent feeling, that can dis-
criminate what is worthy from what is not, and on this account can,
when necessary, brave the common and valueless opinions of the multi-
tudes.
(B) Social Feelings: Love and Respect. — We
may now pass to the group of emotions known as the
social feelings. By these are meant the feelings which
have others as their proper object, and which tend to bind
individuals together in bonds of affection.
The feeling of love or attachment to a person is a com-
plex emotion, containing egoistic as well as more disinter-
ested elements. Take, for example, a child's love for his
mother. At first it is little more than a reflection of the
physical satisfaction and comforts that he associates with
her. She is his feeder and his protector ; she lavishes ca-
resses on him, many of which are pleasant in themselves,
while others are valuable as signs of a beneficent disposi-
tion. The early love of a child is thus to a large extent a
fully developed ''cupboard love."
A higher form of social feeling appears in what we call
regard or esteem for others. This has no reference to the
self, and rests on a consideration of the object in and for
itself. True regard depends on a perception and apprecia-
tion of good and valuable qualities, such as wisdom, pru-
dence, good-nature. Children are greatly impressed by
the superior knowledge and skill of their parents and
teachers ; but the recognition of this is more apt to excite
the cold feeling of awe than the warm emotion of regard.
322 THE EGOISTIC AND SOCIAL FEELINGS.
It is only when other and likable qualities from a child's
point of view combine with these, as, for example, kindly
manners, graceful bearing, and so forth, that tender feel-
ing is excited. The love of a child for his parents or for
his teacher is compounded of a grateful response for per-
sonal favors, and a more disinterested element of admira-
tion for superior excellence.
Sympathy. — The most important ingredient in the
social feelings is sympathy. This word in its etymology
(crw, with, and 7ra^o9, feeling) means fellow-feeling, i. e.,
a participation in or entering into the sorrows and joys
of others. It forms the noblest ingredient in true affec-
tion, for love is tested by the desire to please. Where
it exists it transforms egoistic fondness for a source of
happiness to ourselves, and mere delight in what is agree-
able to have near us, into affectionate concern and self-
denying devotion. Sympathy is not, however, limited by
the range of tender emotion. We can sympathize with the
woes of those for whom we have no liking, and even of
perfect strangers. In this wider and more detached form
sympathy is synonymous with good feeling, kindness, and
humanity.
In its earliest and simplest form sympathy is a mere
tendency to reflect the feelings which the child sees ex-
pressed by others. This tendency is clearly connected
with the impulse of imitation. A child illustrates this
crude form of sympathy when carried away by the hilar-
ity of a company of children, or when moved to the ex-
pression of sadness by seeing his mother dejected. This
involves no distinct consciousness of another's state of
mind, but is a species of automatic imitation. Children
are much undet the sway of this emotional contagion.
The spread of a feeling of hilarity or of indignation
through a play-ground illustrates the action of this force.
In its higher and fully developed form sympathy in-
cludes a distinct idea of another's sorrow or joy, and a
INFLUENCE OF SYMPATHY.
323
responsive or participative feeling. A child that fully
sympathizes with his mother in distress suffers in company
with her. This conscious participation in another's suffer-
ing has as its active result a desire to remove the pain,
just as though the child were himself overtaken with it.
And it is this practical identification of ourself with an-
other which makes the essence of all that we mean by
kindness, benevolence, and self-sacrifice for others.
Sympathy commonly involves a certain amount of pain
to the sympathizer. When we sympathize with another's
distress we take that distress upon ourselves. Even when
we enter into another's joy there is often a painful effort
to suppress the promptings of envy.* But sympathy,
when accompanied by a flow of tender emotion, becomes
in a measure pleasurable. There is a certain delight in
pitying others, as is evident from the part which commis-
eration plays in the drama and works of fiction. Children
often prefer " very sad " stories to any others.
It is, however, to its recipient that sympathy is most
distinctly pleasurable. He has his pains assuaged and his
pleasures intensified by another's fellow-feeling. Hence,
the desire for sympathy often exists in a perfectly selfish
mind which is quite incapable of requiting it. In children
the longing for sympathy is often in the inverse ratio of
the ability to bestow it on others.
Sympathy seems to strengthen and fix a feeling in the
mind of the recipient. A child that feels itself aggrieved
has this feeling confirmed by the sympathizing words of
another. It acts like a reflector, bending back, and so
intensifying the rays of emotion. Our habitual feelings,
our likings, tastes, antipathies, are greatly re-enforced by
the sympathy of congenial minds. On the other hand,
the desire to be in sympathy with others acts as a powerful
* As Jean Paul Richter observes, "in order to feel with another's
pain, it is enough to be a man ; to feel with another's pleasure, it is
needful to be an angel."
15
324 THE EGOISTIC AND SOCIAL FEELINGS.
assimilative force. In the case of friends thrown much
together, sympathy is apt to produce a community of feel-
ings and ideas.
Conditions of Sympathy. — To sympathize with an-
other is by no means a natural and instinctive operation.
It involves a difficult process, viz., an observation of the
external expression of another's feeling, and an interpreta-
tion of these outer signs. For the due carrying out of
this process certain conditions are necessary : (a) To begin
with, there must be a disposition to observe and look out
for the signs of others' feelings. A sympathetic mind is
closely observant of others. Observation is habitually
swayed and directed by a special interest in others.
(b) Again, we can not sympathize unless we ourselves have
felt, and can recall our experience. To enter into an-
other's sorrow presupposes that we understand the expres-
sion of it, and this involves the recalling of our own sor-
rows. (<:) To this memory of personal happiness and
unhappiness must be united a sympathetic imagination,
a readiness to feel ourselves in the place of another, and
realize situations and feelings differing in some respects
from anything that we have ourselves experienced.
From this bare enumeration of the chief conditions of
sympathy we can understand how it is that the young are
commonly so deficient in it. They want the human inter-
est that would prompt them to observe others closely, and
they are without the emotional experience necessary to
the construing of the outer signs of feeling. Much of the
sorrow and the joy of adult life is a sealed book to the
child. Moreover, sympathy is excluded, or at least greatly
narrowed, at first by the preponderance of selfish interests
and occupations, and by the anti-social feelings. The
promptings of antipathy, triumph, social prejudice, restrict
the outgoings of pity, while envy keeps back the impulse
to rejoice in the joy of others.
The germ of social feeling shows itself early in life.
SYMPATHY ENLARGED BY CULTURE. 325
A child less than two months will smile at his nurse, a
fact that suggests an instinctive sociability. Imitative re-
flection of an expressed feeling, e. g., by depressing cor-
ners of mouth when nurse begins to cry (Darwin), may
be detected by the beginning of the eighth month. A
deeper and more intelligent sympathy shows itself in the
second year, as pity called forth by simple forms of dis-
tress, such as hunger, cold, etc., which are easily intelligi-
ble to the child. Among the first recipients of this early
childish sympathy are its pet animals. It is easy for a
child to enter into the experiences of physical want and
satisfaction which make up animal life. Hence, in part,
the charm of animal stories for the young.* Among
human beings those who are bound to the child by the
ties of love and daily companionship naturally come in for
the first sympathy. Fellow-feeling for outsiders is a much
later development. The circle of sympathy gradually ex-
pands from the home as its center. The range of sympa-
thy is bounded by the child's store of knowledge and the
power of his imagination. Hence, culture enlarges the
area of sympathy, while reciprocally the human interest
which springs out of sympathy is one great motive to a
study of human life and experience as unfolded in biogra-
phy, history, etc.
Uses of Sympathy. — The force of sympathy is
rightly looked on as one of the most valuable agencies in
education. It is needed both as an aid to intellectual de-
velopment, and still more as a means of moral growth.
As a stimulus to study, sympathy is a strong incentive.
Here the first thing is to establish a relation of sympathy
between the teacher and the pupils. In this the teacher
must take the lead by showing sympathy with the child.
* I have known a child of twenty-one months burst into tears at
the sight of a dead dog taken out of a pond. On the nature of sympa-
thy with animals, see M. Perez, " First Three Years of Childhood," p.
75, and following.
326 THE EGOISTIC AND SOCIAL FEELINGS.
He can enter into the child's experiences, but he can not
as yet expect the child to understand his feelings. This
calling forth of affection by showing affection is difficult,
for children have not the intelligence needed to appreciate
how much is done for them by those who have charge of
them, and are disposed to look at the restraints of disci-
pline as so much unkindness. As Miss Edgeworth re-
marks, " gratitude is one of the most certain, but one of
the latest, rewards which preceptors and parents should
expect from their pupils." And it is evident that the
teacher has fewer resources at his command than the par-
ent for winning the warm affection of the child. Still,
much may be done. The child has his hardships at school.
Study is not always a delight, especially at the outset.
Here is the teacher's opportunity. The closer he comes
to the learner, in kindly appreciation of his special diffi-
culties, the more he will call forth childish gratitude. The
severity of the tutor and the disciplinarian may well be
mitigated on occasion by active participation in childish
pursuits.
In these ways, by proving himself the child's friend, the
teacher may in time win a responsive sympathy and a
habit of consideration from the learner. The securing of
this sympathy of the child is of the first consequence to
success in teaching. The wish to please is one of the
most valuable spurs to intellectual industry. A child that
has real affection for his teacher will, partly by uncon-
scious absorption or imitation, partly by an active desire
to understand and participate in the feelings of one whom
he loves, gradually catch something of his spirit, and be
affected by his enthusiasm. I have known boys taking
eagerly to studies that were rather distasteful than attract-
ive under the influence of a strong affection for their
tutor.
Hardly inferior to this influence of sympathy between
teacher and learner is that of a sympathy between the
SYMPATHY AN AID IN EDUCATION. 327
learners themselves. A child brought into a class which
exhibits a lively interest in learning will, by the force of
contagion, be infected by something of the prevailing tone
of feeling. Bright, eager class-mates are a potent stimu-
lus to the individual child. This is one important in-
gredient in the influence of numbers in education. Where
the relations between the learners grows closer, and affec-
tion is called forth, a new and valuable force working in
the direction of intellectual industry is supplied. Many
a young intelligence has brightened under the genial in-
fluence of sympathetic contact with a more developed and
stronger mind.
While sympathy is thus valuable as an aid to intellect-
ual training, it is a still more vital element in moral train-
ing. Love for the parent or teacher provides the strong-
est safeguard against wrong-doing. To an affectionate
child the wounding of the heart of one whom he loves is
intense suffering. The influence of a high moral charac-
ter acts through the desire for sympathy. The child imi-
tates and tries to be like the person he loves and reveres
because he wants to be in unison with him. In addition
to this, as we shall see presently, sympathy with others
generally forms an important element in a good moral dis-
position. To draw out the sympathies of the young, and
so to bring under the selfish and anti-social feelings, is a
chief part of moral education.
The work of educating the sympathies calls for special
care. The home offers a wider scope than the school for
the full manifestation of sympathy in active kindness and
mutual help. The parent should guard against a habit of
indulging human feeling with no proportionate readiness
to work for the relief of suffering. Hence the feeling of
pity should not be wholly or chiefly called forth at first by
touching stories, but rather by actual instances of suffering
which offer scope for benevolent exertion. It is only too
easy to stimulate the externals of kind feeling without a
328 THE EGOISTIC AND SOCIAL FEELINGS.
genuine spirit of benevolence, and the educator should
rather repress than encourage what may be called theatri-
cal tears in young children.
The benevolent feelings, and the sentiment of human-
ity which is their highest product, should be cultivated in
connection with those studies which have to do with hu-
man life and its products, and more especially history and
literature. And here the aim of the educator should be
to widen the range of sympathy, to give a finer insight
into the varied experiences of our race, and to exercise
the young mind in constructively realizing the less famil-
iar and intelligible forms of human sorrow and joy.
APPENDIX.
On the egoistic and the social feelings of childhood, see Perez, " The
First Three Years of Childhood," chap, iii ; and on their educational
bearings consult Bain, " Education as a Science," chap, iii ; on the
special cultivation of sympathy, see Miss Edgeworth, " Practical Edu-
cation," chap. X, and Madame Necker, " L'Education," livre v,
chap. iv.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE HIGHER SENTIMENTS.
In the present chapter we shall be concerned with the
third and highest order of emotion^ the abstract senti*
ments. The full development of these belongs to the
period of adolescence and maturity ; but the germs appeat
in early life, and it is an important part of education to
develop and strengthen them.
The Intellectual Sentiment. — The first of these
sentiments is one with which the educator is specially
concerned in connection with intellectual culture, viz., the
intellectual sentiment. This includes various feelings that
grow up about and attach themselves to the pursuit and
attainment of knowledge of different kinds. They are
commonly spoken of as the pleasures of knowledge, and
when developed into the permanent form of an affection
they constitute the love of truth. In their relation to the
will as a stimulus or incentive to action they are known
as curiosity or the desire for knowledge.
Feeling of Ignorance and Wonder. — It is com-
monly said that the desire for knowledge begins with a
sense of ignorance or a feeling of perplexity in face of the
unknown. This in itself is a painful feeling. A child
that becomes aware, e. g., by overhearing the talk of
others, that there are things he knows nothing or little of
is, for the moment, rendered uncomfortable and discon-
tented.
330
THE HIGHER SENTIMENTS.
In a somewhat different way this feeling of dissatis-
faction arises in presence of things that are new, strange,
and puzzling. Take, for example, the first sight of a rain-
bow. The child is first struck by the novelty and beauty
of the phenomenon. This constitutes a mode of pleasur-
able excitement which we call wonder. The child's mind
may stop here, contenting itself with the exhilarating ef-
fect of the marvelous. This is what happens with emo-
tional children and adults in whom the love of the marvel-
ous is strong. Hence the feeling of wonder in its more
violent and intoxicating form is opposed to the desire to
know and to scientific curiosity. When, however, the
feeling of wonder does not thus master and intoxicate the
mind, the very strangeness of the phenomenon stimulates
the mind to inquiry. Thus the child asks what the rain-
bow is, and how it came there. That is to say, out of a
feeling of surprise and wonder is developed an impulse of
curiosity.
Pleasure of Gaining Knowledge.— While the love
of knowledge thus takes its rise in a painful feeling — the
sense of ignorance or of perplexity — it is greatly reinforced
by the pleasurable feelings which accompany the attain-
ment of knowledge. As was pointed out above, all intel-
lectual exertion, provided it is not carried to the point of
fatigue, is pleasurable. Each kind of intellectual activity
is accompanied by its proper satisfaction. Thus the ex-
ercise of the observing powers brings with it the enjoy-
ment of sense-activity, e. g., the pleasures of color and of
movement. The exercise of each of the two great intel-
lectual functions, discrimination and assimilation, is at-
tended with a peculiar satisfaction. There is a gratifica-
tion in contrasting objects, and in noting the finer shades
of difference among things. On the other hand, the con-
necting of unlike things by some bond of affinity supplies
another and still more vivid form of gratification. There
is the exhilaration of surprise and novelty, and a peculiarly
THE PLEASURE OF DISCOVERY, 331
agreeable sense of intellectual movement and command
in assimilating and so unifying things hitherto regarded as
unlike and disconnected. Children often betray their
susceptibility to this feeling in the look of wondering de-
light which accompanies the discovery of some real or
fanciful resemblance among objects.*
The full enjoyment of intellectual activity is known in
those more prolonged operations where the mind is busily
searching for some new fact or truth. The passive recep-
tion of a new piece of knowledge, even when the pains of
ignorance or of perplexity have preceded, gives but little
delight compared with the active discovery of it for one's
self. A boy who works out unaided a problem in geome-
try has an amount of satisfaction wholly incommensurable
with that of the boy who has the solution at once supplied
him. In this case the full activity of the mind is awak-
ened, trains of ideas pass rapidly through the mind, and
there is the glow of intellectual excitement. In addition
to this there is the pleasure of pursuing an end, the delight
of intellectual chase. A moderate amount of difficulty
and delay only stimulates the intellectual powers to a
higher tension, and so adds to the zest. At the end there
is the joyous feeling of successful attainment, of difficulties
overcome, and of triumph.
Finally, as pointed out above, the mastery and posses-
sion of knowledge is accompanied by a pleasurable con-
sciousness of expansion and growth. The mind of the
learner feels itself enriched by a new possession. And the
new attainment is felt to be a source of personal strength.
It has lessened for the inquirer the region of the unknown
and obscure, and adds to his self-confidence in confront-
ing the world. In many cases, too, the new possession
gives the mind a firmer hold on previous acquisitions.
Thus the discovery of a new general truth throws light on
* The delight which the mind thus experiences in discovering new
identities is seen plainly in the charm of poetical simile.
332
THE HIGHER SENTIMENTS,
facts which were once obscure, and serves to bind many
detached fragments of knowledge by one uniting princi-
ple. And as a last result, the new acquisition gives the
learner the pleasurable sense of increased practical effi-
ciency. The ultimate function of all knowledge is to
guide action, and the heightened sense of power which
attends increase of knowledge includes a certain imagin-
ative realization of its many practical applications.
Children's Curiosity.— The delight in learning and
extending the range of knowledge which we have just
analyzed is the result of a long process of growth. To
love truth for its own sake, and to be willing to take pains
to pursue it in whatsoever direction it invites to pursuit,
is a rare attainment even among adults. Nevertheless
children betray most distinctly the germs of these feelings.
The very situation of children among their new sur-
roundings renders them highly susceptible to the effects
of wonder and curiosity. The objects and processes of
their environment are new to them and attract their at-
tention. They have not yet formed habits of indifference
to what is customary ; nor has the narrowing business of
life circumscribed their intellectual interest in things.
Hence, the fact, familiar to every parent, that children
put so many odd, out-of-the-way questions on matters
that seem to have no connection with their personal in-
terests.
Much of this wondering curiosity is no doubt fleeting
and fugitive enough. The feeling of ignorance is not fully
excited, and the desire to know is not sustained by a
definite and sufficient interest in the particular subject.
Hence the further experience of parents that the young
questioner often tires of his subject before the answer is
given, and wanders off to fresh fields of inquiry.
A real feeling of inquisitiveness, sufficient to sustain a
prolonged act of attention, must be supported by some
special fund of interest. As already pointed out, intel-
INTELLECTUAL PEELINC,
333
iectual interest naturally takes its rise out of other kinds
(personal, practical, aesthetic). The personal experiences
and predominant feelings and tastes of the child deter-
mine the directions of curiosity and of the wish to learn
about things. The child has little or no love of knowledge
in the abstract ; but he has the germ of a number of loves
corresponding with different departments or directions of
knowledge. Thus, as Madame Necker observes^ his de-
light in pretty objects, especially flowers, shells, and birds,
forms a natural basis for curiosity as to the facts of natural
history. Again, the love of the marvelous, the impulses
of adventure, and the germs of social feeling and sympathy
constitute a natural support for an intellectual interest in
human action, and in history.*
Growth of Intellectual Feeling.— In this wa^he^
child's curiosity and appreciation of knowledge tend from
the first to crystallize in definite forms, which we call his
special intellectual interests. The direction of these is
fixed partly by natural tastes, and partly by the special
circumstances of his life. What is seen every day, and is
connected closely with the home experience, naturally^
supplies the nucleus for a permanent intellectual interest]^
Thus the son of a farmer naturally grows inquisitive about
horses, crops, and so forth. Much, too, is due to the in-
fluence of example and of unconscious sympathy. The
departments of knowledge on which the father or the
teacher sets value tend to become those of most interest
to the child.
The growth of intellectual feeling may be measured in
two directions : (a) the deepening of interest in certain
definite directions, e. g., natural science, language ; and
{B) the widening of interests, and the development of a
general impartial curiosity in things. These two direc-
* On the nature of childish curiosity see M. Perez, " First Three
Years of Childhood," chap, vi, sect, i ; Bain, " Education as a Sci-
ence," p. 90, etc.
334 '^HE HIGHER SENTIMENTS.
tions of development are in a measure distinct and even
opposed. Absorption in special lines of inquiry is fatal
to a general spirit of inquisitiveness.
In seeking to develop the intellectual feelings and in-
terests the educator must follow the order of nature. It
is vain to look for a keen and dominant thirst for knowl-
edge at first ; for such a feeling, except in the case of a
few highly gifted children, is a slow product. The young
are unable to realize all the pleasure of intellectual activ-
ity, and they can not at first appreciate its great practical
utility. Hence, adventitious aids must be resorted to ;
and here the principle of association should be made use
of, and a certain liking for intellectual pursuits produced
by making all its accompaniments as agreeable as possible.
A pleasant voice and manner in a teacher may do much
to recommend an indifferent subject to the notice of his
pupils.
At the same time, it is possible to depend too much on
extraneous and associated interest. Our modern system
of school competition, with its machinery of examinations,
published lists, and so forth, is apt to suggest to the learner
that the value of learning is altogether relative and de-
pendent.
The educator should from the first aim at exciting a
love of knowledge for its own sake and a desire to attain
truth. This end may be secured to some extent by the
influence of example and sympathy. A teacher that mani-
fests a genuine and a keen interest in the subjects he
teaches will as a rule have interested pupils. In addition
to this the educator must make the most of children's
spontaneous impulses of curiosity, watching their direc-
tions, and so learning how best to fix interest and inquiry
in definite channels. As supplementary to this, the edu-
cator should try to retain something of that wide detached
curiosity of the first years of life, and foster a disposition
to examine and inquire about things generally.
^ESTHETIC PLEASURES, 335
The iEsthetic Sentiment. — The second of the
three sentiments to be now considered is known as the
aesthetic emotion, and also as the pleasures of beauty or
taste. These include a variety of pleasurable feelings,
namely, those answering to what is pretty, graceful, har-
monious, or sublime in natural objects or in works of art.
To these pleasures there correspond the disagreeable feel-
ings excited by what is ugly, discordant, and so forth.
These pleasures are the accompaniments of impres-
sions made on the mind by external objects through one
of the two higher senses, sight and hearing, and more par-
ticularly sight. The pleasure arises immediately from the
perception or recognition of some agreeable feature or
quality in the object, as the brilliance of a colot, the purity
of a tone, the symmetry of a temple.
The aesthetic enjoyments rank high among our pleas-
ures. They contrast with the lower pleasures of sense
and appetite in their refinement or purity. They consti-
tute a surplus, so to speak, over the daily satisfaction which
we experience in connection with the necessary work of
life. The delight in what is beautiful owes nothing to any
feeling of the usefulness of the object. The cultivation
and gratification of the aesthetic feelings is thus closely
analogous to play, activity engaged in for its own sake.
And lastly, the pleasures we experience in observing the
beautiful aspects of nature or works of art are eminently
a socializing gratification. Numbers may together enjoy
a beautiful picture or a piece of music, and the pleasure
be greatly increased by interchanges of sympathy.*
Elements of ^Esthetic Pleasure. — The pleasure
which arises from the contemplation of a beautiful object,
whether in nature or in art, is of various kinds and of
different degrees of dignity, according to the rank of the
* The child testifies to this social character of the feeling in its in-
stinctive impulse to call its inother's attention to what is pretty. See
Perez, " The First Three Yea'rs of Childhood," p. 271.
336 THE HIGHER SENTIMENTS.
mental faculty specially concerned. (i) The simplest
mode of such pleasure is the sensuous enjoyment which
arises out of a perfect stimulation of the sense-organ con-
cerned. The pleasure of brilliant light and of color, of
graceful curve, and of pure musical tone, illustrates this
sensuous element. (2) A higher grade of aesthetic grati-
fication is connected with a conscious mental activity in
discovering pleasing relations among these sensuous ma-
terials, and more particularly the combination of a variety
of pleasing details in a worthy whole. This involves the
exercise of perceptive faculty. This element of aesthetic
pleasure is realized in the appreciation of relations of con-
trast and harmony among colors, of beauties of space-
form, or form as it presents itself to the eye, including
symmetry and proportion ; of beauties of time-form, or
the pleasing grouping of sounds in succession, including
rhythm, meter, together with those arrangements of musi-
cal tone which we call tune or melody. (3) Besides these
presentative elements in the enjoyment of beauty we have
representative elements. These include the pleasures of
suggestion and of imagination. Much of the charm of
natural things, as the flower by the wayside, the bubbling
sound of a stream, the fragment of ruined castle, depends
on association with what is pleasing, touching, or sublime.
Finally, the enjoyment of a work of art depends to a
considerable extent on the appreciation of its fidelity to
truth and life. The imitative arts, more particularly
painting, dramatic spectacle, and poetry, aim at present-
ing some aspect of nature or human life by the medium
of artistic semblance, and the resulting enjoyment arises
in part from a recognition of its verisimilitude. Here
aesthetic pleasure connects itself with the properly intel-
lectual gratification of apprehending truth.
iCsthetic Judgment : Taste. — We commonly speak
indifferently of a feeling for what is beautiful, or of a per-
ception or recognition of beauty. And this shows that
\^STHETIC DEVELOPMENT. 337
the element of feeling is here closely connected with an
intellectual process. The first appreciation is largely-
emotional. That is, we say a thing is beautiful because
the contemplation of it affects us agreeably. This may be
called an automatic or unconscious aesthetic judgment.
A conscious or intelligent judgment includes more than
this, namely, a process of comparison of object with ob-
ject, and a recognition of certain aspects of these, such as
purity of color or elegance of form, as the specific source
of the enjoyment.
Standard of Taste. — The sphere of taste is pro-
verbially uncertain. Individuals and communities differ
widely in their aesthetic preferences. Yet amid these va-
riations certain uniformities and laws of taste are dis-
coverable. Such principles supply a standard of taste
by help of which the individual may regulate his decis-
ions and judge correctly. The standard is built up first
of all by observing what the best judges of all times have
approved, and supplementing this by reflection on the true
nature of beauty and art.
We may say that taste is wrong when it approves any-
thing that the normal nature of man condemns, such as a
distinctly discordant arrangement of sounds or colors.
From mere rightness or soundness of taste we have to dis-
tinguish refinement or discriminative delicacy. This an-
swers to the degree of culture of the faculty attained. A
child's simple aesthetic preferences may be right, or in
good taste, though from an adult's point of view they are
lacking in refinement or discrimination.
Growth of iEsthetic Faculty.— The feeling for
beauty in its higher and more refined form is a late attain-
ment, and presupposes an advanced stage of intellectual
and emotional culture. At the beginning of life there is
no clear separation of what is beautiful from what is sim-
ply pleasing to the individual. As in the history of the
race, so in that of the individual, the sense of beauty
338 THE HIGHER SENTIMENTS.
slowly extricates itself from pleasurable consciousness in
general, and differentiates itself from the sense of what is
personally useful and agreeable.*
The order of development of the aesthetic feeling an-
swers in its main outline to the threefold grade of enjoy-
ment indicated above. The infant's first crude experience
of the delight of beauty is supplied by some new and rav-
ishing sense-impression, as the dance of the sunlight on
the wall, the brilliant coloring of a tulip, the sweet sound
of a bird's song, and so on. The intellectual apprecia-
tion of form (symmetry and proportion) presupposes the
development of the powers of observing and comparing,
and so comes later. Children feel at first the charm of
this and that detail in isolation, but have no power of
grasping the relations of a number of parts in a beautiful
whole. t And lastly, the enjoyment of the suggestions
and ideal significance of things is only possible when ex-
periences have multiplied, and the representative powers
have grown in strength. The child does not feel the
pathos of the ruined castle or the sublimity of the mount-
ain peak, because experience and thought have not yet
invested the objects with numerous and rich associations.
While we may thus roughly mark off the sensuous as
the first stage, and so on, we must remember that each
side of the aesthetic faculty advances concurrently. There
is a gradual transition from crude and coarse to refined
pleasure, from simple to complex enjoyment, under each
head. Thus the young child takes pleasure at first only
in the more striking and vivid sensuous effects of light
and sound. Then, as his discriminative sensibility devel-
♦ See M. Perez, " The First Three Years of Childhood," p. 270, and
following.
f Hence, as Madame Necker observes (" L'Education Progressive,"
ii, 158), a child has no sense of the total picturesque charm of a land-
scape. The sense of time-form, or rhythm, is, however, very early
developed. See Perez, iHd.^ p. 42.
GROWTH OF ESTHETIC FACULTY.
339
ops, he begins to detect more unobtrusive charms, as the
quiet beauty of subdued coloring, and the worth of pure
color, and so forth. Similarly, his appreciation of juxta-
positions of colors and sounds, and of relations of form,
both in space and time, grows in refinement. Finally, as
his experience widens and his knowledge increases, the
meanings and suggestions of things grow in richness. A
flower acquires a deeper charm as the mind comes to un-
derstand its delicate structure and its short, fragile life,
and as it becomes invested with a myriad happy associa-
tions of early life, and with a moral and religious signifi-
cance.
While the aesthetic faculty thus develops on the passive
or appreciative side, it asserts itself as an active or creative
impulse as well. This impulse, which has a triple root in
the love of activity, of imitating nature, and of expressing
or embodying forth some internal idea, is among the old-
est instincts of the race, and betrays itself very early in
the life of the individual. Children show even in their
first year a germ of artistic creativeness. They enter into
the spirit of playful acting ; * they exhibit an impulse to
fashion or arrange things with their tiny hands. Children's
play is, as already observed, a naive, unconscious sort of
art-production. As their taste and their powers of exe-
cution progress, they derive a greater enjoyment from the
production of such artistic effects. And on the other
hand, the exercise of these creative impulses tends very
materially to strengthen and widen the interest in con-
templating art-products generally.
Again, as the child's aesthetic experience, or his famil-
iarity with what is beautiful in nature and art, deepens
and widens, his faculty of judgment will grow more firm
* Mr. Darwin observes that his boy, when about thirteen months
old, showed " a touch of the dramatic art " by pretending to be angry
and slapping his father for the sake of the agreeable denotement, a kiss.
See '* Mind," vol. ii (1877), p. 291.
340 THE HIGHER SENTIMENTS.
and competent. From the first the child is building up
more or less consciously, a standard of aesthetic reference.
This will be in part the outcome of his individual tastes
and preferences, for every child tends to impose these as
a law on others ; but in the main it will reflect the external
authority under which he lives, that is, the artistic models
in the shape of pictures, dress, etc., by which he has been
habitually surrounded, and the current maxims of his par-
ents, teachers, etc. But as his tastes develop, his range
of artistic experience and knowledge widens, and his pow-
ers of individual reflection gain in strength, he will grad-
ually improve on this first temporary standard, and, by
gaining a deeper insight into the real and universally rec-
ognized grounds of aesthetic and artistic worth, grow in
clearness and precision of judgment.
The Education of Taste. — As already pointed out,
the education of the feelings culminates in the development
of taste. -Esthetic culture owes its educational import-
ance to the fact that by refining the feelings, detaching
them from personal concerns, and connecting them with
objects of common perception, it greatly widens and ele-
vates the child's sources of happiness.*
The development of taste implies certain external con-
ditions. Among these, education plays an important part.
The social surroundings exert, in early life at least, a po-
tent influence. As already pointed out, the child takes
its cue as to what is pretty from what it sees about it and
hears others approve. Hence, by controlling the artistic
environment and by direct teaching, much may be done
by the educator to mold the growing taste of the young.
To begin with, since the aesthetic faculty, like the other
faculties, grows by exercise on suitable material, it is im-
portant to surround the child from the first with what is
* On the effect of aesthetic training in moderating and purifying
the feelings, and so preparing the way for moral education, see Dittes,
" Erzichungs- und Unterrichtslehre," § 56.
THE EDUCATION OF TASTE. 341
pretty, attractive, and tasteful. In developing the taste,
as the other faculties, we must remember that it is first
impressions which produce the most lasting effect. In
early life the foundations of a love of natural scenery
should be laid by steeping the young mind as far as possi-
ble in the impressions of nature, the colors of earth, water,
and sky, and the manifold pleasing sounds of stream, wood,
and living creatures. It is only by such early companion-
ship with Nature that the most valuable aesthetic associa-
tions can be built up.*
In the second place, much may be done by the mother
or other educator by way of directing the child's attention
to what is beautiful in his natural surroundings, pointing
out those aspects of objects which are fitted to please the
eye and mind, and so calling the aesthetic faculty into ex-
ercise. The training of the sensuous side of the faculty
is in itself a considerable work. We all tend to overlook
the exact character of sense-impressions, the finer details
of light and shade, color, and line in objects, owing to the
superior interest of their suggestions, namely, the objects
themselves, and their uses, etc. A child looking at a tree-
trunk overgrown with moss, or an old wall tinted with
lichens and flowers, is apt to pass by these unobtrusive
details, and to wonder how high the tree or wall is, and
whether he could climb it. In order to see exactly what
is present to the eye, a special interest in sense-impres-
sions, and a habit of close attention is necessary, and
hence the educator of the aesthetic faculty should seek to
develop that finer and rarer sort of observing power which
finds nothing too common or insignificant. The educator
may do much, too, in directing the child's attention to the
beautiful forms of objects, to the noble symmetry of the
* On the evils accruing to children in our large towns from the love
of country surroundings, and the possibility of alleviating these, see an
eloquent paper by Archdeacon Farrar on "Art in Schools," published
in the "Journal of Education," December, 1884.
342 THE HIGHER SENTIMENTS.
mountain, the varying curve of the river's course, the se-
vere regularities of the crystal, and the graceful propor-
tions of living forms. Nor should he fail, by exercising
the child's imaginative and reflective faculties, as well as
by direct instruction, to bring out those rich and poetical
suggestions in things which make up so much of their aes-
thetic value.
While the child's faculty of taste is thus being devel-
oped in the contemplation of nature's beauty, it should be
further educated by habitual contact with good art. And
here the arrangements of the home, the dress, and so
forth, should be such as to awaken the first sense of what
is graceful and harmonious. The influence of a refined
mother, who studies what is pleasing and harmonious in
the home and her own appearance and manner, may be
all-important in exciting a nascent feeling for beauty, and
giving the first direction to the child's standard of taste.
More than this, the child should from the first be educated
in the appreciation of the fine arts. The picture-books of
the nursery should be artistic, so that from the first the
child's mind may be familiarized with and accustomed to
what is life-like and graceful in art. The cultivation of a
taste for music and for poetry presupposes a special train-
ing by help of the best productions of these arts.
This artistic training, to be complete, should call forth
the productive impulses of the child. And this in part
because all artistic skill is a source of pure and elevating
enjoyment both to the producer himself and to others ;
and in part because a certain degree of familiarity with
the elementary processes of artistic production is neces-
sary to a deep appreciation of what is beautiful.
In training the aesthetic faculty great care is needed
lest we hurry the process of natural and normal growth.
Children who have a too refined standard of beauty set
before them are apt to affect a taste for what they do not
really care about. We should be careful not to force our
THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE, 343
higher standard of what is beautiful on children. They
should not only be allowed but even encouraged to relish
the simple aesthetic enjoyments proper to their age, as the
charm of brilliant colors, and forcible contrasts of color,
of simple symmetrical patterns, and so on. Great care
must be taken not to overrefine their taste, to deaden the
healthy instinctive feelings, and so unduly narrow the
region of enjoyment.
With respect to the exercise of the aesthetic judgment,
children should be encouraged to be natural, and to pro-
nounce opinion for themselves. The teacher should never
forget the great individual differences of sensibility and
taste, and should allow a legitimate scope to independent
reflection and judgment. Taste is the region which most
safely admits of freedom of opinion, and constitutes, there-
fore, in early life the best field for the exerqise of individ-
ual judgment. On the other hand, the child should not
be allowed to become overconfident and opinionated, and
intolerant of others' sentiments, but by instruction in the
diversities of taste led to entertain his individual prefer-
ences with a becoming modesty.
The cultivation of the aesthetic sentiment may enter
into almost every department of education. On one side
it stands in close connection with intellectual training.
The feeling for what is graceful or elegant may be devel-
oped to some extent in connection with such seemingly
prosaic exercises as learning to read and to write ; and by
this means a certain artistic interest may be infused into
the occupation. The teaching of the use of the mother-
tongue in vocal recitation and written composition offers
a wider field for the exercise of the aesthetic sense in a
growing feeling for rhetorical effect and for literary style.
Many branches of study tend to develop the aesthetic feel-
ings, and owe much of their interest to this circumstance.
This is pre-eminently true of classical studies and of liter-
ature generally, which, as already pointed out, specially
344
THE HIGHER SENTIMENTS.
exercise the imagination on its aesthetic side. Physical
geography may be so taught as to elicit a feeling for the
picturesque and the sublime in natural scenery, and his-
tory, so as to call forth a feeling of sympathetic appreci-
ation for the picturesque lights and shadows of human
life and experience, and admiration for what is great and
noble in human conduct and character. Even the more
abstract studies, as geometry and physical science, may be
made a means of evoking and strengthening a feeling for
what is beautiful, not only in material objects (e. g., regu-
larity and symmetry in geometric figures, beauties of form
and color in minerals, plants, and animals), but in ideas,
and their logical relations.
On another side, the training of the aesthetic sense
comes into contact with moral training. To adopt and
practice, in mode of dress, in speech, and generally in
manners, what is agreeable to the aesthetic feelings of
others, is a matter of so much social importance that it
is rightly looked on as one of the lesser moral obligations.
Hence the stress laid in the early period of training on the
cultivation of naturalness and fitness in carriage, move-
ment, and speech, on neatness in dress, etc., and on the
graces of courtesy.
It is to be observed finally, that in training the aes-
thetic faculty a natural order is to be followed answering
to the development of faculty. Thus it is evident that
tune singing, or singing in unison, must precede part sing-
ing, which presupposes the development of a sense of
musical harmony. Similarly, a certain training in the use
of colors may appropriately precede exercises in draw-
ing.
Ethical or Moral Sentiment. — We now come to
the last of the three sentiments, that known as the ethical
or moral sentiment. This feeling is commonly spoken of
under a variety of names, such as the feeling of moral
obligation or the sentiment of duty, the feeling of rever-
THE ETHICAL SENTIMENT. 345
ence for the moral law, the sentiment of moral approba-
tion and disapprobation, the love of virtue.
The moral sentiment has for its proper object human
actions, and the motives and character which underlie
these. It is called forth by a perception of, and reflection
upon, actions which we commonly distinguish as good and
bad, and more narrowly as right and wrong. These ac-
tions may be our own or those of another. We approve
what is right in ourselves and in others. Right action
may be provisionally defined as that which conforms to
the moral law.
The essential ingredient in the moral sentiment is a
feeling of obligation or of ** oughtness." In approving
an action as right we feel that it binds us, that we are not
free to do or not to do it, as in the case of indifferent
actions. We acknowledge our allegiance to an authority
outside of us.
The moral sentiment is in a pre-eminent sense a social
feeling. The sentiment of duty is bound up with the
individual's social relations. The child's first conscious-
ness of obligation is the recognition of others' authority
over him ; and the highest form of moral sentiment is
based on the sympathetic realization of others' interests
and claims, and the recognition of the supremacy of the
common good over the interests of the individual.
This feeling assumes one of two unlike forms, as the
action approved or disapproved is our own or another's.
In the former case we have the pleasing consciousness of
fulfilling the obligation that binds us, or the painful sense
of violating it. In its fully developed phase of con-
science, feeling of remorse, etc., this sentiment involves a
clear reflection on self, its capabilities and responsibilities.
In the latter case the feeling has no direct reference to
self. In condemning another's act as wrong, we are not
realizing our own subjection to the moral law, but rather
asserting its authority over another.
346 THE HIGHER SENTIMENTS.
While the feeling of moral disapproval and approval is
one and the same throughout in its essential ingredient,
it assumes a variety of phases according to the particular
nature of the action which is its object, and the special
associations and feelings it calls up. Thus in the feeling
with which we condemn a lie there is a distinctly intel-
lectual ingredient, a painful shock of contradiction ; in
the sentiment with which we denounce a piece of wanton
cruelty there is an ingredient of anger ; and so on.
Lastly, there is the important difference between the
bare approval of what is a duty, and the warmer feeling of
commendation or praise which we experience when con-
templating "b, virtuous act, that is, one which clearly ex-
ceeds the limits of duty. This feeling has an aesthetic
element in it, viz., admiration of what is rare and lofty.
In the case of our own actions this difference shows itself
as the contrast between a bare self-satisfaction and a feel-
ing of personal merit and desert.
These different forms of the moral sentiment may co-
exist in very unequal strength in the same individual. A
boy may have a fairly keen abhorrence of cruelty, and yet
be wanting in a feeling for truth or veracity. These indi-
vidual differences point to the diversity in the nature
of these feelings, and also to the fact that the directions
of the moral feeling and the objects or ideas it attaches
itself to are largely fixed by external influences and by
education.
Moral Feeling and Moral Judgment. — Here, as
in the case of the aesthetic faculty, the emotional element
is bound up with a properly intellectual process. Con-
science includes not only a susceptibility to feeling of a
certain kind, but a power or faculty of recognizing the
presence of certain qualities in actions (rightness, justness,
etc.), or of judging an act to have a certain moral char-
acter. Some amount of intellectual discrimination must,
of course, accompany and precede every moral feeling.
MORAL STANDARDS.
347
We can not feel moral repugnance at an act of meanness
or cruelty except when we discern to some extent the
character of the action. In some cases, however, the
judgment is very vague. Thus we may have a strong
feeling of the injustice of an action, and yet be quite un-
able to say wherein exactly the injustice lies. In con-
trast to this blind form of moral judgment there is the
intelligent one, in which feeling is controlled by reflection.
The full exercise of the moral faculty includes the co-
operation of feeling or sentiment and the intellectual
faculty of judgment.
The Moral Standard. — Men's judgments as to
what is right and wrong are not perfectly uniform. We
find different standards set up in different communities,
and in the same community at different times. Lying,
suicide, etc., are differently estimated by different nations,
and the same differences show themselves in smaller com-
munities. In one school current ideas and feelings about
what is mean, dishonorable, and so on, may vary consid-
erably from those reigning in another school. Wherever
a community forms itself, we see a tendency to the adop-
tion of a special local standard of what is right and praise-
worthy.
These narrow standards have to be corrected by com-
parison of one system with another. By finding out what
is common to them, and by reflecting on the highest and
best interests of man, the moralist aims at constructing an
ideally perfect statement of the moral law which is to
serve as a universal and final standard of right and wrong.
Growth of the Moral Sentiment. — It has been
long disputed whether the moral faculty is innate and in-
stinctive, or whether it is the result of experience and
education. The probability is that it is partly the one,
and partly the other. The child shows from an early
period a disposition to submit to others' authority, and
this moral instinct may not improbably be the transmitted
. i6
348 THE HIGHER SENTIMENTS,
result of the social experience and moral training of many-
generations of ancestors. Yet, whatever the strength of
the innate disposition, it is indisputable that external in-
fluences and education have much to do in determining
the intensity and the special form of the moral sentiment.
We have now to trace the successive phases of its devel-
opment.
A consciousness of moral obligation arises in the first
instance by help of the common childish experience of
living under parental authority at the outset. The child's
repugnance to doing what is wrong is mainly the egoistic
feeling of dislike to or fear of punishment. By the effect
of the principle of association or "transference," dislike to
the consequences of certain actions might lead on to a
certain measure of dislike to the actions themselves.
And such an effort would greatly strengthen the innate
disposition to submit to authority.
When the forces of affection and sympathy come into
play, this crude germ of moral feeling would advance a
stage. An affectionate child, finding that disobedience
and wrong-doing offend and distress his mother or father,
would shrink from these actions on this ground. Not
only so, the promptings of sympathy would lead the child
to set a value on what those whom he loves and esteems
hold in reverence. In this way love and reverence for the
father lead on naturally to love and reverence for the
moral law which he represents, enforces, and in a measure
embodies.
Even now, however, the love of right has not become
a feeling for the inherent quality of moral rightness : it is
still a blind respect for what is enjoined by certain per-
sons who are respected and beloved. In order that the
blind sympathetic regard may pass into an intelligent ap-
preciation, another kind of experience is necessary.
Thrown with others from the first, a child soon finds
that he is affected in various ways by their actions.
MORAL CULTIVATION. 349
Thus another child takes a toy from him or strikes him,
and he suffers, and experiences a feeling of anger, and
an impulse to retaliate. Or, on the contrary, another
child is generous and shares his toys, etc., with him, and
so his happiness is augmented, and he is disposed to be
grateful. In such ways the child gradually gains experi-
ence of the effect of others' good and bad actions on his
own welfare. By so doing his apprehension of the mean-
ing of moral distinctions is rendered clearer. " Right "
and ** wrong " acquire a certain significance in relation to
his individual well-being. He is now no longer merely
in the position of an unintelligent subject to a command :
he becomes to some extent an intelligent approver of
that command, helping to enforce it, by pronouncing the
doer of the selfish act " naughty," and of the kind action
*'good."
Further experience and reflection on this would teach
the child the reciprocity and interdependence of right
conduct ; that the honesty, fairness, and kindness of others
toward himself are conditional on his acting similarly
toward them. In this way he would be led to attach a
new importance to his own performance of certain right
actions. He feels impelled to do what is right, e. g., speak
the truth, not simply because he wants to avoid his par-
ents' condemnation, but because he begins to recognize
that network of reciprocal dependence which binds each
individual member of a community to his fellows.
Even now, however, our young moral learner has not
attained to a genuine and pure repugnance to wrong as
such. In order that he may feel this, the higher sympa-
thetic feelings must be further developed.
To illustrate the influence of such a higher sympathy,
let us suppose that A suffers from B's angry outbursts
or his greedy propensities. He finds that C and D also
suffer in much the same way. If his sympathetic im-
pulses are sufficiently keen he will be able, by help of his
350 THE HIGHER SENTIMENTS.
own similar sufferings, to put himself in the place of the
injured one, and to resent his injury just as though it
were done to himself. At the beginning he will feel only
for those near him, and the objects of special affection, as
his mother or his sister. Hence the moral importance of
family relations and their warm personal affections, as
serving first to develop habitual sympathy with others
and consideration for their interests and claims. As his
sympathies expand, however, this indignation against
wrong-doing will take a wider sweep, and embrace a
larger and larger circle of his fellows. In this way he
comes to exercise a higher moral function as a disinter-
ested spectator of others' conduct, and an impartial repre-
sentative and supporter of the moral law.
Development of Self-judging Conscience.— The
highest outcome of this habit of sympathetic indignation
against wrong is a disinterested repugnance to wrong
when done by the individual himself. A child injures an-
other in some way, either in momentary anger or through
thoughtlessness. As soon as he is able to reflect, his
habit of sympathy asserts itself, and causes him to suffer
with the injured one. He puts himself at the point of
view of the child he has wronged, and from that point of
view looks back on himself, the doer of the wrong, with a
new feeling of self-condemnation. On the other hand,
when he fulfills his duty to another or renders him a kind-
ness, he gains a genuine satisfaction by imaginatively real-
izing the feelings of the recipient of the service, and so
looking back on his action with complacency and ap-
proval.
When this stage of moral progress is reached, the child
will identify himself with the moral law in a new and
closer way. He will no longer do right merely because
an external authority commands, or because he sees it to
some extent to be his interest to do so. The develop-
ment of the unselfish feelings has now connected an in-
TRAINING THE MORAL FEELINGS,
351
ternal pain, the pang of self-condemnation and of re-
morse, with the consciousness of acting wrongly ; and this
pain, being immediate and certain, acts as a constant and
never-failing sanction.
The higher developments of the moral sentiment in-
volve not only a deepening and quickening of the feelings,
but a considerable enlightenment of the intelligence. In
order to detect the subtler distinctions between right and*
wrong, delicate intellectual processes have to be carried
out. Rapidity and certainty of moral insight are the late
result of wide experience, and a long and systematic exer-
cise of the moral faculty on its emotional and intellectual
side alike.
The Training of the Moral Faculty.— Since the
moral feeling stands in a peculiarly close relation to the
will, the practical problem of exercising and developing it
is intimately connected with the education of the will and
the formation of the moral character. This larger problem
we have not yet reached, but we may even at this stage
inquire into the best means of developing the moral senti-
ment regarded apart from its influence as a motive to
action, and merely as an emotional and intellectual prod-
uct.
Inasmuch as the government of the parent and the
teacher is the external agency that first acts upon the germ
of the moral sentiment, it is evident that the work of
training the moral feelings and judgment forms a con-
spicuous feature in the plan of early education. The
nature of the home discipline more particularly is a prime
factor in determining the first movements of growth of the
childish sense of duty. In order that any system of dis-
cipline may have a beneficial moral influence and tend in
the direction of moral growth, it must satisfy the require-
ments of a good and efficient system. What these are is a
point which will be considered later on. Here it must
suffice to say that rules must be laid down absolutely, and
352 THE HIGHER SENTIMENTS.
enforced uniformly and consistently, yet with a careful
consideration of circumstances and individual differences.
Only in this way will the child come to view the com-
mands and prohibitions of his parent or his teacher as
representing and expressing a permanent and unalterable
moral law, which is perfctly impartial in its approvals and
disapprovals.
The effect of any system of discipline in educating and
strengthening the moral feelings and judgment will de-
pend on the spirit and temper in which it is enforced.
On the one hand, a measure of calm becomes the judicial
function, and a parent or teacher carried away by violent
feeling is unfit for moral control. Hence everything like
petty personal feeling, as vindictiveness, triumph, and so
forth, should be rigorously excluded.
On the other hand, the moral educator must not, in
administering discipline, appear as a cold impersonal ab-
straction. He must represent the august and rigorously
impartial moral law, but in representing it he must prove
himself a living personality capable of being deeply pained
at the sight of wrong-doing. By so doing he may foster
the love of right by enlisting on his side the child's
warmer feelings of love and respect for a concrete per-
sonality. The child should first be led to feel how base
it is to lie, and how cowardly to injure a weak and help-
less creature, by witnessing the distress it causes his be-
loved parent or teacher. In like manner he should be led
on to feel the nobility of generosity and self-sacrifice by
witnessing the delight which it brings his moral teacher.
It is hardly necessary to add, perhaps, that this infu-
sion of morality with a warm sympathetic reflection of the
educator's feelings presupposes the action of that moral
atmosphere which surrounds a good personality. The
child only fully realizes the repugnance of a lie to his
parent or teacher when he comes to regard him as himself
a perfect embodiment of truth. The moral educator must
INFLUENCE OF MORAL EXAMPLES. 353
appear as the consistent respecter of the moral law in all
his actions.*
The training of the moral faculty in a self-reliant mode
of feeling and judging includes the habitual exercise of
the sympathetic feelings, together with the powers of
judgment. And here much may be done by the educa-
tor in directing the child's attention to the effects of his
conduct. The injurious consequences of wrong-doing and
the beneficent results of right-doing ought to be made clear
to the child, and his feelings enlisted against the one and
on the side of the other. Not only so, his mind should
be exercised in comparing actions so as to discover the
common grounds and principles of right and wrong, and
also in distinguishing between like actions under different
circumstances, so that he may become rational and dis-
criminative in pronouncing moral judgment.
What is called moral instruction should in the first
stages of education consist largely of presenting to the
child's mind examples of duty and virtue, with a view to
call forth his moral feelings as well as to exercise his
moral judgment. His own little sphere of observation
should be supplemented by the page of history and of
fiction. In this way a wider variety of moral action is
exhibited, and the level of every-day experience is tran-
scended. Such a widening of the moral horizon is neces-
sary both for enlarging and refining the feeling of duty,
and for rendering the meaning of moral terms deeper and
more exact. And it stimulates the mind to frame an ideal
conception of what is good and praiseworthy.
The problem of determining the exact relation of in-
tellectual to moral culture is one which has perplexed
men's minds from the days of Socrates. On the one hand,
as has been remarked, the enlightenment of the intelli-
gence is essential to the growth of a clear and finely dis-
* On the importance of a habit of exact veracity in the educator,
see Miss Edgeworth, " Practical Education," i, chap. viii.
354
THE HIGHER SENTIMENTS.
criminative moral sense. On the other hand, it is possible
to exercise the intellect in dealing with the formal dis-
tinctions of morality without calling the moral faculty into
full vital activity.
This practical difficulty presses with peculiar force
when we come on to the later exercises of moral instruc-
tion. The full carrying out of the process of informing
the moral intelligence naturally conducts to the more or
less systematic exposition of the ideas and truths of ethics.
An enlightened conscience is one to which the deepest
grounds of duty have begun to disclose themselves, and
which has approximated to a complete and harmonious
ideal of goodness by a systematic survey and co-ordination
of the several divisions of human duty and the correspond-
ing directions of moral virtue and excellence. Something
in the shape of ethical exposition is thus called for when
the child reaches a certain point in moral progress. But
the educator must be careful to make this dogmatic in-
struction supplementary to, and not a substitute for, the
drawing forth of the whole moral faculty on its sensitive
and on its reflective side alike by the presentation of living
concrete illustrations of moral truth. Divorced from this,
it can only degenerate into a dead formal exercise of the
logical faculty and the memory.*
The education of the moral sentiment is, as we have
seen, carried out in part by the influence of the child's
companions. To surround him with companions is not
only necessary for his comfort, but is a condition of de-
veloping and strengthening the moral feelings, as the senti-
ment of justice, the feeling of honor, and so on. The
larger community of the school has an important moral
function in familiarizing the child's mind with the idea
* The relation of intellectual to moral culture is dealt with in an
interesting and suggestive paper by Mrs. Bryant, " The Intellectual
Factor in Moral Education," published in the *' Journal of Education/*
February, 1885.
THE TRAINING OF THE MORAL FACULTY. 355
that the moral law is not the imposition of an individual
will, but of the community. The standard of good con-
duct set up and enforced by this community is all authori-
tative in fixing the early directions of the moral judgment.
This being so, it is evident that the moral educator
must take pains to control and guide the public opinion
of the school. And in connection with this he should
seek to counteract the excessive influence of numbers, and
to stimulate the individual to independent moral reflection.
APPENDIX.
On the cultivation of curiosity and a love of intellectual activity,
see Locke, " On Education," § 118 ; Spencer, " Education," chap, iii ;
Bain, "Education as Science," chap, vi, p. 177, etc. ; Perez, " L'Edu-
cation," chap. ii.
On the cultivation of taste, read Miss Edgeworth, " Practical Edu-
cation," chap, xxii ; Bain, '* Education as Science," chap, xiii ; Mme.
Necker, " L'Education," livre v, chap, iii ; Th. Waitz, " Allgem. Paeda-
gogik," 2. Theil, 2. Absch., § ig.
The early stages of moral development are dealt with by Pfisterer,
" Paedagog. Psychologic," Kap. 2, §§ 16, 18. On the training of the
moral faculty, etc., see H. Spencer, " Education," chap, iii ; Bain,
"Education as Science," chap, iii, p. 100, etc., cf. chap, xii ; Mme.
Necker, " L'Education," livre iii, chap, vi ; Beneke, " Erziehungs- und
Unterrichtslehre," i, 2. Kap., Absch. 2 und 4 ; Th. Waitz, " Allgem.
Paedagogik," 2. Theil, 2. Absch., § 14.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE WILL : VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT.
Having now traced in its main outlines the course of
emotional development, we may pass on to the considera-
tion of the development of the third side or phase of mind,
namely, the active side, or willing.
Definition of Willing. — The terms will and willing
are used in mental science in a comprehensive manner, so
as to include all our conscious actions or doings, whether
external bodily actions, as walking, speaking, or internal
mental actions, as concentrating the thoughts, deliber-
ating, etc. In a narrower and stricter sense willing covers
only those actions that are accompanied by a clear con-
scious purpose. Thus the action of warding off a blow
with the hand is an act of will, or a voluntary action,
whereas blinking when an object is suddenly brought
near the eye is spoken of as non-voluntary, because, though
we are conscious of the movement, we do not distinctly
purpose to perform it.
Willing, Knowing, and Feeling. — As was pointed
out in an earlier chapter, there is a certain opposition be-
tween willing and the other two main modes of mental
manifestation. Thus, to be actively engaged in doing
something, contrasts with the quiet and comparatively pas-
sive mental attitude of reflection. The man of energetic
action is popularly opposed to the man of reflection.
Similarly, strong emotional excitement and action are in-
THE BASIS OF WILLING: DESIRE. 357
compatible, and the man of strong will is one who, among
other things, brings emotion under control.
At the same time, voluntary action always includes
an element of knowing and of feeling. The motive to
voluntary action, the end or object desired, is the realiza-
tion or gratification of some feeling (e. g., ambition, or the
sense of duty). And we can^o|__act fox a purpose with-
QUt_JinQwing something about the relation between the
§£tion3^i£-are--performing and the result we are aiming at,
Thus, in every case it is feelmg^which supplies the stimu-'^ -•
lusjMLjoxceta volition, and intellect which guides or illu-,'^^7/^
mines it. ' ' *T^J
Desire, the Basis of Willing. — When a boy acts
with a purpose, say to win his teacher's favor, he desires
something, viz., the realization of the idea or representa-
tion of something pleasurable. Dgsire.Js the fundamental
fact in the process. It can only be defined \as_the out-
going^oiLihe, mind _ia an active impulse or movement to-
^g[aj:4the realization of .the idea or representation of some-
t]iiiig^_£leasurable.
Besides this positive movement of attraction toward
what is seen to be pleasurable, there is a negative move-
ment of repulsion away from what is painful, as, for ex-
ample, the miserable humiliating experience of punish-
ment. This negative form of desire is marked off as
aversion.
IJesirg, though an active mental phenomenon, presup-
poses as its conditions an emotional and an intellectual
^l^ient. We do not desire what is indifferent to us, but
only what brings satisfaction. Our several experiences
of pleasure and pain thus constitute so many sources of
desire and aversion. In order, however, to desire a new
realization of some pleasurable experience, it is necessary
that the mind recalls and imagines it with a certain degree
of distinctness. And here the intellectual element of rep-
resentation comes into view. The strength of a desire
358 THE WILL: VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT.
thus varies with two elements : (i) the magnitude of the
experience ; (2) the degree of distinctness with which it
is imagined. A schoolboy will generally desire the long
vacation more eagerly than the weekly holiday. But we
all fail to desire even great pleasures because we do not
vividly represent them. This applies to all remote, as
compared with near, prospects. Children do not strongly
desire a distant pleasure, as winning a prize, because they
are " weak in futurity," and can not picture distinctly and
steadily the far-off delight. That which is near influences
all of us, and especially the young, by way both of attrac-
tion and of repulsion, more powerfully than that which is
remote.
Desire and Activity. — Desire is primarily a state
of feeling, a sense of want and craving. At the same
time it is closely connected with the state of active exer-
tion. When a child desires a thing, he feels impelled to
do something, to exert his active powers for the attain-
ment of the object.
This active outcome of the state of desire varies ac-
cording to special circumstances. Sometimes it is much
fainter and less sustained than at other times. A child
will often feel a strong craving for something, say a
toy or a book, and yet not be disposed to any consider-
able exertion for the sake of this. We are not always
equally disposed to do things. A child in a peevish, in-
dolent mood is apt to prolong the state of desire till it
grows excessively painful and wearing. Want of mental
and bodily vigor is unfavorable to exertion. On the other
hand, where there is robust vigor and a strong predisposi-
tion to activity, desire immediately passes into exertion.
We see from this what is the natural basis of an active
energetic will. This consists, first of all, in keenness or
intensity of desire. And, since desire stands in the closest
relation to feeling, keenness of desire clearly carries with
it vividness or intensity of feeling. Strong emotional sus-
FULL VOLUNTARY ACTION, 359
ceptibilities are thus an antecedent condition of vigorous
activity. But feeling in itself is not enough. Many chil-
dren have strong feelings but no corresponding degree of
active force. What is needed over and above this is a
powerful disposition to act, or what we specially mark off
as the active temperament. The natural foundation of an
energetic will thus consists of powerful active impulses
sustained by intense feelings. The conditions of the
higher manifestations of activity in calm rational volition
will appear later on.
Desiring and Willing. — The mere desire for a
thing, and the impulse to strive toward its attainment,
though the fundamental processes in volition, do not of
themselves amount to a full voluntary action. In order
that this active impulse may direct itself into a definite
line of action another element is needed.
This new factor is the idea or representation of some
particular action which we discern to be a means to the
object or end which we desire. When, for example, a
child desires to amuse himself with a toy, and goes to the
cupboard where it lies, or desires to give a pleasant sur-
prise to his mother, and exerts himself in making some-
thing pretty for her, we have the selection and adoption
of a particular line of activity which is seen to conduce to
the desired result. This is a voluntary act in the full
sense. The child wills to do a particular thing for a
particular end. This adapting of means to ends involves
a further effect of experience, which teaches the child
that his exertions are definitely related to particular re-
sults as the conditions of producing them or the means of
attaining them.
Development of Willing. — Having thus roughly
analyzed the process of willing, we proceed to trace the
main stages of its development.
The growth of willing, like that of knowing and feel-
ing, follows the order, from the simple to the complex,
360 THE WILL: VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT,
and from the presentative to the representative. The
actions of a young child, as carrying objects to the mouth,
are comparatively simple movements directed to present
or immediately realizable enjoyments. The actions of an
adult, such as writing a letter, preparing for an examina-
tion, and so forth, are complex chains of movements, and
involve an increase of representative power, viz., the
ability to picture remote ends. Or, to express it in a
somewhat different way, action is at first prompted from
without, being a response to present sense-impressions (e.
g., the sight of food) ; whereas later on it becomes more
and more prompted from within, being called forth by in-
ternal processes of imagination and reflection.
Instinctive Factor in Volition. — The growth of
the will, like that of intelligence and feeling, implies the
existence of certain original tendencies. Every child is
endowed at the outset with a number of instinctive pro-
pensities which constitute the natural basis of volition.
Of these the most important is the general tendency to
seek what is pleasurable and avoid what is painful. This
is the great primal source of voluntary action. In addi-
tion to this general tendency, there are special instinctive
impulses toward definite lines of action. Thus there are
the appetites or impulses growing out of the bodily needs.
It is probable, too, as we have seen, that every individual
has an instinctive tendency to display his powers, to re-
quite injury with injury, to seek others' approbation, and
so forth. All the main directions of human activity ap-
pear to be more or less distinctly foreshadowed by in-
stinctive impulses, which show themselves in the first few
years of life.
Effects of Experience and of Exercise. — In the
second place, experience and exercise are needed to de-
velop these instinctive germs of volition. Experience is
needed to give the child definite ideas of what is good
and pleasurable. Even the desire for food, the most
STRENGTHENING THE VOL UNTAR V PO IVERS. 361
clearly marked variety of instinctive impulse, only grows
distinct when the gratification of satisfying the appetite
has been experienced and can be recalled. And in many
cases, as already pointed out, experience is the starting-
point of desire. In this way, for example, a child may
come to seek the pleasures of a story, of sympathy, and so
forth. And while experience is thus needed to teach the
child what is desirable, it is needed still more to tell him
how he is to compass or realize his desires. The whole
work of directing the actions, of adapting means to ends,
is the result of a process of learning from experience.
Finally, the exercise of the voluntary powers in any
direction is the proper means of strengthening them in
that direction. Thus, in bringing the voluntary muscles
into play, facility and perfection of execution are reached
by means of prolonged and systematic practice. Similarly
with the higher moral actions of self-control. The gen-
eral law of mental development, " Exercise (provided it is
suitable in form and quantity) strengthens faculty," holds
good in the region of volition.
In studying the development of willing, we shall set
out with the simplest form of external action, viz , bodily
movement. From this we may pass to other and more
complex forms in which the internal element of reflection
and free choice becomes more distinct. And with these
higher forms of external action may be taken those purely
internal manifestations of will which we call the control of
the thoughts and the feelings.
Beginnings of Movement. — At first a child knows
nothing of his bodily organs or his powers of movement,
or of the relation of his movements to the satisfaction of
his wants. He has to find this out by actual experiment.
While the human offspring contrasts in its helplessness
with the young of the lower animals, it is provided with
original and instinctive tendencies to move its limbs, and
these are of considerable importance in the development
362 THE WILL: VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT,
of voluntary movement. These tendencies are trans-
mitted from parent to child by the medium of definite
structural arrangements in the nervous system.
Of these the first is the tendency to reflex movement,
or movement of a purposeless and comparatively uncon-
scious character, in response to sensory stimulation.
Some of these, as the action of closing the fingers
around a small object placed on the palm of the hand,
appear soon after birth. Others, as blinking when an ob-
ject is suddenly brought near the eyes, occur later.
Next to these in the order of importance are instinct-
ive movements. These are more complex than reflex
movements, and are more like voluntary movements, in
being accompanied by feeling and a vague form of desire
or craving. Some of these, as the action of sucking, are
necessary for the maintenance of the child's life, and so
are perfect, or nearly so, at the outset. Others, as baby-
singing, pouting when vexed, and so forth, are later.
In addition to these more definite germs of movement,
the child manifests in certain conditions a tendency to a
wide range and variety of movements. Thus, when the
motor organs are reinvigorated after sleep, the infant
brings his limbs into play spontaneously. These move-
ments have been marked off as spontaneous or random
movements. They are said to be the result of the accu-
mulation and overflow of nervous energy in the motor
organs (centers of movements, etc.).
Finally, it is to be observed that all feeling tends to
manifest itself in movement. States of pleasure and of
pain lead at the outset to a more or less general excitation
of the organs of movement.
Transition to Voluntary Movement. — By these
several varieties of unlearned movement, and more espe-
cially the last group, the child gains some experience of
his powers, and learns what are the results of bringing
them into play.
VOLITION THE RESULT OF EFFORT. 363
In order to understand this, let us suppose that a
bright object is held near the eyes of an infant. The gay
color delights it, and its feeling of delight vents itself in a
number of movements. Suppose that one of these is the
stretching out of the hand toward the object. This brings
the hand in contact with the thing, and so gives it posses-
sion and command of it. Such a result occurring repeat-
edly would impress itself on the child's mind. It would
(by aid of its muscular sense) distinguish this movement
from others, and associate or connect with it the gratifi-
cation of grasping and holding an object. When this
stage is reached the movement is transformed into a vol-
untary one. Wishing to hold an object presented to it, it
puts forth its hand for the express purpose of obtaining
this satisfaction.
Voluntary movement is thus the outgrowth of trial and
experience. The child, by the original constitution of its
mind, tends to desire and seek after what is pleasurable
and subserves its welfare, and to avoid what is painful and
injurious. But this impulse needs to be guided by expe-
rience, and this experience is provided for by the primi-
tive tendencies and impulses to movement just spoken of.
Effects of Exercise. — The perfect carrying out of
any voluntary movement is the result of a gradual process
of learning and improving. The movement must be re-
peated many times before it becomes definite, so that the
child can carry it out promptly and easily. Not only so,
repetitions of the movement are needed to fix the associ-
ation between means and ends in the child's mind, so that
the desire for the end shall instantly suggest the appropri-
ate action.
The mastery of a few simple movements prepares the
way for the acquisition of new and more difficult ones.
For example, a child has learned to stretch out his hands
to an object in front of it. A new situation occurs. Sit-
ting on the floor, his toy falls from his hands. By help of
364 THE WILL: VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT,
his previous experience he has a vague idea of what he
has to do to recover it. And by a series of trials he at
length modifies the old movement in such a way as to
make it fit the new circumstances.
Throughout this progressive extension of the range of
movement the child is continually learning to isolate
movements one from another, and to combine them in
new connections. The first attempts to perform a deli-
cate movement or group of movements, say those of writ-
ing, involve a checking of a general or diffused impulse
to movement, showing itself in awkward movements of the
head, fingers, legs, etc.*
In learning special varieties of finger movement, as in
playing the piano, natural or acquired associations of
movement have to be overcome. On the other hand, all
progress in movement involves construction. The child
learns to combine movements already mastered in isola-
tion in new ways. Thus, in learning to write he has to
hold the pen in a certain way, and at the same time carry
out the necessary movements. The drilling-lesson im-
poses a combination of muscular actions of the head,
arms, etc.
Imitation. — The term imitation is popularly used for
the adoption of any movement, feeling, or peculiarity of
thought from others. In mental science it is employed
with special reference to actions. By an imitative move-
ment is meant one which is called forth directly by the
sight of that movement as performed by another. Thus
it is an imitative action when a child pouts in response to
another's pout.
The imitative repetition of another's observed move-
ment involves an association between the appearance or
sight of the movement and its actual performance. The
first iniitative actions, e. g., pouting, show themselves as
♦ This is an illustration of the control or inhibition of impulse
which will be more fully dealt with in the next chapter.
BASIS OF IMITATION. 365
early as the fourth month ; * and this suggests that the
associations involved are to some extent inherited. At
the same time, the impulse to imitate the movements,
gestures, etc., of others grows more marked toward the
end of the first year, and only shows itself in its strongest
form in the second year. From this it is evident that
individual experience is needed to develop the ability.
Readiness in imitation is based on a certain range of
muscular experience in moving the limbs, and attention to
the corresponding visual impressions, the changing aspects
of the moving organ.
The strong manifestation of the impulse to imitate at
this early period appears to be connected with a growing
facility in the performance of bodily movements, and a
sense of enjoyment in bringing the moving organs into
action. A definite line of action being suggested by an-
other's movement, the spontaneous impulse to activity
avails itself of the lead. The contagious character of
romping play illustrates this side of imitation.
Later on this impulsive and " unconscious " imitation
tends to become a more conscious and definitely voluntary
operation. A child at the age of six or eight imitates the
actions of others under the influence of a conscious desire
to do what others do. The prompting motive here is not
always the same. When a boy imitates the bodily feats of
another boy, he is impelled by the wish to prove and dis-
play his powers, and to show himself equal or superior to
another. In other cases the impulse springs rather out
of the social feelings, affection and admiration for some
one superior to himself, as his parent or teacher.
We see from this the close connection between imita-
* Prof. Preyer says that a child when less than four months old
pouted in response to his father's pout (" Die Seele des Kindes,"
p. 177). This agrees with a remark of Mr. Darwin, that his boy ap-
peared to imitate sounds when four months old. See his " Biographical
Sketch of an Infant," in " Mind," vol. ii (1877), p. 291.
366 THE WILL: VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT,
tion and sympathy. The latter, as we saw, begins with
a contagious propagation of the external bodily manifesta-
tions, that is, the characteristic movements by which the
feeling expresses itself. And, conversely, the impulses of
sympathy, when developed, prompt to a more reflective
imitation of the actions of those who are the objects of
affection.
So far we have supposed that the imitative movement
is a mere reproduction of some action that has been pre-
viously acquired independently, as when a child opens his
mouth in response to another's movement. But imitation
has a much wider range than this. The child imitates new
forms of movement. Thus the infant learns to wave its
hand in response to the action of the mother. This
higher and constructive form of imitation presupposes a
certain range of motor experience gained under the press-
ure of personal needs and desires. A child could not
learn to wave his hand in obedience to the lead of an-
other's movement if he had not already acquired a certain
stock of experiences in waving his hands in other ways.
Similarly, the first effort in vocal imitation, in repeating
the words uttered by others, is preceded by a certain stage
of spontaneous or feeling-prompted exercise of the organ.
The child's tendency to imitate those about him is a
very important aid to the development of his will. From
a very early period it co-operates with the force of the
child's personal desires, and so tends greatly to shorten
the process of acquisition in the case of useful movements
which he would otherwise perform. Thus a child thrown
with other children who are just able to walk learns to
walk more quickly than one cut off from the example of
others. And this lead of example tends to suggest a large
variety of new modes of movement, and so to extend very
much the range of action. We see this exemplified in a
striking manner in the rapid imitative acquisition of gest-
ures, vocal groupings, and modifications of accent, tone,
CONDITIONS OF THE IMITATIVE IMPULSE. 367
etc., of other children and of adults, which often takes
place toward the end of the third year.
Children vary much in the strength of the imitative
impulse. This is partly connected with unequal degrees
of vigor in the active organs. An energetic child will be
more disposed to pick up the movements of others than a
feeble, lethargic one. Much, too, will depend on the close-
ness of attention to the visible aspects of movements when
performed by the child himself and by others. Finally,
the strength of the impulse to imitate others will vary
much with the emotional temperament. There are chil-
dren strongly disposed to fall in with the ways of others,
to rely on their authority, and to follow their lead. These
are especially imitative. Others, again, of a more inde-
pendent, self-assertive turn of mind, are apt to strike out
their own modes of action. Such are in general much less
influenced by example and the impulse of imitation.
Excitation of Movement by Command. — One
other mode of external excitation of movement must be
glanced at here, viz., that by way of verbal sign and the
word of command. This, like the force of imitation, in-
volves a social environment and the action of other human
beings. It differs from imitation, since it presupposes a
definite purpose to call forth a movement on the part of a
parent or other person invested with authority. The as-
sociation between the act of sitting upright and the corre-
sponding command to do so, unlike that between seeing
another do a thing and doing it one's self, is an artificial
association which has to be built up by the agencies of
discipline and education. This action of authority and
discipline is an important factor in furthering the child's
command of his bodily organs. The elaborate terminology
by which we describe the various moving organs and their
several movements enable the educator to specify and iso-
late in a definite and precise manner the particular mus-
cular action that is required.
368 THE WILL: VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT.
Internal Command of Movement. — In all the
forms of movement considered so far, action occurs in re-
sponse to external impressions. A higher stage is reached
when movement becomes detached from external impres-
sions, and appears as the result of an internal process of
imagination, as when a child thinks of the pet animal in
the garden that wants feeding, or the flowers that want
watering, and carries out the appropriate movements. In
this way movement becomes internally initiated or excited,
and so more the outcome of the child's inner self, his
thoughts and wishes.
From the ability to perform a particular movement
whenever a wish arises for a definite result, the child, by
another step upward, attains the power of moving his
bodily organs when he wishes to do so apart from any
special result. This higher stage of development of move-
ment involves a yet greater degree of facility in the per-
formance of the several recurring forms of bodily move-
ment, and a proportionate readiness to carry them out.
When this point is reached the child may be said to have
gained a complete internal command of his bodily organs.
Henceforth, they will be in a new and higher sense the
instruments of his will, made responsive and obedient to
the internal wishes and purposes. It is only when he is
thus able at will to call into activity his several active or-
gans, and more particularly his arms, hands, and fingers,
and his vocal organ, that he is in a position to go on easily
and rapidly to new and more complex forms of action.
The progress made in these successive stages of acquir-
ing the command of the muscular organs will vary with
the native powers and disposition of the child, and the
surrounding influences to which he is exposed. Confining
our attention for the present to the former or internal
conditions, we may instance among the more important
circumstances : {a) a vigorous muscular system, with a
corresponding readiness to do things, experiment, and
GROWTH OF VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT. 369
persevere in a succession of trials ; {b) a certain discrimi-
native delicacy of the muscular organs, which favors a nice
execution of the several movements ; and (<:), closely con-
nected with the last circumstance, a good retentiveness for
movements, which favors the association of them with pas-
sive sense-impressions and with one another, and so se-
cures the reproduction of them.
To these natural aptitudes must be added a strong
interest in muscular action, and a close and steady con-
centration of mind on the several forms of exercise. The
interest may spring out of the pleasures of muscular activ-
ity. But the attainment of the more difficult muscular
performances involves other motives, as a love of power,
ambition, and so forth. The importance of a steady con-
centration of mind in furthering muscular progress is one
more illustration of the general truth, that all learn-
ing, and all mental development, is the outcome of exer-
tion, and is rapid or otherwise according to the intensity
and continuance of this exertion.
This attainment of a wide and perfect command of the
bodily organs involves the growth of will in more ways
than one. As has been remarked, all external actions,
including the most elaborate processes of moral conduct,
are carried out by means of movements of various kinds.
The command of the motor organs is thus a necessary
preliminary to the higher kinds of action. Not only so,
the very process of acquiring this command of move-
ment implies the exercise in a rudimentary form of the
higher voluntary powers, and more particularly persistence
in effort and trial, determination to overcome difficulties,
and practical intelligence in comparing and choosing be-
tween alternatives. Anybody who watches an infant try-
ing to combine manual movements so as to raise or turn
over a heavy and unmanageable object, may see how in
this early and crude form of action the attributes of the
higher volition begin to manifest themselves.
370 THE WILL: VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT,
Movement and Habit.— The term habit is com-
monly used with reference to any recurring mode of
mental operation, as when we talk of a " habit of thought."
In a narrower and more restricted sense, it refers to a
principle or influence operating in the domain of volun-
tary action.* We do a thing from habit when, as the re-
sult of many repetitions, we carry out an action with little
consciousness of purpose or attention to the precise form
of the action. An action that has thus grown habitual
takes on something of a mechanical or automatic charac-
ter, and so resembles reflex and instinctive actions.
Hence, we commonly describe such habitual actions as
" instinctive."
As we have seen, every movement tends by frequent
performance to grow easy. There remains a " disposi-
tion " to perform it whenever it is suggested, and apart
from any strong promptings of desire. This disposition
implies not only a psychological fact, a greater readiness
to perform the particular action, but a physiological fact,
namely, a modification of the nerve-structures concerned.
This fixed disposition or tendency, produced by repeti-
tion and practice, to act in a given way in response to
the slightest stimulus, is one ingredient in what we call
habit.
The second, constituent of habit is the close associa-
tion between a definite movement and certain external
circumstances and impressions. When, for instance, a
person on going to bed takes out his watch and winds
it up " under the form of habit," the external circum-
stances, including the sight of the watch, instantly sug-
gest and call forth the action of opening the watch, etc.,
without any intervention of distinct conscious purpose.
This firm connection between an action and the presence
of certain external circumstances has for its organic base
a co-ordination of the nerve-centers concerned. It repre-
♦ Cf. above, p. 6i.
THE MECHANISM OF HABIT. ^yi
sents the extreme result of repetition in associating and
cementing into one invisible whole contiguous mental ele-
ments.
When a number of movements are conjoined either
simultaneously or successively, the frequent performance
of these in combination tends to consolidate the separate
links, so that any one tends to call up the others without
the need of a separate and distinct voluntary impulse.
Thus, when a boy has perfectly mastered a poem, he re-
peats the appropriate gestures along with certain words in
a mechanical way. Similarly, he carries out in a semi-
conscious manner the series of movements involved, as
those which enter into walking, swimming, dancing, etc.
Strength of Habit. — Habits, like contiguous asso-
ciations among our ideas, are of very different degrees of
strength. The degree of perfection of a habit may be es-
timated by the promptness and the certainty of the active
response to stimulus. Thus the soldier's " response to an
order, as * Attention ! ' " is " mechanically perfect " when
it follows immediately and in every case. The strength
of a habit may be estimated in other ways also. It follows
from the above account of the mechanism of habit, that it
is a tendency to a special kind of action which is physio-
logically better organized than those other varieties which
are accompanied by clear consciousness. Hence, its
strength may be estimated by the difficulty of controlling
and altering it, and by the degree of discomfort which at-
tends its non-fulfillment.
The main conditions presupposed in a firm or perfect
habit are as follows : (i) A sufficient motive force brought
to bear at the outset, in order to excite the requisite ef-
fort. The will must by an effort of concentration gain
full possession of an action before it can hand it over to
its subordinate, habit. (2) A prolonged repetition of the
action in connection with the appropriate circumstances.
Repetition is the great means of fixing movement in the
17
372 THE WILL: VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT.
channels of habit. (3) An uninterrupted continuity of
performance in like circumstances. The importance of
not intermitting the carrying out of an action is known to
every parent and teacher. A perfectly firm association
leading to an instant and unreflective performance can
only be secured by a perfect consistency and uniformity
in practice.
It is to be added that the growth of habit is much
easier in the early " plastic " period of life than later on.
A more extended process of acquisition, a larger number
of repetitions, are needed to fix action in a definite direc-
tion in later years. Not only so, since the habitual modes
of movement acquired in early life, like the first impres-
sions about things, are most lasting and difficult to get rid
of, the formation of good habits later on is obstructed by
the tenacity of the opposed early habits. A child that has
early acquired an awkward way of sitting, or unpleasant
tricks of manner, gives special difficulty to the educator.
Movement tends to set in the old direction, and many a
painful effort is needed to check the current.
Fixity and Plasticity of Movement. — So large a
part of our life is a recurrence of similar circumstances
and similar needs, that the principle of habit exerts some
influence in every direction of our activity. Thus, the
actions by which we care for the needs of the body, our
behavior before others, and so forth, are properly domi-
nated by this principle. In this way nerve-energy is econ-
omized, and the powers of the mind are left free for other
matters. Wherever similar circumstances frequently recur
and call for like modes of action, the co-operation of the
principle of habit is a clear gain.
At the same time, human life differs from animal life
in the greater degree of its complexity and variability.
The child is not furnished with an outfit of *' instincts "
to start with, as the lower animals are. Development, as
already pointed out, consists in a process of successive
HABIT MAY ARREST DEVELOPMENT.
373
modifications, issuing in better adaptations to external cir-
cumstances. While, then, the formation of habits is an
itnportant part of growth, it is not the whole. Fixity in
definite directions must not exclude plasticity and modifi-
ability in others. The complete and absolute rule of habit
marks the arrest of development.
Training of Will and the Active Organs.— As
already observed, the child's attainment of power to use
his bodily organs and perform movements is greatly pro-
moted by the direction of others. The control of the
child's actions by the parent begins with exercising him in
the use of his muscles. This training of the muscular or-
gans belongs in part to what is called physical education.
The well-known effects of muscular exercise in promoting
the general circulation of the blood and the maintenance
of bodily heat give it an important place in the educator's
study and furtherance of the health of his pupils. The
prominence given to the general development of the mus-
cular frame by kindergarten exercises, gymnastics, and
the encouragement of out-of-door games, points to the
recognition of the dependence of the general health
and mental efficiency on muscular development. To
this it must be added that in its more advanced forms,
involving special practice and skill, the exercise of the
muscular powers is carried out for the sake of attaining
a special bodily excellence, viz., robustness, and agility of
limb.
At the same time, the exercise of the active organs is
in a measure involved in intellectual education. This ap-
plies more particularly to the training of the hand and the
voice. Teaching children to speak distinctly, to read, and
to write, is commonly looked on as a part of intellectual
instruction. It is obvious that these actions largely sub-
serve the ends of knowledge, and are indeed necessary to
the taking in and giving out of knowledge. In more spe-
cial directions, as the exercise of manual dexterity in draw-
374 I^H^ WILL: VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT.
ing, this training aims at the production of some useful
and technical skill.
While the exercise of the active organs in special direc-
tions thus falls under physical or intellectual training, the
exercise of them in the carrying out the ordinary actions
of daily life comes more appropriately under the head of
moral training. As we have seen, the growth of the will
begins with the attainment of the power of commanding the
organs of movement. It is ift movement that clear pur-
pose and intention first display themselves. All practice
in doing things, then, whatever its primary object may be,
is to some extent a strengthening of volitional power.
In assisting in this early stage of will-development the
educator should bear in mind that children are disposed
to activity, and in their self-appointed occupations and
play show that they are capable of making real progress
without any direct control from parent or teacher. The
young child should from the beginning have ample oppor-
tunity for exercising his active organs freely, with only a
general supervision and an imposition of a few necessary
restraints. His nursery and his play-ground should be pro-
vided with objects fitted to call forth movement, manual
and bodily. The important part played by imitation, in
the growth of voluntary movement, suggests the advantages
of companionship in these early occupations. A child is
stimulated by the sight of others doing some new thing-
Not only so, in all common harmonious movements, as
those of many social games and kindergarten exercises, a
new pleasurable stimulus is supplied in the feeling of sym-
pathy, co-operation, and harmonious adjustment.
The special province of the educator in this rudi-
mentary training of the will begins with showing the child
how to do things. This requires judgment. It is better
for children to find out the way to do a thing for them-
selves where they can, just as it is better for them to dis-
cover a fact or a truth for themselves. Nothing is more
MANAGEMENT OF ORGANS OF MOVEMENT. 375
fatal to growth of will than that indolence which shrinks
from the effort of trial and experiment. Consequently, the
educator that is always interfering with children's play in
order to instruct and show them how to do things, is los-
ing sight of one of the most important conditions of de-
velopment, viz., self-activity.
As the child grows, his actions come more under the
control of the educator. The parent has at an early stage
to bid the child sit at table and hold his spoon in a cer-
tain way, articulate his words distinctly, and so forth.
And to this home instruction there adds itself later the
more systematic training of the school. In the bodily
performances of the kindergarten, the manual exercises of
drawing, writing, etc., and the employment of the vocal
organs in reading and singing, the teacher becomes the
trainer of the child's muscular powers in various lines of
orderly constructive activity.
The object to be aimed at in all such exercises is to
train the child to the best possible use and management
of his organs of movement. The ideally perfect action is
one which is fully adequate to the purpose in hand, and
at the same time involves no unnecessary expenditure of
force. Hence the teacher should aim first of all at ade-
quacy and thoroughness of performance, even in such ap-
parently trifling actions as hanging up the hat. And in
the second place he should seek to correct all clumsiness
in the use of the muscular organs, and to develop a fa-
cile precision of movement, which is at once an econ-
omy of force and the source of what we call grace in
movement.
In building up such perfect bodily acquirements a
number of conditions have to be satisfied. To begin with,
the educator must be careful as to what he insists upon.
The task must not be above the child's strength of muscle,
or the degree of discriminative delicacy attained. The
teacher should remember that movements which have
376 THE WILL: VOLUNTARY MOVEMENT,
become easy and natural to us by long practice involve
much difficulty at the outset. Care must be taken to
proceed gradually, and to make the elementary move-
ments perfect before going on to complex groupings of
these.
It is not meant by this that the child is not to be
called on to make a serious effort. The exercises will
only be a training of the will in so far as they call forth
such effort. The child's indolence and disinclinatioii to
the irksomeness of a sustained concentration of mind on
a movement or series of movements should be overcome.
And here an appeal to some motive other than the mere
pleasure of activity will often be needed. The child's
desire to get on, to do things as well as those a little in
advance of him, and wish to please, will suffice to prompt
the initial effort.
Finally, the educator should remember that every per-
fect action is a habit, and that its realization depends on
the fulfillment of the general conditions of the formation
of habits. A gentle firmness at the outset, followed up by
a uniform insistence on the repetition of the action in the
appropriate circumstances, is what he has to take special
care of here. When these initial conditions are fulfilled,
the educator can trust for the final result to that valuable
ally, the principle of habit itself, which unfailingly works
toward the transformation of oft-repeated actions into self-
sustaining and " natural " ones.
The careful graduation of work according to capability
may be illustrated by the method of teaching deaf-mutes
to speak by a process of imitative movement. The teacher
begins with movements of the external parts of the body,
which are distinctly visible to the child when he himself
performs them, and as a consequence easier of imitation.
Only after a certain practice of the imitative capability in
this simple form does he venture to go on to call forth the
more delicate and hidden movements of the organs of
IMITATION WITH DEAF-MUTES. 3;;
articulation, which can not be guided by sight, and have
to be taught by the aid of the sense of touch.
APPENDIX.
On the early development of will in voluntary movements, see
Perez, " The First Three Years of Childhood," chaps, ii and vii, and
Preyer, " Die Seele des Kindes," 2. Theil. On the relation of bodily
training to education, see Waitz, " Allgemeine Paedagogik," § 7 ; and
Dittes, " Grundriss der Erziehungs- und Unterrichtslehre," §§ 13, 14.
CHAPTER XX.
MORAL ACTION : CHARACTER.
Having in the preceding chapter traced the steps by
which a child acquires the command of his moving organs,
we may pass on to consider the higher developments of
will, in which action becomes more reflective, and aims at
other results than immediately realizable gratifications.
In order to understand how this more rational type of
action arises, we have to trace the effect of two in-
fluences : (a) that of the growing intelligence of the
child ; and (d) that of the fuller and wider development
of the feelings and desires.
(a) Influence of Growing Intelligence.— The
early type of action, that represented by bodily move-
ment, aims at an immediate result. The young child can
not aim at a remote gratification, say the pleasure of win-
ning a prize at some distant date. And this because he
has little representative power, and can not steadily pict-
ure a remote gratification, or see its connection with a
present action. The growth of intelligence supplies this
ability. A child gradually learns that his actions have
remote consequences, e. g., that an act of disobedience to-
day may bring him deprivation to-morrow.
This growth of knowledge and representative power
will show itself in different ways, (a) Thus a child will
come to aim at secondary ends, that is, objects which,
though not valuable in themselves, are the means of at-
GROWTH OF FEELING. 379
taining what he desires. In this way he first acquires the
habit of obeying his parents and teachers, of putting
things by for future enjoyment or use, and so forth, {b)
As a further result of growing intelligence, the child
learns to aim at what we call permanent interests or
ends, such as health, knowledge, and the love and esteem
of others. He finds that excessive indulgence not only
brings discomfort now, but may prevent his growing
strong by and by ; that neglect of study to-day leaves
him permanently less intelligent than he might be, and
so forth. In other words, he recognizes the fact that
there are permanent forms of good which can only be
secured by a prolonged and consistent direction of ac-
tivity.
(b) Influence of Growth of Feeling. — In the
second place, the volitions of the child are developed
by the extension of the range of the desires. This is
effected to some extent by the growth of secondary de-
sires, that is, desires for objects, as health, property, and
reputation, which are originally sought as means only.
The boy's desire to be rich springs up in the first instance
through an imagination of the many pleasures he could
obtain by riches. But from being pursued as means of
enjoyment, such things tend to acquire a value in them-
selves.
The chief agency, however, in extending the range of
desire is the growth of new feelings. As already pointed
out, the instinctive germs of desire have to be supple-
mented by experiences of what is pleasurable and painful.
And as the emotional nature unfolds, new forms of desire
spring up. Thus, to the early motives of infancy, the
bodily satisfactions, the pleasures of sense, and the de-
light in activity, there are added the pleasure of competi-
tion, the love of approbation, and the desire to please,
and so forth. And finally, there appear as new springs of
action the desire for knowledge and the love of duty. By
38o MORAL ACTION: CHARACTER.
these successive developments of the feelings new motives
are supplied, and action is prompted in a larger number
of directions.
Complex Action. — A necessary result of this growth
of intelligence and expansion of feelings and desires is
that action grows more complex in respect of its originat-
ing impulses or motives. Instead of being prompted by a
single desire, it is the outcome of a number of desires.
This compositeness of impulse may assume one of two
forms — (a) co-operation of impulses, and (p) opposition
of impulses.
(a) By a co-operation of impulses is meant the com-
bining of two or more desires in prompting action in one
and the same direction. Thus a child may carry out an
action partly to gain some personal satisfaction, and partly
to please his parent or teacher. A strong bent to activity,
with its connected love of exerting the active powers,
leads to a frequent performance of actions under a double
impulse.
{b) The more important case of composition of im-
pulses is that in which they oppose one another. Here
two or more desires prompt to different courses. Thus,
a child may feel impelled to indulge in a forbidden pleas-
ure, and at the same time feel deterred by a fear of pun-
ishment. Or he may feel attracted to two incompatible
lines of action, as play and study.
Deliberation and Choice.-T-trh^. opposition of im-
pulses supplies the occasion for a new and higher mani-
festation of will. The presentation to the mind of two
alternative courses calls for a preliminary process of re-
flection and choice.
In order that this operation may be carried out, a
severe exertion or an effort of will is needed at the outset
in checking or restraining the impulses to action. To
reflect whether it is desirable to gain a satisfaction at the
cost of some penalty, or which of two pleasurable ends is
DELIBERATION AND CAUTION 381
the more valuable, implies that the mind has for the mo-
ment mastered the tendency of impulse to work itself out
into external action, j
When this first step is secured, the mind has to repre-
sent each end distinctly and steadily, and compare the
two one with another. Here the moral judgment is called
on to compare and measure things in respect of their
value and their bearing^ on the individual's happiness.
The outcome of this process of deliberation is a decis-
ion in favor of what the mind judges to be the more wor-
thy and desirable. This is called an act of choice. It
involves the discrimination of one thing as better than
another.
The ability thus to check impulse by deliberation is
the characteristic of a fully developed and enlightened
will. Its attainment is a slow process, which only begins
in the first years of life. Children with their strong incli-
nation to act find it hard to defer decision. And where a
conflict of impulses occurs they are unable to master the
turbulence of the conflicting desires. Hence we often
find that the conflict resolves itself by the more powerful
impulse working itself out, or that the child abandons the
problem of deciding in a state of impotent despair.
What is ■ needed for the attainment of this power is
first of all a certain experience of the evils of hasty action,
and a power of retaining and recalling these. The dispo-
sition to deliberate presupposes that the child fears to act
rashly. Some children are specially retentive of such evil
effects, and so acquire this cautiousness much sooner than
others. In the second place, the child's practical intelli-
gence needs to be exercised and strengthened so that he
may gradually acquire readiness in comparing actions, and
judging with respect to their wisdom and rightness.
Resolution and Perseverance. — One further out-
come of this higher volitional development is what is
known as resolution. This term implies a fixed determi-
382 MORAL ACTION: CHARACTER.
nation to do something before the actual moment for per-
formance arrives. The formation of a resolution involves
reflection beforehand, and so a more elaborate prepara-
tion for action. Thus a child that resolves to tell his
mother that he has broken something must be capable of
looking ahead and distinctly representing a set of circum-
stances, the meeting with the mother, her questioning him,
and so forth.
All the more difficult and prolonged processes of ac-
tion involve resolution. To keep steadily possessing an
end through a series of means implies a firm hold on
the object of desire and a fixed determination to at-
tain it.
While the power of deliberating and choosing gives
reasonableness to our actions, that of persevering in our
decisions gives firmness or stability. Children are in gen-
eral wanting in such firmness, just as they are wanting in
stability and consistency of judgment. A child's decisions
are apt to be determined by the circumstances of the mo-
ment, and to alter themselves in an amusing way as the in-
fluences of the moment vary. The child's mind, being
" weak in futurity," is incapable of the range of mental
vision involved in a far-reaching resolution.
It is important to distinguish firmness of purpose and
stability of will from obstinacy. Firmness clearly involves
a measure of independence, a readiness to assert our indi-
vidual decision over and against the persuasions of others.
At the same time, as in the case of judgment, so in that of
voluntary resolution, there may be an excess of independ-
ence, leading to a foolish rejection of advice and persuasion
from others. This is known as self-will or obstinacy. It
is distinct from a genuine firmness that reposes on calm
and enlightened conviction, and has its main support in a
love of self-assertion and a defiance of others. This ap-
plies to a good deal of childish obstinacy, though it is
probable that resistance to persuasion and authority is
EVOLUTION OF SELF-CONTROL. 383
often the outcome of a sincere childish assurance of the
soundness of their decisions.
Self-Control. — The exercise of the powers of reflec-
tion and rational choice lead on to what is called self-con-
trol. By this is meant the power of checking and bringing
under the earlier and lower impulses, and subordinating
these to the pursuit of higher and worthier ends. Self-
control implies the development of a higher motive —
higher, that is, both in the order of development and in
ethical value — and the supremacy of this over a lower
volitional force. It implies, further, the development of
practical intelligence and the ability to deliberately prefer
a more worthy satisfaction to a less worthy.
Stages of Self-Control. — The acquisition of the
power of self-control may be traced through a number of
ascending stages.
The simplest and earliest form is where some actual or
immediately attainable gratification is abandoned for the
sake of some greater satisfaction, or of the avoidance of
some greater dissatisfaction in the future. This is illus-
trated in the effort of an indolent child enjoying its lazi-
ness to set about some prescribed task, and of a greedily-
disposed child to give up the present satisfaction of eating
his sweets in order to enjoy them on the morrow.
A higher stage of self-control is reached when the
child's intelligence seizes the idea of permanent ends, as
bodily strength, knowledge, and reputation. T-he region
of action now becomes more perfectly ordered by a sub-
ordination of particular momentary impulses to enduring
interests. Thus a present inclination to disobey is con-
trolled by the desire for the lasting affection and good
opinion of the parent or the teacher.
A yet higher degree of co-ordination of desires, and
of the reduction of the first chaos of impulses to order,
is reached when the child's powers enable him to com-
pare his several interests one with another, and to recog-
384 MORAL ACTION: CHARACTER.
nize their relative value as constituents of his total happi-
ness. When this point of development is attained, the
child will control the impulse to pursue the ends of popu-
larity, intellectual eminence, and so forth, by a reference
to a higher principle of action, viz., the attainment of
well-being.
The last and crowning stage of this process of sub-
jecting impulse to principle is seen in the subordination
of the individual interests to the common good. To aim
at the happiness of others is not natural to the child.
The disposition to do so has to be gradually built up.
The readiness to postpone his own happiness to the claims
of others presupposes a development of the social feelings
and of the moral sentiment.
Control of the Feelings. — In addition to this con-
trol of impulse and action, self-control includes the mas-
tery and regulation of other forces.
Of these, the first is feeling. As we have seen, the
feelings immediately vent themselves in physical actions,
and among these the movements of the voluntary muscles,
those of the face, arms, etc. The control of feeling is
thus in a measure similar to that of impulse. The first
thing a child has to do in checking the force of angry
passion is to check or inhibit the external actions, such as
crying and throwing the arms about. Since, moreover,
feeling and its bodily expression are closely connected
one with another, it follows that this arrest of external ac-
tion will tend to some extent to allay the feeling itself. By
making an effort to repress the signs of grief, the child
may succeed in diminishing the force of the feeling of
misery itself.
What the exact effect of the restraining of the external
manifestation of -^ feeling will be in any given case de-
pends partly on the strength of the feeling. If an emo-
tion, say of anger, is very intense, the suppression of its
external signs may do but little to stifle the feeling itself.
CONTROL OF FEELING, 385
The mind may sulkily indulge its passion internally by
brooding on ideas of satisfaction. The result of such
external self-restraint will vary too with the temperament
of the individual. Children whose feelings are slow to
excite and slow to allay are specially liable to this secret
smoldering of passion. Hence the need of some addi-
tional means of restraining feeling. This will be spoken
of presently.
The due control of the feelings has a high moral sig-
nificance. In what is called good-breeding a certain
amount of emotional self-restraint is involved. The
higher moral quality of considerateness implies a wider
and more vigilant self-control, viz., the repressing of all
feeling that would offend others. Once more, the moral
quality of endurance includes the power to check the
manifestations of suffering, to preserve a bodily calm when
pain agitates the mind.
The acquisition of the power of controlling feeling is a
difficult and slow process. Children's feelings are char-
acterized by their great intensity, and their complete pos-
session and mastery of the mind. Hence the effort to
check the outgoings of passion is a severe one. It is to
be remembered, too, that the motives which prompt to
such efforts of self-control, e. g., a regard for our own
comfort, and the sense of what is seemly and right, are
late in their development. At the same time children
should at an early age be exercised in the easier tasks of
self-control. Thus, as M. Perez points out, a child of fif-
teen months may be led to stop its crying when addressed
in a loud voice.*
Control of the Thoughts. — The other great region
calling for the control and regulation of the will is that of
the intellectual processes. As was pointed out above,
apart from this control the child's attention is drawn
hither and thither according to the external excitants
* Op. cit., p. 108.
386 MORAL ACTION : CHARACTER.
present at the moment, and the succession of the thoughts
as determined by the forces of association. The control
of the thoughts involves the checking and counteracting
of these tendencies, with a view to direct the attention in
some special direction.
pThis control of the intellectual tendencies involves a
special effort of will. The child's first attempts to turn
away from all distractions and keep his mind resolutely
fixed on a subject indicate, by their bodily accompani-
ments, e. g., wrinkling of the brows, fidgety movements,
the presence of a painful effort. In order to the making
of this effort a strong motive force is needed, such as the
fear of disgrace or the desire to gain knowledge. The
stronger the effort required, the more powerful must be
the motive.
Throughout the development of intelligence this con-
trol of the intellectual forces by the will has been as-
sumed. Thus careful and fruitful observation presup-
poses the ability to keep the attention concentrated on
one object for a time, and to resist the natural tendency
of the mind to flit from one object to another. ' Again, in
learning or committing something to memory, as also in
trying to recall what has been learned, the will is called
into play in the form of a deliberate concentration of the
mind on a special subject or group of ideas. Finally, in
the processes of constructive imagination, and of abstrac-
tion and reasoning, this power of turning the attention
away from what is interesting, and of resisting the forces
of suggestion, is called into exercise in a yet higher
form. ^
Different Forms of Self-Control.— While thus
dealing separately with the control of impulses, of the
feelings, and of the thoughts, we must remember that they
are closely connected one with another. More particu-
larly we may say that the control of the thoughts is in-
volved in that of the feelings, ^nd that the control both of
CONTROL OF THE FEELINGS. 387
the feelings and of the thoughts is involved in that of im-
pulse and action.
(i) As has been observed, every emotion is excited
by, and so depends upon, some mode of intellectual
activity, as looking at what is dreadful, or recollecting
some injury. Hence, to control the thoughts is one
means of controlling the feelings. It was pointed out
just now that we can only very imperfectly repress feeling
by checking the accompanying external movements. The
only efficient way of reaching and mastering the force of
feeling is by turning the thoughts from its exciting cause,
and directing them to something wholly foreign and un-
connected. A child's feeling of disappointment is only
fully controlled when by an effort of will he turns his
thoughts in some other direction. The beginnings of
moral training in this direction should aim at the repres-
sion of feeling by a withdrawal of the mind from its excit-
ing cause.*
(2) Again, since feeling and thought are both involved
in action, the perfect control of the active impulses in-
cludes the control of these. Thus the impulse to do an
unkind action is only completely overcome when the
feeling of anger out of which it springs is repressed, and
the remembrance of the injury which excites the feeling
banished from the mind. Hence the importance assigned
by moralists to the control of the desires and thoughts
"of the heart."
Habit and Conduct. — The principle of habit, the
application of which to the region of voluntary move-
ment has already been considered, reigns in the higher
region of moral action or conduct as well. The processes
of deliberation and control just described only attain to a
* Dr. Sikorski gives an interesting account of how he began to
habituate an infant to bear the discomfort of hunger by interesting it
in the details of the process of preparing food. ('* Revue Philoso-
phique," May, 1885, p. 540.)
388 MORAL ACTION: CHARACTER.
perfect form when they become fixed by the law of
habit.
The fundamental fact emphasized by the word habit
is that all actions become more perfect by repetition.
Just as bodily movements, at first tentative, unsteady,
and involving effort, come by repetition to be certain,
steady, and easy, so the higher exercises of the will in the
arrest of impulse and deliberation tend to grow more per-
fect by steady pursuance.
At first the child, when his action is arrested by an ap-
prehension of evil consequences, is apt to be overpowered
by the contending impulses, and is incapable of decision.
But after he has once made a serious effort to end the
state of conflict, and decided to act according to reason,
he has taken an important step in moral development.
The next time a collision occurs reflection and decision
will be easier. The vehement forces of impulse will have
been reined in to some extent. Every new exercise of
the power makes the pause, the consideration, the final
calm decision a less arduous exertion. The whole pro-
cess grows smoother, involving less and less of the friction
of effort, till as a final result reflection and deliberate
choice become easy and natural.
Moral Habits. — The same principle of habit has fur-
ther and yet more striking results in the region of moral
action. The subordination of a lower impulse to a higher
motive, which at the outset involves a painful effort of
arrest and reflection, tends by repetition of the exertion
to grow less and less difficult and irksome. Thus each
restraint of greed from a consideration of its evil effects,
or of selfish propensity for the sake of others* good, tends
to fix action in this particular line. That is to say, the
higher moral force gains ground as a ruling disposition,
and encounters less and less resistance. The outcome of
this process of growth is a perfect moral or virtuous habit,
which implies a firm disposition to seek a definite species
FORMATION OF CHARACTER. 389
of good, as health, and in its more intelligent form a will-
ing adoption of a general principle or maxim of conduct,
as " Obey the laws of health."
The conditions of the formation of habits already,
pointed out have to be satisfied here. The initial effort
must be secured by a strength of motive sufficient to over-
come the difficulty of the action and the disinclination to
what is irksome. In the second place, there must be
perseverance and an uninterrupted following up of the
first success till the principle of habit fixes the moral
acquisition. And in order to this the will must not
in the early stages be exposed to too powerful a tempta-
tion.
Character. — The term character is often used loosely
to denote individual peculiarities of mind, whether intel-
lectual or moral, and whether showing themselves at the
outset as strongly-marked innate tendencies, or later as
the result of experience and education. In a narrower
and more accurate sense it signifies the acquired results of
individual volitional exertion, such as intelligence, insight,
independence, and firmness of will.
Since moral attainments, viz., good dispositions and
habits, are the most valuable result of such volitional ex-
ertion, the term character has come in ethical and educa-
tional works to denote in a special way a good or virtuous
disposition of the feelings and of the will. A person of
character in this sense is one who can be counted on in
general to decide and act wisely and rightly.
This moral or virtuous character is the resultant of the
several forms of self-control carried to the point of perfect
habits. Thus a perfect moral character includes the fa-
miliar habits involved in a wise pursuit of individual good,
such as industry, orderliness, temperance, the habitual
control of the feelings or moderation, and the firm con-
trol of the thoughts involved in reasonableness. It in-
cludes further the habits implied in a perfect fulfillment
390 MORAL ACTION : CHARACTER.
of human duty, as obedience, courtesy, veracity, justice,
and beneficence.
It is commonly said that moral character is a bundle
Of habits, such as is here roughly sketched out. This is
an important definition of moral character, since it brings
out the essential ingredient of fixity of disposition in right
directions. At the same time it must not be thought that
a perfect character shows itself in a habitual and quasi-
mechanical pursuance of a number of detached ends or
forms of good. Self-control aims, as we have seen, at co-
ordinating and harmonizing the several desires and ends
one with another, subordinating them to some supreme
end or ideal of good ; and a perfect character includes a
disposition to reflect and deliberate when occasion re-
quires, e. g., where there is an apparent conflict of duties,
in order to determine what is the more worthy form of
good, and where the path of duty exactly lies.*
External Control of the Will.— So far we have
assumed that the child's will develops spontaneously with-
out any direct control and direction from without. It is
evident, however, that the acquisition of the power of
reflection and of the moral habits is greatly furthered by
the action of others, and especially those who exercise
authority over the child. As we saw in tracing the growth
of the moral sentiment, the influence of authority and
moral discipline is a necessary condition in the formation
of that sense of duty, the supremacy of which marks the
highest stage of self-control. A mere glance, moreover, at
the circumstances of early life tells us that the actions of
the child are regulated and determined to a considerable
extent by the wishes and commands of others. This fact
is recognized in the saying that the first stage in the
* "Virtue can never become a sum of habits, and for this plain
reason : there is not a single good habit except the habit of being good
(i. e., of a good will) that may not conflict with real duty at some point
or other." (Mrs. Bryant.)
NATURE OF MORAL DISCIPLINE.
391
development of moral habits is the learning of obedi-
ence.
The training of the child's will by the moral educator
proceeds partly by way of the restraints of authority and
command, and partly by way of suasion, advice, and en-
lightenment.
Authority and Obedience. — The action and effect
of moral discipline presuppose the existence of some
authority. The discipline of early life is dependent on
the fact that the parent or other guardian of the child is
invested with certain powers of government. By these
are meant the power to lay down commands, and to sup-
port and enforce these by the sanctions of punishment.
By so doing he can require the performance of certain
actions, such as those involved in industry, orderliness,
etc., and also prohibit other actions which he holds to be
undesirable, as acts of rudeness and personal violence.
While moral discipline is thus based on the power to
enforce obedience by punishment, it must be carefully
distinguished from external compulsion. The physical
coercion exercised by the slave-owner or the brutal parent
is not, strictly speaking, a moral force at all. The threat
of immediate physical suffering of an intense kind pro-
duces the agitation of terror, which paralyzes the will. A
mechanical compliance follows under the overwhelming
force of dread, but this is not conscious and wiUing obedi-
ence to authority.*
Once more, the relation of authority to obedience
can not be said to exist where commands are laid down
in such a way that the subject is able to coolly balance
the pleasures and pains of disobedience, just as he would
balance those of a strictly private and personal act. In
such a case the will is undoubtedly called into play in the
* See what Locke says on the effect of corporal punishment and
"slavish discipline" in breeding a "slavish temper." "On Educa-
tion," §§ 50, 51.
392 MORAL ACTION: CHARACTER,
processes of deliberation and choice. But the effect is
not strictly a moral effect.
True obedience to authority rests on an acknowledge-
ment on the part of the governed of the moral, as well as
the physical, superiority of the governor. Only where
there is this feeling can there be an act of self-control
properly so-called, that is, a conscious subordination of a
lower impulse to a higher principle of action. This atti-
tude of self-submission to authority presupposes, on the
one side, the position and qualities fitted to call forth re-
spect, and, on the other, a disposition to reverence and
bow to mental and moral superiority.
In the case of young children this sense of authority
is partly instinctive, partly the result of an apprehension
of a special relation of dependence on the parent or other
guardian, and partly the product of the daily experience
of his wisdom and goodness. The effect of custom and
special association with a person in developing this feeling
is seen in the familiar fact that a child that is habitually
submissive to his parent or nurse will violently resent the
assumption of authority by a stranger.*
While in its earlier forms the respect for authority
which prompts to obedience is largely a feeling for a per-
son, it gradually becomes a more intelligent appreciation
of the moral function of the ruler as the representative
and upholder of the impersonal moral law.
The Ends and Grounds of Early Discipline.—
It is commonly allowed that children are the proper sub-
jects of authority and command. Their ignorance and
incapacity to decide about things necessitates the laying
down of certain commands by those who have charge of
them. These commands have as one of their ends to pre-
serve the child from the evil effects of his ignorance and
want of foresight. The commands of the nursery, as not
* For an illustration see Perez, " The Fir^ Three Years of Child-
hood," p. 291.
METHODS OF EARLY DISCIPLINE,
393
to play with the candle, and so forth, aim at warding off
physical harm. That such prohibitions are necessary will
be generally allowed. To leave children altogether to the
"discipline of consequences," in the shape of Nature's
penalties for violating her laws, would be too dangerous
an experiment for an affectionate parent to undertake.
And even later on, the child needs to be guarded against
physical evils, e. g., those resulting from overindulgence
in the pleasures of the table.
But the institution of early discipline has other ends
and uses. As moral training it aims at leading action into
right or virtuous channels, in building up good moral
habits, and forming the character.
That some external control of the child's action by
discipline and restraint is necessary for moral purposes,
will probably be conceded. The most optimistic view of
childish nature must recognize the existence of natural
impulses, e. g., greediness and covetousness, which require
firm restraining. Nor can it be safely contended that the
natural consequences of wrong actions in the loss of the
parent's society and confidence can be counted on in the
first years of life to deter from such actions. And even
were such natural penalties sufficient to deter the child,
they would not tend to develop a truly moral disposition
toward right conduct. As already pointed out, an indis-
pensable step in the formation of a sense of duty is the
assertion and exercise of authority over the child, the
making him feel that there is a higher will over his which
he has to obey.
It may be safely contended that obedience, in the sense
already defined, is in itself a moral habit, forming indeed
one chief virtue of childhood. A readiness to repress
personal desire, in deference to a command that is felt to
be authoritative, can only be acquired by a certain
amount of efifort of will and reflection on the true value of
things.
394 MORAL ACTION: CHARACTER.
Nevertheless, it is a common and fatal error to regard
obedience to personal authority as an end in itself. The
ingredient in childish obedience which constitutes it a
moral exercise is the dim apprehension of the reasonable-
ness and moral obligatoriness of what is laid down. And
the ultimate end of moral discipline is to strengthen this
feeling, and so transfer the sentiment of submission from
a person to a law which that person represents and em-
bodies. It is only when this finer and higher obedience
to law or principle is reached that authority can be said
to have done its work. Commands are a scaffolding which
performs a necessary temporary function in the building
up of a self-sufficient habit of right conduct.
Conditions of Moral Discipline. — By a moral dis-
cipline we mean a system of moral rules, properly laid
down, understood, and enforced. The first condition of
such a system is the imposition of general commands or
rules for acting. The exercise of authority in prohibiting
isolated actions is not discipline. A mother who says
" Don't do that," and who visits this and that particular
action with a slap or a ** Naughty child ! " without making
clear what it is in the action that is prohibited, is not a
moral ruler at all. A ruler is an imposer of general rules,
which direct the subject how to act in a certain class of
cases.
In order that a rule may be operative it must satisfy
one or two main conditions, (a) It must refer to an action
that the child may reasonably be expected to be able to
perform, and that the ruler is sure of being able to exact.
Thus, as Miss Edgeworth remarks, prohibitions, e. g.,
** Do not touch the lamp," are more easily enforced than
positive requirements, as "Stand up."* (b) The rule
* " Practical Education," vol. i, p. 269. Madame Necker thinks
that children, though disposed to submit to prohibitions, are apt to re-
sent positive commands as an unfair encroachment on their liberty.
Op. cit., liv. iii, chap. ii.
THE MISUSE OF RULES, 395
must be intelligible. If, for example, a child is told not
to tell stories, without having a clear idea what this means,
it can not produce any moral effect, {c) It must be uni-
formly enforced. Only so will the necessary strength of
association between action and penalty be produced.
When a rule is deviated from, the child can not feel its
sovereign authority as a moral command, and is moreover
disposed to decide to obey or disobey by a process of
purely prudential calculation. These conditions are es-
sential to the formation of a habit of perfect and unhesi-
tating obedience.
As already pointed out, a fixed moral habit needs a
firm application of a sufficent strength of motive at the
outset, and a constant following up of the requirement.
Hence the importance of laying down the command in
the most impressive and authoritative manner, and seeing
that it is never disobeyed in any single case.
Since the learning of obedience to any rule is a matter
of time, it is of the greatest consequence not to lay down
too many at once. "I have seen," says Locke, *' Parents
so heap Joules on their Children, that it was impossible
for the poor little Ones to remember a tenth Part of them,
much less to observe them."
Punishment. — As already observed, authority and
command presuppose the power to punish. By punish-
ment is meant the intentional and deliberate infliction of
pain of some sort by one invested with authority, and as a
consequence of an act of disobedience.
It follows from this definition that a natural consequence of an
action, e. g., a fall resulting from a forbidden act of climbing a ladder,
is not punishment. Nor is all suffering that issues from the person in
authority punishment. Thus the natural loss of confidence and affection
that follows a discovery of a child's falsehood is not, strictly speaking,
punishment. Still less is any outburst of spiteful retaliation at the
personal annoyance arising from a child's disobedience. " It is," say^
Waitz, " the first condition of the proper effect of punishment that it
should be apprehended and felt by the child as punishment."
396 MORAL ACTION : CHARACTER.
It has already been implied that punishment, actual
or potential, is necessarily implied in any system of moral
discipline. Punishment has two chief ends : {a) the cor-
rection and improvement of the individual offender, and
(^) the instruction and benefit of others by way of example
and warning. These ends are not always equally promi-
nent. In the penalties inflicted by the magistrate the
deterring effect on others is the chief thing considered.
With the educator of the young the reformation of the
individual is the first and supreme consideration. In the
home this is the chief thing aimed at, though effect on
others is not wholly lost sight of. And in the school this
last consideration becomes more distinct, without, how-
ever, becoming the ruling consideration, as in the case of
the State.
At the same time it is evident that punishment by in-
flicting pain on the child is in itself an evil. Hence it is
generally acknowledged that it can only be justified when
it is necessary for the realization of the ends for ths sake
of which it is instituted.
The evils of punishment from an educator's point of view are nu-
merous and serious, (i) It is a form of suffering, and so opposed to
the humane purposes of education. (2) It tends to estrange educator
and learner, and to render the latter indisposed to ally himself in sym-
pathy and co-operation with the former. (3) By acting through the
instinctive fear of pain it has no stimulative force in it beyond the
point exacted. In this way it is immeasurably inferior in its action to
pleasurable motives, as the wish to please, or the love of study. These
objections apply to all punishments alike. To this must be added that
certain forms of punishment are apt to produce bad moral effects by
overhumiliating and degrading the child.
There are certain plain limits to the use of punish-
ment. Thus it ought not to be resorted to when through
weakness of will a child is incapable of doing a thing.
The object of punishment, so far as corrective of the
delinquent, is to supply a new moral force which may
suffice to counteract a natural inclination to wrong-doing.
CARE REQUIRED IN PUNISHMENT. 39;
And if the punishment does not supply such a force,
through feebleness of will, it is useless and therefore cruel.
Thus to punish a child overpowered by grief for not in-
stantly controlling its feelings is barbarous. Again, no
action is a proper subject for punishment which is not
clearly wrong in its intention. Hence to punish a child
for breaking something through an ordinary childish care-
lessness is immoral.
Proportioning of Punishment— Not only does it
need much care to determine what cases are meet for
punishment, it requires much consideration to fix rightly
the amount of punishment in particular cases. Here a
number of considerations have to be taken into account.
Thus, so far as the punishment is intended to deter others,
regard must be had to the degree of harmfulness of the
action, and of the moral turpitude it implies, also to the
secrecy of the wrong action, and the consequent difficulty
of detecting it. And, so far as it aims at correcting the
wrong-doer himself, the punishment must be determined
by a careful reference to the circumstances of the case, so
far as aggravating or mitigating the offense, and also to
the known sensibilities and moral character of the child,
so that enough and not more than enough supplementary
force may be applied to correct the wrong action.*
It follows that the moral educator can not make known
beforehand, except in general terms, the precise amount
of punishment that will be incurred by a given class of
offense. Nor is this desirable. On the contrary, a pre-
cise foreknowledge of the amount of suffering would favor
that prudential estimation of the evil of punishment which
it is one chief concern of the educator to avoid.
* Dettes distinguishes between the problem of dealing with wrong
actions that are done clandestinely in order to evade punishment, and
that of handling acts of open defiance (" Erziehungs- und Unterrichts-
lehre," p. 183). On the proper proportioning of punishment to offense,
consult Waitz {op. cit., p. 179, etc).
398 MORAL ACTION : CHARACTER.
While judgment and insight are thus needed to fix the
amount of punishment in any case, they are further re-
quired for determining the most appropriate kinds of pun-
ishment. Here it is important to choose some mode of
pain which, in the first place, is little affected by individual
differences of sensibility, so that it can be administered
justly in the case of all children alike ; and, secondly,
which easily lends itself to quantitative estimation and
gradation, so that it may be varied in quantity according
to the circumstances. To these prime considerations may
be added that that mode of punishment is to be preferred
which is in its nature appropriate to the offense, or, as
Bentham has it, " characteristical," e. g., confinement dur-
ing play hours for previous neglect of work.*
Reward, Encouragement. — Punishment, being a
mode of pain, deters from action rather than excites to
activity. Even where it is employed as a stimulus to
action, as when a child is punished for not preparing his
lesson, its depressing influence is still seen. The little
delinquent feels himself forced to be industrious, and his
activity is in consequence put forth without heartiness,
and even grudgingly. Moreover, as a mode of pain, the
fear of punishment, though undoubtedly a potent motive,
has only a restricted range. As soon as the exacted quan-
tity of task-work is done, the pressure of the motive ceases.
Moral discipline includes not only the checking of
impulse by deterrents, but the stimulating of activity by
positive inducements. That is to say, it makes use not
merely of the child's natural aversion to pain, but of his
equally natural and more far-reaching desire for pleasure.
It may be a question how far such artificial stimuli are
necessary or desirable. Where it is possible it is no doubt
well for a child to be industrious, good, and so on, for the
sake of others* good opinion and love. But the weakness
* On the rule given by Bentham for proportioning punishment to
offense, see Bain, " Education as a Science," p. io6, note.
THE DANGERS OF REWARDS.
399
of the social feelings in children makes some amount of
artificial stimulation necessary in the early stages of moral
training.
In administering rewards much caution is needed if
moral development is not to be retarded instead of being
advanced. To begin with, nothing is worse than bribing
a child to do a thing which he ought to be required to do
by a sense of duty or, if need be, a fear of punishment.
To promise a child something, for instance, if he will stop
crying or if he will speak the truth i^ demoralizing.*
The main condition of the moral efficacy of a reward
is that it is conferred on merit, that is, as the result of
some exercise of virtue over and above what can be right-
fully insisted on as obligatory. The more clearly it is
made evident that the reward is thus a recognition of a
genuinely virtuous act, the more powerful its effect. It
follows that the word of praise or the tangible recompense
should not appear to the child to be the mere outcome of
personal affection and tenderness on the rewarder's side,
but as the authoritative acknowledgment of desert.
It follows from this definition of the aim and function
of rewards that they ought not to be too frequently be-
stowed. A frequent and lavish bestowment of rewards is
fatal to the association in the child's mind of recompense
with real merit. It favors the view that he has a right to
the reward, t
Judged by their moral effects, some kinds of reward
are superior to others. Gifts and material rewards gener-
ally, by appealing to children's lower feelings, have a much
smaller moral value than praise or commendation, that
* As Waitz observes, rewards are in certain respects more dangerous
to morality than punishments ; for these at most produce fear of evil,
while those make the positive stimulus of desire for pleasure the mo-
tive to duty {op. cit, p. 185).
f As Waitz observes, it is well sometimes to reward a child unex-
pectedly, and not to let him count on a definite reward beforehand.
4CX) MORAL ACTION: CHARACTER.
gratifies the higher feelings, love of approbation and affec-
tion. It is hardly necessary to add that rewards, like pun-
ishments, must be graduated to the degrees of merit, and
as far as possible made appropriate to the nature of the
virtuous act.
Where, as in the school, rewards are given as prizes for
successful competition with others in intellectual pursuits,
the moral effect becomes very much circumscribed. As
already pointed out, the impulse of rivalry tends to be
anti-social, and the »eager competition for prizes has a
baneful rather than a beneficial effect on the moral charac-
ter.
Since the moral effect of reward depends on its being
recognized as the fruit of virtuous exertion, school rewards
can only have such effect when they are conferred not on
the ground of absolute attainment, which is largely deter-
mined by natural superiority, but on that of individual
progress. To give a prize to a clever boy is not, strictly
speaking, an act of moral discipline at all. On the other
hand, to reward a boy for special exertion comes under
that category, since it distinctly recognizes the moral ele-
ment in intellectual industry.*
Development of Free-will. — As already pointed
out, the aim of discipline is to build up independent vir-
tuous habits. Hence punishments and rewards should
always be used sparingly, and only as a temporary means
of fixing good habits. As the child grows and is able to
comprehend the intrinsic reasonableness of the commands
laid down, he should be appealed to as a free agent able
to choose the better. Only in this way can moral discipline
be made a means of developing the power of deliberate
reflection and choice, self-control, and moral character.
The parent and teacher must be on their guard against
an overgovernment and overcontrol of the child's actions.
* On the considerations applicable to rewards, sec Locke, op, cit^
^§ 52. 53 ; Bain, op. ci/.,p. 112, and following.
CHARACl^ER A COMPLEX RESULT. 401
The power of intelligent choice of what is good can only
be exercised when a margin of free activity is secured to
the child from the first. The child's own region of spon-
taneous activity or play must be respected. And as the
intelligence expands he must be invited and encouraged
to reflect for himself as to what is best for his happiness
and usefulness. External control may easily be carried to
excess, not only by an exaggerated view of the disciplina-
rian's function, but also by that eagerness to influence and
sway another's actions which springs out of weak affection
and a parental habit. The formation of character requires
other influences besides that of the educator : the collis-
ions of the individual with external circumstances and the
lessons of experience. The teaching of Rousseau, Mr.
Spencer, and others, as to the importance of making the
young early acquainted, by personal contact and experi-
ence, with the laws of the physical and the social world,
forms a valuable part of a sound theory of moral educa-
tion. Even advice is erroneously proffered in cases where
it is perfectly safe for a child to be allowed to discover the
folly or wisdom of a course for himself. In the moral as
in the intellectual region it is indisputable that the child's
faculty is far more effectually exercised when he discovers
a truth for himself than when he is merely taught it by an-
other.
Discipline of the Home and of the School.— The
home may be called the nursery-garden of moral charac-
ter. If the will and moral character are not nourished
and strengthened here, they will fare but ill when trans-
planted to the bleaker surroundings of school-life. In the
home the whole of the child's life is in a manner brought
under the supervision of the educator. Not only so, the
strong and close affection which grows up between the
parent and child gives a unique character to the home
discipline. On the one side, the mother is solicitous about
her charge as the teacher can not be, and is far better
402
MORAL ACTION: CHARACTER.
able as well as much more strongly disposed to study his
moral peculiarities. On the other side, the child's feeling
of dependence and his gratitude and love are strong forces
tending from the first in the direction of obedience.
Here, then, the foundations of character have to be laid if
they are to be laid at all. The relations of home, more-
over, serve to bring out and exercise all the moral habits,
not only the rougher virtues of obedience, veracity, the
sense of right and justice, etc., but the more delicate vir-
tues of sympathy, kindliness, and self-sacrifice.
Contrasted with this, the discipline of the school has
but a very restricted moral effect. The immediate object
of school discipline is indeed not moral training at all, but
rather the carrying on of the special business of the
school, namely, teaching. Incidentally the management
of a school necessarily does subserve moral education,
calling forth habits of obedience, orderliness, industry,
deference, etc. And the teacher is expected to make the
best of his opportunities for training the will and forming
the character of his pupils. The limitations here are ob-
vious. The first is the restricted range of life brought
under the master's control. School occupations are a
kind of artificial addition to the child's natural life, and
offer but little scope for the play of individual feelings
and motives. Again, since the teacher has to do with
numbers, there must necessarily be wanting the aid of
those moral forces of close individual sympathy and strong
personal attachment which play so important a part in
home discipline.
These defects are, however, made good to some extent
by the presence of a new agency in the school, namely,
that of public opinion. We have already glanced at the
effect of this in shaping and giving strength to the grow-
ing moral sentiment of the individual. To this must now
be added that the public opinion of a school, when rightly
directed and serving to support morality, is a potent factor
DISCIPLINE OF THE HOME AND SCHOOL.
403
in early education. In early life the pressure of a mass of
unanimous sentiment, and the influence of custom show-
ing itself on a wide scale, are needed to supplement the
work of parental and tutorial discipline. For the average
child the reign of custom and law in a public school has a
stimulating and invigorating effect. Respect for law, the
sense of honor, and a manly self-reliance are nourished
and strengthened. The influence only becomes injurious
when it favors a perverted idea of duty and a false senti-
ment of honor ; or when, ceasing to recognize its proper
limits, and growing excessive and arbitrary, it tends to
crush individuality.
APPENDIX.
On discipline and the formation of character, see Locke, " On Edu-
cation," especially §§ 32-117 ; Miss Edgeworth, " Practical Educa-
tion," chap, ix ; Mme. Necker, "L'Education," livre i, chap, iv-vi ;
and livre vi, chap, iv ; H. Spencer, " Education," chap, iii ; Bain,
" Education as Science," pp. 100-119 ; Beneke, " Erziehungs- und
Unterrichtslehre," Kap. 2, " Gemiiths- und Charakterbildung " ; Waitz,
" Allgemeine Paedagogik," §§ 11-15, pp. 140-213 ; Dittes, " Grundriss
der Erziehungs- und Unterrichtslehre," 5. Abschnitt.
7
APPENDIX A.
PERIODS OF DEVELOPMENT.
In tracing out successively the several directions of
mental development, we run the risk of overlooking the
nature of the actual process, viz., the unfolding and ex-
pansion of the mind as a whole. Concrete mental devel-
opment is at once an intellectual, an emotional, and a
volitional progress, in which each factor acts upon and is
acted upon by the others. Hence it is desirable to sup-
plement the analytic and abstract treatment of mental de-
velopment, which proceeds by dealing separately with
intelligence, feeling, and will, by a concrete treatment
vvhich aims at marking the successive stages of the mental
^istory.
The perfect carrying out of this supplementary method
would yield a record of successive periods of mental
growth, which are clearly marked off one from another
by certain dominant characteristics, physical and psychi-
cal. A careful sketch of each of these periods, with all
the characteristic changes which distinguish it from pre-
ceding stages, would supply a valuable addition to the
theory of mental development. Such a concrete and de-
scriptive treatment of the subject would, moveover, be of
special value to the educator, who is called on to deal with
minds at a particular stage in their history, and who con-
sequently needs to know the special psychical features
4o6 APPENDIX A.
the relative strength of different capacities, impulses, etc.,
which distinguish the age.
It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that writers on
education have adopted this mode of tracing the complex
movements of mental growth. Thus Beneke, in the work
referred to, distinguishes between four periods : (i) To
about the end of the third year, in which the conscious-
ness of self and not-self gradually unfolds, and which is
characterized by the predominance of the outer sense-life,
including instinct. (2) To about the end of the seventh
year, in which the inner mental activity gradually develops
itself to the point of equilibrium with the receptive func-
tions of sense, and which is characterized by the rise of
the representative element as seen both in the greater
depth of the precepts and in the growing activity of mem-
ory and imagination, and also by the gradual displacement
of instinctive impulse by conscious design. (3) To about
the end of the fourteenth year, in which the inner self-
activity becomes free from the bonds of sense and acquires
a preponderance, first and chiefly as imaginative activity,
then as a tendency to abstract reflection or thought. (4)
To the close of school-life, in which the higher mental
powers are more fully developed, and which forms a tran-
sition to the period of independent, intellectual, and moral
activity.
A more careful and elaborate division of the mental
life into periods is attempted by Pfisterer, in the work on
pedagogic psychology, already referred to : (i) Accord-
ing to this plan the first period is marked off as the suck-
ling age (to end of first year), in which the bodily life and
sense are in the ascendant, and instinct takes the place of
will. (2) Next comes the age of childhood, from the sec-
ond to the seventh year, which is regarded as the begin-
ning of the school period. Here there manifests itself a
germ of self-consciousness, though the outer world is still
engrossing. Curiosity shows itself in its lowest form as a
PERIODS OF DEVELOPMENT. 40^
desire for novelty. Memory and imagination are active,
and the rudimentary stage of abstract thouglit or concep-
tion is reached. Activity is abundant under the form of
free, aimless play. The disposition to respect authority
and to form habits of obedience now shows itself, assum-
ing, toward the close of the period, something of the aspect
of a willing, reflective. submission to moral rules. Feeling
now loses something of its first violence, and is being or-
ganized into permanent dispositions (Stimmungen). (3)
After this follows the period of boyhood and girlhood,
from the seventh to about the fourteenth year. This con-
stitutes the period of elementary school instruction. It
is marked by a clearer exhibition of individual peculiari-
ties. The intellectual processes gain in steadiness under
the control of a stronger will-power. Hence there becomes
possible the more orderly constructive activity involved in
learning, as well as the methodical formation of abstract
ideas. A growing habit of self-control now asserts itself.
The progress of intellectual and volitional capacity leads
to the development of independent judgment, free choice,
and self-reliance. Finally, this period is characterized by
the development of new feelings, viz., the social, intellect-
ual, and aesthetic sentiments. (4) The period of youth,
forming the interval between the school period and man-
hood, and supplying the transition to perfect independ-
ence and self-reliance in thought, feeling, and action, is only
briefly glanced at.
It is to be added that these divisions of early mental
development into periods, though useful as a rough index
to the mental characteristics of a given age, are not to be
regarded as having sharply defined boundaries. Mental
development is throughout one smooth, continuous move-
ment, not a succession of discrete movements or separate
springs. An approximation to a definite boundary-mark
is supplied at one or two points of the road. Of these the
first is the well-marked termination of the helplessness of
408 APPENDIX A.
infancy by the development of the muscular system, bring-
ing (at about the same date) the power of self-feeding,
locomotion, and speech. This development of muscular
power brings a vast extension of the field of observation
and knowledge, as well as of that of voluntary action.
Another date, hardly less epoch-making, is the attainment
of puberty, a point of development in which certain physi-
cal changes, bringing with them new instincts, are apt to
affect profoundly the intensity and the range of the emo-
tional life as a whole, and along with this to exert a marked
influence on the directions of intellectual activity and of
conduct.
APPENDIX B.
MEASUREMENT OF FACULTY,
One of the most hopeful developments of modern psy-
chology is the attempt to reach an exact quantitative esti-
mation of mental processes. This introduction of a more
exact mode of measurement of mental phenomena is likely
to have important practical effects on the theory of edu-
cation.
The teacher may undertake a systematic measurement
of the faculties of his pupils for one of two reasons, (i)
For one thing, a collection of comparative measurements
is greatly needed as a statistical basis in building up a
more exact psychology of childhood. Thus the theory of
mental development, which aims at fixing with some ap-
proach to precision the date at which certain faculties
begin to acquire strength, and the rapidity of the pro-
cesses of development, would be rendered more definite
and certain by a body of methodical records of mental
progress carried out by teachers.
One branch of the science of education, very imper-
fectly developed at present, and likely to receive consid-
erable aid from such a systematic collection of measure-
ments, is the influence of sex on mind. Much that has
been written on this subject, being the result of the obser-
vations of many generations, has a certain empirical value,
such as the common attribution to girls of greater sensi-
410
APPENDIX B.
bility, a tendency to the concrete rather than the abstract,
as well as a greater rapidity of mental development.*
Nevertheless, these generalizations are wanting in scien-
tific exactness and certainty, and, on the other hand, the
deductions drawn from physiological facts stand in sore
need of a careful verification. The pressing problem of
modern education, how far it is well to subject the minds
of boys and of girls to the same amount and kind of edu-
cational stimulus, requires for its solution the assistance
not only of physiological truths, which are undoubtedly
of great value here, but of psychological facts. A body
of carefully prepared statistics on the comparative mental
capabilities of children of both sexes, and their relative
rapidity of development, is urgently needed just now.
(2) While a systematic measurement of children's fac-
ulties is thus of great consequence for perfecting the theo-
retic basis of education, it is of hardly less importance in
carrying out efficiently the practical work of teaching.
The success of school or class teaching depends, to a large
extent, on a good arrangement of individuals according
to their special powers and correlative tastes. Every such
classification presupposes some more or less exact esti-
mate of the individual child's capabilities by oral exami-
nation or otherwise. But ordinary educational tests of
capacity are apt, from the nature of the case, to be rough
and precarious. They are wanting in scientific aim and
in scientific method. They aim at best at a rough valua-
tion of so highly complex a product as " general intelli-
gence," instead of at a precise measurement of the root-
elements of mental capacity.
What is wanted for a fruitful carrying out of such
measurements is psychological guidance as to the funda-
mental constituents of mental power, and the way in
which these vary. Such variations, being known to be
* Pfisterer sums up the commonly recognized points of sexual dif-
ference. " Paed. Psychologic," Kap. 3, § 23.
MEASUREMENT OF FACULTY. 411
correlated with nervous differences, should be expressed
in terms of mental and nervous capacity. The old doc-
trine of individual temperaments, and the newer theory of
phrenology, each of which sought to supply a scientific
principle of classification, have now become discredited.
And more recent attempts to find a substitute for these
can hardly be said to be satisfactory. Thus the mode of
distinguishing individual aptitude common among Ger-
man writers on pedagogy, viz., according to the degree
of sensibility to stimulus, vivacity or rapidity of the mental
processes, and strength and tenacity of impression, though
suggestive and valuable, is obviously imperfect.* With-
out attempting here to propose a fully- developed scheme
of mental measurement, I would point out the lines which
such a scheme should follow.
A truly scientific and systematic measurement of men-
tal power should set out with a detailed examination of
the senses. And here modern science comes to the teach-
er's aid both in ascertaining the several modes of vari-
ation of sense-capacity, and in selecting the best way of
measuring these. The important conception of a thresh-
old or lower limit of capacity serves at once to give pre-
cision to the investigation. Thus the most valuable intel-
lectual element in sense-capacity, viz., discriminative
power, can be exactly tested by determining the smallest
difference of degree or quality that can be detected by
the child. Although the perfect carrying out of a system-
atic examination of discriminative capacity in the case
of all the senses necessitates carefully prepared apparatus,
a good deal may be done by means of quite simple prepa-
rations. Thus the limits of color-discrimination may be
determined by ascertaining the finest perceptible differ-
ences of shade of a graduated series of blues, greens, etc.f
* This threefold distinction is given by Beneke and adopted by
Dittes.
f Mr. Galton's way of testing color, explained in his " Life-History
412 APPENDIX B.
In a similar way the discrimination of form-elements might
be tested by noting what is the smallest deviation from
perfect straightness in a line that is defective.
The investigation of sense-capacity should be complete,
embracing the muscular sense as entering into the apprecia-
tion of weight, etc. And along with discriminative sensi-
bility should be measured absolute sensibility. Here
again the idea of a threshold is available. Thus Mr. Gal-
ton proposes, for testing the absolute sensibility of the ear
to sound, the simple expedient of estimating the greatest
distance at which the ticking of a watch can be heard.
And, lastly, as bearing on the emotional or pleasure-and-
pain side of the senses, the child's sense-organs should be
tested as to the strength of stimulus, e. g., light or sound,
which begins to be disagreeable and fatiguing.
Next to a systematic testing of sensibility and, along
with this, of muscular capacity, the educator should go on
to estimate differences in the power of attention. Thus
precision and rapidity of adjustment in attention, an all-
important quality in the capacity of learning readily, might
be tested by aid of giving some momentary signal, the
nature and exact time of which are not known beforehand,
e. g., an indeterminate letter of the alphabet articulated
faintly or exhibited to the eye for a second, and noting the
relative degrees of certainty in seeing the signal. Along
with this, another no less valuable quality of attention,
range or grasp, may easily be tested, e. g., by determining
the greatest number of consecutive sounds, as letters or
digits, that can be held together by the mind, so as to be
repeated or written down on a single hearing, or the
largest number of letters that can be seen by a momentary
exhibition to the eye of a miscellaneous group of such.
Closely connected with this power of grasping a num-
Album " (Macmillan & Co.), by asking a person to pick out all the
greens among a series of delicately tinted wools, involves not only dis-
crimination but assimilation.
MEASUREMENT OF FACULTY,
413
l)er of impressions is the aptitude known as quickness or
keenness of observation. In an interesting paper on the
"Condition of Pupil," read some years ago before the
Education Society, Mr. Lake proposed that this faculty
might be tested by bringing children for a moment or two
into an unfamiliar room, bidding them note as much as
they can, and immediately afterward setting them to write
down all they have observed.*
It is hardly necessary to say that the quality of reten-
tiveness is one which specially needs to be measured by
the teacher, and this, like discrimination, in all its special
manifestations. And here again an approach to scientific
precision is possible by making use of a limit. Thus chil-
dren might be tested as to the number of repetitions of
lines necessary to retaining them both for a shorter and
for a longer period. \ In a series of examinations of this
kind it might be ascertained in what special directions a
child's mind was retentive, and what modes of association
(e. g., order in time and order in space) were most easily
acquired.
In connection with retentiveness, imaginative power, as
shown in the distinctness and fullness of images of familiar
objects and scenes, should be tested. Mr. Galton's in-
quiries into the powers of individuals of " visualizing " ob-
jects might easily be made the starting-point in such an
investigation of children's faculty.];
* Such an exercise, as has been pointed out by Mrs, Bryant, may be
used to test not only rapidity and grasp of mind, but readiness in the
imaginative interpretation of impressions which form so important a
constituent in the faculty of observation, and also the strength and in-
fluence of the feelings in disposing the mind to a vague, emotional
way of regarding things.
f Mr. Lake proposed that series of names and connected words be
read out three times by the master, and others read by the pupil three
times, and then written down, and the number of errors counted.
X Mr. Galton's method is explained in his work "Inquiries into
Human Faculty," p. 83, and following.
414 APPENDIX B.
Lastly, reference may be made to that intellectual
function which forms the essential element in the general-
izing faculty, viz., the detection of similarity amid diversity.
This is best tested by getting a child to compare a number
of objects simultaneously presented to the eye. Thus Mr^
Lake has suggested that groups of letters agreeing in cer-
tain respects, e. g., thickness of line, degree of blackness,
should be submitted to the pupil with a view to his discov-
ering in what respects they agree. Here, it is evident, the
sense of difference as well as that of likeness will be ap-
pealed to, and it is very important to note the pupil's rela-
tive quickness in noting the one and the other. *
This much may suffice to show that a sound scientific
method of testing the strength of children's intellectual
faculties has now become possible. It is greatly to be
wished that by the co-operation of teachers and psycholo-
gists a definite scheme of measuring faculty may soon be
developed.
* I have attempted to frame a definite line of investigation inta
the ^rength of the comparing faculty in an article on " Comparisoru*
•• Mind," October, 1885.
INDEX
Abstract, knowledge of, a final stage
of development, 46, 200 ; reducing
of, to concrete, 177 ; order of tak-
ing up, subjects, 237.
Abstraction, involved in thought, 201;
an element in conception, 204 ; de-
grees of, 207 ; imperfect, 219 ; de-
velopment of power of, 224 ; train-
ing of, 230.
Accommodation of surroundings, 286.
Accuracy, of observation, 119; of re-
production, 161 ; of conception,
218, 219 ; of judgment, 247.
Acquisition of knowledge, exercise in,
162 ; activity of imagination in,
176.
Action, voluntary, 359 ; rational, 378;
complex, 380 ; moral, 388.
Activity, love of, one of egoistic feel-
ings, 311. (See Power.)
Activity, mental, dependence of, on
brain, 27 ; conditions of, 41.
Activity, muscular, relation of desire
to, 358 ; a condition of acquiring
command of organs, 368 ; child's
natural disposition to, 374.
Adjectives, use of, a stage in abstrac-
tion, 227.
/Esthetic sentiment, zesthetic faculty,
nature of, 335 ; ingredients in, 336;
connection of feeling and judgment
in, 336 ; standard of, 337 ; growth
of» 337; education of, 340; culti-
vating love of nature, 342 ; devel-
oping a feeling for art, 342 ; exer-
cising child in forming his own
judgments, 343 ; connection of, with
intellectual pursuits ; 343 ; jxiint of
contact of aesthetic and moral train-
ing, 344-
^Esthetics, bearing of, on educa-
tion, 9.
Affectation, of feeling, 301 ; of taste,
342.
Affection, a permanent emotional
disposition, 300.
Affirmation, a type of judgment, 244.
Ambiguity of terms, 218, 261.
Analogfy, a form of reasoning, 262.
Analysis, an element in knowing, 39 ;
relation of, to abstraction, 204,
208 ; a distinction of method, 277,
Anger, nature of, 307 ; children's lia-
biUty to, 308 ; various forms of,
308 ; management of, 309 ; rela-
tion of, to feeling of justice, 31 1.
Animals, child's sympathy with, 325.
Anti-social feelings, 309.
Approbation, love of, 318; egoistic
and social aspects of, 319; educa-
tional management of, 319, 320.
Art, relation of science to, i.
Arts, fine, appreciation of, 336 ; un-
derlying impulse of, 339 ; develop-
ment of feeling for, 342.
Assimilation, one of primary intel-
lectual functions, 39 ; involved in
memory, 144 ; in realizing descrip-
tion, 177 ; in conception, 204 ; in
judging, 243 ; in reasoning, 2^9 ;
in induction, 253 ; in deduction,
260 ; method of measuring, 413.
Association, laws of, involved in men-
tal development, 51 ; a means of
reproduction, 137 ; different kinds
of, 138 ; by contiguity, 138 ; by
similarity, 144 ; by contrast, 145 ;
co-operation of, 146 ; obstructive,
147 ; use of, by educator, 164 ; ac-
tion of, in growth of feeling, 291 ;
and in growth of will, 363, 370.
Attention, dependence of mental de-
velopment on, 53 ; place of, in
mind, 66 ; definition of, 66 ; direc-
4i6
INDEX.
tions of, 67 ; effects of, 68 ; physi-
ology of, 68 ; extent of, 69 ; non-
voluntary and voluntary, 70 ; func-
tion of will in, 74 ; growth of, 76 ;
to the unimpressive, 77 ; keeping,
fixed, 78 ; grasp of, 80 ; habits of,
81 ; varieties of, 81 ; training of,
82 ; to sense-impressions, 99 ; con-
trol of, by will, 386 ; measurement
of, 412.
Authority, effect of, on judgment,
242, 249 ; intellectual claims of,
271 ; action of, in developing feel-
ing of duty, 348, 351 ; action of, in
developing will and character, 391.
Aversion, a form of desire, 357.
Bain, Dr. A., on cost of storing up
impressions, 135 ; on plastic period,
161 ; on number of instances in
. classification, 233 ; on love of cru-
elty, 308.
Belief, an element in judgment, 240,
24s.
Beneke, Dr. F. E., on improvement
of memory, 159 ; on periods of de-
velopment, 406.
Benevolence, an outgrowth from sym-
pathy, 323.
Bentham, Jeremy, on punishment,
398-
Bias, shown in judgment, 243.
Body, connection of mind with, 14,
21 ; our own, how known, 117;
exercise and training of, 373.
Boyhood and girlhood, a period of
development, 407.
Brain, nature and functions of, 23,
25 ; efficiency of, 27 ; fatigue of,
28 ; overtaxing, 29, 30 ; economical
management of, 31 ; differences in
power of, 32 ; growth and develop-
ment of, 53.
Causation— cause, relation of induc-
tion to, 254 ; children's idea of,
254 ; natural reasoning about, 255 ;
regulated reasoning about, 257 ;
first reasonings about, 266.
Change, effect of, on attention, 71 ;
on pleasures, 285.
Character, definition of, 389; moral
or virtuous, 389; relation of, to
moral habits, 390.
Child, observation of mind of, 17;
physical characteristics of, 30, 54 ;
action of external surroundings on,
55 ; individual differences of, 58 ;
attention of, 71, 76, 83 ; sense-dis-
crimination of, 100; perceptions
of, 121 ; memory of, 152 ; imagina-
tion of, 182 ; notions of, 225 ; idea
of cause of, 254 ; first judgments
of, 263; first reasonings of, 266;
emotional characteristics of, 294 ;
timidity of, 305 ; passionateness of,
308 ; love of activity and j>ower,
311, 374 ; feeling of rivalry of, 315 ;
love of others' good opinion, 319,
320 ; sympathy of, 322, 325 ; curi-
osity of, 332 ; jesthetic preferences
of. 338, 339 ; moral feelings of,
348 ; imitativeness of, 365 ; ina-
bility of, to deliberate, 381 ; want
of self-control in, 385 ; recognition
of authority by, 392 ; classification
of, 410.
Childhood, a period of development,
406.
Choice, element in judging, 244 ; an
element in volition, 380.
Classification, of mental operations,
34 ; logical process of, 214 ; a mode
of exercising child in abstraction,
232 ; of children, 410.
Color-sense, 98; training of, 104;
method of testing, 411.
Command, external, as stimulus to
movement, 367 ; as element of
moral discipline, 391, 394.
Command, internal, of movements,
368. (See Self-control.)
Companions, influence of, through
workings of rivalry, 315 ; through
action of symp>athy, 326 ; in devel-
oping moral sense, 349, 354;
through impulse of imitation, 367,
374.
Comparison, involved in conception,
20I ; conditions of, 202.
Competition, for prizes, 400. (See
Rivalry.)
Concentration, nature of, 79; rela-
tion of, to intellectual power, 80.
Concept, nature of, 200; formation
of, 201 ; varieties of, 208 ; systems
of, 214; imperfections of, 216; re-
vision of, 221 ; relation of. to
image, 221 ; on defining, 222 ;
early, 224 ; relation of, to judg-
ment, 241.
Conception, a stage of thinking, 200 ;
process of, 200 ; and naming, 205 ;
and discrimination, 213, 225 ; and
imagination, 221 ; growth of pow-
er of, 224 ; training of, 230.
Concrete, knowledge of, first stage
of development, 47 ; reduction of
abstract to, 177; going back to,
INDEX.
417
Conditions, of mental activity, 41 ;
of knowing, feeling, and willing,
41 ; need of understanding, 42, 43.
Conduct, region of, 387.
Conflict, intellectual, 245 ; volitional,
381.
Connotation and denotation of
names, 206.
Conscience, a form of moral senti-
ment, 345.
Consequences, discipline of, 393.
Construction — Constructive imagina-
tion, definition of, 174 ; forms of,
176; in acquisition, 176; in dis-
covery, 178 ; in practical contriv-
ance, 178; as stimulated by feel-
ing, 180 ; intellectual value of, 181 ;
development of, 182 ; differences in
power of, 186 ; training of, 187.
Contagion, of feeling, 322 ; of bodily
activity, 365.
Contest, apt to give rise to hostile
feeling, 308 ; attended by feeling
of rivalry, 316.
Contiguity, a mode of association,
138.
Contrast, effect of, on attention, 71 ;
a bond of association, 145,
Contrivance, a form of constructive
imagination, 178 ; exercise of, 196.
Control, external, of feeling, 298 ; of
movement, 374 ; of will, 390 ; ex-
cessive, 400.
Control, internal, of movement and
impulse, 383 ; of feeling, 384 ; of
the thoughts, 385. (bee Self-
CONTROL.)
Co-operation of associations, 146 ;
of active impulses, 380.
Courage, development of, 306.
Cruelty, child's love of, 308.
Curiosity, nature of children's, 272,
332 ; relation of wonder to, 330,
332 ; educational management of,
334.
Custom, effect of, on feeling, 293 ;
on taste, 340 ; on moral develop-
ment, 403. (See Habit.)
Darwin, C, on first mental images,
152 ; on early abstraction, 226 ; on
first trace of anger, 307 ; on child's
artistic impulses, 339 ; on early imi-
tation, 365.
Deaf-mutes, method of teaching, 376.
Decision, an element in judgfing, 244,
248; an element in voluntary ac-
tion, 381.
Deduction, a form of reasoning, 252 ;
nature of, 259; as application of
principles and explanation, 260 ;
regulated, 261 ; beginnings of, 268 •
training of child in, 274.
Definition, logical process of, 222 ;
use of, by teacher, 234.
Degree of sensation, 88.
Deliberation, nature of, 380, 381 ;
difficulties of, 382.
Description, realization of, 176; art
of, 193.
Desire, nature of, 357 ; how related to
activity, 358 ; and to willing, 359.
Development, relation of growth to,
30> 45. 54 ; of mind, 45 ; of faculty,
47 ; of sum of faculties, 47, 48 ;
unity of intellectual, 48 ; relation
of, to exercise, 49 ; process of, 50 ;
different aspects of, 52 ; unity of,
52 ; of brain, 53 ; factors of, 54 ;
varieties of, 57 ; of attention, 76 ;
of sense-capacity, 100 ; of percep-
tion, 121 ; of memory, 152 ; of im-
agination, 181 ; of abstraction, 224 ;
of powers of judging and reason-
ing, 263 ; of emotion, 289 ; of sym-
pathy, 325 ; of intellectual feelings,
332 ; of aesthetic faculty, 337 ; of
moral sentiment, 347 ; of willing,
359 ; of voluntary movement, 363,
368 ; periods of, 405.
Diffusion of feeling, 280.
Discipline, moral, influence of, in de-
veloping moral sense, 352 ; ends
of, 392 ; conditions of, 394 ; of the
home and the school, 401.
Discovery of knowledge, relation of
imagination to, 178 ; stimulating
child to, 273 ; method of, 276 ;
pleasure of, 281.
Discrimination, one of the primary
intellectual functions, 39 ; of sensa-
tion, 99 ; improvement of, 100 ; in-
dividual variations of, 102 ; exer-
cise and training of, 102 ; involved
in realizing description, 178 ; in
conception, 213, 225 ; in judging,
243 ; in reasoning, 259 ; measure-
ment of, 411.
Disposition, a result of exercise, 50,
13I5 370; inherited, 59; a fixed
emotional tendency, 293 ; moral,
Distance, perception of, 114.
Distinctness, of percepts, 119 ; of
images, 150; of concepts, 216; of
judgment, 246.
Dittes, Dr. F., on different forms of
disobedience, 397.
Division, of mind, 35 ; logical process
of, 214.
4i8
INDEX,
Doubt, state of, 245.
Drawing, as means of cultivating
sense of form, 126.
Duty, as object of moral sentiment,
346.
Edgeworth, Maria, on volatile genius,
82 ; on toys, 124 ; on cultivating
the memory, 163 ; on early princi-
ple of association, 165 ; on affecta-
tion of good feeling, 301 ; on cor-
recting angry passion, 310 ; on
hurtful effects of rivalry, 317 ; on
vanity and pride, 321 ; on chil-
dren's gratitude, 326; on prohibi-
tions, 394.
Education, art and science of, 4 ; re-
lation of instruction to, 6 ; division
of, 8 ; relation of meaisurement of
faculty to, 409, (See Training.)
Effort of will, 380, 386.
Ego. (See Self.)
Egoistic feelings, 293, 303.
EUot, George, on reasoning with
children, 273.
Emotion, a division of feeling, 289 ;
development of, 289 ; order of ap-
pearance of, 293 ; children's, 295 ;
education of, 297. (See Feeling.)
Emulation, relation of, to rivalry,
317.
End, relation of, to art, 2 ; of educa-
tion, 4 ; as an element in volition,
359; secondary, 379; permanent,
379.
Environment, natural, 55 ; social,
56 ; diversities of, 60.
Ethics, bearing of, on education, 8 ;
use of, in moral instruction, 354.
Exaggeration, child's tendency to,
265, 271.
Example, action of, a factor in de-
velopment, 56 ; value of, 366. (See
Imitation.)
Exercise, of brain, 30 ; of faculty, 43 ;
relation of, to growth, 49 ; moder-
ate and excessive, 283 ; of feeling,
290; of will,36o, 363; muscular, 373.
Experience, effect of, on reproduc-
tion, 153 ; on imagination, 184 ; on
conception, 219; on judgment,
243 ; on reasoning, 254 ; on devel-
opment of feelings, 290 ; on growth
of will, 360.
Explanation, nature of, 260.
Expression of feeling, 282 ; inhibi-
tion of, 384.
Faculty, mental, 38 ; development of,
47 ; order of development of, 47 ;
exercise of, 49; training of, 63;
measurement of, 409.
Fancy, children's, 183 ; restraining,
188.
Faraday, Professor M., on restraining
inclinations, 270.
Fatigue, of brain, 28 ; a condition of
pain, 283.
Fear, nature of, 303 ; how far inher-
ited, 304 ; depressing effect of, 304 ;
children's liability to, 305 ; educa-
tional control of, 305.
Feeling, place of, in mind, 35, 279 ;
effect of, on imagination, 180 ; ef-
fect of, on judgment, 243, 247 ;
nature of, 279 ; effects of, on intel-
lect, 281 ; bodily manifestations of,
281 ; as pleasure and pain, 283 ;
varieties of, 288; association of,
291 ; habits of, 292 ; children's,
295 ; education of, 297 ; repression
of, 298 ; stimulation of, 299 ; rela-
tion of, to willing, 357, 379 ; con-
trol of, by will, 384, 387.
Fictions, child's love of, 182, 184 ;
educational use of, 191.
Fitch, J. G., on effect of contrast in
fixing impression, 145.
Form, tactile perception of, in ; vis-
ual perception of, 113 ; training of
sense of, 125.
Free-will, development of, 400.
Froebel. (See Kindergarten.)
Function, intellectual, 38.
Galton, Francis, on nature and nur-
ture, 61 ; on tendency to concrete,
222 ; on testing color-sense, 411 ; on
testing power of hearing, 412 ; on
visualizing capacity, 413.
Games, as exercising invention, 196.
General, knowledge of, 199.
General notion. (See Concept.)
Generalization, an element in con-
ception, 205 ; relation of, to induc-
tion, 253, 257.
Genius, relation of, to surroundings,
62 ; and power of concentration, 80.
Geography, as exercising, memory,
i^ ; imagination, 192 ; reasoning
faculty, 274.
Geometry, exercise of obser\'ation of
form by, 127 ; notions of, 210 ; on
method of teaching, 232.
Growth. (See Development.)
Habit, relation of, to development,
50 ; of attention, 81 ; of observa-
tion, 129 ; use of, in memorizing,
168 ; illustrated in slovenly use of
INDEX.
419
words, 236 ; of inquiry, 272 ; effect
of, on feeling, 286, 293 ; movement
governed by, 369; strength of, 371 ;
conditions of, 371 ; early growth of,
372 ; limits of, 373 ; operation of,
in moral action, 387.
Hardness, sense of, 94.
Hearing, sense of, 95 ; training of,
106 ; measurement of, 412.
Heart, learning by, 167.
Heredity, law of, 59 ; illustration of,
in child's idea of cause, 255 ; in
feeling, 290.
History, as exercising memory, 164 ;
as involving imagination, 192 ; as
developing the sympathies, 328.
Home, influence of, in promoting in-
terest in study, 163 ; in developing
sympathy, 327 ; in educating moral
sense, 351 ; in developing will and
character, 401.
Ideal, feeling as, 291.
Image, images, definition of, 132 ;
trains of, 142 ; how related to con-
cept, 221.
Imagination, a stage of development,
48 : reproductive and constructive,
174 ; relation of conception to, 221 ;
measurement of, 413. (See Con-
structive Imagination.)
Imitation, relation of sympathy to,
322 ; nature of, 364 ; unconscious
and conscious, 365 ; educational
value of, 366 ; varying degrees of,
367.
Independence, of judgment, 249, 271 ;
of feeling, the aim of the educator,
320 ; of moral sentiment, 350 ; of
will, 349.
Individual differences, of brain-pow-
er, 32 ; of mental capacity, 39 ; of
mental development, 57 ; of origi-
nal capacity, 58 ; in respect of sur-
roundings, 60 ; of power of atten-
tion, 82 ; of sense-capacity, loi ;
of observing power, 123 ; of mem-
ory? 155 ; of imagination, 186 ; of
power of abstraction, 229 ; of judg-
ing and reasoning, 268 ; of feeling,
283, 287, 290 ; of love of approba-
tion, 320 ; of moral feeling, 347 ;
of imitativeness, 367 ; in acquiring
command of bodily organs, 368;
measurement of, 410.
Induction, form of reasoning, 252 ;
nature of, 252 ; spontaneous, 253 ;
regulated, 254 ; and causation, 254 ;
beginnings of, 266 ; training of
child in, 274.
19
Infancy, a period of development, 406.
Inference and reasoning, 249.
Inhibition of movement, 364, 380, 384.
Instinctive, element in feeling, 290 ;
factor in volition, 360 ; movement,
362.
Instruction, relation of, to education,
6 ; method of, 275 ; moral, 353.
Intellect. (See Knowing.)
Intellectual sentiment, nature of, 329 ;
relation of wonder to, 330 ; as pleas-
ure of gaining knowledge, 330 ;
as consciousness of power, 331 ;
growth of, 332 ; educational con-
trol of, 334.
Interest, nature of, 72 ; familiarity
and, 73 ; effect of, on retention,
i34> 163 ; on development of spe-
cial, ZZZ-
Introspection, a means of studying
mind, 15.
Intuitive and symbolic knowledge,
211.
Invention, a form of construction,
178 ; exercise of, 195.
Judging— Judgment, nature of, 239 ;
relation of concept to, 241 ; process
of, 242 ; affirmative and negative,
244 ; extent of, 245 ; perfection of,
246 ; relation of, to reasoning, 251 ;
development of, 263 ; training of,
270 ; aesthetic, 336 ; moral, 346,
381.
Juxtaposition, aid to discrimination,
104 ; aid to comparison, 203.
Kant, I., on value of memory, 172.
Kindergarten, training of sense of
touch by, 106 ; of observing pow-
ers by, 125 ; of manual construc-
tiveness by, 197 ; of will by, 374.
Knowing — Intellectual operations,
place of, in mind, 35 ; analysis of,
38 ; stages of development of, 47 ;
control of, by will, 66, 385 ; rela-
tion of senses to, 102 ; relation of
memory to, 171 ; relation of imagi-
nation to, 176, 182 ; connection of,
with feeling, 280 ; and with willing,
356, 378.
Knowledge, empirical and scientific,
2 ; of concrete and abstract, 199 ;
intuitive and symbolic, 211 ; love
of, 330. (See Intellectual Sen-
timent.)
Lake, C. H., on measuring power of
observation, 413 ; and power of as-
similation, 414.
420
INDEX.
Language, dangers connected with
use of, 218. (See Words.)
Laws, of mind, 40 ; of development,
49 ; of attention, 69 ; of associa-
tion, 138 ; of pleasure and pain,
283.
Learning by heart, 165 ; as involving
imagination, 176. (See Acquisi-
tion.)
Leibnitz, G. W., on intuitive and
symbolic knowledge, 211.
Liberty, relation of, to consciousness
of power, 313.
Literature, as exercising memory,
171 ; as means of training the
imagination, 191 ; as developing
sympathetic insight, 328.
Local discrimination, in sense of
touch, x^ ; in sense of sight, 98.
Localizing sensations, 117.
Locke, John, his conception of child
at birth, 61 ; on differences of
memory, 157 ; on bus-ness of edu-
cation, 160 ; on learning by heart,
166 ; on readiness in reproduction,
170; on satisfying child's inquisi-
tiveness, 272 ; on keeping delicate
feelings alive, 301 ; on childish af-
fectation, 301 ; on child's fear of
dark, 304 ; on evil of many rules,
395.
Logic, bearing of, on education, 9,
270, 274.
Logical, reasoning, 250 ; order of
subjects, 277.
Love, a social feeling, 321.
Magnitude, tactile sense of, 91 ; vis-
ual perception of, 115, note ; ab-
stract ideas of, 209.
Mathematics, idejis of, 209 ; disciplin-
ary value of, 275.
Means and ends, 359, 378.
Measurement of faculty, 409.
Memory, representation and, 133 ;
degrees of, 150 ; beginnings of,
151 ; gradual development of, 152 ;
varieties of, 155 ; general and spe-
cial, 156; natural limitations of,
157 ; how far improvable by exer-
cise, 158 ; training of, 159 ; excel-
lences of, 161 ; educational value
of, 171.
Mental operations, 34.
Method, of psychology, 15 ; in teach-
ing, 275.
Mind, scientific conception of, 13 ;
and body, 14, 21 ; division of, 35 ;
unity of, 36, 37 ; development of,
45-
Mnemonics, art of, 167.
Monotony, nature of, 285.
Moral habits, 388.
Moral ideas, 211.
Moral sentiment— Conscience, nature
of, 345 ; connection of feeling and
judgment in, 346; standard of,
347 ; growth of, 347 ; highest form
of, 350 ; the training of, 351 ; ef-
fects of discipline on, 352 ; action
of personality of teacher on, 352 ;
bearing of moral instruction on,
353 ; influence of companions on,
354.
Mother. (See Parent.)
Motive, element of volition, 357.
Movement, sensations of, 93, 98;
early forms of, 361. (See Volun-
tary Movement.)
Muscular sense, 93.
Music, sensations of, 96,
Names — Naming, use of, in observa-
tion, 128 ; co-operation of, in re-
tention of impressions, 140 ; rela-
tion of, to conception, 205 ; deno-
tation and connotation of, 206;
connecting, with things, 235. (See
Words. )
Native capacity, nature of child, 58,
61.
Nature, development of love of, 106,
341-
Necker de Saussure, Madame, on
children's imagination, 182 ; on
making child feel need of words,
236 ; on stimulating child to think,
273 ; on prohibitions, 394.
Negation, a form of judgment, 244 ;
beginnings of, 264.
Nervous system, structure of, 22;
action of, 23, 26.
Notion, generaJ. (See Concept.)
Novelty, effect of, on attention, 72 ;
uses of, 83, 287.
Number, ideas of, as involving syn-
thesis, 209 ; early ideas of, 227 ;
expounding ideas of, 233.
Obedience, nature of, 391 ; a means,
not end, 394.
Object, tactile perception of, 112;
visual perception of, n6; exercise
in classing, 231.
Object-lesson, nature and aims of,
127.
Obligation, consciousness of, 345,
34*^.
Observation— Observing faculty, na-
ture of, 119; good and bad, 119;
INDEX.
421
development of, 121 ; training of,
124 ; measurement of, 412.
Obstinacy, of judgment, 249 ; of will,
382.
Obstructive association, 147.
Order, of faculties, 47 ; of subjects,
277 ; of emotions, 293.
Organs, of mind, 25 ; connection of,
29 ; need of exercise by, 31 ; stimu-
lation of, and pleasure, 283.
Organic, sensations, 170; sense-feel-
ings, 288.
Over-stimulation of the brain, 30,
284.
Parent, as part of social environ-
ment, 56, 60 ; training of attention
by, 82 ; training of senses by, 103 ;
training of observing powers by,
124; training of memory by, 170;
training of imagination by, 18S ;
relation of, to childish curiosity,
272 ; control of child's emotional
nature by, 297, 305, 309 ; child's
love of, 321 ; influence of intellect-
ual tastes of, on child, 333 ; influ-
ence of, on assthetic preferences,
340, 342 ; action of authority of, in
developing moral sense, 348, 351 ;
function of, in developing bodily
powers, 374 ; tendency of, to over-
control, 400.
Passion, effects of, 280 ; angry, 307 ;
educational control of, 309.
Percept, nature of, 108 ; how reached,
108, 109.
Perception, stage of development,
47, 48 ; definition of, 108 ; special
channels of, 109; by touch, iii ;
by sight, 113 ; early stages of, 121 ;
training of power of, 124.
Perez, B,, on germ of voluntary at-
tention, 77; on early discrimina-
tion of solidity, 122 ; on first men-
tal images, 152 ; on children's im-
agination, 182 ; on child's neglect
of differences, 225 ; on early ideas
of number, 228 ; on limits of early
abstraction, 228 ; on child's idea of
disappearance, 263; on exercising
child in self-control, 385.
Periods of development, 405.
Perseverance, a manifestation of will,
381.
Pestcdozzi, J. H. — ^his conception of
teacher's function, 62.
Pfisterer, G. F., on periods of devel-
opment, 406.
Physiology, bearing of, on educa-
tion, 8.
Pitch, sensations of, 96.
Play as exercise, of imagination, 183 ;
of practical contrivance, 196 ; of
will and active organs, 374.
Pleasure and pain, relation of activ-
ity to, 283 ; effects of, 284 ; de-
pendent on change, 285 ; subject
to accommodation, 286.
Pope, A., on learning words, 166;
on memory and understanding,
172 ; on differences of judgment,
268.
Power, love of, nature of, 311 ; con-
nection with progress, 312 ; as sense
of superiority, 312 ; educational
use and control of, 313.
Praise, love of, 318 ; as form of re-
ward, 399.
Predicate of proposition — Predica-
tion, 239.
Presentative, as stage of develop-
ment, 46,
Preyer, W., on child's power of at-
tention, 77 ; on order of learning
colors, loi ; on early perception of
distance, 121 ; on child's idea of
self, 211 ; on early abstraction,
227 ; on early imitation, 365.
Pride, distinguished from vanity, 321.
Prohibitions, compared with positive
commands, 394.
Proposition, nature of, 239 ; logical
distinctions of, 244.
Psychological order of subjects, 278.
Psychology, bearing of, on educa-
tion, 8, 9 ; scope of, 13 ; method
of, 15.
Public opinion, moral value of, 355,
402.
Punishment, involved in authority,
391 ; definition of, 395 ; ends of,
396 ; evils of, 396 ; limits of, 396 ;
proportioning of, 397.
Purpose, element of voluntary action,
356.
Quality, a distinction of sensation, 88.
Questions, use of, in exercising re-
productive faculty, 244 ; as propos-
ing an alternative, 264 ; children's,
267, 272 ; use of, in exercising
child's reasoning faculty, 273.
Quick, Rev. H., on a good memory,
162.
Random movements, 362.
Rashness, of judgment, 248 ; of in-
duction, 253.
Reaction to stimulus, 33.
Reasoning, nature of, 250 ; relation
422
INDEX.
of judging to, 251 ; inductive and
deductive, 252 ; from analogy, 262 ;
development of, 266 ; training of
faculty of, 272.
Recognition of objects, 117.
Recollection and active reproduction,
147.
Reflection, as self -consciousness, 211 ;
an element in judging, 242 ; in
moral sentiment, 351 ; a charac-
teristic of higher action, 378, 380.
Reflex attention, 71.
Reflex movement, 362.
Repetition, a condition of retention,
136 ; use of, by educator, 163.
Representation, as stage of develop-
ment, 46 ; relation of reproduction
to, 132 ; conceptual, 200 ; involved
in growth of feeling, 208 ; and in
growth of will, 378.
Repression of feeling, 298.
Reproduction, retention and, 131 ;
and representation, 132 ; conditions
*^f > ^33 \ controlled by will, 147 ;
exercising child in, 169; relation
of, to construction, 175.
Resistance, sensations of, 94.
Resolution, nature of, 381.
Respect, feeling of, 321.
Restraint. (See Control.)
Retaliation. (See Anger.)
Retention, a fundamental property
of mind, 50; relation of, to pro-
duction, 131 ; attention and, 134 ;
repetition and, 135; measurement
of, 413-
Rewards, nature of, 398; how far
good, 399; effect of, in school,
400,
Richter, Jean Paul, on learning by
rote, 167 ; on best toy, 196 ; on
difficulty in entering into others'
pleasures, 323.
Rivahy, feeling of, 315, 380 ; forms
of, 316; anti-social tendency of,
317 ; educational treatment of, 317.
Rote, learning by, 166.
Roughness and smoothness, sense of,
91.
Rousseau, on beating a child for cry-
ing, 309; on best way of appor-
tioning praise, 317.
School, province of, in training ob-
Rerving powers, 129; in training
memory, 170 ; imagination, 193 ;
abstraction, 231 ; reasoning pow-
ers, 274 ; relation of, to happiness
of child, 284 ; promotion of rivalry
by, 317 ; influence of, in correcting |
conceit, 320 ; moral discipline of,
401.
Science, relation of, to art, i ; study
of, as exercising observing powers,
129 ; memory, 171 ; imagination,
178 ; orderly classification of things,
215 ; reasoning powers, 275.
Self — Self-consciousness, crude germ
of, 118; abstract idea of, 211.
Self-control, nature of, 383; stages
of, 383 ; connection between differ-
ent forms of, 386.
Self-esteem, relation of love of ap-
probation to, 318, 320.
Self-preservation, instinct of, 294,
305, 307-
Sensation, first stage of development,
48, 86 ; definition of, 86 ; intensity
of, 88 ; quality of, 88 ; of taste and
smell, 89 ; of touch, 89 ; of mus-
cular sense, 93 ; of hearing, 95 ; of
sight, 97 ; attention to, 99 ; dis-
crimination of, 99 ; and percep-
tion, 108.
Sense — Senses, source of knov/ledge,
86 ; general and special, 87 ; the
five, 89 ; the muscular, 93 ; de-
velopment of capacity of, 100 ;
training of, 102 ; measurement of
capacity of, 411.
Sense-feelings, 288.
Sensibility, absolute and discrimina-
tive, 100.
Sentiments, abstract, 294.
Sex, influence of, on mental capacity,
409.
Sight, sense of, 97 ; trammg of, 107 ;
as channel of perception, no ; per-
ceptions of, 1 13.
Sikorski, Dr., on habituating chil-
dren to endurance, 387.
Similarity, as bond of association,
144. (See Assimilation.)
Smell, sense of, 89 ; training of, 105.
Social environment, definition of,
55 ; undesigned and designed in-
fluence of, 56 ; relation of teacher
to, 62.
Social feelings, 294, 321.
Solidity of form, how known, 115.
Sounds, musical and non-musical,
96 ; articulate, 96.
Space, perception of, in.
Standard, ot beautiful, 337, 340 ; of
right and wrong, 347.
Stewart, D., on tests of a good mem-
ory, 161 ; on value of memory, 172.
Stimulation, excessive, 30, 283 ; sen-
sory, 86 ; a cause of pleasure, 283 .
craving for, 283 ; of feelings, 299.'
INDEX.
423
Stimulus, mental, 33, 70 ; sensory, 88.
Subjects of study, as exercising ob-
serving powers, 129 ; memory,
170; imagination, 193; abstrac-
tion, 237 ; reasoning faculty, 274 ;
order of taking up, 237, 277.
Suggestion, and association, 137 ;
strength of, 140.
Syllogism, form of deductive argu-
ment, 259.
Sympathy, nature of, 322 ; earlier
and later forms of, 323 ; effects of,
323; conditions of, 324; growth
of, 324 ; educational uses of, 325 ;
as between teacher and pupil, 325 ;
as between pupils, 327 ; the edu-
cation of, 327 ; an element in moral
sentiment, 348, 349 ; relation of, to
imitation, 366.
Synthesis, element in knowing, 39 ;
involved in formation of concepts,
209 ; a distinction of method, 277,
Tactile perception. (See Touch.)
Taste, aesthetic faculty of, 336, (See
Esthetic Sentiment.)
Taste, sense of, 89 ; training of, 105.
Teacher, uses of mental science to,
II ; place of, in environment, 62 ;
relation of, to feelings, 297 ; sym-
pathy of, 325 ; influence of person-
ality of, 352.
Temperament, emotional, 282 ; act-
ive, 359.
Temperature, sense of, 91.
Term, (See Name.)
Thinking — Thought, stage of devel-
opment, 48 ; nature of, 199 ; stages
of, 200.
Threshold, idea of, as aid to meas-
urement of faculty, 411.
Thring, Rev. E., on monotony, 287.
Touch, sense of, 89 ; active side of,
92 ; training of, 105 ; as channel
of perception, no ; perceptions of,
III.
Toys, uses of, 124, 196.
Tradition, as source of judgment,
242.
Training of faculties, 63 ; of atten-
tion, 82 ; of the senses, 102 ; of
observing powers, 124; of mem-
ory, 159 ; of imagination, 187 ; of
power of abstraction, 230 ; of judg-
ment, 270 ; of feeling, 297 ; of sym-
pathy, 327 ; of feeling of curiosity,
334 ; of aesthetic faculty, 339 ; of
moral sentiment, 351 ; of the will
by the exercise of the active or-
gans, 373 ; of the will by moral
discipline, 390.
Twain, Mark, illustration of boy's
enjoyment of privilege by, 314.
Understanding, relation of memory
to, 172 ; of imagination to, 177 ;
relation of, to thought, 199.
Vanity, distinguished from pride, 321 .
Variety, need of, in school-work, 32 ;
as principle of pleasure, 286, 287.
Verbal associations, 143, 146 ; mem-
ory, 150, 202.
Virtue, feeling excited by, 346.
Vision, visual perception. (See
Sight.)
Visualization, 413.
Volkmann, Dr. W,, on exciting in-
terest, 84.
Voluntary attention, 70, 74, 386.
Voluntary movement, first develop-
ment of, 363 ; relation of imitative
movement to, 365 ; controlled by
word of command, 367 ; internally
controlled, 368 ; governed by habit,
370; fixity and plasticity of, 372;"
training of the will in, 373.
Waitz, Th., on difficulties of abstrac-
tion, 220, 233 ; on educator's rela-
tion to the feelings, 259 ; on re-
wards, 399.
"Weight, sense of, 90, 94.
Will, willing, place of, in mind, 35,
356 ; function of, in attention, 74 ;
control of reproduction by, 148;
definition of, 356 ; basis of, 357 ;
relation of desire to, 359 ; develop-
ment of, 359, 378 ; manifestation
of, in movement, 361, 369 ; exer-
cise of, in bodily movement, 373 ;
training of, in moral action, 391.
Wonder, connection of, with love of
knowledge, 329.
Words, on co-operation of, in re-
membering, 143 ; use and abuse of,
in learning, 165 ; realizing mean-
ing of, 176 ; selection of, by teach-
er, 193 ; discovering meaning of,
206 ; ambiguities of, 218, 261 ; ex-
plaining meaning of, 235 ; con-
trolling child's use of, 236.
Youth, a period of development, 407.
THE END.
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