Psychologies Of 1925

go

125369

PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

POWELL LECTURES IN PSYCHOLOGICAL THEORY

Second Edition

By
MADISON BENTLEY, PkD.

University of Illinois

KNIGHT DUNLAP, PLD.

Johns Hopkins University

WALTER S. HUNTER, Ph.D.

Clark University

KURT KOFFKA, PkD.

University of Giessen

WOLFGANG K6HLER, PLD.

University of Berlin

WILLIAM McDOUGALL, Sc.D, F.R.S.

Harvard University

MORTON PRINCE, M.D.

Harvard University

JOHN B. WATSON, Ph.D.

Johns Hopkins University

ROBERT S. WOODWORTH, Ph.D.

Columbia University

Edited by

CARL MURCHISON, PLD.

Clark University

CLARK UNIVERSITY

WORCESTER, MASSACHUSETTS
1927

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

Having, during certain stages in my own student days, ex-
perienced something of the futility resulting from unadmitted
fundamental differences in theoretical presuppositions, I have
grown more and more convinced that experimental methods
are largely instances of the more or less systematic theories of
the experimenter. Practically any publication from the Cor-
nell Psychological Laboratory carries a majority of the ear-
marks of Structuralism. One would look in vain for those
ear-marks in any scientific article from Watson, Hunter, or
Lashley, for the ear-marks of Behaviorism attract attention
there. Any scientific publication from Berlin these days es-
tablishes once more the Gestalt Theorie. The pedagogical
danger here is caused by the tendency of each of these theo-
retical groups to think of its rivals in terms of caricature,
and so to describe them to the public and to young students.
The result is that theoretical tradition becomes established in
certain educational communities, and students are born struc-
turalists or behaviorists just as one may be born a democrat
or a presbyterian.

Upon mentioning these matters to my father-in-law, Dr.
Elmer Ellsworth Powell, I found him already thinking of the
same difficulties. Shortly afterwards he made a financial gift
to Clark University, initiating a series known as the Powell
Lectures in Psychological Theory. The men who have lec-
tured in this series are admitted by all psychologists to be true
leaders in the theoretical provinces herein described.

We have here a genuine cross-section of contemporary the-
oretical psychology. Here are the norms with which future
psychologies can be compared. Here are the principles which
are up-to-date through the year 1925. We at dark hope that
it is the beginning of a series of cross-sections appearing at
five or ten-year intervals. If such proves to be the case, it is
to be hoped that in the future the various fields of psychology
may also be represented.

CARL MURCHISON.

CLARK UNIVERSITY,
Worcester, Massachusetts.
May 1, 1926.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PART I. SCHOOLS OF BEHAVIORISM

Chapter Page

1. WHAT THE NURSERY HAS TO SAY ABOUT IN-
STINCTS, John B. Watson 1

2. EXPERIMENTAL STUDIES ON THE GROWTH OF THE
EMOTIONS, John B. Watson 37

3. RECENT EXPERIMENTS ON HOW WE LOSE AND
CHANGE OUR EMOTIONAL EQUIPMENT, John B.
Watson 59

4. PSYCHOLOGY AND ANTHROPONOMY, Walter S.
Hunter 83

PART II. DYNAMIC PSYCHOLOGY

5. DYNAMIC PSYCHOLOGY, Robert 5. Woodworth Ill

PART III. GESTALT

6. MENTAL DEVELOPMENT, Kurt Koffka 129

7. INTELLIGENCE OF APES, Wolfgang Kohler 145

8. AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY, Wolfgang
Kohler 163

PART IV. PURPOSIVE GROUPS

9. THREE FUNDAMENTAL ERRORS OF THE BEHAVIOR.
ISTS AND THE RECONCILIATION OF THE PURPOS-
IVE AND MECHANISTIC CONCEPTS, Morton Prince ... 199

10. AWARENESS, CONSCIOUSNESS, CO-CONSCIOUSNESS,
AND ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE. FROM THE POINT OF
VIEW OF THE DATA OF ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY
A BIOLOGICAL THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS, Morton

-^Prince 221

11. THE PROBLEM OF PERSONALITY: HOW MANY
SELVES HAVE WE?, Morton Prince 245

12. MEN OR ROBOTS? I, William McDougall 273

13. MEN OR ROBOTS? II, William McDougaU 293

PART V. REACTION PSYCHOLOGY

14. THE THEORETICAL ASPECT OF PSYCHOLOGY,

Knight Dunlap 309

15. THE EXPERIMENTAL METHODS OF PSYCHOLOGY,
Knight Dunlap T 331

16. THE APPLICATIONS OF PSYCHOLOGY TO SOCIAL
PROBLEMS, Knight Dunlap * 353

PART VI. PSYCHOLOGIES CALLED "STRUCTURAL"

17. HISTORICAL DERIVATION, Madison Bentley ! . . 383

18. THE WORK OF THE STRUCTURALISTS, Madison
Bentley 395

19. THE PSYCHOLOGICAL ORGANISM, Madison Bentley . . 405

TABLE OF ILLUSTRATIONS

John B. Watson 1

Walter S. Hunter 83

Robert S. Woodworth Ill

Kurt Koffka 129

Wolfgang Kohler 145

Morton Prince 199

William McDougall 273

Knight Dunlap 309

Madison Bentley 333

PARTI

Schools of Behaviorism

JOHN B. WATSON

CHAPTER I

WHAT THE NURSERY HAS TO SAY
ABOUT INSTINCTS*

BY JOHN B. WATSON

I. GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS

Introduction: In this brief course of lectures I wish to
talk about how man is equipped to behave at birth a subject
that touches the very heart of human psychology.

When the array of facts about any subject is not very
complete, it is only human nature to announce a thesis, that
is, state what one is going to try to prove and then try to
prove it by a logical argument. I am in that position tonight.
I have not the full set of facts about the so-called "instinctive"
nature of man I do not know who has; hence, please look
upon these lectures both as logical presentations of what facts
there are in the case and as a thesis which I am trying to
defend. I shall present my thesis first.

The Thesis Presented

Man is an animal born with certain definite types of struc-
ture. Having that kind of structure, he is forced to respond to
stimuli at birth in certain ways (for example: breathing, heart
beat, sneezing, and the like. A fairly full list I shall give you
later on). This repertoire of responses is in general the same
for each of us. Yet there exists a certain amount of variation
in each the variation is probably merely proportional to the
variation there is in structure (including in structure, of
course, chemical constitution). It is the same repertoire now
that it was when the genus homo first appeared many millions
of years ago. Let us call this group of reactions, man's un-
learned behavior. /

In this relatively simple list of human responses there is
none corresponding to what is called an "instinct" by present-
day psychologists and biologists. There are then for us no
instincts we no longer need the term in psychology. Every-
thing we have been in the habit of calling an "instinct" today
is a result largely of training belonging to man's learned
behavior.

*Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University, Jan-
uary 16, 1925.

2 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

As a corollary from this, I wish to draw the conclusion that
there is no such thing as an inheritance of capacity, talent,
temperament, mental constitution and characteristics. These
things again depend on training that goes on mainly in the
cradle. The behaviorist would not say: "He inherits his
father's capacity or talent for being a fine swordsman." He
would say : "This child certainly has his father's slender build
of body, the same type of eyes. His build is wonderfully like
his father's. He, too, has the build of a swordsman." And
he would go on to say : " and his father is very fond of him.
He put a tiny sword into his hand when he was a year of age,
and in all their walks he talks sword play, attack and defense,
the code of duelling and the like." A certain type of struc-
ture, plus early training slanting accounts for adult per-
formance.

The Argument In Its Defence

Let me start by saying that man to the behaviorist is a whole
animal. When he reacts he reacts with each and every part
of his body. Sometimes he reacts more strongly with one
group of muscles and glands than with another. We then say
he is doing something. We have named many of these acts
such as breathing, sleeping, crawling, walking, running, fight-
ing, crying, etc. But please do not forget that each of these
named acts involves the whole body.

We must begin, too, to think of man as a mammal a primate
a two-legged animal with two arms and two delicate, mobile
hands; as an animal that has a nine months embryonic life,
a long helpless infancy, a slow developing childhood, eight
years of adolescence and a total life span of some three score
years and ten.

We find^ this animal living in the tropics almost without
shelter; going naked; living upon easily caught animals and
upon fruit and herbs that require no cultivation. We find
him in temperate regions, but dwelling here in well-built, steam-
heated houses. We find the male always heavily clad even in
summer, wearing a hat upon his head the only naturally
protected part of his body. We find the female of this species
dressed in the scantiest of clothes. We find the male working
frantically (the female rarely) at almost every kind of vocation,
from digging holes in the ground, damming up water like
beavers, to building tall buildings of steel and concrete. Again
we find man in arctic regions, clad in furs, eating fatty foods
and living in houses built of snow and ice.

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 3

Everywhere we find man, we find him doing the strangest
things, displaying the most divergent manners and customs.
In Africa we find the blacks eating one another ; in China we
find men eating mainly rice and throwing it towards the mouth
with dainty chopsticks. In other countries we find man using
a metal knife and fork. So widely different is the adult be-
havior of the primitive Australian bushmen from that of the
dwellers in internal China, and both of these groups differ so
widely in behavior from the cultivated Englishman, that the
question is forced upon us Do all members of the genus homo,
wherever they are found in biological history, start at birth
with the same group of responses, and are these responses
aroused by the same set of stimuli? Put in another way, is
the unlearned, birth equipment of man, which you have been
in the habit of calling instincts, the same wherever he is found,
be it in Africa or in Boston, be it in the year six million B. C.
or in 1925 A. D., whether born in the cotton fields of the
South, in the Mavflower or beneath the silken purple quilts
of European royalty?

The Genetic Psychologists? Answer

The genetic psychologist the student best qualified to an-
swer this question hates to be faced with it because his data
are limited. But since he is forced to answer, he can give
his honest conviction. His answer is, "Yes, within the limits
of individual variation, man is born with the same general set
of responses (let us wait before we call them instincts, though)
regardless of the station of his parents, regardless of the geo-
logical age in which he was born and regardless of the geo-
graphical zone in which he was born."

But you say, is there nothing in heredity is there nothing
in eugenics is there no advantage in being born an "F. F. V."
has there been no progress in human evolution? Let us ex-
amine a few of the questions you are now bursting to utter.

Certainly black parents will bear black children if the line
is pure (except possibly once in a million years or so when
a sport or "mutant" is born which theoretically may be white,
yellow or red). Certainly the yellow-skinned Chinese parents
will bear yellow-skinned offspring. Certainly Caucasian parents
will bear white children. But these differences are relatively
slight. They are due among other things to differences in
the amount and kind of pigments in the skin. I defy anyone
to take these infants at birth, study their behavior, and mark
off differences in behavior that will characterize white from

4 PSYCHOLOGIES OF

black, and white or black from yellow. There will be differen-
ces in behavior but the burden of proof is upon the individual,
be he biologist or eugenist, who claims that these racial dif-
ferences are greater than the individual differences.

Again you say, "How about children born from parents who
have large hands, with short stiff fingers, with extra fingers
or toes? It can be shown that children from these parents
inherit these peculiarities of structure." Our answer is : "Yes,
thousands of variations are laid down in the germ plasm and
will always appear (other factors being equal) in the off spring."
Other inheritances are color of hair, color of eyes, texture
of skin, Albinism (very light individuals with little or no pig-
ment in hair and eyes vision always being defective). The
biologist, knowing the makeup of the parents and grandparents,
can predict many of even the finer structural characteristics
of the offspring.

So let us hasten to admit yes, there are heritable differences
in form, in structure. Some people are born with long, slender
fingers, with delicate throat structure ; some are born tall, large,
of prize-fighter build; others with delicate skin and eye color-
ing. These differences are in the germ plasm and are handed
down from parent to child. More questionable are the in-
heritance of such things as the early or late graying of hair,
the early _ loss of hair, the span of life, the bearing of twins,
and the like. Many of these questions have already been an-
swered by the biologists and many others are in the process
of being answered. But do not let these undoubted facts of
inheritance lead you astray as they have some of the biologists.
The mere presence of these structures tell us not one thing
about function. This has been the source of a' great deal of
confusion in the subject we have under consideration tonight.
Much of our structure laid down in heredity would never
come to light, would never show in function, unless the organ-
ism were put in a certain environment, subjected to certain
stimuli and forced to undergo training. Our hereditary struc-
ture lies ready to be shaped in a thousand different ways
the same structure mind you depending on the way in which
the child is brought up. To convince yourself, measure the
right arm of the blacksmith, look at the pictures of strong men
in our terrible magazines devoted to physical culture. Or turn
to the poor bent back of the ancient bookkeeper. They are
structurally shaped (within limits) by the kinds of lives they
lead. ^

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 5

Are 'Mental' Traits Inherited?

But every one admits this about bone and tendons and
muscles "How about mental traits? Do you mean to say
that great talent is not inherited? That criminal tendencies
are not inherited ? Surely we can prove that these things can be
inherited." This was the older idea, the idea which grew up
before we knew as much about what early shaping throughout
infant life will do as we know now. The question is often
put in specific form : "Look at the musicians who are the sons
of musicians; look at Wesley Smith, the son of the great
economist, John Smith surely a chip off the old block if
ever there was one." You already know the behaviorist's way
of answering these questions. You know he recognizes no
such thing as mental traits, dispositions or tendencies. Hence,
to him, there is no sense to the question of the inheritance of
talent as the question is ordinarily raised.

Wesley Smith early in life was thrown into an environment
that fairly reeked with economic, political and social questions.
His attachment for his father was strong. The path he took
was a very natural one. He went into that life for the same rea-
son that your son becomes a lawyer, a doctor or a politician. If
the father is a shoemaker, a saloon keeper or a street cleaner, or
engaged in any other non-socially recognized occupation, the son
does not follow so easily in the father's footsteps, but that is
another story. Why did Wesley Smith succeed in reaching
eminence when so many sons who have famous fathers fail to
attain equal eminence ? Was it because this particular son in-
herited his father's talent? There may be a thousand reasons,
not one of which lends any color to the view that Wesley
Smith inherited the "talent" of his father. Suppose John
Smith had had three sons who by hypothesis all had equal
abilities and all began to work upon economics at the age of
six months^One was beloved by his father. He followed in
his father's footsteps and, due to his father's tutorship, this
son overtook and finally surpassed his father. Two years
after the birth of Wesley, the second son was born, but the
father was taken up with the elder son. The second son was
beloved by the mother who now got less of her husband's
time, so she devoted her time to the second son. The second
son could not follow so closely in the footsteps of his father;
he was influenced naturally by what his mother was doing.

'lAnd by this statement we do not mean that their genetic consti-
tution is identical.

6 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

He early gave up his economic studies, entered society and
ultimately became a "lounge lizard." The third son, born
two years later, was unwanted. The father was taken up with
the eldest son, the mother with the second son. The third
son was also put to work upon economics, but receiving little
parental care, he drifted daily towards the servants' quarters.
An unscrupulous maid taught him to masturbate at three.
At twelve the chauffeur made a homosexual out of him.
Later, falling in with neighborhood thieves, he became a pick-
pocket, then a stool-pigeon and finally a drug fiend. He died
in an insane asylum of paresis. There was nothing wrong
with the heredity of any one of these sons. All by hypothe-
sis had equal chances at birth. All could have been the fathers
of fine, healthy sons if their respective wives had been of
good stock (except possibly for the third son after he con-
tracted syphilis).

You will probably say that I am flying in the face of the known
facts of eugenics and experimental evolution that the geneti-
cists have proven that many of the behavior characteristics of the
parents are handed down to the offspring they will cite ma-
thematical ability, musical ability, and many, many other types.
My reply is that the geneticists are working under the banner
of the old "faculty" psychology. One need not give very much
weight to any of their present conclusions. Before the even-
ing is over I hope to show you that there are no ''faculties"
and no stereotyped patterns of behavior which deserve the
name either of "talent" or "instinct."

Differences in Structure and Differences in Early Training

Will Account for All Differences in Later Behavior
A while ago I said that, granting individual variation in
structure, we could find no real proof that man's unlearned
repertoire of acts has differed through the ages or that he has
ever been either more or less capable of putting on complex
training than in 1925. The fact that there are marked indi-
vidual variations in structure among men has been known since
biology began. But we have never sufficiently utilized it in
analyzing man's behavior. Tonight I want to utilize still
another fact only recently brought out by the behaviorists and
other students of animal psychology, namely, that habit forma-'
tion starts in all probability in embryonic life, and that even
in the human young, environment shapes behavior so quickly
that all of the older ideas about what types of behavior ore
inherited and what are learned break down. Grant variations

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 7

in structure at birth and rapid habit formation from birth, and
you have a basis for explaining many of the so-called facts
of inheritance of "mental" characteristics. Let us take up
these two points:

(1) Human Beings Differ in the Way They are Put Together

Those of you who have physiological training have a good
idea of the complexity of the material that goes into the human
body. You realize the fact that there must be variation in the
way these complicated tissues are put together. We have just
brought out the fact that some human beings are born with
long fingers, some with short; some with long arm and leg
bones, some with short; some with hard bones, and some with
soft; some with over-developed glands; some with poorly
functioning glands. Again you know that we can identify
human beings by differences in their finger prints. No two
human beings have ever had the same finger prints, yet you
can mark off man's hand and foot prints from the tracks of
all other animals. No two human beings have bones exactly
alike, yet any good comparative anatomist can pick out a human
bone (and there are over 200 of them) from the bones of
every other mammal. If so simple a thing as the markings
on the fingers differ in every individual, you have absolute
proof that general behavior will and must be different. They
crawl differently, cry differently, differ in the frequency with
which defaecation and urination occur, differ in early vocal
efforts, in requirements for food, in the speed and rapidity
with which they use their hands even identical twins show
these differences because they differ structurally and differ
slightly in their chemical makeup. They differ likewise in the
finer details of sense organ equipment, in the details of brain
and cord structure, in the heart and circulatory mechanisms,
and in the length, breadth, thickness and flexibility of the
striped muscular systems.

Yet with all of these structural differences "a man's a man
for a' that" all are made up of the same material and have
the same general architectural plan regardless of habits.

(2) Differences In Early Training Make Men Still More

Different

There are then admittedly these slight but significant differ-
ences in structure between one human being and every other
human being. Differences in early training are even more
marked. I will not stop now to give much proof of this

8 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

the next two lectures will furnish it abundantly. We now
know that conditioned reflexes start in the human child at
birth (and possibly before) we know that there is no such
thing as giving two children, even belonging to the same family,
the same training. A doting young married couple have
twins a boy and a girl they are dressed alike and fed alike.
But the father pets and fondles the girl, surrounds her with
love; the mother treats the boy in the same way, but the father
wants the boy to follow in his own footsteps. He is stern
with him he can't help shaping the boy his way. The mother
wants the girl to be modest and maidenly. Soon they show
great differences in behavior. They receive different training
from infancy. The next children are born. Now the father
is more taken up with affairs he has to work harder. The
mother is more taken up with social duties; servants are
brought in. The younger children have brothers and sisters;
they are brought up in a wholly different world. One child
falls ill. Strict training is abandoned; all rules are off with
a sickly child. Again, one child gets badly frightened be-
comes conditioned shows fear at everything; he becomes
timid and his regular course of boyish activity is interfered
with. Indeed we may take an actual case. Two girls, aged
nine, live in adjoining houses. They have the "same" train-
ing (mothers are close friends and bring up children accord-
ing to the same rules). One day they took a walk. The girl
on the left looked at the street and saw only street activity,
the one on the right looked towards the houses and saw a man
exposing his sex organs. The girl on the right was consider-
ably troubled and disturbed and reached equanimity only after
months of discussion with her parents.

In this audience I am sure I do not need to multiply in-
stances of early differences in training and conditioning.

The Conclusion We Draw

How will -these two things explain the so-called facts of
inheritance _ of talent or mental characteristics. Let us take
a hypothetical case. Here are two boys, one aged 7, the
other 6. The father is a pianist of great talent, the mother
an artist working in oil, a portrait painter of note. The
father has strong, large hands but with long, flexible fingers
(it is a myth that all artists have long, tapering, finely formed
fingers). The ^ older son has the same type of hand. The
father loves his first born, the mother the younger. Then
the process of "creating he them in his own image" begins.

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 9

The world is brought up on the basis largely of shaping the
young you are attached -to as you yourself have been shaped.
Well, in this case the older becomes a wonderful pianist, the
younger an indifferent artist. So much for different training
or different slanting in youth. But what about different
structure ? Please note this : The younger son, under ordinary
conditions, could not have been trained into a pianist. His
fingers were not long enough and the muscular arrangement
of the hand was not flexible enough. But even here we should
be cautious the piano is a standard instrument a certain
finger span and a certain hand, wrist and finger strength are
needed. But suppose the father had been fond of the younger
child and said, "I want him to be a pianist and I am going to
try an experiment his fingers are short he'll never have a
flexible hand, so I'll build him a piano. I'll make the keys'
narrow so that even with his short fingers his span will be
sufficient, and I'll make different leverage for the keys so that
no particular strength or even flexibility will be needed."
Who knows? the younger son under these conditions might
have become the world's greatest pianist.

Such factors, especially those on -the training side, have
been wholly neglected in the study of inheritance. We have
not the facts to build up statistics on the inheritance of special
types of behavior, and until the facts have been brought out
by -the study of the human young, all data on the evolution
of different forms of human behavior and eugenics must be
accepted with the greatest caution.

Our conclusion, then, is that we have no real evidence of
the inheritance of traits. I would feel perfectly confident in
the ultimately favorable outcome of careful upbringing of a
healthy, well-formed baby born of a long line of crooks, mur-
derers, thieves and prostitutes. Who has any evidence to the
contrary? Many, many thousands of children yearly, born
from moral households and steadfast parents, become way-
ward, steal or become prostitutes, through one mishap or
another of nurture. Many more thousands of sons and daugh-
ters of the wicked grow up to be wicked because they couldn't
grow up any other way in such surroundings. But let one
adopted child who has a bad ancestry go wrong and it is used
as incontestible evidence for the inheritance of moral turpi-
tude and criminal tendencies. As a matter of fact, there has
not been a double handful of cases in the whole of our civiliza-
tion where records have been carefully enough kept for us to

10 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

draw any such conclusions mental testers, Lombroso, and all
other students of criminality to the contrary notwithstanding.
All of us know that adopted children are never brought up
as one's own. One cannot use statistics gained from observa-
tions in charitable institutions and orphan asylums. All one
needs to do to discount such statistics is to go there and work
for a while, and I say this without trying to belittle the work
of such organizations.

I should like to go one step further tonight and say, "Give
me a dozen healthy infants, well- formed, and my own specified
world to bring them up in and I'll guarantee to take any one
at random and train him to become any type of specialist I
might select & doctor, lawyer, artist, merchant-chief and, yes,
even into beggar-man and thief, regardless of his talents,
penchants, tendencies, abilities, vocations and race of his an-
cestors." I am going beyond my facts and I admit it, but so
have the advocates of the contrary and they have been doing
it for many thousands of years. Please note that when this
experiment is made I am to be allowed to specify the way
they are to be brought up and the type of world they have
to live in.

Where there are structural defects that are inherited, as

apparently is the case in certain glandular diseases, in "mental"

defectives, where there is intra-uterine infection as in syphilis

and in gonorrhea, troublesome behavior of one kind or another

may develop early and rapidly. But some of these children

haven't the structural possibilities to be trained as when

fundamental connections in body and brain arc lacking.

Again, where there are structural defects more easily observed

as m Deformities, loss of digits, extra digits, etc,, there is social

inferiority competition on equal grounds is denied. The

same ^is true when inferior races are brought up along with

superior races. We have no sure evidence of inferiority in

the negro race. Educate a white child and a negro child in

the same school bring them up in the same family (theoreti-

cally without difference) and yet when society begins to exert

its crushing might, the negro cannot compete. 1

The truth is society does not like to face facts. Pride of

The g SSLSS. 1 * 6 h ? ritan ? e f t ac ^d bd^lor char-

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 11

race has been strong, hence our Mayflower ancestry our
Daughters of the Revolution. We like to boast of our ances-
try. It sets us apart. We like to think it takes three gen-
erations to make a gentleman (sometimes a lot longer!) and
that we have more than three behind us. Again, on the other
hand, the belief in the inheritance of tendencies and traits saves
us from blame in the training of our young. The mother says
when her son goes wrong ''Look at his father or his grand-
father (whichever one she hates). What could you expect
with that ancestry on his father's side?" And the father, when
the girl shows wayward tendencies "What can you expect?
Her mother has always let every man she came in contact
with make love to her." If these tendencies are inherited we
can't be much blamed for it. Traits in the older psychologies
are god-given and if my boy or girl goes wrong, I as a parent
can't be blamed.

The behaviorist has an axe to grind, you say, by being so
emphatic? Yes, he has he would like to see the presuppo-
sitions and assumptions that are blocking us in our efforts to
spend millions of dollars and years of patient research on
infant psychology removed because then, and only then, can
we build up a real psychology of mankind.

Are There Any Instincts?

Let us, then, forever lay the ghost of inheritance of apti-
tudes, of "mental" characteristics, of special abilities (not
based upon favorable structure such as throat formation in
singing, hand in playing, structurally sound eyes, ears, etc.)
and take up the more general question of what the world has
been in the habit of calling instincts.

It is not easy to answer this question. Up to the advent
of the behaviorist, man was supposed to be a creature of many
complicated instincts. A group of older writers, under the
sway of the newly created theories of Darwin, vied with one
another in finding new and perfect instincts in both man and
animals. William James made a careful selection from among
these asserted instincts and gave man the following list : Climb-
ing, imitation, emulation and rivalry, pugnacity, anger, resent-
ment, sympathy, hunting, fear, appropriation, acquisitiveness,
kleptomania, const rue tiveness, play, curiosity, sociability, shy-
ness, clemliness, modesty, shame, love, jealousy, parental love.
James claims that no other mammal, not even the monkey, can
lay claim to so large a list.

12 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

The behaviorist finds himself wholly unable to agree with
Tames and the other psychologists who claim that man has
unlearned activities of these complicated kinds. But you who
are here tonight have been brought up on James or possibly
even on a worse diet, and it will be hard to dislodge his teach-
ing. You say, "J ames says an instinct is f a tendency to act
in such a way as to bring about certain ends without having
foresight of those ends/ Surely this formulation fits a lot of
the early behavior of children and young ^ animals/' You
think you understand it, anyway. At first it looks convinc-
ing. But when you test it out in terms of your own observa-
tions on young animals and children, you find that you have
not a scientific definition but a metaphysical assumption. You
get lost in the sophistry of 'foresight' and 'end/

I don't blame you for being confused. No subject in psy-
chology today is more written about than the so-called instincts.
In the past three years more than a hundred articles have been
written about instincts. The articles in general are of the
armchair variety written by men who have never watched the
whole life history of animals and the early childhood of the hu-
man young. Philosophy will never answer any questions about
instincts. The questions asked are factual ones to be an-
swered 'only by genetic observation. Let me hasten to add
that the behaviorist's knowledge of instinct also suffers from
lack of observed facts but you cannot accuse him of going
beyond natural science in his inferences. Before attempting
to answer the question "What is an instinct?" let us take a
little journey into mechanics. Possibly we may find that we
do not need the term after all.

A Lesson From the Boomerang

I have in my hand a hardwood stick. If I throw it forward
and upward it goes a certain distance and drops to the ground.
I retrieve the stick, put it in hot water, bend it at a certain
angle, throw it out again it goes outward, revolving as it
goes for a short distance, turns to the right and then drops
down. Again I retrieve the stick, reshape it slightly and make
its edges convex. I call it a boomerang. Again I throw it
upward and outward. Again it goes forward revolving as
it goes. Suddenly it turns, comes back and gracefully and
kindly falls at my feet. It is still a stick, still made of the
same material, but it has been shaped differently. Has the
boomerang an instinct to return to the hand of the thrower?
No? Well, why does it return? Because it is made in such a

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 13

way that when it is thrown upward and outward with a given
force it must, return (parallelogram of forces). Let me call
attention to the fact here that all well made and well thrown
boomerangs will return to or near to the thrower's feet, but
no two will follow exactly the same forward pathway or the
same return pathway, even if shot mechanically with the same
application of force and at the same elevation; yet they are
all called boomerangs. This example may be a little unusual
to you. Let us take one a little easier. Most of us have rolled
dice now and again. Take a die, load it in a certain way, roll
it, and the face bearing "six" will always come up when the
die is thrown. Why? The die must roll that way because
of the way it was constructed. Again take a toy soldier.
Mount it on a semi-circular loaded rubber base. No matter
how you throw this soldier, he will always bob upright, os-
cillate a bit, then come to a steady vertical position. Has the
rubber soldier an instinct to stand erect?

Notice that not until the boomerang, the toy soldier and the
die are hurled into space 'do they exhibit their peculiarities
of motion. Change their form or their structure, or alter
the material out of which they are made (make them of iron
instead of wood r or rubber) and their characteristic motion
may markedly change. But man is made up of certain kinds
of material put together in certain ways. If he is hurled
into action (as a result of stimulation) may he not exhibit
movement (in advance of training) just as peculiar as (but
no more mysterious than) that of the boomerang? 1

Concept Of Instinct No Longer Needed In Psychology
This brings us to our central thought tonight. If the boomer-
ang has no instinct (aptitude, capacity, tendency, trait, etc.)
to return to the hand of the thrower; if we need no mysterious
way of accounting for the motion of the boomerang; if the
laws of physics will account for its motions cannot psy-
chology see in this a much needed lesson in simplicity? Can

i-You wtll argue that in mechanics action and reaction are equal
that the boomerang is hit with a force equal to so many ergs and
that just that many ergs are used up in returning to the hand of the
thrower (including the heat loss to the air) but that when I touch
a man with ,a hair and he jumps two feet high, the reaction is out
of all proportion to the energy in the stimulus. The reply is that
in man the energy used in the reaction was stored. In dynamics
you find the same thing when a match touches off a powder blast
or a breeze blows from a cliff a rocking boulder that destroys a
house in the valley.

14 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

it not dispense with instincts? Can we not say, "Man is built
of certain materials put together in certain complex ways, and
as a corollary of the way he is put together and of the material
out of which he is made he must act [until learning has re-
shaped him] as he does act?"

But you say : 'That gives your whole argument away you
admit he does a lot of things at birth which he is^ forced to
do by his structure this is just what I mean by instinct." My
answer is that we must now go to the facts. We can no longer
postpone a visit to the nursery. I think you will find there,
in the two or three years we shall study the infant and child,
little that will encourage you to keep sacred James? list of
instincts.

II. LABORATORY STUDIES ON THE GENESIS OF BEHAVIOR

During the past 25 years the -students of animal behavior
have been gathering a sound body of facts about the young
of nearly every species of animal except that of man. We have
lived with young monkeys, we have watched the growth of
young rats, rabbits, guinea pigs, and birds of many^ species.
We have watched them develop daily in our laboratories from
the moment of birth to maturity. To check our laboratory
results we have watched many of them grow up in their own
native habitat in a natural environment.

These studies have enabled us to reach a fair understanding
of both the unlearned and learned equipment of many species
of animals. They have taught us that no one by watching the
performance of the adult can determine what part of a com-
plicated series of acts belongs in the unlearned category and
what part belongs in the category of the learned. Best of all,
they have given us a method that we can apply to the study
of the human young. Finally, animal studies have taught us
that it is not safe to generalize from the data we gather on
one species as to what will be true in another species. For
example, the guinea pig is born with a heavy coat of fur and
with a very complete -set of motor responses. It becomes
practically independent of the mother at three days of age*
The white rat, on the other hand, is born in a very immature
state, has a long period of infancy; it becomes independent
of the mother only at the end of thirty days. Such a wide
divergence of birth equipment in two animal species so closely
related (both rodents) proves how unsafe it is to generalize
on the basis of infra-human animal studies as to what the
unlearned equipment of man is.

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 15

Resistance to the Study of the Human Young
Until very recently we have had no reliable data on what
happens during the first few years of human infancy and
childhood. Indeed there has been very great resistance to
studying the behavior of the human young. Society is in the
habit of seeing them starve by hundreds, of seeing them grow
up in dives and slums, without getting particularly wrought
up about it. But let the hardy behaviorist attempt an ex-
perimental study of the infant or even begin systematic ob-
servation, and criticism begins at once. When experiments and
observations are made in the maternity wards of hospitals there
is naturally also considerable misunderstanding of the behavior-
ist's aims. The child is not sick, the behaviorist is not ad-
vancing clinical methods therefore what good are such
studies? Again, when the parents who have children under
observation learn of it they become excited. They are ignorant
of what you are doing and you have great difficulty in making
them understand what you are doing. These difficulties at first
confronted us in our work at the Johns Hopkins Hospital but,
thanks to the broad-mindedness of Dr. J. Whitridge Williams,
Dean of the Johns Hopkins Medical School, and of Dr. John
Rowland, physician-in-chief of the Harriet Lane Hospital, a
satisfactory condition for study was finally arranged. It was
arranged in such a way that psychological examination of the
infants became a part of the regular routine of the care of
all infants born in the hospital. I mention this because if any
of you ever attempt to make such studies you will be con-
fronted, until the work has become more generally accepted,
with a similar set of difficulties.

Studying the Behavior of the Human Infant
No one -should attempt to make studies upon the infant
until he has had considerable training in physiology and in
animal psychology. He should have practical training in the
nursery of the hospital where the work is to be done. In this
way he can learn what is safe to do with a baby and what is
not. Before recording observations he should watch a few
deliveries. By watching deliveries he will speedily learn that
the human infant can stand considerable necessary hard usage
without breaking under the strain !

What We Know About Intra-Uterine Behavior
Our knowledge of the intra-uterine life of the human young
is a very meagre indeed. Intra-uterine life begins with the
fertilization of the ovum. Birth occurs usually at the end

16 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

of the tenth lunar month (280 days) thereafter. The heart
of the foetus begins to beat around the 18th to 20th week,
occasionally as early as the 14th week. The heart rate of the
foetus is very rapid 120-140 beats to the minute. Movement
of the striped muscular system of the foetus begins at the
end of the 4th lunar month. There is some evidence that
the stomach glands begin to function at the end of the 5th
month. There is apparently very little support to the view
that defaecation and urination occur in utcro.

The position of the foetus in the uterus is not without signifi-
cance since it affects the movements and posture of the infant
for a considerable time after birth. Dr. J, Whitridge Wil-
liams describes the intra-uterine position of the foetus as fol-
lows: "Irrespective of the relation which it may bear to the
mother, the foetus in the later months of pregnancy assumes
a characteristic posture, which is described as its attitude or
habitits; and, as a general rule, it may be said to form an ovoid
mass, which roughly corresponds with the shape of the uterine
cavity. Thus, it is folded or bent upon itself in such a way
that the back becomes markedly convex, the head is sharply
flexed so that the chin is almost in contact with the breast,
the thighs are flexed over the abdomen, the legs are bent at
the knee-joints, and the arches of the feet rest upon the ante-
rior surfaces of the legs. The arms are usually crossed over
the thorax or are parallel to the sides, while the umbilical
cord lies in the space between them and the lower extremities.
This attitude is usually retained throughout pregnancy, though
it is frequently modified somewhat by the movements of the
extremities, and in rare instances the head may become ex-
tended, when a totally different posture is assumed. The char-
acteristic attitude results partly from the mode of growth of
the foetus, and partly from a process of accommodation be-
tween it and the outlines of the uterine cavity." (Obstetrics,
p. 180), The extent to which slight differences in the intra-
uterine position of the foetus may possibly later influence or
even determine right and left handedness of the individual is
not known. Attention is called to the fact that the liver is
on the right side in about 80fo of the observed cases. Whether
this large organ may swing the foetus slightly so that the right
side is constantly under less restraint than the left is not
known. If this is true, the infants with the liver on the right
side should be right-handed from birth. My records on hun-
dreds of infants prove that this is not the case.

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 17

In general we get our best information on foetal structures
ready to function by study of infants prematurely born. At
six months (lunar) the infant may draw a few gasping breaths
and make a few abortive movements. It never lives. From
the 7th month on to full term, infants may live. At birth
they display the usual birth equipment. This proves that from
the beginning of the 7th month many structures exist in the
foetus ready to function as soon as the appropriate stimulus
is applied : e. g. breathing as soon as the air strikes the lungs ;
complete and independent circulation and purification of the
blood as soon as the umbilical cord is severed; independent
metabolism showing that visceral system is ready to func-
tion, etc.

The Birth Equipment of the Human Young

Almost daily observation of several hundred infants from
birth through the first thirty days of infancy and of a smaller
number through the first years of childhood has given us the
following set of (rough) facts on unlearned responses: 1

Sneezing: This apparently can begin in a full-fledged way
from birth. Sometimes it appears even before the so-called
birth cry is given. It is one of the responses that stays in the
activity stream throughout life (see p. 35) ; habit factors ap-
parently affect it very little indeed. No experiments so far
have ever been made to see if the mere sight of the pepper box
may not after a sufficient number of conditioning experiments
call out sneezing. The normal intra-organic stimulus calling
out sneezing is not very well defined* Sometimes it occurs
when the baby is taken from a cooler room into an overheated
room. With some babies carrying them out into the sunshine
apparently will produce sneezing.

Hiccoughing : This usually does not begin at birth but can
be noticed in children from 7 days of age on with great ease.
Over SO cases have been observed carefully. The earliest
noted case of hiccoughing was six hours after birth. So far
as is known, this response is rarely conditioned under the or-
dinary conditions of life. The stimulus most commonly calling
it out apparently is the pressure on the diaphragm coming from
a full stomach.

Crying : The so-called birth cry takes place at the establish-
ment of respiration. The lungs are not inflated until the stim-

^Mrs. Margaret Gray Blanton, working in the psychological labora-
tory of the Johns Hopkins Hospital has given u-s our best data upon
this subject (Psychological Review, Vol. 24, p. 466).

18 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

ulus of the air is present. As the air strikes the lungs and
mucous membranes of the upper alimentary tract, the mechan-
ism of breathing is gradually established. To establish breath-
ing the infant has sometimes to be plunged into icy water.
Coincident with the plunge into the icy water, the cry appears.
It usually appears during the vigorous rubbing and slapping
of the infant's back and buttocks a method invariably em-
ployed to establish respiration. The birth cry itself differs
markedly in different infants.

Hunger will bring out crying, noxious stimuli such as rough
handling, circumcision or the lancing and care of boils will
bring out cries even in extremely young infants. When the
baby 'suspends itself with either hand crying is usually elicited.

Crying as such very shortly becomes conditioned. The child
quickly learns that it can control the responses of nurse, parents
and attendants by the cry, and uses it as a weapon ever there-
aft^r. Crying in infants is not always accompanied by tears,
although tears can sometimes be observed as soon as ten min-
utes iJfeer birth. Owing to the almost universal practice now
of putting silver nitrate into the eyes shortly after birth, the
normal appearance of tears is hard to determine. Tears have
been observed usually, though, on a great many babies from
the fourth day on. Tears, in all probability, are also condi-
tioned very quickly, since they are a much more effective
means of controlling the movements of nurses and parents
than dry crying.

Numerous experiments have been carried out to see whether
the crying of one infant in a nursery will serve as a vStimulus
to set off the rest of the children in the nursery. ( )ur results
are entirely negative. In order to more thoroughly control
the conditions, we made phonographic records of a lusty crier.
We would then reproduce this sound very close to the ear of,
first, a sleeping infant, then a wakeful but quiet infant. The
results again were wholly negative. Hunger contractions and
noxious stimuli (also loud sounds) are unquestionably the un-
conditioned stimuli which call out crying.

Colic, bringing a set of noxious stimuli, may ancl usually
does call out a cry and apparently one slightly different from
other types. This is due to the pressure in the abdominal
cavity caused by the formation of gas. The full set of muscles
used in the hunger cry is thus not available for the colic cry.
The cries of infants are so different that at night in a nursery

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 19

of 25 it does not take very long to be able to name the child
which is crying regardless of its location in the nursery.

Erection of Penis: This can occur at birth and from that
time on throughout life. The complete set of stimuli calling
out this response is not known. Apparently radiant heat,
warm water, stroking of the sex organs, possibly pressure from
the urine, are the main factors operative at birth. This, of
course, is conditioned later on in life through visual stimula-
tion and the like. The stimulus to the later appearing orgasm
is possibly different. Short rhythmical contacts as in coition
and in masturbation lead to the orgasm (and after puberty to
its attendant ejaculation). Probably the orgasm itself both
in men and women can be hastened or slowed through stimulus
substitutions (through words, sounds, etc. a factor of the ut-
most sociological importance).

At what age tumescence becomes a conditioned response is
not known. Masturbation (a better term with infants is
manipulation of the penis or vagina respectively) can occur
at almost any age. The earliest case I have personally ob-
served was a girl around one year of age (it often begins
much earlier). The infant was sitting up in the bathtub and
in reaching for the soap accidentally touched the external open-
ing of the vagina with her finger. The search for the soap
stopped, stroking of the vagina began and a smile overspread
the face. Neither in the case of infant boys nor of infant
girls have I seen masturbation carried to the point where the
orgasm takes place (it must be remembered that the orgasm
can occur without ejaculation in the male before the age of
puberty is reached). Apparently a great many of the mus-
cular responses later to be used in the sex act, such as push-
ing, climbing, stroking, are ready to function in the male at
least at a very much earlier age than we are accustomed to
think. In one observed case which came into the clinic, a
boy of 3J^ years of age would mount his mother or nurse,
whichever one happened to be sleeping with him. Erection
would take place and he would manipulate and bite her breast ;
then clasping and sex movements similar to those of adults
would ensue. In this case the mother, who was separated
from her husband, had deliberately attempted to build up this
reaction in her child.

V 'aiding of Urine: This occurs from birth. The uncon-
ditioned stimulus is unquestionably intra-organic due to the
pressure of the fluid in the bladder. Conditioning of the act

20 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

of urination can begin as early as the second week. Usually,
however, conditioning at this age requires almost infinite pa-
tience. Anywhere from the third month on, the infant can
be conditioned easily by a little care. If the infant is ob-
served closely at intervals of a half hour or so, it will occa-
sionally be found dry. When this occurs, place it upon the
chamber. If the bladder is quite full, the increased pressure
which comes from putting the infant in a sitting position will
be stimulus enough to release the act. After repeated trials
the conditioned response is perfected. Young children can
be so thoroughly conditioned in this act that the responses can
be called without awakening them.

Defaecation: This mechanism seems to be perfect from
birth and in all probability the mechanism was perfected sev-
eral weeks before birth. The stimulus probably is pressure
in the lower colon. Pressing a clinical thermometer into the
anus from birth often brings about the passage of faeces.

Defaecation can also be conditioned at a very early age.
One of the methods of course is to introduce a glycerine or
soap suppository at the time the infant is placed upon the
chamber After considerable repetition of this routine, contact
with the chamber will be sufficient to call out the response*

Early Eye Movements : Infants from birth when lying flat
on their backs in a dark room with their heads held horizon-
tally will slowly turn their eyes towards a faint %ht. Move-
ments of the eyes are not very well co-ordinated at birth, but
"cross eyes" are not nearly so prevalent as most people seem
to believe. Right and left co-ordinated movements of the
eyes are the first to appear. Upward and downward move-
ments ^ of the eyes come at a slightly later period. Still later
on a light can be followed when revolved in a circle over the
baby's face.

As is well known, habit factors almost immediately begin
to enter into fixation and other eye responses. I have already
brought out the fact that movements both of the lids and of
the pupils can be conditioned.

Smiling: Smiling is due in all probability at first to the
presence of kinaesthetic and tactual stimuli. It appears as
early as the fourth day. It can most often be seen after a
full feeding. Light touches on parts of the body, blowing
upon the body, touching the sex organs and sensitive zones

of the skin ar< th^ nnrrmrh'tinri^rl cfimiili fha* will nr

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 21

smiling, lidding under the chin and a gentle jogging and
rocking of the infant will often bring out smiling.

Smiling is the response in which conditioning factors begin
to appear as early as the thirtieth day. Mrs. Mary Cover
Jones has made an extensive study of smiling. In a large
group of children she found that conditioned smiling that is,
smiling when the experimenter smiles or says babyish words
to the infant (both auditory and visual factors) begins to
appear at around the thirtieth day. In her total study of 185
cases, the latest age at which the conditioned smile first ap-
peared was eighty days.

Manual Responses : By manual responses hereafter in these
lectures let us mean different movements of the head, neck,
legs, trunk, toes, as well as of the arms, hands and fingers.

Turning the Head : A great many infants at birth, if placed
stomach down with chin on the mattress, can swing their
heads to right or left and lift their heads from the mattress.
We have noticed these reactions from thirty minutes of age
on. On one occasion fifteen babies were tested one at a time
in succession. All except one could make these head reactions.

Holding^ up Head when the Infant is held in Upright Posi-
tion: This seems to vary with the development of the head
and neck musculature. Some newborn infants can support
their heads for a few seconds. The infant is held in the ex-
perimenter's lap with stomach and back supported. There
seems to be a rapid improvement in this response due ap-
parently to the development of structure rather than to train-
ing factors. The head can be held up in most infants from the
sixth month on.

Hand Movements at Birth: Marked hand movements in
many children can be observed even at birth, such as closing
the hand, opening it, spreading the fingers, stretching the
fingers with one or both hands at the same time. Usually in
these hand movements the thumb is folded inside the palm
and takes no part in hand response. It does not begin to
participate in the movements of the hand until a much later
period around the 100th day. I shall speak of grasping,
which is also present at birth, later on (p. 25).

Arm Movements: The slightest stimulation of the skin any-
where will usually bring out marked arm, wrist, hand and
shoulder responses. Apparently kinaesthetic and organic
stimuli may bring out these responses as well as tactual, audi-
tory and visual stimuli. The arms can be thrown up to the

22 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

face and even as far as the top of the head and clown to the
legs. Usually, however, the first movements of the arms, no
matter where the stimulus is applied, is towards the chest and
head (probably a remnant of the intra-utcrinc habit). One
of the most characteristic ways of producing violent move-
ments of arms and hands is to hold the nose. Fn a very few
seconds one or the other or both arms fly upward until the
hand actually comes in contact with the. hand of the experi-
menter. If one hand is held, the other hand will go up just
the same.

Leg and Foot Movements i Kicking is one of the most pro-
nounced movements to be seen at birth. It can he brought out
by touching the soles of the feet, by stimulation with hot or
cold air, by contact with the skin and directly through kin-
aesthetic stimulation. One characteristic ways of producing
leg and foot movements is to pinch the skin over the knee.. If
the left leg is held out straight and the knee cup pinelicd, the
right foot comes up and in contact with the experimenter's
fingers. When the inside of the right knee is pinched, the
left leg goes up and strikes the experimenter's fingers. "Plus will
appear perfectly at birth. Sometimes it inkcs only a few sec-
onds for the foot to be brought up as far as the experimenter's
fingers.

Trunk, Leg, Foot and Too Movements: When an infant
is suspending itself with cither right or left hand, marked
"climbing" motions in the trunk and hips are noticeable..
There seems to be a wave of contraction pulling the trunk
and legs upward followed by a relaxation period, then another
wave of contraction sets in. Tickling of the foot, stimulating
the foot with hot water, will produce marked movements in
foot and toes. Usually if the bottom of the fool is stimulated
with a match stick, the characteristic Babmski reflex: appears
in nearly all infants* This is a variable reflex. The usual
pattern is an upward jump of the great toe (extension) and
a drawing down of the other toes (flexion). Occasionally
the Babinski takes the form merely of "fanning," that is,
spreading of all the toes. The Babinski reflex usually dis-
appears around the end -of the first year although it may con-
tinue longer even in normal children. Infants cannot suspend
themselves with their toes, A wire or other small round ob-
ject placed under the toes will often produce flexion, that is,
a closing of the toes, but the slightest pressure will release the
rod or wire.

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 23

Many infants almost from birth can turn over from face to
back when placed naked lying on the stomach on an unyielding
surface. Mrs. Blanton describes one case as follows: Sub-
ject T, at seven days of age, turned repeatedly from face to
back when not impeded by clothing. Placed face downward
on an unyielding surface, her arms outstretched in line with
her body, she would immediately start crying. Relaxing and
contracting of the muscles of the legs, arms, abdomen and
back are natural accompaniments of crying. During the act
she pulled her knees under her and contracted her muscles
generally, then relaxed them. Gradually, owing to the un-
equal activity of the two sides of the body, she would finally
come to lie nearer to the one side of the body a final spasm
of muscular effort would put her over. In one case it took
ten minutes to effect the turn and nine separate spasms.

Picture here all of the hundreds of partial responses called
out in the general larger act of turning over. Here again,
habit very quickly sets in and the response becomes sharper
and -sharper with the dropping away of many of the part
reactions. It takes many weeks and months to turn over
quickly and with a minimum of muscular effort.

Feeding Responses: Touching the face of a hungry baby
at the corners of the mouth or on the cheek or on the chin
will cause quick, jerky head movements which result in bring-
ing the mouth near the source of stimulation. This has been
observed many, many times from five hours of age onward.
The lip or sucking reflex is another characteristic response.
Tapping slightly with the tip of the finger below or above
the corner of the mouth of a sleeping baby may bring the
lips and tongue almost immediately into the nursing position.
Suckling as such varies tremendously in young infants. It
can be demonstrated in practically every infant within the
first hour after birth. Occasionally when there is marked
injury during birth suckling is retarded. The feeding response
as such includes sucking, tongue, lip and cheek movements
and swallowing. With most newborn infants this mechanism,
unless there is birth injury (or possibly when the parents are
"feeble-minded") is fairly perfect.

. The whole group of feeding responses is most easy to con-
dition. Conditioning can be most easily observed in a bottle
fed baby. Even before reaching (occurring around the 120th
day) the infant will get extremely active in its bodily "squirm-
ings" the instant the bottle is shown. After reaching has de-

24 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

veloped, the mere sight of the bottle will carry out the lustiest
kind of bodily movements and crying begins immediately. So
sensitive do infants become to the visual stimulus of the bottle
that if it is shown from 12 to 15 feet away, the response begins
to appear. There are many, many other conditioned factors
in connection with feeding which I wish I had time to go into
negative reactions to food, food tantrums and the like. Most
of these, so far as I can judge, are purely conditioned responses.
Crawling: Crawling is an indeterminate kind of response.
Many infants never crawl at all, and all of them exhibit differ-
ent behavior in crawling. After many experiments I am in-
clined to believe that crawling comes largely as a result of a
habit formation. When the infant is placed on its stomach,
the contact and kinaesthetic stimuli bring out very general
bodily activity. Oftentimes one side of the body is more active
than the opposite side; circular (circus) motions result. In
one 9 months infant turning in a circle resulted for clays but
no forward progress could be observed. In this gradual twist-
ing and turning of the body, the child sometimes moves right,
sometimes left, sometimes forward, indeed, and sometimes
backward. If, in these movements, it rnangages to reach and
manipulate some object, we have practically a situation like
that of the hungry rat in a maze that has food at its center.
A habit of crawling toward objects results. It probably could
always be taught if teaching were regularly instituted with the
milk bottle as the stimulus. Our daily test is conducted as
follows. The naked infant is placed on the carpet ITis legs
are extended and a mark is set at the furthest reach of the
toes. Then a nursing bottle or lump of sugar (previously
conditioning him on sugar so that he will struggle far it) is
put just out of reach of the hands. Five minutes is enough for
the test. Sometimes at the end of the test if crawling* docs
not appear an electric heater is placed a few feet behind him*
This merely hastens general bodily activity.

Standing and Walking: The whole complex mechanism of
standing upright, first with support, then without support, then
walking, then running, then jumping, is a very slowly develop-
ing one. The start of the whole mechanism seems to lie in
the development of the so-called "extensor thrust." The ex-
tensor thrust is not usually present during the first few months
of infancy. Some months after birth if the infant is grad-
ually lifted up by the arms to nearly a standing position with
a part of its feet in contact with the floor at all times, there

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 25

comes, as weight falls on the feet, a stiffening of the muscles
of both legs. Soon after the appearance of this reflex, the
child begins to attempt to pull itself up. Between 7 and 8
months of age many infants can pull themselves up with
very little help and can support themselves in a standing posi-
tion holding on to some object for a short space of time. After
this feat has been accomplished, the next stage in the general
process is walking around holding on to an object. The final
stage is the first step alone. The first step alone occurs at
very variable times, depending upon the weight of the baby,
its general health, whether or not it has had serious mishaps
through falling (conditioning and the like). Often the first step
is taken at 1 year of age and sometimes slightly earlier. In the
most completely observed case in my records the first step
was taken at the end of 11 months and 3 days. After the
first step is taken, the remainder of the act has to be learned
just as the youths learns to "balance" himself in bicyde riding,
swimming, skating and tight rope walking. Two factors seem
to go hand in hand in the development of this mechanism.
One is the actual growth of the body tissue, the other is habit
formation. The act can be hastened by coaching (positive
conditioning) ; it can be markedly retarded at almost any of
these -stages if the infant falls and injures itself (negative
conditioning).

Vocal Behavior: The early sounds made by infants and
the conditioning and organization of these sounds into words
and speech habits need a longer treatment than we can give
them tonight. I don't think I shall have to work hard to
get you to believe every word is a conditioned response.

Swimming: Swimming is very largely a process of learn-
ing. By the time the child first attempts to swim, the well or-
ganized habits of using arms, legs, hands and trunk are well
established. "Balancing," breathing, removal of fear, etc.,
are the remaining important factors.

When the newborn infant is placed in water at body tem-
perature with head only supported above the water, almost
no general response is called out. If plunged into cold water
violent general body response is called out but no movements
even approximating swimming appear.

Grasping : With few exceptions infants at birth can support
their full weight with either right or left hands. The method
we use in testing them is to place a small rod about the diameter
of a pencil in one or the other hand closing the fingers on

26 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

the rod. This stimulus causes the grasping reflex to appear.
It usually starts crying at the same time. Then fingers and
hands clamp tightly on the rod. During the reaction the
infant can be completely lifted from the pillow upon which
it lies. An assistant places her two hands hclow the infant
ready to catch it as it falls back to the pillow. The length of time
the infant can support itself varies all the way from a fraction
of a second to more than a minute. The time in a given case
may vary considerably on different days.

The reaction is almost invariable from birth until it begins
to disappear around the 120th day. The time of disappearance
of this response varies considerably in observed cases from
SO days to well over 150 days. There seems to be a continu-
ance of the reflex in defective infants long after the normal
period of disappearance.

Prematurely born infants of 7 and 8 months exhibit the re-
flex in a normal manner. Infants born without cerebral hemi-
spheres exhibit the same reaction: in one observed case this
was tested from birth to death 18 days later.

How much more than their own weight the infants ran sup-
port has never been tested out but we have made these
tests when the infants were fully clothed and sometimes
slightly weighted.

This primitive reaction of course finally disappears from
the 'stream of activity never to reappear. It gives place to the
habit of handling and manipulation.

Stinking: Any newborn infant will closes the lids when
the eye (cornea) is touched or when a current of air strikes
the eye. But no infant at birth will "blink" when a shadow
rapidly crosses the eye as when a pencil or piece of paper
is passed rapidly across the whole field of vision. The earliest
reaction I have noted occurred on the 65th day. Mrs. Mary
Cover JonevS noted the reaction in one infant at 40 days.

It apparently appears quite suddenly it is at first easily
"fatigued" and is quite variable. liven up to the ago of HO
days some infants will not blink every time the stimulus is
applied. Usually at 100 days the infant will blink whenever
the stimulus is applied if at least one minute is allowed be-
tween stimulations. This reaction stays in the activity stream
until death. We cannot prove it yet but tins reaction looks
to us very much like a conditioned visual eyelid response, as
follows :

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 27

(U)S (U)R

Contact with cornea blink

but objects which touch the eye often cast a shadow, hence

(C)S (U)R

Shadow blink

If this reasoning is correct, blinking at a shadow is not an
unlearned response.

Handedness: We have already pointed out the possibility
of handedness being due to the long enforced intra-uterine
position of the child (really a habit). Studies of handedness
can be made from birth on in several different ways.

1. Measurements of right and left anatomical structures,
such as width of right and left wrist, palm, length of fore-
arm, etc. The measurements have been made, with specially
devised instruments, upon several hundred children. The re-
sults show that there is no significant difference in the right
and left measurements. The average error of the measurement
is greater than the observed difference.

2. By recording the time of suspension (see grasping)
with left and right hand. Care is taken in all such tests to
begin work with the right hand on one day and with the
left hand on the following day. Chart I (left two columns)
shows that there is no constancy in time of suspension from
day to day.

3. By recording approximately the total amount of work
done with right and left hands for a given period of time.
For this work we use an especially devised work adder. This,
in principle is an escapement wheel that works in such a way
that no matter how the baby slashes its arms about, it turns
the wheel always in one direction. As the wheel revolves,
it winds up a small lead weight attached to the wheel by a
cord. Of course there is a separate instrument in use for
each hand. At the beginning of the work period, the two
weights are let down until they just touch the table top. The
hands of the baby are then attached. His slashing movements
begin to wind the ball up. Usually the baby lies naked on
his back, unstimulated by the observer. At the end of five
minutes there the baby is taken out of the apparatus and the
height in inches of the two weights above the table top is
measured.

Again when we face the records obtained in this way we find
little significant difference between the work of the two hands.

28 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

Chart I 1

Showing daily record of results on the two hands :
Age Time of suspension [in seconds] Work done on ad-
i n dcrs [in inches]

Days
1

Right
1.2

Left
5.6

Right
16.16

Left
13.75

2

2.2

3.0

25.00

15.00

3

.6

1.4

37.50

36.25

4

.6

1.4

12.00

15.00

5

1.2

1.0

15.00

27.00

6

1.0

1.6

17.16

16.00

7

.6

3.2

21.25

29.37

8

1.0

2.2

24.16

18.37

9

1.8

1.8

17.25

13.00

40

1.4

.6

28.00

9.00

Average

1.16

2.08

21.34

19.27

Longer with

right

3

More work with right

.... 7

Longer with

left

6

More work with left

3

Eciual

,. 1

Equal

....

Chart I (right two columns) gives the record of one infant
for the first ten days of its life. The table as a whole shows
both the results obtained from the work adder and from sus-
pension. Note that the average time of suspension for J.
was with right hand 1.16 seconds; for the left 2.08 seconds.
The average work done (average height weight was wound
up) with right hand was 21.34 inches; with left hand 19.27
indies. On 3 days he suspended himself longer with right
hand; on 6 days with left hand; on 1 day the time of sus-
pension was equal. Note, too, that he wound the weight up
faster with right hand on 7 days and with lef t^ 3 days.

Thus we see how handedness varies during the first few
days of infancy. No dependence can be placed in the records
of one child* We give one record here simply to show the
type of results to expect. When a distribution curve is made
by plotting a large number of such records, no significant dif-
ference can be found between the hands, either when time
of suspension is charted or when total work done on work
adders is charted. Evidently habit (or some other hitherto
undetermined structural factor) must come in to stabilize it,

4. Testing handedness by presenting objects after the act
of reaching has been established : At the age of approximately
120 days you can begin to get the baby to reach for a stick

Subject J.

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 29

or gaudily striped peppermint candy. You must first positively
condition him to the candy. This can be done long before the
habit of ^ reaching is established by visually stimulating the
infant with the stick of candy and then putting the candy in
the mouth or else putting it in the baby's hands. If the
latter is done the baby puts the candy in its mouth. Usually
by the 160th day the infant will reach readily for the candy
as soon as it is exhibited. The infant is then ready to test
for handedness.

In all, I have worked with about 20 babies during this in-
teresting period. In making the test, the baby is held in the
mother's lap so that both hands are equally free. The ex-
perimenter stands in front of the baby and extends the candy
slowly towards the baby at the level of its eyes, using care to
advance on a line between the two hands. When the candy
gets just within reach (and usually not much before) the two
hands get active, then one or the other or both are lifted and
advanced towards the candy. The hand touching it first is
noted.

The results of all our tests of this nature, extending from
the age of ISO days to one year, show no steady and uniform
handedness. Some days the right is used more often, some
days the left.

The Conclusion We Draw

Our whole group of results on handedness leads us to be-
lieve that there is no fixed differentiation of response in either
hand until social usage begins to establish handedness. Society
soon thereafter steps in and says, "Thou shalt use thy right
hand." Pressure promptly begins. "Shake hands with your right
hand, Willy." We hold the infant so that it will wave "bye bye"
with the right hand. We force it to eat with the right hand.
This in itself is a potent enough conditioning factor to account
for handedness. But you say, "Why is society right handed ?"
This probably goes back to primitive days. One old theory
often advanced is probably the true one. The heart is on the
left side. It was easy enough for our most primitive ancestors
to learn that the men who carried their shields with the left
hand and jabbed or hurled their spears with the Bright were
the ones who most often came back bearing their shields^rather
than being borne upon them. If there is any truth in this
it is easy enough to see why our primitive ancestors began to
teach their young to be right handed.

30 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

Long before the shield was put aside, the day of manu-
scripts and books had come ; and long before that, the strolling
bards and minstrels had orally crystallized the tradition. The
strong right arm has become a part of our legends of the
hero. All of our implements candle snuffers, scissors and
the like were and are made for right handed people.

If handedness is a habit socially instilled, should we or
should we not change over the left handcrs those hardy souls
who have resisted social pressure? I am firmly convinced that
if the job is done early enough and wisely enough, not the
slightest harm results. I should want to do it before language
develops very much. If I had the time I would attempt to
prove tonight that from the beginning we begin to 'verbalize
our acts that is put acts into words and rice verm. Now
changing over a left handed, talking child suddenly into a
right handed child is likely to reduce the child to a 6 months
infant. By interfering constantly with his acts you break
down his manual habits, and at the same time you may simul-
taneously interfere with speech (since the word and the manual
act are simultaneously conditioned). In other words, while
he is relearning he will fumble not only with his bauds but
also with his speech. The child is reduced to sheer infancy
again. The unorganized (emotional) visceral control of the
body as a whole again become predominant. It takes wiser
handling to change the child over at this age than the average
parent or teacher is prepared to give.

The main problem is, I believe, settled: Iwndetlncss is not
an "instinct." It is possibly not even structurally determined.
It is socially conditioned. But why we have $% of out and
out left banders and from 10-15% who are mixtures--- -e. g.
using right hand to throw a ball, write or eat, but the left
hand to guide an axe or lice, etc. is not known. 1

lr rhere arc several factors which must be noU'd and followed
through. Thumb, fingers and hand sucking arc present in infants and
often unless very wisely handled last into late childhood. Usually
but not -always one or the other hand is fairly steadily uwd, One
would expect the hand not used in thumb sucking t.o btA'nmc, quickly
more facile in the manipulation of objects.

Again sometimes for months the infant reaching the standing stage
holds on with one or the hand possibly indeed with the butter
trained, stronger hand! During this period thft other hand is
left free* It may overtake or even surpass the hand slowed up from
non-use. Statistical studies upon adults and questionnaires will
never throw any light upon the problem.

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 31

Summary of Unlearned Equipment

Although our studies of man's birth equipment have only
begun, we can get a fair picture of the type of activity to be
seen and of the method of studying this equipment by what
I have said tonight.

At birth or soon thereafter we find nearly all of the so-called
clinical neurological signs or reflexes established, such as the
reaction of the pupil to light, the patellar reflex and many
others.

We find the birth cry followed forever afterward by breath-
ing, the heartbeat and all circulatory phenomena, such as vaso-
motor constriction (decrease in diameter of vessels) and dila-
tation, pulse beat, etc. Beginning with the alimentary tract
we find sucking, tongue movements, and swallowing. We
find hunger contractions, digestion, necessitating glandular
reactions in the whole alimentary tract and elimination (de-
faecation, urination, sweat). The acts of smiling, sneezing
and hiccoughing belong in part at least to the alimentary canal
system. We find also erection of the penis.

We find general movements of the trunk, head and neck
best observed, so far as the trunk is concerned, when the in-
fant suspends himself with the hands. Rhythmical "climbing"
movements then appear. We can see the trunk at work in
breathing, when the infant cries, during defaecation and urina-
tion, when turning over or when the head is raised or turned.

We find the arms, wrist, hands and fingers in almost cease-
less activity (the thumb rarely taking part until later). In
this activity especially are to be noted: grasping, opening and
closing hands repeatedly, "slashing" about of the whole arm,
putting hand or fingers into mouth, throwing arm and fingers
to face when nose is held.

We find the legs, ankles, foot and fingers in almost ceaseless
movement except in sleep and even during sleep if external
(and internal) stimuli are present. The knee can be bent, leg
moved at hip, ankle turned, toes spread, etc. If the bottom
of the foot is touched, there is a characteristic movement of
the toes (Babinski reflex) ; if the left knee is pinched the
right foot is brought up to the point of stimulation and vice
versa.

Other activities appear at a later stage such as blinking,
reaching, handling, handedness, crawling, standing, sitting up,
walking, running, jumping. In the great majority of these
later activities it is difficult to say how nwxh of the act as

32 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

a whole is due to training or conditioning. A considerable
part is unquestionably due to the growth changes in structure,
and the rest is due to training and conditioning.
What Has Become of Instincts?

Are we not ready to admit that the whole concept of instinct
is thus academic and meaningless ? Even from the earliest
moment we find habit factors present present even in many
acts so apparently simple that we used to call them physiological
reflexes. Now turn to James' list of instincts or turn to any
other list of instincts. The infant is a graduate student in
the subject of learned responses (he is multitudinously con-
ditioned) by the time behavior such as James describes
imitation, rivalry, cleanliness and the other forms he lists
can be observed.

Actual observation thus makes it impossible for us any
longer to entertain the concept of instinct. We have seen
that every act has a genetic history. Is not the only correct
scientific procedure then to single out for study whatever act
is in question and to watch and record its life history?

Take smiling. It begins at birth aroused by intra-organic
stimulation and by contact. Quickly it becomes conditioned;
the sight of the mother calls it out, then vocal stimuli, finally
pictures, then words and then life situations either viewed,
told or read about. Naturally what we laugh at, whom we
laugh at and with whom we laugh are determined by our
whole life history of special conditionings. No theory is re-
quired to explain it only a systematic observation of genetic
facts* All the elaborate pages the Freudians have written
on humor and laughter are just so much chaff which will be
blown aside as observation brings out the facts.

Again take manipulation. It starts at 120 days and becomes
smooth, sharp and facile at 6 months, Tt can be built up in
a thousand ways, depending upon the time allowed for it, the
toys the infant plays with, whether the infant is hurt by any
of its toys, whether it is frightened by loud sounds often at
the time it is handling its toys. To argue for a so-called
"constructive building instinct" apart from early training fac-
tors is to leave the world of facts*

Again there is a similar printed collection of meaningless
material in educative propaganda taking the form of * let the
child develop its own inward nature/' Other phrases expres-
sive of this mystical inner life of bents and instincts are "self-
realisation/' "self-expression," "untutored life" (of the sav-

THE NURSERY AND INSTINCTS 33

age, for example), the "brute instincts/' "man's baser self,"
"elemental facts/' etc. Such writers as Albert Payson Ter-
hune, Jack London, Rex Beach and Edgar Rice Burroughs,
owe the response they call out from their public to- the organiza-
tion laid down by social traditions (especially through taboos
upon sex), aided and supported by the misconceptions of the
psychologists themselves.

In order that you may more easily grasp one of the cen-
tral principles of behaviorism viz. that all complex behavior
is a growth or development out of simple resources, I want
to introduce here the notion of "activity stream."

The Activity Stream as a Substitute for fames' "Stream
of Consciousness"

Most of you are familiar with William James' classic chap-
ter on the stream of consciousness. We have all loved that
chapter. Today it seems as much out of touch with modern
psychology as the stage coach would be on New York's Fifth
Avenue. The stage coach was pictureque but it has given
place to a more effective means of transportation. Tonight
I want to give you something in place of James' classical con-
tribution ; less picturesque but more adequate to the facts.

We have passed in review many of the known facts on the
early behavior of the human infant. Let us draw a diagram
to represent the whole increasing complexity of man's organ-
ization. This picture will be very incomplete for several reasons.
In the first place we have room on the chart to show only a
few of those activities. In the second place our studies are
not complete enough to draw an adequate chart even if we
had the space, and finally we will not have the time to take
up in these lectures man's visceral and emotional equipment,
his manual habits and his language habits.

In spite of these handicaps, though, try to think of a com-
plete life chart of the ceaseless stream of activity beginning
when the egg is fertilized and ever becoming more complex
as age increases. Some of the unlearned acts we perform
are shortlived they stay in the stream only a little time such,
for example, as suckling, unlearned grasping (as opposed to
learned grasping* and manipulation), extension of the great
toe (Babinski), etc., then disappear forever from the stream.
Try to think of others beginning later in life, e. g. blinking,
menstruation, ejaculation, etc., and remaining in the stream
blinking until death ; menstruation until, say, 45-55 years, then

34 rSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

disappearing ; the act of ejaculation remaining on the chart
of the male until the 70th-SOth years or even longer.

But try hardest of all to think of each unlearned act as be-
coming conditioned shortly after birth even our respiration
and circulation. Try to remember, too, that the unlearned
movements of arms, hands, trunks, legs, feet and toes become
organized quickly into our stabilized habits, some of which re-
main in the stream throughout life, others staying in only a
short time and then disappearing forever. For example, our
2-year habits must give place to 3 and 4-ycar habits.

I should like to spend a whole evening upon this chart of
human activity. It gives you quickly in graphic form the
whole scope of psychology. Every problem the behnviorist
works xipon has some kind of setting in this stream of definite,
tangible, actually observable happenings. It gives you, too,
the fundamental point of view of the behavionst viz. that
in order to understand man you have to understand the life
history of his activities. It shows, too, most convincingly that
psychology is a natural science a definite part of biology.

In our next two lectures we will see whether at the hands
of the behaviorist the case for human emotions fares better
than that of instincts.

CHAPTER II

EXPERIMENTAL STUDIES ON THE GROWTH OF
THE EMOTIONS*

BY JOHN B. WATSON

In my last lecture I told you that the current psychological
view of instincts is not in harmony with the experimental
findings of the behaviorist. Can the case for the present con-
ception of emotions be made out any better? Probably no
subject, unless it be that of instinct, has been more written
about than emotions. Indeed the awe-inspiring number of
volumes and papers and journals produced by Freudians and
post-Freudians in the last 20 years would fill a good-sized
room. And yet the behaviorist, as he reads through this great
mass of literature cannot but feel in it a lack of any central
scientific viewpoint. Not until his own genetic studies, started
less than ten years ago, began to bear fruit, did it become
apparent to the behaviorist that he could simplify the problems
of emotion and apply objective experimental methods to their
solution.

THE BEHAVIORIST'S APPROACH TO THE PROBLEMS OF EMOTION

During the past 10 years the behaviorist has approached the
problem! of emotions from a new angle. In accordance with
his usual procedure, he decided, before beginning work him-
self, to consign to the waste basket the work of his predecessors
and to start the problem over again. His observation of adults
told him rapidly that mature individuals, both men and women,
display a wide group of reactions which go under the general
name of emotional. The negro down South whines and
trembles at the darkness which comes with a total eclipse of
the sun, often falling on his knees and crying out, begging the
Deity to forgive him for his sins. These same negroes show
fear in passing through graveyards at night. They show "awe"
and "reverence" for charms and relics. They will not burn
wood which has been struck by lightning. In rural communi-
ties adults and children collect around the home as soon as dusk
begins to fall. They often rationalize it by saying that they
will get the "misery" from the night air. Situations of the

^Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University, Jan-
uary 17, 1925.

38 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

most ordinary kinds judged from our more sophisticated stand-
point arouse the strongest kinds of emotional reactions in them.

But let us be even more specific and bring the matter closer
home. Here is the list of things a 3-year-old youngster in New
York fears: Darkness, all rabbits, rats, dogs, fish, frogs, in-
sects, mechanical animal toys. This infant may be playing
excitedly with blocks. When a rabbit or other animal is in-
troduced, all constructive activity ceases. He crowds towards
one corner of his pen and begins to cry out, "Take it away,
take it away." Another child examined the same clay shows
a different set. Another may show no fear reactions.

The more the behaviorist goes about examining the sets of
reactions of adults, the more he finds that the world of objects
and situations surrounding people brings out more complex
reactions that the efficient we or manipulation of the object
or situation would call for. In other words, the object seems
to be 'charged/ seems to bring out thousands of accessory
bodily reactions which the laws of efficient habit do not call
for. I can illustrate this by the negro's rabbit foot. For us
the rabbit foot is something to be cut off from the carcass of
the animal and thrown away. One might toss it to one's dog
as a part of his food. But to many of the negroes the rabbit
foot is not an object to be reacted to in this temple, way. It
is dried, polished, put into the pocket, cared for and guarded
jealously. He examines it now and then; when in trouble
he calls upon it for guidance and aid, and in general reacts
to it not as to a rabbit's foot but in the same way as a religious
man reacts to a Deity.

Civilization to some extent has stripped from man these
superfluous reactions to objects and situations, but many still
persist, especially in the realm of religion. Bread is something
to be eaten when hungry. Wine is something to be drunk
with meals or on festive occasions. But these simple objects
when fed to the individual at church under the guise of com-
munion, call out kneeling, prayer, bowing of the head, closing
of the eyes, and a whole mass of other verbal and bodily
responses. The bones and relics of the saints may call out in
devout religious individuals a different but entirely homologous
(from the standpoint of religion) set of reaction to those
the rabbit foot calls out in the negro. The behaviorist even
goes further and investigates his colleague's everyday behavior.
He finds that a noise in the basement at night may reduce his
nextcloor neighbors to reactions quite infantile; that many of

STUDIES ON THE GROWTH OF EMOTIONS 39

them are shocked when the Lord's name is "taken in vain,"
giving as^a rationalization that it is irreverent, that punishment
will be visited upon the individual so misbehaving. He finds
many of them walking away from dogs and horses, even though
they have to turn back or cross the street to avoid coming near
them. He finds men and women picking out impossible mates
without being able to rationalize the act at all in any way. In
other words, if we were to take all of life's objects and situa-
tions into the laboratory and were to work out a physiolo-
gically sound and scientific way of reacting to them (experi-
mental ethics may approach this some day) and call these forms
the norm or standard, and were then to examine the man's
everyday behavior in the light of such norms, we would find
divergence from them the rule. Divergence takes the form
of accessory reactions, slowed reactions, non-reactions (paraly-
sis), blocked reactions, negative reactions, reactions not sanc-
tioned by society (stealing, murder, etc.), reactions belonging
to other stimuli (substitute). 1 It seems fair to call all of this
group emotional without further defining the word at the pre-
sent time.

Now as you know, we haven't physiologically standardized
norms of reactions as yet. There is some approach to it. Pro-
gress in physical sciences has done much towards standardizing

^-Examples :

Of accessory reactions: The subject does the task quickly and
correctly but he becomes pale, he may even cry, urinate or defaecate,
his mouth glands may become inactive. He reacts steadily and
correctly in spite of his emotional state. Other examples of accessory
reaction are whistling, talking, singing while at work.

Of negative reactions: He may show fear at food push it away
creased he may fumble and drop his work, or react with too much
or too little energy. Response to questions comes slowly or very
rapidly.

Of negative reactions: He may show fear at food push it away
or run away from it himself. Instead of the ordinary reactions to
dog or horse, the subject may walk away from them. Phobias belong
in this group.

Of reaction not sanctioned by society: The subject may in "heat
of anger," for example, commit murder, injure property. I have in
mind here all acts which the law punishes but where it tempers jus-
tice with mercy because of emotional factors.

Of reactions belonging to other stimuli: All homosexual reactions:
all sex attacks by sons upon their mothers; all sex reactions to
fetishes, etc. Emotional responses of parents to children masquerad-
ing under the guise of natural affection.

There are of course, legions of responses we call "emotional, 1 * that
cannot be listed under any one of these headings.

40 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

our way of reacting to day and night, the seasons, the weather.
We no longer react to a tree struck by lightning as accursed.
We no longer think that we have any advantage over our
enemy when we come in possession of his nail parings, hair
and excrement. We no longer react to the blue of the heavens
above as a kingdom in which super-mundane beings dwell (at
least some of us hardy souls do not!). We no longer react
to distant and almpsi invisible mountains as being the homes
of gnomes and fairies. Science, geography and' travel have
standardized our responses. Our reactions to foods arc becom-
ing standardized through the work of the food chemist. We
no longer think of any particular form of food as being "clean"
or "unclean." We think of it now as fulfilling or not fulfilling
definite bodily requirements.

Our social reactions, however, remain unstandardized. There
is even no historical guide. Professor Sumnor, of Yale, has
well pointed this out. According to him, every conceivable
kind of social reaction has at one time or another been con-
sidered the "normal" and unemotional way of acting. One
woman could have many husbands ; one man many wives ; the
offspring could be killed in times of famine ; human flesh could
be eaten; sacrifice of offspring could be made to appease
Deities; you could lend your wife to your neighbor or guest;
the wife was acting properly when she burned herself on the
pyre that consumed her husband's body.

Our social reactions are not standardized any better today*
Think of our 1925 accessory responses when we are in the
presence of our parents, in front of our social leaders. Think
of our hero worship, our veneration of the intellectual giant,
the author, the artist, the church! Think of the way we behave
in crowds, at masked parties (Ku Klux as well as social)- -at
football and baseball games, at elections, in religions revivals
(conversions, antics of the holy rollers, etc.), in grief at the
loss of loved objects and people. We have a host of words to
cover these accessory reactions reverence, love of family, of
God, of church, of country; respect, adulation, awe, enthusiasm.
When in the presence of many of these emotional stimuli we
act like infants.

How the Rchwioritrt Works : The complicated nature of
all these adult responses makes it hopeless for the behaviorist
io begin his study of emotion upon adults- He has to study
emotional behavior genetically.

Suppose we start with three-year-olds we will go out into

STUDIES ON* THE GROWTH OF EMOTIONS 41

the highways and byways and collect them, and then let us
go to the mansions of the rich. We bring them into our
laboratory. We put them face to face with certain situations.
Suppose we first let a boy go alone into a well lighted playroom
and begin to play with his toys. Suddenly we release a boa
constrictor or some other animal. Next we may take him
to a dark room and suddenly start a miniature bonfire with
newspapers. I cannot take time tonight to tell you all of the
stage settings used by the behaviorist in experiments of this
type. As you can see we can set the stage so that we can
duplicate almost any kind of life situation.

But after testing him alone in all these situations we must test
him again when an adult, possibly father or mother, is with
him when another child of his own age and sex is nearby,
when another child of the opposite sex accompanies him,
when groups of children are present.

In order to get a picture of his emotional behavior, we have
to test separation from mother. We have to test him with
different and uncustomary foods, with strange people to feed
him, with strange nurses to bathe him, clothe him and put
him to bed. We must rob him of his toys, of things he is
playing with. We must let a bigger boy or girl bully him, we
must put him in high places, on ledges (making injury im-
possible however), on the backs of ponies or dogs.

I am giving you a picture of how we work just to convince
you of its simplicity, naturalness and accuracy that there is
a wide field for objective experimentation.

Brief Summary of Results of Such Tests

One of the sad things we find by such tests is that even at
three years of age many (but not all) of the children are shot
through with all kinds of useless and actually harmful reactions
which go under the general name emotional.

They are afraid in many situations. 1 They are shy in dozens
of others. They go into tantrums at being bathed or dressed.
They go into tantrums when given certain foods or when a
new nurse feeds them. They go into crying fits when the

*Mrs. Mary Cover Jones reports that in the work with the older
children at the Heckscher Foundation, the frog, especially ^when
it suddenly jumps, is the most potent stimulus of all in bringing
out fear reactions. The most pronounced reactions were called out
from the children by an animal when it was come upon suddenly.
For this reason the smaller animals were often left around the room
concealed in boxes. General manipulation of objects in the room
lead the child sooner or later to the sudden uncovering of the animal.

42 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

mother leaves them. They hide behind their mother's dress.
They become shy and silent when visitors come. A character-
istic picture is to have one hand in the mouth and the other
grasping the mother's dress. One rights every child that comes
near. He is called a bully, a ruffian, sadistic. Another cries
and runs away if a child half his size threatens him. His
parents call him a coward and his playmates make him the
scapegoat.

Whence Arise These Varied Forms of Emotional
Response?

A child three years of age is very young. Must we conclude
that emotional reactions arc hereditary? Is there an hereditary
pattern of love, of fear, rage, shame, shyness, humor, anger,
jealousy, timidity, awe, reverence, admiration, cruelty? Or
are these just words to describe general types of behavior with-
out implying anything as to their origin. Historically they
have been considered hereditary in origin. To answer the
question scientifically, we need new methods of experimenta-
tion.

EXPERIMENTS UPON THE ORIGIN AND GROWTH OF
EMOTIONAL REACTIONS

In our experimental work we early reached the conclusion
that young children taken at random from homes both of the
poor and of the well-to-do, do not make good subjects for the
study of the origin of emotions. Their emotional behavior
is too complex. Fortunately we have been able to study a
number of strong healthy children belonging to wet nurses in
hospitals, and other children brought up in the home under
the eye of the experimenters. Several of these children were
observed from approximately birth through the first year,
others through the second year and two or three children
through the third year. Tonight I wish to give you an account
of these studies.

In putting these hospital reared children through emotional
situations we usually had the older ones sit in a small infant's
chair. If the infant was very small too young to sit up we
allowed it to sit in the lap of the mother or that of an attendant.

Reactions to Animals (a) in the Laboratory: We first took
the children to the laboratory and put them through the routine
of tests with various animals. We had the laboratory so ar-
ranged that they could be tested in the open room, alone ; with
an attendant ; with the mother. They were tested in the dark

STUDIES ON THE GROWTH OF EMOTIONS 43

room, the walls of which were painted black. This room was
bare of furniture. It offered an unusual situation in itself. In
the dark room we had conditions so arranged that we could
turn on a light behind the infant's head or illuminate the room
with the light in front of and above the infant. The infants
were always tested one at a time. The following group of
situations was usually presented:

First, a lively black cat invariably affectionately aggressive,
was shown. The cat never ceased its purring. It climbed over
and walked around the infant many times during the course
of each test, rubbing its body against the infant in the usual
feline way. So many false notions have grown up around
the response of infants to furry animals that we were sur-
prised ourselves to see these youngsters positive always in their
behavior to this proverbial 'black cat/ Reaching out to touch
the cat's fur, eyes and nose was the invariable response.

A rabbit was always presented. This, likewise, in every case
called out manipulatory responses and nothing else. Catching
the ears of the animal in one hand and attempting to put it
in its mouth was one of the favorite responses.

Another furry animal invariably used was the white rat.
This, possibly on account of its size and whiteness, rarely
called out continued fixation of the eyes of the infant. When,
however, the animal was fixated, reaching occurred.

Airedale dogs, large and small, were also presented. The
dogs were also very friendly. The dogs rarely called out the
amount of manipulatory response that an animal the size of
the cat and rabbit called out. Not even when the children were
tested with these animals in the dark room, either in full
illumination or with a dim light behind their heads, was any
fear response evoked.

These tests on children not emotionally conditioned proved
to us conclusively that the classical illustrations of hereditary
responses to furry objects and animals are just old wives' tales.

Next a feathery animal was used, usually a pigeon. The
pigeon was presented first in a paper bag. This was a rather
unusual situation even for an adult. The bird struggled and
in struggling would move the bag around the couch. Often-
times it would coo. While the pigeon was rattling and mov-
ing the paper bag about, the child rarely reached for the bag.
The moment, however, the pigeon was taken into the experi-
menter's hands, the usual manipulatory responses were called
forth. We have even had the pigeon moving and flapping its

44 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

wings near the baby's face. This can be done easily by holding
the pigeon by its feet, head down. Under these conditions
even an adult will sometimes dodge and flinch a bit. When the
wings fanned the infant's eyes, blinking was usually called
out. Hesitation in response and failure to reach occurred.
When the bird quieted down, reaching began.

Another form of test which we have often made under these
same conditions, was the lighting of a small newspaper bon-
fire both out in the open room and in the dark room. In sev-
eral cases when the paper first caught fire, the infant reached
eagerly toward the flame and had to be restrained. As soon,
however, as the flame became hot, reaching and manipulatory
responses died down. At such times the infant may sit with
hands partly up in a position that looks almost like, the start
of the shading reaction that the adult uses when coming too
close to a fire. There isn't much question Hint this type of
habit would have developed if the experiment had been repeated
often. It probably is entirely similar to the reaction animals
and humans make to the sun. When the sun gels too hot and
they are not active they move into whatever shade is available.

(&) To animals in Zoological Parks: ( )n several occasions
hospital reared children, and home reared children whose emo-
tional history was known, have been taken to zoological parks
always as a first experience. The children under observation
were not pronounced in any of tlieir reactions in the zoological
park. Every effort was made to give them a good presentation
of those animals which apparently have played considerable
part in the biological history of the human. For example, a
great deal of time was spent in the primates' house, Consider-
able time was spent also in the rooms where reptiles, frogs,
turtles and snakes were kept. In such tests I have never got
the slightest negative reaction to frogs and snakes, although
the jumping frog, whore children have boon conditioned, is an
extremely strong stimulus in bringing out fear responses as
will be shown in the next chapter.

In the summer of 1924, I took my own two children to the
Bronx Zoological Park. The older child, tt, was a boy 2#
years of age. The younger child, J, was a boy 7 months of age.
The younger child was without conditioned emotional fear
responses. The older child had been conditioned but in a
known way. For example, the first time he was taken into
water up over his neck, he showed fear (I am sun; that the
so-called fear of the water is the same type of response that

STUDIES ON THE GROWTH OF EMOTIONS 45

we get from loss of support). Before his trip to the Park
he had seen horses, dogs, cats, pigeons, English sparrows, sea
gulls, toads, worms, caterpillars and butterflies. He had de-
veloped no negative responses to any of these animals except
the dog. Once a dog had attacked him and thereafter he was
partly conditioned to dogs, but this fear had not transferred
to other animals or to woolly toys or mechanical animals. In
everyday life he began immediately to play with every animal
(other than the dog) as soon as it came within his ken. Much
to the distress of his mother, he would often bring to her worms
and caterpillars of every description. Even to the hoptoad he
showed not the slightest negative response.

In going to the Bronx Zoological Park, we had to take a
ferry and this was his first experience on a large boat. Before
this trip he had been in a canoe with me several times. The
first time I took him out in the canoe, it was a little rough
and the canoe was a tippy one. I got him out about 300 yards.
A small wave struck us and he stiffened up a bit and said,
"Daddy, too much water." I then took him closer in and
paddled around the shore line for awhile. All fear responses
to the canoe disappeared, although even now he sits pretty close
and pretty tight when out in it. Shortly after his first trip
in the canoe, he took the trip in question to the Zoological
Park. On the ferry almost the same type of behavior de-
veloped. We got about half way over. He was leaning down
and looking at the passage of the water. Suddenly he looked
up and said, "Mama, too much water ; Billy not afraid." But
his general behavior belied his words somewhat.

In the Zoological Park he showed a tremendous eagerness
to go after every animal he saw and we took him religiously
to every cage, pen and yard. The animals that brought out
his greatest reluctance to leave were a pair of chimpanzees.
They were having a gorgeous time. They were carrying
armfuls of hay up the chains of the swing. After getting
to the seat they tried to slip the hay underneath them. Then
suddenly they would swing down and catch each others hands,
drop and hit the floor with a bang.

The animals calling out the most excited verbal response
were the elephants ; and next came the gaudily colored tropi-
cal birds. Every reaction to every animal was positive.

The behavior of the 7-months old baby was that of resigned
boredom throughout the whole afternoon. Not once was
any response shown, either positive or negative. Now and

46 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

then the set fixation of the eyes was noticed. The birds
seemed to bring out the most prolonged fixation.

We think that we have carried these experiments far enough
on infants, the genesis of whose emotional behavior we know,
to uphold our main contention that when fear responses occur
in the presence of all objects and situations such as we have
described they are always conditioned.

Are we to conclude from this work that in infants there
are no unlearned reactions of a kind that might give us a
starting point for building up emotional behavior?

Evidence for Three Types of Unlearned Beginnings
of Emotional Reactions

I feel reasonably sure that there are three different forms
of response that can be called out at birth by three sets of
stimuli. Don't misunderstand me if I call these responses
"fear," "rage" and love." Let me hasten to assure you that
while I use the words fear, rage and love, I want you to strip
them of all their old connotations. Please look upon the re-
actions we designate by them just as you look upon breathing,
heart beat, grasping and other unlearned responses studied in
the last chapter.

The facts follow.

Fear. Our work upon infants, especially those without cere-
bral hemispheres, where the reaction is more pronounced, early
taught us that 'loud sounds almost invariably produced a
marked reaction in infants from the very moment of birth.
For example, the striking of a steel bar with a hammer will
call out a jump, a start, a respiratory pause, followed by more
rapid breathing with marked vasomotor changes, sudden clos-
ure of the eye, clutching of hands, puckering of lips. Then
occur, depending upon the age of the infant, crying, falling
down, crawling, walking or running away. I have never made
a very systematic study of the range of sound stimuli that
will call out fear responses. Not every type of sound will do
it. Some extremely low pitched, rumbling noises will not call
them out, nor will the very high tones of the Gallon whistle,
In the half sleeping 1 infant of 2 or 3 days of age I have called
them out repeatedly by suddenly crinkling a half of a news-
paper near its car, and by making a loud, shrill hissing sound
with the lips. Pure tones, such as those obtained from the
tuning fork at any rate, are not very effective in calling them
out. Considerably more work must be done upon the nature

STUDIES ON THE GROWTH OF EMOTIONS 47

of the auditory stimulus as well as upon the separate part re-
actions in the response before the whole stimulus-response
picture is complete. 1

The other stimulus calling out this same fear reaction is
loss of support especially when the body is not set to com-
pensate for it. It can best be observed in newborns just when
they are falling asleep. If dropped then, or if the blanket
upon which they lie is suddenly jerked, pulling the infant along
with it, the response invariably occurs.

In infants only a few hours old this fear reaction is quickly
"fatigued." In other words, if the same sound or the same kind
of loss of support stimulus is frequently applied, you can
often call out the reaction only once. After a few moments'
rest those same stimuli are again effective.

Even in the case of the adult human and higher mammals,
loss of support when the individual is not set for it calls out
a strong fear reaction. If we have to walk across a slender
plank, naturally as we approach it the muscles of the body
are all set for it, but if we cross a bridge which remains per-
fectly steady until the middle has been reached and then sud-
denly begins to give way, our response is very marked. When
this happens in the case of a horse, one can with difficulty
get him to cross bridges again. There are many horses in the
country bridge shy. I am sure the same principle is operarive
when a child is rapidly let out into deep water for the first
time. The buoyancy of the water actually throws him off his
balance. Even when the water is warm there is a catching
of the breath, clutching with the hands and crying.

Rage. Have you ever had the never to be forgotten experi-
ence, when proudly walking across a crowded street holding
your two-year-old daughter's hand, of having her suddenly
pull you in some other direction? And when you quickly and
sharply jerked her back and exerted steady pressure on her
arm to keep her straight did she then suddenly stiffen, begin
to scream at the top of her voice and lie down stiff as a ram-
rod in the middle of the street, yelling with wide open mouth
until she became blue in the face, and continuing to yell until

*I have found only one child out of many hundreds worked with
in whom a fear response cannot be called out by loud sounds. She
is well developed, well nourished, and normal in every way. There
were no fear reactions to any other stimuli. The nearest approach
to fear I saw was at the sight and sound of an opening and closing
umbrella. I have no explanation to offer for this exception.

48 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

she could make no further sound? If you have not, any
picture of rage behavior must appear lifeless to you.

Possibly you have seen the large village bully take some
child, down him and hold his arms and legs so closely to his
body that the child could not even struggle. Have you watched
the youngster stiffen and yell until he became blue in the face?

Did you ever notice the sudden changes that come into the
faces of men when they are jostled and suddenly and unduly
crowded in the street cars and railway trains ? Hampering of
bodily movement brings out the series of responses we call
rage. This can be observed from the moment of birth but
more easily in infants 10 to IS days of age. When the head is
held lightly between the hands; when the arms arc pressed
to the sides ; and when the legs are held tightly together, rage
behavior begins. The unlearned behavior elements in rage be-
havior have never been completely catalogued. Some of the
elements, however, are easily observed, such as the stiffening
of the whole body, the free slashing movements of hands,
arms and legs, and the holding of the breath. There is no cry-
ing at first, then the mouth is opened to the fullest extent and
the breath is held until the face appears blue. These states
can be brought on without the pressure in any case being severe
enough to produce the slightest injury to the child. The ex-
periments are discontinued the moment the slightest blucness.
appears in the skin. All children can be thrown into such a
state and the reactions will continue until the irritating situ-
ation is relieved, and sometimes for a considerable period there-
after. We have had this state brought out when the arms are
held upward by a cord to which is attached a lead ball not ex-
ceeding an ounce in weight. The constant hampering 1 of the
arms produced by even this slight weight is sufficient to bring
out the response. When the child is lying on its back it can
occasionally be brought out by pressing on each side of the
head with cotton wool. In many cases this state can be ob-
served quite easily when the mother or nurse has to dress the
child somewhat roughly or hurriedly.

Love. The study of this emotion in the infant is beset with
a great many difficulties on the conventional side. Our ob-
servations consequently fraye been incidental rather than di-
rectly experimental. The stimulus to lorn responses apparently
is stroking of the skin, tickling, gentle rocking, patting. The
responses are especially easy to bring out by the stimulation
of what, for lack of a better term, we may call the erogenous

STUDIES ON THE GROWTH OF EMOTIONS 49

zones, such as the nipples, the lips and ths. sex organs. The re-
sponse in an infant depends upon its state; when crying the cry-
ing will cease and a smile begin. Gurgling and cooing appear.
Violent movements of arms and trunk with pronounced laugh-
ter occur in even 6-8 months old infants when tickled. It is
thus seen that we use the term "love" in a much broader sense
than it is popularly used. The responses we intend to mark
off here are those popularly called "affectionate," "good na-
tured," "kindly," etc. The term "love" embraces all of these
as well as the responses we see in adults between the sexes.
They all have a common origin.

Are There Other Unlearned Responses of These Three

General Types?

Whether these three types of response are all that have an
hereditary background we are not sure. Whetner or not there
are other stimuli which will call out these responses we must
also leave in doubt. 1 If our observations are in any way com-
plete, it would seem that emotional reactions are quite simple
in the infant and the stimuli which call them out quite few in
number.

These reactions which we have agreed, then, to call fear,
rage and love, are at first quite indefinite. Much work remains
to be done to see what the various part reactions are in each
and how much they differ. They are certainly not the com-
plicated kinds of emotional reaction we see later on in life, but
at least I believe they form the nucleus out of which all future
emotional reactions arise. So quickly do they become con-
ditioned, as we shall show later, that it gives a wrong im-
pression to call them hereditary modes of response. It is prob-
ably better just to keep the actual facts of observation thus :
(Ordinarily called Fear:)

(U)S (U)R

Loss of support Checking of breathing, "jump"

Loud sounds or start of whole body, crying,

often defaecation and urination
(and many others not worked
out experimentally. Probably the
largest group of part reactions
are visceral).

1 For example, I am uncertain what the relationship is between the
fear reactions we have been describing and the reactions called out
by very hot objects, ice cold water, and other noxious stimuli.

50

PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

(Ordinarily called Rage:)

(U)S (U)R

Restraint of bodily move- Stiffening of whole body,

tnent. screaming, temporary cessation

of breathing, reddening of face
changing to blueness of face, etc.
It is obvious that while there are
general over responses, the great-
est concentration of movement is
in the visceral field. Blood tests
of infants so manhandled show
that that there is an increase in
blood sugar. This means prob-
ably an increase in the secretion
of the adrenal glands release of
increased output of adrenalin.

(Ordinarily called Love:)

(U)S (U)R

Stroking skin and sex or- Cessation of crying; gurgling,
gans, rocking, riding on cooing and many others not de-
foot, etc. termined. That visceral factors

predominate is shown by changes
in circulation and respiration,
erection of penis, etc.

If we think of these unlearned (so-called emotional) re-
sponses in the terms of these simple formulae, wo cannot go
very far wrong.

How Our Emotional Life Becomes Complicated

How can we square these observations with those which
show the enormous complexity in the emotional life of the
adult? We know that hundreds of children are afraid of the
dark, we know that many women are afraid of snakes, mice
and insects, and that emotions are attached to many ordinary
objects of almost daily use. Fears become attached to persons
and to places and to general situations, such as the woods,
the water, etc. In the same way the number of objects and
situations which can call out rage and love become enormously
increased. Rage and love at first are not produced by the
mere sight of an object. We know that later on in life the
mere sight of persons may call out both of these primitive
emotions. How do such "attachments" grow up? How can

STUDIES ON THE GROWTH OF EMOTIONS 51

objects which at first do not call out emotions come later to
call them out and thus greatly increase the richness as well
as the dangers of our emotional life ?

Since 1918 we have been at work upon this problem. We
were rather loath at first to conduct such experiments, but the
need of this kind of study was so great that we finally decided
to experiment upon the possibility of building up fears in the
infant and then later to study practical methods for removing
them. We chose as our first subject Albert B, an infant weigh-
ing twenty-tone pounds, at eleven months of age. Albert was
the son of one of the wet nurses in the Harriet Lane Hospital.
He had lived his whole life in the hospital. He was a won-
derfully "good" baby. In all the months we worked with him
we never saw him cry until after our experiments were made !

Before turning to the experiments by means of which we
built up emotional responses in the laboratory, it is necessary
for you to recall all that I tried to tell you on he conditioning
of reflexes. I am going to assume that you know that when
you establish a conditioned reaction, you must have a funda-
mental stimulus to start with which will call out the response
in question. Your next step is to get some other stimulus
to call it out.- For example, if your purpose is to make the
arm and hand jerk away every time a buzzer sounds, you
must use the electric shock or other noxious stimulus each
time the electric buzzer is sounded. Shortly, as you know, the
arm will begin to jump away when the buzzer is sounded just
as it jumps away when the electric shock is given. We already
know now that there is an unconditioned or fundamental stim-
ulus which will call out the fear reaction quickly and easily. It
is a loud sound. We determined to use this just as we use
the electric shock in experiments on the conditioned motor and
glandular reflexes.

Our first experiment with Albert had for its object the con-
ditioning of a fear response to a white rat. We first showed
by repeated tests that nothing but loud sounds and removal
of support would bring out fear response in this child. Every-
thing coming within twelve inches of him was reached for
and manipulated. His reaction, however, to a loud sound was
characteristic of what occurs with most children. A steel
bar about one inch in diameter and three feet long, when
struck with a carpenter's hammer produced the most marked
kind of reaction.

52 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

Our laboratory notes 1 showing the progress in establishing
a conditioned emotional response are given here in full :

Eleven months, 3 days old. (1) White rat which he played with
for weeks was suddenly taken from the basket (the usual routine)
and presented to Albert. He began to reach for rat with left hand.
Just as his hand touched the animal the bar was struck immediately
behind his head, The infant jumped violently and fell forward,
burying his face in the mattress. He did not cry, however.

(2) Just as his right hand touched the rat the bar was again
struck. Again the infant jumped violently, fell forward and began
to whimper.

On account of his disturbed condition no further tests were
made for one week.

Eleven months, ten days old. (1) Rat presented suddenly with-
out sound. There was steady fixation but no tendency at first to
reach for it. The rat was then placed nearer, whereupon tentative
reaching movements began with the right hand, When the rat
nosed the infant's left hand the hand was immediately withdrawn.
He started to reach for the head of the animal with the forefinger
of his left hand but withdrew it suddenly before contact. It is
thus seen that the two joint stimulations given last week were not
without effect. He was tested with his blocks immediately after-
wards to see if they shared in the process of conditioning. He
began immediately to pick them up, dropping them and pounding
them, etc. In the remainder of the tests the blocks were given
frequently to quiet him and to test his general emotional state.
They were always removed from sight when the process of con-
ditioning was under way.

(2) Combined stimulation with rat and sound. Started, then
fell over immediately to right side. No crying.

(3) Combined stimulation. Fell to right side and rested on hands
with head turned from rat. No crying.

(4) Combined stimulation. Same reaction.

(5) Rat suddenly presented alone. Puckered face, whimpered
and withdrew body sharply to left.

(6) Combined stimulation. Pell over immediately to right side
and began to whimper.

(7) Combined stimulation. Started violently and cried, but did
not fall over.

(8) Rat alone. The instant the rat was shown the baby began
to cry. Almost instantly he turned sharply to the left, fell over,
raised himself on all fours and began to crawl away so rapidly that
he was caught with difficulty before he reached the edge of the
mattress.

Surely this proof of the conditioned origin of a fear response
puts us on a natural science grounds in our study of emo-
tional behavior. It is a far more prolific goose for laying

3 See the original paper by Rosalie Rayner and John B, Watson,
Scientific Monthly, 1921, p. 493.

STUDIES ON THE GROWTH OF EMOTIONS 53

golden eggs than is James' barren verbal formulation. It
yields an explanatory principle that will account for the enor-
mous complexity in the emotional behavior of adults. We
no longer in accounting for such behavior have to fall back
upon heredity.

The Spread or Transfer of Conditioned Responses

Before the above experiment on the rat was made, Albert
had been playing for weeks with rabbits, pigeons, fur muffs,
the hair of the attendants and false faces. What effect will
conditioning him upon the rat have upon his response to these
animals and other objects when next he sees them? To test
this we made no further experiments upon him for five days.
That is, during this five day period he was not allowed to see
any of the above objects. At the end of the 6th day we again
tested him first with the rat to see if the conditioned fear
response to it had carried over. Our notes are as follows :
Eleven months, fifteen days old.

(1) Tested first with blocks. He reached readily for them, playing
with them as usual. This shows that there has been no general
transfer to the room, table, blocks, etc.

(2) Rat alone. Whimpered immediately, withdrew right hand
and turned head and trunk away.

(3) Blocks again offered. Played readily with them, smiling and
gurgling.

(4) Rat alone. Leaned over to the left side as far away from the
rat as possible, then fell over, getting up on all fours and scurrying
away as rapidly as possible.

(5) Blocks again offered. Reached immediately for them, smiling
and laughing as before.

This shows that the conditioned response was carried over
the five day period. Next we presented in order a rabbit, a
dog, a sealskin coat, cotton wool, human hair and a false face :

(6) Rabbit alone. A rabbit was suddenly placed on the mattress
in front of him. The reaction was pronounced. Negative responses
began at once. He leaned as far away from the animal as possible*
whimpered, then burst into tears. When the rabbit was placed in
contact with him he buried his face in the mattress, then got up
on all fours and crawled away, crying as he went. This was a most
convincing test.

(7) The blocks were next given to him, after an interval. He
played with them as before. It was observed by four people that
he played far more energetically with them than ever before. The
blocks were raised high over his head and slammed down with a
great deal of force.

(8) Dog alone. The dog did not produce as violent a reaction
as the rabbit. The moment fixation of the eyes occurred the child
shrank back and as the animal came nearer he attempted to get on
all fours but did not cry at first. As soon as the dog passed out

54 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

of his range of vision he became quiet. The dog was then made
to approach the infant's head (he was lying down at the moment).
Albert straightened up immediately, fell over to the opposite side
and turned his head away. He then began to cry.

(9) Blocks were again presented. He began immediately to play
with them.

(10) Pur coat (seal). Withdrew immediately to the left side and
began to fret. Coat put -close to him on the left side, he turned
immediately, began to cry and tried to crawl away on all fours.

(11) Cotton wool. The wool was presented in a paper package.
At the ends the cotton was not covered by the paper. It was placed
first on his feet. He kicked it away but did not touch it with his
hands. When his hand was laid on the wool he immediately with-
drew it but did not show the shock that the animals or fur coat
produced in him. He then began to play with the paper, avoiding
contact with the wool itself. Before the hour was up, however, he
lost some of his negativism to the wool.

(12) Just in play W. who had made the experiments, put his head
down to see if Albert would, play with his hair. Albert was com-
pletely negative. The other two observers did the same thing. He
began immediately to play with their hair. A Santa Glaus mask
was then brought and presented to Albert. lie was again pro-
nouncedly negative, although on all previous occasions he had played
with it.

Our notes thus give a convincing proof of spread or transfer.

We have here further proof in these transfers that con-
ditioned emotional responses are exactly like other conditioned
responses. If we condition a man or lower animal by regular
conditioned reflex methods, say, to a tone A of a given pitch,
almost any other tone will at first call out the response. By
continuing the experiment say by always feeding when tone
A is sounded but never when any other tone is sounded you
soon get the animal to the point where it will respond only
to A. This would be a differential conditioned response.

I am sure that in these cases of transfer or vspread of con-
ditioned emotional responses the same factors arc at work.

I believe, although I have never tried the experiments, that
we could set up just as sharp a differential reaction in the
emotional field as we can in any other. I mean by this merely
that if the experiment was long continued we could bring the
fear reaction out sharply whenever the rat was shown but
never when any other furry object was shown. If this were
the case, we should have a differential conditioned emotional
response. This seems to be what happens in real life. Most
of us in infancy and in early youth are in the undiffcrcntiated
emotional state. Many adults, especially women, remain in
it. All primitive peoples remain in it (superstitions, etc,)*
3ut educated adults by the long training they get in manipu-

STUDIES ON THE GROWTH OF EMOTIONS 55

lating objects, handling animals, working with electricity, etc.,
reach the second or differentiated stage of the conditioned
emotional reaction.

There is thus, if my reasoning is correct, a thoroughly sound
way of accounting for transferred emotional responses and
for the Freudian's so-called "free-floating affects." When con-
ditioned emotional responses are first set up, a wide range of
stimuli (in this case all hairy objects) physically similar will
at first call out the response and so far as we know will con-
tinue to call it out unless experimental steps (or a very fortu-
nate series of environmental settings) are taken to bring the
undifferentiated conditioned response up to the differentiated
stage. In the differentiated stage only the object or situation
you were conditioned upon originally will call out the re-
sponse.

Summary

We must see that there is just as little evidence for a whole-
sale inheritance of those complicated patterns of response com-
monly called emotional as there is for the inheritance of those
called instinctive.

Possibly a better way to describe our findings is to say that
in working over the whole field of the human infant's reaction
to stimuli, we find that certain types of stimuli loud sounds
and removal of support produce a certain general type of re-
sponse, namely, momentary checking of breath, a start of the
whole body, crying, marked visceral responses, etc. ; that another
type of stimulus, holding or restraint, produces crying with
wide open mouth, prolonged holding of breath, marked changes
in circulation and other visceral changes ; that a third stimulus,
stroking the skin, especially in the sex areas, produces smiling,
changes in respiration, cessation of crying, cooing, gurgling,
erection and other visceral changes. Attention is called to the
fact that responses to these stimuli are not mutually exclusive
many of the part reactions are the same.

These unconditioned stimuli with their relatively simple un-
conditioned responses are our starting points in building up
those complicated conditioned, habit patterns we later call our
emotions. In other words, emotional reactions are built in an
order like most of our other reaction patterns. Not only do
we get an increase in the number of stimuli calling out the
response (substitution) through direct conditioning and
through transfers (thus enormously widening the stimulus

56 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

range), but also we get marked additions to and modifications
of the responses themselves.

Another set of factors increasing the complexity of our
emotional life must be taken into account. The same object
(for example a person) can become a substitute stimulus for
a f ear response in one situation and a little later a substitute
stimulus for a love response in another, or even for a rage
response. The increasing complexity brought about by these
factors soon gives us an emotional organization sufficiently
complicated to satisfy even the novelist and the poet.

I am loath to close tonight until I have introduced, paren-
thetically at least, one additional thought. The thought is
that notwithstanding the fact that in all emotional responses
there are overt factors such as the movement of the eyes and
the arms and the legs and the trunk, visceral and glandular
factors predominate. The "cold sweat" of fear, the "bursting
heart/' "the bowed head" in apathy and grief, the "exuberance
of youth," the "palpitating heart" of the swain or maiden, are
more than mere literary expressions, they are bits of genuine
observations.

I want to develop the thesis sometime that society has never
been able to get hold of these implicit concealed visceral and
glandular reactions of ours, or else it would have schooled
them in us, for, as you know, society has a great propensity
for regulating all of our reactions* Hence most of our aclult
overt reactions our speech, the movements of our arms, legs
and trunk are schooled and habitized. Owing to their con-
cealed nature, however, society cannot get hold of visceral
behavior to lay down rules and regulations for its integration.
It follows as a corollary from this that we have no names,
no words with which to describe these reactions. They re-
main unverbalized. One can describe in well chosen words
every act of two boxers, two fencers, and can criticize each
individual detail of their responses, because there arc verbal
manuals of procedure and practice in the performance of these
skillful acts. But what Hoyle has laid down the rules by
which the separate movements of our viscera and glands must
take place when in the presence of our lady love?

Because, then, of the fact that we have never verbalized
these responses, a good many things happen to us that we
cannot talk about. We have never learned how to talk about
them. There arc no words for them. The theory of the un~
verbalized in human behavior gives us a natural science way

STUDIES ON THE GROWTH OF EMOTIONS 57

of explaining many things the Freudians now call "uncon-
scious complexes," "suppressed wishes" and the like. In other
words, we can now come back to natural science in our study
of emotional behavior. Our emotional life grows and develops
like our other sets of habits. But do our emotional habits
once implanted suffer from disuse? Can they be put away
and outgrown like our manual and verbal habits? Until very
recently we had no facts to guide us in answering these ques-
tions. Some are now available. In my next lecture I shall
attempt to present them.

CHAPTER III

RECENT EXPERIMENTS ON HOW WE LOSE AND
CHANGE OUR EMOTIONAL EQUIPMENT*

BY JOHN B. WATSON

The experiments I reported at the close of my last lecture
were completed in 1920. Until the fall of 1923 no further
experiments were undertaken. Finding that emotional re-
sponses could be built in with great readiness, we were all the
more eager to see whether they could be broken down, and
if so by what methods. No further tests could be made upon
Albert B., the youngster in whom the conditioned responses
had been built up, because he was shortly afterwards adopted
by an out-of-town family. It was just at this time that my
own work at Hopkins was interrupted.

The matter of further experimentation rested until the fall
of 1923. At that time a sum of money was granted by the
Laura Spelman Rockefeller Memorial to the Institute of Edu-
cational Research of Teachers' College, a part of which was
used for continuing the study of the emotional life of children.
We found a place for work the Heckscher Foundation. Ap-
proximately 70 children are kept there ranging in age from
3 months to 7 years. It was not an ideal place for our experi-
mental work because we were not allowed full control of the
children and because of the frequency with which work had
to be stopped on account of unavoidable epidemics of one kind
or another. In spite of these handicaps much work was done.
While I spent considerable time there as consultant and helped
to plan the work, Mrs. Mary Cover Jones conducted all of
the experiments and wrote up all of the results. 1

Tonight I wish to give you an account of this work.

The Different Methods Used in Attempting to Eliminate
Fear Responses

Locating the Conditioned Fear Responses in Children:
A number of children of different ages were put through a
group of situations designed to bring out fear responses if any

*Powell lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University, Jan-
uary 17, 1926.

a Partial report on this work has already appeared. See The Elim-
ination ol Children's Fears, by Mary Cover Jones, Jr., Exp. Psychol-
ogy, 1924, p.382.

60 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

were present. As has already been mentioned, children brought
up in the home show fear reactions. These we have every
reason to believe are conditioned. By passing each individual
through these situations we were able not only to locate the
children possessing the most pronounced conditioned fear re-
actions but also to locate the objects (and the general situations)
that called out those reactions.

We worked here of course under one disadvantage. We did
not know the genetic history of their fear responses. Hence
we did not know whether a given fear reaction when observed
was directly conditioned or merely transferred^ This is al-
ways a handicap an especially hard one in this work as I
shall show you later.

Elimination of Fear Responses Through Disuse: Having
located a child with a fear response and the stimulus calling
it out, our next step was to attempt to remove it.

It has commonly been supposed that the mere removal of
the stimulus for a sufficient length of time will cause the child
or adult to "forget his fear," All of us have heard the ex-
pressions "J ust k ee P h" 11 away from it and he'll outgrow it.
He will forget all about it." Laboratory tests were made to
determine the efficacy of this method. I quote from Mrs.
Jones' laboratory notes:

Case 1. Rose D, Age 21 months. General situation: sitting in
playpen with other children none of whom showed specific fears.
A rabbit was introduced from behind a screen.

Jan, 19. At sight of the rabbit, Rose burst into tcars, her crying
lessened when the experimenter picked up the rabbit, but again in-
creased when the rabbit was put back on the floor, At the removal
of the rabbit she quieted down, accepted a cracker, and presently
leturned to her blocks.

Feb. 5. After 2 weeks the situation was repeated. She cried and
trembled upon seeing the rabbit, E. (the experimenter) sat on the
floor between Rose and the rabbit; she continued to cry for several
minutes. E. tried to divert her attention with the peg-board; she
finally stopped crying, but continued to watch the rabbit and would
not attempt to play,

Case #. Bobby G. Age 30 months.

Dec. 6. Bobby showed a slight fear response when a rat was pre-
sented in a box. He looked at it from a distance of several feet,
drew back and cried. A 3-day period of training followed bringing
Bobby to the point where he tolerated a rat in the pen in which
he was playing, and even touched it without overt fear indications.
No further stimulation with the rat occurred until

Jan. 30. ^ After nearly two months of no experience with the
specific stimulus, Bobby was again brought into the laboratory.
While he was playing m the pen, E. appeared, with a rat in her
hand. Bobby jumped up, ran outside the pen, and cried. The rat

CHANGE IN OUR EMOTIONAL EQUIPMENT 61

having been returned to its box, Bobby ran to E., held her hand,
and showed marked disturbance.

Case 33. Eleanor J. Age 21 months.

Jan. 17. While playing in the pen, a frog was introduced from
behind her. She watched, came nearer, and finally touched it. The
frog jumped. She withdrew and when later presented with the frog,
shook her head and pushed the experimenter's hand away violently.

Mar. 26. After two months of no further experience with animals,
Eleanor was taken to the laboratory and offered the frog. When
the frog hopped she drew back, ran from the pen and cried.

These tests and many others similar in character incline us
to believe that the method of disuse in the case of emotional
disturbance is not as effective as is commonly supposed. It
is admitted, however, that the tests were not extended over
a long enough time to yield complete evidence.

Method of Verbal Organization

Most of the subjects in the Heckscher Foundation were
under 4 years of age and the possibility of verbally organizing
the children about the objects that called out fear responses
was very limited. Naturally nothing can be accomplished
by the use of this method until the child has a fairly wide
language organization. One satisfactory subject Jean E.,
a girl in her Sth year, however, was found sufficiently well
organized to use in an extended test. At the initial presentation
of the rabbit, marked fear responses were shown. The rabbit
was not shown again for some time, but ten minutes daily con-
versation was given her on the subject of rabbits. The ex-
perimenter introduced such devices as the picture book of Peter
Rabbit, toy rabbits and rabbits modeled from plasticeone. Brief
stories about rabbits were told. During the telling of these
stories, she would say "Where is your rabbit?" or "Show me
a rabbit" ; and once she said "I touched your rabbit and stroked
it and never cried" (which was not true). At the end of
one week of verbal organization, the rabbit was shown again.
Her reaction was practically the same as the first encounter.
She jumped up from her play and retreated. When coaxed
she touched the rabbit while the experimenter held it, but
when the animal was put down on the floor she sobbed "Put
it away take it." Verbal organization when not connected
with actual manual adjustments to the animal had little effect
in. removing her fear responses.

Method of Frequent Application of Stimulus
While experiments with this method have not been extended,
the results nave not been very hopeful. The routine adopted

62 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

in applying this method is to have the animal calling out the
fear reaction brought in many times each day. While in some
cases no actual negative responses were made, this was the
only form of improvement noted no positive reactions de-
veloped from the use of this method. In some cases a sum-
mation effect rather than an adjustment was obtained.

Method of Introducing Social Factors

Most of us are familiar both in the school and on the play-
ground with what happens among groups of children. If one
shows fear at any object to which the group does not show
fear, the one showing fear is made a scapegoat and is called
a "fraidy cat." We attempted to use this social factor in the
case of some of the children. One case is given here in detail :

Case 41. Arthur G. Age 4 years.

Arthur was shown the frogs in an aquarium, no other children
being present. He cried, said "they bite," and ran out of the play-
pen. Later, however, he was brought into the room with four other
boys; he swaggered up to the aquarium, pressing ahead of the
others who were with him. When one of his companions picked
up a frog and turned to him with it, he screamed and fled; at
this he was chased and made fun of, but with naturally no lessening
of the fear on this particular occasion.

This is probably one of the most unsafe methods in com-
mon use for eliminating fears. It tends to breed negative re-
actions not only to the animal feared but to society as a whole.

Where milder social methods are used, ordinarily called social
imitation, better results are obtained. Mrs. Jones gives two
cases which I quote :

Case. $. J3obby O. Age 30 months.

Bobby was playing in the pen with Mary and Laurel. The rabbit
was introduced in a basket, Bobby cried "No, no," and motioned
for the experimenter to remove it. The two girls, however, ran
up readily enough, looked in at the rabbit and talked excitedly.
Bobby became promptly interested, said "What? Me see," and
ran forward, his curiosity and assertiveness in the social situation
overmastering other impulses,

Case 54. Vincent W. Age 21 months.

Jan. 19 Vincent showed no fear of the rabbit, even when it was
pushed against his hands or face, His only response was to laugh
and reach for the rabbit's fur. On the same day he was taken into
the pen with Rosey, who cried at the sight of the rabbit, Vincent
immediately developed a fear response; in the ordinary playroom
situation he would pay no attention to her crying, but in connection
with the rabbit, her distress had a marked suggestion value. The
fear transferred in this way persisted for over two weeks.

Feb. 6. (Eli and Heitert were in the play-pen with the rabbit.
When Vincent was brought in, he remained cautiously standing at

CHANGE IN OUR EMOTIONAL EQUIPMENT 63

gome distance. Eli led Vincent over to the rabbit, and induced him
to touch the animal. Vincent laughed.

As will be noted, however, there are difficulties in the way
of the use of this method. Occasionally the children showing
no fear to the object become conditioned by the behavior of
the child showing fear reactions to the object.

While all of these methods are suggestive and while none
of them has been worked out to a final conclusion, none seems
especially fruitful or free from danger.

The Method of Re-Conditioning or Un-Conditioning

The most successful method so far discovered for use in
removing fears is the method of unconditioning or recon-
ditioning. Reconditioning would be a little more satisfactory
word to use except for the fact that it has been used by the
physical culturists in various types of health propaganda. Un-
conditioning seems the only other available word.

I wish to go into the details of one case where unconditioning
was attempted because it illustrates not only the method used
but the various difficulties one is likely to encounter in such
work.

Peter was an active eager child of approximately 3 years
of age. 1 This child was well adjusted to ordinary life situations
except for his fear organization. He was afraid of white rats,
rabbits, fur coats, feathers, cotton wool, frogs, fish and mechan-
ical toys. From the description of his fears, you might well
think that Peter was merely Albert B. of the last lecture
grown up. Only you must remember that Peter's fears were
"home grown," not experimentally produced as were Albert's.
Peter's fears, though, were much more pronounced as the
following description will show:

Peter was put in a crib in a play room and immediately be-
came absorbed in his toys. A white rat was introduced into
the crib from behind. (The experimenter was behind a screen.)
At the sight of the rat, Peter screamed and fell flat on his back
in a paroxysm of fear. The stimulus was removed, and Peter
was taken out of the crib and put into a chair. Barbara, a
girl of two, was brought to the crib and the white rat intro-
duced as before. She exhibited no fear but picked the rat
up in her hand. Peter sat quietly watching Barbara and the
rat. A string of beads belonging to Peter had been left in

*A full report on Peter is given by Mrs. Jones in the December,
1924 number of the Pedagogical Seminary.

64 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

the crib. Whenever the rat touched a part of the string, he
would say "my beads" in a complaining voice, although he
made no objections when Barbara touched them. Invited to
get down from the chair, he shook his head, fear not yet sub-
sided. Twenty-five minutes elapsed before he was ready to
play about freely.

The next day his reactions to the following situations and
objects were noted:

Play room and crib Selected toys, got into crib with-
out protest.

White ball rolled in Picked it up and held it.

Fur rug hung over crib Cried until it was removed.

Fur coat hung over crib Cried until it was removed.

Cotton .Whimpered, withdrew, cried

Hat with feathers Cried.

White toy rabbit of rough

cloth Neither negative nor positive re-
action.

Wooden doll Neither negative nor positive re-
action.

Training for removal of these fears in Peter was first be-
gun by utilizing social factors as discussed on p. 62. There was
considerable improvement, but before retraining was com-
pleted the child fell ill with scarlet fever and bad to go to a
hospital for a period of two months, When coming back from
the hospital a large barking dog attacked him and the nurse
just as they entered a taxicab. Both the nurse and Peter
were terribly frightened. Peter lay back in the taxi ill and
exhausted. After allowing a few days for recovery he was
taken to the laboratory and again tested with animals. His
fear reactions to all the animals had returned in exaggerated
form. We determined then to use another type of procedure
that of direct unconclitioning. We did not have control over
his meals, but we secured permission to give him his mid-
afternoon lunch consisting of crackers and a glass of milk.
We seated him at a small table in a high chair, The lunch
was served in a room about forty feet long. Just as he began
to eat his lunch, the rabbit was displayed in a wire cage of
wide mesh. We displayed it on the first day just far enough
away not to disturb his eating. This point was then marked.
The next day the rabbit was brought closer and closer until
disturbance was first barely noticed. This place was marked.
The third and succeeding days the same routine was main-
tained. Finally the rabbit could be placed upon the table
then in Peter's lap. Next tolerance changed to positive re-

CHANGE IN OUR EMOTIONAL EQUIPMENT 65

action. Finally he would eat with one hand and play with
the rabbit with the other, a proof that his viscera zvere re-
trained along with his hands!

After having broken down his fear reactions to the rabbit
the animal calling out fear responses of the most exaggerated
kinds we were next interested in seeing what his reactions
would be to other furry animals and furry objects. Fear re-
sponses to cotton, the fur coat, and "feathers were entirely
gone. He looked at them and handled them and then turned
to other things. He would even pick up the fur nig and bring
it to the experimenter.

The reaction to white rats was greatly improved it had
at least reached the tolerance stage but did not call out any
very excited positive manipulation. He would pick up the
small tin boxes containing rats and frogs and carry them
around the room.

He was then tested in an entirely new animal situation. A
mouse which he had not hitherto seen was handed to him
together with a cangied mass of earthworms. His reaction
was at first partly negative but this gave way in a few minutes
to positive response to the worms and undisturbed watching
of the mouse.

We suffer here as always in working with home grown
fears by not knowing the primary situation upon which the
child was conditioned (conditioned reflex of the 1st order).
Possibly if we had had information upon this point and had
unconditioned him on his primary fear, ' all of the "trans-
ferred" responses would have evaporated at once. Not until
we have had more experience with building up a primary
fear, noting the transfers and then unconditioning for the
primary, will we be working upon sure ground in this inter-
esting field. It is just possible that there may be certain
reaction differences (intensity) between the primary condi-
tioned response, (1st order), the secondarily conditioned re-
sponses (2nd and succeeding orders) and the various trans-
ferred responses. If this is true, then we might be able to
tell, by presenting widely varying situations to children whose
emotional history is unknown, just which one any given child
was originally conditioned upon.

The whole field of emotions, when thus experimentally ap-
proached, is a very thrilling one and one which opens up real
vistas of practical application in the home and in the school
even in everyday life.

66 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

At any rate we have now seen grow up under our very eyes
the experimental genesis of a fear response and at least one
case where the fear response was uprooted by a safe experi-
mental method. If fear can be handled in this way, why not
all other forms of emotional organization connected with rage
(tantrums) and love? I believe firmly that they can be. In
other words, emotional organization is subject to exactly the
same laws as other habits, both as to origin, as we have al-
ready pointed out, and as to decline.

The method we have sketched has a serious drawback, main-
ly because we did not have control over all the meals of the
child. (By the way, never start an experiment upon a child
or infant unless you have full control). Probably if the
child has been stroked, petted, and rocked (sexual stimulation)
just as the fear object was presented, unconditioning might
have taken place much more rapidly.

Incomplete and unsatisfactory as is this preliminary report
upon the work of unconditioning, there arc at present no fur-
ther facts. We must leave the subject of conditioning and un-
conditioning of emotional reactions until we can work upon
a larger number of infants and work with them under better
conditions of control.
Home Factors Leading to Emotional Conditioning of Children

Is is conceivable that some day we may be able to bring up
the human young through infancy and childhood without cry-
ing or showing fear reactions except when in the presence of
the unconditioned stimuli (pain, noxious stimuli, loud sounds,
etc.) calling out these responses. Since these unconditioned
stimuli are rarely present, children ought practically never to
cry. And yet look at them morning, noon and night they
are at it! An infant has an honest right to cry when it has
colic, when its diaper pin is sticking into its tender flesh, and
to whimper a bit when hungry, when its gets its head in be-
tween the slats of the bed, or falls clown between the mattress
and the -side of the bed, or when the cat scratches it, or its
bodily tissue is otherwise injured, or when loud sounds and
loss of support assail it. But on no other occasion is the cry
justifiable. This means that owing to our unsatisfactory train-
ing 1 methods in the home, we spoil the emotional make-up of
each child as rapidly as the twig can be bent.

What Situations Make the Child Cry?

In line with this thought, Mrs. Jones followed around a
group of nine children from the time they first waked up in

CHANGE IN OUR EMOTIONAL EQUIPMENT 67

the morning until they were fast asleep at night. Every cry
was noted, every laugh observed. The duration of laughing
and crying was noted and the time of day it occurred and,
most carefully of all, the general situations calling out these
reactions were recorded and the after effects crying and laugh-
ing had upon subsequent behavior. Children in the group
ranged from 16 months to 3 years of age. These children were
tested in the Heckscher Foundation, but they were living there
temporarily. They had been brought up in the home. One
month after the first set of observations was made another
set was undertaken. The results of these observations have
never been published by Mrs. Jones, but she has given me the
main facts which I now present.

The situations calling out cries are listed in the order of the
number of cries elicited, as follows:

1. Having to sit on the toilet chair.

2. Having property taken away.

3. Having the face washed.

4. Being left alone in a room.

5. Having the adult leave the room.

6. Working at something which won't pan out.

7. Failure to get adults or other children to play with

them, or look at them and talk to them.

8. Being dressed.

9. Failure to get adults to pick them up.

10. Being undressed.

11. Being bathed.

12. Having the nose wiped.

These are only twelve of the most usual situations calling
out such responses. More than 100 situations called out weep-
ing or whining. Many of the responses to these situations can
be looked upon as unconditioned or conditioned rage responses,
for example : (1) sitting on the toilet chair, (2) having property
taken away, (3) having its face washed, (6) working at some-
thing that won't pan out, (10) being undressed, (11) being
bathed, (12) having the nose wiped. On the other hand, (5)
having the adult leave the room, (7) failure to get adults to
play with them, and (9) failure to get adults to pick them
U p would seem to belong more in the love conditioned re-
sponses approaching somewhat the grief situation where the
object or person to whom the attachment is formed is re-
moved or else will not exhibit the customary responses (as
where "love" has grown cold). Mrs. Jones states that there

68 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

were a number of cases, too, where fears of both the con-
ditioned and the unconditioned type, were responsible for a
good deal of crying for example, when the children were
made to stand on the top of the slides, sliding down the slide,
standing on the tables. Possibly (4) and (5) of the above
classification may have elements of the fear response in them.

In making a study of this kind, it should be always borne
in mind that crying may be due to organic factors, such as
sleepiness, hunger, colic, and the like. Mrs, Jones found that
tlie largest number of cries (probably) due to intra-organic
causes occurred between 9 and 11 o'clock in the morning. As
a result of this finding, the institution placed its rest hours
before lunch instead of after lunch, with two rest periods
for the very young children. This considerably lessened the
amount of crying and disturbed behavior due to intra-organic
factors,

What Makes Children Laugh?

The situations which call out laughter and smiling were
recorded in the same way. The common causes of laughter are,
in order, as follows :

1. Being played with (playfully dressed, tickled, etc.).

2. Running, chasing, romping with other children.

3. Playing with toys (a ball was particularly effective).

4. Teasing other children.

5. Watching other children at play.

6. Making attempts which resulted in adjustment (e. g.

getting parts of toys or apparatus to fit together or
work).

7. Making sounds, more or less musical, at the piano,

with a mouth organ, singing, pounding, etc.
In all 85 situations were listed calling out laughter and smil-
ing. Tickling, playfully dressing, gentle bathing, romping with
other children, teasing (but always where there was a chance
at a "comeback" probably a learned response sexually based
since the comeback involved being gently handled, pummeled
and tickled) were the most f rccjuent situations eliciting laugh-
ter. It is hardly possible to attempt to discuss here to what
extent these smiling reactions were unconditioned and to what
extent conditioned. Attention is called to the fact that depend-
ing on the way the situations are manipulated and upon the
intra-organic condition of the youngsters, the same stimuli can
at one time bring laughter and at another time bring out cry-
ing, for example, although cries predominated in the bathroom

CHANGE IN OUR EMOTIONAL EQUIPMENT 69

when their faces were being washed or when they were being
bathed, it was always possible to produce a laugh. On one
occasion the introduction of a mouth organ altered the whole
tenor of the room, changing distress into laughter. Where the
youngsters are just being dressed by the ordinary procedure,
that is, being pulled, twisted and turned, crying nearly always
results, and where dressing is playfully done, smiles and laugh-
ter instead of crying are the responses. Attention should be
called to the fact, however, that we can very easily overdo the
matter of amusing the child when it is doing the things it has
to do. I have seen children, spoiled in this way, undergo
torture when a new nurse is called in who does not or will
not yield to their demand to be amused while being bathed,
put to bed, dressed or fed.

While our results again are very incomplete, we have gone
far enough to show that it is very easy to substitute for a great
many of the situations in the home which now call out cry-
ing, situations that will call out smiling (and generally laugh-
ter) instead, which, in moderation is unquestionably better
so far as concerns the general metabolic state of the organism.
Furthermore, when we have gone far enough to show by
continual watching what the sticking points are in the child's
environment, we can rebuild his environment and thereby
keep an unfavorable organization from developing.

Should We Implant Negative Responses in Our Children?

There is a certain amount of sentimentality going the peda-
gogical rounds in this country to the effect that no negative
reactions should ever be forced on the child. I have never
been very much in favor of this propaganda. In fact, I be-
lieve that certain negative responses should be scientifically
implanted as a matter of protection to the organism. I don't
see any other way out of it. I think, though, we should make
a distinction between conditioned fear responses and mere nega-
tive responses. Negative responses conditioned upon the original
(unconditioned) fear stimuli always apparently involve vast
changes in the viscera possibly always disruptive to normal
metabolism. Conditioned rage responses, while not necessarily
negative in character (they include the positive responses in
fighting, attack, etc.) apparently do the same thing. I have the
simple facts in view here which Cannon has brought out, that
in fear and rage behavior, digestion and absorption are often
completely interfered with food is left in the stomach to fer-
ment and to form a breeding ground for bacteria and for setting

70 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

free toxic products. So there is some justice in the view that
fear and rage behavior is in general harmful to the organism
(yet the race possibly could not have survived if it had not
reacted negatively to loud sounds and loss of support and had
not struggled when movement was hampered). Love behavior,
on the other hand, seems to heighten metabolism. Digestion
and absoption apparently take place more rapidly. Questioning
of husbands and wives leads to the disclosure of the fact that
after normal sex intercourse hunger contractions begin in the
stomach and food is very frequently sought.

But to come back to negative reactions. It is at least an
opinion of mine that where negative responses arc built into
manual behavior (conditioned) such as withdrawal of hands,
legs, body, etc., by the use of faint noxious stimuli, there is
little involvement of the viscera. To make myself clear, let
me cite a case: I can build in negative behavior to a snake in
two ways. Just as I show the snake I can make a terrible
noise and cause the child to fall down and cry out completely
terror stricken. Soon the mere sight of the snake will have
the same effect. Or I can present the snake several times
and each time as the infant reaches for it I can tap its fingers
with a pencil and gradually establish the negative reaction
without shock. I have not tried this with a snake, but I have
with the candle. A child can be conditioned by a severe burn
with one stimulation, but this involves always a severe reaction*
By presenting the candle flame many times and each time letting
it just heat the finger enough to produce withdrawal of the
hand, a negative conditioned response can be built up without
the severe features of shock. Building in negative responses
without shock requires time, however.

I cannot tonight dwell too long upon the interesting psy-
chological and social factors involved in the building in of
negative reactions.

May I just say dogmatically that our civilization is built
upon "don't" and taboos of many kinds. Individuals living
adjustedly in it must learn to heed thorn. Since the negative
responses must be built in they should be built in as sanely
as possible without involving strong emotional reactions. Chil-
dren and adolescents must not play in the street, run in front
of automobiles, play with strange clogs and cats, run up and
stand under the feet of horses, point firearms at people, run
any chance of catching venereal diseases or having illegitimate
children; they must not do thousands of other things that I

CHANGE IN OUR EMOTIONAL EQUIPMENT 71

might mention. I am not saying that all the negative reactions
demanded by society are ethically right (and when I say ethic-
ally I mean the new experimental ethics that does not exist
today). I don't know whether many of the taboos now ad-
hered to are ultimately good for the organism. I am merely
saying that society exists it is a fact, and if we live under
it we must draw back when social customs say draw back, or
we must get our adult hands slapped. There is, of course,
an ever increasing number of people in the world whose hands
are tough and who do many tabooed things and take the social
chastisement that inevitably follows. This means of course
that social trial and error experimentation is becoming possible
the smoking of women, now tolerated in all restaurants and
hotels and even in nearly every home, is a good example. As
long as society rules every act through its agencies (such as
political systems, church, family) no learning, no trying out
of new social responses is possible. In the last 20 years we
have seen marked changes in the social status of women,
marked weakening of marriage ties, marked diminution in
thoroughness of control of political parties (to wit, the over-
throw of practically all monarchies), a marked weakening of
the church's hold upon genuinely educated people, the lessen-
ing of taboos upon sex. The danger, of course, comes now
from too rapid lessening of control, too superficial trials of
new forms of behavior, and from the acceptance of new
methods without sufficient trial.

Use of Corporal Punishment in Building in Negative Responses
The question of corporal punishment in the bringing up of
children at home and at school comes up periodically for dis-
cussion. I believe our experiments almost settle the problem.
Punishment is a word which ought never to have crept into
our language.

Whipping or beating the body is a custom as old as the race.
Even our modern views on the punishment of criminals and
children have as their basis the old religious masochistic prac-
tices of the church. Punishment in the biblical sense of "an eye
for an eye and a tooth for a tooth" honeycombs our whole
social and religious life.

Certainly punishment of children is not a scientific method.
As parents, .teachers and jurists, we are or ought to be inter-
ested only in setting up ways of acting in the individual that
square with group behavior. You have already grasped the
notion that the behaviorist is a strict determinist the child

72 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

or adult has to do wfat he does do. The only way he can
be made to act differently is first to untrain him and then to
retrain him. Both children and adults do do things which
do not correspond with the standards of behavior set up by
the home or by the group. This deviation from social stand-
ards is due to the fact that the home and the group have not
sufficently trained the individual during the formative period.
Since the formative period is coextensive with life, social
training should be continuous throughout life. It is our own
fault, then, that individuals (other than defectives and psy-
chopaths) go "wrong," that is, deviate from set standards of
behavior and by "our own fault" I mean the fault of the
parent, the teacher and every other member of the group;
we have neglected and are neglecting our opportunities.

But to return to the question of whipping and beating.
There is no excuse for whipping or beating !

First, because very often the deviating act occurs many hours
before father or mother come home to engage in the act of
chastising. Conditioned responses are not built up by this
unscientific procedure. The idea that a child's future bad be-
havior will be prevented by giving him a licking in the evening
for something he did in the morning is ridiculous. Equally
ridiculous from the standpoint of preventing crime, is our
legal and judicial method of punishment which allows a crime
to be committed in one year and punishment administered a
year or two later if at all.

Second, whipping is used more often than not to serve as
an emotional outlet (sadistic) for parent or teacher.

Third, often when the beating occurs immediately after the
act (the only time for it if it is to take place at all) it is not and
cannot be -regulated according to any scientific dosage. It is
either too mild, therefore not a strong enough stimulus to es-
tablish the conditioned negative response; or too severe, thus
stirring up unnecessarily the whole visceral system of the child ;
or the deviating act does not occur frequently enough, with
attendant punishment, to meet the scientific conditions for
setting up a negative response; or, finally, it is repeated so
frequently that all effect is lost habituation comes in, leading
possibly to the psychopathological condition known as "maso-
chism," a condition in which the individual responds positively
(sexually) to noxious stimuli.

How, then, are we to build in the negative responses which
I said above are necessary to build in ? I thoroughly believe in

CHANGE IN OUR EMOTIONAL EQUIPMENT 73

rapping a child's fingers when it puts them in its mouth, when
it constantly ringers its sex organs, when it reaches up and
pulls down glass dishes and trays, or turns on gas cocks or
water hydrants, etc., provided the child is caught in the act
<md the parent can administer the rap at once in a thoroughly
objective way just as objectively as the behaviorist administers
the faint electric shock when building up a negative or with-
drawal response to any given object. Society, both the group
and the immediate parents, uses the verbal "don't" to older
children in place of the rap. It will of course always have
to use "don't" but I hope some time we can rearrange the
environment so that less and less negative reactions will have
to be built in in both child and adult.

One bad feature in the whole system of the building in of
negative responses is the fact .that the parent becomes in-
volved in the situation I mean by that becomes a part of the
punishment system. The child grows up to "hate" the person
who has most often to administer the beating usually the
father. I hope some time to try out the experiment of having
a table top electrically wired in such a way that if a child
reaches for a glass or a delicate vase it will be punished,
whereas if it reaches for its toys or other things it is allowed
to play with, it can get them without being electrically shocked.
In other words, I should like to make the objects and situations
of life build in their own negative reactions.

Present Methods of Punishment for Crime are Relics
of the Dark Ages

What we have said about punishment in the rearing of chil-
dren holds equally well for adults in the field of crime. Since
in my opinion only the sick or psychopaths (insane) or un-
trained (socially untrained) individuals commit crimes, society
should be interested in just two things: (1) Seeing that the
insane or psychopathic individuals are made well if possible,
and if not, placed in well run (non-political) institutions where
no harm can come to them and where they can do no harm
to other members of the group. In other words, the fate of
those individuals should be in medical (psychiatric) hands.
The question as to whether the hopelessly insane should be
etherized has of course been raised time and time again. There
can be no reasons against it except exaggerated sentiment and
mediaeval religious mandates. (2) Seeing that the socially
untrained individuals, not insane or psychopathological, are

74 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

placed where they can be trained, sent to school, made to
learn, regardless of their age, a trade, made to put on culture,
made to 'become social. Furthermore, during this period they
should be placed where they cannot harm other members of
the group. Such education and training may take ten to fifteen
years or even longer. Failing to put on the training necessary
to fit them to again enter society, they should be restrained
always, and made to earn their daily bread, in vast manufactur-
ing and agricultural institutions, escape from which is im-
possible. Naturally, no human being criminal or otherwise
should be deprived of air, sunshine, food, exercise and other
physiological factors necessary to optimum living conditions.
On the other hand, strenuous work sixteen hours per day will
hurt no one. Individuals put aside thus for additional training
should of course be kept in the hands of the behaviorists.

Naturally such a view does away completely with criminal
law (but not with policing). It does away naturally with the
criminal lawyer and with legal (criminal) precedent, and with
courts for the trial of criminals. Many jurists of note agree
substantially with this view. But until all law books are burned
in some great upheaval of nature and until all lawyers and
jurists suddenly decide to become behaviorists, I never expect
to see the present retaliation or punishment theory ( a religious
theory) of handling the deviant give place to a scientific theory
based upon what we know of the establishing and breaking
down of conditioned and emotional responses.

What Are Some of the Most Important Forms of
Built-in Emotional Befiaviorf

In addition to the various forms of emotional behavior both
learned and unlearned that we have discussed in this and the
preceding lecture, there are several other types which interest the
behaviorist very greatly. These are jealousy and shame. So
far the behaviorist has had very little opportunity to make any
study of them. I believe that both jealousy and shame are
built in.

Other forms of emotional behavior, popularly known as sor-
row, grief, resentment, anger, reverence, awe, justice, mercy,
seem to the behaviorist to be quite simple. He believes them
to be vast super-structures built upon the very simple types
of unlearned behavior that we have already abundantly dis-
cussed.

Jealousy and shame, however, require considerable further
study. So far I have not had opportunity to observe the first

CHANGE IN OUR EMOTIONAL EQUIPMENT 75

appearance of shame and its genetic growth. I am inclined
to think that shame is in some way connected with the first
overt masturbation that involves the orgasm. The stimulus
is the manipulation of the sex organs, the final responses are
heightened blood pressure, superficial dilatation of the capilla-
ries of the skin known as flushing, among many others. Almost
from infancy the child is taught not to masturbate or is pun-
ished if it masturbates. Consequently any situation, verbal or
otherwise, connected with the touching of the sex organs or
reference to the sex organs may condition the blushing and
bowing of the head which nearly always takes place in masturb-
ation. This, however, is purely speculative and I must lay
it aside here for future observation.

I have recently made some observations and experiments
upon jealousy.

Jealousy: Ask any group of individuals what they mean
by jealousy what the stimulus is that produces it, what the
pattern of the response is, and you only get the vaguest, most
unserviceable kind of replies. Ask these same individuals
what the unlearned (unconditioned) stimulus is that calls out
the response; ask them what the unlearned (unconditioned)
response pattern is? To both questions you get unscientific
answers. Most individuals say, "Oh, jealousy is a pure in-
stinct." If we diagram thus

S R

we have to put a question mark under both stimulus and
response.

And yet jealousy is one of the most powerful factors in the
organization of present day individuals. It is recognized by
the courts as one of the strongest of "motives" leading to action.
Robberies and murders are committed because of it; careers
are both made and unmade because of it; marital quarrels,
separations and divorces are probably more frequently to be
traced to it than to any other single cause. Its almost universal
permeation through the whole action stream of all individuals
has lead to the view that it is an inborn instinct. And yet the
moment you begin to observe people and try to determine
what kinds of situations call out jealous behavior and what the
details of that behavior are, you see that the situations are
highly complex (social) and that the reactions are all highly

76 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

organized (learned). This in itself should make us doubt its
hereditary origin. Let us watch people for awhile to see if
their behavior will not throw light upon the situations and the
responses.

What Situations Call Out Jealous Behavior?

In the first place, as we have said, the situation is always
a social one it involves people. What people? Always the
person who calls out our conditioned love responses. This may
be the mother, father, or brother, sister or sweetheart, wife
or husband, etc. The person may be of the same or the opposite
sex. The wife-husband situation is second only to the sweet-
heart one for calling out violent responses. This brief examin-
ation helps us somewhat in our understanding of jealousy. The
situation is always a substitutive one, that is conditioned. It
involves the person calling out conditioned love responses. This
generalization, if true, takes it out of the class of inherited
forms of behavior at once.

What are the Responses?

The responses in adults are legion. I have taken notes on
a great many cases among both children and adults. To vary
our procedure let us take the responses of an adult first. Case
A. A is a "very jealous husband/' married two years to a
beautiful young woman only slightly younger. They go out
frequently on parties. If this wife (1) dances a little close
to her partner, (2) if she sits out a dance to talk to a man
and talks in a low tone to him, (3) if in a moment of gaiety
she kisses another man in the open light of the room before
everyone, (4) if she goes out even with other women to lunch
or tea or to shop, (5) if she invites her own group of friends
for a party at home then jealous behavior is exhibited. Such
stimuli bring out the responses (1) refusal to talk or dance
with his wife, (2) increased tension of all his muscles, mouth
shuts tightly, eyes seem to grow smaller, jaw "hardens." He
next withdraws himself from other people in the room. His
face becomes flushed, then black. This behavior may and
usually does persist for days after the affair is started. He
will talk to no one about the affair. Meditation is impossible,
The jealous state seems to have tun itself down or out. The
wife herself by no amount of assurance of love, of innocence,
by no system of apology or obeisance can do anything towards
hastening recovery. Yet his wife is devoted to him and has
never been even in the slightest measure unfaithful, as he him-

CHANGE IN OUR EMOTIONAL EQUIPMENT 77

self admits verbally when not in the jealous state. In a per-
son less well bred, less well schooled, it is easy to see that
his behavior might become overt he might blacken his wife's
eye or if there were a real male aggressor, might attack or
murder him.

Take the child's jealous behavior next. The first sign of
jealousy was noted in child B at about two years of age. It
shows whenever the mother embraces the father, clings to
him, kisses him. At two and one-half years of age this child
who had never been made the "scapegoat," who had always
been allowed to be present and even welcomed into the family
love-making, begins to attack the father whenever the mother
embraces the father. He (1) pulls at his coat, (2) cries out
"my mamma/' (3) pushes his father away and crowds in be-
tween them. If the kissing continues, the child's reaction state
becomes very marked and intense. Always in the morning
Sundays especially, when he comes into the bedroom before
his parents are up he is taken up and welcomed and made
much of by both. And yet at two and three-fourths years of
age he would say to his father, "you going to office, dada?"
or else give the direct command, "y u go to office, dada," At
three years of age this boy was sent with his infant brother to
his grandmother's, in charge of a nurse. He was separated
from his mother for one month. During this time his strong
attachment for his mother weakened. When the parents
visited the child (then thirty-seven months of age) no jealous
behavior was exhibited when they made love in front of him.
When the parents clung together for a considerable time, to
see if jealous behavior would finally occur, he merely ran up
and hugged first one and then the other. This test was re-
peated for four days with the same results.

The father then seeing that the old situation failed to call
it out, tried next attacking the mother, striking her on the body
and head and shaking her from side to side. She on her part
simulated crying, but fought back. The youngster stood this
for a few minutes, then started in for his father tooth and
nail and would not let up until the fight was over. He cried,
kicked, tugged at his father's leg and struck with his hand.

Next the father 'remained passive while the mother attacked
him. She inadvertently punched below the belt, causing the
father to double up in no simulated way. Nevertheless, the
youngster started his attack on his father again and continued
it even after he was hors de combat. By this time the young-

78 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

ster was genuinely disturbed and the experiment had to be
discontinued. The next day, however, no jealous behavior
was exhibited when mother and father embraced.

How Early Does this Form of Jealousy against one or
the other Parent Occur?

To further test the genesis of this type of jealous behavior,
a test was made upon an eleven months old infant boy. This
infant was well nourished and wholly without conditioned
fears, yet there was a strong attachment for the mother, but
none for the father who often spanked his hand when he
attempted to suck his thumb and otherwise broke in upon his
quiet by trying various types of experiments. At eleven
months he could crawl quickly and for considerable distances*

When father and mother violently embraced, the youngster
could not be made to keep his eyes on his parents. Love
making between them was nothing in his young life. This
was tested again and again. There was no tendency to crawl
towards them, much less to crawl in between them. Jealousy
was absent.

Next the father and mother attacked one another. The
floor was carpeted and the noise of the blows and the low
whimper of the mother (or the father in turn) was not very
loud. The fight immediately stopped his crawling about,
brought prolonged fixation always of the mother and never
of the father. As it continued, he whimpered and cried out
aloud several times but made no effort to enter the fight on
either side. The noises, shaking of the floor, and the sight
of the parents' faces which offered the same visual stimulus
to him when he himself got slapped and was made to cry,
were sufficiently complex stimuli to call out the observed be-
havior. His behavior was of the fear type partly visually
conditioned. There was apparently no jealousy behavior in
this infant, either when its parents made love or when either
parent attacked the other. Eleven months seems to be too
tender an age for jealousy to appear.

Does Jealousy Appear Suddenly when an Only Child
Has to Face His Infant Brother?

Many Freudians insist that the beginning of jealousy be-
havior very often dates back in the life of the child to the
appearance of a brother or a sister. They claim that it starts
practically full-blown even though the child in question is a

CHANGE IN OUR EMOTIONAL EQUIPMENT 79

year or less than a year of age. And yet, so far as I know,
no Freudian has ever attempted to put his theories to practical
experimental test.

During my own observations on the origin of jealousy, I
have had one favorable opportunity to observe the behavior
of an only child when he received his newborn brother. B,
whose jealous behavior directed against his father I have
just told you about, was two and one-fourth years of age when
the event occurred. He had formed a very strong attach-
ment to his mother and to his own regular nurse. He had
no organized reactions toward any youngster under a year of
age. The mother had been absent in the hospital for two
weeks. B was taken care of by his regular nurse during these
two weeks. The day the mother returned, his own nurse
Icept B busy in his room playing until the conditions for the
test were all set. The test was made at noon in a well-
lighted sitting room. The mother was sitting nursing the
baby, with her breast exposed. B had not seen the mother
during the two weeks. In addition to the mother with her
infant, there were present a trained nurse new to B, a grand-
mother, and the father. B was allowed to walk down the
steps alone and into the room. Everyone had been instructed
to remain absolutely quiet and to make the situation as nat-
ural as possible. B walked into the room and up to his mother,
leaned on her knee and said, "How do, Mama." He did
not attempt to kiss her or hug her. He did not notice the
breast, or the baby for thirty seconds. Then he saw the baby.
He said, "Little baby." Then he took the baby's hands and
gently patted them, rubbed its head and its face and began to
say, "That baby, that baby." Then he kissed it without any
prompting. He was very gentle and tender in all of his re-
sponses. The trained nurse, who was unknown to him, took
up the new baby. He reacted against this, at least verbally,
saying, "Mama take baby." Thus the baby was reacted to
really as a part of the mother situation and the first element
of jealousy response was directed against the person who took
something away from his mother (hampered his mother's
movements). Surely this was as typically an un-Freudian
reaction as could be imagined. This was the first sign of a
jealousy response. But the response was positive for the in-
fant and not against it notwithstanding the fact that the
brother was usurping his place on his mother's lap.

Then the new baby was taken by its nurse to its room and

80 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

put to bed. B tagged along, top. When he came back, the
father said, "How do you like Jimmie?" And he said, "Like
Jimmie Jimmie sleeping." He did not notice at any time
the exposed breast of the mother and really paid very little
attention to the mother except when the nurse tried to take
the baby away. During the whole setting, he reacted posi-
tively to the baby for only two minutes and then turned to
other things.

The following day, B had to give up his own room which
contained most of his toys, books, and the like, in preparation
for the new baby. He was told that Jimmie had to have his
room for a while. This situation called out only the most
eager positive response in helping to push and pull all of his
own furniture to the new room. He slept in the new room
that night and every night until the trained nurse left. There
was never the slightest sign of resentment, jealousy, etc., in
his behavior directed against the new baby at any time.-

The behavior of these two children has been under constant
observation for one year now. Never has there been the
slightest sign of jealousy. The three-year-old today is just
as kind and considerate to the one-year-old infant as he was
on his first introduction. Not even when nurse, mother or
father takes the infant up and pets it is there any jealousy.
Once a new nurse almost succeeded in establishing it by at-
tempting to control the older child by saying: "You are a
naughty boy. Jimmie is a nice boy I love him." For just
a few days jealousy threatened, but the discharge of the nurse
saved the situation.

Although there is no attachment pronounced enough to cause
airy disturbance of his daily routine, if the younger child is
not around, the older youngster takes the part of the one-
year-old if mother or father attempts to chastise the young-
ster by spanking its hand. The moment the younger infant
cries, the three-year-old will actually attack either one or both
parents, saying "Jimmie good boy; you mustn't make Jimmie
cry."

Can We Draw Any Conclusions About Jealousy f
So far our experiments on jealousy are merely preliminary.
If any generalization at all can be made, it would seem to
take the following form : Jealousy is a bit of behavior whose
stimulus is a (conditioned) love stimulus the response to
which is rage but a pattern of rage containing possibly the
original visceral components but in addition parts of many

CHANGE IN OUR EMOTIONAL EQUIPMENT 81

habit patterns, (fighting, boxing, shooting, talking, etc.). We
may use this diagram to hold our facts together:

(C) S (U&C) R

Sight (or sound) of loved Stiffening of whole body,
object being tampered or in- clenching of hands, reddening
terfered with. and then blackening of face

pronounced breathing, fighting,
verbal recrimination, etc.

Naturally this is reduced to the barest schematism. The re-
sponse may take many forms and the stimulus may consist of
far more subtle factors than I have noted here, but I believe
we are on the right track in trying to formulate jealousy in
these terms.

May I say in conclusion that the behaviorist in spite of his
seeming dogmatism would like to inject a word of caution
about his own views? All of his conclusions on the origin
and growth of emotional life are based now upon too few
cases and too few experiments. This will be remedied in the
near future. More and more students are at work upon
emotional behavior using behavioristic methods. No sane
person can ever again use the old introspective method with
which James and his immediate followers came so near wreck-
ing this most thrilling part of psychology.

WALTKR S. HUNTKK

CHAPTER IV

PSYCHOLOGY AND ANTHROPONOMY*

BY WALTER S. HUNTER c -

Psychology for many years has been a discipline to intrigue
the layman's fancy. It has stood for the scientist's attack upon
the most subtle and experiment-defying portion of the uni-
verse, the mind. As the psychologist has extended his methods
of study from sensation to memory and finally to the com-
plex processes of thought, he has applauded his own progress
so vigorously that he has almost converted his scientific col-
leagues to the belief that psychology knows what it is about.
And yet dogging the heels of this successful science, there has
always been an irritable congeries of dissenters, philosophers
who have never thought highly of a scientific analysis of the
conscious aspect of the universe, spiritualists, psychic research-
ers, and Freudians, who object to the petty laboratory problems
in terms of which the psychologist outlines his field and who
resent deeply and religiously the tendency in psychology to
eliminate the purposeful activity of mind. Into this field of
dispute, where the mind-body problem casts its shadow over
the formulation of points of view and the interpretation of
experimental findings, and where scientific psychology con-
cerns itself with the analysis of experience into elements and
attributes, a new and refreshing influence has come. This in-
fluence is that of behaviorism or, as I prefer to say, the in-
fluence of anthroponomy. I use the term anthroponomy for
the science of human behavior, and the term anthroponomist
I shall use as synonymous with behaviorist. These terms are
new and therefore distracting, and yet they have the great
merit of reminding us constantly that- our problem is the study
of man. The term behavior is too general to indicate precisely
our field of investigation, and the term behaviorism suffers
as a designation for a total science exactly because it is an
"ism." The more detailed meaning of our new term will ap-
pear as our discussion proceeds.

It will be my purpose in this lecture to compare for you
the respective merits of psychology and anthroponomy, to show
you certain aspects of the two modes of attack upon the prob-
lem of human nature, and thereby to formulate for you specif-

*Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University, March
11, 1926.

84 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

ically the anthroponomist's attitude toward certain of the per-
sistent problems of psychology. This endeavor we shall prose-
cute upon a theoretical rather than upon an experimental level
for the problems which concern us bear more upon the funda-
mental issues of the science than upon matters of fact which
are only to be settled by observation and experiment. A cer-
tain amount of confusion has already been introduced into the
discussions conducted by the psychologists and the behaviorists
by the failure to keep disputes over problems of fact out of the
consideration of the respective theoretical points of view. Thus
Watson has denied the existence of centrally aroused neural
processes to the great dismay of the students of immediate
experience. And these latter have seized upon Watson's de-
nial of instincts and individual differences as particularly
atrocious bits of evidence showing the untenability of the be-
haviorist's position. These problems are only to be settled by
observation and experiment and are quite irrelevant to the
fundamental differences between the students of immediate
experience and the anthroponomists. It is my desire, as we
proceed, to place a few of the fundamental principles of an-
throponomy before you in such a manner that you may be
able to discriminate between the fundamental and the inci-
dental issues in the controversy which at the present time
seems to dominate the study of human nature.

There are two methods of approach to the study of human
nature. One is the indirect, or psychological method, and the
other is the direct, or anthroponomical, method. The psycholo-
gist believes that human nature can best be understood by
studying not the human animal itself but by studying the en-
vironment in which this organism moves. To study the organ-
ism would be to encroach upon the field of his fellow scientist,
the biologist, unless the human organism were studied as an
object in the environment of still another human organism.
The environment, studied by the psychologist, lies not only
without the animal but also within it. The psychologist's task
is complete when he has, first, exhaustively described the total
environing situation with reference to its least discriminable
aspects, when he has, second, synthesized these aspects into
such complex processes as trees, melodies, food-tastes, tickle,
itch, and heat in the stomach, which seem to the layman to be
the essential components of the environment which he calls
Nature, and when he has, third, subsumed these complex pro-
cesses under his fundamental categories of sensation, percep-
tion, attention, imagination, memory, thinking, and will. The

PSYCHOLOGY AND ANTHROPONOMY 85

anthroponomist has a different method. He sees man working
in the fields, bathing in the surf, and pursuing his intricate
way in the great cities of Earth. "How wonderful is my
opportunity," say the anthroponomist, "to investigate this com-
plex organism and to add, to the knowledge which the biologist
and the sociologist have, further definite information concern-
ing those very fundamental and characteristic aspects of human
nature, mz v language behavior (whether verbal or non-verbal),
learning, and inter-stimulation and response. Theoretically I
am willing to admit the possibility of understanding human
nature by the indirect method of studying not man but the
environment, because obviously man is the kind of a creature
that can live in this earthly environment, and he must, there-
fore, possess certain sensory, neural, and muscular equipment
correlated with environmental conditions. My method of pro-
cedure, however, will be to describe and analyse man's organic
behavior itself with only such references to the environment
as shall be necessary for this purpose. I am not like my
fellow scientist, the psychologist, who would understand man
by cataloging all of the discriminable colors, tones, pressures,
feelings, Gestalten, etc., in the universe. When I study human
nature, I do so directly by observing man's changing behavior."'
In order to carry forward systematically the comparison of
these two sciences, psychology and anthroponomy, it is neces-
sary to single out certain important problems as the chief foci,
of interest. These problems are as follows :

(1) What is the subject matter and goal of the science?'

(2) What are the chief methods employed?

(3) What are the results, or products, of the science?
Let us begin with the problem of the subject matter and

goal of the two sciences under consideration. Both psychology
and anthroponomy take as their goal the understanding of some
aspect of the human individual, leaving other aspects or por-
tions to such sciences as anatomy, physiology, and bio-chem-
istry. The aspect of man which the psychologist studies is.
that which is termed mental, or psychical, or experiential. Thus
Bentley 1 says that psychology "seeks to describe and to under-
stand experience and the activities of the total organism in
which experience plays an essential part." And again he says 2 '
with reference to psychosomatic functions, "Always mental
resources and always bodily resources of the organism are

a Bentley, Madison. The field of psychology. New York, 1924, p. 15..
Ibid, p. 19.

86 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

called into use for carrying out these functional performances.
That is why the psychologist calls them 'psychosomatic' func-
tions, thus distinguishing them from the purely bodily or 'so-
matic' functions, such as the growth of bone and the operations
of enzymes and ferments/' You cannot, of course, fail to see
the implication in this latter statement that the somatic pro-
cesses which have no accompanying psychic aspect lie beyond
the domain of the psychologist.

If we now ask what experience is, and experience is environ-
ment, we are confronted by the psychologist's distinction be-
tween an experience and a physical object or between the sci-
ence of psychology and the science of physics. This distinction
is stated by Wundt, Titchener and Bentley, as that between an
object which exists independently of human experience and an
object which exists only as experienced. Let us again consult
Bentley on this point. "The objects and events of physics
and of the rest are regarded as if they outlasted the exper-
iencing of them and continued as independent of the act of
apprehension . . . Animals, the earth's strata, the ocean's sub-
stance, the planet's course, and the electron's oscillations
are one and all regarded as if ordered, arranged,
and preserved in existence wholly apart ' from the
experiencing organism which discerns them. But what
shall we say of the objects and the operations of the psy-
chologist? We shall say of these that they are only when they
are-in-experience." 3 In psychology, "When we proceed to the
examination of our tones and noises, .... ; of our lights,
colors, colds, warmths, sweets, sours, and the like, we must
take care that we do not slip from experiencing to the things
experienced, to noisy cities, to tuneful voices, to sunlight and
shadows, to the chill of the night, the warmth of the noon,
and so on to the other independent objects!'*" ....when I
say that I listened last night to an orchestra composed of
violins, 'cellos, double basses, wood-winds, brasses, and the
rest, it is obvious that I am attempting a rough analytic de-
scription of the orchestra and not of anything connected with
my organism. It scarcely seems possible that such things as
books and violins should be mistaken for the furnishings of
the mind ; but this is precisely the first error that the beginner
drops into in his quest for component qualities." 5

Ibid, pp. 31-2.
*Ibid, p. 35.
Ibid, p. 36.

PSYCHOLOGY AND ANTHROPONOMY 87

Let me give one more quotation from Bentley with reference
to "images" and to "sensations" from within the organism:
" .... a moment's reflection will make it obvious to the reader
that 'myself imagined as walking' or 'myself remembered as
walking' is just as much an object of the physical order as
'myself now perceived as walking'. . . . We all do say in the
vernacular that an object which we remember or think about
is only a 'mental object' ; but there we only mean that the ob-
ject is not at the moment present to the senses. It is no more
'mental' than the book now in your hand is 'mental/ " 6 "Many
persons think that, when they announce such an interesting fact
as palpitation and trembling in sudden fear or the dryness of
the throat in continued thirst, they have observed and reported
psychologically. They are mistaken. This is one of the nine
hundred and ninety-nine wrong ways, of analysis! .... But
although they may come to be known through processes of
experience (a group of pressures of alternating intensities, in
the one case ; a complex of warmth and dull massive pressure,
in the other), the palpitation and the dryness are no more
mental than the heart and the throat themselves are mental." 7

I have quoted thus at length from one of the leading students
of experience with much malice aforethought. I have pre-
sented these quotations in order that you might have an ex-
perientialist's own statement of the subject matter of his sci-
ence before I proceeded to comment upon it. I think that one
great reason for the continued, although apparently waning,
popularity of psychology, lies in the belief that psychologists
are conducting Cook's tours of experience. On these tours
the traveler expects to see all things that the eyes can see, hear
all that ears can hear, meet all memories, emotions, visceral
strains, and other events that are found in the psychic world.
This belief is not limited to the layman. It is also shared by
many psychologists (those who believe that emotion, hunger,
and pain in the leg are mental phenomena) to say nothing of
the Gestalt psychologists who think that the patterns of figure
and ground are matters of experience. But it does not de-
volve upon my shoulders to resolve these controversies among
the psychologists ! It is my responsibility rather to make clear
the anthroponomist's position on this question of what is to
be done with the "physical" environment as described by Bent-
ley. Perhaps no other single question has so puzzled those

*, p. 38.
*, p. 38-9.

88 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

who have sought to understand or to criticize the behavioristic
positions. However, I must not pass on to this phase of the
exposition of behaviorism until I am more certain that you
have understood the points involved in my quotations from
Bentley.

Psychologists may be divided roughly into two camps on the
basis of their treatment of meaning. One camp, represented
by the Wundtian tradition, excludes meaning from observable
mental phenomena. The other camp, represented by such di-
verse tendencies as are present in the image-less thought psy-
chologists, the functionalists, the purposivists, and the Gestalt
psychologists, includes meaning. The result is that the Wundt-
ians, speaking through Bentley, would say that the meaning-
users are describing physical objects ; and the meaning-users re-
tort that the Wundtians are dealing with non-existent artifacts.
As for me, I almost agree with both schools ! I think nothing
could be more barren than the Wundt-Titchener-Bentley psy-
chology. It does not describe concrete things seen, heard, or
felt as these exist in the inner, i.e., the sub-cutaneous, environ-
ment. Nor does it give us a description of something mental
which actually exists. And, if I agree that the Wundtian psy-
chology is barren, I also agree that the other psychologists are
not describing conscious processes, experience, when they des-
cribe books, pains, hungers, tastes, colors, and melodies. Per-
haps these phenomena are more properly labeled physical, but in
any case they are the constituents of the inner and outer envir-
onments as viewed by common-sense. Both groups of psycholo-
gists are seeking to understand a phase of human nature by the
indirect route of environment. Bentley and the other Wundt-
ians abstract qualities, intensities, durations, and clearnesses
(sometimes adding other attributes, sometimes dropping one
or more) from the environment and call the material selected
experience. The users of meaning take concrete objects from
the environment and call these experience. If this is the path
followed by the psychologists in attempting to throw light upon
the nature of man, what is to be said of that followed by the
students of behavior, the anthroponomists ?

The anthroppnomist does not deny the existence of the com-
mon-sense environment. He refuses, however, to be diverted
from the direct study of man into the recording of environ-
mental peculiarities. If you were to ask an anthroponomist to
describe a certain room in the Clark laboratory, he would re-
spond as follows: "The walls of the room are pale blue, the

PSYCHOLOGY AND ANTHROPONOMY 89

ceiling is white, and the floors are brown. A large grey-toned
rug is upon the floor. The furniture is of a golden color ; it is
heavy and hard. Upon entering this room in the morning, a
stale odor is easily detected, and one is at times disgusted by
this odor." It must not be assumed that I am the only student
of behavior who would admit the existence of such an internal
and external environment as I have just described.
Would anyone venture to suggest that Weiss would
deny hearing the tuning forks with which he has
worked, or that Lashley would refuse to say that he had
seen and touched the brains of white rats? If you will turn
to an article written by Carr 8 in 1912, you will find that Wat-
son is definitely on record as having seen environmental objects
of the after-image type. Let me quote some extracts from
Carr's account: "After serving as a subject in a test involving
considerable eye fatigue, Professor Watson was engaged in
carefully and steadily observing one of the writer's eyes
throughout several periods of five to six minutes duration each.
The room was pitch dark with the exception that the observed
eye was illumined by a minature electric flashlight ....

"After one of these observations, the flashlight was turned
off for a period of rest Shortly afterwards there developed
in the darkness an extremely vivid and realistic positive after-
image of the eye .... All of the minor details of coloring
and marking came out distinctly .... Just before the lights
were turned on an added tinge of reality was produced" when
the phantom eye actually winked.

"Professor Watson has had considerable practice in the ob-
servation of after-images and is, apparently, more than ordin-
arily sensitive to the phenomenon."

If these statements are not sufficient for you, a brief in-
spection of the writings of any behavorist will convince you
that he is neither blind, deaf, anosmic, ageusic, or anaesthetic.
He lives, and admits quite frankly that he lives, in the same
world of objects and events which the psychologist and the
layman alike acknowledge. Let us, therefore, hear no more
from the psychologist that his opponent denies the existence
of these things.

One of the objects in the environment which the anthropono-
mist sees, hears, feels, and smells is called homo sapiens, man.
The various members of this species differ in height, weight,
color, cleanliness, race, religion, etc., etc., just as rocks differ

8 Carr, H. A. Some novel experiences. Psych. Rev., 1912, 19, 60S1.

90 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

in size, weight, density, chemical constitution, age, location,
commercial value, etc. The anthroponomist takes man as his
experimental material just as the other scientists select other
objects in the environment for their experimental material.
Now neither the anthroponomist, the psychologist, the chemist,
the physicist, nor the biologist can tell you what a man or a
rock is, for like all events in the world each is in some way
unique. Various hypotheses have been proposed, but it is
too early to separate those which are susceptible to scientific
verification from those which are not. Bentley says that the
rocks and the men which I see are physical objects. The
meaning-users say these objects are experiences and therefore
mental. But neither of the terms is really an answer to the
question. They are merely names used in order to include
or exclude certain phenomena from the science. You must
never^ forget that, when the psychologists accuse the behavior-
ists of denying the existence of a part of the world, the psy-
chologists ignore certain facts: (1) that the behaviorist only
denies that any one has shown the psychic, mental, character
of the environment; and (2) that the behaviorist himself has
offered at least three hypotheses concerning the nature of this
environment. These three hypotheses are as follows: First,
the electron-proton hypothesis of Weiss. 9 Weiss accepts and
note that Bentley must follow, too, if he is logical the most
recent advances in physics and chemistry which go to show
that objects in our environment are electron-proton aggrega-
tions. Stones, tables, books, storms, silver, and gold are ulti-
mately electric charges. And so likewise is the human animal
and the aggregations of human animals which make up so-
ciety. If the phenomenon of a storage battery is a matter
of electrons and protons, so is the phenomenon of family life
unless the physicists are all wrong, or unless there is something
in family life which is not an object in the external or in-
ternal environment. Personally, I think that Weiss is un-
doubtedly correct. I see no immediate way or need, however,
to apply this principle to change our experimentation* All
of our anthroponomical experimentation is in harmony with
this theory. This, furthermore, is exactly the case in physics.
Many problems in that science are attacked and solved with-
out involving in any specific way the electron-proton conception
of the nature of the universe. Even in physics it is still per-

p Weiss, A. P. A theoretical basis of human behavior. Columbus,
Ohio, 1925.

PSYCHOLOGY AND ANTHROPONOMY 91

missible to speak of steel and carbon and to make studies upon
these substances without directly involving the question of the
nature of the atom. The psychologist should, therefore, not
reproach Weiss if the latter continues speaking of bio-social
responses instead of attempting to state the molecular activities
which make up these responses.

The second hypothesis concerning the nature of the environ-
ment is that of Lashley. 10 Lashley speaks of the environment
as consciousness, conscious content, or quality, following an
old tradition of the psychologist, and consciousness for him is
"a complex integration and succession of bodily activities which
are closely related to or involve the verbal and gestural me-
chanisms and hence most frequently come to social expression."
Lashley also stresses the ultimate physico-chemical nature of
these bodily integrations.

The third hypothesis concerning the nature of environmental
objects is my own. 11 In a series of articles, I have recently
elaborated the hypothesis that red, sweet, salt, emotion, books,
trees, and storms are all cases of a particular stimulus-response
relationship. This particular bit of behavior is the irreversible
SP-LR relationship. (The letters stand for sensory process
and language response.) The present lecture is hardly the
place to offer you a resume of these papers. It will perhaps
be worth our while, however, to give a brief explanation of
the hypothesis inasmuch as it bears specifically upon our present
problem, the subject matter of the science of psychology and
anthroponomy, as well as upon the problem of the nature of
the methods used in these disciplines.

Let us apply our hypothesis to the case where new environ-
mental objects make their appearance as this occurs when hith-
erto undifferentiated overtones of a clang are "reported" by
the subject. "The beginner in the psychology laboratory does
not hear these overtones, although physics can demonstrate
that correlated vibrations exist in the stimulus. The subject is
not 'conscious* of the tones, at least he makes no verbal re-
port of their presence and for scientific purposes he is said

"Lashley, K. S. The foehavioristic interpretation, of consciousness, I
and II. Psychol. Rev., 1925, 30, 237 and 329.
n Hunter, W. S. The problem of consciousness. Psychol. Rev.,
1924, 31, 1-31.

The symbolic process. Ibid, 1924, 31, 478-497.
The subject's report. Ibid, 1925, 32, 153-170.
General anthroponomy and its systematic prob-
lems. Amer. Jour. Psychol., 1925, 36, 286-302.

92 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

to be unaware of them. The experimenter now presents the
vibration frequency of the first overtone (SP) by itself. This
stimulus elicits response LR. SP is then presented as a part
of a complex stimulus in order to see whether or not the same
response, LR, will now appear. If it does not, the training is
continued. Just as soon as the verbal response, LR, is made to
the complex stimulus, just so soon does the subjectivist say
that the 'consciousness of the overtone' is present . . . Why
do we not say that LR is the subjectivisms 'consciousness 5 and
not merely a criterion of its presence? Because LR, if it is to
be rated as 'conscious/ must in its turn have a language re-
sponse conditioned to it and so be the beginning part of [an
SP-LR] situation. Only in the irreversible situation do we
have 'consciousness.' It now becomes a fertile field of ex-
perimentation to determine what stimulus aspects may be de-
terminers of language responses and not merely of non-lan-
guage responses. The irreversible relationships between these
stimulus aspects and the language responses will then be 'states
of consciousness/

"We have chosen the two cases of the lower limen of sensi-
tivity and the discrimination of component aspects of a com-
plex situation, as the most vital aspects of adult human nature
upon which to base our formulation, for a very definite reason.
If it were possible we should follow the truly genetic method
in the establishment of our thesis as well as in its application.
There are, however, no well established facts concerning the
'consciousness* of infants and children, so that we must of ne-
cessity test our conception upon adults. When, however, we
examine that situation at this age level, it is found that the
phenomenon termed 'consciousness/ although very generally
conceded to exist, is very complex and has a long history in
the individual's lifetime. We must therefore select for analy-
sis the most definite, least ambiguous, and most experimentally
inviting of the instances where 'consciousness' is extended or
where new 'consciousness* arises. Having arrived at our formu-
lation upon this basis, its adequacy and, therefore, its truth
can be tested by examining its harmony with certain accepted
data gathered from adults, children and infra-human animals
and by observing the extent and vitality of the experimental
implications of the conception.

"In the two fundamental cases of conscious limen with which
we have dealt, nothing has been found which does not come
under our formulation. These cases, while convincing, may

PSYCHOLOGY AND ANTKROPONOMY 93

nevertheless not be thought crucial. If so, then the critical
case for the formulation is the following : Can a receptor which
does not normally condition 'consciousness' be made to do so?
Stated from our point of view as a matter for scientific verifi-
cation: Can activity in a receptor which does not normally
condition a language response be made to do so by training?
To be sure we have almost shown that this is possible to a
limited degree, for the so-called subliminal receptor activities do
not normally condition language activities. Perhaps the really
crucial case comes with receptors all of whose activities psy-
chology now treats as permanently subliminal to 'consciousness/
Can the receptors in the viscera which do not condition 'sensa-
tion 3 be made to do so by training? Only positive results can
be crucial, for the everyday training of the subject may have
resulted in connecting with language responses all of the differ-
ent kinds of receptors which it is possible to connect. All that
training may be able to do may be of the order discussed above.
This, however, is a matter for experiment and not for theory
to decide. 12 - 13

Such are the anthroponomists' hypotheses concerning the
nature of environmental objects, hypotheses which are mutually
supporting and not antagonistic one to the other. Let us turn
now to a consideration of the subject matter of the science
as this problem concerns the classification of the sciences of
psychology and anthroponomy, on the one hand, and the sci-
ences of physics, chemistry, mathematics, and biology, on the
other hand.

I have said that the environmental object, selected for study
by the anthroponomist, is man. And yet the anthroponomist
does not attempt to study all phases of man. Anthroponomy is
the science of the behavior of the human organism as a whole.
The problems of this science necessarily cover a wide range.

"Psychol. Rev., 1924, 31, pp. 15-17.

"Watson misinterprets this hypothesis when he says in "Behavior-
ism," Peoples Institute Publishing Co., 1925, p. Ill, "Professor Wai-
ter S. Hunter in his superhuman efforts to straddle the gulf that
divides behaviorism from introspectionism uses the verb 'to be' in a
.... mystical way when he says certain types of bodily response
ARE consciousness." The hypothesis which I have sketched seeks
to state the nature of the observable fact which the psychologists
have called consciousness. This is no more mystical than saying
that the voice of God as heard in the thunder storm is merely a
series of air-waves produced by the sudden coming together of
great masses of air. Nor is it more mystical than Watson's own
identification of emotion with pattern reactions which terminate
within the body.

94 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

Some are shared with the related sciences of sociology, physi-
ology, neurology, physics, chemistry and mathematics, while
other problems are studied little if at all outside of anthropon-
omy. These latter problems concern the characteristics which
most specifically define human nature, vis., the learning and
use of new forms of response, language behavior, and social
behavior, which latter we call the behavior of inter-stimulation
and response. Anthroponomy thus takes its place among the
sciences which study specific objects in the environment. Here
also belong such disciplines as botany which studies plants,
geology which specializes upon the inorganic structure of the
earth, and physiology, where the functional activities of the
various structures of the body become the subject matter for
investigation. In contrast to this group of sciences, which is
characterized by the study of specific environmental objects,
stands the group specializing upon those fundamental and gen-
eral characteristics which are thought to be essential to all
environmental objects. Here belong at present only mathe-
matics, physics, and chemistry. Chemistry and physics analyze,
synthesize, weigh, and measure men, rats, rocks, gases, light,
and other objects in search of the fundamental general proper-
ties of nature. Mathematics seeks to write formulae for all
processes whether they occur in the rat or in light. Geology,
however, focuses its efforts upon the earth, and in attempting
to solve this problem, it draws upon any science that offers the
slightest help. Physics, chemistry, and mathematics are geolo-
gy's most useful assistants, because in solving general problems
of nature, they have incidentally solved many of the geologist's
own problems. The science of anthroponomy, we have said,
belongs in the group with geology, physiology, botany and
the other specific sciences. Man's learned behavior, his lan-
guage responses, and his social activities are events in nature,
in the environment, and as such they are partially illuminated
by the general laws of mathematics, physics, and chemistry*
This illumination, to be sure, is less than is desirable, but this
is true in the relation of each science of organic processes to
the group of general sciences.

I think we can now see the purport of those hypotheses con-
cerning the nature of the environment which the students of
human behavior have offered. Weiss's statement that such
objects as white rats, red cows, tones, pains, and marital be-
havior are electron-proton combinations is merely the recogni-
tion that, if the contemporary general sciences of mathematics,

PSYCHOLOGY AND ANTHROPONOMY 95

physics, and chemistry are correct, we may ultimately write the
results of anthroponomy in terms of mathematical formulas.
Lashley's hypothesis and my own deal less with the future and
more with the present. They, therefore, seek to state environ-
mental happenings in relation to man's action system when this
latter is viewed as another object in the common-sense envi-
ronment.

Let us now return to the subject of psychology and see ,
where its adherents would place it in relation to the other
sciences. Titchener says that psychology and physics deal with
the same world of experience, but from two very different
points of view. Psychology studies the world with man left
in it, i.e., it studies experience as dependent upon the nervous
system, whereas physics studies experience as though existing
independently of the nervous system. Psychology should, there-
fore, be classified with the general sciences as a discipline lay-
ing bare the general traits of mind, where mind is denned as
"the sum-total of human experience considered as dependent
upon a nervous system." 14 If we substitute the terms inner
and outer environment for experience, the statement then reads :
psychology studies the total environment viewed as existing
only at the moment when it affects the (human) nervous sys-
tem, whereas physics studies the total environment viewed as
existing beyond the moment when it affects the (human) nerv-
ous system. I have read statements of this point of view for
many years, and I will confess that for a goodly portion of
that time the statements seemed just and reasonable. I no
longer think so. The statements now seem vague and full of
doubtful implications even as a description of psychology. The
reasonable aspect of the statement seems to me to come from
the tacit recognition of the stimulus-response relationship
which exists between the total environment and the human
organism.

So far I have yet to see psychologists engaged in studying
thermometers, stones, water, oxygen, or the relation of accelera-
tion to time in a falling body. And on the other hand, I have
yet to read a physicist's account of the learning process.
"Ah, but/' you say, "there is no reason why the psychologist
may not study the one group of phenomena and the physicist
the other." And I answer: When the psychologists begin to
tudy the thermometers and other objects mentioned, except
as stimuli determining man's behavior, their days will be even
more definitely numbered than they are at present, for it will

"Titchener, E. B. Textbook of psychology. New York, 1910, p. 16.

96 PSYCHOLOGIES QF 1925

no longer be so easy to convince us that this is the way to
understand man. From the point of view which we are now
considering, if I put a thermometer into a vessel and observe
the consequent rise of the mercury, I am said to perform a
physical experiment. On the other hand, if I put a pneumo-
graph on a human subject and observe the changes in breath-
ing while the subject does silent arithmetic, the psychologist
claims the experiment. Why? Neither is a study of experience
viewed as dependent upon the human nervous system. So far
as the physicist is concerned, to revert to our above question,
of course he may study the learning process since his is a
general science of the fundamental laws of the environment,
but he can study the learning process only as dependent upon
the human nervous system because much of the learning pro-
cess occurs there. Not even the physicist can describe the
learning process as it might be independently of the "experi-
encing organism/' i. e., the organism reacting to stimuli. But
again you interrupt me to point out that the nervous system
to be considered from Titchener's standpoint is not the one in
which the learning-modifications occur, but the one possessed
by the observer who is making the study. Can not the physi-
cist, theoretically at least, be expected to describe the funda-
mental changes in the organism which are involved in learning
and would this description not be held valid even for an
isolated man on an island in the Pacific Ocean ? How happy I
am that you raised this question! Of course the physicist
may solve this problem, but Titchener cannot incorporate such
significant data into his science, whereas anthroponomy has a
place waiting for just such results. What Titchener means by
"dependent upon the nervous system" is something quite sub-
tle and not at all the crude fact that practically all relations
between man and his environment ("experience") are mediated
by a nervous system. This is where the concept of "con-
scious" processes slips into his psychology. "Experience
viewed as dependent upon a nervous system" means, in fact,
for him experience as observed and as conscious. As Titchen-
er says: "We assume that everybody knows, at first hand,,
what human experience is, and we then seek to mark off the
two aspects of this experience which are dealt with respectively
by physics and psychology. Any further definition of the sub-
ject-matter of psychology is impossible. Unless one knows,
by experience itself, what experience is, one can no more give
a meaning to the term 'mind' than a stone can give a meaning
to the term 'matter.' " 15

"Ibid, p. 9.

PSYCHOLOGY AND ANTHROPONOMY 97

Even anthroponomy might be defined as a study of the
environment with man left in, but we should want to place
the emphasis upon man and not upon the environment.
And we should not find it necessary to introduce any form of
the conscious. 16

We are thus brought back to the starting point of this lec-
ture. Psychology is an indirect method of studying man,
while anthroponomy is a direct method. The baffling ques-
tions concerning the nervous system which we have discussed
above belong, therefore, to psychology. They are not involved
in anthroponomy, for anthroponomy is a specific science of
man and not a general science of the mental aspect of a psy-
chophysical world or of psychosomatic processes.

Let us turn now to the second problem which we are to
consider: What are the chief methods employed by the two
sciences? Psychology has two methods uf gathering data.
One is individualistic, and the other is social. One is held to
be less, and the other more scientifically fruitful. The first,
or individualistic, method is utilized whenever one person un-
dertakes to observe experience and build a science upon these
observations. This method has given rise to the old arm-
chair variety of psychology, and yet the method has never been
repudiated as is evidenced by such a statement as this from
Calkins: "The method has obvious advantages. It makes no
especial conditions of time and place ; it requires no mechanical
adjunct; it demands no difficult search for suitable material;
at any moment, in all surroundings, with no external outfit,
one may study the rich material provided by every imaginable
experience. In an extreme sense, all is grist that comes
to the psychologist's mill/' 17 That the method has not
been repudiated is due to the fact that the data gath-
ered by it form the basis for the interpretation

of the results secured by the social method. Remember

_______ -___^_ ^

M The discussion of the subject matter of psychology has been,
based upon the views of the Wundtians because they have stated
their position on conscious processes, or experience, more clearly
and specifically than others. All psychologists study conscious pro-
cesses, but many of them mix the processes up with behavior in
such an inextricable way that their writings do not offer _ clear-
cut statements concerning experience. The fundamental criticisms
which we have directed against psychology are aimed at all psychol-
ogies, 'because all psychologies have in common the indirect method
of studying man however much they may differ in the extent to
which they also use behavioristic data.

"Calkins, M. W. A first book in psychology. New York, 1914, p. 7.

98 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

that the psychologist says : "We assume that everybody knows,
at first hand, what experience is .... Unless one knows

. . one can no more give meaning to the term 'mind* than a
stone can give meaning to the term 'matter/ "

The second, or social, method of psychology is utilized
wherever an experimenter utilizes subjects other than himself.
Let me illustrate this method in a simple way. First, I take
one blue paper disc and one black paper disc. These I mount
upon the spindle of a rotating wheel in the proportion of three
blue to one black. The wheel is set in rapid rotation, and my
subjects are called in one at a time. I point to the discs and
say, "What color quality is that?" Each subject responds in
turn. "A dark, poorly saturated blue." If I change the propor-
tion of blue and black, my subjects report differently. These are
the observable facts upon which both psychologists and anthro-
ponomists can agree, and yet notice how different are the
interpretations placed upon these facts. The anthroponomist
says in a very matter of fact way, "It looks as though the
behavior of your subjects was controlled by a change in the
visual stimulus, when your instructions remained constant.
This suggests to me that man reacts to blue light of various
intensities. It might now be well to state the visual stimulus in
physical terms of wave length and energy in order that we
may know more exactly just what the visual stimulus is and
thereby help some one else in his efforts to repeat our observa-
tion." The psychologist interprets the experiment as follows :
"Each subject has an immediate experience of color quality,
intensity, and saturation. This inference is justified because
we are all men and because I know that under the same con-
ditions I have these experiences and use the same words to
describe them. Let us by all means get the physical measure-
ments suggested in order that later observers may be certain
to get^this rare experience." This interpretation by the psy-
chologist makes us more certain than ever that the task which
he has undertaken is that of describing the total environment
as it appears to man and not that of describing some funda-
mental aspect of man himself. "But," you say, "if I know
the complete description of the, inner and outer environment
as experienced by each man, can I not draw important con-
clusions concerning man?" Oh, the sly psychologist! This
is another of the plausible arguments by which he seeks to
convert the unwary! How can he know the experience of
another subject? Philosophy, psychological definition, and

PSYCHOLOGY AND ANTHROPONOMY 99

poetry have dosed that door to us. Listen to the way in
which the poet formulates the situation:
"Yes: in the sea of life enisl'd,
With echoing straits between us thrown,
Dotting the shoreless watery wild,
We mortal millions live alone.

The islands feel the enclasping flow,
And then their endless bounds they know.
* * * *

"A God, a God their severance rul'd;
And bade betwixt their shores to be
The unplumb'd, salt, estranging sea."

And, then, if the psychologist wants to draw conclusions
concerning man, why does he not study man directly without
all this effort at reconstructing the environment as seen by
another? Perhaps at one time in my lecture you thought it
might be fascinating to go with a friend on a Cook's tour,
conducted by a psychologist, through the realm of experience,
there to try all things at least once and to learn how many
wonderful melodies could be played upon the human organism.
Alas, there is no chance, for you must see the world yourself.
The world as seen by others is closed to you!

The science of psychology is built upon inferences concern-
ing the environment. These inferences are drawn from the
observable facts gathered by the social method of that science.
Against this method, and, therefore, against this science, I
raise these objections: (1) An unnecessary and an impossible
task is undertaken in attempting to reconstruct the environ-
ment as it appears to adult man, to children, and to animals.
(2) The genetic point of approach, which has already proved
valuable in understanding nature, requires that our investiga-
tion of man begin with the simpler stimulus-response prob-
lems and extend to the more complex ones later when we have
mastered our technique. (3) The psychologist limits himself
to observing the language responses of his subjects because
this behavior is bound up so closely with the discriminable
aspects of the environment. These language responses are
admittedly late in appearance in the animal world, and yet the
psychologist utilizes the language responses of adult members
of European cultures in his hypothetical reconstruction of the
environment not only of man but of all animals. By thus
Umiting himself to the language situation, the psychologist
omits much that is valuable in understanding both man and

100

PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

the environment. (4) The psychologist persistently violates
one of the great canons of science when he fails to harm'dnise
his problem to be investigated with the methods to be em-
ployed.

This last point I consider of the very greatest importance
for the revision of psychological science. I must, therefore,
comment upon it at some length. Let us revert, first, to the
experiment with the blue and the black discs. The psychologi-
cal problem is this: How does the experience of blueness
change with the alteration of the relative proportions of blue
and black on the color wheel? The experimental method in-
volves stimidating the subject auditorily with instructions and
visually with the colored discs. The subject's report is then
recorded as it is manifested in behavior. The psychologist
draws his conclusions in terms of experience, whereas I sub-
mit that the only conclusion justified is that the subject
behaves in a certain manner when stimulated in a certain way.

FIGURE 1

We may again illustrate the criticism by an experiment as
conducted by the Gestalt psychologists. The problem is how
does the subject see the lines of Figure L The method of
solving this apparently simple problem is as before. The sub-
ject is brought into the room. I stimulate his eyes with the
lines of Figure 1 and give him auditory instructions. As a
result the subject says, "I see four groups of two lines each.
At one moment the line on the right stands alone, and at
another moment the line on the left is without a partner."
The Gestalt psychologist now concludes that the subject has

PSYCHOLOGY AND ANTHROPONOMY 101

an experience of groups, or of figure and ground. The be-
haviorist would say that, when stimulated in this manner, the
subject responds in at least two different ways. In neither
of these experiments, however, would the behaviorist rest con-
tent with formulating his problem merely in such a manner
that the method available would bear upon the problem formu-
lated. In each case he would further insist upon checking
up his results using some other form of behavior than the
verbal response of the subject.

Suppose we turn now from the external to the internal en-
vironment. Let the psychologist again state his problem.
This time it will be as follows : What is the influence of the
simple affective processes upon the knee-jerk? 18 (Or the
problem might have been, how many affective quali-
ties are there? In this case, the method would differ from
what we are about to describe, but the same type of criticism
would be applicable.) The method selected involves the use
of an apparatus for eliciting the knee-jerk and of certain "in-
different, pleasant, and unpleasant" words. When the sub-
ject's eyes are stimulated by the words and when he is stimu-
lated auditorily in the proper way, he says, "Pleasant." We
now proceed to apply the visual stimuli simultaneously with the
tap on the patellar tendon. The results recorded indicate the
magnitude of the knee-jerk under the several conditions. The
psychologist thereupon concludes that pleasantness and un-
pleasantness did or did not affect the response in question.

Had a student of behavior used this method, the problem
would have been formulated directly in terms of the method,
as follows : What is the influence of visual word-stimuli upon
the patellar tendon reflex under such and such conditions?
The fundamental error in the psychologist's procedure is that
the problems formulated and the conclusions drawn can have
no real bearing upon the methods employed and the re-
sults secured, since the psychologist takes as his general prob-
lem the reconstruction of his subject's environment and not
the study of his behavior. When problems are formulated
in terms of available methods, the scientist is much less prone
to spend his energies in the fruitless effort to solve problems
which at the present moment lie far beyond the best available
technique. The student of behavior is not altogether guilt-
less here, for occasionally he also formulates problems which

"Btirtt, H. E. and Tuttle, W. W. The patellar tendon reflex and
affective tone. Amer. Jour. Psychol., 1925, 36, 553-561.

102 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

are quite unrelated to the methods employed in their solution.
The difference between such a mistake on the part of a be-
haviorist and a similar mistake made by a psychologist lies
in the fact that, by the definition of the subject matter and
goal of his science, the psychologist is forever committed to
this error, while in the case of the behaviorist only a momen-
tary lapse from rigid scientific method has occurred.

In the description and criticism of the psychologist's
methods, we have by implication given many of the character-
istics of the methods used by the anthroponomist. It is only
fitting and proper, however, that we should describe certain
characteristics of these methods more in detail. As in psycho-
logy, so in anthroponomy, chief reliance is placed upon the
social method as a method of gathering data. The anthropon-
omist will at times work upon himself as subject, but he ap-
preciates the great difficulty of controlling and checking many
factors which influence behavior where the subject and the
experimenter are one, and he absolutely refuses to use this in-
dividualistic method as the basis for interpreting the results of
his scientific labors. The methods of the anthroponomist al-
ways involve the presentation of stimuli and the consequent
arousal of behavior in the subject. Sometimes one stimulus
is emphasized in the experimental situation so that this stim-
ulus finally may be said to control the behavior. Sometimes
the subject is merely placed in a general environmental situa-
tion and his behavior observed. So far as is practical, the
specific stimuli which determine the behavior are recorded and
the experimenter notes what seem to him to be the important
aspects of the response. Where the conclusion is drawn that
the red stimulus, in a red-green discrimination experiment,
e. g., controls the behavior, there is no implication that the
red stimulus is effective by itself. Many other stimuli are co-
operating, particularly stimuli from the stomach of the hungry
subject and stimuli from the muscles and skin. The conclu-
sion, in reality, is that, under these experimental conditions
where the stimuli from the skin, muscles, viscera, ears, etc.,
are kept constant, the deciding factor in controlling the re-
sponse is the wave-length difference between the two visual
stimuli. To be sure there are configurations of stimuli at work
and the organism does act as a whole, but under the conditions
of the experiment described, the most significant conclusion
to be drawn refers to the stimulus which plays the deciding
role. Wherever it can be shown that the subject's behavior

PSYCHOLOGY AND ANTHROPONOMY 103

is controlled by a particular grouping of stimuli, that con-
clusion should be drawn. Any other use of the Gestalt con-
cept seems unnecessary.

This brief discussion of the stimulus-response nature of be-
havioristic experiments leads me to state three further points :
( 1 ) The psychologist conducts exactly similar experiments, but
he is so engrossed in his effort to reconstruct the subject's
environment and so hypnotized by the significance of lan-
guage behavior that he slurs over the essential character of
his observed facts in his desire to attain the goal which he
has set himself. If Burtt and Tuttle, for example, had real-
ized that, in dealing with their so-called affective processes,
they were dealing with a bit of behavior, the first step that
would have been taken would have been to assure themselves
that this particular bit of (visceral?) behavior was present.
Having shown its presence as a result of the word stimuli, they
could then have studied the f acilitory and inhibitory relations
between this behavior and the knee-jerk. (2) Some psycholo-
gists have said that the behaviorist, when he uses the stimulus-
response concept, ignores the contribution which the organism
makes to the nature of the behavior. This seems to me to be
a remarkably uncalled-for accusation. Has not the behavior-
ist always appealed to the results of heredity and previous
training as factors which cooperate with present stimuli in de-
termining behavior? Was there ever a behaviorist who ex-
plained maze behavior without calling upon the retained effects
of previous training for a part of his explanation, or a behav-
iorist who ignored childhood peculiarities in accounting for
adult behavior? (3) The third point concerns the psycholo-
gist's criticism of the behaviorist's use of the stimulus-response
category. By what right, so the criticism goes, does the an-
throponomist say, "I used a red light as the stimulus/' or "I
trained the subject using a cube and a sphere as stimuli." Since
the behaviorist accepts the theories of physics and chemistry as
adequate for the explanation of nature, it is said that all stim-
uli should be stated by him in terms of these sciences. This
criticism ignores the fact that the behaviorist, like the physi-
cist, accepts a common-sense view of the environment as the
milieu for his experimentation. This we have been at great
pains to point out earlier in the present lecture. The anthro-
ponomist has no more hesitancy in saying that he gave water
to his chicks in order to see whether they would drink than
a chemist has in saying that he has completed the analysis of

104 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

water into H 2 O. The chemist does not find it necessary to drop
the word water and substitute for it some electron-proton sub-
stitute. Wherever the situation demands that the wave lengths
of light, the vibration frequencies of sound, and the chemical
constituents of odorous substances be stated, the behaviorist
meets the demand, but not otherwise. As anthroponomy ad-
vances to ever more and more rigorous experimentation, it is
to be expected that such specifications of the stimuli and of
the organic conditions will occur more and more frequently.
Until that time, let us proceed in a matter of fact way, suit-
ing our specifications to the practical needs of the moment.

It would be a hopeless task to canvas in one lecture all of
the points at issue between psychology and anthroponomy.
We shall, therefore, limit ourselves in the remainder of our
discussion to a brief statement concerning the third problem
formulated above, "What are the results of the science?"
With reference to anthroponomy it only need be said that the
results secured bear directly upon the nature of the human in-
dividual as he is found working in the fields, bathing in the surf,
or pursuing his intricate way in the great cities of Earth. The
anthroponomist himself specializes more upon language be-
havior, learned responses, and the facts of inter-stimulation
and response than any other scientist, and in addition he co-
operates with others in the study of various additional aspects
of man in so far as these affect organic behavior. All of
these results are possible without omitting from the resulting
picture of human nature any observable and verifiable datum.
The anthroponomist even goes further and offers various hypo-
theses concerning the nature of the inner and outer environ-
ments as these are reported by his subjects. Nowhere is it
necessary to introduce the concept of consciousness, or ex-
perience, conceived as another mode of existence, or as an-
other aspect of the physical world.

The psychologist thinks that he secures two types of re-
sults, one he assumes concerns consciousness, or experience,
and the other we all agree is behavior. The behavioristic re-
sults of the Wundtians have been deplorably slight in amount
when one considers that most of their experiments have in-
volved stimulus-response situations in a subject other than
the experimenter. The adherents of biological functionalism
have been more fortunate in their results in spite of their theory
that mind is an instrument of adjustment in the struggle for
existence. This outcome of their work has been possible

PSYCHOLOGY AND ANTHROPONOMY 105

because their systematic point of view has encouraged the
direct study of man. It is only to be regretted that they have
mixed up experience and behavior so thoroughly that the con-
clusions which they have drawn from their experimental work
must in many cases be rejected, and in many cases the work
must be done over under the guidance of another systematic
point of view. No combination of "experience" and behav-
ior is necessary or possible in the accurate portrayal of human
nature. If we consider the results secured by the most con-
sistent and logical students of (so-called) consciousness, the
followers of the Wundtian tradition, we see that these results
consist of a vast array of least discriminable aspects of ex-
perience, blueness, tonality, contact, pain, sweet, noisiness, in-
tensity, clearness, duration, and others.

When we turn to the new school of Gestalt psychologists,
we find that experimental results are stated in terms of unique
configurations and not in terms of the abstract and highly arti-
ficial products of the Wundtian school. This is an advantage
to the extent that new aspects of the environment are discov-
ered, an advantage, i. e., if we think that the way to understand
man is through a study of the environment. As yet the Ge-
stalt movement has not worked far enough into the problems
of systematic psychology to reveal just how it will treat these
problems of general theory. The movement so far has been
limited largely to the field of "perception" and to an elabora-
tion of the concept of the organism as a whole. Sooner or
later, however, it must face the many other problems of clas-
sical psychology, as these appear in such questions as : the na-
tures and inter-relations of "perception," "imagination," "af-
fection," "attention," and "thinking." I can see no evidence
as yet which would lead me to believe that Gestalt psychology
as a science of "experience" will escape many of the cul-de-
sacs into which the psychology of discriminable aspects of
experience has fallen. After all, a Gestalt is merely another
unique but more complex aspect of the environment. And it
will be just as difficult for the adherents of that point of
view to classify and synthesize unique Gestalten as for their
opponents to synthesize unique elements or unique least dis-
criminable aspects of the universe.

It is sometimes said by Gestalt psychologists that the chief
result to be obtained by their method of approach to psychology
is an insight into the neural processes of man and that the
study of Gestalten is merely a means to this end. Kohler in

106 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

particular has emphasized this, and he has in addition sought
in a brilliant way to apply the principles of physics to the
problems of neural processes. There is much, therefore, in
Kohler's psychology which is in harmony with Loeb's tradi-
tion in biology and with Weiss's theories in anthroponomy.
And yet, in spite of this, I cannot react optimistically toward
such a program for two reasons: (1) Ever since the days of
Wundt's physiological psychology, the students of psychol-
ogy have sought neural correlates for complex as well as for
simple experiences with little or no success. On what grounds,
therefore, are we to expect better success from the attempt
when made by the Gestalt psychologists? To be sure they
will propose theoretical neural functions different from the
ones proposed by the Wundtians. So much is certain, be-
cause the Gestalt psychologists are seeking neural correlates
for Gestalten and not for the least discriminable aspects of
experience. (2) My second reason for pessimism with ref-
erence to the attempt to dissect neural functions by means of
environmental studies is the same as my reason for rejecting
a science which studies human nature by means of analyses
of the environment. Why all this indirectness? If one wishes
to study neural functions, why not study them directly ? Why
not begin where the physiologist has left off and carry on from
that point? The work of Franz, Lashley, and Coghili will
throw more light on neural functions than fifty years of spec-
ulation by the Gestalt psychologists added to the fifty past
years of Wundtian speculation, because Franz, Lashley, and
Coghili are attacking their problems directly and in the light of
the present -status of the sciences dealing with that problem.
// the Gestalt psychologists are able to formulate an hypothesis
which will be valuable in the understanding of neural function,
it will be a result of the stimulus-response data which they will
inevitably accumulate in their studies and not a result of the.
experiential hypothesis with which they, like the Wundtians,
burden their use of the social method of investigation.

We have at last reached the end of the task assigned to us.
So far as time has permitted, we have compared psychology
and anthroponomy with reference to subject matter, methods,
and results. The outcome, as I would have you see it, is that
anthroponomy stands out as a common-sense, direct attack
upon the problem of human nature, omitting no observable
and verifiable datum from the picture. Psychology, on the
other hand, is an indirect method of reaching the goal, an

PSYCHOLOGY AND ANTHROPONOMY 107

indirect method moreover which is inseparably bound up with
the ancient philosophical concepts of mind and consciousness
as aspects of the universe which differ from the physical.
With this my work is done. It remains for you and those who
follow to support the point of view which in your judgment
offers the better possibility of reaching that intriguing goal,
the understanding of human nature.

"Our past is clean forgot,
Our present is and is not,
Our future's a sealed seedplot,
And what betwixt them are we?
We who say as we go,

'Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,

That shall we know one day/ "

PART II

Dynamic Psychology

ROIJERT S, Woonwoimi

CHAPTER V

DYNAMIC PSYCHOLOGY*
BY ROBERT S. WOODWORTH

The combination of words, "Dynamic Psychology," has not
at present, and never has had, any great vogue. In compari-
son with the "rational psychology" and "empirical psychology"
of a century or two ago, with the "structural" and "function-
al" psychology of twenty years ago, or with the "introspective"
and "behavioristic" psychology, the "Gestalt" psychology or
the "psychoanalysis" of the present time, "dynamic psychol-
ogy" has an unfamiliar sound, and may well arouse the query,
"What new iconoclasm is emerging into view?"In reality, how-
ever, dynamic psychology is neither new nor revolutionary.
It is an attempt to lay stress on certain problems which psych-
ology has always regarded as belonging to it; or, in a more
ambitious sense, is an attempt to characterize psychology as
essentially a study in dynamics.

Of the few authors who. have employed the phrase, some
mean by "dynamic psychology" a part of the subject, while
others mean to imply that psychology, when properly con-
ceived, is- dynamic psychology. F. L. Wells has used the
phrase as a convenient caption to cover studies of emotions,
wishes, trends, conflicts and inhibitions. J. H. McCurdy has
done the same. T. V. Moore limits the scope of his extensive
and valuable treatment of "Dynamic Psychology" to the affec-
tive and conative sides of mental life.

On the other hand, C. L. Herrick, some twenty-five years
ago, urged that psychology might well make use of dynamic
concepts throughout its field of study. I myself, not many
years since, while seeking to envisage psychology as a unitary
enterprise, having a common aim in spite of great divergencies
in the definitions proposed and the methods advocated, was led
back to the now archaic phrase of the older psychologists,
the "workings of the mind." That was what they said they
proposed to study, and essentially the same, so it appears to
me, is the aim of modern psychologists of all schools. We
may dodge the futile questionings that attend the use of the
word, "mind," and substitute "organism" or "individual."

*Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University,
December 12, 1925.

112 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

Then, to dodge physiology as well, we may simply explain
that by organism we mean the organism as a whole, and per-
haps we have reached as adequate a definition of our science
as we can hope to attain for some time. At any rate, the
phrase, "dynamic psychology" carries this notion of "work-
ings/' and may serve as a reminder of the common aim of
all psychologists.

It is agreed on all sides that psychology studies processes..
What the behaviorist observes, and what the introspectionist
observes, both come down to process, sequence of events..
Structure we observe only in the figurative sense in which a
complex process may be said to have structure. We are con-
cerned with antecedents and consequents, cause and effect,
stimulus and response, the combination of factors and similar
dynamic relations.

Psychological dynamics is not limited to the study of feel-
ing, emotion, conation and muscular and glandular action. We
study also sensations as dependent upon their stimuli, we ana-
lyze out the various factors in the perception of depth or dis-
tance, we examine the process of learning, and formulate
laws of association or recall. The whole subject is permeated
with dynamics.

Perception is a chapter in psychology that is especially in?
need of dynamic concepts. A plurality of stimuli, as in a
chord or clang or in McDougall's dot figure, gives rise to a
unitary percept, such as recognition of the chord, hearing the
timbre of an instrument, seeing a definite figure in a scatter
of dots. Here is a real problem. How is the unitary percept
related to the plurality of tones or dots? The associationists
attempted a solution by introducing the concept of "simultan-
eous association." Originally, association meant successive
association, one idea calling up another, an antecedent event
arousing a consequent. Simultaneous association means noth-
ing more than that the elements are together. The dots are
together in the field of view, the tones of the chord are heard
together. Being together, they are said to be associated, and
that is all there is to it. The explanation breaks down in face
of the dot figure, since the assemblage of dots, when looked at
steadily, takes on different groupings, one after another. The
same is true of many other "ambiguous" figures. It is even
true of the clang or chord, which may be heard in different
ways, now centered about one of the constituent notes, now
about another. There is more than a mere togetherness of

DYNAMIC PSYCHOLOGY 113

the dots or notes ; there are groupings, and the same elements
appear now in one grouping, now in another. The qualitative
differences between the groupings are not accounted for by
simultaneous associations. In fact, "association* does no
more than call attention to the problem. Stimultaneous as-
sociation is an undynamic concept, and part of the aim of
dynamic psychology is to clear the decks of such concepts.

Little, if anything, is gained by substituting the concept of
synthesis, or of apperception, for that of association, Just a
general synthetic activity of the subject, putting dots or tones
together, really leaves the matter just as simultaneous associa-
tion left it, and does not account in the least for the different
perceptions that occur in face of the same assemblage of
stimuli. What is needed is something specific, differing from
moment to moment as the perception differs;

The really dynamic concept to fit the case lies ready to hand,
and is no other than the concept of stimulus and response. The
dot figure, or other ambiguous figure, is a stimulus to which
more than one response is possible. The plurality of stimuli,
acting together, arouse the unitary response of seeing a parti-
cular figure. Previous experience, and present internal condi-
tions, are factors in determining which of the possible respon-
ses shall be touched off at any moment. Here, as often in re-
flex action, multiple stimuli converge upon a unitary response. 1

This interpretation of perception evidently has much in com-
mon with that of the Gestalt school. The figure or chord per-
cept is conceived as a unit, almost as an element, and at least
not as a sum or synthesis of elements. The dot figure percept
is not composed of the dots .as elements, but can properly be
called a unit in its own right. It can be prepared for as a
unit, as when the subject looks for a certain figure in an as-
semblage of dots; and, once present, it can function as a
unit in suggesting something similar to itself or otherwise
associated with itself.

Mention should also be made of the important "complex
theory" of Selz. 2 ("Complex" is here used in an entirely dif-
ferent sense from that of the psychoanalysts). What func-
tion as units in thinking and association are often not such
"elements" as tones, colors, dots, or even words, but figures,

*I have argued in the same vein in the Psychological Review.
*Otto Selz, tJber die Gesetze des geordneten Denkverlaufs. Stutt-
gart, 1913.

114 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

chords, phrases and other similar "complexes." Selz proposes
his complex theory as a substitute for the "constellation"
theory. The difference, and the line of evidence which he
adduces in favor of the complex theory, can be illustrated in
the case of multiplication.

When one is set to find products, the stimulus, "3 and 9,"
immediately arouses the response, "27," with no intrusion of
the response "12," which, as the sum of the given numbers, is
even more strongly associated with them than 27 is. The
constellation theory explains that the actual response is the
resultant of two tendencies, the associative tendency, which
leads towards the sum, product, or any response habitually
associated with the stimulus, and the determining tendency to
find products. The explanation fails, since 12, which is firm-
ly associated with the stimulus, "3 and 9," is also a product.
The search for products would be satisfied with 12, since 12
is the familiar product of 2 and 6, or 3 and 4 ; and the general
associative tendencies would probably favor 12 over 27. Evi-
dently 27 derives its advantage from the fact that it is, not
simply a product, but the product of the given numbers. What
the stimulus calls up, therefore, is, not simply numbers, but a
"complex" such as "3 times 9 are 27." Such elementary parts
of the multiplication table, though complex in a sense, are
learned as units and function as units in the work of multipli-
cation. The set to multiply puts into readiness, not numbers
which happen to be products, but these elements of the multi-
plication table.

That figures, chords, and other such "complexes" are units,
unitary responses, and function as units in perception and re-
call, is essential to the dynamic theory of perception which I
am trying to present. So far, this theory is in agreement with
the Gestalt conceptions. But something more is essential to
the dynamic theory. This something more may be made clear
by reference to Dewey's critique of the doctrine of sensory
elements.

Dewey's criticism 8 follows the general line taken by James 4
in his rejection of the analysis of sensations. James urged
that when, by dint of previous training and by careful focus-
ing of attention, an overtone is heard out of a clang, the clang

John Dewey, Human Nature and Conduct. New York, 1922. p. 31.
*William James, Principles of Psychology, N. Y., 1890, I, pp. 602-
504

DYNAMIC PSYCHOLOGY 115

experience was not thereby analyzed, but a new experience
was being obtained. The auditory stimulus remained the
same, but a new response was made to this stimulus. One
may admit that the stimulus has been analyzed, but not the
sensation. Dewey adds this further consideration: the hear-
ing out of the overtone, far from being a primitive type of
reaction to the stimulus, is one that is only possible to a
specially trained observer. How absurd, then, to take this
highly sophisticated form of observation as furnishing the
primitive elements of auditory experience! As experience,
apart from the physical stimulus, the clang is more primitive
than the overtones that are said to constitute the clang.

Certainly this reasoning is cogent and pertinent. Yet one
question remains: In the sequence of events that starts with
the physical production of the fundamental and overtones,
and ends in the perception of the clang, or of certain overtones
in the clang, is there not an intra-organic stage equivalent to
an indifferent assemblage of partial tones, a stage consequent
upon the stimulation of the ear, and antecedent to perception?
Let us follow the sequence of events. The several sets of
waves, of differing vibration rates, are first compounded into
a complex wave motion of the air, and it is in this form that
the auditory stimulus reaches the ear. The ear seems not to
respond to the wave form as such, but to break it up into its
constituent simple waves. The ear is said to be an analytic
organ, and the evidence for this analytic power of the ear as
the fact that, after suitable training, the observer can hear the
separate overtones out of the tonal mass. Probably the organ
of Corti, and certainly some part of the auditory mechanism,
possesses this analytic power, and furnishes as its stage in the
sequence of events, an assemblage of tones, the fundamental
and overtones. Without this stage to work from, to respond
to, perception of the overtones would be impossible. It is an
"indifferent" stage, in that it can lead either to the experience
of the clang or to the hearing out of overtones.

Much the same can be said with regard to the dot figure.
The retinal image is an indifferent assemblage of dots, not
grouped in one way rather than another. Presumably, the
retina, and also the first receptive visual centers, respond
pretty faithfully to the retinal image, and do not introduce the
configuration which we find in the percept.

It is at least a fair hypothesis that the first conscious stage
in the process has this character of an indifferent assemblage,

116 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

and that the figured percept is sequent in time to the indifferent
stage. If we call this indifferent, unfigured stage the stage of
sensation, then the seeing of the separate dots, or the hearing
out of the overtones, is a genuine analysis of the sensory
stage. It is not an analysis of the percept, but it is an analysis
of the antecedent sensation.

If the objection is raised that introspection affords no sup-
port for this preliminary indifferent stage that the configura-
tion is there as soon as the stimulus is seen or heard at all I
would reply that there is some evidence, though none of it is
well worked out as yet. The evidence is of several kinds.

' (1) In looking at the dot figure, or at any ambiguous
figure, though shifts occur from one configuration to another,
the background or mass of the visual whole seems to remain
constant. The dots or lines remain the same all through the
shifts or grouping. This is as it would be if the configuration
were superposed upon an indifferent sensation mass.

(2) When the stimulus is unfamiliar and not very clear-
cut, there is sometimes an interval of sensation before config-
uration appears. This is as it should be. Unpracticed per-
ceptual reactions should be relatively slow and halting, where-
as much-practiced perceptions 'of familiar assemblages of
stimuli would probably occur with a latency of not over a
tenth of a twentieth of a second, an interval too short for in-
trospective observation.

(3) In object blindness, word deafness, and similar losses
of function due to localized cerebral lesions, sensation remains,
while configuration, at least of the normal type, is wanting.
This is as it should be if configuration represented the activity
of a different brain mechanism from that of the first recep-
tive areas which, we may suppose, are active in sensation.

(4) In recall, configuration often comes back clearly,
while the sensory mass is vague and lacking in body. This is
as it should be if configuration were a response separate from
sensation, ordinarily aroused by the sensory stage, but capable
of other attachments so as to be arousable in other ways and
apart from sensation.

The evidence ought to be sufficient to lend some respect-
ability to the hypothesis of a sensation-perception sequence
In fact the evidence is as good as could be expected in the ab-
sence of intensive work on the problem. The promptness witi
which the perceptual stage would probably supervene upon th<
sensory, and the prolongation of the sensory stage (with con

DYNAMIC PSYCHOLOGY 117

tinued stimulus) so as to overlap and blend with the percept,
must necessarily make it difficult to demonstrate two separate
stages in the process.

This hasty consideration of a problem in perception may
serve to indicate the broad scope of dynamic psychology, as
covering topics quite apart from emotion and movement, and
as operating with a variety of dynamic concepts, and not
solely with impulse and similar principles.

It will probably be clear without discussion that a dynamic
psychology need not take sides in the controversy between
introspectionists and behaviorists. It can utilize data obtained
by either introspective or objective observation; sometimes the
one and sometimes the other will serve to indicate the stages
in a process going on within the organism. From its disin-
clination to adhere definitely to either the behaviorist or the
introspective wing of psychology, dynamic psychology is ex-
posed to the accusation of being merely eclectic, of seeking to
avoid extremes and preferring the "middle of the road." Such
an accusation is not wholly fair, since dynamic psychology
has its own problem and can rightfully seek light wherever
trustworthy information is to be had.

Behaviorism, as a set of taboos touch not, taste not, handle
not the unclean thing, i.e.,, the sensation, the image, or any-
thing with an odor of introspection about it tends to clog
the works and hamper progress. On its positive side, how-
ever, behaviorism is distinctly a study in dynamics, and it is
doing much to force psychology to the use of dynamic con-
cepts, and to cause those that have no dynamic value to become
obsolescent.

Phenomenological psychology appears to stand at the oppo-
site pole from behaviorism, yet it too, by its efforts to get
away from every-day modes of description and to describe
sequences of events with a minimum of extraneous matter,
may serve the purpose of dynamic psychology, so far as its
descriptions are verified. What we need is a description of
processes as they actually occur. The descriptions and con-
cepts that satisfy us in daily life are apt to confuse and dis-
tort the sequence of events. We need, specially, to be on our
guard against valuation and teleology. When we say that a
process occurs because it is useful to the organism, we have
lost our sense of direction, and are putting the cart before the
horse. To be sure, the outcome of an act may be the cause of

118 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

further processes, but not of the process leading up to the act
itself.

But to say that dynamic psychology does not operate with
concepts of value, as tools in its own work, is not to say that
it must have nothing to do with the facts of preference, suc-
cess and failure, likes and dislikes, loves and hates, purposes
and fears, as they actually occur in life. All such events in
the process of living are to be included; only, we need a
straight, undistorted account of them.

From what has already been said, the attitude of dynamic
psychology to the purposivist and the mechanistic tendencies
in psychology may be sufficiently clear; yet the matter de-
serves somewhat closer attention.

Purpose is a real fact in human life, and, if not purpose, at
least striving towards a goal is a real fact of animal life as
well. Quite apart from the philosophy of purpose and striv-
ing and their place in the world process as a whole which is
not a psychological question purpose is one of the phenomena
which psychology must include in its story. A dynamic
psychology must study purpose in relation to its antecedents
and consequences, its causes and effects.

Some authors, as especially McDougall, 6 appear to teach
that any thoroughgoing causal interpretation of human be-
havior and experience implies shutting one's eyes to the facts
of purpose and striving. There is certainly some confusion
here. There can be no contradiction between the purposive-
ness of a sequence of actions and its being a causal sequence.
A purpose is certainly a cause; if it had no effects, it would
be without significance. Moreover, for anyone to harbor a
purpose, he must believe in the causal nature of the stream of
events in which he means to work. His purpose seeks to con-
trol the course of events, by adopting means that can be re-
lied on to produce the desired outcome. Without some ex-
perience of dependable causes to be utilized as means, a pur-
pose could scarcely take rise.

Shall we say, then that a purpose, though a cause, is itself
uncaused, that it has no genesis, no motivation, no stimulus?
I know of no facts tending to such a conclusion. On the
contrary, so far as it is possible for us to influence other
people and control their behavior, it is by way of controlling
their desires and purposes. We can control their hands and

"Outline of Psychology. N. Y., 1923.

DYNAMIC PSYCHOLOGY 119

feet and vocal organs, for the most part, only by controlling
their desires. We make appeals to them, we appeal to their
self-interest, their loyalty, their interest in this, their dislike
of that, and by such means we excite in them purposes that
eventuate in action. Animal behavior is similarly controlled
by the use of suitable incentives.

If man has certain native propensities, if these are awak-
ened by certain stimuli, if they are the basis of sentiments
and purposes, then, undoubtedly, every purpose has its cause
in a double sense : it has its genesis in the life history of the
individual, and, at any time, it has its exciting stimulus. The
whole study of purpose would be futile, if purpose were not
the effect of definite causes, as well as the cause of definite
effects.

Purpose is not belittled by recognizing it as the effect of
antecedent causes. Every cause is itself the effect of antece-
dent causes, and its own effectiveness as a cause is not thus
diminished. Your purpose of giving somebody a happy sur-
prise on Christmas Day is no less a purpose, and no less ef-
fective, because it originated in your love for that person
(which itself is the effect of causes lying back in your life
history), and in your memory of joyful surprises on former
Christmas Days. Your purpose would be futile if it had no
effects, it would be incredible if it had no causes. It is a link
in a causal chain, but it is just as fine a purpose for all that.

Therefore, I say, there must be some confusion of ideas
when the fact of purpose is brought up as if it made a dynamic,
cause-and-effect psychology impossible or even wicked. Rather,
this and similar facts are grist for the dynamic mill, and, when
well ground, should produce the most valuable sort of knowl-
edge for the understanding and control of human conduct.

With purposivism, as a philosophy of all nature, or of all
animate nature, dynamic psychology has nothing to do. In
order to concentrate upon its own job, psychology needs to
keep away from philosophy, or, at least, to maintain a clear
distinction between what is psychology and what is the philos-
ophy that happens to appeal most strongly to the particular
psychologist. I contend that the injection of purposivism, or
of animism, into a psychological discussion is irrelevant and
distracting. Vitalism, indeed, can be treated as a scientific
question, but it is not a question for psychology. It is a ques-
tion for cellular physiology, since the crucial considerations

120 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

refer to the life processes of the cells, not to the behavior of
the individual as a whole.

Psychology is not called upon to give its adherence either
to vitalism or to a mechanistic conception of life. If a scien-
tific decision between these two views is possible, it will be
reached by physiology, not by psychology. Psychology is not
mechanistic, any more than it is vitalistic; nor even is a dy-
namic psychology mechanistic, though it deals with causes
and effects. Dynamic psychology follows the course of events
in the life of the organism as a whole. The self-same course
of events can be followed by physiology, with its more refined
or at least more microscopic technique. A chimpanzee, let us
say, joints together two sticks of bamboo and uses the jointed
pole for reaching a banana. This is a psychological descrip-
tion ; much more and finer detail might be added and the des-
cription still remain at the psychological level. Now the
physiologist may undertake to describe this same series of
events, in terms of the action of the different muscles, of
separate muscle fibers, nerve fibers, synapses in localized nerve
centers, and so on. He would be describing the same real
process not a "parallel" process but his description would
employ different concepts and would be, in general, very dif-
ferent from the psychologist's description. It would be much
more minute than the psychologist's description, but not neces-
sarily any truer. It would not include the relationships ob-
served by the psychologist, and would not be so useful for
purposes of prediction and control, if we wished to know what
the chimpanzee would do in a given situation. Still other ob-
servers, as the physical chemist, might describe the same real
process, analyzing it in still minuter detail, and working, we
may say, at a still lower or deeper level of description. Now
the physical chemist or the physiologist may approach a me-
chanistic description of the chimpanzee's actions, but the
psychologist does not come within shooting distance of such a
description. It lies out of his level altogether.

Both introspective and objective psychology, we may remark
in passing, are working at the same general "level/' intermedi-
ate between the level of the sociologist above and that of the
physiologist below. Both are working at the level at which
the actions of the individual as a whole come into view. Thus
introspectionists and behaviorists logically belong within the
confines of the one science of psychology. Though they may
have their family jars, they are not likely to consent to a di-

DYNAMIC PSYCHOLOGY 121

vorce. I would liken dynamic psychology to the child that
holds this family together, were that not rather out of keeping
with my insistence that dynamic psychology is essentially much
older than either behaviorism or introspectionism, which have
arisen recently, as a matter of fact, in the strife for more
adequate methods in psychology. Dynamic psychology can
use the data of both. I would go so far as to say that it is
the dynamic point of view that gives significance to either
introspective or behavior data.

Dynamic psychology is not physiology; it is not, necessar-
ily, physiological psychology. The latter works the two levels
together, or correlates psychological with physiological find-
ings a most valuable task. But it is one thing to recognize
the value of such correlation, and quite another thing to teach
that the only worth-while goal of psychology is a physiological
description. Psychology is primarily responsible for its own
level, and its own particular goal is such a generalized de-
scription of the individual's activities, in causal sequence, as
will make possible prediction and control within this field and
level. Contact with the social and physiological levels, above
and below, is extremely valuable for psychology, especially
in a dynamic sense.

If the aim of genetic psychology, in a general way, is to
trace the course of events, and to seek for uniform sequences
that may have the value of causal laws, this general problem
can be seen to break up into a number of more special prob-
lems, according as the course of events is followed over a
long or over shorter periods of time. Genetic psychology, the
life history of the individual, his curve of growth and sen-
escence, are concerned with the sequence of events over long
periods of time. The process of learning, the practice curve,
the curve of forgetting, the curve of fatigue and the diurnal
course of efficiency, follow the sequence of events over com-
paratively short, but still considerable periods of time. Studies
of reflexes, emotional responses, reaction times, and the de-
pendance of perception upon sensory stimuli follow sequences
that run their course in a few seconds at most, and illustrate
the most detailed type of analysis which psychology has found
it feasible to undertake. Because the more minute the an-
alysis, the more searching and fundamental it appears
though this is in part an illusion the concepts of stimulus and
response, applicable to this minutest analysis of process, have

122 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

come to have a dominant position in the array of dynamic con-
cepts employed by psychology.

Though the concepts of stimulus and response have long
been employed, they have of late been more emphasized than
formerly, and are beginning to awaken some rather trenchant
criticism. Possibly no better use can be made of the present
occasion than to attempt a slight contribution to this discus-
sion, and to the clarification of these fundamental concepts.

To some critics, these concepts have seemed too obvious to
have much significance. We are challenged to make any gen-
eral statements concerning stimulus and response that are not
too trite and self-evident to merit any attention. Can any-
thing at all surprising, and yet true, be said of stimulus and
response ?

Well, for a first attempt, let us notice that "stimulus" is not
to be identified with "cause." The stimulus is decidedly not
the adequate cause of the response. The response may reveal
much more energy than was present in the stimulus. The
same stimulus may, on different occasions, give rise to quite
a variety of different responses. In these and other ways,
the relation of stimulus and response is not the relation of
cause and effect.

The stimulus may be said to be part of the response, the
other partial causes being the structures of the organism, its
stores of energy, and in general its condition at the time when
the stimulus affects it. The stimulus is related to the response
as the blow of the trigger is related to the motion of the bul-
let from the muzzle of the gun. The stimulus excites the
response, but the energy and form of the response are deter-
mined by the organization of the individual.

So much, however, is an old story. Let us proceed to some-
thing less obvious and more open to debate. The organization
of the individual is often conceived as built up of units which
may be named reflex arcs, or reaction arcs. Such a unit is
conceived as extending all the way from the receptor through
the center to the effector. In terms of activity or behavior,
letting S stand for stimulus and R for response, we say, ac-
cording to this conception of reaction-arcs, that behavior is
composed of S-R units. S is not to be considered apart from
R, nor R apart from S, for S-R is a functional unit. These
S-R units are harnessed both abreast and tandem, and thus
integrated into complex modes of behavior. Native equipment

DYNAMIC PSYCHOLOGY 123

consists of a stock of such units, and learning consists in the
integration of these units into acts.

Though this conception has, and long has had, considerable
vogue among psychologists, there are objections to it, which,
in my opinion, are fatal Evidence at hand appears to show
that:

(1) No S-R unit is a unit in the full sense. There may be
a few exceptions, such as the patellar reflex, where the R can
be aroused only by one S. Other reflexes, however, are elicited
by any one of a number of different stimuli. In the case
of the pupillary reflex, the narrowing of the pupil is elicited
either by increased illumination of the retina or by focusing
of the eye upon a near object. Dilatation of the pupil is eli-
cited by diminishing the light entering the eye, by turning the
eyes from a near to a distant object, and by a variety of other
stimuli, such as a sudden loud noise, a bitter taste in the mouth,
a sudden touch on the skin, a sudden pain. Much the same is
true of other reflexes. In Sherrington's terminology, 6 each
reflex, such as the flexion reflex or the scratch reflex, has a "re-
ceptive field" of greater or less extent, by stimulating any part
of which the reflex can be obtained. Instead, then, of think-
ing of S-R as a unit, we have to think of R alone as the real
unit. This unit covers the activity of the peripheral motor
organ and of the nerve center which directly controls it. Each
R is accessible to several S's, more accessible to some than to
others. Behavior is composed of R units, rather than of S-R
units. Native behavior consists of an assortment of such
R units, which can be elicited by a variety of stimuli, though
not by any stimulus at random.

(2) Even when a given S-R combination is functioning
fairly regularly as a unit, the fact of conditioned response
shows that this S-R unit can be broken up, and a substitute
S attached to the R. This fact, which would be impossible if
S-R were a genuine unit, is perfectly in line with the concep-
tion of R as a unit, requiring some S to arouse it, but attached
more or less loosely, more or less closely, to several S's, and
capable of becoming more closely attached to an S with which
it was only loosely attached at the outset. Integration of be-
havior units would be very difficult, if not impossible, to con-
ceive, if S-R were a genuine unit, fixed and indissoluble, for
then all new connections between the units would have to be

Integrative Action of the Nervous System, New York, 1906

124 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

established at the periphery (where it is very doubtful if new
connections can be formed), while a modifiable center would
be of no service whatever.

To reach a true picture of behavior, then, we should ideally
start not with S but with R. Having made an inventory of
the R's at the disposal of the organism, we should next inquire
regarding the various S's by which each R could be aroused.
We should note combinations of R's arousable as integrated
totals by the same S, and also combinations of S's effective in
arousing an R which perhaps is not readily aroused by any
single S.

Responses are integrated when two or more of them become
attached to the same stimulus, so as to be aroused in combina-
tion by this stimulus. Stimuli may perhaps be said to be in-
tegrated when two or more of them become attached to the
same response. Stimulus-response "units" do not, as such, be-
come integrated, since every integration involves the break-up
of pre-existing "units" of this sort.

Finally, note should be taken of Thurstone's recent on-
slaught upon the "stimulus-response fallacy in psychology."
Paraphrasing his argument, in the light also of earlier discus-
sions by Dewey 7 and by Sherrington, 8 we may say, and with
good reason, that very seldom does a stimulus find the organ-
ism in a completely resting, neutral and unpreoccupied state.
Ordinarily, a stimulus breaks in upon some activity in pro-
gress, some "incomplete reaction," to use Thurstone's expres-
sion. This activity has a trend towards some goal, immedi-
ate or remote. We have, then, not first stimulus, then ac-
tivity of the organism; but first an activity going on, next an
intercurrent stimulus, and then the activity modified in re-
sponse to the stimulus. The response to the intercurrent
stimulus is determined as much by the pre-existing activity as
by the particular stimulus of the moment. If the incomplete
activity is very intense, as in the case of two dogs fighting,
such a stimulus as the master calling or even jumping in with
a stick to separate the dogs may have scarcely any effect. At
other times, a very faint stimulus, anticipated and prepared
for, has a pronounced effect.

The relations of stimulus and pre-existing incomplete ac-
tivity are well illustrated in the process of reading. The reader

'The Reflex Arc Concept in Psychology, Psychol. Rev., 1896, 3:357.
8 Integrative Action of the Nervous System.

DYNAMIC PSYCHOLOGY 125

is in the midst of a story, and eagerly reaching forward to
learn what is coming next. The successive stimuli from the
printed page are seized with lightning rapidity and utilized for
just one purpose, from among the many responses which these
.stimuli are capable of arousing. The actual response is deter-
mined, we say, by the context as well as by the word seen at
any instant. More precisely, the actual response to each suc-
cessive word and phrase is determined by the activity set in
motion by what has already been read, and tending forward
in a definite direction. The successive word stimuli do not
deflect this motion from its course, but are so responded to as
to further the motion already in progress.

What has been said of reading could be said as well of
hunger or sex activity or of fighting or flight from danger.
Here the organism may be said to be in the throes of a need
which is the controlling factor in the activity. Whether the
concept of "need" is a useful dynamic concept is perhaps open
to doubt; it smacks considerably of the sort of teleology that
we do well to leave aside. In the actual process, what we call
"need" is a prepotent activity, i.e., an activity not readily de-
flected, moving forward without responding to stimuli dis-
connected with itself. What we see is an activity going for-
ward in a definite direction and rendering the organism un-
responsive to certain stimuli, while unusually responsive to
others.

These considerations apply in the study of sensation and
perception as well as in the study of motor activity. In the
laboratory, when we wish to analyze behavior by isolating cer-
tain responses and tracing out their antecedents and conse-
quents, we try to do away, as far as possible, with pre-existing
incomplete activities, and get the subject into a neutral, or at
least a receptive state. Then we apply known stimuli and note
the responses. Instead, however, of thus simplifying and stan-
dardizing the pre-existing state of the organism to the maxi-
mum, we may choose to apply a given stimulus when a known
activity is in progress. What we then get are "false reactions,"
"illusions," and the like, knowledge of which is equally valu-
able with the knowledge obtained under simplified conditions.
But, evidently, a knowledge of responses, and their relations
to stimuli, under the simplest conditions of pre-existing ac-
tivity, furnishes a base line that is essential in any accurate
survey of the whole field of activity; and thus it is that what
we may call the "stimulus-response psychology," the most de-

126 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

tailed form of dynamic psychology, is of genuine and funda-
mental importance, in spite of the criticisms, revisions and
elaborations of its concepts contained in recent discussions,
and briefly presented in this lecture. The fact that such dis-
cussions occur is evidence of the significance of the concepts of
stimulus and response, and at the same time an indication that
"dynamic psychology" is a fair characterization of much, at
least, of the psychological enterprise of the present time.

PART III

Gestalt

KURT KOFFKA

CHAPTER VI

MENTAL DEVELOPMENT*

BY KURT KOFFKA

That mind develops, individually during any person's life,
racially in the history of mankind, and phylogenetically in the
evolutionary series of the animal kingdom, is today a truism.
What we are interested in is how this development takes
place. To give concrete substance to our discussion of this
problem we shall make a survey of the different stages of
mind by considering what mind is able to do. In this attempt
we find no great difficulty in grouping our material. Restrict-
ing ourselves to the sphere of the vertebrates, we can roughly
distinguish three types of behavior using this word without
any theoretical bias and can exemplify these types by a num-
ber of instances:

Type I. (a). Sneezing and coughing; the reaction of
the pupils of the eye to light; eye-move-
ments of fixation.

(b). The suckling of the new-born infant; the
pecking of a chick just broken from the
egg ; the building of nests ; lastly the entire
life of ants or bees.

Type II. The behavior of animals in certain kinds of ex-
periments of the puzzle-box or maze-type, and in the tricks
we see performed in vaudeville shows.

Type III. The behavior of chimpanzees as observed in the
experiments of Dr. Kohler; or to select another instance out
of an indefinite number, your behavior in attending this lecture
or mine in preparing and delivering it. Our classification,
whatever its theoretical bearing may be, is not entirely arbi-
trary; for psychology has named each of these three types.
We call the first reflexive and instinctive activities, the second
trained or drilled performances, and the third intelligent
achievements. For brevity's sake I shall sometimes refer to
them simply as reflexes and instincts, training, and intelligence.
These three types evidently represent different ^ stages of
mind and we may expand each of them so as to include all
possible stages in our scheme. Then the problem of mental
development reduces itself to the problem of the connection

*Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University,
April 29, 1925.

130 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

between these three behavior types : which is the original type
of behavior and how have the others grown out of it? We
can, for our purposes, discriminate two main theories of men-
tal development, one being Unitarian, and deriving all behavior
from one fundamental type, that of the reflex (la), while the
other is pluralistic and maintains an essential difference be-
tween the three types ; the higher ones being, in the course of
evolution, added to the lower ones.

Let us examine the first of these theories. It starts with
the assumption that our behavior type la, the reflex, is the
original type and it uses a very popular description and ex-
planation of the reflex. Reflexes as very simple and com-
paratively regular responses to definite stimuli are explained
by the hypothesis that they are the function of a very simple
apparatus, the reflex arc, consisting of afferent and efferent
neurones and the connection or bond between them, which in
this way connects the situation and the response of the or-
ganism. Thus this conception of the bond is the starting point
of this view of mental development. But it is more : It is the
supreme principle by which this theory achieves an admirable
simplicity. For according to this view every action of an or-
ganism is explicable in terms of such connections, in other
words, every action carried out by an organism is determined
solely by the bonds or connections involved. The original con-
nections, and consequently, the original reaction-tendencies go
far beyond the realm of mere reflex action, embracing the
entire so-called instinctive activity.

Now instinctive and even most of reflexive activity appears
to be highly adjustive; the animal does what is good for it in
its environment. But from the point of view of this theory
this adaptiveness is not a property of these actions themselves,
but is instead, a mere impression which they give to the on-
looker. The actions are not determined in any way by the in-
trinsic nature of the situation, but altogether by these pre-
existing bond-devices. The situation enters only as the agency
which turns the key, presses the button, makes the machine
go. But, like a real machine, the animal can only act accord-
ing to the pre-established system of bonds, whether such an
action be adequate to the circumstances or not.

The connection between situation and response is therefore
purely contingent and consequently we do not know why a
certain situation affects a certain pathway, we can only state
that it does do so. We ought then to be able to change the

MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 131

response to a constant situation by merely changing the bonds
involved in such a pathway.

What this really implies will become evident when we take
up a few of our initial instances. The theory means that a
chick newly escaped from the egg pecks at a grain, seizes and
swallows it, not because this is the sensible response to this
particular situation, but because its neurones are connected
with each other in such ways as to secure these reactions in
this sequence. If we were able to change these connections
the animal would, for instance, first make the swallowing and
then the pecking movement. Or, another example, taken from
Watson's experiments on babies : If in a dark room we intro-
duce a bright spot, the baby turns its eyes towards this spot
and fixates it. It does so, merely because of its innate connec-
tions without regard to the situation, and again by shifting
those connections we ought to be able to change this response
in such a manner that, for instance, the baby would be made
to look towards the left when the bright spot appears on the
right. This experiment happens to have been performed,
though, naturally, not with babies but with monkeys. Marina
dissected the inner and outer muscles of the eyes of monkeys
and connected them crossways. An impulse sent to contract
the external muscle of the right eye ought now to result in
a movement towards the left and vice versa. Consequently,
in our experiment the monkey should react just as we have
predicted ; it should look to the left when a bright spot appears
at the right. Speaking more generally all the monkey's eye-
movements in the horizontal should have been the reverse of
normal. In reality, however, nothing of the kind took place.
As soon as the wounds healed the animal moved his eyes just
as normally as it did before the operation. That means that
in spite of the changes made in the devices, the movements
continued to be performed so as to produce the same sort of
achievement.

Thus the conception of a merely contingent connection be-
tween situation and response breaks down even at the reflex
level. And we are left with the problem: how can a certain
result, rather than a reformed system of devices, determine
organic movements? Without the slightest leaning towards
vitalism we shall have to face this problem. But before we do
so, let us turn to the explanation of our second type of be-
havior, training, which according to this theory is the only
way in which learning takes place.

132 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

It is the pride of this theory that it has been able to explain
acquired behavior in the same terms which it employs for
original behavior. This extension of the explanation is not
so difficult as it may appear at first sight. The only assump-
tion required is that in animals which are able to learn^the
original bonds are not absolutely fixed but may be modified
according to specific laws. What this means is best explained
by an example taken from Thorndike's experiments. He puts
a hungry cat into a cage, the door of which is shut but can
be opened by turning a lever, and before the cage he places
some enticing food. The first time in the cage the cat will
make all sorts of movements which have nothing to dp with
the lever, but in the course of its aimless movements it may
accidentally strike this lever, and by this action achieve its es-
cape and the possession of the coveted food. In a later ex-
periment, say the tenth or twentieth, the cat will turn the lever
without any other movements, as soon as it has been placed in
the cage. It therefore appears that the cat acquired a new
reaction towards the old situation. But speaking strictly from
the point of view of this theory, the effect of learning is
rather of a negative than of a positive kind. For, according
to this view, any one of the innumerable reactions which the
animal made in the first experiment, was connected to this
particular situation by bonds of neurones. We can not assume
as a rule that a situation has only one set of bonds connecting
it with one single response ; instead we must believe that every
single situation possesses a great number of different connec-
tions of varying strength and directness leading to very differ-
ent reactions. The process of learning consists, then, merely
in strengthening certain sets of bonds and weakening all the
others. The chief laws by which this result is to be achieved
are those of frequency, recency, and of effect. While the two
first are readily understood, the law of effect requires a few
words in explanation. It embraces the fact that it is the ap-
propriate, the successful act that survives, and expresses this
fact by saying that such connections as have led to satisfaction
gain an advantage over such as have not done so.

Like original behavior, acquired behavior, then, is deter-
mined by devices, taking place over neurone-bonds which have
undergone some change but which, this change once com-
pleted, are determinants of action just as exclusive as were the
originally effective bonds. Consequently the relation between
situation and response remains contingent, and all learning

MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 133

proceeds by chance. Again we ought to be able to change the
reactions by shifting the connections, but if we do so, we get
the negative result previously reported because the acquired
activity continues unaltered. Of course the law of effect was
meant to modify this point and to account for progress in
mental development. But as it stands it fails to achieve this
task, since in reality it is not a law of effect, but a law of
satisfaction which is a very different matter, because the satis-
faction is not the satisfaction of success, but something which
follows success without having any meaningful connection
with it. Thus, according to Thorndike's own teaching, when
in the previously described experiment the cat has learned to
turn the lever it does so, not because it understands what the
turning of the lever means, but because this particular move-
ment, belonging among the original responses to the situation
of being confined, in which situation the existence of the
lever is absolutely immaterial, has in many cases led to satis-
faction by giving the animal freedom and food. For this
reason the movement is stamped in, and this particular set
of bonds between the initial situation and the particular move-
ment is therefore strengthened to the detriment of other con-
nections which at start were just as ready as this one. Just
as the existence of the lever was immaterial for the produc-
tion of the movement to turn it so now this movement is im-
material to the pleasure derived from the tasting of the food.
Chance made the movement with the lever and chance, in the
arbitrarily contrived situation of the puzzle-box, connects the
striking of the lever with freedom and food. Thus this law
of satisfaction is not a law of effect, for which reason it has
been a sore point in the theory, even from the beginning.
Satisfaction comes after the critical event, after the movement
which it is assumed to stamp in; therefore it must have a re-
troactive force. It is not only difficult to explain how such a
backward force can be exerted, but once retroaction is granted
we have to state how far back this force will reach. Why
should it extend precisely to the really relevant movement
when the animal does not know that this movement is re-
levant?

More recent observations have shown that it is the effect
and not the subsequent satisfaction which is the determining
factor in learning. In Kohler's experiments one of the apes,
after solving a particularly difficult problem in order to secure
some bananas, did not interrupt this newly invented procedure

134 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

to taste his booty, but continued to fish with his new tool to
get all sorts of useless things after all the bananas had been
collected. Also in Kuo's experiment improvement of the
achievement went on although the imperfect performance led
to exactly the same ulterior satisfaction as did the improved
act. But if the effect and not the added satisfaction is re-
levant, we shall again have to discard the idea that the con-
nection between situation and response is merely contingent.

And yet this concept of the merely contingent relation has
dominated our whole psychology of experience for it has even
a wider application than we have so far pointed out. Bonds
are not only formed between receptors and effectors, but also
between ideas in the famous "associations." Again an asso-
ciation connecting a perception with an idea, the sight of
lightning with the expectation of thunder, would be purely
contingent connection, based merely on the frequency of the
concomitance of the events. No other connection being re-
cognized, this means that originally there can be no order in
our perceptions all order must come from experience as the
chance repetition of contiguous events. From this point of
view all our rational concepts would seem to be illusory, be-
cause they imply more than contingent connections. But even
if that were so, there remains one fact unexplained: for how
does this illusion arise ? Even if it be an illusion, it is at least
a datum, an undeniable fact.

Just as the puzzle-box (and maze) experiments give experi-
mental support to the first part of our theory, so the second
rests upon very elaborate experiments on the learning of non-
sense-syllables. Both these types of investigation, however, in-
volve highly artificial conditions. In both cases the object of
experimentation, the animal or the human observer, is con-
fronted with a situation which is completely meaningless.
There is, for instance, nothing in the syllable pum that indi-
cates that the syllable dat is to follow it. In other words : no
nonsense-syllable calls for its successor in the series. And the
same argument applies to the puzzle-box; it is so constructed
as to surpass all possible understanding on the side of the ani-
mal, and therefore, though it may call for the expenditure of
effort for freedom, it can call for no specific action to achieve
this end. This again is in contradiction to the theory from
which we started and which maintains that by inherited devices
each ^ situation is connected with quite a number of specific
reactions.

MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 135

We have used the phrase: a situation calls for a reaction.
What does this mean? When before the eyes of an animal
we put food inside an open box the animal will enter the box
and fetch out the food. This situation does, so we may say,
call for a certain reaction. But is this not simply an instinc-
tive reaction? If we grant this, what have we gained? If we
have given up our understanding of instinct as a ready made
set of neurone-bond devices, how does this name help us in
understanding these factors? But does our term, "the situa-
tion calls for/' do any more? With this question in mind let
us glance at certain experiments in which the animal solved
problems under natural conditions in a situation that revealed
openly all the parts necessary to the required achievement.
Tomorrow Professor Kohler will report at length upon his
experiments to which I have just referred. Therefore I shall
only mention here some very general features of his results.
His champanzees solved their problems not by trial and error;
the correct solution was not slowly and painfully selected out
of a number of inexpedient movements, the correct activity
began abruptly from a stage of deliberation, continued in an
unbroken curve and took place always with regard to the re-
levant part of the situation. It was not a product of chance,
neither were these actions instinctive. What then remains?

Shall we have recourse to the pluralistic theory mentioned
in the beginning and assume that a new factor, the intellect,
must be the cause? To do so would, on the one hand, be
equal to a renunciation of a theory of development; on the
other hand, it would not even be an explanation of the facts.
To ascribe an action of our first type to instinct is no more
an explanation than to attribute an action of the third type to
intellect.

There remains but one other possibility : the situation forces
the animal to act in a certain way, although the animal pos-
sesses no pre-established special devices for the act. How is
this possible? I shall develop the answer to this fundamental
question by the help of a concrete and well known instance
which has become precipitated into a proverb, viz., the burnt
child shuns the fire. Fortunately Dr. Watson has taken this
change of behavior out of the sphere of mere armchair psy-
chology by providing us with experimental evidence on the
subject. His experiments, which he" performed with an infant
beginning the 150th day of his life, showed that at first the
burnt child did not shun the fire at all, but would grasp for

136 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

it again and again although it came so near the flame that it
flexed its fingers and withdrew the hand. The change seems
to have come very suddenly. On the 220th day the child, in-
stead of grasping for the flame, slapped at the candle and
afterwards reached for it but a single time. How can we
understand this transformation in the response? To state that
the stimulus, candle, is originally connected with several re-
sponses, among them being those of grasping and of slapping,
and that the first of these became weakened by dissatisfac-
tion, is quite inadequate. The suddenness of the change and
the new reaction which superseded the old one are left en-
tirely without an explanation. In other words: why did this
fortunate infant, instead of simply shunning the fire, slap at
it?

If we use common-sense psychology we would say: the in-
fant slaps the candle, because he has learned to dislike it, just
as he grasped for it at first because it looked so attractive to
him. This common-sense explanation is essentially different
from the behavioristic explanation in one point: it connects
the action not with the stimulus but with the perception of the
stimulus, and the change of reaction with a change in the per-
ception. An attractive object calls for one kind of behavior,
a repulsive object for another. Thus we meet again our initial
problem: a situation calls for something. And now we see
that the situation does call for, if at all, not as a stimulus,
but as a perceived, phenomenal situation. We see further that
the relation between stimulus and phenomenal situation is not
univocal: because the same stimulus may evoke different per-
ceptions. Since this fact is abundantly confirmed by scientific
experimental psychology it would seem as though we could
afford to accept our common-sense explanation. Couched in
scientific terms, it would run like this: Our direct responses
to stimuli are receptor processes which in many cases will be
on the mental, perceptive level : such a direct response is, how-
ever, only the beginning of the total response : the perception
issues in action according to its constitution, the action is a
natural continuation of the perceptive process and is deter-
mined by it and not by pre-established connection-bonds.
Change of response to a constant stimulus does not take place
by alternation in the function of ready-made devices, but is a
result of a change in the perceptive process produced by the
stimulus. Lastly : a stimulus upsets an equilibrium on the re-
ceptive side of the system; this upset equilibrium results in

MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 137

a movement which tends to bring the system to a new equili-
brium and consequently the reaction must vary with the way
in which the equilibrium was disturbed, that is with the re-
ceptor process, with the phenomenal situation.

From this follow, several important inferences: (1) re-
sponses of our first type, reflexes and instincts, can not be ex-
plained ultimately by the reflex arc. The organism has at
birth a constitution such that some stimuli will upset the
equilibrium in one direction, others in other directions: some
situations will be attractive, others repulsive. To confine our-
selves for the moment to this difference, from attractive situa-
tions will result positive, approach reactions; from repulsive
situations, negative, avoidance responses. (2) Learning con-
sists in many cases primarily in a change of the perceptive
process. It can, therefore, no longer be considered as an as-
sociation, the mere tying together of two contingently con-
tiguous ideas, or the selection of pre-established pathways by
trial and error. This means that the perceptive process has
its own constitution, shape, patterns; we must ask not only,
and not even primarily, where, in which neurones or brain
cells, does perception occur ; but chiefly : how does it occur and
what is it like? When learning takes place, when such a pro-
cess changes, we must ask: what sort of a change is this?
Learning, then, is not merely a matter of memory, because
before a process can be remembered, it must have occurred,
and therefore in all learning we have to distinguish between
two problems : (a) how is a process remembered and how is
it forgotten? This problem of memory is the one problem to
which the theories previously discussed have reduced all learn-
ing, by explaining it in terms of association or selection, (b)
How is the process, which is to be remembered achieved for
the first time ? This problem of achievement is really the more
important of the two. It brings us back to our question:
How can the situation force the animal to do something which
it has never done before? This is really the problem of
achievement.

(3) We also find an answer to a question raised in our
first discussion of the reflexes, msr v how a certain result rather
than a system of devices can determine organic movements
and how it can call for a certain achievement. We see now
that there is no mysticism, no vitalism involved in this. If
we consider every response as the result of a disturbed equili-
brium we can predict that such a response will be in the di-

138 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

rection of a new equilibrium, since every process in nature
must comply with this law. Our task is to establish the fact
of the equilibria of an organic system, and the causes by which
as well as the direction in which this equilibrium may be up-
set.

The problem of mental development now takes on an en-
tirely new aspect. Instead of considering such development
as a change in connections or associations we have to view it
as a transformation of processes. Our next task will there-
fore be to describe the nature of the original processes and of
their various forms of transformation. This will finally lead
us back to the causal problem: how the situation can enforce
these changes.

Our first two questions will be approached pari passu. The
discussion of the change that takes place will also reveal the
original properties that undergo change. Let us return then
to our burnt child example. The transformation that took
place in this case may be called one of meaning : the attractive
candle became repulsive. By calling this change a change of
meaning we designate the fact that the perception of the candle
points beyond itself in one of two directions. Originally the
flame was attractive, that is, it appeared to the child as an ob-
ject towards which something had to be done; afterwards it
became repulsive, that is, it appeared as an object against
which action should be taken. In both cases the perception
had the character of incompleteness, and a change has taken
place in the specific nature of this gap. In other words : ex-
perience, in this case, does not create meaning, but transforms
meaning; which implies that meaning itself is not a product
of experience mental development does not lead from the
meaningless to the meaningful, but from one kind of mean-
ing to another kind of meaning. Mind without a meaning
we should never expect to encounter.

It would transcend the limits of this lecture, were I to at-
tempt to confirm this result by showing how, on the one hand,
it is borne out by the facts of child psychology, and how, on
the other hand, a purely empiristic explanation of meaning
leads to a vicious circle. But in as much as my whole argu-
ment seems to rely on this one experiment of Watson's, I may
recall a much older observation made by Lloyd Morgan which
is in all essentials similar to the instance from which we
started. If we substitute for the child a chick and for the
candle a cinnabar caterpillar which is conspicuous by its im-

MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 139

pressive black and yellow rings and apparently distasteful to
the chick, we shall find a close analogy in the two instances of
behavior. The chick at first pecks at the caterpillar as it will
at any other object of appropriate size, after which it drops
its victim with signs of disgust. Since very often this trans-
formation takes place after the first experience and without
the need of repetition, the next time this chick catches sight
of such a caterpillar it will run away with signs of fright
sounding the danger note. Lest my opponents should try to
take the edge off my argument, and reproach me with anthro-
pomorphism by contending that I have no earthly right to
ascribe either desire or disgust and fright to a chick, I will
discuss the same fact with another set of concepts. Let us
dismiss the mind of the chick altogether. What we must re-
tain, however, are the receptor-processes which are aroused in
his system by the action of the caterpillar on his sense organs
and which, according to the explanation we have established,
are the direct causes of the movements that constitute the
overt behavior of the animal. We should then have to say
that at first a receptor-process in the visual organ of the chick
is of such a nature that it issues in approach, whereas after
the first pecking it issues in flight. In both cases the receptor-
process was incomplete, as it continued into motor processes,
and but the kind of incompleteness differed in the two cases.
It seems therefore a natural and legitimate generalization if
we apply our concept of meaning to these receptor-processes,
quite apart from mind; meaning has then a very objective
signification. And yet our explanation in the new terms is es-
sentially the same as what it was in the old terms, where learn-
ing consists in a transformation of meaning, I need only to
indicate that just as the concept of meaning can be transferred
from mental to neural behavior, so can the other concepts we
have employed such as desire, disgust, fright, and ever so many
others. This again means that the taunt of anthropomorphism
has not hurt us. Furthermore it may be noted that both our
examples are usually reckoned among achievements of train-
ing.

Returning now to the burnt child, this example has made us
acquainted with the process of change of meaning. We have
not yet exhausted this example for now we can raise the
question of how this transformation came about. Why had so
many repetitions of the experiment no effect and why did the
result appear so suddenly when it did come? Again our an-

140 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

swer is given in terms of a description of the event. What
happens all along in the child's mind? or, if you prefer to
ignore the existence of the mind, use instead the concepts we
have just introduced in the case of the chick. At first the in-
fant sees the attractive flame and reacts correspondingly; then
the child feels pain and withdraws the hand. According to
the theory of association and the law of dissatisfaction which
is the reverse of the law of satisfaction this occurrence ought
to be sufficient to establish in a very short time in the child's
mind or in its organism an association between the sight of
the flame and the withdrawing of the hand. But to all ap-
pearances it does not do so. As long as the occurrences in the
child's mind are not changed, no transformation of the re-
sponse will take place, because the flame remains desirable.
Only when the pain comes, not merely after reaching for the
flame, but from the flame itself, can a transformation take
place, Now the flame itself thwarts the wish of the child, it
ceases to be an attractive and becomes a repulsive object. This
transformation of meaning is therefore the consequence of an-
other process of change. Flame and pain were at first two
different things: one plus one. Afterwards they grow to-
gether and become a unit. The two have ceased to be two
and have become one.

Here we find another process of transformation which we
may well call unification. Another example of simple unifi-
cation is furnished by an experiment performed by Biihler,
with a method developed in animal psychology, upon his own
child. A piece of rusk was placed slightly out of the infant's
reach, with a string attached to it which came within reaching
distance. Before the end of the 10th month, the child was
not able to secure the rusk by means of the string. While
vainly reaching for the rusk it would push the string aside.
String and rusk were two different objects calling for differ-
ent reactions. Later on, when the child pulls the string and
secures the rusk, string and rusk are no longer one plus one,
but now form a unity in which the string is a subservient part.
This achievement has been ascribed not to training but to in-
telligence. Change of meaning gave us the clue that meaning
was an original property of the receptor processes. Can we
take a similar clue from-, the process of unification? Or is
unity of a manifold always the product of experience?

Comparative and experimental psychology have provided us
with abundant material for the proof that unitariness is like-

MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 141

wise an original property of perception. Instead of spread-
ing out this material I shall approach the question from an-
other angle by demonstrating a third kind of transformation:
Just as two may become one, so may one become two. Dr.
Kohler's ape experiments contain many pregnant examples of
this. But as he will report upon them himself, I shall indicate
an entirely different field of mental activity in which this kind
of transformation, which we, appropriately, call analysis, has
taken place. I refer to the field of magic and its relic super-
stition. To destroy the original unity between a presage and
the happy or unhappy event that followed it: to dissect this
originally coherent unit, whose coherence was like that of the
tones of a melody, meant a progress in cognition. How diffi-
cult it may be to take two for two and not for parts of one, is
shown by the many forms of superstition that still lead a
vigorous life all about us. That analysis is a difficult process,
even more so than unification, was also a result of Kohler's
experiments. This is another indication that the unity of the
manifold as such is not a product of experience, since the ef-
fect of experience is that of breaking up such units.

It should be stated that our unit is not the mental element
of the association psychology, because being the unit of a mani-
fold, it deserves to be called a whole. Inside of such wholes
there occurs a new type of change which may be called artic-
ulation. Again Kohler's experiments contain splendid speci-
mens of such processes. To appeal to your own experience:
Just recall the change that takes place in your idea of a new
city or a part of the country during the first weeks of your
stay there. The originally more or less chaotic field gets more
and more organized, certain main directions develop, a few
chief points determining the rest are singled out, and accord-
ingly your behavior in the new surrounding changes. Can
we infer that articulateness is original or is it altogether a
product of experience? Again our answer must be that some
kinds and degrees of articulation must be inherent in the
original responses, for without this there would be complete
chaos, in which none of the other properties could exist.
A|ere chaos can neither be meaningful or unitary. To cut a
Long story short, we find at the beginning, in our most ele-
pentary reactions, even at the level of the reflexes and instincts
and again in training and in intelligent performances, unitary,
articulate, meaningful wholes; to which we apply the name of
Gestalt, configuration, structure. Development starts, not with

142 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

chaos or with a multitude of mental elements without order
or meaning, but with structures, however primitive their char-
acter may be. Development proceeds by transformation of
such structures. Gradually, by a number of smaller or larger
leaps and bounds, we achieve different orders, different arti-
culations, different meanings. I have just tried to sketch a
few of the main processes which occur in this development in
very general outline. The picture has to be completed. We
must apply our general principles to concrete cases, we must
study the different achievements in this genetic sequence, and
must learn to understand how one achievement facilitates or
even makes possible another achievement. This task, though
its actual execution is just in the beginning, falls outside the
scope of this lecture. One problem, however, I must take up :
What is the cause of these transformations? Our answer,
naturally, can only be very general. Wherever change occurs
the phenomenal situation aroused by the real situation is in-
complete," unstable. It tends to become stabilized. But
whether it can become so depends upon the kind of situation
and upon the individual organism. We call an organism that
succeeds in filling the gap clever, and one that does not stupid,
but it is obvious that these terms are always relative to the
situations; for there are many situations in which all of us
are utterly stupid.

The last reason then for all these changes lies in the original
processes themselves. All processes not stationary exert pres-
sure upon the system to become stable ; if the system can yield
to this pressure, then the result is achieved.

We can express these facts in still another way : Wertheimer
was the first to state a law, which has served as a good guide
in our experimental research and which has been given theo-
retical support by Kohler. This law, the law of precision,
maintains that any configuration will become as perfect as the
prevailing cpnditions admit. Vague as it seems in this formu-
lation, it has a definite meaning in several concrete instances
and will become more and more defined the farther psychology
progresses. In the closing words of this lecture I shall indi-
cate an application of this law and thereby supplement in a
casual way the picture I have drawn of mental development.

So far I have been almost exclusively concerned with what
may be called intellectual achievements. But what of the
moral side of mind; what of a man's character and personal-
ity? Must these escape our scheme of development? I think

MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 143

not. The behavior of an organism shapes configuration also
in time. Not only the simultaneous but the successive is also
structured. The larger these wholes and the greater their
unity, articulation and meaning, the more perfect is their ges-
talt, the more personality will they express.

Is the theory so sketchily drawn before your eyes Unitarian
or pluralistic? It is pluralistic in as much as it embraces an
indefinite number of different structures and many forms of
configurative changes; but it is not pluralistic in the sense of
assuming a number of separate faculties like those of reflexes
or instincts, training and intelligence. It is Unitarian, not in
reducing every process to the mechanism of neural bonds or
associations, but in its attempt to give ultimately an explana-
tion of development by means of the universal law of Gestalt

WOLFGANG KOHLER

CHAPTER VII

INTELLIGENCE IN APES*

By WOLFGANG KOHLER

The following pages contain the description of some types of
anthropoid behavior and a few remarks intended to make us
better realize what problems are given in those cases. That
animal psychology has to be a science of behavior and that
the introduction of animal consciousness as an acting factor
in problems and explanations would only lead into confusion
is my opinion as it is the axiom of behaviorism in this country.
If, notwithstanding that, I frequently use terms which may
suggest the heresy of assuming consciousness, the reason for
it and my innocence will become apparent with time. I can
not agree with Watson in his method of condemning all diffi-
cult-looking problems in the nervous system as pure mysticism
and after effects of the introspection time. That gives a
simple science with only a few concepts; but a good deal of
the world of behavior and its problems does not occur in this
science. I therefore make a difference between a dogmatic
behaviorism which narrows its own world of realities, prob-
lems and theoretical possibilities as if knowing beforehand
what kind of things can occur in an exact world, and another
behaviorism which wants to see as many forms of behavior,
problems and theoretical possibilities as possible, deeply con-
vinced that even his amplest view of the world will probably
come far short of the wealth of phenomena themselves. I
prefer the second.

If we observe the faces of anthropoid apes, of monkeys and
of dogs, quite naively, we get the impression that those faces
show very different degrees of "understanding" or "insight/*
Observation of the animals in action and experimentation on
them prove that our expectation was justified, at least with
regard to the high place we would tend to give to the apes.

Let us take as an example Hunter's method of delayed re-
action 1 which I shall describe in a simplified form for our pur-
poses. If one of the higher vertebrates sees in front of him-
self three open doors and in one of them food, he will, if he
is hungry and the circumstances allow it, move in the direction

*Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University, April
30, 1925.
x Behavior Monographs II, 1. 1913.

146 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

of this food and eat it. If in different cases different doorf
are used as "doors with food" the reaction will, of course,
change its direction correspondingly. To choose the right door
becomes more difficult, however, if the animal remains en-
closed in a box at the time the food is presented to him in one
of the doors, so that he can see the food through this obstacle
but is released only after the food has disappeared in the box
behind the door. Animals below the monkeys find great diffi-
culties with this task. Even if the interval of delay between
exposure of the food and reaction is of some seconds or a
minute only, the after effect of the past perception (in human
language: "It was that door!") seems to become confused,
and in some cases one cannot be quite sure whether an after
effect of this kind does exist at all or whether positive results
are produced by quite a crude and low form of behavior. 2

In experimenting with chimpanzees, I used a somewhat dif-
ferent method. The ape was sitting behind the bars of his
cage. On the other side of these bars I made a hole in the
ground, put some fruit in it, and covered the hole and the
surroundings with sand. The ape, who with great interest
had observed what I did, could not reach the place of the food
because it was too far away for his arm; but when I was
careless enough to come too near his cage he immediately
seized my arm and tried to push it in the direction of the hid-
den food, as he would do whenever he could not find a method
of approach towards his food himself. Of course this was
already a delayed reaction. But as I wanted a larger delay
I did not do him the favor, and the ape began soon to play
in his room apparently not giving any attention to the place
of the food. After three quarters of an hour a stick was
thrown into his cage from the side farthest from the fruit.
The ape accustomed to the use of sticks as instruments, in-
stantly took it, went to the bars nearest the place of the food,
began to scratch away the sand exactly in the right spot, and
pulled the fruit toward him. Repetitions of the experiment
with other positions of the food had the same result

Since the reaction was always surprisingly correct I made
the interval of delay much greater. I let the apes see how

'With animals of a highly developed olfactory sense the utmost
care is needed in order to avoid olfactory cues at the time of re-
action. However, in the case of anthropoid apes this danger is not
very serious, since their olfactory sense is, as one may easily prove,
more or less at a level with our

INTELLIGENCE OF APES 147

I buried the food somewhere in the earth of the very large
playground and brought them, immediately afterwards, into
their sleeping room so that they went on the playground not
before the following day when more than seventeen hours
had elapsed, more than half of them spent sleeping. One of
the apes, when leaving the sleeping room, did not hesitate a
moment but went straight to the place of the food and found
it there after some searching. 3

In another experiment a stick was hidden in the wooden
framework of the roof, where the apes could not see it from
the ground. Again they observed with great interest our un-
usual action. But we at once brought them into their dormi-
tory. The next morning, when one of them came back into
the same room, he discovered some bananas on the ground
outside the cage and too far away for his arm. As apes, ac-
customed to the use of sticks, do under these circumstances,
he looked around in exactly the way of a man seeking some-
thing, but could not find such a tool. After some seconds,
however, his eyes went up to the place where the stick was
hidden the evening before. He could not see it, but he climbed
at once in the shortest possible way up to that part of the ceil-
ing where the stick was hidden, came down with it, and
scratched the food towards him. I repeated the experiment
with all the chimpanzees who had seen how we put the stick
in its place in the roof. They all independently solved the
problem in the same manner.

"Memory" works in two different ways at least Many
animals and men learn to react to a given situation in a speci-
fied manner, i.e., they develop habits. There are great dif-
ferences in the speed of learning, in the number of different
situations for which a reaction may be learned, and in the
complexity of reactions which are learned. But even the
earthworm shows "memory" of this general type by acquiring
a very simple habit of moving in a definite spatial form. In
the second type of memory something more seems to be re-
quired : An important part of a situation is not actually pres-

*One might say that the place of the food attracted the ape not
because he knew there was food but because, in consequence of my
digging, this place looked unusual and was only therefore attractive
to the ape. It did not look unusual to my eyes as I had covered
the whole region with dry sand. However, to meet this criticism
better I made several holes in the ground after the apes were en-
closed in the house and filled them afterwards in the same manner
as the right hole. But the ape went to the right one.

148 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

ent in perception, but it was seen somewhere at another time,
and its existence may be taken account of in the response, if
that knowledge is still active or becomes active in the given
situation. Where we have memory of this kind it makes the
life and behavior of an animal look incomparably larger and
freer than all habit formation can do. But there is not much
evidence of it in most animals, and I do not know if even
monkeys would show such a surprising behavior as I found
in the champanzees. 4

But perhaps these experiments do not examine intelligence
in the strict meaning of the word. Therefore I describe an-
other type of behavior which may have more to do with in-
telligence proper. You must know one of the usual forms of
experimentation with animals. The subject is confronted with
two or more objects and learns to choose one of them, de-
pending upon its position in space or its color or some other
discriminating quality. This effect is produced by rewarding
the animal each time it chooses the right object and perhaps
punishing it whenever it chooses the wrong one. Learning of
this kind is usually a slow process without any indication of
higher processes being involved. The curve of learning which
shows how the number of wrong choices decreases with time
has an irregular but gradually descending form. One might
expect an ape to solve simple tasks of this type in shorter time.
But that is not always the case. Often the period of learning
in anthropoids is at least as long as with lower animals. How-
ever, the form of learning is sometimes quite different from
what is found in the case of lower vertebrates.

When Yerkes made experiments of the general type de-
scribed 5 with an orang-utan, this ape did not make any real

^"Delayed reaction" in animals lower than apes has seemed to
some degree explainable by the fact that the animal, when the
original stimulus (for instance, the food) is shown, quite naturally
turns in the corresponding direction, and that it often remains in
this bodily orientation by a kind of simple inertia after the stimulus
is withdrawn, whereupon very probably it will go on in this right
direction after release, if no other incentive makes it turn to the
left or to the right. Of course, the chimpanzees did not remain in
the right orientation, neither in three quarters of an hour nor in
seventeen hours. Their delayed reaction cannot be explained so
simply. To be sure, many cases of delayed reaction in lower ani-
mals cannot either,

6 It does not matter for our present discussion that the experiments
were t dealing with "multiple choice" instead of the simpler sensory
discrimination.

INTELLIGENCE OF APES ' 149

progress at all for a long time, whereas some animals much
lower in rank solved the same problem without great difficulty.
But finally, when the experimenter had almost lost hope of
making the orang solve his task, the ape after one right choice
suddenly mastered the problem completely, i.e., never again
made a mistake. He had solved the problem in one lucky
moment, his curve of learning showing an altogether abrupt
descent. 6 Some of my experiences on the learning process in
chimpanzees are very similar to this observation of Yerkes.
Sometimes the same surprising fact is found in children, and
one can hardly avoid the impression that this ape behaves like
a man under similar circumstances who, after a while, in a
certain individual experiment, would grasp the principle of
the problem and say to himself, "Oh, that's the point! Al-
ways the dark object!"; of course with the consequence that
he, too, would never make a mistake again.

We do not well describe experiments of this type by say-
ing, as we usually do, that an animal in such a situation learns
to connect certain stimuli with certain reactions and that this
connection is "stamped in." This formulation of the process
gives too much importance to the memory or association side
of the problem, and it neglects another side of it which may
be even more important and more difficult.

Although so much has been said against "anthropomor-
phism" in animal psychology, we have here a persisting case
of this error, committed not by dilettants but by very eminent
men of science. The experimenter is interested in a problem
of sensory discrimination and builds an appropriate apparatus
which shall present "the stimuli" to the animal in question.
When he looks upon the situation which he has created him-
self, this situation is completely organized for him, "the stim-
uli" being the outstanding features of it, and all the rest form-
ing an unimportant background. Consequently he formulates
the animal's task as one of connecting "these stimuli" with
certain reactions, reward and punishment enforcing this con-
nection. But he is not aware of the fact that now he has
credited the animal with the same organized situation whidb
exists for himself, the experimenter, in consequence of his sci-
entific aim and problem. Certainly the experimenter sees the
stimuli as dominating the situation whenever he looks upon
it. But why should the same organization exist in the sensory
situation of the innocent animal? Experience shows that au

'Behavior Monographs III, 1. 1916.

150 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

objective situation may appear in very different organizations.
Formation of groups and forms in the field is the na-
tural outcome of many constellations of stimuli. Some part of
the field may also have an accent, or be dominating, spontane-
ously. However, under the influence of interests, of previous
experiences, etc., this original organization tends to change
into new ones. We have not yet studied these processes in
the case of animals, but one thing appears evident from the
first moment : It is altogether improbable that an animal, when
confronted with a new situation of discrimination experiments,
should at the outset have the same organization of the field
which exists in the experimenter's thought and perception.

Perhaps in this respect the animal's perception of the field
is much more different from that of the experimenter than a
young student's first perception of brain tissue in the micro-
scope is different from that of the trained neurologist. This
student cannot react immediately, and in a definite way, to the
differences in the structure of tissues which dominate in the
professor's microscopic field, because the student does not yet
see the field in this organization. Even so, the student at least
knows that in this situation his actual experiences of tempera-
ture, touch, muscular sense, noises, smells, and the optical
world outside the microscopic field shall be without any im-
portance. Nothing of this eliminating knowledge is given to
the animal, who is put in an apparatus and there shall learn
"to connect the stimuli with the reactions," but who really
is subjected to a world of sensory data in the surroundings
and in himself. Whatever the first organization of these data
may be it cannot possibly correspond to the very special or-
ganization which the experimenter sees. Therefore the ques-
tion arises as one of the greatest importance: What role does
the actual manner in which the situation appears to the ani-
mal play in his reactions and in the learning process? And
further, is learning going on independently of this factor and
of possible changes in the organization of the field? Or is re-
organization, which would make "the stimuli" outstanding
features in the field, perhaps an important part of the prob-
lem? In this case, does the animal need so many trials as it
really receives for the building up of a connection of stimuli
and reaction, or does he need those trials for the right or-
ganization of the field, so that eventually there is- the right
thing to undergo the right connection? Finally, does the
stress of reward and punishment exert any influence in the di-

INTELLIGENCE OF APES 151

rection of such a reorganization? If not, how else is the re-
organization produced?

As yet we cannot answer these questions, so far as the
lower vertebrates are concerned. But the observations of
Yerkes and my own make it rather probable that in anthropoid
apes at least the same thing may occur under favorable con-
ditions that is so common in man: After some experience in
a new situation he has to deal with, a sudden change into a
reorganization appropriate to the task, with the accents on the
right places. We may even suspect that afterwards not very
much time is needed for a connection between the now out-
standing stimuli and the reaction, if ever there was a real sep-
aration of the two tasks. Animals often learn so surprisingly
fast under the natural conditions of their life, when an object
they are already attending to shows "good" or "bad" prop-
erties.

If there is something in these remarks, we may be com-
pelled to make a revision of our theories of learning. But cer-
tainly not without new experience! Because, though we al-
ready know something about organization and reorganization
of sensory fields in man, we know hardly anything about it in
animals ; and therefore I propose to experiment about it. We
have methods for it. Even so, however, we may at least ven-
ture one simple hypothesis ; namely, that in animals, as in man,
the manner of presentation of the stimuli in a field will have
a strong influence on the forthcoming organization. A prac-
tical consequence of this hypothesis is that we should be able
to help the animals very much in their learning by presenting
the stimuli in such a form and in such surroundings and gen-
eral conditions that they tend to become the dominating fac-
tors of the situation spontaneously. (It is not the place here
to explain how that may be done.)

But the situation consists of more than the sensory field
only. There is reward and punishment in it; and in the ani-
mal, as their consequence, there is presumably something like
physiological stress as the working motor of the reorganiza-
tion and learning. We speak of them as of separate things,
but it is reward, punishment and stress in the reaction to the
field which seems to bring about reorganization and learning.
It might be, therefore, that a more intimate connection of
stimuli and reward or punishment will shorten the period of
learning considerably. The electric shock, for instance, ap-
plied to the legs, is not intimately connected with the task of

152 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

getting a red spot as "the negative stimulus." There is only
a very loose connection between them in space and time. If
that spot itself would make a sudden movement against the
animal and so frighten it whenever it goes the wrong way, we
should certainly have a situation much nearer the animal's
learning in common life and a more efficient one because the
negative stimulus is directly made outstanding thereby and at
the same time immediately imbues itself with "negativity."

With champanzees I went further. Clever apes can even
be "taught." By all possible means you may draw their at-
tention to the color of two boxes (or their difference) and
you may show at the same time that inside the box of one
color there is nothing ; whereas behind the walls with the other
color there is a banana. Whenever I proceeded so, forgetting
the rule that an experimenter shall not play any direct role
in experiments with animals, a striking increase of right
choices used to be the immediate effect. And why not forget
that rule, provided our principal intention in the actual ex-
periment is not the study of the most clumsy form of learning
but to make the chimpanzee master his problem as fast as pos-
sible ? We teach our children this way, and only a bad teacher
would not be able to verify afterwards if the result of learn-
ing is independent of himself. Nothing easier than to find
out in a chimpanzee if afterwards the result is genuine or de-
pends upon a wrong cue (the experimenter.) 7

Since it seems to me of some importance for our science
that animal psychologists acknowledge these new problems in
the general field of learning, I wish to defend myself against
one reproach. Do not these problems exist only if we intro-
duce the consciousness of animals? So many of the expres-
sions used in the description of experiments and in the ex-
position of the problems seem to involve the assumption of
consciousness. If that is so, the orthodox behaviorist will
jump back and solemnly declare that he has nothing whatever
to do with those rather mystical organizations and reorganiza-
tions of the field or the situation and that as a man of natural
science he will go on formulating his problems in terms of
stimuli and reactions.

My answer is that none of my expressions was meant to
imply consciousness. Nobody can describe the behavior of

In a new method which we found working well with apes, we
eventually eliminated from the study of the sensory field all learn-
ing by chance reactions. (Psychol. Forschung I, 390. 1922).

INTELLIGENCE OF APES 153

higher animals in its rich and concrete reality without using
terms which are ambiguous in so far as they mean behavior but
may at the same time imply consciousness. I always use them
in the first meaning. Let us take an example: "The ape ob-
served with great interest what I did." Can an ape "observe,"
can an ape have "interest" without having consciousness? Can
I state that his "observation" was directed upon my actions
without assuming consciousness in the ape? I do not know
whether in those cases the ape has consciousness or not. And
I can go on without knowing it, because "to observe a thing"
is a term which in everyday life, too, has a perfectly objective
meaning, a certain visible and very characteristic behavior to-
wards something being called so. I deny absolutely that we
always or even often mean consciousness or think about con-
sciousness of the people when we see the chemist, the police-
man, etc., "observe" a chemical reaction, a suspicious car, etc.
It is the same thing with "interest." A man or a chimpanzee
looks "interested." A visible and again a highly characteristic
attitude is meant in most of the cases where we use this word.

But why not use terms which are free from all ambiguities
and can only suggest objective attitudes and forms of be-
havior ? Because we have no terms of this kind. Or, if
there are some, they are not manifold and nuanced enough to
suggest to readers all the many attitudes and forms of be-
havior which are seen in the higher animals or man. To de-
scribe the contraction of all the muscles which are employed
when the chemist, the policeman, or a chimpanzee look "in-
terested" would be beyond my forces. And, by the way, no-
body would understand me, unless I added the remark: "You
know, I mean those movements which, as a whole, produce
the interested attitude," and there we would be again! On
the other hand, if once for all the meaning of those terms is
restricted to behavior, where is the danger in using them?
And if we should decide never to use them, one consequence
would be unavoidable: Our description of behavior would
become extremely poor, not more than a meager rest of the
concrete world of behavior would be accepted in our science;
and our theoretical concepts would very soon be exactly as
poor and meager as our material.

However, this defense holds for the description of behavior
only. The behaviorist would at once point out that in ex-
plaining the alleged problem of organization I have mentioned
the animal's perception of the field and laid much stress on

154 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

the organization in which the field appears to the animal. But
I must answer again that for my use of these words it has no
importance whether or not the animal has consciousness.
Only two assumptions are contained in these formulations.
The first is that in the higher animals some parts of the cen-
tral nervous system are the place of sensory processes, cor*
responding to the stimulation from without, just as certain
fields of the brain in man are shown by an overwhelming
evidence from pathology to be the stage of sensory processes.
And I use the words "perception of the situation" when I
mean the totality of these processes. One would be con-
demned to clumsy and boresome forms of speech if con-
venient terms of this kind were forbidden by the puritans of
behaviorism. The second assumption, which introduces the
physiological side of "Gestalt" psychology (as applied to the
sensory field), is a working hypothesis about a general prop-
erty of those sensory processes. Even the behaviorist who
formulates his problems in terms of stimuli and reactions must
assume that something happens between the former and the
latter in the central nervous system. He tends to deny that
any specific problems are to be solved in this region, between
sense organs and reacting organs. But this also is an hy-
pothesis and a rather vague one, to be sure. One problem at
least must be accepted as such. We have conductors between
the sense organ, the eye, for instance, and the reacting or-
gans; and these conductors lead from one to the other as a
kind of dense network. Either I assume that from one point
of the retina one conductor goes absolutely isolated to one re-
acting organ, a second conductor from another point of the
eye again isolated to the same or to another reacting organ,
and so on. In this case there is really not much to ask about
the intermediate region. Or, I realize that the network is
not very apt to be a sum of totally isolated conductors. And
in this case I must admit that the simplest rules of physics
are to be applied to the network, the processes in one con-
ductor becoming functionally dependent on the processes in
all the others, and vice versa. "Conduction" between the sense
organ and the reacting organs means now a problem of speci-
fic process distribution, in its most general aspects similar to
problems of process distribution in physics. And the effect
on the reacting organs, and therefore on behavior, will di-
rectly depend on this process distribution. It is this dynamic
distribution which I am alluding to when I speak about or-

INTELLIGENCE OF APES 155

ganization of the sensory processes. And I cannot see that
so conceived this term means anything mysterious; though the
main thing about it is to discover the concrete properties of
the distribution of which we know but little. Of course this
organization depends upon the stimulation, but certainly not
in the manner it would depend upon it if all conductors were
isolated from each other. And to say that a study of behavior
must be the investigation of reactions as dependent upon "the
stimuli'* turns out now to be a somewhat confused program,
very apt to hide this fundamental problem altogether : How do
the sensory processes depend on a given set of stimuli ? How,
therefore, the organization of the field, and how the reactions ?
We shall speak about it later on.

One may consider as a third assumption (though it is a
necessary one) that the distribution or organization of sensory
processes shall not depend upon the constellation of stimuli
only but on the total interior situation in the animal, too, so
that influences like hunger, fear, rage, fatigue and organiza-
tion in earlier experience can produce changes in a given dis-
tribution. But in this respect the behaviorist, if once he ad-
mits the problem of organization at all, would certainly have
the same opinion. 8

More than one psychologist would say that an animal who
(like Yerkes' orang) suddenly "grasps" the principle of a
situation in learning experiments thereby shows a genuine type
of intelligent behavior. But we can apply another test of per-
haps more significance. An example frequently to be observed
in the classroom will show you what I mean.

I try to explain to my students a somewhat difficult demon-
stration of a mathematical theory, putting all my sentences to-
gether with the utmost care in the right sequence and with all
possible clearness. I shall probably not have much success in
my first performance. Something remains dull in the faces
of my audience. So I repeat what I have said, and perhaps
in the course of the third repetition one face here, another
there, will suddenly undergo a marked change toward "bright-
ness." Soon afterwards I may call the owner of one of those
changed faces to the blackboard, and he will be able to give

8 I shall not deny that the emphasis I lay upon this problem is
largely determined by observations on man, even by observation
of what I see. But why not? Most of tie best work done in
animal psychology was suggested by experiences in man. So the
experiments in color discrimination, on the Purkinje phenomenon,
on contrast, on the effect of distribution in learning, etc.

156 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

the demonstration himself, we might say, to imitate what I
performed before. Something has happened between the sen-
tences of the demonstration in this clever student's mind,
something important enough to become immediately visible in
the change of his outer aspect and to make a new performance
possible.

If we try to apply this experience to experimentation with
apes we can't, of course, make use of speech, in giving the
model, and instead of mathematics, too, we have to choose
another kind of problem. What is the effect on an ape if he
sees another ape or a human being perform a certain action
which, if imitated by the ape, would be of the greatest advan-
tage for him? Here perhaps the objection may be raised that
an ape imitating what he sees done by others does not at all
show intelligence. Are not monkeys and apes endowed with
a special instinct to imitate almost all acts which they see per-
formed in their neighborhood? If, then, they do it under ex-
perimental conditions, too, what can we conclude?

But in this case a widespread opinion is an absolutely wrong
one, and the idea or the belief that monkeys and apes are con-
stantly imitating the behavior of others seems to have the
following origin. Monkeys and apes make a strong impres-
sion on us by some striking similarity between their behavior
and the behavior of man. Don't they use their hands in the
same manner as human beings ? Don't their faces show similar
"expressions" to those of man in many states of emotion?
All this is easily explained, if the primates find a special pleas-
ure in copying, or are mechanically compelled to copy the at-
titudes and the behavior of man. However, monkeys and
apes who are caught somewhere in the woods of Central Africa
or Asia show the same similarity with man's behavior from
the first moment, before any experiences with the behavior of
human beings could begin to have such an influence. The
similarity with man is a natural one and does not prove at all
the working of a strong "instinct of imitation."

In fact, there is not such an instinct. Imitation is almost
as difficult for apes and as rare in them as it is in lower ver-
tebrates. One does observe imitation of different forms or
types in apes, but not so very often, and only after certain
conditions are fulfilled. One first type of imitation which I
saw with surprise in chimpanzees is very well known from
observation in children. When the workman has been in our
house and the children have, of course, observed with greatest

INTELLIGENCE OF APES 157

interest what he was doing, we may see, on the same or the
following day, how the children with the help of some objects,
.a book, a stone, or a wooden board, are copying what seemed
to them essential in the performance of the man, in sawing,
nailing or boring. Let me call this behavior of children a
"serious play." It is a play, but it is serious at the same time,
as many plays of our children are, the child feeling himself
important in assuming the role of the artisan. If somebody
"laughs about the play, the pleasure in it is usually spoiled.

I would call the following behavior of a chimpanzee imita-
tion of the "serious play" type. On the playground a man
has painted a wooden pole in white color. After the work is
done he goes away leaving behind a pot of white paint and a
"beautiful brush. I observe the only chimpanzee who is pres-
ent, hiding my face behind my hands, as if I were not paying
attention to him. The ape for a while gives much attention
to me before approaching the brush and the paint because he
has learned that misuse of our things may have serious con-
sequences. But very soon, encouraged by my attitude, he
takes the brush, puts it into the pot of color and paints a big
.stone which happens to be in the place, beautifully white. The
whole time the ape behaved completely seriously. So did
others when imitating the washing of laundry or the use of a
torer.

Our modern civilization has made us judge all things with
special regard to their practical value I think, too much so.
My chimpanzee's painting is just a play without such a value.
Therefore we ask if the ape will also imitate when the model
is an act of practical importance for him, i.e., will he do it in
a form which is "more than play." There are cases of this
kind.

One day a chimpanzee was not fed in the morning, his food
being fastened on the ceiling of the room. A box was put
on the ground some yards apart, but the chimpanzee did not
use it. Indeed he never had used a box as an instrument be-
fore. In vain he tried to reach his food by jumping or by
climbing up on the walls and along the ceiling. Eventually
he became so fatigued that he went several times to the box
to sit and relax a little, while his eyes looked sadly up to the
food. After many hours in which no indication of the solu-
tion of the simple problem became visible I took the box, put
it under the food, climbed up and touched the food with my
hands, then stepped down again and threw the box some yards

158 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

away. In less than a minute the chimpanzee began to eat be-
cause, now, he took the box and used it as I had done, only
that he did take the fruit with him.

Another example: when food was fastened in the ceiling
near to the house of the animals, they would open the next
door, turn it in the direction of the fruit, and climb up as in
the case of the box. One day I made this trick more difficult
by fastening the door on the wall by means of a hook and a
ring, in order to see what a chimpanzee would do under these
new conditions. The ape whom I chose for the experiment
tried to open the door, but failed completely since he did not
give any attention to the hook and the ring. Chimpanzees
do not easily see that such a small object (hook and ring) can
be of importance for the movements of a large one (the door).
Finally, the animal gave up, but he watched me attentively
when I approached the door, lifted the hook and turned the
door a little. At this moment he gave a cry of surprise, very
similar in chimpanzees to the corresponding emotional ex-
pression in man, and I hardly had re-established the connection
of hook and ring when the ape was already at my side, opened
the hook, turned the door towards the food and solved the
problem.

These cases may easily produce an illusion as though imita-
tion were really an easy matter and not an achievement of
some significance. But we have only to repeat one of these
experiments with a less intelligent ape in order to see that cer-
tain conditions must be fulfilled before imitation becomes pos-
sible. One of the chimpanzees at Teneriff e was almost stupid ;
at least when compared with the other apes. He had been
present a great many times when other chimpanzees had used
the box as a tool for reaching objects in high places. So,
eventually, I expected this animal to be able to do the same
thing when left alone in such a situation, i.e., with a banana
somewhere in the ceiling, a box some yards apart on the
ground. The ape went to the box; but instead of moving it
in the direction of the food, he either climbed up on the box
and jumped from there vertically in the air, though the food
was elsewhere, or he tried to jump from the ground and to
reach the banana. The others showed him the simple per-
formance a number of times, but he could not imitate them
and only copied parts of their behavior which, without the
right connection in the whole act, did not help him at all He
climbed up on the box, ran from there under the banana, and

INTELLIGENCE OF APES 159

jumped again from the ground. Decidedly the right connec-
tion of box and food in this situation was not yet apparent to
our chimpanzee. Sometimes he moved the box a little from
its place, but as often as not away from the food. Only af-
ter many more demonstrations of the simple act did he finally
learn to do it in a manner which I cannot describe briefly.
One sees there is a serious task in learning by imitation even
for a less intelligent ape. An intelligent chimpanzee, observ-
ing another in this little performance will, for instance, soon
become aware that moving the box means from the first mo-
ment moving it to a place underneath the food, the movement
will be grasped as one with this essential orientation, whereas
a stupid animal sees first the movement of the box, not re-
lating it instantly to the place of the food. He will observe
single phases of the whole performance, but he will not per-
ceive them as parts related to the essential structure of the
situation, in which alone they are parts of the solution. Of
course this right organization is not simply given in the se-
quence of retinal images which the action of the imitatee pro-
duces. It is with imitation as with teaching. When teaching
children we can only give some favorable conditions or
"marks" for the new things which the child has "to learn/'
and the child has always to furnish something from his side
which we may call "understanding" and which sometimes
seems to arise suddenly, corresponding to the marks given by
us. Nobody can simply pour it into the child.

If apes in some cases are able to "see" the necessary con-
nection between the parts of a performance which they ob-
serve and the essentials of the situation, the question naturally
arises whether or not the same apes sometimes invent similar
performances as solutions in a new situation. An ape who
sees a box obliquely underneath some fruits hanging down
from the ceiling will soon try to reach these fruits from the
top of the box. Since the box is not quite correctly situated
and therefore the ape perhaps cannot reach the food immedi-
ately, does he "understand the situation" and move the box a
little until it is more or less exactly below the food. I have
described elsewhere how chimpanzees really solve simple prob-
lems of this type without the help of teaching or the model
performance of another. As this description is now translated
into the English language there is no need of repeating it at
this time.

But let me mention one side of the ape's behavior in many

160 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

of these experiments. An ape who has often used a stick as:
an instrument, when he found his food on the ground beyond
the bars of his cage, finds it there again beyond the reach of
his arms. But no stick is in his room, only a little tree is there,
a stem dividing into two or three branches. For a long time
the ape does not find a solution. He knows about sticks and
their use, and now there is a tree. But he does not see parts
of the tree as possible sticks. Later on he suddenly finds the
solution, goes to the tree, breaks off one of the branches, and
uses it as a stick. But it appears to me important that for
quite a while the tree does not seem to have any connection
with the problem. Human beings, accustomed to analyzing
and reorganizing the structure of their surroundings with re-
lation to a problem, would see the branches as possible sticks
from the first moment. In order to understand the ape's be-
havior from the human standpoint, we must take a somewhat
more difficult structure than the simple tree with its branches.
Let us suppose that for some reason or other you want a
wooden frame of the following form: \ In your room
there is not such a thing. Some other wooden frames namely :

CT3

do not look in the first moment as if they would be of any
use in your situation, even if you apply the saw, which may
be the only instrument available. To be sure, after I made
the preceding remarks about the ape you begin to analyse
these forms because you must suspect now that there I have
"hidden" the frame you want. And so you find it very soon
in the "j^. But wouldn't you give up, perhaps, in the case that
such a suspicion were not aroused beforehand, those forms
looking like casual parts of your surroundings? For the men-
tal level of the chimpanzee, the tree seems to be, with regard
to the stick (the branch), what the group of forms and es-
pecially the ] is for us with regard to that frame : The part
which we^ might use is not an optical reality as a part in the
whole which is given originally. It may become such a reality
by a transformation. Reorganization of the surroundings
under the stress of a given situation would then again be an
essential side of the task and at the same time its main diffi-
culty.

INTELLIGENCE OF APES 161

I know that several psychologists will not easily believe that
my description o intelligent behavior in apes is correct- An
almost negativistic attitude has developed in animal psychology,
so that we all are afraid of being criticized on account of an-
thropomorphic tendencies if our description of animal behavior
is not denying but showing some higher forms of processes.
Therefore I have made moving pictures of some experiments
of this type. They are much more convincing than all words
and arguments which I might add in order to corroborate my
statements ; but we have no technique to give this strongest ar-
gument to the readers of a scientific journal.

CHAPTER VIII

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY*

BY WOLFGANG KOHLER

What we call "Gestalt psychology" means a new point of
view and a new procedure in various respects, and in several
parts of psychology, so that it is far beyond my power to give
a complete and adequate idea of it in one lecture. If I try
to speak in general terms about it, my statements will needs
sound vague and you cannot see how they are to be applied in
concrete cases. And if I try to show how, in a more special
field of our science, the problems and the procedure of Gestalt
psychology develop, many sides and consequences of the new
concepts cannot possibly become visible, and you shall probably
take as a central position of Gestalt psychology what really
is only one of its applications. Since, in my judgement, the
second danger is less important than the possibility that very
general statements would not give you any concrete idea at
all, I prefer the risk which is the natural consequence of ex-
emplification in a special kind of problem; and I shall try to
show you how Gestalt psychology treats some sides of our sen-
sory experience, more especially, how the new ideas deal with
the visual field in a state of rest.

One of the fundamental methods of natural sciences is
analysis. The psychologist, therefore, confronted with a
complex field of vision, for example, feels naturally inclined
to analyze this field into smaller and simpler entities whose
properties he may study with more ease and with more
hope of clear results than an immediate consideration of the
whole field would yield. Generally he does not ask himself
what this procedure purports and if, perhaps, the term analysis
has more than one connotation. He simply analyzes down to
very small parts of the sensory field let us call them the "sen-
sations" which do not contain differences, which show a min-
imum of area, and so seem to constitute the simplest parts of
the field. Only gradually do we now become aware of the
fact that at this very starting point of investigation at least
two ambiguities must be carefully avoided.

Let us take an instance from the physical world: If we
want to study the air which is surrounding us in this room,

*Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University,
May 1, 1925.

164 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

we also shall feel inclined to analyze it. We may do that in
different ways. Either our attention picks out a "differential"
of this volume of air, i. e., an extremely small volume which
may be regarded as homogeneous in density, temperature, etc. ;
or we concentrate our attention on one molecule, say O 2 . In
the first case, everybody knows he is not treating a real element
of the air, he knows the differential is not defined by some
objective physical properties, as if its interior were kept to-
gether somehow, no such keeping together occuring beyond
the limits of the differential between different differentials;
he knows, therefore, that the limits of the differential are
existing in thought only. On the other hand, when taking
the molecule as the final product of our analysis, we mean
exactly an element of the other character: It is well defined
physically as a real unit; mutual inner forces which keep the
interior of it together are not, in comparable degree, uniting
parts of one molecule with those of another. In order to get
differentials our thought imagines arbitrarily separating sur-
faces in the medium; where a molecule is, begins and ends is
a question which nature has made out; the molecule is an
objective unit

Does a sensation belong to the first or the second type?
If we do not like to answer this question for the sensation as
a supposed part of "consciousness", I will ask the same question
for the physiological processes underlying the sensory field. It
would hardly be indifferent for the sensation or the sensory field
whether the process corresponding to the sensation must be
treated as a differential or as a molecule of the total field. We
should probably make different theories of sensory experience
corresponding to our choice of one or the other of these fund-
amental possibilities. In the psychological literature, however,
this alternative is hardly mentioned. So far sensation is a
vague concept, and the conquences of our use of this con-
cept will correspond to this state of affairs.

The second ambiguity of our concept, certainly related to
the first, may again be made dear by an example from physics.
I can connect two rooms by a number of tubes or pipes ; and I
can, in one room, press water into each of them separately,
so that in the other room jets of water come separately out
of each pipe and fall in separate receptacles. In this case we
have real elements before us, isolated streams of water, which
are so totally independent of each other that from the stand-
point of physics no problem is left referring to the whole of

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY 165

streaming water. On the other hand, I can connect two points
of a network of wires with the two poles of a battery of gal-
vanic elements. Immediately the electric current through this
network is established, forming the so-called stationary dis-
tribution in the net, in the wires connecting it with the battery,
and in the battery itself. Nobody can prevent me from con-
centrating my attention upon one small part of this conducting
system and upon one small part of the physical process going
on constantly in it. I may do that in my attempt at making
the theory of the process. But the next step I have to make,
if the theory shall agree with the facts at all, must consist in
my admitting that the small part of the process I have in view
is as it is, not for its own sake and independently, but only
in so far as in the other parts of the system the corresponding
processes are going on. The stationary distribution of elec-
tric current in a given system is a dynamic equilibrium of the
whole system, not to be reduced into independent branches of
current. 1 What occurs in one wire of this system, therefore,
cannot be compared functionally with the stream of water in
one of the pipes of our other example. In this pipe I shall find
the streaming absolutely unchanged, whatever may happen and
be changed in the other pipes ; the streaming in one of them is
a function of the local conducting properties in this pipe only.
In the case of electric currents in a conducting network, any
change in any place will immediately alter what happens in
"the small part" of it which we were considering. If, there-
fore, I like to analyze, in the case of the pipes, I may do it.
No harm will be done, provided my analysis finds the real
elements (independent stream in one pipe). But if my anal-
ysis picks out a part of that stationary current distribution, I
must confess in the next moment that here analysis cannot
mean the same thing, since I find a local state of affairs which
cannot be understood as long as I do not consider the whole
process. It cannot be understood because it does not exist
without the dynamic influences throughout the whole system
(and vice versa).

Is a sensation, or is a physiological process corresponding
to it, like one of those streams of water in separate pipes, i.e.,
functionally independent? Or is it like that "small local
process" in the network conducting the electric current, i.e.,

*It is instructive to know that in the early days of the investi-
gation of currents this situation was exactly as embarrassing for
physicists as the problems of Gestalt are now for us.

166 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

does it exist in its actual state only as dependent upon the
dynamic equilibrium distribution in a larger area? Evidently
this alternative is at least as decisive for our theory of sensory
experience as the former; but though dynamic equilibrium is
a word mentioned in some of our more modern textbooks, we
do not see as yet that the fundamental differences between the
two assumptions were recognized and the concrete conse-
quences worked out. For a long time we have all of us prac-
tically applied the standpoint of the pipes when treating the
sensory field. When, now, we are told that the contrary seems
to be more probable for several reasons and that we should
not go on with the pipes, we easily become angry and say that
we never did formulate such a radical principle as that of the
pipes. In this we are probably right, because we never had
a clear idea of the functional alternative, no idea that there
was something important to decide one way or the other, and
rather unconsciously worked in that line only. But I think
somebody should have stated that radical principle, because it
is of so much higher scientific value to make a clean, clear mis-
take, which is the best antecedent of progress, than to remain
in that phase of vagueness where not even mistakes can be
made and afterwards be displaced by something better.

One remark may be needed here to show that the two al-
ternatives are not simply identical. The molecule as rep-
resentative of an objective unit and the independent stream in
one pipe seems to be so similar ; yet we must not exaggerate the
parallel between them, because though a molecule in the air
is a physical unit held together by forces which do not connect
in a comparable degree parts of one molecule with those of an-
other, still what happens with the molecule may be determined
by its being the "part" of a larger whole (and vice versa).
If it has a charge (i. e. is an ion), for example, it will move
in the electric field and influence other charges by its own field
so that perhaps finally its movements will become one depen-
dent little part of just such a whole process as we described
above. Therefore a molecule or any other physically defined
unit may either be an altogether independent unit like the
stream in one separated pipe or it may, still retaining its pro-
perty of more specific unitedness, have a life which can only
be rightly understood if we consider a larger system in which
we find it.

Is a sensation of the molecule type? Let us try to answer
with complete naivete as if there were no psychology already
existent.

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY 167

I look up to the homogeneous blue sky of today, and find
it continuous. Not the slightest indication of its being com-
posed of real units, nothing of limits or of any discontinuities.
One may answer that my simple observation is not the method
to decide this point, but I cannot agree with this argument
since we need, first of all, concepts for the description and the
understanding of our immediate experience; and the sensa-
tion loses considerably of its importance as a fundamental con-
cept, if, taking it as something of the molecule type, we find
nothing to substantiate this idea in direct observation. The
continuity of that region of the sky or any homogeneous field
is a positive property of it. And we see that our fundamental
theoretical concept in this form does nothing to make this pro-
perty understood. On the contrary, a special hypothesis
would be needed in order to explain how in spite of the exist-
ence of sensation molecules the homogeneous field becomes a
continuum. Therefore the only thing produced by this useless
assumption is a complication of theory. And I lay the more
stress on this fact as we shall see very soon that there do occur
parts in sensory fields which are real objective units, though
they certainly are not "sensations". The concept of sensation
tends to hide for us the importance of these other realities and
has done so for a considerable time, very much to the drawback
of psychological progress.

Since the concept of a differential does not mean anything
like a real unit but only signifies the small uniform part of a
medium, field, or process which our thinking regards more
especially in a certain moment of our theoretical consideration,
sensation as a differential can evidently not be verified in ex-
perience. It has nothing to do with experience directly. Per-
haps it does not help us very much in our thinking, but at least
so long as we remain aware of its completely arbitrary nature
it will not conduct us into errors.

Having found that we may keep sensations in our system
as differentials, if we want to, we have to ask whether these
differentials we are considering in a quiet field of vision are to
be regarded as independent or as dependent differentials in an
equilibrium distribution of larger area. Feeling that this is
the very kernel of our problem we should give our answer
slowly, gradually approaching the decision by a series of ob-
servations. Before starting we remember that our procedure
shall be as naive as possible, so that it does not matter if our
observations follow a line where psychologists do not usually

168

PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

search for anything fundamental. It does not matter either
if, for a while, we seem to lose sight of our problem and seem
to go in a new direction.

One of Wertheimer's papers 2 describes observations of the
following type:

(1) You look on a series of spots (Fig. 1) whose dis-

tances are alternately of a certain larger and smaller width.
If I say that these spots appear spontaneously in groups of two
(which "belong together") so that the smaller of the two dis-
tances is always in the interior of one group, and that beyond
the larger distance a new group begins, etc., you probably will
not find the statement or the phenomenon very impressive.

I therefore introduce a change substituting straight parallel
lines for the spots (Fig 2), at the same time increasing the

difference of the two distances a little. The phenomenon of
group formation is now a little more striking. How "real"
it is you can feel when trying to form other groups in the series ;
namely, so that any two lines with the larger distance between
them form one group and the shorter distance is the space
between two consecutive groups. You see that this requires
a special effort. To form one of the new groups may be rather
easy; but to make the change for all of them i. e., for the
whole series simultaneously, is more than I, for instance, can
achieve. Most people never will get this other grouping as
dear, stable and optically real as the former one; and in the
first moment of relaxation or fatigue, you instantly see again
the spontaneously existing groups as before. It is as if some
forces were holding the pairs of nearer lines together,
Is distance in itself the decisive factor? Two spots or

*Psychologische Forschttng 4, pp. 301 fol. 1923.

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY

169

two parallel lines may be regarded as a rather poor boundary-
enclosing space between them. In our figures they do so
better when nearer together, so that we might perhaps form-
ulate our principle in the sentence that the members of a series
better enclosing space between them tend to form groups.
This new principle seems to work because it covers the fact
that the parallel straight lines form more striking and stable
groups than the spots. Evidently they enclose space between
them better than do the spots. And again, we can change our
last figure by adding some short horizontal lines so that the lar-
ger space between the more distant parallels begins to be better
enclosed (Fig. 3), and the result is that it becomes easy to see

the pairs of more distant lines with their annexes as groups,
even before the open distance between those annexes is made
smaller than the distances of the parallels nearer to each other.
But let us be cautious. Perhaps we have two different prin-
ciples, that of distance and that of "enclosing".

(2) In the next figure all members of the series follow
each other at equal distances, but there is a regular change in
the properties of those members (Fig. 4). It does not matter

whether the difference is of this type or a difference between
yellow and black, for instance. Even in a case like this (Fig.
5) you observe the same phenomenon, namely that the members

170 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

of the same "quality" (whatever it may be) form groups and
that a new group begins where we have a change in the quality
of members. Again you convince yourself of the reality of
this observation by trying to see the series in another grouping
than that. Probably you will not be able to see the series as
solidly organized throughout when trying to enforce any of
the other mathematically possible formations of groups.

(3) The description of our observations is not yet complete.
If we look back upon the series of parallels, we see that the
formation of groups is not an affair of those parallels only.
The whole area in a group, half enclosed between the parallels
nearer to each other, white like the surrounding paper, still
looks different from it and also different from the area be-
tween two consecutive groups. In a group there is a certain
aspect of "solidity", or we might even say : "there is something" ;
whereas between the groups and around the whole series we
have "emptiness" or "there is nothing". This difference,
described and discussed very carefully by Rubin, 3 who calls it
the difference between the characters of "figure" and "ground",
becomes the more remarkable since the whole group, including
its half enclosed white area, appears to "stand out" in space
from the surrounding ground. At the same time we may re-
mark that the parallels which, as it were, solidify the enclosed
area and lift it a little from the ground, "belong to this area"
in one more meaning: You see that they are the edges of this
enclosed area, but are not in the same manner edges of the in-
different ground outside the group. 4

There is more to describe in the aspect of even such a simple
field of vision. But, lest you might feel that I intend to lead
you into unimportant details, I hasten to carry our observations
on into a new direction.

(4) The groups formed in the series of parallels included
pairs of them. We add third parallels in the midst of each
group and find, as one may have expected beforehand, that
these three lines so close together still form groups and that
the grouping is even much more striking now than before
(Fig. 6). We may add two more parallels in each, group be-
tween the three already drawn. Not much of white is left

*Visuell wahrgenommene Figuren I. Kobenliaven, Christiania,
Berlin, London: Gyldendal, 1921.

'Similar laws are found to apply to the formation of units in
temporal series (Wertheimer, Psychol. Forsch. 4; Koffka. The
Psychol. Bull. 19, 1922).

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY 171

now in the group and the stability of group formation is still
increased (Fig. 7). Some steps more and the areas of our

groups are uniform black rectangles. There would be three of
them ; everybody looking upon the page would see these "three
dark forms." And our gradual procedure has taught us that to
see the black content of each of those areas, as "one thing"
united in itself, outstanding as one from the ground, is only
a very extreme case of the formation of group units which
we were observing first. It is not a geometrical truism it has
nothing to do with pure geometry that continuous uniformly
colored areas or spots in differently colored homogeneous sur-
roundings appear as wholes, units ; it is a primitive experience
in vision. And we have seen that it is an extreme example
of the fact that, with neighbours of equal properties given,
group units are formed. This principle was seen working
with increased effect the denser we rilled the area of the group.
It cannot stop working when the group becomes a continuum.
(I hardly have to mention that our uniformly colored wholes
might have thousands of different forms, usual ones like the
rectangle, to which we are accustomed, or quite unusual ones
like some spot of ink on the paper or a little cloud in the sky) .
You see why I started showing the group formation in the
case of separate members: It is easier to acknowledge the
problem there as a problem. To be sure, the unit of our black
rectangles is much more stable than that of our first spots
and parallels; but we are so used to uniformly colored areas

172 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

surrounded by other color "being one" that the problem here
is not grasped so easily. Most of the observations of Gestalt
psychology are of this kind : They touch facts of such a gen-
eral occurence in every moment of our life that, therefore, we
have difficulties in seeing anything remarkable in them. This,
too, is the reason why they are scarcely mentioned in psy-
chology.

Again the progress of our observations obliges us to look
back. We formed series of spots or straight lines and ob-
served their grouping. Now we have learned that these mem-
bers of our series themselves contain the same problem or
phenomenon, in so far as they already are extended and uni-
formly colored units. The consequence is that we find formation
of units in different "order" or "rank", e. g., straight lines
(lowest order) and groups of them (higher order). If a unit
exists it may still become part of a larger unit or group of
higher rank. Whether it remains exactly the same thing when
undergoing this absorption is a question which shall occupy
us later on.

(5) With the "being one," the continuous unit has re-
tained another property of the discontinuous group : It still
has the "figure" character as something solid, outstanding from
the empty ground. Imagine now that we substitute for the
rectangle, printed in black, a black rectangular paper, covering
the same area and carefully pressed against the page. Evi-
dently nothing of importance is changed; this paper is "one"
and has the character of something solid on account of similar
reasons that the printed rectangle had before. Imagine further
that this paper begins to grow in the direction at right angles
to its surface and the surface of the page. It becomes thicker
and is soon a black block or "thing" in space. Again nothing
functionally important is changed. But we see that the ap-
plication of our observations has become much larger. Where-
ver "a thing" is visible as "one" and as something solid the
same principles are concerned which we first became acquaint-
ed with in the formation of groups. There are still other in-
fluences working in our appreciation of things as units and as
solid, but we have no reason to think that those principles of
primitive group formation we were considering (and others I
could not mention here) lose their force when we have to do
with things in three dimensions instead of spots or rectangles. 5

5 "Things" again may become members of groups of a higher order.
Instead of spots we might have a series of men and still observe
the formation of groups. In architecture one knows enough about
that (compare the grouping of pillars, windows, statues, etc.).

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY 173

I am thoroughly aware of the fact that here we are con-
fronted with a subject for thorough discussion. Why should
such solid units in vision so generally correspond to real things
in the practical meaning of the word? And every day ex-
perience seems to show that this correspondence exists. What
would be our life if it were not so! There are two answers
to give. The first is that a great many objects or things in
the practical meaning have objective properties which make
them likely to be seen as optic units too. There is the world
of objects which man has created himself for his practical
purposes. Without much thinking he makes and has made them
so that in color and other properties they are apt to appear as
units. Of course, nobody gives his piano a painting which would
make parts of it easily combine into optic units with different
parts of the surroundings, making the piano disappear. Natural
objects often follow the same principle, because what has one
common origin in nature or belongs together in nature as one
thing will rather likely show some common surface properties
in color and otherwise, whereas the surroundings have dif-
ferent surface properties as being of a different origin and
different physical nature. So the mountain separates from
the sky, a cloud again from the sky, the blackbird (even at
rest) from the lawn, the stone from the sand, and the cliff from
the sea. The second answer is that, wherever our primitive
optic principles are not favorable to the formation of units in
correspondence to real things, it becomes more and more dif-
ficult to recognize, to find or to see these real things, until at
last we do not see them at all. Who has never in his life stared
upon an odd form at some distance which he could not explain
to himself and which, after a slight change of standpoint
(therefore change in arrangement of stimuli i. e. conditions
for grouping) suddenly broke up into one well-known thing
and perhaps parts of other well-known things? The moment
before the primary optical unit formation had created an ab-
solutely unknown optical thing, because the arrangement and
the properties of stimuli happened to be so. Paint the pencil,
the books, the ash tray, the eraser, the paper knife, the rule,
and the desk each in some colors distributing them in irregular
spots so as to have no relation to the total form of the object
you will see that your accomplishments in life are a little slowed
down because you are constantly seeking. Without painting:
Observe under what circumstances you do not find your pencil
for ten seconds, though it is openly before you on your desk.

174 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

In most cases you will observe that the position of the pencil,
relative to other objects, and some similarity of its surface
properties to those of the objects at its side, had united it with
them optically and so made it disappear as a relatively indepen-
dent optic unit. The art of making puzzle pictures is an appli-
cation of these facts the parts of a man, for instance, are ab-
sorbed by the surroundings ,and the last war, with allots
art of camouflage, has shown how far the optical destruction
of real objects can go, even if nothing disturbs the projection
of those objects on the retina.

Most things are certainly known objects for the adult. This
means, for instance, that when seeing a pipe we see it as some-
thing with a specific function in smoking, and of course this
"meaning" of that optical unit on our desk is brought into it
by experience. It does not follow at all that the optic unit of
it as such is a product of experience. As yet we have only
seen that the existing unit may become imbued with some
functional meaning by experience. On the other hand, I shall
not deny that experience has an influence upon our seeing
those units. But here we must avoid a circle. I saw a certain
object often in earlier life and under conditions of surround-
ings favorable for its being seen as a unit. The effect is that
I find myself more likely to see it again as "one thing" even
under conditions where the purely optical constellation is less
favorable for it and optical absorption of it or its parts into
other units would probably occur without the influence of pre-
vious experience. So this influence of previous life, instead
of showing how experience makes units out of something else,
presupposes the existence of the unit as such in previous see-
ing. It is an experience about those units which afterwards
becomes effective. The more one avoids the rather common
but dangerous phrase, that this or that thing "must of course
be explained by experience", the more one tries, in our case,
for instance, to consider concretely how experience might pro-
duce units (and out of what?), the less plausible becomes this
rather superficial statement. Recently we have made ex-
periments on this question which are not yet published, and
we are surprised to see how easily even that effect of experience
which I have admitted is overcome by showing a well-known
form in a constellation in which the primary tendencies of unit
formation are working against our seeing that form. One
example (not at all a very strong one) may demonstrate this
fact (Fig. 8). The first aspect of this constellation of straight

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY 175

lines is usually: A drawing consisting of three parts, two
irregular hexagons including a lengthy other form between
them. There is a strong tendency to see closed surface-forms
as against figures consisting of lines only. Therefore, the
|^, whose constituents are openly given in the contour does not
come into existence, one of its parts helping to form the first
closed surface to the left and the rest limiting one end of the
lengthy surface. When demonstrating cases of this kind I
often hear the argument: You forget that we have not seen
the well-known in such a connection before. But that is
exactly what I say : The influence of experience is not strong
enough to overcome spontaneously even such a simple ar-
rangement which tends to be organized into other and less
familiar forms. If nothing in the surroundings were changed,
we would of course instantly see the letter as we saw it at other
times ; but in this case no experience would be needed for ex-
planation. (In this example one can see the [/ very easily,
after being helped to. In other cases it becomes altogether
impossible really to see a well-known form in a given con-
stellation, even when one is absolutely certain about its con-
stituents being geometrically and physically present).

An observation showing that no experience is needed for a
first formation of units in the visual field is given in cases
where blind born persons gain their sight by operation. Psy-
chology used to be interested in these cases because of the prob-
lem of third dimension and of the correlation between space
in touch and in vision. Whatever the outcome for these prob-
lems, one point is quite obvious in the description of first
vision under these circumstances, though very characterist-
ically the investigators do not mention the problem as a prob-
lem: It may be an open question whether the patient recog-
nizes a square as a square which before he knew only by touch.
But certainly he understands the investigator very well when
asked what the form there is, showing thereby that he has there
something outstanding as one in his field of vision at once.

We began our observations intending to decide whether or

176 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

not the sensation is an independent differential. Our first re-
sult, however, has led us back to another concept, namely that
of a'n objective unit. In order to show what I meant with this
term, I mentioned the molecule in the atmosphere as a unit
which is not arbitarily conceived in thought, but objectively
given by the strong intercourse of interior forces, which hold
the molecule together, in contrast to the comparatively low dy-
namic interrelation between the molecule and its surroundings.
I chose the very small molecule as a model because the question
was if we had to regard sensations, supposedly small things,
as similarly small objective units ; and we found no indication
of their existence as such. But the concept of an objective
unit in the defined meaning is not necessarily restricted to small
things. A crystal, for instance, in the saturated solution in
which it forms is an objective unit, in such a similar meaning
as a molecule that some physicists have really called it an enor-
mous molecule. Are there objective units in a field of vision?
Yes, there are and we have been considering them now for
some time. It is not arbitrary and abstract thinking that makes
those groups or spots or rectangles or things in my visual field.
I find them there as optical realities not less real than their color,
black, or white or red, etc. As long as my visual field remains
the same (is not changed by internal or external influences)
there is little doubt about what belongs in one of those units
and what not. And if we have found that in the visual field
there are units of different rank, a group, for instance, con-
taining several spots, the larger unit containing smaller ones
of still stronger unitedness, exactly the same occurs in physics
where the molecule as one larger objective unit (defined by a
comparative break of interconnection at its limits) contains
smaller objective units, the atoms, whose interior is again enor-
mously stronger united than the molecule is. There is no
contradiction and no vagueness in objective units containing
smaller units. And as it remains an objective fact in the phy-
sical material, where the boundaries of its units and perhaps
of sub-units are, so in the visual field no arbitrary analyzing
thought should interfere with observation: Experience is
spoiled if we begin to introduce artificial sub-divisions where
real units and boundaries of one or the other rank are open
and clear before us. This is the principal reason why I think
that a concept like sensation is almost a danger. It tends to
absorb our attention, obscuring the fact that there are observ-
able units and sub-units in the field. Because in the moment

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY 177

we give up our naivete in description and theory and think of
the field in terms of unreal elements, these unreal little things
appear to our thought side by side, indifferently filling space,
some of one, some of another color or brightness, etc., and the
observable units with their observable boundaries do not occur
in this pseudo-description. I do not exaggerate. Look on the
development of the psychology of vision: All the more im-
portant observations relating to the real units, etc., began to be
made in the last thirty years only, though the facts were before
us thousands of years, wherever psychologists or other people
looked into the world. Artificial theory made us a little blind
for them. 6

It will be worth while to mention here one more ambiguity
of the term analysis in psychology. I may either consider in
theory one little part of the visual field, i. e* when thinking
about such a field about this we were speaking hitherto; or
I may, looking on an actually given field, pioceed by actual
analysis in vision. In the second case, when finding, for in-
stance, the letter ^>) in Fig. 8, I really have changed the visual
field, the units and the boundaries in it. There is a letter now
which did not exist before in the field and the units which
were given before are seriously changed. To really see the
letter and the closed areas of that figure at the same time and
undisturbed is more than I can achieve. Probably it is as
impossible as to have the two really separate atoms of O and
the molecule C>2 at the same time. Of course it is highly in-
teresting to produce such a change in the field ; what happens
or does not happen in such an actual operation may even give
very valuable hints on the nature of the units we are operating
upon. But in no case must one expect to find the whole truth
about a given unit by transforming the field and creating new
units in it. I would not find out all about a molecule C>2 when
describing two atoms O which I have really separated; and
also, the separate atoms O, which I describe, did not exist as
really the same things in the molecule. This is a point we shall
treat later on more thoroughly. 7 For the moment it is more
important to mention that from the standpoint of Gestalt psy-
chology there is after all one analysis which is perfectly gen-
uine, allowed and productive in all cases: The simple de-

*G. Humphrey, The Journal of Educational Psychology 15, 1924.

7 The fact in itself that the change of subjective attitude toward
the field can to a certain degree alter its properties, -units etc., must
be regarded as being a very interesting problem, 4\s yet it has not
been studied thoroughly enough (Kohler, Psychol Forsch. 6, 1925,
pp. 396 fol.).

178 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

scription of the field in terms of real units and sub-units as
their real parts, in terms of their boundaries, sub-boundaries,
etc.

The question we wished to answer was whether or not the
local state of affairs in a sensory field is an independent pro-
cess, so that the whole field may be regarded as a mosaic of
them. On our way we found something about extended units
in the field, and the same facts we were considering there give
an answer to our present question too. How can local pro-
cesses which are independent of and indifferent to each other
be at the same time organized into larger units of well observ-
able extent in some areas? How, again, can relative break
of continuity at the well observable limits of those areas be
understood, since these limits are not limits everywhere be-
tween little pieces of a mosaic, but only appear where one
group or unit ends? The hypothesis of independent little
parts is unable to give an explanation. All the concepts we
found necessary above for the description of the field have
no relation whatever to the conception of independent local
elements. And more concretely: Where our groups or units
are formed can certainly not be deduced by considering the
conditions in one point, then independently in the next, etc.
Only a consideration which takes account of how the local
conditions for the whole field relate to each other begins to
approach an understanding of those facts. Not the local
white along a white line drawn on a black field makes this
line a real optical unit in the field; there is no specific unit
and no line before the surroundings have a different color or
brightness. This difference of stimulation around as against
equality of stimulation within the line must in the given ar-
rangement be the fact which produces a specific unit. And in
the same manner for units of higher order: Not the independ-
ent or absolute conditions in one of our parallels, then the
conditions in the next one, make them form one group, but
that these lines are equal, different from the ground, and so
near to each other three prerequisites which again show the
decisive role of relations of local conditions. And let us be
careful not to forget the ground. Because, if a certain group
is formed, say two parallels, being half a centimeter from
each other, I only have to draw two more parallels on the out-
side of this group and much nearer to the first parallels than
these are to each other, and the first group is destroyed, two
other groups being formed by the parallels which are now

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY 179

nearest to each other (Fig. 9). Only so long as we had uni-
form white in the neighborhood of our first group did this
group exist. I change conditions in this neighborhood and
what was the interior of a unit, now becomes a gap between
two others. One consequence more follows immediately: The
characters of "figure" and "ground" are so absolutely depend-
ent upon the formation of units in the field that, since these
units cannot be deduced from an aggregate of independent local
states, the appearance of an area as "figure" or "ground" can-
not either. And still another fact as argument : We draw two
parallels and produce a group; we draw another congruent
pair but considerably more distant from the first than the dis-
tance between the first lines is, and go on increasing the length
of our series. The result is that all the groups in the series
become more solid than each of them would be when given
alone. Even over distances of such an amount the conditions
in one place have an influence on what happens in another,
and vice versa.

The fact that not the local properties of given stimuli but
the relations of those properties to each other (the total con-
stellation of stimuli, to use a better word) are decisive for the
formation of units, suggests at once the idea that dynamic
intercourse in the field decides about what becomes a unit,
what is excluded from it, what is "figure," and what falls
back as mere "ground." Indeed, at the present time not many
psychologists will deny that, acknowledging those real units,
etc., in the visual field, we have at once to draw the adequate
consequences for that part of the brain whose processes are
corresponding to our field of vision. The units, sub-units,
boundaries, the difference of "figure" and "ground" must exist
there as physiological realities. 8 There must be a unit of pro-

*Wertheimer, Experimentelle Studien uber das Sehen yon Bewe-
gung. Zeitschr. f. Psychol. 61, 1912. (Also: Wertheimer, Drei
Abhandlungen ziir Gestaltheorie. Verlag der Philos. .Akad., Brian-
gen 1925). Kohler, Die physichen Gestalten in Rulxe nnd im
stationaren Zustand, pp. 173 fol. Verlag der philos. Akad, Brian-
gen, 1920.

180 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

cess containing three comparatively separate sub-units when
we look on Fig. 8; and at least partially this unit of physio-
logical process must be disturbed and give place to a new one
not existing the moment before when we begin to see the K.
Remarking now that relative distance and relation of quali-
tative properties are the main factors determining the forma-
tion of units, we remember that exactly such factors ought to
be decisive for it if it were the effect of dynamic intercourse
in the physiological process throughout the field. Most physi-
cal and chemical interaction we know of depends upon the
relation of properties and on mutual distance between the
material in space. Now, differences of stimulation produce
points, lines, areas, of different chemical reaction and in cer-
tain spatial relations to each other on the retina. If there is
transverse connection between the longitudinal conductors of
the optic nerve somewhere in the optic sector of the nervous
system, mutually dynamic intercourse ought to depend upon
the relations of qualitative properties and space which are at
a certain time existing in the total optic process, streaming up
to or into the brain. No wonder, if we find phenomena of
distribution, etc., showing direct dependence upon those rela-
tions.

But physiological conclusions of this kind will appear better
founded if first we consider another side of our descriptive
problems. Intimately related to the existence of real units
and boundaries in the field of vision we find the fact that there
are "forms?' in this field. It was practically impossible to ex-
clude them from the foregoing discussion, because wherever
we see those units they have forms, 9 this being the reason
why in the German terminology those units are called "Ges-
talten." Again, the reality of forms in visual space is a fact
which cannot be understood from the standpoint that the visual
field consists of independent local elements. If there were ele-
ments of this kind forming a dense and perhaps continuous
mosaic as the "stuff" of the visual field, then we should have
no real forms in this field. Mathematically, of course, some
aggregates of them might be considered together, but that
would not correspond to the reality in which at a given time
some concrete forms are simply there in vision, not less than

*I do not ^think that the term "configuration" is quite adequate
as a translation of the German word "Gestalt". The word configura-
tion seems to mean elements put together in a certain manner, and
this is a functional idea which we must carefully avoid.

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY 181

colors and brightnesses. And first of all, mathematically, all
imaginable patterns might be considered in such a field o in-
dependent elements, whereas in vision always quite individual
forms are before us under given conditions. 10 If, now, we
examine these conditions upon which the real forms depend,
we naturally find again the qualitative and spatial relations of
stimulation. Naturally, because the now well-known units ap-
pear in the individual forms we are seeing, and we had to
realize previously that those units are somehow a function of
those relations. I remember from my own slow development
in this respect how difficult it is to make a sharp distinction
between any aggregate of stimuli, i.e., geometrically existent
patterns of them, and optic forms as realities. On this page
there are certainly some black points which, considered to-
gether, would be a large group of this real form, (Fig. 10).

Do we therefore see such a form as visual reality? Certainly
not. But let those stimuli be red and perhaps brought nearer
together and all people who are not color blind or half blind
for forms by brain lesion would instantly see this group as a
form. Also, to use our old example : We first did not see the
form of the letter K> but another with three separate units,
and only when these units gave way at least partially there
appeared at once the definite form of K- And do not think
that these were some exceptional cases painfully sought for
the purpose of my argumentation: There is no field of vision
you have in everyday life in which you might not find thou-
sands of geometrical patterns of all varieties; but you do not
see such forms because other existing units with other forms
have, as it were, spent and distributed the field amongst them.
All this is not only true for forms in a plane or in the
paper ; it is as much the truth for the things or objects in our
surroundings. And so I wish to warn you against the mis-
understanding that these problems of real units and their

M Kohler, Komplextheorie and Gestalttheorie. Psychol. Forsch.
6, pp. 386 fol. 1925.

182 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

forms might perhaps have some importance for aesthetics or
for other considerations of a supposedly higher level only
whereas they were foreign to the practical stuff of everyday
life. There is no object, no man you have to deal with, whose
optical reality -is not a concrete demonstration of the same
scientific situation. If, in thousands of years, people have
never become fully aware of it, it is not astounding that we
still have difficulties in realizing how full of problems one
glance into the world is.

"Perhaps you are right," somebody might say here, "in so far
as your units and their forms have psychological reality and
importance. It also seems probable that for units and their
forms the constellation of stimuli is at least as important as
the absolute stimuli themselves. But why not assume that
some psychic factor, which we might look for, collects the
local elements into units and gives them forms at the same
time? Your tendency is to deny the existence of independ-
ent sensory differentials and to consider those units and their
forms as the outcome of dynamic intercourse in the total
stream of the optic process itself. But you would not go so
far as to assert that the real nature of a local process is de-
termined by the relations of stimulation in a large area. Is
not, after all, the color or brightness which is somewhere in
the field the fundamental reality in it? And this color at
least does depend upon its local stimulus. White is white,
black is black on the surface of this paper, whatever may be
the units and forms in which they occur. They are independ-
ent local processes."

There are two points to answer. That color is a more im-
portant or more fundamental side of our visual field than the
objects in which they appear or the forms of those objects
would not be easy to prove. Our vital reactions are deter-
mined by the objects, one single property of which the colors
are. And if a color be ever so extended, but at the same time
be the mere ground on which an object appears, what deter-
mines our naive reactions from thinking down to eye move-
ments will be the object in 99 out of 100 cases, though its color
might be a poor gray. And the second point: Colors are de-
pendent on the constellation of stimuli throughout the field.
The black on this page is at once transformed into a bright
white, the white around it into a black, a gray spot may be-
come a red one, a red one white, without the slightest change
in local stimulation, if only you change the total constellation

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY 183

or quality of stimulation around the spot sufficiently. Every-
body knows that we have only to reduce the light reflected
from the white on this page to a small amount and to keep the
black letters reflecting exactly the amount of light they are
reflecting now in order to get white letters on a black ground.
No need to dwell upon the other cases. Because of simple
physical reasons really strong changes of this kind in the sur-
roundings of one smaller area which itself remains unaltered
are rather rare, and so we do not easily become aware of these
phenomena. Neither are we much struck by the more frequent
fact that a change of stimulation, for instance, produced by
change of illumination in a part of the field, leaves the white
of an object there much more constant than the radically dif-
ferent local stimulations can account for. Since the relation
of stimuli is not changed when only the illumination becomes
stronger or lower for our object and its surroundings at the
same time, the nuance, the white of this area, does not change
very much either.

I know, you say : "But that is contrast 1" Whatever the name
of it, we have to do with the facts behind the name and the
type of functional interrelation involved. The facts are that
local color also shows its dependence on a set of stimuli, when-
ever we change the average properties of stimulation in the
surroundings a little more than is usually the case. If we
make the experiment with this printed page, for instance, the
result shows clearly enough that the black of our letters is
really black only under conditions of much higher brightness
surrounding it.

And there is one fact about the contrast which makes it
altogether impossible to eliminate it from our discussion as
something old, well-known, and not connected with this prob-
lem. Quite a series of observations has recently shown that
the tendency to treat the visual field as a mosaic of elements
was particularly dangerous in the work on contrast. All of
these new observations agree in one essential point, namely
that the existence and the "amount" of contrast is in the high-
est degree dependent upon the units or forms which appear in
the field. We find contrast of various degrees, but we find
also the opposite of contrast under different conditions of unit
formation. , Even without any change in the constellation of
stimuli, if by change of subjective attitude we produce a real
change in the units of the field, the effects which are ascribed
to contrast may suddenly appear in striking degree or alto-

184 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

gather disappear as the case and the units may be. Apart
from the contrast, and more generally, several investigators
were able to show that it is easy thoroughly to alter local colors
by making their area enter one group or another in the forma-
tion of real units. 11

Instead of small units of the type of molecules we have
found larger units and forms in the visual field which come
into existence and disappear, depending mainly on the actual
conditions of stimulation. The manner in which stimulation
determined those units showed that the physiological founda-
tion of their existence must be dynamic intercourse in the
optic stream, the units being dependent real parts in this
stream, and every local process, if we want to consider it more
especially, being a dependent differential. It follows that such
a differential and its properties as we are considering in ab-
stract theory, cannot be rightly understood without going back
to the total sensory constellation in which they only are what
they are.

We draw a physiological consequence: If the local process
in an extensive system is by dynamic intercourse in this sys-
tem a dependent differential, it will change, and so will the
process in the whole system, until equilibrium is reached in a
stationary distribution without further change. We were treat-
ing visual fields in the state of rest. They must be the psy-
chological correlate to a stationary equilibrium distribution in
the corresponding processes of the brain. There are enough
cases in physics where a process originating in a system under
a certain set of conditions develops its stationary distribution
in extremely short time. The time in which the equilibrium
of an optic process is developed must also be rather small.
Because, if we give a set of stimuli suddenly, say by projec-
tion, the phase of "something happening," which we observe,
has an extremely rapid appearance, and in a moment we see
the field, its units and their forms at rest.

To avoid misunderstandings I may add that, in a state of
stationary equilibrium, the field is by no means "dead." The
mutual stresses in the phase of field formation (which of
course are themselves interdependent) do not disappear when
the stationary distribution is accomplished. They only have
now (together with the processes) those intensities and direc-

u Koffka, Zeitschr, f. Psycfcol. 73, 1915. Koffka, Psychol. Forsch. 4,
1923. Fuchs, Zeitschr, f. Psychol. 91, 1925; 92, 1923. Benary, Psychol.
Forsch. 5, 1924. Kohler, Psychol. Forsch. 6, 1925, pp. 411 fol.

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY 185

tions everywhere in which they balance each other. The total
process in stationary distribution is still a store of energy,
distributed in the field.

Physiological theory has to solve two different problems
with regard to the described properties of the field of vision.
These properties, as they really are, involving dependence of
the local state on relative properties of stimulation in a wider
range, including, further, the formation of units, their forms,
etc., have appeared almost marvelous, so that they often were
considered as the outcome of supernatural mental forces. The
first task, then, must be to show that, in the general functional
aspect, properties of this kind are far from unusual in physics.
So the more general difficulty is removed, by demonstrating
a corresponding type of processes in exact science, particularly
if we can show that, under the circumstances given in the op-
tic sector of the nervous system, processes of that general
type are very likely to occur. If that is done, the second task
will consist in finding that individual kind of physical (or, if
you prefer, physiological) process which may be assumed to
be the physiological reality underlying a field of vision. This
second task is by far the more difficult, given our lack of
physiological knowledge. We have hardly begun to seek our
way towards a solution of it, and so I return here to the first
problem.

The main difference between the functional ideas which are
usually applied to the central nervous system and the func-
tional concepts of Gestalt psychology may perhaps be formu-
lated as follows : A process starts somewhere independently
and its way is determined by a well-conducting path pre-exist-
ing by inheritance or formation in earlier life. The process,
then, arrives somewhere, as a stone which I throw hits the
window, and produces those effects which it must produce un-
der the conditions given at this place of arrival. That is the
prevailing f unctional idea of today. The conducting path de-
termines the consequences of the process, since, with another
connection, absolutely different results would be produced in
quite another place, and the process between two places is in-
dependent of the mutual relation of properties in these
places, existing the moment before the process begins. So
something "blind" is one of the principal characteristics of
this functional concept, one place being influenced suddenly
from without; it has "no vote" in the matter. If evolution or
association has not built up the right conducting path, any-

186 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

thing may happen in the central nervous system. Of course
there are conductors in the theoretical ideas of Gestalt psy-
chology, too ; but they play a very different role here, being
in a sensory field, for instance a rather indifferent quasi-
homogeneous network, which in itself does not prescribe what
the outcome of nervous dynamics shall be, or where a process
shall go. This is regarded as mainly determined by the rela-
tion of actual physiological properties in the different places,
and so is the distribution of conduction in the whole network.
Our good will to find the "mechanism" or the "machinery"
for special nervous processes has made us almost eliminate
what is a dominating factor of a great part of physics : There
differences of temperature, of pressure, of concentration, of
potential, i.e., of relations of properties, throughout the sys-
tem in its actual state, determine what part exerts what influ-
ence on what other part in the next moment. No special con-
straining and isolating conductors are responsible for the re-
sult the medium in itself would conduct everywhere in every
direction and the really occurrent distribution of process is
itself depending upon those physical facts, as they are at a
given time. Processes of this kind are not "blind" in the man-
ner described above, since it is a mutual affair between places
and their properties whether a process originates between them
and what kind of a process it shall be. Neither must we ex-
pect nature to produce a horrible confusion without special
constraining arrangements for the "right" conduction ; because
the outcome of this 'freer," though absolutely necessary, dy-
namic interaction is everywhere in physics a very regular and
orderly spontaneous distribution of process with very striking
features, reminding one of biological phenomena. Since all
places are dynamically interrelated with all others, even the
interaction between two of them in a given moment is found
dependent upon the actual state of the whole system ; and so we
understand why the total process can and must obey one law
for it as a whole: It approaches the equilibrium distribution,
which is not an affair for its single parts but for the whole
range of the system. For a long time we have believed in the
predominant and almost exclusive importance of rigid arrange-
ments in the nervous system which were supposed not to take
part in the process or to be influenced by the actual situation,
but only to enforce the right ways of nervous stream "from
without." The above observations seem to suggest that we
have overdone this principle. They tend to show that finally

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY 187

we must try also to apply the principles of direct and freer dy-
namics, 12 as they are working in physics. To be sure, the
usual older concept is not actually in contradiction with physics,
but it corresponds to one possibility in physics only, omitting
those types of physical systems altogether which are by far the
richest in functional properties and consequences and behave a
little like systems in biology. 13

At least one glimpse on the more special way in which this
general idea may be applied to the optic sector of the nervous
system: In consequence of unequal stimulation in different
areas of the retina, different areas of a cross section of the optic
sector contain unequal chemical reactions and so contain un-
equal chemical material in crystalloid and colloid form. If
these unequal areas are in functional contact, they certainly
are not in equilibrium. There is "energy able to work" in the
system wherever areas of unequal properties have common
borders. Here in the contours must be the main source of
energy for dynamical intercourse. It would be so in physics
or physical chemistry under corresponding circumstances. 14

Our assumption gives a physiological correlate for form as
an optic reality. From the standpoint of independent elemen-
tary processes such a correlate could not be found. Their in-
different mosaic would contain no real forms or, if you pre-
fer, all imaginable but not real forms in each case, namely for
a mind who would pick them out of the mosaic. Evidently
only a kind of process which cannot be split up into independ-
ent local elements would be 'acceptable as a correlate of real
form. Now, the stationary equilibrium of the process which we
assume to underly the field of vision is a distribution of stress
and process in space, 15 which only maintains itself as this
whole. Therefore we make it our working hypothesis that in

"The word "free" is used here in a meaning which does not con-
tradict strict necessity at all, exactly as a physicist speaks about
different "degrees of freedom" in a system: A system has more or
less freedom in physics, the lower or greater the number of special
arrangements is which constrains the free dynamic intercourse of
its parts. . In the usual hypothesis about the nervous system, we
give its processes as little freedom as possible.

"Kohler, Gestalprobleme und Anfange einer Gestalttheorie. Jahres-
bericht iiber die gesamte Physiologic 1922. Berlin, Springer 1924.

^Kohler, Die physischen Gestalten etc. pp. 1 fol., p. 185, pp. 195 fol.

^he concept of space requires a special consideration here since
in the brain it cannot simply be measured in cm, cm* and cm*.
(Kohler, Die physischen Gestalten, p. 232 fol.)

188 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

all cases this distribution is the physiological correlate to the
space properties of vision and especially to form. Since our
conception of a physiological unit is necessarily in so far rela-
tive, as any sharp decrease in the intimacy of dynamic inter-
course at the boundaries of an area shows its interior to be a.
real unit, we can without contradiction treat the whole optical
process as one for a given time, and still assert the formation
of specific (mare intimately connected) units with their forms
in it, depending on the spatial constellation of stimuli.

We consider the case of such a real form and unit a little
nearer. We said that the form of a unit is determined by the
properties of stimulation in relation to each other. It is well
known that many years ago Mach and von Ehrenf els drew the
attention of psychologists to a property of forms (and more
generally Gestalten) which is only a consequence of that fact.
If we change the absolute properties of stimulation, the form
of a unit remains the same for a wide range of the change,
provided the total constellation of spatial and other relations
of stimulation is not changed. On a homogeneous background
the objective circle is seen as the same form though we change
the fixation point considerably. A change of color does not
matter if only the interior and the background remain homo-
geneous and remain different from each other. We may re-
duce the diameter or increase it; that does not matter either,
so long as this change does not pass certain limits. Of these
possibilities of "transposing a form" the first ones do not re-
quire a special consideration in our physiological theory be-
cause one sees at once that our physiological assumptions lead
to the same results. But about "transposing in size" some
words may be needed, and I give the example of a very simple
equilibrium distribution in physics in order to show that there
the same thing occurs and must occur.

^A number n of condensers is only connected by very thin
wires, and the direct mutual influence by the electrostatic field
is practically excluded by very large distances between them.
If we give this system a total charge of amount e, this charge
will distribute itself spontaneously on the surface of the con-
densers. Then, calling the electrostatic capacities of the con-
densers Ci, C 2 ..C p ..C n in the equilibrium distribution, the
charge e p of one of them will be:

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY 189

Ci o L .1. C* -i- i /^i
1 "T" 2 " " " " o ~*~ * ~T~ n

This charge remains in the condenser p as long as the other
charges remain in the other condensers and vice versa. The
simple formula shows that correspondingly this charge e is
a function not only of the local conditions (C p ), but also of
the conditions everywhere else in the system (C x etc. appear-
ing in the denominator) as is the case with all equilibrium
distributions and with units in the field of vision. Hence a
change of conditions in one point of the system affects the
distribution throughout. But there is one type of changing
conditions which does not make the distribution react at all.
Multiply or divide all capacities by the same factor which
may be done in reality by increasing or diminishing their lin-
ear dimensions in equal proportion and the local charges or
the whole distribution do not change at all. e p is depending

on etc., only. I might as well have written:
C P

C 2

c p

The relations of relevant properties (capacities) have not
been altered, and so the distribution has remained invariable
under the transposing of spatial properties. Invariability
under transposing is therefore not at all a thing peculiar to sen-
sory experiences. (For simplicity's sake I chose an example
where the spontaneous distribution is one of rest. But we
find quite similar facts in cases of spatial processes as depend-
ing on spatial conditions.) 16

"Our example may be used also as an illustration of a "freer"
system. No previous isolating arrangement of conductors deter-
mines what charge is conducted to what condenser. At any branch-
ing point the current might take all open ways in all degrees of inten-
sity. Still, in a given system, we have one equilibrium distribution
only, because the current everywhere is fully determined by the
mutual relations of actual properties (potential) throughout the
system; so it streams and changes until all stresses are in balance
for the whole.

190 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

The application of the general principle to the optic sector
of the nervous system will then consist in our assuming that
stimulation and relations of stimulation produce the energy
for a process in the optic sector. The distribution of this
process will depend primarily on the retinal constellation of
areas of different stimulation, on the general properties of the
conducting net and on influences which are exerted upon the
optic sector from other parts of the nervous system and the
organism as a whole. You see from my last words that per-
haps we are not allowed to treat the optic process as one pro-
blem of Gestalt and not to include a still larger system.

Eventually I should like to show, at least in some cases,
how, with this standpoint in sensory psychology given, the
consequences necessarily reach much farther.

We have seen that the existence of a geometrical pattern of
stimuli on the retina does not at all determine whether I see
certain forms or not, because if we change the surrounding
pattern or even our attitude only, the outcome may consist of
quite different units and forms. Therefore "recognizing/'
which in the majority of cases is not a recognizing of color
or brightness but of the form of a unit, of an object, for in-
stance, will one time occur, another time not, depending upon
the principles we were discussing, i.e., upon the reality of units
and forms. Rubin has shown that in very impressive experi-
ments.

It is the same thing with "meaning" and with "reproduc-
tion" Certain stimuli and groups of stimuli will not reproduce
anything at all before the right unit or form, which acquired
in experience a meaning or a reproductive force, becomes a
physiological and psychological reality. How should anybody
pronounce the name of the letter K when looking on Fig. 8,
before he sees this form as an optical reality? But, in other
cases, one can show in an even more convincing way how de-
cisive this existence or non-existence and the properties of
real optical forms in the field are. I made experiments of this
type:

The subjects are shown pairs of figures like, e.g., Fig. 11,
for a short time. After awhile reproduction experiments are
made showing the subjects in one-half of the cases a real part
of the original, for instance the straight line to the left in our
example ; in the other half much more of the geometrical pat-
tern is shown, but so that 'the part" shown does not correspond

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY 191

to an optical reality in the original, for instance Fig. 12. We
are used to thinking that reproduction becomes easier the
larger the fraction of the original is which we give. We might
predict from our principles, and we find it proved by experi-
mentation, that this purely quantitative factor does not mean
very much and may easily be overcome by something more
important. Which half of the cases yields more and more
correct reproductions? The first one where "less? of the
original is exposed! And why? Because there I show some-
thing that did exist very nearly so in the original, whereas in
the second case I show something that certainly did not occur
in the original as a psychological and physiological reality and
therefore did not acquire a reproductive force. The subject
did not see the three straight lines more to the right in the
group of four, and the first to the left, now forming one mem-
ber of the group of four, has lost much of its relative inde-
pendence and thereby has changed its character so far that it
does not reproduce now as it reproduces when given alone.
[Some experiments made by Shepard a*id Fogelsonger in this
country seem to become explainable from the same principle.] 17
This example will perhaps prove better than much description
or discussion of "Gestalten" how essentially the understanding
of mental life and of the corresponding physiological pro-
cesses depends upon our discriminating between really exist-
ing forms and elements arbitrarily analysed in thought.

We further have evidence for believing that the coordina-
tion of certain simple motor reactions to a visual field depends
on our principles directly. If, in the stereoscope, one vertical
line is exposed to one eye and a second to the other so that with
a given degree of convergence of the two eyes the lines appear
nearly parallel and at a rather short distance from each other,

17 Psychol. Review 20, 1913. For the explanation Psychol. Forsch.
6, pp. 379, foL 1925.

192 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

we find them uniting into one line almost at once. It is well
known that in this case our eyes turn without our intention into
that degree of convergence which brings the two lines upon two
corresponding verticals of the two retinae, the two physiologi-
cal processes becoming probably more intimately united under
these circumstances than with any other degree of convergence.
But we have seen already that parallel lines near to each other
[seen in a monocular field of vision, or both of them with both
eyes] form a group or belong together as if under mutual at-
traction. Doesn't it look as if, under the conditions given in
our stereoscopic observation, these forces were accomplishing
the same thing more thoroughly by really uniting the parallels ?
An examination of the situation from the standpoint of phys-
ics seems to show that such a thing might really occur. We
saw that in the equilibrium distribution of process the field is
still full of stresses which are for the moment in balance, but
represent a store of energy. So in vision there seems to be
stress tending to bring the two parallels together. In physics,
if such a field is functionally connected with movable parts,
amongst whose movements some definite form of motion would
release the still existing stresses of the field, this movement
will immediately occur, produced by the energy of those
stresses. These only "waited'' as it were, for an opportunity
to let their energy work, for instance influencing movable parts
in the direction of a better equilibrium. The better equilibrium
in physics lies always in the direction of those stresses which
tend to produce some change, but which in our physiological
case cannot do it directly in the field. If possible, then, they
will do it by a detour influencing the muscles of the eyes as
moveable parts in the direction of release of their energy.
There is nothing supernatural in such an orderly physical pro-
cess, no process with or without detour can ever produce
changes which are not directed toward a more stable equili-
brium of the whole system. We have only to adopt this view
for the case of the optical part of the brain and its nervous
connection with the muscles of the eyeballs in order to have a
new explanation of fixation movements which is founded on
principles of Gestalt theory and physics. 18 Of course the
hypothesis needs a careful working out for the concrete con-
ditions given in the nervous system and in the muscles of the
eyes. But the more we work in this direction the more facts
seem to show that we are on the right way.

^Kohler, Jaliresbericht iiber dis gesamte Physiologic 1922, pp. 536
fol.

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY 193

About one other and far more important extension of Ges-
talt psychology only some brief remarks are possible here. We
dealt with forms or groups of very different degrees of solid-
ity. There are cases in which all attemps of destroying, in
actual analysis, a given form in favor of a certain other form
are in vain. But distribute the furniture of a room in an ir-
regular manner through this room: you will have rather solid
and stable units, the single objects, but no equally stable and
firm groups will be formed spontaneously with those objects
as members. Still equality or similarity and dissimilarity of
color and other properties, relative distances, etc., are tending
to form groups; but you observe that one group formation is
easily displaced by another, depending on slight changes of
conditions, probably in yourself. It is evident that, under such
circumstances, the influence of changes in the subjective atti-
tude towards the field will be much higher than in the case of
the solid units or stable groups. Even forces of no peculiar
intensity will now be strong enough to produce new groups in
a field which with the exception of the objects in it does not
resist very much because its interior tendencies of group for-
mation are too weak. [If we wish* to remain consistent in our
form of theory, subjective attitude and change of it must also
be represented in the physiological field as physical states or
stresses and changes of them, which influence the formation
of physiological groups.]

The members of these groups, the objects, are however more
than purely optical entities under most conditions of life.
They commonly appear as imbued with "meanings," "func-
tional properties/* and so on, by experience. And these sec-
ondary properties, when actually present, must be almost in-
herent now in the optic physiological process units of objects,
because in extreme examples we have the strong impression
of actually seeing the acquired properties in the objects, even
if there is no possibility of their having a purely optical origin.
I cannot tell you briefly how Gestalt psychology would treat
this fact. For the moment we may state only that in practical
life, of course, seen objects have more properties than we
have had to treat as yet. Do not forget however that one
necessary prerequisite (for seen objects being imbued with
their functional properties) is always their real optical exis-
tence as forms in the field. If you apply "camouflage" to them,
or if the optical units do not actually exist for some other rea-
son, the functional properties do not appear either.

194 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

Supposing now a field to be given, in which objects have
no strong optical tendency towards formation of stable groups,
our subjective attitude will often tend to group them with re-
gard to acquired functional properties; not necessarily so that
objects of equal functional value are grouped together, rather
more frequently so that objects which belong together in one
actual practical task of performance stand out together in the
field. Here, however, we must be careful to avoid a mistake.
The subjective attitude may easily be taken as something for-
eign, acting from without like an independent power on the
content of the field, for instance, forming groups in it. In
real life quite a different thing usually happens. The chim-
panzee behind the bars of his cage seeing a banana beyond
them too far away for his arm is, when healthy and not over-
fed, immediately in a well defined subjective attitude ; the ba-
nana there "arouses his appetite/' that is, the relation between
his inner conditions alluded to and the aspect of the fruit
makes the banana outstanding in the field, makes the "func-
tional value" of it very alive and produces the corresponding
stress towards the fruit, both things being sides of one and the
same fact. There is no arbitrary subjective attitude; the ap-
pearance of this object and the animal's attitude towards it
are changed correspondingly and at the same time, determined
by the relation between the animal's inner condition and one
real part of the field. If we consider, not the visual field
separately, but the larger whole in which it really occurs,
namely the total situation including the inner conditions of the
animal, we find the subjective attitude as well as the functional
value produced in mutual dependence. The subjective atti-
tude, then, does not come more "from heaven" than changes
which it produces in the visual field ; and we become aware of
this fact when we do not restrict our consideration arbitrarily,
that is again, if we do not make an artificial analysis. After
a short while we see the chimpanzee looking around for a stick.
Evidently this attitude is not less determined in the total situa-
tion than was the direct tendency toward the food. But again
this new attitude has remarkable consequences upon the objects
of the field. A man can easily observe in himself in a similar
situation and one can see in the behavior of the ape, that many
objects which are not real sticks but something similar to them,
appear very soon "as sticks" in the functional meaning of the
word, if no real stick is found. 19 The tree with its branches

"Kohler, The Mentality of Apes. p. 37, 1925.

AN ASPECT OF GESTALT PSYCHOLOGY 195

however may for a long time remain "one thing," too much
a unit optically to let the functional value of a stick enter the
branches, since these are not seen as optically real parts at
least by the chimpanzee. If finally this unit is destroyed under
the pressure of the subjective attitude of "seeking a stick/'
we certainly have a case of a unit changed by the subjective
attitude; but once more this attitude itself is changed at the
same time and in a corresponding manner : as soon as the atti-
tude of seeking makes the branch a real part of the field, that
attitude itself undergoes the change from "seeking" to "break-
ing off." After all we seldom have the subjective stress alone,
it is a stress between man (or animal) and the field or some
part of it, determined by the relative conditions of both sides
in this total situation. Therefore, in principle, no change will
occur on one side without a corresponding change on the other.

I draw some conclusions: Reorganization of the field by
subjective stress, if the field is not too stable, seems to be an
important side of intelligent behavior. We suspected this be-
fore when describing the behavior of apes. But the sub-
jective stress is as much a function of the field as the field is
of the stress, both being dependent sides in the total situation.
And, of course, only if the subjective attitude is so concretely
related to the actual field, can the corresponding stress have
effects on the field which lead to the "solution of the problem"
given in this field. In the total situation, including inner and
outer conditions, the inner and outer sides of what happens
seem to be in a similar functional interdependence as prevails
for instance between the dependent areas of the visual field.
If that is true, the dynamic intercourse between field and sub-
jective stress must follow the same rule, that is, develop in the
direction of equilibrium, which as yet I have only applied to
the field, the eye movements, etc.

With these remarks I return to my starting point: Though
here I have mainly tried to explain the procedure of Gestalt
psychology in its treatment of the visual field, this is by no
means the only application which the functional concepts de-
veloped above admit. They can be as well applied to the full
reality of mental life and we are beginning to do it. But
since we need firm ground under our feet we prefer to intro-
duce our standpoint by showing how it works in vision, because
there we have the best methods for concrete, experimental
decisions.

PART IV

Purposive Groups

MORTON PRINCE

CHAPTER IX

THREE FUNDAMENTAL ERRORS OF THE

BEHAVIORISTS AND THE RECONCILIATION

OF THE PURPOSIVE AND MECHANISTIC

CONCEPTSf

BY MORTON PRINCE

Of course all students of Behaviorism cannot be shipped in the
same boat for they would soon begin to quarrel like all other
psychologists. There are several types differing from one an-
other in their points of view and doctrines. Woodworth
recognizes four different types*. Therefore I do not suppose
it is possible to define Behaviorism or Behaviorists in terms
to which all who claim to be good and true believers would
agree. So it would not be fair to impute to one type an error
that may only be true of another type. Nevertheless I think
it is reasonably accurate to say that Behaviorism is an attempt
to explain human (and of course animal) needs, motives,
desires, impulses, emotions, thought in short conscious activ-
ity and the resulting (as commonly supposed) bodily activity
in terms, not of consciousness, but of the neural and glandular
processes correlated with the former and of the bodily motor
behavior which they admittedly induce. Accordingly it is
not necessary to take account of consciousness at all, but only
of the objective processes which are correlated with conscious-
ness, and which enter into the chain of causal events event-
uating in bodily behavior. Whether or not consciousness has
anything to do with determining our actions, behavior conduct,
bodily reactions can be adequately explained by the mechanisms
of the nervous system considered as reflex processes organized
into systems (patterns) and the resulting motor activities of
the individual. Some behaviorists go so far as to hold that
consciousness has nothing whatsoever to do with our bodily
reactions and conduct.

Thus, in his recently published book a leading and esteemed
Behaviorist, after opening his exposition with the definition, of
Psychology as "The Science which studies behavior and con-
sciousness", lays down the principle that consciousness has
nothing to do with determining behavior. It needs to be

f Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University, De-
cember 15, 1924.
*Psychological Review, July, 1921

200 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

studied, of course, like any other biological event; "no
scientist," he says, "can afford to ignore the circumstances
attendant on the events (of behavior) he is observing. Intro-
spection on conscious states is both interesting in itself and
necessary for a complete account." ^ But, he maintains, for all
that, consciousness does not explain behavior. It is only an
epiphenomenon and apparently any given behavior would occur
just as well without it as with it. "Consciousness", he goes on,
<f is in no way a cause of the bodily reactions through which
the needs are fulfilled. Explanation is not derived -from desire,
feeling, will, or purpose, however compelling these may seem
to our immediate awareness, but from the sequence of stimula-
tion neural transmission and reaction. Consciousness often
accompanies this chain of events; but it never forms a link m
the chain itself"*

Desire, feeling, will and even purpose are thus recognized
as events, but they are useless events for all the good they
do in determining our actions. Our actions may accomplish
our will and fulfil our purpose but we are very foolish in
believing that our willing or purpose had anything to do
with them. So, also, Huxley taught just fifty years ago when
he explained to us that consciousness was related to the
mechanism of the body as the steam whistle to that of the
locomotive engine.

"The consciousness of brutes," said Huxley, "would appear to be
related to the mechanism of their body simply as a collateral product
of its working, and to be as completely without the power of
modifying that working as the steam whistle, which accompanies
the work of a locomotive engine, is without influence upon its
machinery." Their volition, if they have any, is an emotion indi-
cative of physical changes, not a cause of such changes.

Again, "It seems to me that in men as in brutes there is no
proof that any state of consciousness is the cause of change in the
motion of matter of the organism. If these positions are well based,
it follows that our mental conditions are simply the symbols in con-
sciousness of the changes which take place automatically in lie
organism: and that, to take an extreme illustration, the feeling we
call volition is not the cause of a voluntary act, but the symbol
of that state of the brain which is the immediate cause of that
actf

Huglings- Jackson* and Charles Mercier** taught the same
doctrine; so the Behaviorists are harking back to the past

*Italics mine.

fFortnightly Review, November, 1874.

*"Evolution and Dissolution of the Nervous System" and other
papers.
**"The Nervous System and the Mind."

FUNDAMENTAL ERRORS OF THE BEHAVIORISTS 201

This is a very convenient principle up to a certain point,
when, as I hope to be able to show, it lands us in a veritable
and impenetrable jungle where we can no longer follow the
course of the behavioristic reactions. For the "steam
whistlers" very conveniently get rid of the parlous problems
of both introspection and inferences from objective events in
others, the only methods by which consciousness can be
studied; but it may be doubted whether it is true, as our
author maintains, that "a material advance has been made in
psychology since the adoption of the mechanistic and behavior-
istic viewpoint" by not "including consciousness or 'mental*
entities in the sequence of cause and effect". It is certain
that the behaviorist who adopts this principle cannot give
in his own mechanistic terms, excepting in the simpler reflex
actions, a complete and true explanation of behavior that is
"accompanied" by conscious events. His explanation stops
short just when it begins to be interesting.

If he could give such a satisfying explanation, we should
have presented to us a book in which behaviorism was ex-
plained from beginning stimulus to the ending motor activity
without a reference to such whistling events as emotion, or
images, or imagination, or temperament, or intelligence, or
will, or purpose. This would be Part I. Then for what he
calls a "complete" but not causal account in Part II we should
have a superfluous description of the epiphenomena the
tootings of the whistle, the conscious processes.

Such a book has never been written and, it is safe to say,
never will be ; though "there are a few psychologists who main-
tain that, since consciousness cannot explain events, it has no
place in the science which studies behavior", and Watson has
bravely written a partial "Psychology" trying to do without
mind*. So far from this being a "serious mistake" from the
point of view of steam-whistlers, as one leading behaviorist
thinks, it seems to me to be the only logical attitude that can
be taken if the "principle" be adopted ; but then it is not psy-
chology.

*Watson warns his readers that they "will find no discussion of
consciousness and no reference to such terms as sensation, percep-
tion, attention, will, image and like. These terms are in good
repute, but," he says, "I have found I can get along without them
both in carrying out investigation and in presenting psychology as
a system to my students. I frankly do not know what they mean
nor do I believe that any one else can use them consistently." Psy-
chology from the standpoint of a Behaviorist; p. 8.

202 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

I have purposely refrained from mentioning (perhaps I
ought to say, my physiological processes have, through stimulus
and response, adapted my pen to the present situation so as
not to mention) the name of the clever author I have quoted,
because I am not criticizing any one in particular and I hope
he will so understand it. He happens to be for my purpose
a happy and brilliant exemplar of the principle and has had
the courage and clarity of thought to state explicitly and
without reserve the doctrine he and other behaviorists adopt,
just as Huxley did fifty years ago to say exactly what he
means and to mean exactly what he says, a most admirable
quality of mind.

Now, to come at once to the point : one of the fundamental
errors of the behaviorists (of one type) is the denial of con-
sciousness as cause of bodily reactions. As I wrote a long,
long time ago;* "How consciousness causes bodily change is
one question and that it does so is another. We may not be
able to say "how it does it, but tlwt it does it is beyond dispute".
The how and the that are two different questions. I believe
we can answer both. But even if I am mistaken in thinking
we can answer the first, I still believe it is futile to deny that
mental processes cause bodily processes. I may be permitted
to quote what I wrote in 1891 as it expresses my view today :

"Now I do not wish to speak except with the highest deference
for those who hold opposing views. I know how easy it is for the mind
to deceive itself in matters of this kind; how difficult it is to free
one's self from the ideas which by long habit are connoted by
language, and which consequently prevent our viewing a thing from
a new aspect. But I do wish to emphasize the fact that any
doctrine which ultimately leads to denial of volition as a cause
of action is, as Mercier would say, 'nonsense*, and doomed to failure.
If one is moved to sympathy at the misery of a beggar, and following
one's sympathy one gives a dollar to that beggar, 'the giver is satisfied
that his feelings of sympathy his states of consciousness directly
controlled his muscular acts and moved his fingers to take a dollar
bill^ out of his^ pocket and give it away. This is a fact of direct ex-
iperience, and is worth a whole volume of scientific erudition.

If, under the influence of anger, I strike a man, there is little use
in my trying to shift the responsibility from my temper to the
shoulders of my grey matter, and in my telling the world that my
outburst of temper was only a sort of 'steanvwhistle'; that it
told me what my right hand was going to do, but had no more
to do with the hitting than has the judge on the bench who is
going to try my case.

Popular language correctly expresses the facts in such cases, and
any scientific doctrine which attempts to explain the relation of

*The nature of Mind and Human Automatism, p. 25, J. B. Lip-
pincott Company, 1885. (Out of print).

FUNDAMENTAL ERRORS OF THE BEHAVIORISTS 203

mind and body, and does not recognize this truth, will never be ac-
cepted by common-sense people. The contention of those who
hold the doctrine which will be developed later, is that the 'steam-
whistle' advocates have been logically driven to their conclusion;
but the reason for this is that though their logic is faultless, their
premises are wrong; the conditions of the problem not being
thoroughly understood. Well-known truths regarding the nature of
so-called 'matter 1 have, in practice, been neglected, or their full
bearing on the question been overlooked. That there is a solution
of this question l which on the one hand does not disregard these
truths, and on the other hand recognizes volition as a cause of
muscular action, we believe. This solution thus far for the most part
has been neglected; but the reason for this is plainly because it has
not been understood, and not because any serious objection has been
urged against its final conclusions*.

I should like to hear a Behaviorist (of this type) arguing
his case before the Judge and making the plea that he was only
an automaton and that his "criminal intent" had nothing to do
with his criminal act ; that it was his neurones, or his ductless
glands, or his conditioned reflexes that did the crime. I would
love to hear the Judge say; "Yes, quite so; five years in jail.
Next case." and then humming to himself : (paraphrasing from
Shylock) "Until thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,
thou doest but offend thy lungs, young man, to speak so fool-
ishly."

I wonder why the counsel for Loeb and Leopold did not put
a Behaviorist on the stand as an expert in psychology! Why,
the whole of criminal law and criminal responsibility is based
on "criminal intent" the doctrine that consciousness is the
cause of bodily actions. It is the seal of "criminal responsibil-
ity". Just imagine the Fifteen Judges of England in the
famous McNaughton case, instead of laying down the time-
honored (if not medically honored) test of responsibility ever
since incorporated in common law: "Did he know the nature
and quality of his act, or if he did not know it, did he
know that what he was doing was wrong?", suppose, instead,
they had laid down the test: "Were the conditioned reflexes
of his neurones or ductless glands adjusted to the ethical codes
of society? What a delightful opera bouffe Gilbert and Sul-
livan would have made of it, rivalling Pinafore !

The Behaviorists may be certain of this: any psychology
that does not recognize that consciousness is a cause of our
actions, will be treated as nonsense and will never be accepted
or seriously considered by common-sense people.

*Morton Prince: Hughlings-Jackson on the Connection between
The Mind and The Brain. Brain, 1891, vol. XIV, p. 250.

204 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

II

A second fundamental error of Behaviorists is to suppose,
leaving the question of consciousness aside, that behavior
can be today completely explained in terms of the correlated
neural and other bodily processes alone. I am ready to agree
it would be a great desideratum if it could be done. But it
cannot be done for the simple reason that we have not even
the rudimentary knowledge that will allow us to follow the
reactions to any stimulus beyond the afferent receptors, through
those cerebral pathways that are correlated with mental ex-
periences. Possibly in the years to come we may be able to
do this but it will be in the dim, dim future. Just imagine
trying to follow the "adequate stimulus" through and pick
out the systems of neurones neurograms, I have thought it
useful to call them involved in any complicated mental process
and determining behavior. And yet without doing so it would
be impossible to explain the behavior. Take, for example, the
comparatively simple case of going to market to purchase your
dinner. You look over the different viands offered you, re-
ject a beefsteak, and after considering different meats, select
a fine brace of ducks. What neurograms or ductless glands
determined your behavior culminating in your final choice?
Your hunger stimulus and habit reactions may get you to the
market. But even then, what particular neurograms were
involved? But pass over that. Why did you reject the beef-
steak? Was it a visual or olfactory, or gustatory stimulus?
And if so, why did it result in rejection? What neural and
other systems came into play? Did the stimulus awaken
neural systems correlated with thoughts of excessive price
and economical concepts, or conditioned gustatory reflexes of
aversion, or some other? And if so, which? You can't even
make a sporting guess. But psychological analysis (not
psycho-analysis) would reveal what? Why, an unpleasant
episode of childhood (long forgotten) by which beef-steak
became linked, not with an unpleasant gastric experience of
nausea and vomiting after eating a beef-steak, but with a
person whose conduct towards you had shocked your suscepti-
bilities. No objective laboratory technique could have possibly
revealed this episode, though the "word-reaction" method
might have allowed you to suspect the involvment of the person
and to postulate a conditioned reflex, or pattern reaction. But
what reflex and what system of bodily processes was in-
volved? Well, pass again over the rejection of the beef-steak.

FUNDAMENTAL ERRORS OF THE BEHAVIORISTS 205

What stimulus and neuronic systems determined your final
behavior in choosing the ducks for your dinner?

They looked tempting to be sure. Do you think it was
only by reason of an awakened gustatory conditioned reflex?
I do not suggest awakened pleasant gustatory images, that
would be a too subjective explanation. Here again psychologi-
cal analysis would reveal episodes of the past, episodes of duck
shooting, outings on Chesapeake Bay when you bagged many a
duck, sat for hours in a blind with intense excitement, lived
in a shooting camp with convivial friends, before the days of
prohibition, lived on ducks that you had shot yourself, etc., etc.
All this experience was linked up with duck and made your
eyes open wide when you saw (optical stimulus) the fine brace
in the butcher's stall and determined your behavior to buy.

It was the "setting" of these past experiences which was
the efficient determining factor. Some, perhaps, would call this
setting a "pattern". "Pattern" or "setting", you may introduce
it into a mechanism of conditioned reflexes, if you like; but
how could you have discovered these reflexes and pattern, or
setting without psychological (introspective) analysis, and even
now can you point out the particular pattern and reflex paths?
Can you describe concretely and specifically the factors other-
wise than in psychological terms?

Take an actual case from my note book; a woman flies off
into an extraordinary violent fit of anger ending in hysterics
and other symptoms eventually landing her in my consulting
room as a patient. The stimulus was the apparently innocent
refusal of her husband to protest against the firing of fire-
crackers under her window on a Fourth of July. Will you
tell me what neurological and glandular pattern determined
that behavior? I can tell you the cause in psychological terms
for it was a setting of experiences dating back many years,
but without introspective analysis you will search in vain.
Even after being found, by introspective methods, you cannot
put your finger on the particular physiological mechanisms
(neurograms and glands) which, as conditioned reflexes or
habits, did the job.

The best you can do in all such cases is to find by intro-
spective methods the experiences of which the residua became
systematized (with glandular systems) into a "pattern" or
"setting" as dispositions (innate and acquired) and then say,
ex hypothesi, these residua functioning in mechanistic fashion
after the manner of conditioned reflexes (or some other

206 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

manner) determined the behavior, while the psychological
elements were only "symbols in consciousness".

If all this is true of such simple behavior as that of the in-
stances I have used, how much more hopeless it would be to
discover the bodily processes (neural, glandular, and others)
involved in such behavior as working out a plan for a League
of Nations, or the mathematics of the Einstein theory of
relativity, or of the orbits of atomic electrons.

Ill

The third error of the behaviorists is in confining them-
selves to only one method of observation and experimentation
the objective method. For the successful solution of the
problems of science, when any given method has been carried
as far as it can and fails to be adequate to resolve the further
intricacies of the problem, new problems that have been
brought to view by the very successes of the method, then new
methods have to be discovered that will be adequate for pur-
suing the research along new lines to meet the new problems.

Of course in physical science all methods are limited to
objective ones because the physical sciences deal only with
phenomena and cannot touch the ultimates as we can with
conscious processes. The physicist finally, therefore, comes up
against a stone wall and can go no further, as when he reaches
the problem of the ultimate nature of energy, or of the electron.
As Bertrand Russell points out, electricity "is not a thing, like
St. Paul's Cathedral; it is a way in which things behave.
When we have told how things behave when they are electri-
fied, and under what circumstances they are electrified we have
told all there is to tell . . . Electricity is not like red paint, a
substance that can be put on to the electron and taken off
again; it is merely a convenient name for certain physical
laws". But, I may add, the physicist goes further than this.
He says that the electron is electricity itself, but stops there,
though, as a matter of speculation he may add it is the way
something else behaves, e. g., the ether.

Fromi one point of view this is a limitation of physical
science, but even within his fields the physicist adopts new and
many methods as called for. So it is with the problems of
the medical and biological sciences. What would we think of
the medical clinician should he say, "Oh! I am a stethescope
doctor. I only use the stethescope to diagnose diseases of the
body," though he runs up against a stone wall, when the
problem of bacterial infection of the blood becomes the vital

FUNDAMENTAL ERRORS OF THE BEHAVIORISTS 207

one? Or of another who should say, "I am a blood doctor. I
only examine blood/* though the problem shifts to the kid-
neys? Or of another who boasts, "I am a urinary doctor.
I only examine the urine," though the problem shifts to the
brain? Or of another, a psycho-analyst "I only use free-
associations/' though free associations lead him away into
philosophy and psychology?

Plainly, different problems require different and often many
methods, according to the nature of the problem.

So when the Behaviorists inquire into the problems of psy-
chology it may be pertinently asked, is the objective method
adequate to resolve completely the problems involving con-
sciousness. When he follows the "adequate stimulus" beyond
the sensory receptors, does he not run up against a stone
wall, or, at least, lose his path in a jungle.

Let us take one of the least complex problems, or at least
one that offers preeminently objective phenomena for research
the behavior resulting from, or determined by, emotion.
The occurrence, in conjunction with emotion, of bodily proces-
ses (open, as they are, to physiological investigation and having
given rise to the James-Lange theory) eventuating in certain
types of behavior, has led to the formulation of the concept of
so-called "heredity pattern-reaction," or mechanism, as an ex-
planation of emotional, or emotional-instinctive behavior. But
is this a complete explanation? Will the discovery of any par-
ticular visceral, glandular or other bodily process in connection
with particular behavior, explain the why of the behavior which
subjectively appears to be not mechanistic but "purposive";
why in one situation the individual withdraws from a given
stimulus, in another examines it intently, in another approaches
it with an embrace, according as he experiences a sentiment
of aversion, curiosity, or affection?

Why are these pattern reactions so specifically (different?
And why does the behavior seem to the individual to be
purposive, if it is not? There would seem to be here some-
thing over and above the visceral (etc.) process and which is
of the order of consciousness. This something (the emotion
and cognition) seemis at least to be a part of the reaction
and to enter into the causal change of events, from stimulus
to behavior, for given the emotion we can predict the ensuing
behavior. If this be so, the behaviorist must at this point
renounce his objective method and resort to some other that
will allow him to deal with consciousness.

208 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

The only answer the behaviorist can give is that the emotion
(and cognition) is an epiphenomenon, the tooting of the steam-
whistle that tells by its toots what particular visceral processes
are involved in the causal pattern reaction, and that if our
physiological knowledge were sufficiently intimate he could
predict equally well the behavior ; or, as an alternative, that the
conscious process and the bodily process are only different
aspects of the same thing. As to the first alternative, of con-
sciousness as an epiphenomenon I have already said enough.
If the latter alternative be adopted the conscious experience is
just as much a causal factor as the physical process and calls
for a different method of research.

Thus, if these points are well taken, the Behaviorist, whether
he be a steam whistler or some other kind of parallelist, or
an interactionist, or a panpsychist, or some other kind of
monist, is compelled by the force of circumstances, by the
hard facts of nature, willy or nilly, to shift to some other
method after he has carried his objective method as far as he
can. And the only method open to him that we know of now
is the introspective method of which there are many kinds.

The attempt to interpret all behaviour in physiological
terms has led to most extraordinary statements on the part
of some Behaviorists.

Watson in his "Psychology from the Standpoint of
a Behaviorist," would teach that "emotion is an heredity
pattern-reaction involving profound changes of the bodily
mechanism as a whole, but particularly of the visceral and
glandular systems" (p. 195) ; and that "thought is the action of
language mechanisms" (p. 316) ; is "highly integrated bodily
activity and nothing more" (p. 325) ; and that "when we
study implicit bodily processes we are studying thought". By
this Watson does not mean to identify thought with the cor-
related cortical activity of the brain, not at all ; but with all the
bodily processes that are involved, implicitly and explicitly, in
the production of spoken, written and sign language the
muscular activity of the vocal apparatus, diaphragm, hands,
fingers, eye-movements, etc. (p. 324).

Now my dear Mr. Watson if you will do me the honor to
allow me to address you personally I have the greatest respect
for you and for your work. You have, at least, made the
psychological world "stop, look and listen". You have made an
impression on the thought of the day and have made your
brother psychologists think and reconsider their basic under-

FUNDAMENTAL ERRORS OF THE BEHAVIORISTS 209

standings, and in doing this have been a big influence in direct-
ing thought and awakening interest in your points of view. If
any one thinks this easy, let him try it himself. I have tried
it in a modest field and cannot see that I have had any marked
success ; so for this reason I take off my hat to you. But, Dr.
Watson, don't you see that when you define "emotion as an
heredity 'pattern-reaction' " of bodily mechanisms, you are
talking just nonsense? You are putting together words that
severally have meaning into a sentence that has no meaning.
It is obvious that you are compelled to make some such defini-
tion in order to consistently adhere to your scheme of a psy-
chology described in terms of bodily reactions and mechanisms
without consciousness. But emotion is not a pattern reaction
of visceral and glandular systems or any other anatomical
organs. Emotion is a mental experience, an event of con-
sciousness. You may hold, if you like, that emotion is con-
ditioned by pattern reactions of the visceral and glandular
systems; or that it is a mental experience correlated with,
or even, perhaps, the awareness of such reactions; but to say
that it is such physiological reactions is nonsense. Emotion
is emotion and nothing else, and certainly nothing like visceral
and glandular activity.

Likewise thought is nothing like muscular activity. Images,
for example, are elements of thought. Just imagine my
asserting that my images of this hall and this audience my
visual pictures of your upturned faces, of the "fair women
and brave men" I see before me, are muscular contractions.
A queer sort of mental blindness, queer thinking, and not very
flattering, you would say. But there is one sense in which you
might be justified in employing this definition without writing
nonsense, although I can not make out from the context
that you have this meaning in mind. You could identify
emotion and thought with the particular physiological processes
of the body you mentioned, in the same sense that the physicist
identifies sound with waves of the atmosphere, and light with
electro-magnetic waves. But it is apt to be overlooked
that when the physicist says that sound and light are such
waves, he does not mean that literally. It is only a convenient
form of expression. All he means is, that which the organism
apprehends as sound is motion or waves of the atmosphere;
and that which the organism apprehends as light is motion or
electro-magnetic waves or ether waves. Sound and light are
the reactions of the organism to these waves : the waves excite

210 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

the conscious reaction in us. If there were no beings with
ears there would be no sound and the universe would be deathly
still ; if there were no beings with eyes there would be no light
in the universe : it would be pitch dark as it probably is for
some insects and other living things. There would be waves in
the atmosphere and waves in the ether but they would not be
apprehended as sound or light, respectively, just as there are
atmospheric waves going on all the time, above and below a
certain "pitch" which we cannot hear; and there are electro-
magnetic waves beyond each end of the spectrum, infra red and
ultra violet, which we cannot see. But the universe is full
of them all the same. There are living things for which the
world is absolutely silent and others for which the world is
absolutely dark. Some living things undoubtedly apprehend
ether waves not as light but in some other mode; and
atmospheric waves not as sound but by some other sense. So>
what the physicist means is that sound and light are modes of
consciousness by which the organism apprehends different
kinds of motion in the universe. He is not so foolish as to con-
fuse motion with sound.

Now in this sense you can logically hold, if you like, that
emotion is a conscious mode of apprehending by the organism
the "heredity-pattern reactions of the visceral and glandular
systems," or with James and Lange that the stream of sensory
impressions from these systems become fused into an emotion,
but this is not identifying the emotion with the visceral re-
actions any more than is the wave theory of light an identifica-
tion of visual perception with ether or electro-magnetic waves.
Nor, does it help out the behavioristic concept. Unless
emotion can be shown to be an epiphenomenon a steam
whistle it remains to be shown that it does not enter into the
causal chain of events inducing behavior; or lacking that, it
remains for you to find, if you can, its correlated brain pro-
cesses and show that they do not enter into this chain.

Likewise you may logically maintain that thought is a mode
of apprehending the kinetic sensations streaming brainwards
from the activity of the muscular systems involved in
language; but psycho-physiologically considered, it takes a
pretty bold behaviorist to maintain, for instance, that a visual
image, or an auditory image, or a tactile image, all of which
are elements of thought, is a mode of apprehending kinesthetic
sensations, or to identify such images with the muscular activ-
ity itself. The only alternative would seem to be to take a

FUNDAMENTAL ERRORS OF THE BEHAVIORISTS 211

novel monistic view and correlate thought with muscular activ-
ity after the same fashion that psychology commonly correlates
it with brain processes. Here we have parallelism, or pan-
psychism with a vengeance. Brain processes seem to be chucked
overboard, bag and baggage, to lighten the ship of behaviorism,
or as useless stowaways. And as to images and wishes and
motives and criminal and moral intents which we thought we
had some reason for thinking had something to do with our
behavior, they too are only delusions and if we want to know
what our thoughts, wishes and motives really are, why, just
study our muscular systems that subserve language !

IV
THE IDENTIFICATION OF CONSCIOUS AND NEURAL PROCESSES

Let us return now to the first error of the Behaviorists. If I
am right in holding, as I believe I am, that consciousness is
"a cause of the bodily reactions through which the needs of the
organism are fulfilled", the error of those who deny it lies in
the false major premise that mental processes and brain proces-
ses are parallel events in the same organism and in the minor
premise that parallel processes cannot act upon one another.
Grant these premises and the conclusion is absolutely sound
that consciousness cannot be a cause of bodily processes. But
one or the other premise or both must be false because the
facts of experience contradict the conclusion. The theory,
therefore, is unsound.

I recall that my aged professor of philosophy at Harvard,
when I was a student there, many years ago, had a question
which he used to put with great gusto, and a snort, to each
class. When the time came he called me up. "Prince : Suppos-
ing that fact and theory don't agree; what then"? he snorted.
I knew the answer he wanted, but, student-like, wishing to
tease the old man, I replied, "So much the worse for the theory,
Sir". "No, no, no; Premble, Premble, Premble". Premble
arose and with the tact of a good boy answered, "So much the
worse for the fact, Sir." "Quite right, quite right," snorted
again, the old professor. It seems to me that this is practically
the standpoint of the Behaviorists (of one type) and con-
stitutes a fourth error.

It is obvious that the real question at issue is the old mind
body problem. This problem, as I have long held and have argued

212 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

in opposition to the usually held view* and will try presently
to show, is, in my view, one of identification the identifica-
tion of consciousness with the reality of brain processes, with
the brain processes from within. Before arguing once more
this contention, it will be well to set before ourselves exactly
what the theory undertakes to identify. For this purpose we
should think of the ultimate nature of matter from the point
of view of the physicist and as revealed by modern researches.
This modern conception of matter simplifies and clarifies the
physical data involved in the problem, if not the problem itself.
While formerly the atom was held to be the unanalyzable unit
of matter, we are now taught that the atom is a microcosmic
solar system of electrons and protons, units of negative and
positive electricity, the former revolving in orbits with
tremendous rapidity around a complex nucleus of electricity
a unit of positive electricity in the case of hydrogen, a complex
unit of negative and positive electricity in the case of other
elements a sort of infinitely minute cosmos. All the physical
and chemical properties of so-called "matter" are nothing but
the activities of electricity. In other words and in sum and
substance, matter, as we know it through our senses has
disappeared, having been resolved into negative and positive
electricity, or more specifically units of the same in motion, act-
ing and reacting upon one another and associated with, or being
in themselves, units of energy.

This is a marvellous conception and a marvellous recon-
struction of our knowledge. The properties of matter, such as
mass, hardness, crystallization, atomic weight, chemical affinity
and reactions, are resolved into the activity and manifesta-
tions of units of electricity; while that which we apprehend
directly as heat and light and indirectly as ultra violet rays,
X-rays, radio rays, and other rays, are modes of electro-mag-
netic motion, shot out by the energy of such electrical units.

When we look out upon the world of objects about us we
must recast our mode of viewing them and of thinking. We
must learn to think in terms of those mysterious concepts,
electricity and energy, if we would try to resolve the deeper,
ultimate problems of life and mind, as well as those of the
physical world. When we look out upon the rocks and houses

*Op. Cit. (above) : also; Professor Strong on the Relation between
the Mind and the Body, The Psychological Review, November, 1903;
The Identification of Mind and Matter: Philosophical Review, July,
1904.

FUNDAMENTAL ERRORS OF THE BEHAVIORISTS 213

and trees and plants and animals, we must try to view them in
terms of billions upon billions of negative and positive electrons
electrical units in tremendous activity and motion, some-
times sending out units of energy into the world of space and
always acting upon our senses in such fashion that we appre-
hend them all, not as they are but as material objects. The only
known constituent of the ponderable matter of the universe is
electricity.

It is as if we were looking at one of those drop curtains at
a theatre which an exhibitor, by an arrangement of lights,
makes disappear by its becoming transparent, and allows us
to see through upon a scene behind. At first we see before us
houses and trees and people painted in realistic torm upon the
curtain. Then all these things fade away; they and the cur-
tain become so transparent that their places have been taken
by little bullet-like objects, atoms of the elements, most of
which are arranged in tiny, irregular shaped groups called
molecules. Nowhere do these little objects coalesce into a
continuous mass but everywhere they are separated from one
another by relatively enormous spaces. If we could examine
them closely, we would find that these atoms and molecules
have the same properties as have their masses. Atoms of
gold look and are just like a mass of gold ; a molecule of glass
just like a mass of glass.

Now, as we look, the illumination is again modified, so that
we can see still deeper. The atoms and molecules have
disappeared and their places are taken by innumerable,
infinitely small "particles'* which are in constant motion, flying
around and about, sometimes with almost infinite velocity.
Many revolve in orbits about others, like the planets in the
solar system, but here the orbits and the systems are re-
stricted within the confines of what we a moment before saw
was the atom. Others fly out of these confines in streams into
adjoining space and send out waves of energy to even distant
spaces (radio-activity). Some rush towards others, as if
attracted by something; others rush away from the same
"particles", as if repelled. Often there are head-on collisions
and then we see waves of motion of enormous rapidity, like
"rays", shooting out into space. Some of these waves stimulate
our senses and are apprehended as light and heat ; and some do
not and can therefore be recorded only by mechanical devices.
These are X-rays, radium-rays, etc.

Now, let us stop here and listen to our exhibitor who is a

214 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

physicist. He explains that all the "particles" in their motions
produce certain phenomena and obey certain laws and he calls
these phenomena phenomena of electricity, and these laws,
laws of electricity ; and so the particles are termed electricity, or,
more specifically units of electricity in motion. And then, again,
our physicist tells us he is compelled to postulate some kind of
motive power that drives the electrical units into motion and
sends out the waves of electro-magnetic motion into space.
Realizing his own subjective feeling of exerting "force" when
he pushes some resisting object into motion, he thinks of it
anthropomorphically, perhaps correctly, as force or energy;
and accordingly postulates the motive power of the electrical
units as an entity and calls it energy.

Now, at this point our exhibitor, the physicist, again changes
his lights, but reverses the order of appearances. The world
of electrons fades away and the world of atoms and molecules,
the complex configurations of the electrons, reappears as larger
spots where the electrons were. Then in turn these fade away
and the world of material objects rocks, water, trees, animals
reappear as configurations, where were the complex groups
of atoms and molecules. So our exhibitor has allowed us to
see deep within the world of objects and to recognize that this
world is only the mode by which we apprehend through our
senses, the actual physical world of electricity and energy.

V

But what about the brain processes of the physiologist, the
brain processes which we apprehend as such in the same way
as we apprehend the rest of our material world through our
senses and which we conceive, as atomic or molecular activity,
physical or chemical, to be correlated with consciousness?
These, too, disappear under the analysis of the physicist. Let us
not forget that we must likewise learn to think of these activ-
ities as those of enormously complex groups (called atoms and
molecules) of units of electricity, and groups of groups, motiva-
ted by and associated with units of energy and, perhaps, radiating
energy. As a recent writer on the atom from within has ex-
pressed it : "Whether we are interested in speculative questions
like those (of life and death), in less speculative but yet un-
solved questions like the mechanism for the transmission of
stimuli by nerves, or in the purely practical matter of the
efficient organization and operation of the multiplicity of
machines which condition our daily lives, we must seek ex-
planations in terms of energy and electricity.

FUNDAMENTAL ERRORS OF THE BEHAVIORISTS 215

"Widely different branches of science are now known to be
dealing with the same fundamentals of electricity and energy.
For the first time in centuries there exists the material which
a genius could synthesize into a universal science, in which
physics and chemistry, biology and geology, will lose their
identities in a common set of principles.*"

While waiting for such a genius perhaps I may be
permitted, to try my hand, in a humble way at synthesiz-
ing mind and matter into a common principle.

It is, then, of such mysterious entities that we must think in
trying to find a solution of the correlation of mind and brain.
I say "mysterious" for what is this intangible entity elec-
tricity? And what is the entity energy? These are the two
fundamental entities of the new science and if we would follow
its teachings, we must learn to think of all scientific problems
in terms of these concepts. What is their ultimate nature?
What is an electron from within? What is energy from with-
in? The answer of the physicist is that that is beyond his
province, that he only deals with phenomena, and the laws of
their relations, and therefore cannot deal with the ultimate
nature, the reality of anything.

In a sense the terms electricity and energy are only word
pictures. They are subjective concepts which we are obliged
to postulate to explain the phenomena, to give the phenomena
meaning. Thus, though energy is conceived and postulated
as the motive power of the physical universe, the only way it
is evidenced to our senses is as motion, or as changes in the
form of motion of the electrical units (electrons and
protons) and as "wave" motions in circumambient space (light,
heat, etc.). What it is itself is unknown and by the objective
methods of science it is unknowable. Nevertheless "to every
moving particle, whether electron, proton, atom, molecule, or
more evident mass, we ascribe a portion of this unknown."**

*MHIs: Within the Atom; p. 9.

**These principles have been clearly summed up by John Mills as
follows:

"When we cause a body to alter its state of motion, either by
changing its speed or its direction, we are conscious of exerting what
we are pleased to call a force. When we observe the gravitational
.tractation of body and earth we speak of a force of gravitation as
acting on the body. Bodies upon which the earth under similar con-
ditions exerts equal forces we call equal in weight. Unfortunately
weight is but a particular kind of force and force itself is an entirely
subjective concept without any objective reality. Whatever may

216 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

Likewise, while the existence of "particles" has been demon-
strated by physicists and these have been termed particles of
electricity, or units of electricity, electricity itself is a concept,
the ultimate nature of which is unknown and by the objective
methods of science is unknowable. Science can only determine
its laws of behavior.

Even positive and negative electricity, (electrons and
protons) may be only different manifestations of something
else manifesting itself in these two different phenomena. Con-
sequently, Bertrand Russell finds it necessary to utter a word
of warning:

"It may be found, however/' he says, "as a result of further re-
search, that the aether is after all what is really fundamental, and
that electrons and hydrogen nuclei (protons) are merely states
of strain, in the aether, or something of the sort. If so, the two
'elements' with which modern physics operates may be reduced
to one, and the atomic character of matter may turn out to be not
the ultimate truth. This suggestion is purely speculative; ....
Our imagination is so incurably concrete and pictorial that we have
to express scientific laws, as soon as we depart from the language of
mathematics, in language which asserts much more than we mean, to
assert. We speak of the electron as if it were a little hard lump of
matter, but no physicist really means to assert that it is. We speak
of it as if it had a certain size, but that also is more than we really
mean. It may be something more analogous to a noise, which is
spread throughout a certain region, but with diminishing intensity
as we travel away from the source of the noise. So it is possible that
an electron is a certain kind of disturbance in the aether, most intense
at one spot, and diminishing very rapidly in intensity as we move
away from the spot. If a disturbance of this sort could be discovered
which would move and change as the electron does, and have the
same amount of energy as the electron has, and have periodic
changes of the same frequency as those of the electron, physics
could regard it as what an electron really is without contradicting
anything that present-day physics means to answer. And of course
it is equally possible that a hydrogen nucleus (proton) may come

be the character of the alteration in the relative motions of the
bodies of a system the alteration is but the manifestation of a
change in the disposition and availability of that tmcomprehended
motive power of our universe which we call energy.

"Energy and the electrical elements are the postulates of the new
science, the entities in terms of which all explanations of scientific
phenomena must be made.

"To our senses, whether aided by apparatus or not, this motive
power, or energy is evidenced only by changes in the state of motion
of the electrical elements. To every moving particle, whether
electron, proton, atom, molecule, or more evident mass, we ascribe a
portion of this unknown. The amount which we assign to any
particle depends upon the speed with which it is moving and upon
its electrical composition." (Within the Atom, p. 30).

FUNDAMENTAL ERRORS OF THE BEHAVIORISTS 217

to be explained in a similar way. All this is however, merely a
speculative possibility; there is not as yet any evidence making it
either probable or improbable. The only thing that is probable is
that there will be such evidence, one way or another, before many
years have passed."*

As a matter of pure speculation I would add we may even
go further and resolve units of electricity into units of energy
or manifestations of the same. For a mass is a collocation of
units of electricity, but mass as a consequence of the theory of
relativity is energy itself.

When we think, then, of brain processes, we must learn to
think of processes, physical or chemical, in terms of their final
analysis by the physicist; that is, processes of which the
component factors are mysterious units of negative and positive
electricity, or mysterious units of energy, or both.

We are compelled, then, to say that a brain process that we
are trying to correlate, or identify with consciousness is a
phenomenon of electricity and energy. Beyond this we have
not the faintest idea of what concretely a brain process is.
We must not overlook that fact. Accordingly, t he problem of
identifying consciousness with brain processes becomes the
problem of identifying it with processes which are revealed to
us through our senses as electrical units in activity and wave-
motions of energy. But we must not forget, what the physicist
sometimes does forget, that these are not ultimates. They are
only phenomenal manifestations of an unknown something.
The nature of this something the physicist cannot even guess
at. He can only postulate concepts the immaterial entities
electricity and energy to account for certain phenomena. But
these entities are not only unknown but unknowable by the ob-
jective methods of science. The postulated something may be
spiritual (whatever that may be), or of the order of the psy-
chical, or something else that is not matter, but is immaterial.
Whatever it is it is not material in the sense of the material
phenomenal world as known to physics and to account for
which it is inferred. It is immaterial.

VI

We may now consider the problem itself. The theory for
which I am arguing is this: that ultimate unknown something
which reveals itself objectively to our senses, which we appre-
hend through our senses as phenomena of electricity and as
phenomena of energy, the unknown immaterial reality of elec-

*The A B C of Atom, pp. 141-143.

218 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

trical units and units of energy is the same in kind, is of the
same nature as that which is known as conscious experience.
Or, simplifying the statement as a generalization, that same im-
material reality which, as a concept, is postulated in the objec-
tive world (the brain process) as phenomenal units of energy
becomes, under certain conditions of configuration and activity
of its units, consciousness; just as under other conditions of
this kind it manifests itself to our senses as atoms and mole-
cules of electrical units with corresponding physical and chem-
ical properties and as electro-magnetic motion. In other words,
consciousness is the reality of a particular portion of energy
the energy of the universe-in-itself,the unknowable of physics,
the brain processes (of the physiologist) "from within." Thus
the psychical becomes identified with that which is postulated
by the physicist as the unknowable energy of the universe, by
the physiologist as the brain process.

Now, see how by this theory the real problem interestingly
shifts. It is no longer the old problem of parallelism, or inter-
actionism. Instead it becomes the question: How is it to be
explained that consciousness a feeling, an image, a color, a
pain, can appear under such a different form as units of
electricity, electro-magnetic motions? Surely our experiences
of the two are totally unlike.

The answer would seem to be simple and obvious: Elec-
tricity and energy are the mode in which the reality of the
brain process consciousness is apprehended, actually (or
ideally immaterial) through the senses by another organism,
the reaction of this organism to the reality ; in fact it is the only
mode by which, if apprehended by a second organism, it could
be apprehended. For if apprehended through the senses it
must be in terms of those senses; if through the visual sense,
it must be apprehended as visual perception form and motion ;
if through the auditory sense, as sound ; if through the tactile
sense, as tactile perception; and so with the other senses.

According to the theory, then, mind and matter become
synthesized in a common principle ; for consciousness is identi-
fied, not with electricity (and energy) as objectively appre-
hended, but with the reality of these concepts, the unknowable
of physics; or if you prefer, the brain process of the
physiologist from-within. If the theory is sound, how clear
it becomes that there are not two processes in the same organ-
ism, parallel with one another, but only one process, the con-
scious process. The brain process of the physiologist, and

FUNDAMENTAL ERRORS OF THE BEHAVIORISTS 219

electricity of the physicist, are the modes in which the conscious
process is ideally apprehended by a second organism.

A moment's thought is sufficient to see how the theory
clarifies the parlous problem of parallelism, which has been
the thorn in the flesh of psychological science, and relegates the
epiphenomenalism of the steam whistle to that limbo where
such absurdities belong. Interactionism, too, disappears as a
problem, for, there being only one process, there ceases to be
the question of how one kind of process, the mental, can act
upon another of a different kind.

VII

We are now at last, you will be glad to hear, in a position to
take up the main point of our thesis which we set out to
elucidate namely, the reconciliation of the purposive and
mechanistic concepts. Unfortunately it was necessary to lay
this preliminary foundation. It ought to be self-evident how
this reconciliation follows as a logical necessity.

Brain processes, that is to say, neural processes, are reflex
-processes. -That we can all agree to. It is the only way in
which a neural process can be activated, can function and
determine behavior. Reflex processes are by nature mechanis-
tic. There is no doubt about that. But neural reflex processes
are ex hypothesi, the mode in which conscious processes are
apprehended through the senses by the methods of the
physiologist. If that be the case, and if consciousness is the
reality of neural reflex processes, then conscious striving and
impulse, that which we call will and purpose, if apprehended
objectively through the senses would necessarily be appre-
hended by these methods as reflex and mechanistic processes 1 ^.
It is the only form in which will and purpose could be mani-
fested when so objectively apprehended.

So, when we think in terms of mind, we must think in terms
of will and purpose ; when in terms of physiology, in terms of
mechanism and reflexes. In principle it is immaterial which
terms we use. But we must not deny the former, will and
purpose, as having equal validity with mechanisms and re-
flexes, nor forget that consciousness is the real thing, while
mechanistic processes are only symbols of the real.

*This interpretation was worked out in my Nature of Mind and
Human Automatism (1885) pp. 93-98.

220 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

Thus going a step further, Pan-psychism and Pan-material-
ism are interchangeable terms**; and so purposive and
mechanistic psychology may be reconciled.

Practically, however, as we know almost nothing about
brain-processes, nothing of their nature, and cannot possibly
even guess the concrete brain process that is correlated with
(identifiable with) any particular mental process; and as we
cannot, therefore, follow a stimulus through its intricate and
complex reflex course of complex brain processes until it
emerges in motor and other pathways as behavior in view of
all this ignorance we are perforce compelled to explain the
causal antecedents of behavior in terms of mind, of will and
purpose, and not of reflexes.

It would, indeed, be a happy thing, if we could explain
behavior in objective terms (brain processes), in view of the
uncertainties and fallacies of the data derived by introspec-
tion, open as they are to all sorts of interpretations, for we
should then be able to use more exact quantitative methods
of objective science. But it cannot be done. So, if we want a
complete and causal explanation of behavior, we can only
use mental terms and get over the difficulties of introspection
as best we can. Will and purpose are facts of experience and
as such facts determinants of behavior. They give us a com-
plete and adequate explanation thereof, one upon which the so-
cial organizations and sociology are founded, and upon which
the explanations of behavior made use of by social psychology
must be based, if it is to be recognized as entitled to a place
amongst the sciences. Nevertheless, if we can reconcile two
apparently conflicting points of view, as I have endeavored in
this exposition to do, it will redound to the advantage of psy-
chology, and perhaps it is not too much to say, of our con-
ception of the universe.

**Morton Prince: The Identification of Mind and Matter.

CHAPTER X

AWARENESS, CONSCIOUSNESS, CO-CONSCIOUS-
NESS AND ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE FROM
THE POINT OF VIEW OF THE DATA
OF ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY!

A BIOLOGICAL THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS*

BY MORTON PRINCE

My task is not an easy one, for psychologists are not at all times
a happy family. They have not as yet learned to live harmoni-
ously together on the basis of a common understanding of what
they mean by such concepts as those which are presented in the
title of this lecture, nor of the facts of experience for which
they are supposed to stand. They should not consider it out of
place, if they were reminded of the old proverb about "a house
divided against itself*. But what is lacking in a common
understanding is made up for by the positiveness of statement
and the cock-sureness of opinion of each member of the family,
leading sometimes to acrimonious discussions in matters of
pure theory and making one think of the sects of the Donatists
and Orthodox Christians of olden times who belabored one
another with cudgels because they could not agree in matters of
dogma and doctrine. I fear that psychologists, being human
beings first and searchers after truth afterwards, are like all
mortals, too often concerned with maintaining their own points
to which they have committed themselves rather than discover-
ing the truth. Perhaps after all we cannot expect the latter
until "this mortal shall have put on immortality."

So now to our task, but with as open a mind as we can mus-
ter and, if possible with sustained dear thinking.

At the very outset we are confronted with a technical diffi-
culty, namely, ambiguity of terms. Both consciousness and
awareness have several meanings in that each term is used in
several different senses and interchangeably as well as ex-
clusively. Thus, for example, consciousness is used to denote
the being conscious, or aware of something of objects (en-

fPowell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University, De-
cember 15, 1924.

*An abstract of this lecture was read at the International Con-
gress of Psychology held at Oxford, July 25 August 1, 1923. (See
Proceedings and British Journal of Psychology.)

222 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

vironment), or thought, sensations, perceptions, feelings, or of
self by some thing, or some one, or self, or "I", as when I say
I have a consciousness of such or such a thing; or, I have a
consciousness of self ; or of my internal feelings.

But it is also used to denote simply thought, sensation, per-
ception, feelings, images, etc., i. e., a process, each by and of
itself regardless of whether it is per se awareness of something
by something : as when we speak of consciousness as contrasted
with the physical world, or of thought, sensation, feeling, as
elements of consciousness, or of the content of consciousness.

Awareness is also used with the same two meanings, although
that of awareness of something by something is by far the
more common. Indeed some assert that awareness without a
subject is a contradiction in terms. It connotes a subject who
is aware. Consciousness, on the other hand, has no such neces-
sary connotation in some folk's minds, though the contrary is
asserted by others.

Nevertheless, consciousness and awareness are often, if not
commonly, used as synonyms, it being insisted by those who so
use them that they have identical meanings. Cognition also is
used as a synonym for awareness and consciousness and with
similar double meanings.

All this is bad enough, leading, as it does, to inevitable con-
fusion owing to the fallacies resulting from using the same
terms in different senses. But it is worse than this. There is
no common understanding of the psychological facts for which
the terms stand-in whichever sense the terms are used. Thus,
for instance, it is held by some orthodox psychologists that, as
a fact, there is and can be no consciousness that does not in-
clude in its content both some thing, some subject, some person,
some experiencer, some self, that is conscious and a conscious-
ness of some thing. An elementary state of consciousness, or,
more correctly, a conscious process that does not include these
other elements does not, they say, in fact, occur. This con-
cept^ of course, postulates consciousness as equivalent to and
identical with awareness.

The question plainly is one of fact which can only be deter-
mined by investigation. It is one of the most important prob-
lems of psychology and cannot be resolved by theoretical
reasoning and logical deductions from the meanings of words.
Its importance lies in the fact that it opens up, as I will
presently explain, the whole question of the actual occurrence
and nature, indeed the possibility of subconscious processes,

A BIOLOGICAL THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 223

that is, of consciousness of which we are not aware, and there-
fore, of the structure, mechanisms and functioning of the mind.
And more than this, upon the answer to this question hangs
the possibility of forming a biological conception of conscious-
ness.

But first let me touch upon the more specific and narrower
question as to whether the postulated experiencer involved in
this notion of consciousness as awareness can be based on a
demonstrated specific awareness of a self.*

Psychologists are divided into three camps the self-psychol-
ogists, the selfless-psychologists and the middle grounders.
The first group maintain that the content of every conscious
process includes a self an awareness of self, a self -conscious-
ness. Hence that all consciousness is a consciousness or aware-
ness of something by a self.

The second group, the selfless ones, claim to be unable to find
any self, or consciousness of self by introspection; deny its
reality and hold that mental processes function without any
such reality. The "I" and the "You" are merely compulsory
expressions required by the necessities of language.

The middle-grounders admit the self in that we are aware of
self in, for instance, feeling and willing, but not in perceiving
and imagining which may go on without any self or self-
consciousness. I must class myself in principle with these last
the middle grounders.

Of course there are also the indifferent non-combatants who
take no heed of the self at all a sort of plague-on-both-your-
houses attitude and go on talking about awareness, and con-
tent, and objects of awareness as if the question of by what,
or by whom could be ignored. The implications of their
language, however, are that something is aware though what
is not defined. But this vagueness is also true, and specifically
so, of the self-psychologists. These do not attempt to analyze
the self, to define its structure, to say what it is, even whether
it is animistic or psychological ; whether it is "an anima or an
animus sitting", as you may remember Tristram Shandy's father
used to say, "like a tadpole all day long both summer and
winter", dabbling its feet in the fluid of the pineal gland. It
has no analyzable psychological structure. For it is said to be
an "ultimate datum"; to be "indefinable", "sui generis and

*Compare Mary Whiton Calkins' admirable critical discussion of
the problem: "The Self in Scientific Psychology;" Amer. Jour, of
Psychology; Oct. 1915.

224 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

therefore incapable of definition" ; it "is a kind of thing which
one can merely indicate but which one can as little demonstrate
to the I-blind as one can demonstrate color to the color-blind"*
a veritable tadpole theory.

Surely we must allow, in view of all this confusion, that the
Behaviorists have some excuse for joining in the cry, "A plague
on both your houses" ! and saying, "we will have none of con-
sciousness ; away with it. We are going to disregard it entirely
and explain behavior in terms of physiological processes alone",
though they ought to add, "if we can".

This question as to whether there can or cannot be conscious-
ness that has no awareness by "some one who is conscious of
some thing" some person, some subject, some self, that thinks
and experiences and is aware, this question is, as I have already
intimated, of fundamental importance to psychology. For,
obviously, if consciousness (experience), when considered
identical with awareness, always includes an I, and if "we can-
not talk of experiencing without an I which experiences", as
Dunlap, Mary Calkins, Oesterreich and others of that camp
insist, then a sub-consciousness that is to say, a coconscious-
ness ( as I prefer to term it) or coawareness, or an "uncon-
scious", term it what you will, is a paradox and an absurdity.
It is mere nonsense. Consciousness is conceived of as limited
to and only what may be called our personal consciousness.
And this many insist upon on this very ground, entirely ignoring
the findings of abnormal psychology including therein
artificially dissociated and activated mental processes. One
must admit that logically they are right, if the premises be
granted; but their premises, so abnormal psychology teaches,
and as it seems to me, are unsound ; and abnormal psychology
relies on precisely the same methods and the same kind of
data and the same logic as does traditional normal psychology.
I don't want to be one of those pestiferous friends who are
always telling unwelcome, if wholesome, truths, "but our mutual
friend and collaborator Abnormal Psychology insists on telling
us a lot of disagreeable truths to which, as the easiest way out,
the "normal Psychologist", taking a tip from Nelson with his
blind eye at the battle of Copenhagen, finds it exceedingly con-
venient to turn a deaf ear and to pretend he does not hear
them. And among those truths, or at least claimed truths, are

*0esterreich; quoted by Miss Calkins. It is fair to say, though,
that the I is not considered as something having an existence be-
yond and beside experience: "Experiences exist in the self."

A BIOLOGICAL THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 225

a lot of sensations and feelings and thoughts of which a given
subject is not aware and which are therefore called caconscious.
They are not in the content of his awareness. There is no
use saying that they are not types, or orders of consciousness,
for they are. They are certainly non-physical and they are
both psychical and psychological. Nelson saved his skin by
winning the battle, but I can't help thinking these psychologists
of the normal are yet to win and save their skins.

The data of abnormal psychology and of dynamic psychology
include a large number of percepts and "ideas" and sensations,
dissociated from the personal consciousness, from awareness by
the self, and from any thing that thinks or perceives. They are
processes, of course, and these processes are not synthesized
with that other complex or process which is called a self, an "I"
or a personality. Until these facts, as I believe them to be, are
recognized and frankly utilized as data, I can't help thinking we
shall never be able to understand consciousness as processes,
nor biologically, and therefore animal intelligence and instinct.

II
CONSCIOUSNESS REGARDED AS COGNITION

In venturing these criticisms on the negligent attitude of the
self -psychologists of course I have only in mind that concept
of consciousness which identifies it with awareness by a self,
a subject, an experiencer, who (logically we can only say
"who") is inherent in every conscious process.

But there is another conception of awareness which is
germane to the problem in hand and this we must take a few
moments to consider. I am sorry and must ask you to bear
with me a while longer before taking up our main theme. It
is a much more subtle notion in that it means the identification
of consciousness with a particular kind of awareness- You
will see that it is a much more defensible notion in that it can
be reconciled with the data furnished by subconscious processes
as derived from experimental and abnormal psychology. This
must now be examined.

According to this subJe notion awareness is identical with
cognition-of-something, but neither the one nor the other need
involve a self that is aware ; the very simplest conscious process
is in itself and by itself cognition of something. Therefore, no
self or experiencer would seem to be required, unless it be the
"organism". But to call it the organism, as I will presently
insist, is the introduction of an objective and biological term
in the psychological equation.

226 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

I am not sure that this conception of awareness has been
explicitly stated in these terms, but it is, at least, so implied in
certain expositions of consciousness as set forth by well known
writers.

Thus it is maintained, for instance, by William McDougall,
for whose work I have great admiration and with whom I am
fundamentally in accord, it is maintained by him, with Mary
Calkins' approval, that every sensation, every perception even
of the simplest and most rudimentary kind in the simplest and
most rudimentary organism conceivable, is cognition and there-
fore awareness of "something there".

"The simplest mind," he forcibly argues, "we can legitimately con-
ceive is, then, one which would respond to a sense-impression, not
merely by 'having a sensation 1 but by an act of knowing; this act
we could only describe as becoming aware of something there, an
object in space, no matter how completely undefined the nature of
the object as thought of and the nature of its spatial relations.
Such a mind, of simplest possible structure, must be conceived as
consisting of one cognitive disposition linked with a single conative
disposition. Such a mind would respond to every sense-impression
that affected it at all (no matter what its nature) with simple
awareness of something there and a vague undirected impulse of
appetition, of striving towards the object/ 1 *

This, if I understand him correctly, amounts to saying that
every sensation is, itself, per se, cognition and awareness, but
not by a self.

Here cognition and awareness are robbed of one of their
attributes and are given another and particular meaning. If
this be true of the simplest mind in the simplest organism, then
it must, also, be true of the simplest dissociated and coconscious
sensation, or image, of the human mind, and of this, as I shall
presently point out, there is some experimental evidence that
may be adduced in support.

This is the only meaning that I can conceive can be given

*0utline of Psychology, p. 260. Bold face mine.

It is difficult to reconcile this view, if I do not misunderstand
him, with his argument for the substitution of the term experience
for consciousness. Just as "All experiencing or thinking" he says,
"is the experiencing or thinking of [-by] some one, some person,
some organism," and "whenever we refer to a fact of experience
we imply some one thinking of some thing/' so consciousness "stands
for the fact of being conscious of something" and "implies some
one who is conscious of something."

These two conceptions of consciousness, one requiring a subject
that is aware (conscious) of something, the other only awareness of
something, the response of a simple cognitive disposition without
an apparent subject, can hardly be reconciled.

A BIOLOGICAL THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 227

to cognition and awareness under this theory. Only on the
adoption of such a meaning can consciousness and purposive
behavior be attributed, as McDougall "provisionally at least"
does, to such microbes as the protozoa (on the basis of Jenning's
observations and conclusions) . Likewise a dissociated "prick"
of a pin may be felt, and, according to the evidence, in fact is
felt coconsciously by an anesthetic hysteric as a subconscious
perception of "something there" and even as a pin there, but
not by a self. And so with many coconscious, dissociated sen-
sations, images and perceptions. It is difficult to reconcile this
conception of consciousness with that for which McDougall
has argued when adopting the term "experience" in place of
consciousness; namely that "consciousness implies some one
who is conscious of something".

Undoubtedly he would further explain to us that the aware-
ness of the "simplest mind", of a protozoan, and of a dissoci-
ated bit of consciousness for "something there" is by the
"organism", for he sometimes substitutes this term for the
subject "who" (or I). But to say that the "who" is the
organism is a poorly masked camouflage for it is substituting
biological objective terms for psychological terms, and intro-
ducing the ambiguous middle. If we are going to have a sub-
ject, it is a high potentate, the psychological "who" to whom
we want to be introduced and not a conglomeration of such
common folk as the liver and gall bladder and muscles, or any
material "who".

After such a ruthless elimination of the self, the question of
awareness would seem to become a purely academic, if not a
philosophical one, and to be practically of no importance.

It does seem queer, not to say paradoxical, that such a dis-
sociated isolated conscious process as a simple sensation, or a
complex of sensations (perception) of which the personal con-
sciousness is not aware, can be a cognition of something in the
environment without there being anything that cognizes a
cognition that is not a cognition by something. How can we
speak of a cognition that is not a cognition by something? If
it is insisted that the cognition must be by a self or subject, then
we may ask how many selves or subjects are there in a given
personality. We may have any number of independent dis-
sociated conscious processes, independent so far as aware-
ness of each other is concerned. Does each one of them imply
a self ? If so it would seem that there must be any number of
selves.

228 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

A way out of the difficulty may be found in the following
considerations. Probably no sensation after the first experi-
ence ( if not before) ever occurs as an isolated experience. It
is always integrated with other sensory events kinesthetic and
pressure sensations, visual and tactile images, sensory localizing
impressions, etc., whether because of inherited integrations or
acquired experiences. The whole of these are integrated into
a complex which, as a setting, gives the sensation meaning.
A prick from a pin, we will say, is integrated even with re-
vived visual images of a pin, as well as with numerous other
sensory impressions. It is this whole structural complex which
functions when (the other senses being neglected) the skin is
pricked. It is comprehensible that such a complex may well
be in itself a specific cognition of something jihere of a pin,
an apperception of the stimulus.* It is the pin for conscious-
ness.

At any rate, if all that is meant by "awareness" is that kind
of, or so much consciousness or cognition as is presumed to be
present in the protozoa and to determine its reactions, as so
cautious and conservative an investigator as Jennings thinks
justified ; or the kind that may be possessed by William James*
theoretical polyp (quoted by McDougall with approval) which
thinks, "Hello ! thingumbob again" ; or so much consciousness
as may be present in higher animals, like the crawfish of Thorn-
dike's and Yerkes' experiments, presumably without any self,
or self-awareness, one can accept for all practical purposes the
concept of consciousness that identifies it with cognition without
a subject (save the material organism).

Indeed, I think that the data from Abnormal Psychology I
am going to marshal and the thesis I am presenting better
supports the position of the purposive behaviorists against the
mechanists, the tropists, the conditioned reflexers, and others,
than that other insistence of McDougall that consciousness
stands for and "implies some one who is conscious of some
thing".

The practical questions are : Are dissociated mental processes
of which the self is not aware, themselves conscious processes?
If so, are they devoid of a self, a subject, and self -awareness?
And if the answer is affirmative, what can such simple con-
scious processes by themselves as dissociated coconscious sensa-

*I am not sure whether such a structural complex is not anal-
ogous to, or identical with the Gestalt concept.

A BIOLOGICAL THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 229

tions, images, perceptions, etc,, devoid of self and all self-
awareness do? How far are they capable of choice and can
they adapt the organism to the situations of life and thus deter-
mine so-called purposive behavior in short, exhibit intelligence
of various sorts? And how far are they paralleled by such
primitive types of consciousness as presumably occur in the
animal world? If such processes are self -less and yet can
determine purposive behavior and if they can be so paralleled
by the primitive types of the animal mind, we shall be able to
give a psychological interpretation of animal behavior and form
a biological conception of consciousness.

With the narrower question of the reality of a specific self
in what I may call our every day "personal consciousness", let
it be borne in mind, I am not concerned.

In order to avoid the confusion from the double meaning of
terms, I shall at once precisely define the meaning in which I
shall use the terms "consciousness", "awareness" and "cogni-
tion".

I am going to use "awareness" in the first of its two common
meanings and "consciousness" in the second of its meanings as
defined at the beginning : that is to say

By awareness I mean an awareness or cognition of something
by something, (an "I", self, subject, experiencer, or something
that is aware).

By consciousness I simply mean thought, sensation, percep-
tion, image, feeling, sentience, or anoetic consciousness without
any implication of its being itself awareness, i*., cognition of
something by something. Whether there is or is not such con-
sciousness is a question of fact to be determined by investiga-
tion. The evidence for the veridity of this concept I pro-
pose to present

Awareness thus becomes a type or order of consciousness and
the two are not used as synonymous terms.

By cognition I mean knowing or awareness of something
there without necessarily there being a subject that knows,
though of course there may be such. It is a modified and
particular type of awareness. This subjectless cognition I hope
to be able to justify.

Ill
THE EMPIRICAL DATA

I propose now to examine the content and activities of the
simplest conscious processes with a view to determining (a)

230 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

whether they include anything that can be regarded as aware-
ness by something a subject, an experience^ a self; (b) the
character of the behavior, if any, which they determine, i. e.,
whether purposive or not; (c) the degree of intelligence ex-
hibited by such simple processes; and (d) how far they may be
regarded as analogues of the lower orders of the animal mind.

Such simple conscious processes suitable for study are found
in the dissociated and more or less segregated processes oc-
curring in certain abnormal conditions, such as hysteria and
dissociated personalities; in artificially produced conditions,
such as suggested post-hypnotic acts ; and in normal states, like
intense concentration of the attention and absentmindedness ;
and in that no-man's land of dreams, automatic writing, etc.

The very simple dissociated coconscious processes found in
these and other allied conditions and the behavior which they
determine enable us to study consciousness reduced to its
simplest terms sentience, sensations, perceptions segregated
from the complex self and from the highly complex order of
conceptual thinking with which, as experienced probably only in
man, sensations and perceptions are normally inextricably
commingled and integrated.

It is a fair assumption that such simple dissociated processes
are analogues to primitive orders of mind and the simplest of
them approximates McDougall's theoretical "simplest mind we
can conceive . . , one single cognitive disposition linked with
a single conative disposition". Of course such a mind is an
abstraction for every mind is more complex than this ; and so
is every dissociated process, and many may be very complex.
Indeed dissociated processes may be of every degree of com-
plexity from the simplest to the highest, approximating a wholly
integrated mind.

But many are exceedingly simple compared with the com-
pletely integrated human mind, probably as simple as many
types of primitive minds belonging to the lower forms of animal
life. A study, then, of simple dissociated processes ought to
throw light on the problem of awareness, and give an insight
into the kind of behavior which can be determined by the
simpler minds which, as we infer, are manifested in the lower
orders of animals.

Of course no dissociated process is completely isolated any
more than is any conscious process of normal everyday think-
ing. The one as much as the other is organized in a "setting"
of dispositions deposited by past experiences in which it has

A BIOLOGICAL THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 231

its roots and which conditions the reactions of the process to
given stimuli or a situation. Nevertheless, the same must be
true of primitive animal minds.

The phenomena I shall make use of are the inferred cocon-
scious (subconscious) processes revealed in:
1 : Hysterical anesthesia.
2 : The fringe and ultra-marginal zone of consciousness during

a) normal attention:

b) certain types of absent-minded acts and impulsions:

c) suggested post-hypnotic acts :

d) phobic attacks.

3 : Certain types of extremely dissociated personalities.

4 : Coconscious images in various conditions.

5 : Coconscious solutions of mathematical problems.

6 : Coconscious somatic and coenesthetic sensations and anoe-

tic consciousness.
7: Tics and hysterical and suggested contractures.

The method employed in all but the last of these conditions
is chiefly introspection in states of repersonalization, i. e. t
hypnosis, abstraction, so-called dissociated personalities etc., but
in some observations, where it could be employed, introspection
by the presumed Coconscious process itself was employed and
described by subconscious writing.

The fundamental principles underlying the method are:

(1) that by introspection in these states memories of con-
scious processes previously segregated and excluded from the
awareness of the personal self can be brought within the aware-
ness of the newly repersonalized subject; and also that com-
munication can be established with these subconscious processes
by means of automatic writing; or that they can be made to
manifest themselves by other sorts of behavior of one kind or
another.

(2) The assumption that these segregated bits of conscious
processes roughly correspond to the simpler types of conscious-
ness and, therefore, to the theoretically simplest mind, and that
the behavior they determine to that which such a mind
determines.

It will be well at this point to make clear what is meant by
coconsciousness, or more correctly coconscious processes, and
for this purpose give some examples of the data upon which
this concept is based and which I also desire to make use of
for a biological conception of consciousness.

232 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

1. I cannot do better than begin with the old and classical
phenomena of hysterical anesthesia. These have long been
known to students of abnormal psychology. I prefer to begin
with them, because they are as important as they are old and
have not been as yet adequately analyzed ; and because psychol-
ogists, who undertake to interest themselves in the problems of
awareness and consciousness, rarely give any signs that they
have heard of them and much less take cognizance of them as
data, nor seem to realize that they may be possible factors in
the problems.

Hysterical anesthesia is a loss of sensation by the personal
consciousness due to dissociation from functional causes. It
may involve only some of the senses, or all of the senses, and
only part of the body, or the whole of the body.

Now, given an hysteric of a certain type with absolute anes-
thesia of the skin, no tactile stimulus is felt, much less perceived,
no matter how intensely the attention is concentrated on the
stimulated area. The lack of awareness of the tactile stimulus
is not due, therefore, to lack of focusing the attention ; i. e., to
the unfelt sensation a prick of a pin, or the touch of a hand,
or the burning of a hot iron, or whatever it may have been
having been in the fringe of awareness. There was simply
and plainly absence of awareness.

Now put that hysteric into another state of mind, or person-
ality, that is to say hypnosis, and he recalls, first, that there did
actually occur the sensation of a "prick" or "touch"; and,
second, that when it occurred he was unaware of it. He
further insists that it was a veritable sensation-in-being. More
than this he recalls and insists that there was a coconscious per-
ception of which he was at the previous moment unaware, and
in evidence thereof, when put to the crucial test, he describes
accurately what the experimenter did that he pricked the hand
five times, drew a figure on the skin, put a pair of scissors, a
knife, a key in the hand, bent the third and fifth fingers, and so
on. These he now claims to remember were true coconscious
perceptions of which the hysteric was unaware in spite of con-
centration of attention.

Again modify the experiment. Instead of hypnotizing the
hysteric try tapping the so-called unconscious dispositions by
automatic writing at the moment of the tactile stimulus. The
writing now describes accurately the tests and insists there are
at the very moment coconscious sensations and perceptions ex-
perienced synchronously with the tactile stimulus by that which

PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

2. In absentminded acts there is commonly dim sub-aware-
ness by the subject of the act, but there is a type in which no
such awareness of it, or of the conscious process which deter-
mines it, can be detected. But this process can afterwards, in
hypnosis, be recalled to memory as having been a coconscious
one, often rich in visual imagery. It may be quite complex
and determine complicated purposive behavior, such as we all
know absentminded acts may be, sometimes to our mortification.
It exhibits cognition but not by the personal self as the ex-
periencer. In this case consciousness or apperception itself,
apparently, is cognition, unless some other self can be found.
3. Of the various conditions in which dissociated cocon-
scious processes are found, the one in which they are, perhaps,
most beautifully studied by experimental methods is that of
artificially suggested post-hypnotic acts. These, as you all
probably know, are acts performed by a favorable subject in a
waking state as a result of a suggestion given while he was
hypnotized. The subject, for example, is told in hypnosis that
after waking, at a given signal, he will arise from his chair,
walk across the room, take down a certain book from the book-
case, carry it to some part of the room and place it in a given
place, and so on. If the subject is a good one the act will be
performed as suggested in a sort of absentminded way with-
out even, it may be, his being aware of what he is doing. In-
deed such acts are in principle absentminded acts.

Now, in experiments of this kind I have found that there is
a conscious process of which the subject is unaware which
determines the act. In the example I have cited there is at
each step in the act a coconscious visual image of and preceding
the next step to be performed. Thus there develops the image
of the subject walking across the room whereupon he arises
and absentmindedly walks across the room; an image of the
bookcase he arrives at the bookcase; an image of a hand
reaching for the designated book he reaches for and takes
down the book, and so on.

These coconscious images of which the subject is not aware
are found in a good many conditions besides absentminded and
suggested post-hypnotic acts. They occur in frankly repressed
thoughts, in the subconscious perseveration of dreams after
waking (e.g., automatic kleptomania), in artificially induced
hallucinations, in automatic writing, in concentrated attention
as when we are in a "brown study", and various other condi-
tions. In some conditions they come and go repeatedly, or may

A BIOLOGICAL THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS

writes, while at the same instant the subject testifies he is not
aware of the stimulus. More specifically, that which writes
feels and perceives while the subject is unaware.

Now, unless we refuse to accept the psychological interpreta-
tion and insist, as Miinsterberg used to hold, that the tactile
stimulus is only recorded as a neurological disposition to be
later awakened as a conscious memory,* we have here a very
simple coconscious process a sensation, or a perception
which is also a "cognition" of the environment; for the con-
sciousness is not simply a sensation of pain, in the case of a
pin-prick, but a realization that is is the prick of a pin, and in
the more complicated tests a recognition of objects such as
scissors, key, etc., as has been already mentioned.

Is the coconscious cognition, revealed in such observations,
that by a co-self, a co-subject, or co-experiencer, for such it
would have to be in view of the unquestionable fact that the
hysteric-subject is unaware of the co-experiences? This is a
subtle problem. To so interpret the data would require the
postulation of a plurality of coexisting selves, or a reconsidera-
tion of our conception of the nature and structure of a self.
It will be better to postpone giving an answer to the question
until all the data are in hand. Assuming, however, provision-
ally that the answer is negative, that such simple coconscious
processes do not justify the postulation of a plurality of I's
or selves, the significance of the phenomena in question for the
problem of awareness and consciousness is that consciousness
is not synonymous, coextensive or identical with self -awareness,
or awareness 'by a self, or by a subject, or an experiencer or
anything. If the residua left by the simplest coconscious ex-
perience of the kind here cited is to be regarded as "one cogni-
tive disposition linked with a single conative disposition" (Mc-
Dougall), there remains the question, what kind of behavior
can such dispositions determine? To answer this question we
will examine dissociated coconscious processes occurring under
other conditions.

*The _ physiological interpretation lands us in a whole peck of
difficulties. It does not get rid of the coconscious interpretation
in principle because it would have to admit that the written mem-
ory was an hallucinatory memory and, if so, as hallucinations are
not neural but a conscious process, the theory postulates a cocon-
scipusness, a co-hallucination. Further it would have to explain the
writing itself as due to neurological processes. There are also a
large variety of other subconscious phenomena which it would Jiave
to explain.

A BIOLOGICAL THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 235

remain more or less stabile, or they may behave like cinema
pictures and symbolically represent elaborate thoughts or ideas.
Sometimes they erupt into the personal consciousness and then
the individual becomes aware of them as hallucinations or
visions. Indeed this is the psychological mechanism of the
visions of saints and sinners; but saints and sinners are aside
from the subject in hand.

What I want to call attention to now is that further investi-
gation has shown, as I believe, that, first, these images are ele-
ments in a conscious process of which the personal conscious-
ness is unaware a coconsciousness and which may be very
simple in composition, or of greater or less complexity; and,
secondly, this process may determine intelligent purposive
behavior of various types varying from kleptomanic attacks to
subconscious writing; and, thirdly, it has all the character-
istics of intelligence and cognition. Whether or not this Co-
consciousness is awareness in the sense I have used this term,
i.e., by something, a subject, a self, is a question we shall
presently consider.

4. When we come to study coconscious perceptions in nor-
mal every-day life, we have a mass of observations showing
perceptions of the environment and of the body of which the
personal consciousness is not aware auditory, visual, tactile,
kinesthetic, coenesthetic, etc. These are of sounds in the
street, voices, visual images of the environment, sensations of
warmth, cold, and discomfort, of positions of the body, tension,
and coenesthesis, generally, streaming in from the body, none
of which enters the content of the personal consciousness at
all. They are all comparable in principle to the perceptual
phenomena I have already described of hysterical anesthesia.

As to behavior, the coconscious bodily sensations may cause
shifting of the position of the subject, or general restlessness,
and sometimes discontinuance and change of occupation, or
location without the subject realizing the reason therefor.

In these three classes of phenomena, then, absentminded
acts, suggested post-hypnotic acts and coconscious perceptions
of normal every-day life we have dissociated bits of conscious-
ness, *. e., conscious processes consisting of little more than
simple perceptions dissociated from the personal self, but which
nevertheless are manifestly cognition and determine behavior,
not of a reflex order, but intelligent and adaptive to a purpose
or end. If they can be shown to have no specific self of their
own, they give an insight into the nature of a self -less con-

236 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

sciousness like that which we imagine the lower animals pos-
sess, and the sort of behavior it can determine.

The phenomena I have cited are sufficient, I think, for my
purpose without detaining you with a further recital of actual
examples of the performances of coconscious processes in other
normal and abnormal conditions I have referred to,^ such as
automatic writing, mathematical calculations, subconscious per-
severation of dreams after waking, phobias, tics, and other
states.

IV
AWARENESS BY COCONSCIOUS PROCESSES

Now, if the veridity of dissociated coconscious processes of
the kind I have cited be accepted, the important question re-
mains, is the ^consciousness self-less, and has it self-aware-
ness, and does it involve an awareness by a self or subject, or
experiencer, or something? Is, for example, the simplest dis-
sociated and coconscious sensation or even perception of a
pin-prick an awareness of something there by a coconscious
self, even though the personal self feels nothing? In short,
can it be said to have any real awareness, or is it per se self-
less cognition? The last question is a very subtle one.

Theoretically if there is a coconscious self an experiencer
this self would have to be a second self differentiated from the
personal self, for the latter is ignorant of the coconscious pro-
cess, and there would have to be as many selves as there were
differentiated dissociated experiences and of these there may
be any number.* It looks to me as if we were going to get
into hot water, or at any rate into very troublous waters, if we
are going to attribute every dissociated conscious process, no
matter how simple, of which the subject is unaware, every co-
conscious perception, every bit of automatic writing, every
motor-automatism, to an "I". Kipling's ape, Bimi, you will
remember, got into terribly hot water because he had "too much
ego in his cosmos", but our cosmos would be a whole universe
of egos.

But the problem is too important as well as difficult to be
turned aside by a jest. Whether or not there is a self which
is differentiated from the subject-self and may be called a co-

*Of course I am excluding coconscious personalities, like "Sally"
(case of Miss Beauchamp), which represents very complexly organ-
ized coconscious systems with a veritable second self. They throw
light on the structure of the self which, in my judgment, contrary
to that of the self-psychologists, is analyzable and definable.

A BIOLOGICAL THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 237

experiencer who co-experiences the simplest dissociated co-
sensation or co-image (assuming the fact of co-experience to
be accepted as veridical as those who are familiar with the
phenomena do accept it) of which the subject is unaware is a
subtle question and one not easy to answer. It is a matter of
interpretation dependent upon the evaluation of the evidence.
An affirmative interpretation would require the postulation of a
plurality of coexisting selves, and probably a recasting of our
conception of the nature and structure of a self and a more
exact knowledge than we now possess.

A plurality of coexisting selves is theoretically possible, par-
ticularly as we know that in the complex conditions of so-called
multiple personality, dual (or more) selves occur, but if we
are to ascribe a self to every dissociated conscious process, it
looks as if the animistic psychologists are going to have a hard
time of it. Perhaps we ought to have more exact knowledge
of what a self is before reaching a conclusion on theoretical
grounds, particularly on any theory of cognition.

But we have considerable positive testimony though it must,
of course, be evaluated as relating to the question at issue.

The empirical evidence entirely denies self-awareness to such
coconscious experiences. The introspective testimony of my
dissociated subjects, who in that condition recalled vividly and
precisely these subconscious experiences, has been unanimous
that these experiences were without selfconsciousness, that in
their content there was nothing that the personal pronoun "I"
could be applied to. The subject could not say, and there was
nothing that ^could say, "I saw this", "I felt that" ; the per-
ceptions, feelings, etc., were not synthesized into a self or per-
sonality. The conscious events were just sensations, percep-
tions, images and "thoughts" and nothing more no agent,
nothing that could be called a psychological "experiencer".
This evidence contradicts Wm. McDougall's view alleging to be
a "fact that there is only one agent in alfr forms of mental
activity, you or I, he, she, or it, an agent that can properly be
denoted only by a proper name or pronoun, or generally as the
'subject'." Here was a type of mental activity in which no
such agent could be discovered.

If it be said that the organism was the agent, the experiencer
that experienced, then it may be replied that this is using both
the noun and the verb in a different sense in an objective and
biological sense and not in a psychological one, and we are

*Italics mine.

238 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

guilty of the logical crime of the ambiguous middle term. To
say that the "organism experiences" has no meaning for psy-
chology, and it is a very different thing from saying that "I" or
"you" experience the one is only biological and objective, the
other is psychological.

Now, please don't close your minds and go away with the
opposing thought that such phenomena as I have cited are rare
and therefore may be disregarded. Whether they are rare or
not (and they are not), like "flowers that bloom in the spring,
tra, la, la, has nothing to do with the case." They may be as
rare as Dinosaurian eggs, or a tadpole sitting on top of the
Washington Monument, but if a single dissociated selfless con-
scious process can be established that is devoid of awareness
and yet can determine intelligent purposive behavior, a funda-
mental principle is thereby also established that becomes the
basis for a biological concept of consciousness and the under-
standing of animal behavior.

The deeper significance of these findings is, first, that con-
sciousness is not always to be limited to and therefore synony-
mous and identified with the awareness of the every-day per-
sonal self. Otherwise, a subconscious, or coconscious, or un-
conscious process would be a paradox.

Second, a self is not essential, as some maintain, for con-
sciousness, nor, paradoxical as it may seem, for cognition, nor,
as Ach implies and agrees, as a result of his experiments on
normal subjects, does all personal experience involve conscious-
ness of self. So the conclusion that conscious processes may
function without there being any self-awareness or awareness
by a self does not wholly rest on the findings of abnormal
psychology. It also is in keeping with the studies of Michotte
and Prum on themselves and four other normal subjects.
These experimenters, who found direct introspective evidence
of a self and self-activity, distinguished this experience from
other sensational and affective experiences without self-con-
sciousness.

Third, another point of significance, especially for a biological
conception of consciousness, is that a dissociated selfless con-
sciousness of a primitive type, can determine intelligent purpo-
sive adaptive behavior of a kind that parallels the behavior
of the lower animals.

V

ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE AND BEHAVIOR
In the course of our discussion of coconscious phenomena I

A BIOLOGICAL THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 239

have already called attention to the intelligent purposive be-
havior which even the simplest coconscious process, without
any self or self-awareness, can determine. This behavior, as
we have seen, varies in complexity all the way from maintaining
the posture of the body for a given purpose, or the adaptation of
the posture and the relation of the subject to the immediate
situation of the environment (if the evidence is accepted) to
more complex purposive acts such as those called absent-
minded behavior, the complicated actions following sugges-
tion in hypnosis, defense behavior (in phobic attacks and con-
flicts with the volition of the "conscious self") and impulsive
actions such as kleptomanic behavior, to say nothing of solving
mathematical and other problems and of constructive imagina-
tion exhibited by a dissociated consciousness without self-
awareness.

Such behavior is commonly called automatic although it can
be shown, as I believe, to be determined by conscious processes
of which the self is not aware. This would seem to give some
insight into what very possibly may be the central conscious
factor in instinctive and other types of animal behavior. We
are so accustomed from our intellectual experiences, to think of
awareness by a self as essential for purposive and intelligent
behavior, that it has been difficult to conceive of consciousness
being involved in instinct and learning by experience in the
lower animals. Hence the behaviorists, who are now having
wild joy-rides in America, have sought a way out by con-
ditioned reflexes. But the findings I have just cited, as well
as a large variety of other findings in the field of the cocon-
scious, discovered by abnormal psychology, show another way
out; viz: that consciousness without any self, or "awareness"
can determine behavior of an intelligent purposive kind. Such
a dissociated consciousness may be regarded as a relatively
primitive consciousness and it may well be the type of mental
activity in animals.

At any rate the resulting behavior which it motivates, as I
will presently point out, is comparable to that of the lower order
of animals; and therefore a study of the different orders of
dissociated consciousness and the resulting behavior would
reasonably seem to give an insight into the central conscious
factor in animal behavior including cognition and the affective
element in instinct. Indeed I think we may say that the be-
havior of animals, from the lowest through intermediate levels
to nearly the highest (where self consciousness may be devel-

240 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

oped) can be paralleled by similar sorts of behavior carried out
by dissociated conscious processes in man 5 whether they be of a
normal, abnormal or artificially induced character. By such
automatic conscious mechanisms, the "trial and error" behavior
studied by animal psychologists may be better interpreted than
by the mechanistic principles of conditioned reflexes, tropisms
or other physico-chemical reactions. To this I will presently
return.

From this point of view we may say that examples of all the
different types of animal behavior and of the inferred animal
consciousness, according to the stage of evolutionary develop-
ment reached, can be found recaptitulated under various
conditions in man.

The discovery, if I may be permitted to use so strong a term, of
dissociated imagery and perceptions, which, through the pro-
cesses of which they are elements, determine intelligent be-
havior, without any awareness of processes, or pertaining to the
processes (as in suggested post-hypnotic behavior and in vari-
ous other types), offers an interpretation of the mechanism of
animal behavior which has been so baffling. In animal be-
havior I include the "trial and error" phenomena which have
been the study of animal psychologists. Loath to interpret this
as "intelligence" of the anthropomorphic sort, in which reason-
ing and volition and an implied self are fundamental factors,
mechanists, like Loeb, and behaviorists, like Watson, have
sought to find an adequate explanation in tropisms or in pure
conditioned reflex responses without intervention of conscious-
ness an explanation which seems to be satisfactory to the
mechanistic behaviorists but to nobody else. On the other
hand it is difficult to accept the actuality of reasoning and its
implications in so lowly an animal as the crawfish which learns,
through "trial and error" to avoid obstacles and reach its goal
by a selected path. I have in mind the experiments of Yerkes
and Thorndike. But if it is true that in human beings con-
scious processes involving perception and images, dissociated
from the^psychological self and without anything that is aware
of anything, can exhibit memory and determine complicated
intelligent purposive behavior which fulfils an aim and reaches
a goal, it would seem that we have here the analogue of a fairly,
and relatively, primitive consciousness and that a similar though
simpler sort of consciousness may well exist in lower animals
that have organs of sensation, and may determine the behavior

A BIOLOGICAL THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 241

in "trial and error" experiments. Such an hypothesis is not
only tenable but is of wide reaching significance.

To be a little more explicit, if the data of abnormal psych-
ology be accepted, the hypothesis derives considerable support in
that the behavior of the lower animals, let us say the crawfish,
is determined by a consciousness of a primitive type (without
awareness) that is also found in man; namely, that has as com-
ponents an assortment of sensory images of past experiences
(or memory) of a simple sort and less specialized than in man,
sensations of present experiences, feelings, and impulses, de-
rived or not from innate mechanisms (instincts) the whole
organized by experience into a complex without awareness,
though it may be "cognition/' but capable of determining pur-
posive adaptive behavior. Just such complexes in dissociated
conditions have been reveded in man.

The crawfish, for instance, has eyes and a gustatory and a
tactile apparatus. If it has eyes we are compelled to infer
that it has visual sensations, however vague or unsystematized ;
and if it has visual sensations, it would seem to be a necessity
that those sensations would be revived as "images" according to
psychological -laws by associative experience or, in other terms,
memory ; and so likewise with gustatory, coenesthetic, and tactile
sensations and images, thus a complex of memorial images
and the processes to which they belong would be organized by
experience, and it is the complex as a whole that would function
To take particular instances, the "trial and error" behavior of
Thorndike's crawfish would be explained by the organization
of kinesthetic and visual images of past trials with gustatory
memories of the food finally obtained and feelings of appetite
satisfied the whole complex providing the impulses to behavior
and guiding the movements of the animal in a purposive
fashion, The same mechanism would adequately satisfy the
accomplishments of McDougall's white rat and Airedale ter-
rier* to both of which he rightly, as I think, attributes intelli-
gent puiposive behavior. Both animals learned by "trial and
error" to accomplish what in man would be called "intelligent"
acts. Analogous behavior we have in man manifested by the
phenomena I have already described. To eliminate all con-
sciousness as a causal factor is to make consciousness a pure
epiphenomenon and to revert to the "steam whistle" theory of
Huxley.

*Outline of Psychology; pp. 190 and 196.

242 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

No less an accurate observer and cautious authority than
Jennings, whom McDougall pertinately cites, finds it impos-
sible to explain the behavior of protozoa by the hypothesis of
reflex response to stimuli and regards such behavior as requir-
ing the intervention of some sort of consciousness analogous
to that which we have to postulate in higher animals.

"We have asked" he says, "merely whether there exists m the
lower organisms objective phenomena of a character similar to
what we find in the behavior of man. To this question we have
been compelled to give an affirmative answer. So far as objec-
tive evidence goes, there is no difference in kind, but a complete
continuity between the behavior of lower and of higher organ-
isms."

As to the presence of consciousness in micro-organisms he
concludes :

"Paramoecium . . . makes such an impression that one in-
voluntarily recognized it as a little subject acting in ways
analogous" to our own. Still stronger, perhaps, is this impres-
sion when observing an Amoeba obtaining food . . . The writer
is thoroughly convinced, after long study of the behavior of this
organism, that if Amoeba were a large animal, so as to come
within the every-day experience of human beings, its behavior
would at once call forth the attribution to it of states of pleasure
and pain, of hunger, desire, and the like, on precisely the same
basis as we attribute these things to a dog . . . We attribute
consciousness to the dog, because this is useful; it enables us
practically to appreciate, foresee, and control its actions much
more readily than we could otherwise do ... I believe it be-
yond question that we should find similar attribution to it
[Amoeba] of certain states of consciousness a practical assis-
tance in foreseeing and controlling its behavior. Amoeba is a
beast of prey, and gives the impression of being controlled by
the same elemental impulses as higher beasts of prey".

In attributing consciousness to such low forms as the pro-
tozoa of course we do not think in anthropomorphic concepts,
in terms of human consciousness. We must rather try to con-
ceive^ if we can, of psychical processes as contrasted with
chemical and physical processes, but sufficiently specific and
differentiated as sensibility to determine purposive adaptive
behavior. By "sensibility" is to be understood, a primitive con-
sciousness, or primordial consciousness without the attribute of
thought or Reeling though it is sentience. But we may
attribute to it the capacity of registration, conservation, and

A BIOLOGICAL THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS 243

reproduction of experience. According to the view of some, all
living matter has these functions; which means of course,
memory, which in turn, in the last analysis, means the capacity
to adjust through experience to situations of the environment.
By the theory then, if not demonstrated fact, of sensibility, the
behavior which Jennings found in the protozoa might well be
explained without attributing the more highly specialized
anthropomorphic consciousness to these low forms of animal
life. And we may be justified in correlating the introspective
findings of vague coenesthetic consciousness, that I have cited,
with the primitive and even anoetic consciousness of animals
and interpret them as sentience. After all, this is only taking
that other step that reaches monism ; is it not ? the identifica-
tion of consciousness, or "mind stuff," with the ultimate reality
of chemical and physical processes, the theory which I reached
and elaborated in my first lecture.

There is to be found, then, functioning in the human organ-
ism all the different types of psychical and psychological pro-
cesses which occur throughout the scale of the whole animal
hierarchy at the various stages of evolution reached, from the
dim sentience of the protozoa to that higher intellectual activ-
ity which culminates in thought and self awareness; and, as a
working hypothesis, it may be held that in man every evolution-
ary stage of consciousness is recapitulated and represented,
beginning with what is probably mere sensibility of the simple
cell, through the highly specialized sensations and perceptions,
without awareness, fo the more conscious processes of thought,
and self awareness. Through such considerations we are led
to that biological conception of consciousness which I have
endeavored to unfold.

CHAPTER XI

THE PROBLEM OF PERSONALITY*
How MANY SELVES HAVE WE?

BY MORTON PRINCE

The theory of personality is fundamental to the problems
of Social Psychology and of Abnormal Psychology. It may
be said that at least an elementary understanding of the psy-
chology of the component traits of personality, if not of their
dynamic mechanisms, is essential for poets, dramatists and
other writers of fiction; ,and, above all, for biographers, if
they would understand the apparently paradoxical and often
contradictory traits manifested by their characters. For such
an understanding involves an understanding of what is called
human nature. I have therefore thought the problem ap-
propriate for this lecture.

The frequently advanced theories of personality are, to my
way of viewing the problem, inadequate or incomplete in that
they do not take into consideration and give an explanation
of all the facts involved. Among such facts left out and
there are many are those of the normal everyday alterations of
character, those of the asocial personality, those involving the
problem of character versus intelligence and those commonly
called abnormal alterations , or phases of personality, but which
are manifestly due not to abnormal but to the normal function-
ing of mental processes under altered conditions.

Furthermore, the theories most in vogue are predicated either
on the one hand on the debatable premise of "instincts" hav-
ing very specific functions and determining very specific pur-
posive behavior concepts unacceptable to some; or, on the
other hand, on the still more debatable premises of the naive
modern Behaviorist who defines personality in terms of bodily
reactions to the environment, without taking note of the psy-
chological mechanisms involved, and thus would reduce every
trait of personality to conditioned reflexes, relegating the mind

*Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University,
December 17, 1924.

An abstract of this lecture was presented at the meeting of the
British Association for the Advancement of Science, Psychological
Section: Toronto, Canada, August 6-13,

246 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

to the superfluous position of the steam whistle on the loco*
motive, as Huxley did half a century ago. 1

TRAITS OP PERSONALITY AS ENDURING DISPOSITIONS
ORGANIZED IN SYSTEMS (NEUROGRAMS)

Common, as well as psychological observation, teaches that
every individual exhibits a greater or less number of native
and acquired intellectual endowments, certain acquired mental
traits, certain acquired habits of mind and body, certain moods
and certain innate affective conative tendencies, which deter-
mine his reactions to the situations of life and particular cir-
cumstances of the environment.

For example: Intellectual endowments would comprehend native
capacity for and acquired knowledge of, mathematics, music, language
and special fields of learning, capacity for constructive imagination,
logical judgments, etc. Amongst acquired mental traits may be
classed sentiments, ideals, and beliefs; amongst habits, modes of
thought, opinions, prejudices, etc.; and amongst innate affective
tendencies are to be found all those impulses and driving forces
which are recognized as derived from or correlated with the emotions,
feelings and appetites, and are generally called instincts or instinctive
tendencies.

Most of these components, those that are acquired by life's
experiences are peculiar to and vary in each individual, but
the innate instinctive tendencies are common to all individuals.
The sum of the different components as a whole constitute
personality; and according as the components vary in character
and quality and the modes in which they are assembled, or
integrated with one another, will characters differ.

For convenience of description we may extend the meaning
of the term "traits" to include all the different components
and so I shall do. Now the individual traits of personality
are to greater or less degree fixed and enduring those that
are innate permanently so: others acquired by experience, like
habits and^ sentiments, fixed and enduring until modified by
new experience; and then as new formations this quality is
still continued.

It is ^obvious that this quality of fixed persistence implies
some kind of enduring dispositions and these we are com-

^Attempts have -been made to classify personalities (or more cor-
rectly, characters) into types, such as the introverted, extraverted
noetic, cyclothymic, autistic, etc. (Jung, Conklin, Rosanoff and
others;. But such classifications do not touch the real problem
They ^are merely descriptive of end results. They do not explain
anything. What we want is an explanation of the Why and How

HOW MANY SELVES HAVE WE? 247

pelled to formulate in physiological terms, in terms of corre-
lated neural dispositions organized to a greater or less degree
into potentially functioning whole or systems. An organized
system of neural dispositions I have thought useful to denote
by the term "neurogram" 1 a neural record of mental and other
experiences.

It is impossible to conceive of a mental experience, or process like
a thought, or a sentiment, or a feeling, enduring, as such, after it
has passed out of the awareness of the moment. We cannot think
of it as stowed away somewhere, as you stow away a penknife in
your pocket, or a book upon your -bookshelf. The very fact of
it 'being a process indicates that it ceases to exist as such. We are
compelled to conceive of it only as conserved by means of a corre-
lated brain disposition potentially capable of being stimulated to
activity and therewith reviving the original men-tal experience or
process. The nature of the correlation depends upon what theory
of the mind-body problem we adopt parallelism or monism. But
in any case, if -we bear these concepts in mind, we may avoid
pedan-ticism and speak, interchangeably and indifferently, of physio-
logical dispositions or mental dispositions, as the functioning of the
former ex hypothesi necessarily carries with it corresponding men-
tal processes. But let us remember mental disposition is a figure of
speech.

The innate and acquired mental "traits" of personality, then, are
conditioned by physiological dispositions. But just as physiological
dispositions are (or may be) organized into systems, so of necessity
the processes of the correlated mental experiences are correspondingly
organized. As the one is, so must the other be. Accordingly mental
"traits" (as I have defined them and aside from pure native endow-
ments) comprehend, besides the innate instinctive tendencies-, sys-
tems of potential or actual activities organized by experience within
themselves and with the innate, instinctive conative activities and
conserved as physiological dispositions.

DEFINITION OF PERSONALITY

We may, then, define Personality as the sum total of all the
biological innate dispositions and tendencies of the individual
and all the acquired dispositions and systems of dispositions;
or, more specifically, as that psycho-physiological collocation of
traits (meaning all the native and acquired intellectual en-
dowments, all the habits, sentiments and other mental systems,
plus the inherited emotional instincts, appetites and other tend-
encies) by which the mind manifests, or may manifest itself,
i. e., actually or potentially, and of which certain variable com-
ponents determine the reactions of the individual to the cir-
cumstances and situations of life.

*The Unconscious, p. 109.

248 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

I say "actually or potentially" because there are two facts that
should be noted: First, there are many "traits" which though en-
during components of the personality may be only rarely manifested.
Potentially, however, they are there and may determine, given the
situation and the circumstance, the reactions of the individual. This
is particularly seen in the emotional tendencies, such as anger, fear,
mirth, play, etc. That is to say, a person may be of such a placid
temperament that he may almost never be known to manifest anger,
which may seem to be absent from his personality, yet potentially
the innate disposition is there and given some adequate _ circum-
stance the anger reaction will be called forth. And so with fear
and other emotional tendencies.

Similarly with acquired sentiments. There may be organized
within the structure of the personality sentiments which are rarely
in activity; there may be even antagonistic sentiments involving
the same "object and incompatible with each other love and hatred
of, or aversion to one and the same person or thing, each having been
created at different times under different conditions of the organism
or by different experiences. Within habitual situations and con-
ditions only one of such antagonistic pairs habitually functions but
the other opposing sentiment, nevertheless, endures as a potential
disposition capable of functioning. For let the situation and other
conditions be sufficiently altered and it will be switched into activity.
And so it is with the other components of personality.

I would impress upon you and I beg you to hold constantly
in mind, lest I be misunderstood, that for the moment I am
concerned only with the structure of the mind and not with the
dynamic forces contained in its traits the conscious and the
subconscious strivings and urges, the "drives'* and conflicts
nor with environmental situations as stimuli. These two fac-
tors largely determine what variables or traits shall in any
given situation be manifested as character. But the structure
of the mind conditions these dynamic forces and the reaction
to the environment. I shall later, in due time, consider these
other dynamic factors.

ALL NEUROGRAMS AND TRAITS NOT ASSEMBLED
INTO A FUNCTIONING WHOLE

Now a fact to be noted and which must be taken into con-
sideration by any theory of personality, is that, of the various
and many organized dispositions, or neurograms, compre-
hended potentially in the whole personality and when func-
tioning providing the traits, all are not assembled under all
conditions and at all times into a functioning whole. The
individual reacts at one moment with one set of traits and at
another with another, perhaps of an opposite character. In-
deed he may possess, as I have said, traits that are antagonistic
to one another, such as sentiments of hatred and love, or in-

HOW MANY SELVES HAVE WE? 249

terest and disinterest, for the same object; or he may mani-
fest both charitableness and uncharitableness ; intelligence and
stupidity ; etc. Obviously such opposing traits cannot be mani-
fested at one and the same moment. But let the conditions
of the organism be altered, such as occurs in fatigue, or illness,
or intoxication, or states of dissociation, or moods ; or let the
conditions of the environment be altered and one or the other
of these opposing traits comes into functional activity. The
dispositions underlying its opposite then may be said to be dis-
sociated from the functioning systems of the personality, or
be suppressed, or switched off. In other words, that which
is the functioning part of the personality undergoes alterations
from time to time, one set of traits being predominant at
one time and another at another. There occurs a dissociation,
or switching out, of some dispositions and re-synthesis, or
switching in, of others.

CHARACTER A PHASE OF PERSONALITY AND NOT
A FIXED STABLE THING

The terms "personality" and character are often loosely
used interchangeably as synonyms. I am afraid I have done
so myself. But it would be better to use "personality" in the
comprehensive sense for the sum total of all the enduring traits
and their underlying organized dispositions, potential and
active, innate and acquired, possessed by the organism, and
reserve "character" for those traits and dispositions which are
predominant or characterize the personality at different
moments, determining at such moments the reactions of the
organism. From this point of view personality would
change only as traits were modified by, or new traits were
acquired by experience. The character would change not
only in accordance with new experiences, but in accord-
ance with changes in the internal conditions of the organism
(strivings, conflicts, moods, intoxications, etc.) and with
changes in the environmental situations. These character-
changes are different phases of personality in that they repre-
sent selected groups of the total of the variables of personality.
It is a matter of dissociation and re-synthesis of variables
that is, of organized systems of dispositions and corresponding
reactions.

The practical point is, the character of the personality is
not^ a fixed stable thing, but may be altered from time to time.
It is a variant of the personality. Some individuals are not

250 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

the same in character in the morning and evening; nor under
adversity and prosperity; nor in sorrow and happiness; nor
in sickness and health; nor in the different relations of life
those of business and the home and society, etc.; nor, as is
proverbial, in wine and sobriety as Mr. Volstead and Mr.
Bryan, who would take all the joy out of life, would have us
remember. Personality has many phases, or variants.

So the functioning part of the personality is subject to alter-
ations from time to time, manifested in changes of character
and corresponding reactions. The resulting phases are nor-
mally observed and in popular parlance are commonly spoken
of as "sides" to the personality, or character. They are par-
ticularly obtrusive under abnormal conditions, internal and
external, and are then called abnormal alterations of per-
sonality such as intoxications, trance, fugues, hypnosis,
deliria, sleep, multiple personality, etc. But such _ abnormal
states are only complex systems formed by dissociation and
synthesis out of the variables various components of the
whole personality. So they, too, are all phases of personality.

MULTIPLE ALTERNATING PHASES IN EVERY
DAY LIFE

Yet nearly all writers of fiction and even biographers have
failed to recognize what in these modern days the most ad-
vanced criminologists and penologists have recognized that
man is a many sided creature and woman, if I may venture to
say it, particularly so. No one is wholly good or wholly bad ; or
wholly hard or wholly sentimental ; or wholly self-centered or
wholly altruistic; or wholly self-assertive and self-reliant or
wholly shy and self-depreciative ; and I may even say wholly
intelligent or wholly stupid. William James classified human
beings as the "tough-minded and the tender-minded;" but no
one is wholly tough or wholly tender. So every one has differ-
ent sides, as we say, to his personality, each side manifesting
its particular traits and conduct, which are the expressions of
its particular interests and sentiments and ideals ; its instinctive
emotions, and feelings; its impulses, and desires, and moods.
And according as which side is uppermost will a person appear
to his neighbors and to the world as a person of this kind of
character or that kind.

An acquaintance of mine, for example, is a practical busi-
ness man, a steel manufacturer. In the management of his
business he displays the characteristics of a capable executive

HOW MANY SELVES HAVE WE? 251

and money maker. His character, expressing his interests
and ideals and impulses at such times, is only that of a business
man bent on industrial and financial success.

But from time to time he shuts himself up in his room, bars
out the world and his friends and even the enticements of
every social pleasure, and alone with his violin as a companion
loses himself in the land of dreams of music and emotion
and sentiment until the wee sma' hours of the morning. At
these times the business self disappears, and a dream self of
emotion and sentiment, oblivious to all else, takes its place.

So also will a person appear as a shrewd, hard, selfish, ruth-
less egotist in his dealings with business competitors, when
one side is uppermost; and to the public, when it is the other
side, as a compassionate, generous, philanthropic altruist, in-
terested in bettering the welfare of his fellow beings by the
use of his millions.

Or, again, in this country a type of political boss used to
be not uncommon (and is still not as extinct as the dodo).
When one side was uppermost, he would appear ambitious,
unscrupulous, uncharitable to his opponents, and a grafter on
the public treasury; and then, under different conditions and
in a different environment, which called out the other side of
his nature, he would exhibit in private life to his family and
friends, a character of high ideals, honest in private dealings,
exemplary in morals, kindly and charitable, beloved by all
who knew him.

Or again, may I take the personality of Abraham Lincoln
which has been such a puzzle to his biographers, and is now
puzzling a distinguished biographer, so he tells me, who is
writing a new life. There were at least two sides to Lincoln's
personality. There was the uncouth, coarse-minded hilarious
Lincoln, constantly repeating the unprintable jests and language
of the youths of the rough pioneer life that was the lot of
the early settlers and of the sordid vulgar civilization of the
primeval forest. And there was the sad Lincoln, the idealist
whose thought was not only the manifestation of a sublime
character, but embracing the loftiest concepts of human nature,
was expressed in language that recalls in purity and beauty
the most inspiring ethical and poetic imagination. No wonder
his biographer, unversed in psychology, is puzzled.

In the realm of fiction the dramatist is forced by the con-
ventional canons of his art, if not by lack of wisdom, and for
the purposes of dramatic effect, to depict but one side of the

252 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

personalities of his characters. Consequently there is probably
not a character of the drama, excepting possibly Dr. Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde, of which the whole personality has been portrayed.
lago, devil that he was, probably at home with his children,
if he had a home and children, might have been the picture of
an angel father. Melancholy Jacques, if he had had a couple
of cocktails before dinner, might have forgotten his pessimism
and shown, in vino veritas, another side of his personality and
entertained his company as a hilarious jester. Even Hamlet,
though a good subject for a psychopathic hospital, if he had
returned to his University at Wittenberg would have probably
forgotten for one night, at least, all about his philosophies of
life and his lamented father and exhibited himself in that other
joyous, rollicking mood or character for which he very likely
was known in the congenial surroundings of his boisterous
student days.

The world still awaits the great dramatist who will draw,
if it be possible, a complete picture of a human personality,
true to nature and under the confining canons of art.

It would be hazardous in me to draw examples from amongst
the fair daughters of Eve, lest I might find it^ expedient to take
the first train out of this good city after this lecture. But I
venture the opinion that human nature is all the same in
whichever sex it is incarnated. From such insight as has been
vouchsafed me from the revelations within the confessional
box of the physician's consulting room, I suspect that man
and woman are pretty much of a muchness. The multiform
sides of a woman's nature differ from man's only in form and
their conventional expressions.

The contrasting sides, however, of the gentler sex are much
less conspicuous to the world than man's and are more easily
overlooked. In woman, as every woman knows but few
men, one or more sides of the character are by the necessity
of social customs camouflaged. From childhood she is taught
by the conventions of society, by the social tabu, to restrain
and repress, often even from herself, many impulses and crav-
ings^ which are born within her, as well as many thoughts and
sentiments which she has acquired by experience, by contact
with the world and therefore by riper knowledge. The re-
pression under the social codes of these, the natural expressions
of a part of her personality has belied her nature which has
been confined for centuries in a cage hung with opaque cur-
tains, like unto the spiritualist's dark cabinets. But within
her social cabinet, all sorts of urges of human nature have
been seething.

HOW MANY SELVES HAVE WE? 253

In these days we have the great movement for emancipation
of the sex. Woman at last, after centuries of repression, is com-
ing into her own and is being allowed to give free expression
to her personality. We have already seen remarkable mani-
festations of her abilities, her aspirations and her desires and
her capacity to compete with man, and, I fear, expressions of
her personality, hitherto unsuspected by naive man, in other
unconventional directions. What may happen with complete
emancipation of the sex I am not rash enough to prophesy.

But to go back : in each of the examples, real and imaginary,
above cited and I might draw in different individuals from
life, dozens of contrasting and contradictory pictures it would
appear that in the different relations of life the personality
presents contradictory traits and conduct, and, in popular
language, we might say different "selves" alternating with one
another from moment to moment. But these "selves" are
plainly only different sides or phases of the same personality.

In which of these sides, or which of these characters is the
personality the "Real Self?" Is either side the real self? Or
is one more than the other? Would the individual himself
know which he or she is ? Certainly no one is more real than
the other. 1

When a person uninterruptedly exhibits one fixed, strongly
marked phase of his personality during a considerable
period of time it would seem as if a cleavage, so to
speak, had occurred, the cleft for the time being separat-
ing certain groups of traits from the others without any
bridge between them. And, as a matter of fact, this cleavage
sometimes literally occurs, as I will presently demonstrate to
you.

Again, the contrasting phases of personality may be dis-
tinguished by differences of mood, each mood being marked
by its own strong feeling tone or emotion, or by exaltation
or depression, with corresponding sentiments, habits, thoughts,
ideals and resulting conduct.

Strictly and precisely speaking such phases of personality cannot
be described as "selves." The problem of the self is a narrower
and special problem involving other and special factors. Yet it is
true that a differentiated phase of personality .may include a self
different in its psychological structure from the self of another
phase; and this structure may be distinguished by a characteristi-
cally different idea of self, self consciousness, self regarding sentiment,
etc. As we shall presently see there may 'be two (or more) veritable
alternating selves constructed out of the components of one per-
sonality.

254 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

That this differentiation of the personality into distinct
phases or groups of traits, or sides of the character, express
it as you will, is not a mere figure of speech, but an actual
fact of the structure of the mind may be demonstrated ex-
perimentally, and is often observed in everyday life when, as
the result of emotional shocks and the internal forces of the
mind, the personality is broken up into its component parts
and one side split off from the other sides. I might cite many
experiments and observations of my own, but to eliminate
personal bias allow me to mention an interesting experiment
by another observer. This experimenter, while engaged in
some hypnotic experiments on a young man of twenty-two
who was "essentially normal and responsible, of robust char-
acter and of decided intellectual ability," found to his surprise
that this young man fell, entirely independently of suggestion
and as if by accident, into at least four distinct phases or moods
each of which may be well characterized as a self.

The first phase, the ordinary or quiet mood was very similar
to his normal self when awake. He was of a nature quiet,
speculative and restrained, well bred and courteous in demeanor
and of a religious and idealistic temperament. If a suggestion
was made not consonant with this character it was rejected at
once and any amount of insistence would be in vain.

In the second phase, called the "gay mood," into which, on
its first appearance, he suddenly without warning and to the
surprise of the experimenter, changed out of the first phase,
the subject became extremely hilarious and absurd, jested in
an easy way, displayed a tendency to practical jokes on the
experimenter, kicked his clothes about the room and was gen-
erally obstreperous and fantastic, both in speech and behavior.
Then, of a sudden, without warning or suggestion of any kind,
he reverted to his former quiet, gentle, restrained self. On
other occasions in this gay mood, which frequently occurred,
he showed himself to be a "gay Lothario," for he displayed
an astounding lack of the ordinary conventions or proprieties,
professed a contempt for either religion or morality, and a
disregard for any responsibility in his actions, becoming in
his^ own language, a child of nature, non-moral though not
vicious. Any suggestion not consonant with this mood was,
as in the first phase instantly rejected.

The third phase was a "malicious" mood. In this he be-
came a sort of "Jack-the-Ripper." He exhibited a strong wish

HOW MANY SELVES HAVE WE? 255

to inflict pain and frequently asked permission to stab the
experimenter in order to have the gratification of seeing blood
flow. Indeed he was detected surreptitiously extracting a pen-
knife from his pocket with a view to satisfying this inclination.
He confessed to a wish to vivisect, or, failing that, to strangle.
(These traits may sound to you preposterous, but permit me
to say they are all well known and recognized by criminologists
as frequently the basis of the horrible crimes that from time
to time shock the public. They are the manifestations of
sexual perversions and are known as Sadism. Jack-the-
Ripper, whose frightful abominations killing and mutilating
his victims shocked the world many years ago, was plainly
a Sadist).

The fourth phase into which the young man fell in the same
way was a "depressed" mood, the very opposite of the gay
phase. Now he exhibited himself as a melancholic a melan-
choly Jacques utterly and beyond bounds miserable and ready
for no reason that was apparent to burst into tears.

Each of these moods, or so-called selves, carried its own
different set of emotions, tastes and mental attitudes. As I
have said, suggestions not consonant with the particular mood
he was in were rejected. And the whole manner of the man
in each exhibited an absolute contrast of expression, conduct
and mode of speech, just as we all do in our different moods
(not like those of this young man, I hope), according as we
give expression to the gay traits of pur personality when, as
the unwitting beneficiaries of a piratical little fleet of British
steamers and the twelve mile limit, we still celebrate; or the
vicious traits in a fit of anger, such as were deliberately taught
to the Tommies, the Poilus and the Doughboys when they
went over the top; or the sorrowful traits at the loss of a
dear one; or the sedate, melancholic traits as when we listen
to a lecture on the Problem of Personality.

Now an interesting point is that there was no break in the
continuity of memory for these different moods or selves any
more than for our own. He remembered them all completely,
and how he felt and thought and acted. Their appearance
was beyond his control ; thus again resembling our own changes
of mood, and they were independent of suggestion. He graphic-
ally described them as if he were a magic lantern with many
colored slides passing in sequence before his eyes and through
which he looked; and as the world would be colored by those
slides, so he felt and thought about it.

256 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

I see no reason to hesitate to accept these findings because
I have independently and often observed the same phenomena,
though of course the psychological composition of the moods
or phases was different As instances let me cite only three
cases which I have intensely studied.

A young woman whom I had frequently hynotized, but only
for the purpose of therapeutic suggestion, one day spon-
taneously changed from a reserved, depressed, respectful self-
abased, saintly character, dominated by religious ideals and
longings, to a gay, sprightly, childlike, saucy young girl, car-
ing not a rap for religion or saints. Then later another phase,
strongly contrasting with the previous two came into being.
This phase represented a mature, practical woman of the
world, a Realist, neither saintly nor childlike, but manifesting
traits of ambition, self-assertion, and self-reliance, with an
exceedingly bad temper and resentful of control, determined
to dominate her environment.

In the second case, leaving a subject hypnotized in the room,
when I returned I found that a very serious-minded, depressed,
self-reproachful lady, about forty years of age, overburdened
with cares and anxieties and responsibilities, and a nervous in-
valid, something of a Mrs. Gumidge-sort-of -person, had sud-
denly changed to a mood in which she felt herself a care-free,
gay, young girl, full of the joy and happiness of life, enjoying
the full vigor of physical and mental health. These changes
also occurred when awake. In this mood she would do, from
a social point of view, all sorts of reckless but harmless things
which she strongly reprobated in her customary mood. Then
after this gay youthful mood passed off, there being no dis-
continuity of memory, this lady would be much distressed at
her previous behavior and could not understand why she had
felt and .thought and acted as she did.

The third case is that of a young woman with no very striking
psychological characteristics except those of depression, a
marked feeling of inferiority and dependence, vascillating in
purpose, and an absolutely asexual temperament. But in an-
other phase she became a person of an entirely different char-
acter, self-assertive, and self-reliant to an obtrusive degree, am-
bitious, voluptuous, conceited about her supposed musical and
dramatic talents ; she regarded herself as the reincarnated soul
of a Spanish courtesan and singer of the XIII Century, a
sort of "Carmen" of the operatic stage.
These phases or moods into which these three subjects of

HOW MANY SELVES HAVE WE? 257

mine respectively passed must be regarded not only as differ-
ent phases of the same personality, so different were they in
feelings, and attitudes of mind, and sentiments, and conduct,
but as different selves.

For the variant phases also included in the integrations distinct
psychological selves which respectively were specifically differentiated
from the more habitual selves and characterized by very specifically
different ideas of self, self-regarding sentiments and self-consciousness.
Each phase in each case distinctly repudiated any unity of self-con-
sciousness with the self of the other phase or phases of the personality
and insisted on being consciously an independent self. Into this detail
however, I cannot enter here.

At any rate, psychological analysis of the minds of these three
persons and a study of their life histories, revealed beyond
any manner of doubt that the secondary phases, or moods,
were compounds of traits, i. e., of systems of innate and
acquired dispositions, which were components of the whole
personality of each, but which had been repressed and sup-
pressed by conflict because incompatible with the paths of life
chosen by each. Now when the lid had been taken off, these
components came to life and were split off from the rest of
the personality, which in turn was suppressed, thus forming
a new phase. (The mode in which this happens I will come
to later.)

Now on the basis of such cases and many of them have
been studied and analyzed it is safe to say that if the young
man I have just cited who showed the three moodu, the "gay"
mood of Don Juan, the "malicious" mood of a Jack-the-Ripper,
the "depressed" mood of a melancholy Jacques, besides his
own natural goody-goody mood if he had been analyzed in
a similar way, it would have been found that deep down in his
nature there were longings to be a gay Lothario, without qualms
of conscience ; that /there were also certain urges, impulses and
desires of the sexual instinct to express themselves in sadism,
i. e., cruelty and the shedding of blood ; and it is also dollars
to doughnuts that there were good reasons for the depression,
in tha/t life seemed to hold out little to him in the way of fulfill-
ing his aspirations, and perhaps self reproaches for fancied
failure to live up to his ideals. These traits and tendencies
were all integral parts of his nature his personality, but to
his credit had been controlled, repressed into the subconscious,
if you like, and probably concealed even from himself. Bu/t
now, through the dissociation that occurred from the hypnotic
procedure, the lid had been taken off, and they sprung to life
as different selves of his personality. No wonder he seemed

258 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

to himself, as he said, to be looking through the colored slides
of a magic lantern and saw the world as it was colored by
the multiplicity of his different selves.

These surmises may seem surprising and unbelievable to
the uninitiated ; but when you begin to dig down into the roots
of personality of any one, you never know what you will find.
If Shakespeare had dug down deep into the hidden recesses
of the minds of Hamlet, and lago, and Jacques, he would have
been astonished at what he found.

So nobody knows what will be found in any of us until you
begin to dig.

In actual everyday life, in healthy minded people, it is not dif-
ficult to find examples of the same principle, even in men who
have achieved positions of eminence in the world. There was
William Sharp, the novelist, who, when one side of his character
was uppermost, was the vigorous, practical man of business,
the bread-and-butter winner, a masculine character as known
to the world. And then there was the other side, a feminine
side; a mystic that saw visions, lived within his imagination
and intense emotions and sentiments, but unknown to the world,
and wrote his novels under the feminine name of Fione Mac-
leod, a secret kept until his death. Fione he considered his Real
Self, so much so that as William Sharp he wrote letters to him-
self as Fione, and Fione wrote to William Sharp. And yet
William Sharp was a level headed man. Which was the real
self? The masculine William or the feminine Fione? Or
was one more than the other ?

I could, if it were proper, cite similar examples from persons
I have known.

When the contrasting sides of personality are of a moral
character, contrasting the good and the bad in human nature,
the resulting effect is more striking and dramatic sometimes
shocking.

Robert Louis Stevenson, as every one knows, after pondering
much on the duality of man's nature and the alternations of
good and evil, for a long time cast about for a story to em-
body this central idea. Finally he wrote the wonderful story
of double personality "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde." It was meant to be only an allegory to present
the two sidedness of human nature, good and evil. Real cases
of double personality were then not known in actual life, so
Stevenson, in his imaginative creation, constructed better than
he knew and anticipated the discoveries of psychological re-
search.

HOW MANY SELVES HAVE WE? 259

I have recalled to you Stevenson's imaginary creation because,
allowing for literary exaggeration, in all fundamentals and
many details it is so true a picture of what is actually observed
in cases of double personality that it can be used almost as
well as an actual case from life. 1

What sort of structure, then, has personality that such
strongly contrasting phenomena as I have described can issue
out of it?

THEORY OF PERSONALITY

By what theory can it be explained how it comes about that
an individual can exhibit so many and such extreme and even
seemingly paradoxical phases, or alterations of his character,
and such contrasting, contradictory traits and behavior ?

Let me clear the ground and premise by saying that the dual
nature of man, so often moral in the contrasting traits, the fact that
impressed Stevenson's imagination and upon -which he pondered,
is easily explained psychologically. It would take me too far
afield to go adequately into the explanation tonight. I will con-
tent myself with simply outlining the general principles of purposive
behavior for which we are chiefly indebted to William McDougall as
the leading present day protagonist. Our motives are for the
most part ^ primarily derived frocm our inherited primitive instincts
or instinctive dispositions with which every child is born or which
soon develop within him the instincts of pugnacity, and greed,
and curiosity, and sex, and fear, and sympathy, and self-abase-
ment, and self-assertion, and the tender parental instinct of love, etc.
These instinctive dispositions are innate, born in us and inherited.
Many are biological in that they are common to all the higher ani-
mals and serve for the preservation and reproduction of the- species.
If the fox did not possess the instinct of fear, by which he is driven
to flight from danger, he would stand still in the presence of his
enemy and all the foxes would soon be gobbled up and the species
would die out.

If the lion was not born with the instinct of pugnacity or anger,
he would not have the driving force to fight and kill his enemies
and the animals he devours. If he did not have the instinct of
curiosity he would not be impelled to investigate every strange
object that might be a dangerous enemy. And so on.

!It is of psychological interest and instructive to those occupied
with the problem of the mechanism of dreams that Stevenson
dreamed this story and for his first draft simply wrote down the
next morning at white heat the scenes as he dreamed them. Of
course (he afterwards rewrote and elaborated. The dream, it can
be assumed, was only the constructive working out in/ allegorical
form of previous thoughts which very likely had their origin in
personal mental conflicts. This feat does not stand alone in literature.
Poe's "Ulalume" and Coleridge's "Kubla Khan" and "Ancient
Mariner" are said to have been composed as dreams.

260 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

Each instinct, too, has a special aim, the fulfilment of which alone
satisfies it: to escape from danger in the case of fear; to overcome
opposition in the case of anger, and so on.

All these primitive instincts, each one being characterized by an
emotion of fear, anger, or wonder, or greed, or hunger, or love
every child inherits. During early infancy ils motives are entirely de-
rived from them and every act that is not simply a reflex one is de-
termined by them. It has little more than emotions and feelings, and
every so called purposive act is instinctive. We may say every child,
during this period, is little more than a savage, governed only by
instinctive motives. As he develops he is soon taught to bring these
under control and to use them only in accordance with the social
codes and those of ethics and manners.

At first the infant is a thief; he stretches out -his hand, impelled
by the instinct of greed, to seize and appropriate whatever he sees,
your watch or your diamond pin. Then Mamma says "No, no,
naughty, naughty" and ihe soon learns control.

He is a would be murderer, for whenever thwarted he falls into
a fit of anger and would kill his mother or nurse. Again he is taught
control.

He is a coward, for he has a panic of instinctive fear at the
slightest noise, and again he is taught control, and so on.

Then as the child develops he begins to acquire experiences of the
world, of the persons and objects about him. He begins to have
ideas and thoughts of this world, for he is taught the ideals and
sentiments which the codes of morals, and ethics, adopted by society,
demand; and by this education the primitive instincts are linked
to these ideas and objects. Thus the instinct of love becomes at-
tached to his mother, and to ideas of the good; the instincts of fear
and aversion- are associated with the bad and evil thoughts, so
that these are repelled. Thus on the one hand, our ideals, though
they probably have a driving force of their own, are reinforced by
the driving force of the instinctive emotions and, on the other hand,
the instinctive tendencies are brought under control or repressed.

So, starting in infancy, the whole of our social education, from the
time of the nursery to adult age, is devoted, on the one hand, to the
cultivation of the use of instincts in the service of right social coi>
duct; to instilling ideas in the mind and linking them with these
instincts and their emotions; to the development in this way of
those sentiments, ideas and moral principles, and codes of ethics and
manners and habits which society sets up as standards of good con-
duct; and, on the other hand, to "the repression and modification
and regulation and control of those instinctive tendencies, which,
given free play, induce asocial conduct, like cruelty, and avarice,
and greed, and dishonesty, and libertinage; but which when modified
and controlled can be brought to the service of society as, for instance,
when anger is aroused in the cause of righteousness, and the sex
instinct in the cause of idealistic love and the perpetuation of the
race. If this control were not so accomplished, we might all run
amuck down^ the streets, impelled by our primitive instincts, as
happens in times of political revolutions, such as in the Russian
Bolshevik revolution, and in the days of Terror in the great French
Revolution when the primitive instintets broke loose and men re-
verted to barbarism.

HOW MANY SELVES HAVE WE? 261

It is easy to see, also, I think, how in this way our experiences,
our ideas and instincts are organized into complexes, as -we tech-
nically say, or systems, each pertaining to special subjects or objects,
or to the satisfaction of special aims, or aspirations and longings.
And these systems when fully developed become what we may call
sides or character traits of the personality.

Now it too often happens that in certain] individuals, and always
to a certain extent in everybody, the social education has been in-
adequate and failed. Then the barbaric, primitive instincts are not
completely repressed and controlled and harnessed. On the con-
trary, under the social influence of the environment they form aso-
cial sentiments and ideals; or they still retain they independent ac-
tivity, free from control, and when aroused, seek their aims and ac-
complish the fulfillment of their desires. They then motivate asocial
conduct and become an evil side of the personality.

It may be that in such an individual we 'have an alternation of
character traits. This happens when, under ordinary conditions and in
one environment, the good instincts and the moral ideas and prin-
ciples dominate and that side of the character is uppermost. The
evil side is quiescent, or camouflaged and out of sight. Then we
have one self, the moral self. But change the conditions and the
environment and above all introduce a conflict between repressed
desires and the moral self ,~ and the evil side of such a person, with
its primitive instincts and desires, is aroused, the good is repressed
and sinks out of sight, and we have that upon which Stevenson
had so long meditated and finally presented in his allegory of Dr.
Jekyll and \Mr. Hyde "the duafity of the man's nature and the
alternation of Good and Evil."

No sound theory of personality can disregard, as is usually
done, the data derived from the study of cases of multiple
personality. For the multiple nature of man, or to state it in a
different form, the different selves, of which our minds and
personalities are compounds, may be most clearly recognized,
as I have already intimated in the frankly abnormal cases of this
kind observed in actual life. They are not uncommon and
many have been studied. They are of interest, not because of
the dramatic phenomena they exhibit, but because of the light
they thus throw on the structure and mechanisms of the human
mind, on -the composite nature of man, and on the many little
selves of which the mind is composed. In these cases the mind
is analyzed much more clearly than any psychologist can do
it. For by the internal conflicting forces of the mind itself, as
I will later explain, and not by any artificial procedure like
hypnotism, or suggested dissociation, the mind is split up.
A cleavage takes place between its different mental complexes,
or systems, or what I have called sides of the personality, re-
sulting in the formation of different corresponding selves, each
self living an independent life and alternating and sometimes co-
existing with the other self or selves. But all are parts of the
whole personality.

262 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

In illustration simply of these principles the three cases of
altered personality I have cited may be taken as examples.
When they were submitted to intensive and prolonged analytic
study it was revealed beyond a reasonable doubt that, to take
one of them as an example, the youthful phase of the second
case was in part a resuscitation of the traits of girlhood which
had been outgrown in the course of life's mature experiences.
These traits consisted of youthful sentiments of love, aversion,
etc., for objects, persons, activities, etc., such as are character-
istic of irresponsible youth.

Amongst the sentiments were many which were the direct
opposite of and antagonistic to those of the mature personality.
Such, for example, as liking for objects, persons and activities
for which the latter had intense aversion and even hatred ; while
again some sentiments, such as those of maternal parenthood,
were completely switched out and lost; and similarly with
habits of thought and behavior.

The traits of this phase, also, included habits of thought and
behavior which could be identified with those of that early
period of life to which they genetically dated back and belonged.
These sentiments and habits were in large measure motivated
by the instinctive impulses of play and longings for pleasure,
joy and happiness. These different component instinctive tend-
encies could be easily differentiated and recognized. All these
traits were organized into functioning systems. On the other
hand, many habits of the matured character were dissociated.
The codes of social conduct and habits which governed the
social behavior were those which belonged to youth, while the
social codes which were intensely held and lived up to by the
mature woman were completely dropped out of the altered
character.

Besides this regression to the traits of youth, this altered
personality, or, more correctly character, exhibited a clearly
differentiated and larger system, the genesis and growth of
which could 'be distinctly traced. Beginning with a rebellious
aversion to a certain condition of life, by successive accretions
from the subsequent experiences of life, and the incubation
and maturation of repressed desires, this primitive aversion be-
came developed into a large complex of systematized habits of
thought, sentiments, longings and impulses which finally be-
came constellated with the youthful traits into a functioning
whole, in rebellion against the previous mature sentiments,
codes of ethics and behavior and social obligations of the per-
sonality.

HOW MANY SELVES HAVE WE? 263

There was thus a constant succession of conflicts between
mental systems the old and the new ending in disruption of
personality and the evolution of a new character possessing
traits of sentiments, habits of thought and behavior, and in-
stinctive tendencies antagonistic to those of the original char-
acter. There was even evolved a new self, with a different
idea of self and self-regarding sentiment so different that
this new formed self could not consciously identify itself
with the previous self. There were two selves with one body.

The conflicts were not motivated by subconscious wishes of
a hypothetical "libido," but were between antagonistic systems
motivated by various emotional instinctive tendencies. 1

Studies of other cases of multiple phases of personality have
yielded findings precisely similar in principle.

Then, again, there are many phenomena in the field of ab-
normal psychology, other than those of dissociated personality,
that enable us to detect the organization of the structure of the
personality in complexes and systems of complexes of innate
and acquired dispositions. But the limits of time forbid the
citation of these.

The alterations of character manifested in multiple phases
of personality (of which I have cited examples) and con-
ditioned by the structural organization of the mind in units of
innate and acquired dispositions, and complexes and systems
of such units do not, as we have seen, stand apart from the
normal. Though such alterations are called abnormal, they
are determined by the normal activities of the units functioning
normally, but under conditions that do not permit harmonious
adjustment with one another and adaptation of the individual
to the environment. The prototypes of such alterations are
to be found in normal individuals under normal conditions in
everyday life. Thus the alterations of character manifested
normally in moods, in fatigue, under stress and strain of emo-
tion and excitement, the so-called "brain-storms," etc., are pre-
cisely the same in principle, are conditioned likewise by the
structure of personality, and are the manifestations of a tem-
porary variant -the formation of a new phase of a personality
out of its numerous components. The process is that of

a complete analysis of tMs case see: 'The Psychogenesis of
Multiple Personality," Jour, of Abnormal Psychology , Oct. 1919; also
my "The Unconscious" 2nd Ed. Lectures XVIII-XX. For a similar
analysis of the Beauchamp case see "iMiss Beauchamp: theory of the
Psychogenesis of Multiple Personality," Jour, of Abnormal Psychology*
Vol XV, 191920.

264 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

dissociation and synthesis, brought about by the internal forces
of the dispositions of the mind.

So it becomes evident that fundamental to all these
problems is the conception of the structure of the mind
and human personality. In the light of the findings of
experimental and abnormal psychology we must abandon
the older notion of the mind being a unity, at least in
the sense that all active processes are unified in conscious-
ness and that those processes of which we are conscious include
all mental processes. Rather we must regard the mind as a
complex of units, or, rather, of unitary systems of experiences
and instinctive dispositions. Such systems become organized by
the experiences of life and derive their most intensive driving
force from the urge of the emotional dispositions organized
within them. Sentiments of love and fear and aversion and
curiosity and many others, derived from the linking of these
dispositions and experience, are contained in the structural sys-
tems and each has its own urge to find expression. The complex
integration of all these systems into one composite whole is the
mind's structure. 1 One might say that the mind is a composite
of a lot of little minds, each concerned, however with its own
business and its own interest and aim. Normally each little mind
or unitary system enters the field of consciousness in orderly
fashion, when called upon, according to the circumstances of
the moment and the environment: and behaves in a way that
adapts the individual to his environment; though with due re-
gard for the interests and aims of the other little minds with
which, after the fashion of compound reflexes, it is structurally
integrated. But sometimes, under stress and strain, there is
conflict between the unitary systems, one or more of these
little minds are repressed by an autocratic Kaiserlich system
so that it cannot enter consciousness, and then, impelled by
its own uncontrollable urge, it may turn like the proverbial
worm; or, to change the simile, take the bit in its teeth,
and, taking on independent or so-called automatic activity,
kick up a devil of a row in its subconscious prison cell, and
do all sorts of horrid things. Then we have what we call
symptoms due to conflict. Or, again, we may induce by tech-
nical methods of experimentation, some of these units to func-
tion subconsciously and independently. Ordinarily and nor-
mally, however, the units of the mind behave harmoniously

iFor a more extensive discussion of this theory see: "Tiie Struo
fture and Dynamic Elements of Human Personality," Jour, of Ab-
normal Psychology > t Vol. XV, 1919-20; also, .my "Tie Unconscious'*
2nd Ed. Lecture XVII.

HOW MANY SELVES HAVE WE? 265

as dynamic elements of one large system. Some emerge into
consciousness, some remain submerged in the subconscious
storehouse of the mind to be called upon when wanted as sys-
tematized memories ; while many, still remaining subconscious,
become stimulated into active processes and act upon and mod-
ify the processes of conscious thought and behavior. But
all, the conscious and the subconscious, are one mind. Let us
never forget that.

THE DISRUPTING FORCE OF CONFLICTS

What is it, then, you may again ask me, that makes the dif-
ference between these cases that you call multiple personality
and those which you describe as manifesting multiform, alter-
nating and conflicting traits?

Why is it that, if we all have multiform natures, or more cor-
rectly speaking, two or more sides to our nature and if we are
made up of a lot of little minds, why don't we all split up
into separate personalities, each with its own self, bobbing in
and bobbing out, alternating with one another like Dr. Jekyll
and Mr. Hyde, if we have an evil side; or, if not, as I hope,
only incompatible desires, into different contrasted selves
serious minded or pleasure loving; worldly or saintly; gay
or melancholic; practical or idealistic, like some of the cases
I have told you about?

The answer involves a principle of the mind that has oc-
cupied all poets, dramatists, novelists and students of human
nature since literature began, and of recent years has been
accepted and made use of by all psychologists who have stud-
ied the troubles of the human mind.

It is the principle of mental conflicts the conflicts of antag-
onistic and irreconcilable desires and urges and impulses which
have distracted and always will distract and torment poor
human beings, and which have been the basis of some of the
greatest tragedies of literature and actual life.

A person, let us say, is torn by two conflicting desires which
means impulses, one belonging to one side of his nature and
one to the other; one to be good and one to be bad one, to
take a recent case of mine called "Mary Jane," to follow
the puritanical path of dull, monotonous, prosaic, joyless vir-
tue and morality, and one to kick over the traces and give
rein to the joyful impulses of pleasure, of the primitive in-
stinctive urges of a gay but forbidden life.

Or, let us say, without introducing the moral question of
good or evil, there is by the circumstances of life, as in the

266 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

case of a Mrs. O. I have studied, a condemnation of the in-
dividual to a dull, monotonous, banal life of duty and joyless
work, and at the same time longings for a higher life, to give
expression to the aspiration of the personality in art, or lit-
erature, or on the stage.

Or, if I may take a third example, a young life devoted,
like that of Miss Beauchamp, to religious and moral perfection,
seeking to develop the personality, literally and meticulously
by the precepts of the highest moral and religious ideals of the
teachings of Christ, renouncing, on the one hand, the natural,
harmless joys and pleasures and excitements of youth, and,
on the other, the natural realistic interests and ambitions of
the grown up man or woman, while at the same time there
is incomplete adjustment to all those renunciations. In spite
of the religious and moral aspirations, there still persist un-
acknowledged both the youthful desires and impulses, and the
worldly ambitions and impulses making up two other sides of
the personality. Obviously these various desires and impulses
are in conflict and irreconcilable.

These examples I have drawn from actual instances that
I have known and studied. In each instance a rebellion has
been started. Beginning with a rebellious group of wishes
and ideas, this rebellion grows, like a rebellion in the social
or political organization, drawing within itself more and more
dissatisfied elements of thought and new wishes and new ideas
of self, and fancies of a new life that might be, which would
fulfil the aspirations of a new self. Thus a side to the
personality is formed and the beginnings of another personality,
another self come into existence.

In each of these cases we have a conflict of irreconcilable
desires. Both or all cannot be satisfied. The individual cannot
adjust himself to the life he has chosen, or which has been
forced by circumstances upon him, because of the unsatisfied
desires; desires which are unacceptable because of moral
or other scruples.

The inevitable results, if the individual is of an unstable,
over-conscientious, neurotic disposition. The dynamic force
of the conflict, that is of the unacceptable desires and impulses
that cannot be satisfied, represses or dissociates the other side
and ruptures completely, or almost completely, the mind. There
is a complete cleavage between the sides of the character, be-
tween the rebellious side, or the rebellious self, and that side,
or self, which is rebelled against. If the rebel wins the king
is dethroned, the government is put out of business ; or, as we

HOW MANY SELVES HAVE WE? 267

say in psychological language, the original self is dissociated
and repressed, for the time being annihilated. Then the new
rebellious self sits on the throne with a new government in
power. So complete is the rupture and so powerful the re-
pression that even memory may be repressed and lost for
all the experiences of life antedating the rupture; that is to
say, the new rebellious self can recall nothing of his previous
self, or vice versa, or both.

The new one differs of course from the old one. His conduct
corresponds with the thoughts and feelings and sentiments and
desires which constituted the rebellion and he proceeds to sat-
isfy them; and so we say we have a second personality. This
means that the traits the ideals, the sentiments, the impulses,
etc., of the other side of his personality are dissociated or
repressed.

This goes on for a time it may be a few hours or days or
months then something happens; something stimulates, that
is, awakens the desires and sentiments and feelings of the old
original side of the personality, the original self. There is
again a conflict and if the old self wins, the new one is re-
pressed in turn, and the old one appears and sits on the
throne again. In political parlance the reactionaries have thrown
the revolutionaries out of the window. And so it goes, one
self alternating with another self and we have what we call
a double personality.

The answer, then, to the question you put to me, "Why do
we not all split up into multiple personalities?" is plain: be-
cause we have no mental conflicts between our opposing de-
sires and impulses which we cannot satisfactorily adjust or
control. Of course we all have conflicts, but the desires and
impulses and tendencies which are unacceptable to the other
side of our natures are not so intense that we cannot adjust
them to our satisfaction, or control them; they are not so in-
tense as to become a seething rebellion against the situations
and conditions of life ; or against our accepted ideals and senti-
ments ; or against those codes of ethics and morals which have
been instilled in us in childhood which is to say our con-
sciences.

Or, it may be, that we h&ve no consciences that may be
shocked by such desires and impulses. The codes of ethics
and morals have failed to be instilled so deeply as to be "cate-
gorical imperative" principles. Hence none of these de-
sires are unacceptable. In fact they are accepted and
there is a joy in satisfying them. The conscience is not

268 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

shocked any more than was Dr. JekylTs, who intentionally
changed himself by a drug. There is no conflict and the per-
sonality is not disrupted. Indeed we have a way, even when,
deep down in our hearts we know they mean forbidden fruit,
of justifying them to ourselves. By a process of sophistical
reasoning we justify self-indulgence, whether it be of play,
or activities and modes of life which are incompatible with
duties and responsibilities assumed.

If, then, I have spoken truly, I think we can say that, al-
though we have only one mind, out of its various elements
there can be formed more than one character, and that we are
entitled to call those different phases of the personality that
alternate with one another different selves, whether they are
actual independent, dissociated personalities, or only extreme
and changing moods, or strongly contrasting groups of traits.
The name that we give is, after all, a -verbal question. The
practical facts are the important matter. So to illustrate once
more :

If there had been an irreconcilable conflict, and if it had
been strong enough and could not be otherwise compromised,
any of the characters I have described at the beginning might
have been dissociated into two or more independent person-
alities. The first, the music-loving business-man might have
split into a money-making steel manufacturer robbed of his
musical talent and into an idealistic unpractical dreaming mu-
sician. The second into a hard, selfish miser and into an ideal-
istic philanthropist. The third into a criminal boss politician
and into a lovable moralist, and so on. But there were no
conflicts, no consciences to be shocked, etc. ; and so they only
manifested moods, or alternating traits.

May we not, therefore, say, in answer to our question, we
have as many selves as we have moods, or contrasting traits,
or sides to our personalities?

RECAPITULATION

I may summarize the theory I am presenting in the follow-
ing brief recapitulation.

The personality is not a unity in the sense of being a func-
tioning whole. It comprises many different components of
which various ones and a varying number from time to time
engage in activity as mental and physiological processes and
manifest themselves as traits of character. These are the
variables. Personality, accordingly, is not a stable thing but
exhibits many alterations under changing conditions.

HOW MANY SELVES HAVE WE? 269

Of the variables, all are not assembled under all conditions
and at all times into a functioning whole. The individual re-
acts at one moment with one set of traits and at another with
another, perhaps of an opposite character. Indeed he may
possess, as I have already pointed out at the beginning, traits
that are antagonistic to one another, such as sentiments of
hatred and love, or interest and disinterest, for the same ob-
ject; or he may manifest both charitableness and uncharitable-
ness ; intelligence and stupidity ; etc. Obviously such opposing
traits cannot -be manifested at one and the same moment. But
let the conditions of the organism be altered, such as occurs
in fatigue, or illness, or intoxication, or states of dissociation,
or "moods ;" or let the conditions of the environment be altered
and one or the other of these opposing traits comes into func-
tional activity. The dispositions underlying its opposite then
may be said to be dissociated from the functioning systems of
the personality, or be suppressed, or switched off. In other
words, that which is the functioning part of the personality
undergoes alterations from time to time, one set of traits
being predominant at one time and another at another. There
occurs a dissociation or switching out of some dispositions
and re-synthesis or switching in of others.

The different variables, manifested as "traits," are systems
of dispositions, innate and acquired, integrated into lesser and
larger functioning systems.

The innate dispositions are those which condition and de-
termine the reflexes, the native tendencies and appetites and
the instincts, in which last I include the emotions. These are
inherited psycho-physiological arrangements.

I have purposely avoided getting entangled in the battle of
the instincts.

But everyone agrees that the dispositions which condition and
upon which the native tendencies and emotions depend and which
determine some sort of behavior, whatever that may be, are in-
herited. And everyone agrees that these dispositions become in-
tegrated by experience with the acquired dispositions deposited by
the experiences of life. And nearly everyone will agree with Mc-
Dougall and Shand that the conative force of these dispositions
when excited to activity, provides impulses which give -driving force
to the acquired dispositions with which they become integrated.
And if this be so, it will be agreed that these impulses tend to carry,
or to co-operate in carrying, the activated acquired dispositions, i e.,
our ideas, sentiments, wishes, etc., to fruition, whether or not (Wood-
worth) they are the sole driving force, or purposive in character.

You may call such inherited psycho-physiological arrange-
ments "instincts" or instinctive tendencies, or "patterns"

270 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

or what you please; that is a matter of concepts and
terms. What matters is that there are inherited psycho-
physiological arrangements which behave as units, determine
impulsive behavior of some sort, become integrated with the
deposited acquired experiences of life and organized with
them, co-operate, at least, through their impulsive force in
determining behavior. And if this be so, these^innate units are
components of the structure of personality primary units they
may be called.

As to these acquired dispositions, such phenomena of dis-
sociated personality as I have cursorily cited and the intrinsic
forces of the mind dissect its structure far more accurately
than can the psychologist such phenomena reveal that the
enduring experiences of life are organized and conserved in
complex systems in which are integrated the innate ^disposi-
tions; acquired systems they are, which on the psychical side
are experienced and re-experienced as sentiments and cogni-
tions and beliefs and perceptions of objects and situations and
memories and images, with their meanings; and as tendencies
and desires, etc. (How they are acquired is a genetic
question).

The physiological basis of these are neural dispositions, or
neurograms, which when activated are consciously experienced
as systems of mental processes. Each system, in a way,
functions as a psychic whole.

These acquired systems may be termed secondary units and
and all and each are necessarily, so long as they endure, com-
ponents of the structure of the personality. These units, again,
become further integrated with one another and more or less
firmly knit into larger systems and constellations of systems to
form what is popularly called the personality. In the course
of life, from the cradle to the grave, under the genetic influence
of so-called "culture/* a vast number of lesser and larger
systems are organized and conserved. All of them, however,
do not persist as active traits, or components of traits. Many
fall into "innocuous desuetude" and lie fallow, having become
unsuitable for the adjustment and adaptation of the organism to
the ^ changed environment and situations of life. Others may
be inhibited or be repressed by conflict with antagonistic sys-
tems and in that case may take on further growth by sub-
conscious incubation and maturation. In any case, however,
so long as they are conserved, they are potentially capable of
activity and, in fact, often do become activated under alteration
of the conditions within and without the organism. This

HOW MANY SELVES HAVE WE? 271

switching out and switching in, suppression and repression
and resuscitation of enduring systems result in the ephemeral
normal alterations of character of everyday life; but, when
the product of irreconcilable mental conflict of sufficient inten-
sity they result in those abnormal alterations manifested as
multiple phases of personality.

Such, in brief, but without attempt at demonstration, is the
theory of personality which I would offer for your considera-
tion as best explaining all the phenomena manifested in both
normal and abnormal conditions.

We have little more than passed the threshold of the en-
trance into that wonderful structure, the human mind. Great
discoveries await us. That is the promise which the future
holds out. But I believe that promise is based on the con-
dition that we shall make use of those methods upon which
science has depended for its discoveries in every field of
knowledge experimentation and provisional hypotheses con-
firmed by exact methodical observations.

WILLIAM McDouGALL

CHAPTER XII

MEN OR ROBOTS?*

By WILLIAM McDouGALL

In the two lectures which I have the honor to give on the
Powell foundation I am responding to an invitation to defend
Purposive Psychology, or, in other words, to defend the pro-
position that man's acting and thinking are purposive. I seem
to be in a position analogous to that of an anatomist called
upon to defend the proposition that man is a biped, or that of
a physiologist required to prove that man breathes air. That
is to say I am expected to support by argument a fact familiar
to all men through first-hand experience, a fact so familiar
and well established that it has become embodied in the very
structure of all languages and is recognized and acted upon
by all men in all the practical conduct of daily life.

This is a strange and embarrassing position for any man of
science. To demonstrate the obvious, to bring forward elabo-
rate arguments in support of well recognized facts, must al-
ways seem an ungrateful and somewhat absured procedure.
Yet just such procedure is " a duty thrust upon me by the
strange course of development of psychology, the science of
human nature.

It is necessary to clarify the situation ,and to define the
task before me by referring briefly to this course of develop-
ment. At a time which now seems remote, but which, re-
garded in historical perspective, is comparatively recent, it
was the prevailing tendency to class together all expressions
of striving towards a goal, all purposive activities, and to at-
tribute them to a single faculty, 'the Will.' This faculty was
supposed to cooperate upon occasion with various other facul-
ties, such as Memory and Reason. And it appeared that these
other faculties frequently seemed to work independently of
the Will. That fact seemed to justify the setting apart of the
Will as a distinct faculty. Then came the revolt against faculty

*Powett Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University
December 10, 1925.

274 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

psychology ; and in the main, under the influence of Locke and
Hume, the ps3 7 chology of Ideas prevailed. The followers of
this 'new way of ideas' claimed that all the processes of the
mind, and all human behavior, might be adequately described
and explained in terms of Ideas, or impressions and Ideas.
It was claimed that we need to make only three fundamental
assumptions about the nature of mind, or the mental nature of
man: first, that he is capable of receiving impressions, i.e.,
sense-impressions; secondly, that he naturally retains these
impressions in the form of Ideas; thirdly, that these Ideas,
retained in the storehouse of the mind, are linked together
according to certain simple rules, the so-called 'laws of asso-
ciation/ and are apt to reappear in consciousness, one after an-
other, in a manner determined wholly by these associative links
and by intercurrent new sense-impressions.

Throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, many
psychologists and philosophers were intoxicated by the seem-
ing success of these principles. It seemed to them that the
new principles, so charmingly simple, enabled them to dispense
entirely with the faculties, and especially with the faculty of
the Will. All instances of purposive activity, they said, could
be adequately described and accounted for by recognizing a
peculiar kind of Idea, called an Idea of an end or goal. Ideas
of this kind, however, were not essentially different from
other Ideas. They were supposed to work or function in just
the same way as Ideas of other kinds ; that is to say, the Ideas
of goals were implanted by sense-impressions and, like all
other Ideas, faithfully obeyed the Laws of Association and
associative reproduction.

Confidence in the all-sufficiency of psychology of this kind
was greatly increased by the discovery that, as knowledge of
the structure and functions of the nervous system increased,
all descriptions in terms of Ideas could be plausibly translated
into terms of brain-processes; the Ideas were assumed to be
locked each in its separate brain-cell or group of cells; and
the links of association were conceived as material links
between such brain-cells. Then at last it seemed that a real
explanation of mental life became possible, an explanation in
terms of the physics and chemistry of the brain. Recent
studies of the "conditioned responses" have given a new con-
fidence to those who regard the principle of association as
capable of explaining every manifestation of skill and knowl-

MEN OR ROBOTS 275

edge. For these observations seem to them to give more pre-
cision and a more definitely mechanistic meaning to the princi-
ple of association.

This is the line of thinking which, beginning with Hartley,
has culminated in the mechanistic behaviorism of Dr. Watson
and his followers. Those who accept it say that we do not
need to trouble about Ideas; but only need concern ourselves
with physical impressions and physical responses. For they
imagine that they can adequately imagine all the brain-pro-
cesses that intervene between sense-stimulus and motor res-
ponse, without seeking any aid from introspection. It is the
alarming popularity in this country of this new way without
Ideas that lays upon those of us who cannot accept it the em-
barrassing obligation to appear as champions of the simple
obvious and commonplace truth that man is a purposive being,
that, from the cradle to the grave, his life is one long round
of purposive strivings, of efforts to attain, to make read, those
things which he imaginatively conceives to be good or desir-
able. The spread of that other way of thinking among psy-
chologists has gone so far that those few of us who do not ac-
cept it are regarded as cranky persons wedded to mediaeval
metaphysics, queer survivors from the dark ages who, by
reason of some twist in the brain, are incapable of joining in
the triumphant march of modern science.

The author of a recent amusing play has imagined the con-
struction of machines in the shape of human beings, machines
so ingeniously put together that they can be set to perform
much of the routine labor now performed by men. And he
has called such machines Robots. He has supposed a Robot
to be so delicately responsive to stimuli, that you could dictate
a letter to it, and the Robot would proceed to write it out on
the typewriter. Now there is, in principle, nothing absurd or
impossible in this supposition. The mechanists in psychology
ask us to assume that men are such Robots, carried to a higher
degree of responsiveness than that depicted by the author of
the play. And the view that men are merely such improved
Robots is now being dogmatically taught to thousands of
young students in the psychological departments of the uni-
versities of this country. The question before us is then Is
the assumption that men are Robots a good or useful one?
Is it at the present time a profitable working hypothesis?

My own view is that it is not a good working hypothesis

276 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

in the present state of knowledge. I propose to try to show
you good grounds for that view. Let me first say that I have
no desire to defend the psychology of Ideas. In my estima-
tion the word 'idea' is one that has long outlived its usefulness
in science, however convenient it may be for popular usage.
No doubt, the word served a useful purpose in the hands of
Locke and Hume (and its German equivalent 'Vorstellung'
played a similar part in the hands of Herbart and others) in
enabling them to lead psychology away from the errors of the
older faculty psychology. But what an Idea may be no one
has been able to say : no one has been able to use the word in
a way that is not essentially misleading. For the word 'idea'
implies a thing or entity; and all the theory of association of
Ideas, as well as the psychology of Herbart, was permeated
and distorted by the influence of this implication, that our
mental life, that all thinking, consists in the successive appear-
ance of these entities, Ideas, before the footlights called 'con-
sciousness/ and in their disappearance into a mysterious un-
known region called the unconscious.

Very early in my career as a psychologist, I planned to
write a psychology without Ideas, a feat now accomplished in
my 'Outline of Psychology/*

For every form of the idea-psychology, not only suffers
from the misleading implication that Ideas are entities that
somehow exist in their own right, but also suffers from another
grave defect, namely, it leaves us without any intelligible
theory of action, it cannot relate the Ideas with the bodily
activities in which our mental life expresses itself. It inevit-
ably leaves the Ideas up in the air ; it cannot find any way of
planting their feet among the solid facts of cerebral currents
and muscular contractions. It is true that the theory of ideo-
motor action was an attempt to remedy this defect; but, as is

*I believe and have long believed that the next important ad-
vance of logic will consist in the banishment of Ideas and their
equivalent, Concepts, from that discipline.

In this respect, as in several others, I am happy to find myself
in agreement with leaders of the Gestalt school. Prof. Wertheimer
has recently written: "Wenn man sich recht uberlegt, was im leben-
digen Denken ein Begriff ist, was das wirkliche Kapieren eines
Schhisses ist, wenn man sich uberlegt, was das Entscheidende bei
eimem mathematischen Beweisgang ist, bei dem Ineinderhangen,
dann sieht man, dass mit den Kategorien der traditionellen Logik
hier nichts gemacht ist." (Ueber Gestalttheorie, Symposion, 1925.)

MEN OR ROBOTS 277

now pretty generally recognized, that theory failed hopelessly,
if only for the reason that it flew in the face of obvious facts.
It is of interest to note that Dr. Watson and I have been
led by our perception of the same fact, the unsatisfactoriness
of the idea-psychology, to two very different positions. Both
of us became acutely conscious of the fact that the idea-psy-
chology was unable to render any acceptable interpretation or
explanation of human conduct, that it propounded no intelli-
gible theory of action. Both of us were impressed by the fact
that the psychology of the nineteenth century neglected un-
duly the facts of behavior, and that, in calling itself the science
of consciousness, it was turning its back upon the more im-
portant problems of human nature, the problems of conduct.
As long ago as 1905 I began my attempt to remedy that state
of affairs by proposing to define psychology as the positive
science of conduct, using the word 'positive* to distinguish it
from ethics, the normative science of conduct. I hoped in
this way to draw more attention to the neglected problems of
behavior. And in 1908 I went further with this program by
publishing my Social Psychology. In that book the problems
of conduct were given first place; the purposive or goal-seek-
ing nature of all human activity was emphasized; and the
hormic theory of action was developed in some detail. Wat-
son took up the same cue some years later, and, being pri-
marily interested in animal psychology, in which field there is
no possibility of any direct observation of conscious activity,,
and in which the student is inevitably confined to the observa-
tion of bodily behavior, he proposed to effect the needed re-
form, not by redressing the balance in psychology between the
introspective and the objective methods of study, but by the
simple expedient of upsetting the balance completely. He
proposed to throw overboard as useless the introspective meth-
ods of study and all that we had learnt in that way ; and, hav-
ing absorbed the dogma that all events are mechanically ex-
plicable and that all human and animal action is merely me-
chanical reflex action more or less compounded, a dogma which
owing largely to the influence of Herbert Spencer was then
fashionable, he proposed to ignore completely all those features
of behavior which imply its purposive nature and which can
only be stated or described in terms which imply the direction
of action towards ends, the seeking of goals, the striving to
bring about a change. Thus, by repudiating one half of the
methods of psychology and resolutely shutting his eyes to

278 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

three quarters of its problems, he laid down the program of
Behaviorism and rallied to its standard all those who have a
natural distaste for difficult problems and a preference for
short, easy, and fictitious solutions.

Let us notice that the psychologists of this group, who call
themselves 'Behaviorists', are not propounding any new doc-
trine of a positive kind. The view that all events are me-
chanically explicable is as old as Democritus; the view that
animals are purely machines is at least as old as Descartes;
the view that all human conduct is explicable on the theory of
the compounding of reflexes was developed in great detail,
and with an assurance as complete as Dr. Watson's, by Her-
bert Spencer more than sixty years ago. The only novel fea-
ture is the proposal to ignore completely a very large range of
facts of the utmost interest and importance, facts of two
orders : first, the fact that each of us consciously perceives the
world about him, consciously desires to modify it in ways
which he consciously conceives, consciously strives and plans
to effect such changes; secondly, the fact that almost all hu-
man and animal behavior, considered strictly objectively, seems,
with various degrees of clearness, to express such perception,
such desiring, such conscious planning and striving, such con-
scious concern with the future. All that is positive in the
methods and principles of Behaviorism has been actively prac-
tised and taught by many biologists for many years, by such
men as Albrecht Bethe, Jacques Loeb, Bechterew, Pavlov,
Uexkiill, aiid others. All that is novel in the behaviorist pro-
gram is the resolute pretense that the facts of human con-
sciousness are of no interest to the student of human nature,
present no problems worthy of consideration and may profit-
ably be ignored.

Let us notice next that the school of avowed behaviorists has
very quickly split into two rival parties. The one party, that
led by Dr. Watson, which we may conveniently call the party
of strict behaviorists, or the S.B.. party, adheres to the origi-
nal program; it is characterized by its refusal to recognize both
the facts of conscious activity and the fact that behavior can
not be adequately described, and still less intelligibly inter-
preted, without using language which recognizes the goal-
seeking nature of all behavior.

The other and smaller group is best represented by Prof.
E. C. Tolman. The behaviorists of this group refuse to recog-
nize, or to be interested in, only one of the two great classes

MEN OR ROBOTS 279

of facts ignored by the S. B. party, namely, the facts of con-
scious activity. They recognize fully the facts of the second
order ignored by the S. B. group, the objectively observable
fact that behavior is obviously a goal-seeking process. They
mark their separation from what I have called strict behavor-
ism by contemptuous reference to it as behaviorism of the
Watsonian variety, and by devising for it the elegant and ex-
pressive designation "muscle-twitchism." 1 This group of
behaviorists may be conveniently distinguished as teaching
purposive behaviorism or P.B.

The situation is further complicated by a third group of
psychologists who, while showing much sympathy with the S.B.
party, belong neither to it nor to the P.B. party. They are
well represented by Prof. F. A. Allport 2 They are separated
from the S. B. by the fact that they neither deny nor totally
ignore the facts of conscious activity. They give the impres-
sion that they would much like to do this, but have not the
courage of their desires. They see that to deny the whole realm
of introspectively observable facts is too flagrantly absurd and
that to ignore them may be a little dangerous. But they are
allied with the S.B. party by their neglect to make use of the
introspectively observable facts and by their acceptance of
its "muscle-twitchism." For them every instance of human
conduct or animal behavior is merely a mechanical reflex re-
sponse to a sensory stimulus; and they resolutely shut their
eyes to all the objective (as well as the subjective) evidences
that behavior is a goal-seeking process. Thus, in spite of their
recognition of the fact that human beings are consciously
active, the psychologists of this group are in practice and
procedure very near to the strict behaviorists; they may well
be called the exponents of 'Near Behaviorism' or N.B.

Purposive psychology may best be vindicated by showing
the inadequacies of these three types of behaviorism. Strict
Behaviorism, Near Behaviorism and Purposive Behaviorism. 3

*Prof. Tolman speaks of '^behaviorism of the proper sort" as be-
ing "not a mere Muscle* Twitchism of the Watsonian variety." "Be-
haviorism and Purpose." Journal of Philosophy, Vol. XXII, 1925.

In his 'Social Psychology/

1 say nothing about the type of psychology which confines it-
self to the study of the introspectively observable facts, and ignores
the problems of behavior. Psychology of this type,however, interest-
ing and important may be its contributions to our knowledge of
human nature, can never be more than one part or specialized

280 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

Strict Beliaviorism

Strict Behaviorism denies to itself all acquaintances with a vast
range of most interesting facts and problems. It abolishes,
by the simple process of refusing to look at them, all the old
and fascinating problems of the relations between the mental
and the physical, including all the vast field of psycho-physics,
all that part of psychology which is concerned more particu-
larly to study and to formulate exactly the relations between
sensory stimuli and sensory experience. For the S.B. all the
monumental work in this line of Thomas Young, Johannes
Miiller, Weber, Helmholtz, Hering, and a multitude of others
is a closed book. S.B. equally debars itself from taking^any
notice of dreams, crystal visions, hallucinations, delusions,
pains and subjective symptoms of every kind, all the multitu-
dinous departures from normal modes of experience which
are only revealed by introspective reports ; and thus shuts itself
off from all possibility of learning anything from the psycho-
analytic movement, which, whatever its errors, has proved to
be a movement of the first importance.

The hardy S.B. replies "What of that? If I refuse to be
interested in all these topics, you can't force me to be inter-
ested/' And he dismisses all the schools of psycho-analysis
with a few contemptuous words. He contends that only the
bodily movements which constitute outward behavior are of any
practical importance ; and he believes that two very simple con-
ceptions suffice for the explanation of every instance of beha-
vior, namely the reflex and the conditioned reflex. He pretends
that, armed with these alone, he can penetrate every secret of
the human heart and mind. Why then should he countenance
any laborious study of the disordered feeling and thinking of
the neurotic and the madman; why seek to elicit, why ponder

branch of the science of human nature, one that restricts itself to
very special * methods and problems. Though some of its exponents
are inclined to claim for it that it is the whole of psychology, they
represent a viewpoint which is fast passing away. I will make only
one comment in the form of a .citation from a recent article of
Dr. Max Wertheimer; "es gibt psychologische Theorien und recht
viele psychologische Lehrbucher sogar, die, trotzdem sie dauerend
nttr von Bewusstseins-elemente sprechen, materialistischer, durrer
sinnloser, geistloser sind als ein lebendiger Baum, der vom
Bewusstsein auch vielleicht nichts in sich hat. Nicht darauf kann
es ankommen, woraus materialiter die Stuckchen des Geschehens
bestehen, sondern auf den Sinn des Ganzen, die Art des Ganzen,
muss es ankommen/' Tiber Gestalttheorie, Symposion, 1925.

MEN OR ROBOTS 281

over, interminable reports of his phantasies, his dreams, his
internal struggles, his torments, his terrors, his impulsions, de-
lusions and obsessions? All such experiences, so long as the
patient does not allow them to gain expression in bodily action,
are barred by the S.B. Wait till the internal tumult expresses
itself in a homicidal act; then the behaviorist will step in and
explain the whole affair with the magic words "badly con-
ditioned reflex."

The S.B. and the N.B. are misled by their dogma into such
monstrous error, not only in their dealings with human beings
in the practical exigencies of social life, but also in their ex-
perimental procedures. Thus Dr. Watson, obsessed by his
doctrine, experiments with new-born infants, and, failing to
find in them any clearly marked tendencies and capacities
beyond a few very simple ones which can plausibly be de-
scribed as reflexes, triumphantly jumps to the conclusion that,
as regards all innate mental endowment, all men of all races
are exactly alike. He utters the final word upon the question
of racial differences (one of the most difficult and important
questions confronting us and one which can only be settled
by the prolonged research of many workers, research which is
only just begun) by saying : "I defy anyone to take these in-
fants at birth, study their behavior, and mark off differences
in behavior that will characterize white from black and white
or black from yellow." 1 In the light of his profound observa-
tions on new-born infants he denies not only the existence of
all the instincts of the human species, but also all hereditary
mental traits, capacities, talents or characteristics of every
kind, other than the few reflexes he finds in those new-born
infants. "Our conclusion then, is that we have no real evidence
of the inheritance of traits Let us then, forever lay the ghost
of inheritance of aptitudes, of 'mental* characteristics, of spec-
ial abilities." 2

Animal behavior is the chosen ground of the behaviorist;
it was through studies in that field that he was misled into his
perverse unfortunate endeavor. There, if anywhere, (or in

Pedagogical Seminary Vol. XXXII, p. 296.

s Dr. Watson's defiance is magnificent, as magnificent as the similar
defiance of the late Mr. Bryan in face of the evidence for human
evolution. It is disconcerting and portentous that a man whose
reasoning processes are habitually of the kind illustrated above
should be widely acclaimed in this country as a leader in a great
field of science. The fact gives furiously to think.

282 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

relation to the new-born babe, his other favorite object) his
descriptions and interpretations should appear plausible and
adequate. But, even there, he cannot describe, much less in-
terpret, the facts in any useful and profitable manner without
departing from his principles. 1 His simplest experiments postu-
late the animal's purposive or goal-seeking tendencies. He
puts a hungry animal in a cage or a maze and places food
just beyond his reach; or puts the food in a box, knowing or
assuming that the animal will try, will strive, to get at it. And
all the successive actions of the animal are intelligible only
in terms of this assumption. It is true that it is possible to
describe the successive movements of the animal in purely
objective terms, just as it is possible to make a Kinemato-
graphic record of them. But such a description, no matter
how minute and exact, leaves the actions quite unintelligible
so long as all references to the goal and the striving towards
it are really excluded. The behaviorist pretends that each
movement displayed is a reflex reaction to some sense-stimu-
lus; and it is perhaps true that sense-stimuli play a part in
determining the particular form of each movement. But all
the successive movements have a meaning, a significance, for
us, and are intelligible to us as behavior, only when we regard
them as incidents of one process' of striving, a process that
has conative unity. No matter how carefully the behaviorist
may exclude from his descriptions and interpretations all im-
plication of this aspect of the movements, he does not exclude
it from his thinking ; he implicitly makes the assumption which
explicitly he professes to repudiate.

It is worth while noting that even the movements of the
parts of a machine cannot be profitably or intelligibly described
and interpreted in purely objective terms, i.e., without refer-
ence to the purpose of the man who designed and made the
machine. Take any machine, even the simplest : We may des-
cribe in the greatest detail, its structure and the sequences of
movements of its parts, without either understanding the
machine or leading the hearer of our description to under-
stand it. We cannot understand the machine and its move-
ments without knowing what the machine is designed to do,
what its function is, what it is there for, in short, what pur-
pose it is designed to serve, in what goal-seeking process it

*I recognize that interpretation or explanation is only description
in more generalized terms: but the distinction is useful and valid.

MEN OR ROBOTS 283

forms a link. The machine, in a sense, embodies a human
purpose ; it is designed, constructed, and put in action in order
to facilitate the accomplishment of some purpose, some plan, to
satisfy some desire, to make easier and more certain the at-
tainment of some goal. It is for that reason, and that reason
only, that we naturally and properly speak of the machine as
being in order or out of order. No purely physical inorganic
structure in the construction of which human design has played
no part, can properly be said to be in order or out of order;
unless we regard it as embodying the purpose of, and as de-
signed by, some non-human intelligence, some non-human
mental being. The solar system in many respects resembles
a machine ; but, unless we regard it as designed and constructed
in order to render the earth habitable for men, or for some
other purpose, there can be no meaning in describing it as in
order or out of order. If, through collision with a star or a
comet, the course of the planets were changed in some radical
fashion, there would be no sense in saying that the system was
out of order. And so with a machine, say a typewriter or a
linotype machine : if pressure on a key does not bring down the
right letter, we say the machine is out of order ; but the state-
ment has meaning only in virtue of its implicit reference to
the purpose which the machine is designed to serve.

If, then, we cannot understand or intelligibly describe the
movements of the machine without reference, implicit or ex-
plicit, to the purpose it serves; how much less can we intelli-
gibly describe the movements of men or of animals without
such reference, whether in particular or in general terms. 1

*One of the sources of confusion in this matter is the two-fold
sense in which the words 'purposive' and 'teleologies!* are used, the
intrinsic and the extrinsic meanings. There is the intrinsic sense
in which human conduct is purposive, teleological, or goal-seeking;
and there is the extrinsic sense in which the movements of the
parts of a machine are purposive, teleological, or goal-seeking. The
most mechanically minded man does not scruple to ask What is
the purpose of this lever, or of that cog or switch, in a machine?
And in the same way he does not scruple to ask What is the pur-
pose of this bone or that muscle in an animal's body? But he
uses this language without reflecting upon the significance or im-
plication of his words. If the question of his meaning is forced upon
"bJTrt, he is likely to reply that his words are merely a convenient,
but incorrect, form of speech; that of course he does not mean that
the starting lever foresees and intends the starting of the machine,
or that the bone or muscle of the animal foresees or intends the
movements in which it plays a part. And he is confident that in

284 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

Yet just this is the program, the goal, the purpose of the S JB.
and the N.B. Their purpose is to achieve general descriptions
of behavior in language which shall exclude all reference to
purpose; the goal they seek is description of behavior without
reference to its goal-seeking nature; they strive toward a
description which shall exclude all reference to, all implication
of, striving. Thus they cannot move a step, cannot even lay
down their program, without stultifying themselves.

The supreme and final test of any scientific principle or
hypothesis is the pragmatic test. How does it serve as a guide
to observation and experiment? This test, when applied to
the principle or hypothesis of the S.B., at once reveals its in-
adequacy, its falsity, its misleading nature.

As a matter of fact, the S.B. does not in practice abide by
his principles. When he sets out to make experimental obser-
vation of a man or animal, he does not ignore the purposive
nature of behavior; he puts his subject under such conditions
as he believes will induce it to strive towards some goal. He
puts the animal in a maze or a cage from which, he believes,
it will strive to escape; or he offers it some incentive to

both cases all the movements are mechanically explicable: and
that therefore the word 'purpose 1 in all cases of both classes im-
plies a fallacy. In the older discussions of teleology, the words "pur-
posive" and "teleological" were chiefly used in the sense in which
we apply them to a machine. It was asked Is the solar system,
are volcanic eruptions, lightning, and the flow of rivers purposive?
The question meant Are these things or processes designed, con-
structed, or set in action, as our machines are, in order to serve
some purpose? And the answer of science was No, they are not
The same question was asked of the structures and processes of
the animal body. And for a long time science accepted the posi-
tive answer; regarded the animal body as a machine cunningly
designed to realize the purpose of its Designer and Creator. Then
came the Darwinian theory: and science saw that it was no longer
necessary to regard the structure of each animal species as the
product of a designing Creator, and said The structures and move-
ments of the animal body are not teleological or purposive. When
the teleological interpretation of bodily movements in the extrinsic
sense of the words was thus rejected, the other kind of teleological
interpretation, the intrinsic meaning, fell also into disrepute, owing
largely to the failure to distinguish between the two meanings of
the words, between intrinsic and extrinsic teleology. It should be
noted that intrinsic and extrinsic teleology do not imply one an-
other. They do not stand or fall together. Rather they may be
regarded as alternatives. The more fully we accept intrinsic pur-
posiveness in organisms, the less do we need to postulate extrinsic,
purpose and conversely.

MEN OR ROBOTS 285

strive, food, or a mate, or a rival, or a terrifying object. He
has some general notion of its striving tendencies; and his
experimental procedure is guided by that knowledge, while
he pretends to proceed without reference to such tendencies.

Much experimental work, both on men and animals, has
been far less productive than it might have been, if the striv-
ing aspect of behavior, the purposive nature of all our activi-
ties, had been recognized frankly and explicitly, instead of
implicitly and furtively. For in very many experiments the
question of supplying adequate incentives to striving is all-
important. I might illustrate this fact at great length from
the records of experiments made by many psychologists. It
must suffice to point out that in quite recent years the impor-
tance of the incentive to striving has begun to receive practical
recognition in both human and animal experimental psychol-
ogy, with much profit to the procedures adopted and to the
results attained. 1 The common conclusion arrived at, being
that which common sense has accepted for long ages, is that

*A few references must suffice: W. Koehler, The Mentality of
Apes, p. 65.

Simmons, The Relative Effectiveness of Certain Incentives in
Animal Learning, Comp. Psychol. Monog, 1924.

E. B, Hurlock, The Effect of Incentives upon the constancy of
the I.Q. Pedagog. Seminary, Sept. 1925.

H. P. Whiting and H. B. English, Fatigue Tests and Incentives,
Journ. Exp. Psychology, Feb. 1925.

W. F. Book and L. Norvell, The Will to Learn, an Experimental
Study of Incentives, The Pedagog. Seminary, Dec. 1922.

I may add that in my own prolonged experiments with rats,
realizing the primary importance of incentives that will evoke strong
striving towards a goal, I have adopted the plan of putting the
animals into a tank of water in which is a single island or platform.
The rat placed in water at once swims vigorously to and fro, ex-
ploring the boundaries and all available channels of the tank. And
careful observation of the behavior on repetition of the situation
will convince any impartial observer that, after the rat has found
the platform a few times, the platform becomes for him a goal
which he actively seeks. I venture to claim that a due regard to
the importance of incentives has in this case led me to a method
of great value in animal experiment, one which, by standardizing
the incentive and evoking constantly a maximal energy of striving
toward a goal, greatly shortens the duration of each experiment
and renders the successive performances of the same animal, and
of different animals, much truer indices of the animal's capacity
to learn than the performances under the commonly used method
of rewarding the animal with food and making food the incentive
of its behavior.

286 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

the more effective the incentive, i.e. the stronger the urge, or
impulse, or striving, evoked, the more rapidly and efficiently
does the animal or the human being overcome difficulties and
attain its goal.

The demonstration of the inadequacy, the relative futility,
of all attempts to ignore the purposive, the goal-seeking, nature
of all behavior may best be taken from the mouth of the pur-
posive behaviorist Two of my colleagues stand out as leaders
of this group, namely Profs. R. B. Perry and E. C. Tolman.
The latter has recently published a series of articles concerned
with this topic, basing his conclusions on the careful observa-
tion and analysis of animal behavior under experimental con-
ditions. 1

In the first of these articles, Prof. Tolman sets out by re-
jecting decisively the proposal to abolish instincts and the en-
deavor to interpret instinctive behavior as merely the result of
setting in action a chain of reflexes. After referring to count-
less instances of animal behavior which exhibit extreme vari-
ability of action, variations not attributable to variations of
the sense-stimuli, Tolman writes : "Indeed these and countless
like observations have given the pure reflex pattern theory its
final coup de grace." He rejects equally decisively the view
that what we call instincts can be identified with habits. "In-
stinct behavior is fundamentally different from habit-behavior.
For, although undoubtedly inheritance plays its part in both
and environment plays its part in both, still variations in
heredity are primarily responsible for the differences to be
observed in the one and variations in environment for the dif-
ferences to be found in the other." He shows that most of
those authors who profess to avoid all reference to goal-seek-
ing do not in reality do so, but rather introduce it surrep-
tiously. He rightly insists that the instincts or, as he alter-
natively calls them, the "innate determining adjustments," are
to be "recognized by the teleological patterns of the final goals
which they achieve. The subordinate movements and objects
involved may be all acquired, but the general pattern of the
goal is innate and constant."

In the third article, Tolman rightly insists on the goal-seek-
ing character of animal behavior, and writes : "It appears that

1M The Nature of Instinct" in the Psychological Bulletin April,
1923; "Behaviorism and Purpose," in the Journal of Philosophy,
Jan. 1925; "Purpose and Cognition.: the Determiners of Animal
Learning" in Psychological Review, July, 1925.

MEN OR ROBOTS 287

goal-seeking must be defined not only as a tendency to persist
in more or less random fashion until food is reached but also
as a tendency to select within limits the shorter (and probably
also the easier and pleasanter) of two or more alternative
ways." And he shows that such goal-seeking is initiated, not
merely by sense-stimuli, but by the animal's appreciation of
the situation in which it finds itself, what Tolman prefers to
call its "initial cognitive hunches;" and that in turn the goal-
seeking is guided and terminated, not merely by some new
sense-stimulus, but by the animal's appreciation of the nature
of the new situation brought about by its activity. All this
is based upon minute and exact experimental observation and
analysis of animal behavior; and it leads Tolman to the con-
clusion that we cannot hope to make progress in the study of
animal behavior unless we frankly apply to animal learning
"some sort of purposive (goal-seeking) and cognitive (object-
adjustment) categories;" and that "practically, it seems that
the current tendency to talk and think primarily in terms of
such inadequate and premature physiological concepts as are
now on hand is in part responsible for some of the barrenness
of our present animal research."

These conclusions of Prof. Tolman's are perfectly in line
with the work and conclusions of Professors Koehler and
Koffka, two leaders of the Gestalt school. Both, basing them-
selves upon intimate studies of animal behavior, have shown
by the most careful and elaborate reasoning how hollow and
misleading is the pretense of the S.B. to be able to describe
and interpret the actions of animals either as series of reflex
responses to sense-stimuli or as habit responses; they have
shown that those observers of animal behavior who pretend to
demonstrate the absence of all intelligence and purpose in ani-
mals merely prove their own domination by a perverse purpose,
namely the purpose to demonstrate the adequacy of mechanical
categories. They show conclusively that you cannot describe
intelligibly and adequately the behavior of animals without
using language which implies that the animals do not merely
respond to stimuli, but that they seek goals and appreciate the
several factors of a complex stiuation in their relations to one
another and to the goals they seek. For example, Koehler
describes the following behavior of a chimpanzee. "Sultan
grabs at objects [food] behind the bars and cannot reach them
with his arm; he thereupon walks about searchingly, finally
turns to a shoe-scraper, made of iron bars in a wooden frame,

288 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

and manipulates it until he has pulled out one of the iron bars ;.
with this he runs immediately to his real objective, at a dis-
tance of about ten metres and draws it toward him!' I have
italicized the words of this description which imply the pur-
pose and refer to the goal of the animal in accordance with
common sense and good sense. The consistent S.B. would
have to describe this simple bit of behavior very differently,.
as a series of disconnected movements, movements each of
which is a response to some sense-impression of the moment
and is unconnected with the other movements of the sequence
by any reference to, or implication of, the connection of them
all in one sequence as steps in a single goal-seeking process, a
single continued striving towards the objective, sustained by
the animal's desire for food. Of course such a description
is possible, but not only would it be long-winded and clumsy,
but also it would be inadequate and positively misleading.
Koehler goes on to say: "In this case it is pretty dear that
the whole proceeding, part by part, contains several constitu-
ents which are meaningless when isolated. (1) Instead of
keeping to his objective, Sultan goes away from it; this is quite
senseless when taken by itself. (2) He breaks up one of the
station's iron shoe-scrapers, and this, taken by itself, has noth-
ing whatever to do with his objective. (1) The animal by no
means strides away from the objective in the free careless
way which we are used to, in him and the others at times when
they are seeking nothing, but goes away like some one who has
a task before him. And here again, I wish to warn against
anyone speaking of 'anthropomorphism' of 'reading into' the
animals etc., where there is not the least ground for such
reproaches. I merely ask whether it does not look different
from somebody strolling about idly. Of course it looks differ-
ent. Whether we can exactly analyze our total impression in.
both cases, has nothing whatever to do with the case. Now
all I wish to state is that the two general impressions that are
contrasted here occur in chimpanzees, exactly as in man; and
it is these 'impressions' which are not at all 'something that
has been read into* the chimpanzees, but which belongs to the
elementary phenomenology of his behavior, that are meant
when we say, for instance, 'Sultan trotted about gaily* or
'he went over the ground looking for something/ If this is
an anthrophomorphism, so then is this sentence: 'Chimpanzees
have the same tooth formula as man.' So as to leave no doubt
whatever as to the meaning of the expression, 'Walking about

MEN OR ROBOTS 289

searchingly,' I should like to add that nothing is said therein
as to the 'consciousness' of the animal, but only as to its 'be-
havior/ (2) While playing with the shoe-scraper Sultan's
activity is concentrated exclusively on loosening one of its bars;
but even when described more precisely thus, this action re-
mains irrelevant with reference to the real purpose as long as
it is considered in isolation." Prof. Koehler thus brings out
clearly the fact that the train of action described has a cona-
tive unity, is a sequence of actions, all of which are steps in one
continued process of seeking a goal, of striving to attain the
objective, and that any description which ignores this fact,
any consistent description by the strict behaviorist, must be
useless ; and worse than useless, because positively misleading.

The particular instance described above is only one of a
multitude of similar instances in which the animals obviously
take steps in order to attain their goals ; instances such as pil-
ing up boxes in order, by climbing upon the pile, to be able to
reach bananas hung high on the ceiling; or joining two pieces
of bamboo in order to make a stick long enough to reach a
banana lying outside the cage.

Again, in criticizing the S.B. theory that all learning or im-
provement of action is merely a process of habit-formation, by
the chance succession of movements and the mechanical asso-
ciation of such movements as are most frequently repeated to
form a habit, Koehler writes: "the facts we are speaking of,
by the way, seem to represent almost a reversal of what the
theory we have discussed regards as the effect of repetitions.
According to it, procedure developed by accident becomes
smoother through practice, and more like a genuine solution.
This may be true, where the theory applies; the chimpanzee's
genuine solutions, at any rate, do not become more valuable
in themselves through constant repetition, even if they appear
more quickly. For one who has actually watched the experi-
ments, discussions like the above have something comic about
them. For instance, when one has seen for oneself, how in
the first experiment of her life, it did not dawn on Tschego
for hours to push the obstructing box out of the way, how she
merely stretched out her arm uselessly, or else sat down quiet-
ly, but then, fearing the loss of her food, suddenly seized the
obstacle, and pushed it to one side, thus solving the task in a
second when one has watched that, then to 'secure these facts
against misinterpretation* [the misinterpretation of the S.B.]

290 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

seems almost pedantic." 1 And in general Koehler says of the
S.B. interpretation of the learning process "No single experi-
ment fulfils this requirement, as practically none is performed
twice over in the same way, indeed the movements by which
any single one is performed vary very much the only limit
is the sense of the proceeding. For this reason no observer,
even with the best of efforts, can say: 'the animal contracts
such or such a muscle, carries out this or that impulse' this
would be to accentuate an unessential side-issue, which may
change from one case to another; which muscles carry out
which action is entirely immaterial."

Further, criticizing a common illegitimate extension of the
S. B. theory, which we owe originally to Thorndike, and which
asserts that success stamps in (in the brain) the accidental
associations of movements that have led to success, Koehler
writes: "the animals produce complete methods of solution
quite suddenly, and as complete wholes which may, 4n a cer-
tain sense, be absolutely appropriate to the situation* and yet
cannot be carried out. They can never have had any success
with them, and, therefore such methods were certainly never
practiced formerly. After all this, as far as I can see, even
an adherent of that theory must recognize that the reports of
experiments here given do not support his explanation. The
more he tries to advance more valuable data than the general
scheme of his theory, and really think out and show how he
would explain and interpret all the experiments in detail, the
more will he realize that he is attempting something impos-
sible." 2

Koehler does not hesitate to attribute the actions of the
animals to their desire for the attainment of their goals, to
assume that they perform certain actions as indirect means to
the attainment of the goal, that they even construct implements
for the sake of, for the purpose of, facilitating the attainment
of a goal. 3 And he shows that we cannot properly describe
many of their actions without using language which implies
such goal-seeking; e.g. an animal on successive occasions
pushes away a box which obstructs her approach to her goal,

1 Op. Cit. p. 207.

a Op. Cit. p. 227.

*e.g. piling up of boxes to form a platform on which to climb
nearer to the goal, and constructing a long stick by fitting two
sticks together and even gnawing away the end of one stick in
order to make it fit into the cavity of the other.

MEN OR ROBOTS 291

and on each occasion she handles it in a different manner : the
behavior cannot be adequately described by saying that she
made such and such movements which, on each occasion re-
sulted in the removal of the box. In order to describe the be-
havior adequately, we have to say that she removed the ob-
struction in the course of her efforts to attain her goal. 1

Professor Koffka 2 also, by a careful analysis of the facts of
animal behavior, refutes the theory of learning by association
of purely random reflex acts or of reflex acts evoked simply
as direct responses to sensory stimuli. He concludes that "the
theory of an entirely meaningless learning is simply untenable."
He freely realizes the purposive or goal-seeking character
of animal behavior ; and he does not scruple to use the words
'purpose' and 'intention' and to speak of "what is going on in
the phenomental world of the chimpanzee's mind." He also
insists that instinctive process is radically different from the
working of a reflex mechanism.

I may add that my own experiments on dogs and rats
(briefly reported in my Outline of Psychology) illustrate the
same facts, the extreme variation of movements in any one
attempt to solve a problem and in successive struggles with
the same problem, movements which nevertheless are all inci-
dents of one process, a striving towards the goal, and which
can only be intelligibly described as such. In the same work
I have shown in some detail the failure of all the attempts
of the S.B. to interpret and explain as mechanical responses
to stimuli behavior of two types: first, the simplest possible
instances of obtaining food by escape from a maze; secondly,
the more complex behavior of returning home, a form of be-
havior exhibited by a multitude of species some of which are
comparatively low in the evolutionary scale.

1 KoeHer writes: "Her manner of removing the obstacle was quite
different from the first occasion. I wish to stress this point for the
enlightenment of students who have not observed chimpanzees
carefully. What Chica did this second time was to clear away
the cage from the fruit, not to make this or that series of move-
ments." He might well have said that it is necessary to stress this
point for the enlightenment of students obsessed and blinded by the
mechanistic dogma.

In his "The Growth of the Mind."

CHAPTER XIII

MEN OR ROBOTS?*

BY WILLIAM Me DOUGALL

II

It is necessary to say a few words about the conditioned
reflex or conditioned response. I have no desire to belittle
the importance of the beautiful experiments of Pavlov and
others which have built up a new method of great value for
the study of the nervous system. Prof. Burnham of this uni-
versity has shown us in his book, "The Normal Mind," that
the results obtained by this method can be of much value for
human psychology, can be incorporated in a sane psychology
which does not pretend to ignore the all-important facts of
striving, of motivation, of goal-seeking, of incentives and
ideals. The experiments on the conditioned response do un-
questionably carry us nearer to an understanding of the pro-
cess of association. And no one denies that association is a
process of great importance in our mental life. But all the
history of psychology since Locke shows how detrimental to
its progress was the overweening faith of the associationist
school in the all-sufficiency of its one great explanatory prin-
ciple. The physiologists of the present time who are enthusi-
astically exploiting the conception of the conditioned reflex
as the one sole and all-sufficient master-key to the secrets of
human nature, these physiologists, obstinately blind to the les-
sons of the past, are repeating the error of the Associationists.
James Mill, with a dogmatic confidence which now seems ridi-
culous, declared that the principle of association of ideas made
all our mental processes as obvious as the road from Ludgate
Circus to St. Paul's Cathedral. Many of the enthusiasts for
the conditioned reflex are making for it the same daim, and
are thus repeating his error, with far less excuse. James
Mill's error is pardonable in view of the scanty knowledge
and insight of his time; but now, when the labors of a multi-
tude of workers throughout well nigh a century have con-
clusively shown the inadequacy of the association-principle to
explain all human activity, there is no excuse for the wilful
ignoring of all this improvement of our insight and the repeti-

*Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University, De-
cember 11,

294 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

tion of the old error in a slightly modified and accentuated
form.

The principle of association is valid and important. The
mistake of the extreme associationists was to imagine that it
rendered all other principles unnecessary, to believe that by a
little juggling with words, by the use of such phrases as "the
idea of an end or goal," they explained away all the facts of
motive, striving, volition, conation, constructive activity. The
principle of the conditioned response is equally valid and im-
portant ; it is the principle of association in an improved form.
But the mistake of so many of its exponents is to believe that
the demonstration in the laboratory of elementary instances of
conditioning of responses proves such responses to be merely
mechanical processes that imply no forward striving towards
a goal. When Prof. Koehler's ape, Sultan, had learned to
reach, with the long rod he had constructed, the banana that
la}' beyond the reach of a short rod, he may be said to have
acquired a conditioned response; just as every instance of the
acquisition of skill or knowledge may be so described. The
error of the conditioned response enthusiasts is the assump-
tion that Sultan's desire for the banana, his striving towards it,
was an irrelevant fact, one which may safely be ignored when
we attempt to understand the way in which the new response
was acquired and subsequently displayed.

Near Behaviorism

The strict behaviorists do not trouble themselves about the
social life of men ; they are sufficiently occupied with the self-
imposed task of proving that animals and new-born babies are
merely machines. But some near-behaviorists have undertaken
to write on Social Psychology, basing it on the Watsonian
dogma of the absence of all innate endowment other than a
limited number of mechanical reflexes. How then do they
deal with the complexities of social conduct? There are two
pieces of verbal sleight-of-hand on which they chiefly rely in
order to conceal from their readers the impossible nature of
the tasks they essay, the utter inadequacy of the suppositions
with which they set out.

First, they create the false appearance of bringing all social
conduct under the stimulus-response formula by aid of a very
simple verbal trick, rendered possible by the ambiguity of com-
mon speech. The stimulus-response formula of the behavior-
ist asserts that every action is a response to a stimulus; the

MEN OR ROBOTS 295

word "stimulus" in this formula clearly meaning a physical
stimulus applied to a sense-organ or afferent nerve. When,
then, they find a man whose conduct is largely governed by
his devotion to his country, to an ideal, or to the religion of
Christ or Buddha, they describe such things, the country or
nation, the ideal, the religion, or the founder of the religion,
as a stimulus ; and thus all patriotic, or moral, or religious
conduct becomes merely a response or series of responses to
stimuli.

Secondly, having rejected "instincts," in the interest of the
mechanical reflex-theory and on such trivial grounds as Dr.
Watson's failure to see evidence of instincts in new-born in-
fants, they introduce the essential notion of a tendency to-
wards an end, an urge towards a goal, surreptitiously by a back
door, disguised under all sorts of names chosen to convey as
much mechanical implication as may be possible; the favorite
terms being drive, determining tendency, prepotent reflex, pre-
potent habit, determining set, motor-set.

Dr. Allport, for example, is not so blind to the facts of na-
ture as Dr. Watson. He sees the plain evidence that matura-
tion of instincts takes place after birth in the young of
many animal species; but, seeing also (like Watson) that it
is impossible to prove the reality of such maturation in the
child by any simple experiment, he concludes: "In view of
the uncertainty regarding the maturation hypothesis it seems
better to adopt the genetic viewpoint, and beginning at birth
with the simple reflexes, which are demonstrably innate, pro-
gress with no further assumptions than the well-known facts
of the learning process." 1 But, knowing well that human con-
duct cannot be interpreted in terms of Watson's array of re-
flexes, Allport very soon introduces and makes great play with
the "prepotent reflex." "The human being has inherited a
number of prepotent reflexes which are fundamental not only
in their original potency, but in the control which they exert
over habit formation throughout life. Indomitable restless-
ness of movement in carrying out prepotent activities in the
face of difficulties is universal in the animal kingdom. The
imperativeness of the prepotent reflex is Nature's provision
that adaptation and survival will be achieved." 2
Allport, having thus provided himself with something less

1 Social Psychology, p. 81.
Ibid, p. 57.

296 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

sterile than the simple mechanical reflexes, having added to his
stock of explanatory principles the "prepotent reflex" which
has a potency for control, which is indomitable in the face of
difficulties, and imperative in its service of the ends of adapt-
ation and survival, is able to assert : "the intricacies of human
conduct arise as modifications of these simple prepotent re-
sponses;" and, without arousing the critical tendency of most
of his readers, he can introduce such terms as incentive, end,
sanction, drive, urge, desire, motive, 'wish, selection, choice,
means to an end, in order to, struggle, interests, satisfaction,
autonomic drives, struggle for satisfaction, settings, attitudes,
striving, craving, aims, ideals, values, efforts, success, seeking,
conflict and even purpose.

Thus, without gross appearance of inconsistency, he is able
to write: "Hunger is the supreme drive of the learning pro-
cess. Sex is a close rival. Other important factors, such as
rivalry, desire for social approval and the like, are incentives
derived from these two." 1 In fact, as the book advances to
deal with the actual facts of human life, it falls into the
language of good common sense, which everywhere recognizes,
implicitly and explicitly, the purposive, the forward striving
character of all our activities.

Purposive Behaviorism

We may next examine the procedure of the purposive be-
haviorist, as exemplified by Professors Perry and Tolman.

Tolman fully recognizes and insists upon the goal-seeking
nature of most animal behavior. "Whenever, in merely de-
scribing a behavior, it is found necessary to include a state-
ment of something either towards-which or from^-which the
behavior is directed, there we have purpose. But we may
analyze further. Just when is it we find a statement of a
'toward-whichness* or of a *fron>whichness' thus necessary?
We find it necessary, whenever, by modifying the various at-
tendant circumstances, we discover that the same goal is still
there and still identifying the given response. Thus, when we
make minor changes in the position or nature of the intervening
objects and the behavior readjusts so as to again come to the
end-object, the case is one of purpose. Or finally when we re-
move the goal-object entirely and behavior thereupon ceases,
purpose must again have been a descriptive feature. In short,
purpose is present, descriptively, whenever a statement of the

^Social Psychology.

MEN OR ROBOTS 297

goal-object is necessary to indicate (1) constancy of goal-ob-
ject in spite of variation in adjustment to intervening obstacles,
or (2) variations in final direction corresponding to differing
positions of the goal-object, or (3) cessation of activity when
a given goal-object is entirely removed." Again: "wherever
the purely objective description of either a simple or complex
behavior discovers a 'persistence-until' character there we have
what behaviorism defines as purpose."

And Prof. Tolman also recognizes that these purposive ac-
tivities are initiated, guided, and terminated by cognitions, by
appreciation of the nature of the goal-object, of the route to be
followed for its attainment, and of the new situation which
constitutes attainment. In what then does his behaviorism
consist?- Merely in this that when we use such terms as
purpose, goal-seeking, cognition, knowing, appreciation of,
imputing, intents, noetic aspects of behavior, knowledge, desire
and purpose, (all of which terms are freely used by Tolman),
we must (in order to be scientific and to avoid the dreaded
spectre of anthropomorphism) carefully explain that all these
words are used in a purely objective sense, that they imply,
on the part of the creature whose behavior is described, no
experience, no awareness of the goal-object or of the inter-
vening obstacles, no felt impulse or desire for it, no satisfac-
tion on attaining it or coming nearer to it, no dissatisfaction,
distress, or urge, on continued failure to attain it.

Now these prohibitions of the behaviorist are intended to
apply, not only to descriptions and interpretations of the be-
havior of animals, but also to all descriptions and interpreta-
tions of human behavior. Suppose you see a boy trying to
reach an apple on the end of a branch. He reaches up, stands
on tiptoe, jumps at it again and again. Then he takes a stick
and with it shakes the bough or strikes at the apple; or he
runs away, and returns presently with a box or ladder by the
aid of which he reaches the apple. Tolman will allow you to
say that the boy seeks the apple, that the apple is the goal of
his seeking, that the use of the stick or box is a cognitive
hunch on the boy's part, that he imputes to the stidc the
property of extending his reach to the apple, and so on. But
if you wish to be scientific, you may not say or imagine that
the boy sees the apple and consciously desires to reach and to
eat it; still less may you say that he foresees that, by using the
stick, he may cause the apple to fall, or that by climbing on the
box he may be able to reach it. Nor may you use such language,

298 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

even if the boy tells you with all the honest naivety of boy-
hood that all these suppositions of yours are true. To use
such language, to allow yourself to suppose that the boy sees
and desires and foresees, would be grossly anthropomorphic.
The apple stimulates the boy to put out his hand towards it;
and when he runs to fetch a stick or a ladder, he is making
random movements, or he formerly made such random move-
ments and these have become associated, as a conditioned re-
flex, with the act of stretching out the arm without subsequent
contact with the apple. And the ray from the apple then in-
duces another conditioned reflex, the striking with the stick or
the climbing of the ladder.

That or something like it must be the interpretation of the
S. B. Prof. Tolman is more lenient. He will allow us to say
that it was the purpose of the boy to obtain the apple and
that he had a cognitive hunch that the ladder would facilitate
his goal seeking; provided that we repudiate all such implica-
tion as that the boy sees the apple and foresees its fall. Even
if he gets another boy to shake the branch, and himself stands
holding his hands beneath the apple ready to catch it, you still
may not say that he foresees its falL And Tolman seems in-
clined to attach much importance to the fact that by using the
words of common speech (such words as desire, purpose,
striving, cognition, perception and memory and anti-
cipation) you can describe the event and yet can avoid what
he calls the 'mentalisf implications, if you carefully explain
that you don't mean to use the words in the ordinary sense,
but merely as words which are convenient for the description
of the objective event you observe. He assigns to Prof. Perry
the credit for pointing out that you can thus describe purposive
actions while repudiating one-half of the common meaning of
the terms.

If now we turn to Prof. Perry's discussion of behavior, we
find that, like Tolman, he freely admits that human and ani-
mal action is commonly purposive or goal-seeking and cannot
be effectively described in words which do not imply this fun-
damental character. But he would have us interpret these
terms as implying, not any foresight of the goal, but only some
hypothetical neural arrangement which he calls a "determin-
ing tendency." Perry's behaviorism then is like Tolman's a
purposive behaviorism; consisting in so defining the common
terms as to repudiate their mentalist implications.

MEN OR ROBOTS 299

What inducements, then, do Tolman and Perry hold out to
us in order to persuade us to use words in this peculiarly
mutilated fashion ? What advantages do they claim will result
from such usage? I must confess that I do not know. So
far as I can discover, they do not tell us at all dearly. Perry
seems to suggest that the profit or advantage will be the avoid-
ance of all language that implies some difference between men-
tal events and physical events, as all our ordinary speech does.
For he is an exponent of a peculiar metaphysic, known as New
Realism, which seeks to abolish that distinction. But this is
an inducement only for those select few who have accepted
that very peculiar philosophy of New Realism. To the major-
ity of us, who regard that philosophy as quite untenable, he
offers no inducement. Tolman, so far as I can see, offers us
no inducement of any kind. He merely seems to feel that the
feat of describing behavior in purely objective terms, terms
rendered objective by carefully stripping away their common
subjective meaning, is so great an achievement that it is worth
doing merely as a display of verbal skill.

Tolman does, however, give one slight cue to his very pecu-
liar attitude in this matter. He remarks : "Although we agree
with Professor McDougall in finding his first five marks of be-
havior characteristic of purpose, we disagree with him in sup-
posing such 'purpose* to be something added on to the mere
objective description of the behavior itself." I gather that
Tolman means to say that I suppose a purpose to be a peculiar
something added to the bodily process. 1 And here, as it seems
to me he reveals a difficulty over which many are inclined to
boggle, though it arises purely from an unfortunate usage of
words; namely, we speak of a purpose as though it were a
thing, and then, when we ask what sort of a thing it can be,
we can find no intelligible answer.

If, instead of speaking of a purpose, we confine ourselves
to the adjective purposive and speak merely of purposive ac-
tion or activity, we avoid this difficulty. Purposive is then the
adjective which we may use if we wish to describe purely ob-
jectively processes of a special kind, namely, the peculiar forms
of bodily action we observe in men and animals, the goal-seek-
ing actions. But we may use it, as we do in common speech,
to imply also that such actions are accompanied by some f ore-

not (as Tolman says) to the description, but to the pro-
cess described.

300 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

sight of the goal and some desire to attain it. And the justi-
fication for so doing is (1) that, when I myself so act, I know,
if I stop to reflect, that I foresee the god and desire it; and
(2) that, if I question other intelligent persons, they tell me
that, when they act in this objectively purposive fashion, they
also foresee the goal and desire it. This subjective accompani-
ment of purposive action is so constantly reported that we are
justified in supposing it to be the rule; we can assume it with
a high degree of probability. The question, then, is Can
we with advantage put aside this knowledge of the sub-
jective aspect of purposive action: can we better un-
derstand and control behavior without the aid of this knowl-
edge? I confidently suggest that we cannot; that it is advan-
tageous to use such knowledge, and for the following reasons :

(1) It is surely hazardous and against all scientific prin-
ciples to put aside any knowledge of an obscure event when we
seek to understand and control it.

(2) When we use this knowledge, we do understand the
event better, we are in a better position to influence or control
it, than if we put it aside. This is true of both human and
animal behavior. We are more familiar with, have much bet-
ter acquaintance with, foreseeing and desiring, than we have
with hypothetical structures in the nervous system called "de-
termining tendencies" or "motor sets" or what not. And this,
the practical or pragmatic test, is the supreme test of the value
of any assumption. Now I take it, that, in relation to human
behavior, the superior convenience and effectiveness of the
mentalist description and interpretation is beyond dispute.
When the boy fetches a stick and with it knocks down the
apple, we all unhesitatingly interpret his conduct by assuming
that he sees the apple, desires to obtain it, foresees its fall, and
fetches and uses the stick in order to obtain it. And, when
the chimpanzee behaves in a very similar manner, fetching and
using a stick to knock down a banana hung above his reach
(Koehler, Op. Cit p. 146), we all interpret and understand
his behavior in similar mentalist terms. Such interpretation is
not only natural, but it is also profitable; it is far more ef-
fective as a guide to our action than any forced unnatural in-
terpretation achieved by disciplining ourselves to repudiate the
mentalist implications of the words we inevitably use. The
man who sympathetically understands animals will manage
them far more effectively than he who interprets their actions

MEN OR ROBOTS 301

mechanically, even when it is a question of planning and con-
ducting experiments with them.

And this is true not only when we study men and animals
under experimental conditions in the laboratory; it is also true
and vastly important in the immense experiment which mod-
ern industry is making and on the success of which the pros-
perous development of our civilization depends, namely the
experiment of keeping vast numbers of men working at tasks
and under conditions that are very unnatural, very different
from those to which human nature has become adapted by
long ages of development under natural conditions, the con-
ditions of life of the hunter, the warrior and the farmer.

It is just because modern industry has treated the workers
as Robots rather than as men that the modern world is so
full of strife and unrest, of strikes and lock-outs, and bitter
conflicts of all kinds. All these disharmonies and inefficiencies
of the industrial world can only be overcome by recognizing
far more dearly than has yet been done the complexity of the
motives, the desires and the purposes of the workmen, and by
delicately adjusting incentives and satisfactions in accordance
with these complex desires of every human heart. The theory
and practise of modern industry have been vitiated by the
tendency to treat men as though the stimulus-response for-
mula of the behaviorist were true. The mechanical arts of
industrial production have been developed with astonishing
speed and success, by the aid of the magnificent discoveries of
the physical sciences; while the art of managing men has re-
mained undeveloped, largely because psychological science, the
science of human nature, has remained undeveloped, especially
that most important part of it which is concerned, or should
be concerned, with human motives and purposes.

Fortunately, many leaders of the industrial world and many
students of its problems are now beginning to recognize this
truth and are taking thought how to remedy these defects.
But they can find no help in any psychology that is not
thoroughly and frankly of the purposive type. 1

*A most interesting book published only last month (Mainsprings
of Men t by Whiting Williams) illustrates my point vividly. Mr.
Williams, from a rich store of intimate contact with working men,
shows the complexity and astonishing power of motives commonly
ignored by economists.

I cite a few passages. "No one," he writes, "can expect to secure
or maintain his leadership except as he promises fulfillment for the
wishes, yearnings, hopings of his workers whose delight is that we

302 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

To all this reasoning the mechanist will reply that primitive
men interpret inorganic events in the ideological way ; that the
savage regards the flow of the river, volcanic eruptions and,
still more, the working of mechanical contrivances, as purpos-
ive activities, and that the advance of science has consisted in
progressively getting rid of all such mentalist implications in
our dealings with natural processes. And he maintains that,
though in dealing with animal and human behavior such ex-
trusion of mentalist implications may be at present difficult
and even practically unprofitable, yet we must attempt the
task, if we are ever to understand the causation of human
and animal actions.

This brings us right up against the fundamental question at
issue. The true ground of the behaviorist effort is the belief
that animal and human behavior are truly and wholly mechani-
cal, that they are of the same nature as all other processes in
nature and that, therefore, the truest, the only true, interpre-
tation of it must be in the terms we use in the inorganic sci-
ences; that, though such interpretation may be difficult and
even relatively unprofitable at the present time, yet we must
persist in this effort with faith that ultimately it will prove
profitable in the long run.

are not only workers, but also fathers, worshippers, voters, lovers,
whole men. Even in the factory the hopeful contestant will, ac-
cordingly, do well to examine some of those satisfactions which we
long for, not because we are workmen, but because we are human
beings and persons .... let us take a moment's look at the hank-
erings which appear to bother all of us in the midst of our daily
job of just being human."

He finds that "the wish for worth," the desire to be able to feel
oneself of real use in the world, is one of the great forces that must
be taken account of in any adjustment of the conditions of work
that is to secure harmony and efficiency. "The prime influence in
all of us today is our wish to enjoy the feeling of our worth as
persons among other persons. This feeling can hardly exist with-
out a corresponding recognition, respect on the part of others . . .
The connection between this desire and most of the instincts can
easily be seen . . . This desire does not require the sense of domina-
tion or superiority over others except as such a feeling in certain
fields offsets a feeling of inferiority in others.

"First, then, the initial demand within us to be 'worthwhile' and
second, the encouraging approval and the opposing disapprovals of
others to whom we give attention these two forces and the con-
stant interplay between them we must understand if we are to
know the mainspring of our neighbors and ourselves."

MEN OR ROBOTS 303

To this the mentalist reply is threefold. First, even if the
faith of the mechanist were well grounded and justified, even
if we had some impossible, some supernatural, assurance of
this, it would still be more profitable now and for a long time
to come to make use of the mentalist, the truly purposive,
interpretations of behavior; for we are very very far from
any adequate mechanical interpretations; and we may hope
to arrive at them most rapidly by continuing to use and to
improve our mentalist interpretations, to formulate laws of
behavior in mentalist terms, postponing the translation of
them into terms of mechanism until such time as such interpre-
tation may be a possibility and not merely a misleading pre-
tense, as at present it is.

Secondly, it may be that the faith of the mechanist is alto-
gather ill-based and illusory. To all appearance the life-pro-
cesses of living things are fundamentally different from in-
organic processes; and we have no guarantee, no adequate
ground for believing, that this appearance is illusory. And,
if we uncritically adopt this mechanistic faith, and under its
influence elaborate a picture of the world in mechanistic terms,
we inevitably arrive at an absurd position, as the history of
thought abundantly shows; we find we have created a picture
of the world which leaves out of the picture entirely that men-
tal process, that purposive striving, that creative activity,
which has produced the picture ; our conscious striving to con-
struct the picture, our conscious appreciation and understand-
ing of it when constructed, remain outside it as something
whose reation to the picture is entirely unintelligible. And
so we have to start all over again, and strive to "remould it
nearer to the heart's desire," the desire to understand man's
place in the universe.

Thirdly, the faith of the mechanist implies two assump-
tions which we must carefully distinguish; for one of them
may be false, though the other be true. These two assump-
tions are (1) that all processes in the world kre fundamen-
tally of one kind only (2) that all these processes are of the
kind commonly assumed by the physical sciences in their in-
terpretations of inorganic nature; namely mechanistic, or
strictly determined and therefore strictly predictable, events.

It may well be, I say, that the former assumption is true,
but that the latter is false. And, if we accept the former as-
sumption as a working hypothesis and reject the second, we
can hope to avoid the absurdity which, as we have just now

304 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

seen, inevitably results from accepting both assumptions. At
the present time there are indications in various fields of sci-
ence of a tendency in accordance with this very permissible
selection of our fundamental working hypothesis; namely, a
tendency to bridge the gap between the organic and the inor-
ganic, not by forcing the organic under the type of strictly
mechanistic interpretation that has long been very generally
accepted in the physical sciences, but by revising that interpre-
tation in such a way as to render it less rigidly exclusive of and
opposed to the purposive interpretation. Physicists are mak-
ing their assumptions less rigidly deterministic; philosophers
and biologists are speculating along these lines. Even Prof.
Tolman shows himself hospitable to this possibility. And,
when we reflect upon such physical facts as gravitation, chemi-
cal affinities, electrical attraction and repulsion, and when we
find how varied and how lacking in precision and finality are
the physicists interpretations of such phenomena, we cannot
refuse to admit that here is an interesting possible line of
scientific development. 1

The most interesting and promising of such efforts is, I
venture to think, that of Prof. Koehler, now of this university.
With some hesitation and subject to correction, I submit that
the essence of his endeavor is to show that some physical phe-
nomena express true tendencies, that they tend towards cer-
tain ends. The physical configuration (or Gestalt) on which
he so strongly insists is something that cannot be adequately
described in terms of a spatial collocation : it is something that
can only be described in terms of a tendency towards an end
or, as he prefers to say, a closure. Thus a soap-bubble has
a tendency to assume the spherical form; and that tendency
cannot be described or interpreted in terms of its mechanical
structure, the ^ spatial arrangement and motions of its parts;
the tendency is a dynamic fact which can only be described
and interpreted in dynamic terms, in terms of forces; and if
you seek to analyze the phenomenon, to reduce it to constitu-
ent processes, these again can only be conceived in terms of
tendencies.

The mechanist in psychology lightly postulates tendencies,
determining tendencies, and implies that in so doing he is pro-
viding a mechanical substitute for purposive tendencies and

x ln this connection I refer the reader to Prof. A. W. Whitehead's
newly published volume of Lowell Lectures, "Science and The
Modern World."

MEN 01 ROBOTS 305

strivings. But, in so doing, he begs the whole question m dis-
pute. He concedes the essence of the purposive psychologists,
contention, the contention that human and animal behavior
can be understood only in terms of tendencies towards ends of
goals; and then he disguises the fact from himself by a mere
change of names.

Whether the present highly interesting and promising ten-
dency in science to bridge the gap between the organic and the
inorganic, between life and mechanism, by recognizing in the
inorganic realms real tendencies, whether this tendency is
destined to be successful we cannot yet say. But we can say,
I think, that if it should prove successful, it will be by assimi-
lating the inorganic to the organic and by recognizing the
source of our understanding of processes and tendencies of
all kinds in our own experiences of purposive striving, the
most developed and intelligible form of that which we see
more obscurely expressed in animal behavior and in the pro-
cesses of the inorganic realm.

We say, then, to our behaviorist friends Put aside your
ill-founded fear of anthropomorphism. That fear is at the best,
premature; and, at the worst, it may drive you far astray,
seeking as your goal a mere will-o'-the-wisp. Do not continue
to deny yourselves the great advantages of using the mentalist
and purposive ways of thinking in your dealings with human
and animal behavior. The anthropomorphic way of thinking
is highly profitable at present in our sphere; and it may weU
be that it will prove to be the ultimately profitable way for all
science, the only way that leads to a deeper understanding of
Nature.

I conclude, then, that at present we stand to gain no advan-
tage by assuming that men are Robots, mere pieces of ma-
chinery. Without presuming to assert that men are, or are
not, Robots, let us continue to use the working hypothesis that
they are not; let us cheerfully go on assuming that men are
what they seem to be, namely purposive intelligent agents,
striving with some success to improve themselves and the
conditions of their life in this strange world. And let us con-
tinue to assume that children and animals exhibit in their
lower degrees the same principles of action. For that is the
profitable way, the way of progress in psychology.

PARTY

Reaction Psychology

KNIGHT BUNLAP

CHAPTER XIV

THE THEORETICAL ASPECT OF PSYCHOLOGY*

By KNIGHT DUNLAP

A discussion of "psychology" at the present time must, of
necessity, be prefaced by a careful explanation of the signifi-
cation in which the term is used; for this is an era of "psy-
chologies," that is, of systems of philosophy, systems of medi-
cine, systems of delusion and systems of graft, each of which
assumes the title of "psychology" or of "the new Psychology."
The announcement of a new book on The new psychology and
the preacher might, so fas as anyone could predict in advance,
be a treatise based on the Freudian or some other psychoana-
lytic system; it might be an exposition of "new thought" or
some other vagary of the Quimby brood; it might be an ap-
plication of the theories and methods of "intelligence testing;"
it might be propaganda for the doctrines and practices of M.
Coue; it might be one of the numerous embodiments of
phrenology under its more recent name of "character an-
alysis;" it might be a book on psychic research concerning
spooks and other magical notions; or it might be one of the
less easily nameable nostrums which strut before the public in
borrowed plumage, calling themselves "the new psychology/'

In spite of all these phantasies, there is a serious and legi-
timate psychology, which has had a steady growth and devel-
opment, and which endures and bears fruit in spite of the
vicissitudes to which it is subjected by all these pseudo-psy-
chologies, which do, in fact, injure it and retard it, but which
are not able to destroy it nor to prevent its growth. And it is
this legitimate psychology, which, in its present day develop-
ments, well merits the name of scientific psychology, that I am
about to discuss.

Psychology began in Hellenic days as a study of the con-
scious processes of the organism, and it is today more ade-
quately described in those terms than in any other way. It
belongs, in other words, with the biological sciences, to two
of which it is closely related, namely, to biology and anthro-
pology. Biology deals with the fundamental features of the
life processes as they appear in animals and plants; anthro-
pology with the concrete results of the life processes in the
human being ; and psychology with those important manifesta-
tions of life in which consciousness appears. No one of these

*Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University,
April 20, 1925.

310 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

three sciences includes the others ; but each of them necessarily
overlaps and combines with the others.

Each of these sciences deals with life from two aspects;
those of growth and behavior. The particular aspects of ani-
mal growth and behavior with which psychology is concerned
are conscious behavior, and the growth or development of the
systems of conscious reaction which constitute this conscious
behavior. Psychology, like anthropology and biology, has
therefore a threefold aspect: general, individual, and genetic;
and it has another aspect which perhaps these others also pos-
sess, namely: a social aspect In biology great progress has
been made in the study of development. In psychology, how-
ever, little progress ha's been made along the genetic line, and
it is chiefly of general psychology that I shall speak today,
not excluding references to progress in individual and social
psychology.

Whatever may have been the metaphysics of Aristotle on
other points, in psychology his position is clear. He was to all
intents and purposes a "common sense realist/* who assumed
as one of the conditions of science, that there is a world of
real objects and that we may be really conscious of them. On
this basis, it was possible to ask the question: How does the
process of perception come about? and the other question:
How does that other conscious process, the process of think-
ing about things, come about? And, Aristotle proceeded to
discuss these questions in the light of such information as was
then at hand. His discussions, furthermore, assumed these
processes to be processes of the organism; and if he dragged
in the theory of a psyche, that psyche was no mystical prin-
ciple, but an energy supposed to reside in the organism; an
energy as "physical" as the heat, light and electricity of mod-
ern physics. It is true, Aristotle went beyond these practical
assumptions, and contrived a theory of the relation of "mat-
ter" and "energy" which was mathematical rather than em-
pirical. But in that respect, his method was not far removed
from those of modern mathematical physicists, however much
he may have erred in his detailed hypotheses. In short : Aris-
totle, in his psychology, was working along the lines of mod-
ern scientific psychology, and this modern science may well
be called a return to Aristotle, in spirit if not in detail.

It is doubtful whether, aside from the invention of the name
""psychology," any useful contributions were made to psy-
chology during the first 1500 years of the Christian era. I

THE THEORETICAL ASPECT OF PSYCHOLOGY 311

say it is doubtful, because we have no clear knowledge of any
such contributions. But the thought of the schoolmen is to-
day pretty much a closed book to modern readers and will re-
main closed until a lot of very bad Latin shall have been
translated. Contributions, not evident to us, may have been
made through Descartes and others who were instructed in the
lore of the philosophers, and who read with ease the bad
Latin to which I have referred.

Descartes, who is rated as the first of the modern doctors
of psychological theory, built up the subject with his right
hand, while with his left hand, perhaps unintentionally, he
pulled out the foundations, and gave the structure a decided
list to the starboard, which it retained for a long period of
further growth. In his Treatise on the passions of the soul
he laid the cornerstone of physiological psychology, and for
the modern reaction theory; although his particular reaction
theory has been discarded. In his Discourse on Method, how-
ever, and in his Principles, he weakened the common sense
foundation of the subject and prepared the way for the perni-
cious doctrines of psychophysical parallelism and epistemo-
logical dualism which were immediately elaborated by Male-
branche, from whom they were taken over by Locke, and
which were the architectural plans for the development of psy-
chology for the next three hundred years. These doctrines, in
fact, in spite of Huxley and a number of other critics, became
gradually adopted by the unscientific world as "common
sense/* and have been accepted by the world of physical sci-
ence as good psychology. At the present time, there is an
enormous amount of routine teaching and perfectly futile
teaching of this time-wcm philosophy under the guise of psy-
chology; and the most difficult part of the teacher of scientific
psychology is to disabuse the student of these notions, and to
get him to look at the problems of psychology as they really
are. We may put the simple facts of the mental life in sci-
entific, (that is, in common sense,) form; but the student,
trained in this now popular philosophy of Malebranche, mis-
understands them in his old familiar terms, and hence fails to
grasp the facts at all. More striking direct results of this
Malebranchian miasma are the popularly attractive Freudian
and other theories of the "unconscious mind/' and doctrines
of certain schools of less popular psychology which fit in with
the popular notion of the mind.

The influence of Locke and his English successors was pro-

312 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

foundly felt in Germany; and although the psychology of
Herbart and Wundt was presumably founded in the philosophy
of Leibnitz, derived from that of Descartes, the Malebranchian
influence was really the strongest in the constructions of these
and other German psychologists. The German psychology,
again, influenced English psychology through Ward and Stout,
uniting its influence with that transmitted from Locke through
the Scottish school and was passed on to the United States
through a number of psychologists of German training. I
am justified, therefore, in calling this general current the "An-
glo-German Psychology," a name which is sufficiently distinc-
tive, and sufficiently representative of the real history of the
current. But, lest my terms should seem to have an ethnologi-
cal rather than the merely historical reference intended, I shall
refer hereafter to this general school of psychological theory
as Malebranchian, or introspectionaL

The Malebranchian psychology is characterized toy, and
limited by, a certain striking conception: the conception of the
"mind" as something distinct from, but miraculously related
to the body, and as made up out of certain objective elements,
which, although in constant flux, are definitely observable.
The mind, that is to say, is conceived as made up of psychic
objects, and the physical world of physical objects, made of
a different stuff or sort of material from the psychic object.

The relation between the two worlds so conceived has been
in the past assumed to be that of "parallelism," illustrated by
the likeness to two clocks which keep time together, so that
they correspond exactly, but with no influence of one on the
other. The further question as to how the two docks get
that way, has either been answered by assuming a divine
clockmaker; or else the question has been simply ignored.
There has been always, however, a minority group of psychol-
ogists who have held the theory of interaction (which was
Descartes' real theory), namely: that the two worlds do in-
fluence one another, and that the correspondences may there-
fore be explained causally.

The discussion between the parallelists and the interaction-
ists is now merely of historical interest, and a contribution on
the subject would probably be rejected by any of the psycho-
logical journals. I think we may safely say that the remain-
ing psychologists of the introspectional school are theoretically
parallelists, but practically interactionists ; and harmonize their
theoretical and practical interests by avoiding the mention of

THE THEORETICAL ASPECT OF PSYCHOLOGY 313

the point at issue. The issue vanishes when the modern view-
point is adopted.

The general conception or presupposition of the Malebran-
chian psychology involves several specific minor conceptions,
namely: the non-observability of relations; the conception of
ideas, sensations and images; and a characteristic conception
of introspection. Since the issue between this older psychol-
ogy and the later scientific psychology has turned on these
specific conceptions, I shall briefly outline them.

It may seem strange to say that relations are not observable,
since the noting of relations is the most important detail in
practical life. But we are forced to the conclusion that the
older psychology considered them psychologically non-observ-
able, at least, for the orthodox introspectional analysis of the
"mind" gave only sensations, images, and feelings. Hence,
while the sensational facts of the world were given abundant
treatment in the psychological texts, no space was given to
relations. If relations were considered, it was merely for the
purpose of showing that they turned out to be, on examination,
merely sensations; and not even sensations of a distinctive
kind. On the other hand, since psychologists were compelled
to talk somewhat rationally at times, the perceptibility of rela-
tions was implied in the discussion of Weber's law, and in
the comparison of pitches, colors and other sense-data. Per-
haps the intention was to class relations with physical stimuli,
which, although entirely different from sensations, were in a
way implied as perceptible. This logical inconsistency, which
was never straightened out, was based on an oversight of Male-
branche's. Malebranche postulated a mental object for each
physical object, but failed to provide a mental relation to cor-
respond to a physical relation. And Malebranche's system
was never remodeled.

Malebranche, and Locke after him, assumed that man can
never perceive anything except his own mind. Effectively,
man was supposed to move in a little world of his own, for-
ever out of perceptual contact, not only with his fellows, but
with the physical world. What does he see? Nothing but his
own color sensations. What does he hear? Nothing but his
own sound sensations. Color, tone, and all the other sensuous
qualities, are no features of the real world about us. They are
merely parts of our own minds. Physical stimulations falling
upon a physical nervous system have no mental nature at all,
but, in some mysterious way, sensations in the mind are

314 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

aroused, and then we can observe those sensations, Leibnitz,
in his doctrine of monads, made this doctrine pictorially clear.
To many physicists today, this metaphysical theory of four
hundred years ago seems perfectly sound.

The philosophers who constructed this remarkable theory-
saw its obvious difficulty and went further. Man is forever
shut off from the physical world, so far as knowledge is con-
cerned: How, then, can we talk seriously about it? How can
we talk about other persons? And they found the answer in
faith in God. God must have made a "real" world, since we
have our little worlds. Therefore, he must have made a real
world to agree with our little one, or else he is a deceiver.
But the later psychologists have dispensed with God, and kept
the faith : a faith, therefore, in nothing whatever !

On this Malebranchian assumption we have a field for psy-
chological study. Physics deals with the big, real world (how,
has not been explained, since the physicist can no more per-
ceive the physical world than can the psychologist), and the
psychologist should busy himself about his little world, and
try to analyse the objects therein. And in this psychic world,
the introspectional psychologist found nothing but "sensa-
tions," "images," "feelings," and various compounds of these.
The study of perception, therefore, turned out to be a study of
"sensations;" the study of thought and memory, a study of
"images."

We can manage with the concept of "sensations" very well,
since we can apply that name to lie colors, sounds, tastes, and
other sense data which we observe in the world, and can for-
get the philosophical speculations on which the name is based.
By the use of this concept, however, a serious cause of con-
fusion was introduced, since the term "sensation" became slip-
pery, meaning now the sense datum itself, now the process
of observing the sense datum. But even that confusion might
have been avoided.

"Images" offer a serious difficulty. For the fact has been
evident since the time of Aristotle that in thinking of some-
thing, we are usually, (and perhaps always), being conscious
of something which we perceived at some earlier time. But,
according to Malebranche, we never perceive the thing: we
observe only our "sensations" in the one case and our "im-
ages" in the other. In what sense, therefore, can we say we
are thinking of that which we perceived? Where is the iden-
tity of the thing perceived and the thing thought of ?

THE THEORETICAL ASPECT OF PSYCHOLOGY 315

The answer is : the "image" must be the "sensation," in an-
other form : changed somewhat, but essentially the same. The
nature of the changes the "sensation" underwent in becoming
an "image" was a point on which various conflicting views
were held ; but the fundamental statement was the same on all
these theories: the "image" is a reproduced "sensation." And
the "idea," which is a complex of "images," is, of course, a
reproduced percept the percept being the complex of "sen-
sations" which the human observer foolishly assumes to be an
object outside him.

On this basis, the study of images and imagery occupied a
considerable part of the older psychological work and their
discussion occupied a considerable part of the psychological
texts. It was even believed that the determination of imagery-
types might be an important matter for pedagogy. But scep-
tics, (of whom I happened to be one of the worst), appeared,
and expressed doubts whether the "image" were anything but
a confusion of terms. We recognize quite readily the facts
called "sensations" when bits of colored papers are displayed,
or a violin is bowed : and we recognize certain facts that might
be called either "images" or "sensations" when the eyeball is
pressed with the thumb, or an electric current passed through
the region of the ear: but the reproduced "sensation" is an-
other matter. Can such phenomena really be demonstrated?
I came to the conclusion that they could not be. Others have
come to the same conclusion.

Now, it must be pointed out, that these sceptical persons,
or many of them at least, before they considered the matter
carefully, apparently had as vivid "images" as any of those
who still held to the image-doctrine ; and, by the usual criteria,
their imagery could be classified in the usual modal categories.
I myself, under the sway of the doctrine originally taught me,
had vivid and distinct visual and auditory "images," and "im-
ages" of other modes also. It is not probable that my mere
change of belief destroyed my "images." The change that oc-
curred was in the critical analysis I made. What I find is,
that in "haying" a visual "image," I am distinctly thinking of
a visual object: that is, an object which, when I perceived it,
had light and color. Hence, uncritically, I may still describe
my experience as "having a visual image." This is a con-
venient figure of speech, quite analogous to the speaking of
"sunrise," which does not commit me to any theory as to the
ultimate nature of the phenomenon. But there is in no sense

316 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

"present" anything that could be considered a copy or repro-
duction of the original object, whether I consider calling that
object a "sensation" or a sense datum. I find also, (and many
others have found the same), that when I am thinking of an
object, such as an automobile, which has both visual and au-
ditory aspects, it is sometimes impossible to decide, on the old
basis, whether the imagery is visual or auditory. This is a
striking fact, since it is not, in general, difficult to discriminate
visual "sensations" from auditory "sensations." Moreover, I
find that in such cases, modal characterization may be effected
by actual muscular activities while thinking: that movements
of the eyes may conduct to the characterization of the think-
ing as "visual," while certain movements of the head, and con-
tractions of the internal muscles of the ear, conduce to the
characterization as "auditory," although the thinking is not
essentially changed otherwise. From these and other con-
siderations, the conclusion is not far that the "image," as de-
scribed by the older psychology, is a myth ; that is, a name ap-
plied to the fact that I think of objects of different modalities,
just as the name "Zeus" or "Thor" applied to the fact that
thunder and lightning occur.

The discarding of the introspectional doctrine of "images"
means the abandoning of the fundamental conception of the
Malebranchian psychology; since without an "image" as an
object ^ of thought-consciousness, the whole mental world,
which is supposed to represent or parallel the real world,- goes
to pieces. That the image has been discarded effectively in
American psychology is no secret. The publication of re-
search on imagery has sunk to a negligible stage, and although
certain psychologists still talk in terms of "images," such dis-
cussion is largely figurative. A clear indication of the situa-
tion is given by the small space given to the discussion of
"images" _in even those recent texts which officially follow the
old doctrine. In fact, my own text gives more emphasis to
"images" than do certain of those texts : a matter which has
been extremely puzzling to the introspectionalists. But the
most important indication of a change of viewpoint is the
rapid development of the type of psychology which proceeds
without reference to the philosophy on which the image-doc-
trine was based.

m 'Introspection," in the older psychology, meant the observa-
tion of consciousness." But since "consciousness" has been
very generally used in a double sense, this statement needs

THE THEORETICAL ASPECT OF PSYCHOLOGY 317

supplementation. "Consciousness" means, in popular parlance
and in scientific usage also, the observing of something. In
the Malebranchian psychology, it means the thing observed,
which, in that psychology, could only be a "sensation," an
"image," a "feeling," or a complex of these. It is true that
all the older psychologists, and many today, use the term
"consciousness" in both ways, and hence commit many logical
fallacies, as well as heap up confusions; but when technically
exact, the introspectional psychology has meant by "conscious-
ness," the "sensations," "images" and "feelings" as they were
defined, namely: as mental objects, to be observed (that is,
"sentienda"). But, of course, these mental psychic objects
were supposed to be observed; and that observation was
called introspection.

Now, it might be supposed, on the basis of the principles
laid down, that introspection is the only sort of observation
possible, since the only thing which can really be observed is
"consciousness," that is, the complex of "sensations," "im-
ages" and "ideas." Hence, the physicist would use introspec-
tion in his work just as much as the psychologist does in his.
At this point the Malebranchian psychology undeniably had
difficulty, and became correspondingly vague. An early ten-
dency was to admit external observation, as well as internal
observation or introspection. Observing the physical world
is external observation ; observing "consciousness" is introspec-
tion. This admission was fatal, for if the direct observation
of the physical world were possible without the intervention
of psychical objects, then the whole construction of the world
of "images" and "sensations" and "feelings" would be super-
fluous, and the Malebranchian psychology would commit sui-
cide. Those later psychologists of this school who were
troubled by logical scruples, therefore defined "introspection"
in another way. It is true, they said, that the physicist, just
as much as the psychologist, observes "sensations." (We may
omit consideration of "images" and "feelings" since they are
not supposed to trouble the physicist.) But he observes them
for a different purpose, namely, the purpose of constructing,
or at least of referring to, the real (and by hypothesis imper-
ceptible) external world. "Introspection," then, at least so
far as it concerns "sensations," was assumed to differ from
"external observation" in purpose only: not in the nature of
the objects observed, nor in the nature of the observation
itself.

318 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

There have been, however, other views on the matter of
introspection, aside from these orthodox ones I have described.
Stout, for example, and a considerable following of his, have
meant by "introspection" the direct observing of observing.
Assuming, with the rest of the older school, that the things
observed in ordinary observation are "sensations," "feelings/*
and "images," they claimed that by a trick of the mind, the
observing itself could be observed. For example : after having
observed a "sensation of red," one could observe the preceding
observation: this statement not meaning that one could ob-
serve the red again, but meaning that one could observe that
which was not, at the previous moment, an object, but was
the observing of an object. The American School of introspec-
tionists, however, have generally repudiated Stout's position,
and have never insisted that observing could be observed. In
fact, some of them have directly denied that possibility.

The position of Stout and his followers is an important one,
and it was against that position that I directed an early paper
of mine. 1 Stout's position is not dependent on the Malebran-
chian assumptions, and is upheld by certain present day phil-
osophers who reject Malebranchism and all its works. Hence,
this position is the really critical one, and the attack and de-
fense can by no means be considered ended.

While my own conclusion still is that consciousness, (by
which I mean the fact or act of observing), cannot itself be
observed, proof to the contrary would not in any wise upset
any other conclusion of mine, nor change in any essential way
the postulates of scientific psychology.

"Introspection" as the observation of psychic objects: of
"sensations," "images," and "feelings;" does not offer much
interest in the way of discussion. It is a^simple terminological
corollary from the general Malebr^ncfiian theory, and aside
from that theory, merely . jneaas that when the psychologist
makes an observation, it is to be called "introspection;" and
when the physicist makes an observation perhaps an observa-
tion of the same facts the psychologist has observed, it is to
be called something else, such as "external observation." The
only criticism I should make of this is that it involves the

*The Case against introspection, 1912, Psychol. Rev., XIX, 404413.
Tins was merely an introduction to another paper, The nature of
perceived relations, 1912, Psychol. Rev., XIX, 415446; which was a
thorough discussion of the fundamental 'points at issue

THE THEORETICAL ASPECT OF PSYCHOLOGY 319

waste of a perfectly good term, 2 which ought to be retained
for another signification, in which, in our common language,
we do use it.

Introspection, as used in every-day language, means literally
an inward vision: a paying attention to, or observing of the
processes of the organism itself: the feelings, emotions, and
organic processes of other kinds organic sensations, if you
want to cling to that term ; and in scientific psychology we can
most usefully employ the term in practically the same way;
to signify the awareness of things inside the body; of feel-
ings, emotions, organic changes, and muscular activities.

I have so far emphasized the inadequacies of the Malbran-
chian viewpoint in psychology in order to bring out, by con-
trast, the characteristics of the modern science. On the other
hand, it is necessary to point out the continuity of the modern
developments with past progress. For it would be a mistake
to assume that the scientific psychology of today is a new psy-
chology. Along with the declining influence of the postulates
of the Malebranchian metaphysics, there had been t for half
a century, a steadily growing experimental psychology whose
problems have been less and less formulated in relation to the
old viewpoint, and whose interests have gradually been broad-
ening. Many of the results of the early experimental work
are invalidated by the postulates which are included in the
data from which they were drawn, and many of the data are
inadequate because of the bad planning of the work due to the
philosophical postulates; but in both Germany and America
these conditions steadily improved, and a psychology developed
which was independent of the old philosophical bonds, while
not formally disowning them. By 1900 an iconoclastic spirit
was abroad; an impatience with the restriction of investiga-
tion and interests to the examination of an artificial "mind"
whose living prototype could not be found. The introduction
of experimental methods into the study of animal behavior;
the placing of the study of children on the basis of conscious
behavior by Binet and Ebbinghaus ; and the rise of interest in
social psychology; all contributed to the growing tendency of
psychology to return to Aristotle and face its problem clearly
as the problem how we perceive, how we think, how we act,

"In another form of this criticism, I would point out that, the
assigning of "introspection" as the distinctive method of the psy-
chologist is a needless circle of terms, if "introspection" is defined
as merely the method the psychologist uses.

320 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

how we feel ; instead of the old substitute problem of what we
perceive, what we think of, and what we feel ; that is, the old
analysis of a world of "mental objects." Into this growing
movement the notion of mental activity as dependent _on, or
a part of, not mere action of brain cells, but on reaction, or
complete sensori-motor response; a notion whose origins and
mode of percolation into psychological thought are still ob-
scure; entered as the great synthetizing factor, and the be-
ginnings of scientific psychology were in existence. This syn-
thesis was made possible by the new conception of the think-
ing process, first suggested by Max Muller, as dependent on
motor activities; a conception which has now become funda-
mental in scientific psychology. 3

The result of these changes was apparently a lessening of
the emphasis on consciousness; but it was also an increase in
the emphasis on consciousness. Consciousness in the Male-
branchian sense, (mental objects or mental data or mental
stuff) ceased to interest psychologists; and consciousness as
the process of observing anything whatever; that awareness
which the older psychologists, even James, had refused to ad-
mit to psychology, came to its own. It is true, the psycho-
analysts have temporarily salvaged the Malebranchian con-
sciousness from the junk heap, and by a continuation of the
confusion of the two meanings of the word, have continued
Janet's repudiated invention of "unconscious consciousness."
But even this revamped form of the old and rusty materials

*My own pioneering work in the introduction of this conception
into the fundamentals of psychology may be traced in Images and
Ideas, Johns Hopkins Circular, 1914, no. 3, pp. 2541 (reprinted in
part in the Biological Basis of the Association of Ideas, Psycho-
biology, 1920, vol. ii, pp. 29-53) ; An Outline of Psychobiology, 1st edi-
dition, 1914, The Johns Hopkins Press, chapter IX, p. Ill; Thought
Content and Feeling, Psychological Review, 1916, vol. xxiii, pp. 49-
70; and Elements of Scientific Psychology, 1922, the C. V. Mosby Co.,
chaps, x and xiv. While I had really committed myself to the gen-
eral position in my System of Psychology, 1912, Charles Scribners
Sons, by my treatment of ideas and images, I had not then broken
away from the concept of "brain states" as the basis of conscious-
ness, nor from the old doctrine of perception as involving imagina-
tion, (which is not the same as images).

The conception was of necessity adopted by the behaviorists, and
has been of late unduly exaggerated by practically limiting the
thought-reaction to the language-reaction, and by assuming that
complete reaction is in all cases necessary for thought: neither of
these assumptions is as yet justified.

THE THEORETICAL ASPECT OF PSYCHOLOGY 321

is breaking down, and the spread of the more scientific doc-
trine is rapidly progressing.

It was not to be expected that this transformation, rapid as
it has been, should have been consummated without some off-
shoots of a radical sort. The re-emphasis on the study of be-
havior as the fundamental method of psychology, together
with the ejection of consciousness in its Malebranchian mean-
ing, furnished a starting point for behaviorism, which proposed
to reduce psychology to mere physical anthropology. But the
study of behavior is as old as Aristotle, and the only novelty
in behaviorism was what it omitted in its experimental meth-
ods ; not what it retained. By successive steps to which it has
been forced, behaviorism has returned from its meteoric flight,
and now differs only verbally from the more conservative
schools of psychology, and in the difficulties its verbal inhibi-
tions inflict upon it. In fact, only the acute psychologist can
distinguish the behaviorist from the non-behaviorist in these
days, except by the labels affixed ; and the truth is that some
who have labeled themselves have mistaken their own labels.
Behaviorism was, a few years ago, a distinctive movement,
with unique theories and methods. But it has found itself
constrained to abandon its distinctive methods, and its theories,
in so far as these are distinctive, are distinctive in terminology
only.

We turn now from the survey of the recent past to the
consideration of the psychology of today. We have indicated
already some of its characteristics, among which the most im-
portant is the adherence to the view of the organism as a re-
sponse mechanism, and the assimilation of the conscious re-
sponses to the other responses. This is, in fact, a simplifica-
tion, rather than an addition, for we have long known that
the organism, whatever else it might be, is a response mechan-
ism, and is primarily that. What we have done is merely to
extend this necessary biological conception to the psychologi-
cal field, displacing there the additional hypotheses which had
in the past seemed requisite additions. In other words, we
have made one well developed hypothesis to grow where sev-
eral unnecessary ones grew before. This simplification has
meant, among other things, a definite break with the phreno-
logical conceptions of brain function which ruled physiologi-
cal psychology for so long a time, and which the work of Marie
and the work of Franz showed to be so inadequate.

The laws of habit, and the laws of heredity have conse-

322 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

quently been extended from the biological field to the psycho-
logical. This extension has been the easier because the most
anciently known laws of habit, the laws of the association of
ideas, so-called, were discovered in the psychological field.
But with this extension, the problems of mental habit have
been vastly simplified, and the knowledge of mental operations
have been greatly extended. .-Ontogenetic psychology has be-
come a possibility; and phylogenetic psychology will also be
possible when the subject of genetics has reached a more stable
ground.

Another biological concept, specifically a physiological no-
tion, has also been extended to the psychological field as a
necessary consequence of the response hypothesis ; the concep-
tion of integration, which is so intimate a part of the modern
concepSoh of Kafeit and learning. With the conception of in-
tegration, the tendency to look upon the reaction pathways (or
arcs) as simple and distinct elements in the neural mechanism,
has vanished. The conception of reflexes as merely one variety
of reaction, differing from the more complicated responses
only in degree; and of the "pure reflex" as only an analytic
fiction, non-existent in the normal human animal, although
obtainable under abnormal conditions, has been a necessary
consequence of the integration conception, and has eliminated
a great deal of troublesome theory which had been built up
concerning the relation of reflex action to random action, to
impulsive action, and to instinctive tendencies.

With the simpler conception of the relation of so-called re-
flexes and more complicated reactions, new problems open up.
It is no longer possible to "explain" instinctive or hereditary
reaction tendencies by referring them to a "chain of reflexes"
or even by contrasting them sharply with reflexes. All reac-
tion now seems to be of the same essential type, within which
the most important variation is in degree of integration.
Other variations are too numerous to permit of any simple
classification on this basis. The problem of the interrelation
of heredity and environment, nature and nurture, instinct and
habit, endowment and acquisition, concerns action generally,
and perception and thought as well. The older and simpler
solution of this problem, by reference to "instincts" has gone
by the board, and in its place we have the growing hypothesis
that all action is inherited, and all is acquired; that heredity
can no longer be contrasted with environment, but that neither
has any significance except in terms of the other. It is no

THE THEORETICAL ASPECT OF PSYCHOLOGY 323

longer possible to settle the question as to the future of war
by saying that man has a hereditary "pugnacious tendency/'
or "tendency to conflict." We have to inquire first what this
tendency, which may be described as pugnacious in one envir-
onmental condition, will be in other environmental conditions.
Psychology today bases its conceptions of hereditary tenden-
cies squarely on the biologists' conception of a tendency to
react to one stimulus pattern in one way, and to other stimulus
patterns in other ways; that is, not as an independent action
tendency, but as a response tendency. And we include in the
conception of a hereditary tendency a great deal of that which
we also call "habit." That is to say, a tendency to react to a
certain stimulus pattern in a certain way, is, at the same time,
a tendency to react to that pattern in a quite different way
after a certain other series of reactions have occurred. If we
dub the new-born calf's tendency to suck the cow's nipple or
suck your finger, as "instinctive" or "hereditary;" then we
must also dub as "instinctive" his tendency to drink milk out
of a pail; a tendency which he "acquires" through the reac-
tions of sucking your fingers when you have immersed them
and his nose in the milk.

The factors which have contributed to this great and rapid
change in the conception of instinct and habit, aside from the
fundamental response hypothesis, into harmony with which
the conceptions have been brought, have been the growing
comprehension of the arbitrariness and unworkableness of the
old "instinct" doctrine, and the realization of the fact that if
the doctrine of the inheritance of complicated reaction tenden-
cies, in magic independence of habit formation, were really
true, there would be reason to suspect the inheritance of think-
ing tendencies too; since the thinking tendencies are reaction
tendencies also, and probably not a whit more complicated than
the other reaction tendencies which are included under the
old category of "instincts." Thus, the Lockian doctrine of
no innate ideas would go by the board, along with the schol-
astic doctrine: nihil est in intellects, quod non fuerit prius in
sensu, which psychology has heretofore so completely accepted.

The most gratifying result of all these changes has been a
renewed enthusiasm for experimental research on the prob-
lems of mental heredity, including research on the problem
raised by Preyer long ago, and later ignored ; the problem of
the behavior of the embryo in utero. The old notion that we
can accept the animal at the moment of birth as a machine

324 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

prepared entirely through heredity ; and assume that the opera-
tion of the laws of habit-formation begins to operate only
then, has passed away along with other arbitrary and useless
assumptions.

Another problem on which experimentation has hardly be-
gun, but on which we may definitely expect searching investi-
gation, is the problem of the relative modifiability of the in-
tegratively different grades of reaction. "It was assumed once
on a time that there are reflexes which are unmodifiable by the
process of habit formation as ordinarily conceived. Now,
however, there is a tendency to assume that these reflexes are
relatively easily modifiable. But it is admitted that the evi-
dence so far is rather naive and inconclusive ; and the question
of the relative modifiability of so-called reflexes looms as one
of the most important questions bearing on the whole theory
of reactions.

One highly important feature of modern scientific psychol-
ogy is the emphasis on patterns. This emphasis is the "result
of many influences, ancTITTs "Impossible to ascribe it to- any
single author or any single preceding development. But it is
an emphasis which would naturally be produced by the con-
ception of integration, and the development of this emphasis
has been, as a matter of fact, a detail in the development of the
integration concept.

James, over thirty years ago, warned us against the treat-
ment of analytical details as actually isolable facts, and the
more scientific treatment he recommended has gradually pre-
vailed. But with the change of psychology from a philoso-
phical to a biological basis, the tendency to treat the analyti-
cally discernible reaction pathways as separable elements in
the response mechanism asserted itself, and the tendency to
treat of ^ stimuli as if some restricted detail of stimulation
could of itself bring about this or that specific reaction, was car-
ried over from the earlier psychology. The conceptions of re-
flexes, in particular, as separable elements in the total re-
sponses was one manifestation of this psychological attitude.
The conception of instincts as central forces or plural psyches,
harmonizing and controlling these assumed individual reaction
tendencies, was another manifestation.

The consideration of action as an effective force in the
world, however^ calls "attention to the -enormous significance
of pattern, that is, to the interrelationship, temporally and spa-
tially, of the analytically discriminable details of animal acts.

THE THEORETICAL ASPECT OF PSYCHOLOGY 325

The fact that seemingly slight changes in the relationships of
details may change the practical effects of the whole act is un-
deniable. A thousand details may be rightly related, but a
single detail out of the right relationship may ruin the effect.
Obviously, the temporal pattern, or succession of details, is
at least as important as the spatial pattern at any moment.

At the other end of the response, the efficacy of stimulation
is equally dependent upon pattern. No one reacts to single
stimuli, and the analytically distinct detail, such as a descrip-
tively single color stimulus, or single note, may produce, at
different times, quite different reactions, depending upon the
concurrent and preceding stimulation. Or, rather, these ana-
lytical details do not produce the reactions ; they are mere de-
tails in a total stimulus pattern which, and which only, can be
said to initiate the reaction.

Between this stimulus pattern and the resulting action pat-
tern, there is, of course, a neural pattern which is different
for each response which differs in action pattern or in stimulus
pattern from any other response. Given a stimulus pattern,
the action pattern ultimately resulting must be dependent on
the neural pattern, or transit pattern evoked. The formation
of habits is, therefore, essentially the formation of tendencies
to integrate the nervous transit activities into certain transit
patterns. In the conscious reactions, the type of conscious
process depends on the type of transit pattern, and not on
mere spatial pattern of brain cell function, as older theories
assumed. On this basis, the ontogenetic development of per-
ception is understandable as a building up of reaction patterns
so that eventually certain stimulus patterns, or stimulus pat-
terns of a certain type, come to produce more and more speci-
fic reaction patterns; and these patterns take on progressively
more useful forms, so that the actions and the perceptions in-
volved in them become better and better adapted to the en-
vironment. We can see also the reason for the resemblance
between the thinking process and the perceiving process; and
also the difference between them. If thinking does depend on
previous perception, perception must have built up patterns of
reaction to external stimuli, and the terminal action patterns
are partially repeated later to internal stimuli. But since the
stimulus patterns in the two cases are different, the neural
patterns are different in spite of the partial identity of the ac-
tion patterns. Briefly, we can say that the greater or less
identity of the perception of anything- and the subsequent

326 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

thinking of the same thing lies in the greater or less identity
of the terminal acts of the two reactions; and that the essen-
tial difference between the two processes lies in the difference
in the stimulation patterns.

_Attention, once a formidable problem for psychology, so
formidable that it was generally erected into a separate "fac-
ulty" of the mind, (the usual way of disposing of something
wluch can not be taken into the general explanatory system),
is still a problem. But it is a problem of patterns of integra-
tion and future solutions are to be worked out on that basis.

The perception of relations was too hard a nut to crack
for the Malebranchian psychology, as I have earlier pointed
out. But for the modern scientific psychology it is just one
nut among the others, all of which are to be gradually un-
shelled together. In the little world of mental objects, there
were no mental objects provided to represent the actual re-
lations between objects in the big real world. Furthermore,
in the phrenological system of the brain there were no "cen-
ters" for relations as there were for "sensations/' Hence,
there was nothing for psychology to do but to soft-pedal the
problem of relations and the perception of relations. In mod-
ern psychology, however, we have no microcosmic mental
world to deal with, and in our psychobiology we have no brain
"centers" for the production of mythical mental objects. Re-
lations between external objects we do perceive; and having
perceived them, we think of them. That which we perceive is
always a pattern, in which relations are always involved; and
the selective emphasis on these, or attention to these is a mat-
ter of differential integration of the responses, just as is the
attention to this or that sense datum. The problems concern-
ing the perception of relation are, therefore, no different from
the problems of perceiving sense data, and in so far as the
problems of one group is solved the others are ipso facto
solved.

In what I have called scientific psychology, there can be no
reasonable doubt that we have come to a permanent basis for
psychology. By permanent, I do not, of course, mean perfect
or final. If the science does not die, there must always be pro-
gressive improvement in its fundamental conception. But no
science can be considered established until it has a basis which
is permanent in the sense that whatever further is added, it
will remain* Chemistry became an established science with
the adoption of the atomic hypothesis, and although the ion

THE THEORETICAL ASPECT OF PSYCHOLOGY 327

and electron theories, and the discoveries of radio activity and
of the transformation of elements have vastly extended the
basis o-f the science, and entirely reinterpreted the atomic hy-
pothesis, the hypothesis has not really been superseded. Cer-
tain notions as to its finality and sufficiency have been swept
away, but in so far as the atomic hypothesis was a useful basis,
it still endures. Comparing the atomic hypothesis in chemistry
and the Copernican theory in astronomy with the reaction hy-
pothesis in psychology shows significant likenesses in the rela-
tions of the three hypotheses to the subject matter of the three
sciences in the stage at which they have been introduced. Com-
prehensive in their scope, leaving nothing out to be a skeleton
in the closet; simplifying what previously was excessively
complicated ; and enormously fertile in regard to further work,
these hypotheses are foundations of sciences.

With the responses hypothesis as the basis, the future of
experimental psychology is bright. We have our popular psy-
chologists to combat; but the chemists had their alchemists
and the astronomers had their astrologers. Perhaps, if we
devote ourselves to research as industriously as have the as-
tronomers and the chemists, our character analysts, psycho-
analysts and other pseudo-psychologists will be reduced to the
same innocuous condition.

Of course, there are many philosophical questions left un-
solved by the present psychological position, and the progress
of scientific psychology has been rather around them than
through them. If I am asked by an acute philosopher: How
can you assume the occurrence of consciousness, if you do
not assume that consciousness is observable? I have to reply:
Well, why not? Consciousness seems to be a fact, and the
assumption that it isn't a fact destroys not only psychology
but physical science. For it is futile for the physicist to- pres-
ent his observation if he assumes that he hasn't made any ob-
servations. On the other hand, I don't think I can observe con-
sciousness; consciousness seems to be always the observing of
something. If you can prove that consciousness can be ob-
served, then I will accept the proof ; but I can't see that that
would make any difference in my psychology otherwise. In the
meantime, therefore, psychology need not worry over the ques-
tion.

Furthermore, the ancient epistemological question may still
be brought up. I may be asked by the same acute philosopher:
How can you possibly observe something outside your mind?

328 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

And, again I should answer, Why not? It would seem to me
just as difficult to explain how I can observe something inside
my mind; and I prefer to let the metaphysical question rest,
and stand on the fact that something is observed, a^id that it
frequently is something which is also called the outside world.
Further, I should point out that the creation of an internal
world to represent the external doesn't solve the problem, for
the question remains in the form : How do we get from this
microcosm to the macrocosm we are after?

Perhaps the one philosophical question which does directly
concern the psychologist's work is the question as to the re-
lation between perceived objects and stimuli. For the prac-
tical development of psychological work, even this question
is no obstacle, but the psychologist, like all other men, likes to
have his logical problems ironed out, even if those problems
do not have a practical bearing on his work. The dualistic
hypothesis did not solve this problem, although it was pre-
cisely the problem that epistemological dualism has contrived
to solve. While I have my own solution which is quite satis-
factory to me, and which is precisely the solution to which
many physical scientists have come, the matter is so far enough
detached from the main business of psychology that it is not
advisable to drag it into the present discourse.

The philosophical conflict between mechanism and vitalism
interests certain psychologists intensely today, but I cannot
help feeling that however interesting the problem may be to
them personally, it is of no concern to their psychology. The
practical solution of this problem is attributed to Lotze, and
that solution, although philosophically comic, is really a formu-
lation of a useful practical attitude. Lotze, I believe, taught
that before a decision between two alternative courses of ac-
tion is made, we should regard the future act as free, that
is, undetermined; but that in looking back on it, we should
regard the course taken as having been rigidly determined.

There is, in short, no conflict between the mechanism which
as scientists we all assume, whatever our speculative views,
and the effectiveness of purposes which likewise we all as*
sume. What may be the limits of mechanism, and what the
limits of purposive effects, is another matter which, it is pos-
sible, will some day be of importance to both psychological
and physical science, but whose importance is not yet evident.
Tills question, too, we can wisely leave to the philosophers,

THE THEORETICAL ASPECT OF PSYCHOLOGY 329

although among the philosophers we may include ourselves in
our leisure moments.

In conclusion, I should like to emphasize again the contin-
uity of psychological progress, and the indebtedness of the
viewpoints that seem revolutionary to the viewpoints they
supplant. Many, perhaps all, of the positions which we have
had to revise have been positions which were true in some fun-
damental respect, and we have merely made use of them in
revised and reinterpreted forms. It is clear that the psycholo-
gist has to deal with a world of private content, with which
the natural sciences have no dealings directly, just as the Male-
branchians assumed. But this world is not the sort of a world
they believed it to be. It is merely the world of our own
bodies, which we perceive through kinesthesis and organic
sensitivity (including feelings and emotions), and which no
one else can perceive in that way. This bodily world is the
world of actual introspection. Many other conceptions of sci-
entific psychology are reinterpretations of older viewpoints, or
directly derived from them. But important as is that which is
passed on from previous generations, that which is added by
succeeding generations is equally important. The way to our
present conclusion has been prepared and made plain by the
labor of those who by no means have always agreed to the
conclusions to which they have contributed. Acknowledging
our indebtedness to them, we cannot but regret that they are
sometimes unwilling to consummate their work by advancing
with us. And very probably the next generation will be mak-
ing the same remark about many o>f us.

CHAPTER XV

THE EXPERIMENTAL METHODS OF
PSYCHOLOGY*

BY KNIGHT DUNLAP

Psychology, in its period of transformation, had apparently
an experimental method all its own ; the so-called introspective
method, which was contrasted with the method of the physical
sciences. With the development of psychology into a science
on what appears to be a permanent basis, this methodological
distinction has passed away. Introspection in the sense of
observation of one's own bodily processes remains as a neces-
sary part of experimental method; but, like the observation
of external things, it is ruled by more general experimental
methods and technique. It might seem, therefore, that the
methods of psychology are simply those of natural science in
general, and differ from those of biology, chemistry, and
physics only in the same way in which the methods of each
of these sciences differ from those of the others. It is, of
course, obvious that although the methods of science may be
general, and apply to all sciences alike, neverthless they are
also particular; and the applications of the general methods
in the different sciences will be determined by the specific
problems of those sciences.

To a large extent, this conclusion is justified. The funda-
mental principles of scientific method which rigidly control
the physical sciences, control also experimental psychology;
and no procedure which does not conform to those general
principles is either justifiable or worthy of consideration in
psychology. 1

Obviously, the application of methods and the forms of
technique are different in individual psychology as dis-
tinguished from general psychology. Animal psychology has
its own special techniques, as it has its specific problems. Ab-
normal psychology and child psychology also have their highly
specialized methods or techniques, and the psychologist trained
in only one of these various fields is not prepared to enter an-
other until he has become familiar with its peculiar problems
and difficulties and mastered its techniques.

*Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University,
April 21, 1925.

*The variations in method which are necessary in psychology may
well be described as variations in technique rather than in method;
but the delimitation of terms in this precise logical way is not
essential

332 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

The fundamental scientific methods of psychology are four-
fold. They require, first: the recognition of all data as oc-
curring in situations which are describable as observations.
That is, its fundamental data are data to consciousness. Data
which are not observed data are not data for experimentation.
The essential starting point, therefore, for psychological ex-
periment includes the acknowledgment of consciousness, and
of something of which the consciousness is.

Second: the methods require the formation of competent
hypotheses derived either from previous experimental work
or from less formal observations. Without hypotheses, ex-
perimentation is impossible. The competence of the hypotheses
depends both on their adaptability for experimental test, and
their vital relation to further hypotheses or to applications.
Hypotheses are useless unless they are competent.

Third: the hypotheses must be subjected to test, to deter-
mine their truth or falsity. Experimentation, in effect, is
just the subjection of hypotheses to crucial test, and no other
procedure is called by that name. Although the great mass
of technical procedure centers about the performance of the
test, the test itself is no more vital to experimental work than
the formulation of the hypotheses to be tested. Both are re-
quisite, and defects in either may be equally fatal.

Fourth: The proof established by the test must have a
specific form, namely, repeatability. The issue of the experi-
ment must be a statement of the hypothesis, the conditions of
test, and the results, in such form that another experimenter,
from the description alone, may be able to repeat the ex-
periment. Nothing is accepted as proof, in psychology or in
any other science, which does not conform to this requirement.
The psychologist must carefully consider these principles
of method and view each special technique and application in
their light, until they become a part of his habitual method
of thought. Only then can he be certain of not applying his
time and energy wastefully and of not being caught in eddies
and back-currents of experimentation from which there is no
progressive issue. What I have to say in the following dis-
course will, therefore, center about these four fundamentals
of scientific method, although I shall not attempt to develop
these four principles in a discreet systematic way.

The field of psychology, however, is so broad that it can-
not be said that in all of its extensions the principles of na-
tural science are its sufficient chart and guide, although in

EXPERIMENTAL METHODS OF PSYCHOLOGY 333

every province of psychology they are valid and necessary.
There is, undoubtedly, a field of educational psychology which
will some day be cultivated, and in which already a few slight
beginnings have been made. The name, indeed, has long been
familiar, but has so far been almost altogether applied to those
fragments of general and individual psychology which depart-
ments of education have chosen to take over into their cur-
ricula; and the fragments have not, so far, been selectively
restricted to any particular part of psychology, but cover
broadly the whole field.

An examination of the courses offered under the name of
"educational psychology" in colleges and universities through-
out the United States shows the interesting fact that some of
these courses contain one group of psychological topics, some
another; and frequently when two courses are compared it
will be found that neither contains anything that the other
contains. Altogether, these courses scatter over the entire
field of psychology, although since the introduction of intelli-
gence tests the courses in educational psychology tend more
and more to that topic, and many courses contain nothing but
a routine training in the scoring of intelligence tests. In the
field of research the same condition obtains. Practically, all
of the research articles found in the journals and monographs
of educational psychology are, in their scope and topics, such
as are common in general and individual psychology.

Yet, a real educational psychology will be developed, and
when it is, its methods may be somewhat different from those
of the general science. The newly developed subject of social
psychology is manifestly waiting for the development of ex-
perimental methods of its own, and some of them may be
available for educational psychology. Whether racial psy-
chology, when it appears, will have its methods, will deter-
mine the possibility of racial psychology being experimental;
but in any event, the experimental method of the general sci-
ence will probably not be sufficient in this field either.

For the present, our greatest concern is with the experi-
mental methods of general psychology, not only because they
are fundamental, but also because for all of the special fields
of psychology the greatest need is for the application of ex-
perimental results from the general field. This is the case,
for example, in the psychology of religion, where the inter-
pretation of the data of ancient and savage peoples is, of
course, impossible of direct experimental approach, but de-

334 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

pends for its interpretation on the experimental data which
may be brought to it.

The rapid transformation of psychology in the early part
of the 19th century, in its successful attempt to become ex-
perimental led to the application to its data of ^certain mathe-
matical methods taken over directly from physics, and astron-
omy, and which are quite appropriate to physical science, and
fruitful therein. These mathematical methods are based on
the method of least squares as applied to the theory of proba-
bility of errors in observation and chance variations of other
sorts ; and assume as fundamental the distribution of measure-
ments which are subject to "chance" variation solely, in a
form which can be represented by a symmetrical curve which
has a definite equation, known as the Gaussian curve, or curve
of error. Or more accurately: the distribution approximates
the form of the Gaussian curve in proportion as the number
of measurements increases, and in proportion as the errors
due to other than what is called "chance" are eliminated.
For this reason, the Gaussian curve is called the "normal
curve" and distributions are said to be "normal" in so far
as they approximate reasonably close to the Gaussian form.
For the sake of clearness, I shall throughout the following
discussion designate the statistical method which depends upon
the method of least squares as the higher statistical method,
(by analogy with the term "higher mathematics"), and cer-
tain other statistical methods not depending on Gaussian pos-
tulates as the simpler statistical methods.

It seemed to many of the nineteenth century psychologists
that if the higher mathematical methods, which are useful in
physical science, could be applied to psychological data, psy-
chology would ipso facto become a science. The methods had
been developed in the first place with regard to errors of ob-
servation, and are used in physics today, primarily to correct
for errors in observation. Psychology deals primarily with
observations; and if the variations in observation could be
considered as "errors" or chance variations from a true meas-
ure, the physicist's methods should be directly applicable.

In that period of psychology, threshold observations and
threshold determinations played a relatively more prominent
part than they do today; so that it is but natural that the first
application of the higher statistical method should have been
to the technique of determining thresholds. This application
reached its heights in the "Method of Rierht and Wron? Cases"

EXPERIMENTAL METHODS OF PSYCHOLOGY 335

which occupies a prominent place in the literature of the latter
quarter of the 19th century. By mathematical calculation,
tables were prepared by which thresholds were computed with
great mathematical exactness from relatively few observa-
tions. The practical procedure amounted to this: from data
obtained by presenting only one, or only a few, stimulus dif-
ferences, a prediction was made as to what would have hap-
pened if a larger series of differences had been presented for
observation: and this prediction was named the "threshold."

Fortunately, this practice of giving crude, and often few,
data a refined mathematical treatment has practically passed
from experimental psychology. In fact, what many students
today learn as the "Method of Right and Wrong Cases" is an
absolutely different and far simpler method than the original
one to which I refer.

The most unfortunate assumption involved in the mathe-
matical threshold methods, was the assumption that the
"threshold" is a fixed and definite value, and that the diverse
readings obtained in a properly designed series of measure-
ments are of the nature of "errors" or chance variations from
the true value which should have been obtained, whereas, as
a matter of fact, each of these is as true a threshold as any
other. This assumption is embodied in a different form in
the assumption that the normal curve of distribution of psy-
chological data, (judgments of difference, in this case), is a
"normal" curve in the Gaussian sense; and that the distinctly
different forms actually obtained for certain types of data are
variations from the true form, and can be corrected for. As
a matter of fact, we know that the really normal distribu-
tions for many sorts of psychological data are far from Gaus-
sian; and that in these cases an approximation to the Gaus-
sian form would be direct evidence of either gross experi-
mental error, or unjustifiable statistical juggling.

The most serious practical effect of the mathematical method
was a lessening of the emphasis on the value of the data itself.
Not only were refined calculations made from data too few to
be a basis for the simplest mathematical treatment, but the
data often were obtained under conditions of planning and
execution of the work which were seriously inadequate. Why
this effect should have been produced may not be entirely
clear, but it manifestly was produced; and with the abandon-
ment of the higher statistical method has come about' a great
improvement in other respects, principally an increased em-

336 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

phasis on the reliability of the data itself, and increased care
in disposing the experimental work to the end of securing
data of the maximal quality and adequate quantity. The fun-
damental difficulties in the way of the application of the higher
statistical method to psychological data may be illustrated from
reaction-time measurements. Here the normal distribution is
distinctly skewed, that is, it is not "normal" at all in the ar-
bitrary Gaussian meaning of the term. Actually, the proba-
bility of a positive deviation from the median is greater than
the probability of an equal negative deviation, and there is
no probable error of the distribution, but two measures which
might be called probable errors, namely: the median deviation
above the average and the median deviation below the aver-
age. No calculations based on the formula of the Gaussian
curve can be made, therefore, unless the difference in the
probabilities of the positive and negative deviations can be ac-
curately computed and corresponding corrections introduced
in the formulae. Theoretically, this might be done for a given
collection of data. But the data required for the purpose
would be so copious that there would be no gain in the appli-
cation of the higher statistical methods, since the results there-
of, in so far as valid, would have been already obtained.

But there is still another difficulty which cannot be over-
come even in theory. The physical applications of the higher
statistical methods depend on the assumption that the con-
ditions of measurement are throughout the same except for
the so-called chance variations, that is, the variations which
in the long run follow the Gaussian law of error. That which
is measured is assumed to have a fixed value, which is inde-
pendent of the measurements, and is not affected by the meas-
uring process. The length of a bar of steel, for example, at
a constant temperature, is assumed to be a fixed definite quan-
tity, and the measurements which the physicist makes are as-
sumed not to affect this length, which is therefore the same
throughout the series of measurements. But in psychological
measurements the conditions are quite different. That which
is measured in the reaction time experiment, for example, is
not a fixed quantity, but a variable, and the measurements
themselves affect its magnitude. If we obtain a hundred re-
actions from a given reactor under external conditions as
usual as possible, the last measurements differ from the first
not merely by chance errors of measurement, but also because
that which is measured is itself different. In other words,

EXPERIMENTAL METHODS OF PSYCHOLOGY 337

practice effects are involved, and practice effects continue to
manifest themselves even after thousands of reactions have
been made. Theoretically, the law of practice effects for a
given subject under constant conditions might be computed,
and correction made for this: practically, no such corrections
would be useful. The higher statistical methods would at this
point become so "high" that they would be unwieldy.

The fact is, that after habituation, the reactions become
changed in complex ways, involving not only habit formation,
but changes in attitudes of the reactor. If we are interested
in the type of reactions made in ordinary life, we do not get
these after long mechanical practice in a fixed condition. The
representative values obtained from higher mathematical treat-
ment of series of reaction times are no more significant at best
than the results of the simpler treatment which experimental
psychology gives them; and they may be entirely misleading.
Similar conclusions obtain for almost all the data of experi-
mental psychology.

At the present time, experimental psychology tends to em-
ploy no mathematical methods in the treatment of data beyond
simple addition, subtraction and division. In this respect, at
least, experimental psychology is distinguished from educa-
tional psychology and mental measurements. Averages, medi-
ans, and modes as representatives of series of measurements;
and mean variations and percentage variations as measures
of variation from these representative values, have been es-
tablished, or are at least accepted, as practically useful and
justifiable. 1 Any results and conclusions depending upon more
elaborate mathematical treatment of data are under suspicion,
and are not accepted unless confirmed by the simpler method.
Even the probable error of an average is under the ban, since
it really has no significance in most cases, and in every case
gives a misleading appearance of a significance which it does
not possess.

It was not to be expected, however, that the statistical
method would be so easily routed from psychology. It offers
an easy method for the obtaining of "results," and the results
have an impressive appearance due to the profundity of the
mathematical principles involved. The fact that these prin-
ciples are above the comprehension of the person doing the
research, and that the results, therefore, seem to come as gifts

a This is not intended as a complete list of accepted measures, nor
to exclude graphic representation and analysis.

338 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

from the gods to the humble turner of the wheel, ^ by no means
lessens the impressiveness. Furthermore, one is enabled to
turn out a piece of research which has a considerable magni-
tude by virtue of the amount of statistical work done on a
very little data. And then, the method is sometimes applicable
to problems for which no really experimental methods have
been yet devised.

For this reason, the methods of correlation introduced by
Pearson and improved by Yule and others, have had a great
vogue in individual psychology, and coefficients of correlation
are being widely applied, not to the solution of various and
sundry problems, but applied as the solutions; which is quite
a different matter. Now it is true, the correlation method
has very important uses, and may have such even in psychol-
ogy, when applied to a collection of data which really has a
Gaussian distribution or whose deviations from this distribu-
tion are such as can be corrected. But I fear that most of
those who use the method would not know how to determine
whether a given distribution were Gaussian or not, for it is
apparent that to many the term "normal distribution" means
merely "symmetrical distribution."

The difficulty in the interpretation of a coefficient of cor-
relation is very great; I suppose there is no other representa-
tive value obtained from data which offers greater difficulty.
The difficulty is strikingly illustrated by a survey of the litera-
ture embodying it, in which almost any coefficient is calmly
assumed to prove not merely that there is a relation between
the arrays correlated, but that the particular relation the seeker
hoped to find is there. In order to avoid what might seem
to be personal attack, I shall refrain from the citation of the
really humorous cases of this kind which appear in some of
our most serious journals.

The disastrous effects of the higher statistical methods on
the experimental work of those dazzled by the methods has
been apparent in the correlational work, as it was in the earlier
psycho-physical investigations. Much of the data of intelligence
testing which has been subjected to mathematical elaboration
of this sort has been data so crudely gathered, with so little
attention to the principles of scientific method, that it would
be worthless for even the simplest statistical treatment. Il-
logical as it may seem, the assumption appears to be that data
gathered by utterly incompetent persons, sometimes under un-
known conditions, sometimes under conditions actually known

EXPERIMENTAL METHODS OF PSYCHOLOGY 339

to be pernicious, is in some miraculous way validated, and
made reliable, when the magic method of correlation is applied
to it. It must be said, however, that it is not the mental test-
ers alone who have committed these abominations. In the
field of vital statistics, so-called, some especially flagrant cases
have recently cropped up. However dangerous the higher
statistical method may be when applied to data gathered with
due experimental precaution and sagacity, it becomes distinctly
a public nuisance in the hands of those ignorant or careless
of experimental technique.

History repeats itself, occasionally at least. Although we
may expect to see the mushroom growth of the higher statis-
tical method as applied to individual psychology shrivel as
did its earlier applications to the problems of general psy-
chology, we need not fear that the subject of individual psy-
chology, and its experimental phase in mental measurements,
will die with the method. General psychology survived the
blow: individual psychology will, too. The vast extension of
intelligence testing, which has been largely based on uncritical
correlation work, with little actual experimental basis, already
shows signs of being a psychological boomerang; but individual
psychology will survive even the blow of this back-stroke.

It is interesting to note that the Binet-Simon tests, the fore-
runners of the later crop of intelligence tests, were not de-
pendent upon the higher statistical methods either for their
elaboration or validation. Some of the later group intelligence
tests also have had their usefulness for certain purposes estab-
lished by careful analytical work, quite apart from the method
of correlation. Where any test has not been established for a
given purpose by other than "correlational" methods, its appli-
cation is little more than guess work. The establishing of edu-
cational and social projects and programs on mere "coefficients "
is something which psychology might view merely with com-
passion, were it not for the fact that such establishment is be-
ing made brazenly in the name of psychology; and the public
credits the failures to the experimental psychologists who pro-
test against the methods.

The higher statistical method has a place in experimental
psychology as a means of preliminary survey, from the re-
sults -of which indications may be drawn which are helpful in
the formulation of problems. It is, in other words, one of the
means of prospecting for a problem, and like other means of
prospecting its indications may be fallacious. A coefficient of

340 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

correlation is, in psychology, at the most only the beginning of
research; a suggestion for a theory which may be formulated
and put to experimental verification. The fallacy which has
been committed is considering it the end of a research prob-
lem.

Experimental psychology cannot make use of the statistical
methods of the physicist and astronomer because its data is
not of the sort that makes elaborate mathematical treatment
significant, and its problems are not of the sort that receives
real illumination from the results of the treatment, even where
the treatment is justified. If educational psychology should
follow some of the present tendencies in that arbitrarily mapped
out field, and become a system based entirely on correlation, it
would thereby become a separate field, no longer confused
with experimental psychology, at any rate. Individual psy-
chology, which has been carried away by the mathematical fas-
cination, and which has made its mental measurements so
largely matters of correlation, can regain its balance and jus-
tification by returning to the fold of experimental psychology
and profiting by its experiences, disillusionments, and achieve-
ments.

So far, we have been discussing those aspects of method
which are determined by the treatment of data. The way in
which data are to be treated is not merely important in itself ;
it determines to a large extent the data to be obtained for
treatment. No one makes measurements without a considera-
tion of what he will do with the data, in way of treatment,
after they are obtained. The actual planning and carrying
through of a piece of genuine experimental work must be, and
should be, influenced by the treatment which is to be given
the data after it is obtained. But there are other considera-
tions of far more importance in the planning and elaboration.

In planning an investigation the most frequent mistake into
which experimenters fall is in making the scope of the problem
too wide, or including too many problems. This mistake may
be made in either of two ways. Often, the program of the
research, as laid out, includes so many points that no thorough
investigation can be made on any one of them in the time al-
lotted. Not infrequently, a doctoral investigation covering
three years or more of work suffers from this sort of plan-
ning. As a result, the next investigator must start precisely
where the first investigator did, instead of being able to start
where he left off. Investigations on reaction times, learning

EXPERIMENTAL METHODS OF PSYCHOLOGY 341

problems, and a great variety of other topics might be in-
stanced as showing this type of work. In the beginning of
investigation on any topic, superficial exploratory work of this
character is necessary to uncover the various specific problems
involved ; and young investigators always find it difficult to re-
strict themselves to a problem or detail of a problem, so small
that it can be actually settled. But not all of the scattering of
labor that comes under this category can be attributed to youth,
either of the investigator or of the topic. In some cases, the
scattering is due to lack of grasp on the real problems in-
volved. Without a sufficient grasp the fundamental small prob-
lems which ought to be attacked cannot be determined with
clearness. A great deal of the impulse to scatter is due, how-
ever, to the fact that the lengthy and copious working out of
a single small point is extremely tedious, and nobody likes
tedious work. The covering of a large topic superficially is
much more thrilling.

Another motive to work of insufficient thoroughness is de-
rived from the strong interest we all take in application. A
large part of the research in psychology is necessarily the
fashioning and shaping of tools; tools which are then applic-
able either to practical affairs of life, or else to the shaping
and fashioning of still more tools. In fashioning these tools,
it is inevitable that the use or application should be more or
less in view, and the urge to hurry on to the application before
the tool is really complete is frequently too strong to be with-
stood.

An illustration which comes to my mind, but which is just
one case among many, is the work with the simple and fam-
iliar tapping board, the applications of which to the testing of
motor functions are practically useful, but which would be
much more useful if we really knew more definitely the details
of the tapping process itself. We can even see very clearly
the exact problems which have to be worked out in regard to
the tapping board; but each of these problems would require
several years' work, and demand a high mastery of psycho-
logical instrumentation and technique. Consequently, investi-
gators balk at the problems, and prefer the more entertaining,
although far less important, problems of application of the un-
developed tool.

The case of intelligence tests would be just as good on illus-
tration. Application of tests is interesting and seems urgent,
and moreover requires little scientific ability. On the other

342 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

hand, the painstaking work of making intelligence tests more
worth applying is appalling in its^vastness, its lack of thrill,
and its requirements of psychological skill.

What we really need in psychology is more of the spirit of
Sylvester, who exclaimed, when he had made a discovery in
higher mathematics, that he thanked God he had discovered
something no one could ever use. What he apparently meant
was that he was thankful for the opportunity and ability to
work on a problem without reference to the further usefulness
of its solution; for that is the way in which great advances
in science are really made.

The practical urge to lay hasty foundations and use them
prematurely is not entirely the fault of the psychologist. Every
psychologist knows how difficult it is to get appropriations and
maintenance for purely scientific work, and how much more
impressive to the powers that control money is something
which is "practical," however flimsy and evanescent its "prac-
ticality." The amount of money wasted in practical work
which might be saved if more were available for the funda-
mental scientific work on which eventual practical applications
depend, is, of course, enormous, and even in psychology it is
relatively large.

In addition to the failure to narrow problems sufficiently in
the general planning and laying out of experimental work,
there has been a failure to limit sufficiently the specific re-
quirements on the psychological subject or reactor. This fail-
ure, however, lies rather in the past, having been peculiar to
the introspectional psychology. The essential point of ultimate
experimental method as applied to the conditions of the psy-
chological observer himself is, that he shall be required to ob-
serve only one point at a time ; a point being something which
in the ideal case can be reported upon by a "yes" or "no"
judgment. Obviously, preliminary work will always be
needed ; work in which the judgment will be of broader scope ;
in order that the final experimental conditions may be so ar-
ranged that the simpler judgment for final purposes can be
obtained. In some cases, even the final conditions will not be
ideal; but the nearer they approximate to this ideal, the
sounder the work. For this is just the difference between sci-
entific observation and mere testimony, opinion, or guess work:
that in scientific observation the conditions are either prear-
ranged or foreseen so that the observer knows what to look
for, and the definite time at which to look for it.

EXPERIMENTAL METHODS OF PSYCHOLOGY 343

A large part of the introspective work reported in the psy-
chological literature of the past flagrantly transgresses this rule.
Even when the observer has been introspecting in the sense in
which the term is used in modern scientific psychology, that
is, has been observing bodily processes, he has been required
to cover a large range of observation in a brief period of time,
or at least to try to. The result is sometimes distinctly hu-
morous : the observer, after the critical moment of the observa-
tion is past, will spend fifteen minutes or more detailing the
various things he has observed. Emotions, feelings of pleas-
ure or the reverse, feelings of tension, kinesthetic processes in
breast, arms, legs, throat; and sometimes changing details of
imagery as well, are solemnly reported as a part of the intro-
spective observation.

The unreliability of such observation, in which the observer,
instead of concentrating on a single prearranged point, ob-
serves as Charles Dudley Warner shot the bear by aiming
at it generally has been abundantly demonstrated by the
work on the psychology of testimony, and the type of obser-
vation is being eliminated, or at least relegated to the limbo
of the anecdotal animal psychology and the reports of the so-
ciety for psychical research. For all types of psychological
observation, the principle of concentration is now upheld, re-
gardless of the school of the psychologist.

Perhaps the most important point in psychological method
is the formulation of the problem to which research is to be
applied. For the evaluation of the importance of problems
one against the other there are perhaps certain formal criteria ;
but over and above these, the final evaluation must be in terms
of the experimenter's interests and competence. Certain prob-
lems are important because their results are foreseen as deter-
mining further research or applications. Certain others are
important because of their intimate relation to general hypo-
theses, which may be either confirmed, modified or extended
as the results of the research. But importance in any of these
respects is not directly comparable with importance in any
other. The relative importance of an investigation into the
effects of alcohol on thought processes as compared with the
investigation into the detailed features of tapping is to be de-
termined only by the interest and the technical skill the inves-
tigator brings to either, and the success in formulating the
problems as a distinct hypothesis, the truth or falsity of which
the experimenter is to test. Only when this formulation is

344 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

achieved is the work which follows really experimental. Ex-
ploratory work, without distinct hypotheses, is useful at times;
but its value is low as compared with experimental work.
The most serious obstacle to the extension of knowledge is
the difficulty of formulating the hypotheses on which experi-
mental work depends. When the problem is once f ormulated,
the devising of apparatus to suit the problem is possible, and
the carrying out of the work itself is largely a matter of in-
dustry and careful technique. The formulation of the prob-
lem demands scientific imagination, long study of the materials
in which the problem is to be found, and general familiarity
with the field of psychology in which the materials lie. The
present undeveloped state of the psychology of the emotions,
for example, is due to the difficulty in the formulation of
specific hypotheses capable of experimental test. Broad hy-
potheses exist, and draw our attention; but these are not
capable of experimental test as such. Specific hypotheses,
definitely related to the general hypothesis, must be discovered,
and these specific hypotheses must not only be such that their
confirmation or destruction will throw light on the general
problem, but they must be such as can actually be solved.
Many specific problems can be formulated, which are not ac-
cessible to experimentation. Some hypotheses concerning
emotions have been put to the test (e.g., Sherrington's experi-
ment on the dog and Watson's experiments on children) . But
it turns out in many cases that the hypothesis actually settled
has no ascertainable bearing on the larger general conclusions
of the experimenter.

For the discovery of vital problems, there are no rules. This
part of scientific work is in the same class as the writing of
poetry and the creation. of paintings. There are principles to
which the productions must conform; but these principles do
not suffice to make the production possible; they merely dif-
ferentiate between the successful and unsuccessful produc-
tions. Curiously enough, therefore, the starting point of psy-
chological experimentation is not itself a science, but an art;
and this is true, of course, of all experimental work. We can
lay down rules for the would-be artist to follow in developing
his artistic ability; but we cannot create it. By study, direc-
tion of interest, and arrangement of circumstances, we can
prepare the nest in which the egg is to hatch; but the egg
must be supplied to science.

An essential point in experimental method, therefore, is to

EXPERIMENTAL METHODS OF PSYCHOLOGY 345

be something of an artist : to have a creative imagination along
the lines of psychological hypotheses. Having that, and in-
tellectual capacity to discriminate the useful creations from
the useless, the materials for these to work upon may be sup-
plied by study of the data and existing hypotheses, by techni-
cal training, and by proper emotional application to the prob-
lems.

The methods of experimental science all lead to proof or
disproof. The progress of any science is the confirmation or
rejection of minor hypotheses, one by one. Scientific proof
is, in theory, a definite accomplishment; but in practice the
limit between probability and certainty can never be exactly
set. Proof in science is merely repeatability. The funda-
mental scientific assumption is of a uniformity in nature, such
that what has occurred once under given conditions will oc-
cur again if the same conditions are established. Theoretically,
therefore, the results of one experiment constitute proof. The
famous single experiment of Stratton on the effects of in-
verted vision may be said to have proved his hypothesis, or
disproved the contrary. In fact, in that particular case the
results of the single experiment have been accepted, and the
former discussion of the causes of correct vision has com-
pletely ceased. Yet, in the strict sense of the term, there is
as yet no real proof at all. Proof will be accomplished when
other experimenters, establishing the condition on which the
conclusions are based, find the same phenomena occurring. In
this case, we accept the proof partly on faith, on account of
our belief in the extreme competence of Stratton, both as an
observer and as a technician, and partly because the conclu-
sions fit so perfectly into the general hypotheses of reaction
psychology.

The general principle of the uniformity of the laws of na-
ture compel us to assume that if the conditions of Stratton's
experiment are repeated, the results obtained must necessarily
be obtained again. If this were not true, then no science would
be possible. The only question, therefore, concerns the ac-
curacy and completeness of the statement of the conditions
and the results. Were the essential conditions those described
by him? Were the essential results those described by him?
If, in the conditions, some essential point was overlooked,
then the results obtained do not apply to the experiment de-
scribed, but to an actually different experiment, which per-
haps may not bear on the hypotheses at issue, or may have an

346 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

altogether different bearing from that of the purported ex-
periment. If the described results were not the actual results ;
that is, if the observation was inaccurate, then again, the ac-
tual bearing of the results on the hypotheses at issue is differ-
ent from the purported bearing.

The importance of repetition as a part of proof is, then,
due to the necessity, in general, of certifying that the descrip-
tions of conditions and results are accurate to the requisite
degree. When another experimenter, setting up the condi-
tions from the description of the first experimenter, obtains
results which he describes in the same way as that in which
the first experimenter describes his, the presumption of ac-
curacy is enormously increased. Repetition of the experiment
by the same experimenter does not have as great demonstra-
tive value because of the possibility that the experimenter in
the second experiment may not be actually following his own
description, but may be following his first procedure, and
therefore may vary from the description in the same way.

There is no assignable limit to the number of repetitions of
an experiment which must be made before the results are to
be finally accepted. In the case mentioned, no repetitions have
been thought necessary. In other cases, many repetitions have
been made. In some celebrated instances, the second experi-
menter has obtained different results because he did not ac-
tually repeat the conditions as described by the first experi-
menter, but performed a different experiment. This was the
case when a well-known German psychologist attempted to
repeat one of Ebbinghaus' experiments on the relation of the
quantity of material learned to the labor learning it. The
same experimenter went astray again in attempting to repeat
one of Munsterberg's experiments. This persistent bungler
finally gave up psychology and went into education. Another
psychologist, in attempting to repeat one of my early experi-
ments, obtained different results because he included conditions
which I had specifically excluded. Mere failure to obtain the
first results by repeating the experiment does not disprove the
results; and, likewise, success does not constitute proof, since
it is conceivable that two different experimenters might make
the same errors. In any case, proof is not begun until the
conditions of the experiment, as well as the results, are so
accurately described that another person, from the description
alone, can repeat the experiment.

The elaborate techniques of the psychological laboratory,

EXPERIMENTAL METHODS OF PSYCHOLOGY 347

which cannot be reduced to general rules, but which must be
learned by actual work in the laboratory upon the problems
to which the techniques apply, are devices which are designed
to contribute to the certification that the conditions described
were the actual conditions of the experiment, and the results
described were the actual results. They are vitally important
because of the fact that in so far as the descriptions are ac-
curate, the results are conclusive, since the actual results of a
single experiment are universally valid for the actual condi-
tions of the experiment.

The experimental work of the psychical researchers is not
credited, because of the signal failure of these persons to de-
scribe accurately either their conditions or their results. If
the results described were obtained under the actual conditions
described, they would be conclusive. But every thorough ex-
amination of such experiments has shown that the descriptions
are vitally inaccurate, or else important conditions are un-
known, and every similar experiment under competent psy-
chological direction has failed to show the results claimed.

I come now to a series of distinctions in psychological
method which have given rise in the past to serious confusions
and striking theories. This series is included under the name
of subjective and objective methods; a pair of terms which
designates, unfortunately, not a single distinction, but four
quite different distinctions, from the confusion of which end-
less speculative fallacies have arisen.

In the first place, the terms have been applied to the dis-
tinction between the observation of the bodily processes of the
observer himself, and the observation of the bodily processes
of others. If I may observe my own eye movements, in any
way, the observation, on the basis of this distinction, would be
said to be subjective. If, on the other hand, I observe the eye
movements of another man, or of a dog, the observation would
be said to be objective.

In the second place, the distinction is drawn between ob-
servation through the "external" senses and observation
through the "internal" senses ; that is to say, between observa-
tion depending on teleoceptors, on the one hand, and observa-
tion depending on interoceptors and proprioceptors on the other.
My direct observation of my eye movements would still be
subjective; since I can observe my own eye movements only
through the so-called muscular sense. (Visual observation of
my eye movements, even with the aid of a mirror, happens to

348 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

be impossible.) The observation of the eye movements ^of an-
other man may be visual, however, and is therefore objective.
I can visually observe the movements of my hand ; this would
be objective observation. But if I observe my hand move-
ments as I observe my eye movements, that would be subject-
ive observation. My observation of my pains, fatigue, and
other feelings, would also be subjective, although from the
physiological point of view the type of perceptual reaction is
the same in all cases, the only difference being in the classifi-
cation of receptors.

In the third place, the distinction is made between the direct
observation of a process or object, either in myself or another,
and the observation of a record mechanically derived from the
process. Thus, the observation of my own eye movement or
hand movement, and the observation visually of the eye move-
ment of a rabbit or another man, are subjective; but if a mo-
tion picture of the eye movement be secured, or, in the case
of the rabbit, a kymographic record be secured through the at-
tachment of a writing lever to the rabbit's eyeball, the observa-
tion becomes objective.

In the fourth place, those who recognize the possibility of
"introspection" as the observation of observation, as Stout
does ; or as a unique form of observation of any objects what-
ever, distinguish subjective observation as introspection, ob-
jective observation as non-introspective observation. The ap-
plication of the terms subjective and objective actually com-
menced in this theoretical distinction, which still largely in-
fluences the vague meanings of the terms. Behaviorism had
its start in this distinction, and in so far as it retains in any
form its original metaphysical basis, it is still a branch of the
introspectional or Malebranchian psychology, since without
adherence to the older theory of introspection, it has no basis
for distinguishing itself from regular psychology. If it aban-
dons the introspectional hypothesis, and if it adopts rigorously
the experimental methods which psychology has laboriously
evolved, behaviorism becomes scientific psychology and should
abandon also the now misleading term "behaviorism."

All forms of self styled "objective" psychology depend for
their characterization more or less on this older flavor of the
two terms subjective and objective, yet in their illustrations
and arguments, they are constantly committing themselves to
one or more of the other distinctions. Some "objective" psy-
chologists may, perhaps, be willing to define the terms in this

EXPERIMENTAL METHODS OF PSYCHOLOGY 349

traditional way : none of them would be willing to define them
in one of the only other possible ways which I have outlined.
All objective psychology, therefore, stands or falls on the ac-
ceptance or rejection of Father Malebranche's metaphysics.

When properly analyzed, the distinctions between subjective
and objective observation furnish no basis for methodological
distinction other than that between what I have called "intro-
spectional" psychology and "scientific" psychology. Yet the
first three distinctions do supply us with important side lights
on the methods which scientific psychology employs.

There is no question concerning the superiority of mechani-
cally derived records as material for scientific study. The his-
tory of experimental psychology during the nineteenth cen-
tury is a history of persistent and fruitful attempts to obtain
"objective" records in place of the observation of the pro-
cesses themselves. The slow accumulation and adaptation of
apparatus during the last fifty years, and the progressive re-
sults of scientific imagination in devising new ways in which
apparatus can be applied and records obtained, are substantial
evidences of the emphasis which psychology has placed on the
value of records and the study of records. The store of avail-
able apparatus is now being rapidly increased, but the string
galvanometer, the motion picture camera, the audion tube, and
improved light sources, are no more eagerly welcomed as gifts
to our equipment for objective research than were the chrono-
scope, the spectroscope, and the electric motor by our predeces-
sors in the science. The sudden interest in "objective" psy-
chological methods of experimentation shown by some groups
of psychologists and physiologists are, in large measure, noth-
ing more than the effects of a sudden realization that the sci-
ence had progressed beyond their conceptions; and the com-
motion they have made is a cloud of dust raised in their be-
lated effort to catch up with the procession.

It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that records
have in any sense displaced, or will displace, direct observa-
tion of human organic processes. Not merely in the pre-
liminary observations which must be made before records can
usefully be made, but also in the obtaining of records, the sci-
entific application of direct observation is imperatively neces-
sary. The records obtained, even in the simple reaction-time
experiment, are worthless, unless based on a competent ex-
amination of the reactor's behavior: not only observation of
the extent to which he is following instructions, but observa-

350 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

tion of the surrounding conditions which are essential to the
interpretation of the records. The employment of mechanical
records does not involve a lessening of direct observation, nor
a relaxation of the technical care requisite to making such ob-
servations effective. "Objective" methods do not even lessen
the need and importance of self-observation on the part of
the observer or reactor, although the type and form of such
observations may be modified. Animal psychology does, in-
deed, have to proceed without such observations, but that is
just what makes the procedure of animal psychology so diffi-
cult, and the interpretation of its results so hazardous. ^ Since
not all the conditions of the experiment can be specified in
animal work, the conclusions are not valid for the conditions
which are specified, except on the assumption that unspecified
conditions are irrelevant. And this is an assumption difficult
to defend in almost every case. Human psychology can, in-
deed, be reduced to the level of difficulty of animal psychology ;
but the procedure is analogous to the crippling of a Packard to
reduce it to the performance level of a Ford.

In human psychology, the difficulties of experimental ob-
servation are maximal in those phases in which the observa-
tion is through the internal sense, as determined by the intero-
ceptors and proprioceptors. Here, the obtaining of objective
records is less easy. But mere difficulty does not daunt the
psychologist. Just as in animal psychology, where he must
dispense with the observations of the reactor, he struggles
along, under extreme difficulty, but not unprofitably; so in
problems of feeling and emotion, where he has mainly the
reactor's observation to depend upon, with little help from
records, he must struggle along also, and not deny that the
problems exist because he has difficulty in solving them. In
this field, every step made in the achievement of objective
records is of great assistance to the experimental work, but
in this field, even more strikingly than in other fields, im-
provement in the objective method does not lessen the direct
observational work, but rather increases it as it makes it more
profitable.

Throughout experimental psychology, in short, the depend-
ence on consciousness is definite and marked. Even in the
use of objective records, the same observation which is re-
quired for the direct study of the processes directly is required
for the study of the records. That visual perception is the
primary form of observation depended upon in the study of

EXPERIMENTAL METHODS OF PSYCHOLOGY 351

records, does not mean that it is in some mysterious way holy
and reliable, whereas auditory, tactual, kinesthetic and organic
observation are to be cast out. All forms of observation de-
pend upon the same type of reaction process, and there is
nothing about the visual receptors which can give them an
exclusive sanctity. If kinesthetic observation is fundamentally
unreliable, then visual observation is likewise ineffectual, and
no science, psychological or physical, is possible. The re-
liability of any form of observation depends on the conform-
ing of the observation to the canons of experimental procedure.
Experimental psychology began to shake of! the methodo-
logical trammels of introspectionalism twenty-five years ago
and has practically completed the process. It has now freed
itself from the bonds and limitations of behaviorism and other
forms of so-called "objective" psychology. It has never ad-
opted the mystical freedom from experimental methods of-
fered by psycho-analysis. It is established on a methodological
foundation which is secure and permanent; and its further
progress is conditioned by the degree to which psychologists
recognize and devote themselves to the established scientific
methods of the laboratory, and by the intelligence and industry
of psychologists in applying those methods.

CHAPTER XVI

THE APPLICATIONS OF PSYCHOLOGY TO
SOCIAL PROBLEMS*

By KNIGHT DUNLAP

I have said in my first lecture that social psychology, as a
definite field within the larger science, is now established. This
claim may be disputed. It may be pointed out that nearly
twenty-five years ago the same claim was made; and that
looking back from our present orientation we can see clearly
that the claim was not valid, and did not become valid for
twenty years at least, in spite of the increasing number of
text-books and articles appearing under the name of the al-
leged subject. It is not unreasonable, therefore, to be scep-
tical still on this point, and to doubt whether the idea of what
ought to be is not confused with the idea of what is. That
the mere use of the name, and the collection of miscellaneous
materials under the name in texts and college courses does not
establish the subject, is to be freely admitted. It is not with-
out importance, in this connection, that so far as college
courses are concerned, the greater number of those offered in
the past have been offered in departments of education, phil-
osophy, and sociology; and we can now see that the reluc-
tance of psychologists to admit them as a part of psychology
was justified. These courses, and the texts on which they
were based, may have been good education, or philosophy, or
sociology; we may readily leave the experts in those depart-
ments to judge of that ; but they were not psychology, in spite
of their use and misuse of psychological terms and conceptions.

I shall not insist, therefore, on the present changed condi-
tion in the alleged subject of social psychology, although my
own conviction has been strong enough to impel me to pre-
pare a text and issue it boldly as Social Psychology. There
are many points of application of scientific psychology to so-
cial problems, whether these applications are to be considered
as lying in a special department of the science, or as being
merely an aspect of psychological application in a general de-
velopment which it is useless to classify in any technical way.

The social problems to which the application of psychologi-
cal results, methods and principles is necessary may, for con-
venience, be grouped under four heads: (1) Problems of the

*Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University,
April 22, 1925.

354 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

sex life and the family organization and functions ; (2) Prob-
lems of religion and religious organization; (3) Problems of
what may be briefly called civic and martial organization; (4)
Problems of race and population.

To the solution of the problems gathered under these four
heads must be brought in great wealth the results of general
and individual psychology; and the main contributions, it
seems to me, will be of five general groups. _(1) General psy-
chology must contribute information concerning the nature of
the sex impulses, and the psychological factors involved in
sex relationships ; genetic psychology must supply the facts of
the development of sex impulses and sex ideas in infancy,
childhood, and youth; and individual psychology must con-
tribute adequate information concerning individual differences
in the nature and development of these factors. (2) The
fundamental nature of religion must be determined with refer-
ence to the basis in human capacities, activities, desires, and
other feelings on which religion develops. This contribution
involves an analysis of the conditions and effects of faith;
the psychological foundations and efficacy of ritual; and the
nature and significance of symbols. (3) The psychological
factors in groups generally must be determined, and also the
specific factors or variations in factors peculiar to the different
sorts of groups: temporary and permanent groups; groups of
low and high organization; groups of greater or less spatial
contiguity; and groups of varying temporal extension. We
must determine the psychological details of the individual
which make these organizations possible; we must determine
the forms and varieties of organization; and also the effects
which these types of group life have on the individual. (4)
The principles and facts of social control must be worked out
and systematized. The nature of conventions, of laws, and of
standards of taste and of morals must be determined, and the
methods of conserving, modifying, and abolishing these im-
portant controlling forces must be embodied not only in rules
of an art, but also in principles of science. (5) In pursuance
of the foregoing objectives, information must be at hand con-
cerning the means of communication between man and man;
information of a scientific character concerning language and
its extension into culture.

A vast jprogram is therefore mapped out for general, gen-
etic, and individual psychology before anything that could be
called social psychology in a final sense can be an actual

PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIAL PROBLEMS 355

achievement. Frankly, what we may call social psychology
in the immediate future is but a propaedeutic to the real sub-
ject: a marshalling of the facts and principles of scientific
psychology into new formations, directed towards a specific
purpose, namely: their application to social problems. Since,
however, the marshalling does have this specific purpose in
view, the process and immediate results really belong more
to the subject that is to be, than to the topic of general psy-
chology, and it is in this sense that I should claim that social
psychology has begun its work, and can be now assigned its
name and rank.

A survey of the program I have laid out emphasizes the
scarcity of the essential psychological materials for applica-
tion to social problems. Under all of the five headings I have
listed, we have a wealth of speculative opinions contributed
by non-psychologists; but scientifically determined facts are
few. The labor which experimental psychology has to per-
form towards the final establishment of social psychology is
vast. The reasons for the slow development of the subject
are apparent. Not until psychology became really scientific
did it begin to accumulate the materials. But the path of de-
velopment is now open, and the issue depends only on the
usual pre-conditions of psychological productiveness: intelli-
gence, industry, material provisions, and the tenacious cling-
ing to scientific psychological methods.

Sex and the Family

The problems of the family constitute a large group of our
social problems, and another large group consists of prob-
lems which are closely associated with these, and which have
their source in those tendencies and characteristics on which
the family is based. The family is, and will always be, our
most important social institution, and it is also the most
highly organized. Although the genetic function of the fam-
ily has materially diminished with the progress of civilization,
and the economic function even has lessened considerably, the
psychological functions have increased, and there is every
prospect that the family will continue to gain in social im-
portance, whatever the economic and genetic changes of the
future. The social problems arising from the family, and the
problems surrounding it, become more complicated and more
urgent as general social organization increases.

The problems of divorce, of sexual promiscuity, of sex per-
versions, and of prostitution, (really a form of sex perver-

356 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

sion), appear to be the most outstanding in these groups. At
the present time divorce occupies the public attention more or
less constantly, and we are being subjected to continuous pro-
paganda based on a recognition of the importance of the prob-
lems involved, and a total misunderstanding of the nature of
these problems. Amazing propositions are made from pulpit
and press ; propositions for the solution of the problems by the
panacea of legislative action, made with entire disregard of the
actual conditions of family life and with no knowledge of the
actual effects of legislative interference with family and per-
sonal life. In past ages, the problems of divorce and marriage
may have been largely genetic and economic. Religious atti-
tudes and moral attitudes have, as a matter of fact, been based
entirely on genetic and economic grounds. At the present
time, the problems are predominantly psychological, and the
moral, religious and political considerations which ignore the
psychological factors in sex life are not only futile, but dis-
tinctly vicious. Economic factors may, by proper efforts, be
brought into harmony with psychological facts; but psycho-
logical facts cannot be abolished, and the attempt to force them
into forms prescribed by unfortunate economic conditions re-
sults in perversion. Problems of promiscuity are so essen-
tially bound up with the problems of marriage and divorce
that they must be solved with and through the solution of the
family problems.

Aside from the family problems which have a legal aspect,
there are problems of married life which largely enter into
these more obvious problems, but which are hidden from all
but the gaze of the specialist who is called upon to adjust do-
mestic disharmonies. These concrete problems, unfortunately,
often fall into the hands of persons who have little psycho-
logical background, but who try to solve them on the basis of
religious prejudices, or pseudo-psychological medical theories.
Unfortunately, also, the psychologist who is drawn into these
problems is seriously handicapped by the present lack of pre-
cise information concerning sexual desires, emotions, and ten-
dencies, of normal human beings, and concerning the way in
which these psychological factors are controlled and modified.
Sweeping theories concerning sex needs and sex instincts are
rife ; but the actual facts for the support of these theories are
scarce.

In the past, theories have been built on clinical observations,
but the attempts to apply these theories have resulted in mis-

PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIAL PROBLEMS 357

fortune and misery. Today, we recognize that the data on
which dependence has been placed in these thories involves the
pathologist's fallacy throughout. No one would attempt to
evaluate normal intelligence by the use of data drawn ex-
clusively from the insane. Yet we have attempted to evalu-
ate normal sex life in terms of data drawn almost exclusively
from the cases of abnormal sex life who come to physicians
for treatment. Such collections as those made by Havelock
Ellis, for example, are extremely valuable masses of data con-
cerning the pathology of sex life; but tell us very little about
the normal man or woman.

The high organization of the family is based on the com-
plementariness of man and woman ; a complementariness which
is not merely physiological, but which is equally striking in the
psychological realm. Although details are lacking, it is clear
that essential differences of a complementary sort exist not
only in the sexual desires and the emotional processes of an
immediately sexual sort, but also in more general emotional
attitudes of life. That other differences, not of the com-
plementary sort, exist, is fairly clear; for example, the cyclic
emotional changes which accompany the menstrual cycle in
woman, and from which man is entirely exempt. Whether
any important sensory or intellectual differences, as such, exist
or not, is not clear ; but since the whole process of mental life
is so strongly dependent on the emotional factor, we cannot
expect that woman's total thought processes, or her general
achievement in life will be parallel with man's, whatever her
analytically considered intellectual capacities, since her desires,
her emotions, and her interests are so different.

As an instance of the general unreliability of information
concerning sex differences in the past, we may consider two
rather general comparisons. It has been widely believed and
taught that woman "matures" sexually a little earlier than
man, and it has also been widely held that man varies more
from his mean than does woman in respect to many charac-
teristics. On the former assumption, apparently, have been
based our laws and customs regarding age of marriage and age
of citizenship ; the latter assumption has been embodied in the
catch phrase that woman is the conservative sex, man the
variable.

With the beginning of exact mental measurements applied
to the problem of sex differences, the 'first outstanding indi-
cation has been that, contrary to the catch phrase, man is less

358 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

variable than woman, at least in regard to his mental capacities.
While this cannot be considered as finally demonstrated, it
has the weight of experimental evidence so far. Considera-
tion of sexual desires and sexual responsiveness shows an
even more marked difference in the same direction ; and it is
now believed that even in physical measurements the same
relationship holds. This does not mean, of course, that the
range of variation is wider for women; we cannot say any-
thing about that as yet; but it does mean that the average
variation of a group compared with respect to a given char-
acteristic is greater for women; that men, on the whole, lie
closer to the mean.

Further examination of the question of sexual maturity has
shown, first, that the term "maturity" is exceedingly vague,
and, second, that the comparisons made in the past have been
made on quite different lands of sexual maturity for the two
sexes. So far as any really comparable measures are con-
cerned, there is at present no evidence that either sex "ma-
tures" earlier than the other, although the surface indications
would seem to be that the male "matures" the earlier.

The whole situation clearly shows that conclusions as to
sex differences must wait on actual experimental work and
upon the results of information collected by scientific methods
on points not subject to experimentation. Even on the
side of sex behavior, conclusions cannot be drawn until we
have further experimental evidence. Even in respect to the
final physiological process of coitus, while we may reasonably
conclude that there is only one normal type of this specific
sex reaction of the male, we do not know at present whether
the wide variations shown by the female are pathological, or
due to habit, or are based on several distinct normal types of
response.

Within the last two or three years it has been shown that
the accumulation of precise information on mental sex differ-
ences is possible by the methods of experimental psychology.
The outstanding difficulty in this field is merely the lack of
financial provision for the necessary lengthy labor of deter-
mination. Scientifically, the way is prepared; but scientific
preparation is not the only essential condition. The most
important psychological problems of the family and of sex
relations lie now in the experimental field.

There are, however, other points to which the data and
methods of psychology must be applied. The general con-

PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIAL PROBLEMS 359

ditions of married life, which are not capable of experimental
approach, must be studied. The effects of divorce and divorce
laws on the family and on extra-marital sex life must be in-
vestigated and given proper statistical treatment. This latter
problem, simple as it may seem, offers great difficulty and
demands exceptional skill. It is not sufficient to show that
the states with the most rigid and mediaeval laws on marriage
and divorce exhibit also the greatest degrees of family diffi-
culty and the gravest conditions of extra-marital sexual life.
These conditions must also be analysed with regard to differ-
ences in economic and social conditions of other sorts, and
finally, in the light of the experimental evidence concerning
the actual psychology of sex, without which no useful con-
clusions are possible.

Religion and Religious Organisation

Religion and the organization growing out of religion pres-
ent a group of our most serious social problems. Scientifi-
cally, we are perhaps too much inclined to look at religion as
merely a problem of scientific and social inhibition, that is,
as offering serious obstacles to the advancement of science,
and to social progress. The recent events in the Southern
states undoubtedly have accentuated this view of religion.
Some scientists, at least, look upon religion as a malevolent
growth upon society, which might be removed with beneficial
results, and with no harmful sequellae after the shock of the
operation should be over. This view, I think, is unfortunate,
and adopted without due consideration of the nature of re-
ligion and its relation to general and social psychology.

In the past, the study of religion has taken three general
forms: theology, the history of religion (including Compara-
tive religion) , and the psychology of religion. The psychology
of religion, however, has been a rather restricted topic con-
sidering mainly the religious experience as ft occurs in living
man. That is to say, the psychology of religion has been and
is a part of general psychology, along with the psychology of
music and the psychology of fatigue, and is to be treated as
such. The usual experimental methods have not been fully
applied, but their applications have been indicated, and there
is no doubt that experimental work in this field can and should
be carried out. But the results of the preliminary work so far
have not been fertile. The topic remains still without vital re-
lations to problems in other fields, and it seems to me evident
that it must be fertilized by other than the general psycho-

360 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

logical methods if it is to bear fruit. What I shall here dis-
cuss is, therefore, not the psychology of religion in the ac-
cepted significance of the term, but rather what I should call
the social psychology of religion.

It appears to me that the psychology of religion gives us
little information concerning the nature of religion, its foun-
dations in human life and experience, or its relations to our
social problems. It is, in short, a subject which is in the same
stage as zoology prior to the introduction of the hypothesis
of evolution, and if we are to obtain useful information
concerning the religious motives, tendencies and results, we
must add to it the methods of comparative religion and archae-
ology. From this cross-fertilization, I believe a useful social
psychology of religion may be developed.

I am not unmindful of the fact that attempts in this direc-
tion have been made. The historical interpretation of religion
in terms of sex, for example, has been attempted at various
times, and the efforts two generations ago of a group of men
among whom Thomas Inman and Payne Knight are perhaps
most familiar to American readers, reached its most spec-
tacular point in a system of symbolism which has been bodily
adopted and popularized more recently by the psycho-analysts
as something new. These early attempts have been of great
value, although based on feeble psychology and inadequate
archaeology and anthropology. Although the conclusions are
discredited and the specific theories must be abandoned, the
social psychology of religion is a continuous development from
the efforts of these pioneers. Perhaps the greatest damage
which the Freudian movement has done has been to inhibit
this development somewhat, by fostering old misconceptions
and creating new ones. To be specific: while we can no
longer hold the theory of Inman and Knight that religion has
its basis peculiarly in the sex life, it is a fact that sex plays
an important role in the development of religion, as it does
in life as a whole; and while the interpretation of religious
symbols by these early investigators was superficial and has
not stood the test of archaeological facts, the study of symbols
is nevertheless a highly important part of the social psychology
of religion. When the psychologist begins to consider sym-
bolism and sex in religion, he seems to those ignorant of the
historical development, to be adopting Freudian methods and
hypotheses, and he is discredited by the absurd developments
to which the theories they adopted have been carried.

PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIAL PROBLEMS 361

It is necessary on this point to free ourselves from such
prejudices. The analyses and conclusions of Inman, Knight
and the other early sex symbolists have not proved correct,
but they are nevertheless important and useful, because these
authors were making a serious attempt to combine psychology
and archaeology, and their attempts must be carried forward.
The fact that the Freudians adopted the theoretical conclu-
sions of these men and proceeded to develop them fantasti-
cally in disregard of both psychology and archaeology, should
not be allowed to dim the lustre of these early workers, nor
detract from the usefulness of their work.

Perhaps I may indicate the problems and methodological
requirements of psychology in the field of religion by an il-
lustration. It is well known that in the evolution of the con-
ception of divinities, female divinities come first, and that male
divinities come next, and sometimes suppress the goddesses.
Concerning the reasons for this order of development there
are divergent views, two of which are directly opposed, name-
ly: the theory that the elements of religion which have per-
sisted were first developed by women, who would naturally
(it is assumed) develop the conception of female divinities;
and opposed to this, the theory that the essentials of religion
were developed by men, who, (it is assumed) would naturally
develop female divinities. Here we have off-handl interpreta-
tion running riot.

When we consider religion from the point of view o-f hu-
man desires in general, and not from an arbitrarily exclusive
reference to a single type of desire, we find reason to suspect
that food would play an enormous part in the development
of religious conceptions and religious attitudes. When, fur-
ther, we examine the historical and archaeological material,
we find impressive support for this suspicion. Hereupon,
the relation between food and sex that many students of re-
ligion have pointed out become deeply significant, and the
problem of the female divinity is seen in a new light. When,
in this light, we study the development of religion and of re-
ligious symbols in Mesopotamia and other regions in which
the date palm was of such economic importance, we find both
ancient and modern religion brightly illuminated, and begin to
see what religion really means in human life.

But even by these discoveries, the problem of male and
female divinities is only partly solved. We can see how the
female divinities arose; but the crushing out of the goddesses

362 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

by the gods requires further psychological and archaeological
investigation. And the fact that the female divinity does
not remain in the discard, but continually reenters religion,
requires new consideration of those emotional attitudes and
tendencies of men and women to which I earlier referred.
These sex differences which are not opposed but comple-
mentary seem to throw new light on the goddess problem.

The goddess problem is, however, but one of the many prob-
lems which the social psychology of religion faces, and to
which it must bring the results and methods of scientific psy-
chology to apply to the data which the archaeologists have
provided in increasing measure. No progress in the psychol-
ogy of religion can be made except through the study of its
development in its earliest ascertainable phases, and this de-
velopment cannot adequately be traced except by psychologi-
cal applications.

If we divide the phenomena and problems of religion into
two groups; those of faith and those of "works" (i.e., ritual),
we find a new direction for investigation in which the most
important pioneer has been Robertson Smith. Here, again,
we may not incontinently accept Smith's conclusion that ritual
is the primary factor, and that religious faith develops from
it; but nevertheless we have to accept his problem as vital,
his method as productive, and his hypotheses as useful steps
towards the final development. Here, again, the problem re-
quires the application of all the psychological material we can
muster. The desires and tendencies to which ritual appeals
today require analysis. The effects of ritual on further psy-
chological processes also requires investigation, if we are to
understand the development of the past, and through it the
significance of the present.

In the social psychology of religion, as in many other psy-
chological fields, a vast amount of work has already been
done by those who are not primarily psychologists. I need
only to add to the name of Robertson Smith those of Andrew
Lang, Marett Frasier, Jevons, Budge, and Tiele, to suggest
at once a whole glorious company who have analyzed data
and supplied hypotheses, ideas, and methods of approach which
are waiting to be welded into a vital foundation for the sub-
ject.

Religion, and especially, organized religion, is important in
its effects on all social pheonmena. No constructive program
in regard to the family, education or any other feature of

PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIAL PROBLEMS 363

social organization can be taken up without discovering" that
the church has to be considered and its influence taken into
practical account. But beyond this, religion has a social im-
portance, because it is apparently founded on permanent ten-
dencies of the human mind. It supplies something that man
apparently needs. Whether these needs can be supplied better
than they are at present; that is, whether religion itself can-
not be improved psychologically; or whether, as some think,
the needs can be cured, are matters that can be decided only
after the real nature of religion has become better understood
than it is at present.

General Social Organization

The general principles of social organization are fairly well
understood at present. The age of glittering generalities has
passed away, and we no longer make the attempt to explain
social life by merely classifying activities under such heads
as imitation, suggestion, crowd mind, and instincts. Spencer
and Schaffle have done their work; and while we avoid their
conclusions, we have made use of their methods. As we study
the interrelation of details in the animal organization and at-
tempt to arrive at an understanding of its integrative action
without falling back on a single magic life principle; so we
attempt to study social groups, in which the total activity of
the integrated mechanism is understood from the characteris-
tics and potentialities of the component individuals, without
falling back on a magic principle in this case either. Without
committing the error of considering social groups as exactly
analogous to animal organisms, we have not neglected to make
use of the partial analogy. We have not been carried away
by the doctrine of McDougall that the group is more than the
sum of its constituent members, and we recognize no social
minds except the minds of individuals in the social groups.
In other words, we apply to group psychology the results and
principles of general psychology, studying the conscious re-
actions of the individual to the group environment as we study
his reactions to any other environment, and finding in these
reactions at least all the complexity we find in his reactions to
inanimate objects.

We find grades of social organization corresponding some-
what to grades of organization of animal bodies. We find
those in which all the individuals have much the same func-
tions; and we find "higher" forms of organization in which

364 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

specialization of function brings about greater dependence of
one member on the others and greatly increases the efficiency
of total action of the group. We find continuous gradations
of types from the temporary and fortuitous crowd to the more
permanent states, armies, and industrial organizations. I think
we may say that the basic principles of group development
and group function are well established, and there is left only
the vast amount of detailed data to be gathered on the speci-
fic action of these principles in specific cases. Here there is
plenty of room for the application of psychological principles,
but the main interest is in the ascertaining of the way in which
these principles work out. And in this field the hasty applica-
tion of principles without knowing the exact conditions to
which they are applied is especially dangerous. I shall illus-
trate my points here by two examples only.

Group action is controlled in part by conventions, which
are in some instances made the basis for laws. I shall not
attempt to show the place of a convention in our fundamental
scheme of reaction-psychology, into which it fits without diffi-
culty. I shall consider the effects of laws which are broken,
that is, which do not represent a convention actually accepted
by the individual.

Americans are notoriously a lawbreaking people. Among
the vast mass of statutes which we legally adopt and contemp-
tuously disregard, the Volstead act is a mere minor detail.
Fish and game laws are notoriously intended for the other
fellow. In some states elaborate Sunday laws exist, and are
unanimously broken, even publicly broken by many of the
individuals who are active in keeping the laws on the statute
books. Speed laws are mere joyous scraps of paper, and auto-
mobile manufacturers do not hesitate to boost their wares by
advertising them as capable of speeds much higher than any
state legalizes. Some states have recently passed laws requir-
ing all motor cars to come to a full stop at all railroad cross-
ings ; and in those states I have not yet heard of any one who
stops if he does not think a constable is in view. Laws against
gambling in various forms are common ; and are not regarded
by anyone who has no conscientious scruples against taking
a chance.

All this seems to constitute a serious situation. And it is
doubly serious in that many of these dead laws are enforced
occasionally on those who are poor and without influence.
Negro crap games are raided; but not the bridge and poker

PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIAL PROBLEMS 365

games of well-to-do people. Foreigners and poor folks are
from time to time arrested and fined for working on Sunday;
but not their wealthier or better-class fellow citizens. The oc-
casional speeder arrested is impressed principally by the fact
that hundreds of others get away with their joyriding. It may
be argued that a contempt for law and for the rights of other
people is built up by these laws which are unjustly enforced.
But there is another factor in this general lawbreaking which
must be considered, even when the attempted enforcement of
law is as impartial as possible. Do we form habits of law
breaking which are transferred from one law to another?
Does the practice of breaking speed laws, game laws, Sunday
laws, and numerous other laws, make us more liable to break
laws against theft, malicious mischief, and adultery, than we
would be if these generally infracted laws did not exist? Cer-
tain publicists claim that this transfer of the law-breaking
habit actually occurs. But as a matter of fact, this question
cannot be so simply settled. We have no basis for the appli-
cation of simple laws of habit to complicated situations without
a comprehensive study of the situation itself, and in regard
to this particular situation no study as yet made is sufficient
for the validation of the conclusion. Here is really a problem
for experimental solution.

Another problem or series of problems is to be found in the
field of propaganda. An important part of social control is
in the transmission of ideas; in the causing of other men to
adopt or accept ideas which are presented to them. This
transmission of ideas, or propaganda, is important in the
whole field of social relations. It is essential in religious pro-
selyting, political campaigning and commercial advertising. It
is the method of modifying conventions, and bringing about
the passage of laws. It extends to fashions of dress and moral
principles. We know already the general principles underly-
ing propaganda; we know the mental processes in the indi-
vidual through which the copying and acceptance of ideas are
possible; we know the forms in which ideas must be presented;
we know the general methods of obtaining the necessary at-
tention to the ideas with the minimal arousal of opposing
ideas. We know that logic and reasoning play but minor parts
in this whole process. All these factors are reducible to rules
as definite as the rules of composition in printing, and the
rules can be illustrated point by point from the accepted pro-
cedure in advertising. Nevertheless, we do not know the

366 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

exact extent to which reasoning is effective^ in propaganda,
nor do we know the exact conditions, in relation to other fac-
tors, under which reasoning is best applied to the work. Un-
doubtedly the detailed methods of propaganda which are most
effective with certain classes of society are not the most
effective with other classes. But precision in planning and
application of programs of propaganda to these different
classes is not yet possible. Here again are very definite points
for experimental and analytical research; research which it is
by no means simple to plan and carry out.

But there is another sort of problem of propaganda which
has as yet been hardly touched. Under present conditions we
are continually subjected to propaganda of a great variety of
types. Obviously, the public needs orientation in the methods
of withstanding this propaganda. Even commercial adver-
tising has reached the stage of a social nuisance, and is a seri-
ous drain on the economics of trade and industry. The appli-
cation of psychological principles has reached a level of effi-
ciency at which psychologists are scarcely justified in offering
courses in the psychology of advertising, but should rather
offer courses in how to withstand the appeal of advertisements.

In all social organization, the means of communication be-
tween man and man are of the utmost importance. The most
important means is, of course, language. Language, as we
have seen, is the vehicle of thought as well as of communica-
tion, and hence psychology has much to offer on the various
problems concerning the use of language. But language is not
merely a matter of words with accepted meanings that is,
with standardized reaction patterns to them. Verbal language
is a step to culture, and we may with a few words convey
richer and more precise meaning to those who share a com-
mon culture than we could communicate with a vastly greater
verbiage to those who lack the culture. History, art, and
literature, are instruments of culture; mediums of communi-
cation between man and man, and important solely for that
reason. Cultures differ in different levels of society, and cul-
ture changes from age to age. Latin and Greek are no longer
the cultural topics they once were ; chemistry and biology have
risen enormously in cultural value. But not all portions of
these ^subjects have the same cultural value, and the deter-
mination of the maximal cultural efficiency which can be ex-
tracted from them is a serious and worthy problem. More-
over, it is probable that the maximum of cultural efficiency

PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIAL PROBLEMS 367

can be attained by certain combinations of these different
topics; which particular combinations, we ought to determine.
College courses and school courses are today largely matters
of guesswork, so far as their cultural aspects are concerned,
whatever may be the case with their vocational aspects. It
should be the business of psychology to make these needed
determinations, and psychology ought to be in a position to
assume this business, now that it has brought thinking and
communication together and illuminated each with the other.

Population

Problems of population have harassed the human race since
its earliest history, and it is evident that these problems run
back into the legendary period of human development. In the
past, these problems were the concern of priests and rulers;
but of late they have become a part of the concern of scien-
tific men. The interests of the priesthood are today as active
as ever in the original phase of the problem, and ecclesiatical
attitudes are by no means a negligible factor in the more re-
cent phases. The church, from the ancient Greek, Roman
and Jewish times, has asserted its right to control human sex
relations, and has increased rather than diminished its claims
in the modern Christian period. In these matters the church
is still so powerful in the very quarters where the practical
handling of the population problem is most difficult, that it is
really one of the major considerations for any program which
may be contemplated. The program which succeeds in gaining
ecclesiastical approval has the best chance for immediate ex-
tension.

Rulers and governmental authorities are as much concerned
with population problems as ever they were, and the forms of
their problems have become more complex. The operations of
governmental agencies in these matters have been so futile;
and government itself is so subject to the influence of plain
facts, that the civic power offers little obstacle to progress,
and much possibility of assistance, except in so far as ecclesi-
astical power dominates the government, which it still does to
a considerable extent.

The problems which may usefully be classed under the gen-
eral head of problems of population are capable of distribu-
tion in two groups, namely: problems of eugenics and prob-
lems of over-population. The psychological aspects of these
problems are intimately connected with the more general prob-

368 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

lems of group psychology, and specifically, with racial psy-
chology, and it is the last topic that I propose to discuss first.

Racial psychology is, at the present time, largely a pious
wish, and the imposing contributions which have been made
to the subject so far are fairly well described by the Freudian
cant term : "wish fulfillment" These contributions, we should
note, are numerous and extensive. Many of them have been
made by sociologists and others, including a few psychologists,
under the specific title of race psychology; but vastly more
numerous are the contributions which have been made by his-
torians under the plausible caption of history. Reassured by
their success in writing psychology under the name of history,
some of the historians come out boldly and write more, and
worse, under the name of psychology, or the name of some
topic drawn from that subject. But any school teacher, doc-
tor, minister, employment manager, novelist, character-analyst,
newspaper writer, psycho-analyst, sociologist, spiritualist or
real estate agent may confer on himself the title of psycholo-
gist in these days, so that it must be understood that the racial
psychology I am attempting to discuss is "psychology" only
as understood by a relatively small group of persons who are
dubbed in derision "Academic" psychologists by the larger
group self-styled "psychologists" who occupy a much larger
share of the public interest and who make practically all the
profits.

I am not unmindful of the small but growing body of ex-
perimental work which has quietly been done by the real psy-
chologists towards the analysis of racial characteristics. I
shall not allude specifically to any piece of this, however, since
my purpose is a somewhat wider one.

The problems of racial psychology are two-fold. First, we
want to know how the minds of the various races actually
work. This involves, of course, the examination of the sen-
sory processes, as well as of the thinking processes, feelings
and emotions, learning, and motor control. In addition, we
want to know the hypotheses or beliefs, and the ideals or stan-
dards held by these races, for these are not only results of
psychological processes, but actual determiners of those pro-
cesses.

Some of these facts may be gleaned from the literatures and
from the languages themselves, if we can actually subject
these data to psychological analysis. For some of the ancient
peoples, such as the Greeks and Egyptians, materials for study

PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIAL PROBLEMS 369

exist, and may be made use of by the proper combination of
psychology, archaeology and philology. For the so-called
primitive peoples, who have left no literatures, the materials
do not exist.

The other source of information is manifestly the careful
observation, measurement, and experimental study of the
peoples themselves. For the rapidly vanishing savage races,
theoretically this might still be done, although such study
would, of course, give us little information, except in the field
of anthropometry, of the characteristics of these races before
they were so largely modified by the white man; and the ob-
servations recorded by explorers, missionaries, and commercial
agents of the past, we know are of little real value. But such
opportunity as may exist will, in all probability, pass away
before any use can be made of it, and we shall probably not
know the mental characteristics of even the American Indian,
although we may know the worthlessness of the vast amount
of junk that has been written about him.

Leaving out the savage and so-called primitive races as
hopeless problems, it would seem that we might at least ac-
quire some information about the races which exist in Europe
and Asia, and adhere to their own methods of life in spite of
contacts with others, and which promise to persist as races
for many years to come perhaps even longer than we shall.
But how long it will be before we acquire any useful informa-
tion, and whether it will be useful by the time we get it, are
open questions.

The magnitude of the problem of obtaining an actual com-
parison of the mentality of two races is almost appalling. As-
suming that we had developed measures for the mental factors
in which we are interested and this is a bold and pretentious
assumption the program of applying such measures on a
scale comprehensive enough to be of real significance is so
great that no organization capable of carrying it out is in ex-
istence, nor can the means of bringing it about be foreseen.
But let us make another large assumption, and assume that
even this obstacle has been overcome. What we would then
have would be a comparison of the two races under the con-
ditions of their physical and social environments. We would
know, for example, how the French in present day France
compare with the English in present day England. An im-
portant and interesting stage of information, it is true, but not
the information which is most desired. We would not know

370 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

how these races would compare when subjected to the same
physical and cultural environments for a complete generation;
and this is what we really want to know for purposes of im-
migration, of eugenics, and of social progress generally. We
would not even know how they would compare physically un-
der such uniform conditions.

It would have been of little use to compare the Romans with
the British in the period from 50 B. C. to 50 A. D., unless
the total conditions of human development were so well known
that it could be predicted what changes would be wrought by
changes in food, in other modes of life, and by the absorption
of the Roman and Greek cultures by the British. And we can
as little tell from the reactions of the French people today
what the reactions of their descendants will be when the
French modes of life and culture may have been greatly
modified.

It would seem, however, that in America there is a chance
to study the mental development (and the physical develop-
ment, too) of diverse races under the same physical and cul-
tural conditions. And perhaps something may be accomplished
along this line, if a sufficiently large number of trained work-
ers can be secured, along with sufficiently gigantic sums of
money. Theoretically, we should be able to measure the minds
of groups of American born and bred of pure Italian, Irish,
Scandinavian, Czecho-Slovakian, Greek, Turkish and other
blood (in so far as any of these races are pure), who have
grown up in sufficiently similar physical and social environ-
ments ; and so we might arrive at the solution of the question
as to what may be accounted for by racial differences alone.

Practically, it would not be possible to do anything of the
kind. We know that the peoples of different races in the
United States live under essentially different conditions of
food, occupation, and culture for several generations ; and that
as the essential conditions become uniformized these races
intermarry, and so the racial "purity" is lost. That the en-
vironment of the different races in the United States is differ-
ent so long as they remain separate races is most dearly shown
by reference to the Jews, who are born, reared, and grow old
in an essential atmosphere of Jewishness which makes it pos-
sible to say that any "J ew * s h" mental trait, if such can be
demonstrated, is racial in the hereditary sense, or merely cul-
tural, that is, hereditary in the social sense only.

Or, take the negroes, on whom several excellent studies of

PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIAL PROBLEMS 371

mentality have been made in a small way. Even if it were
possible to make the comprehensive and exact studies we are
assuming to be possible, we would have as a result the pattern
of the negro's mind as he is : reared, and trained, and his ideals
developed, in a physical and social environment distinctly dif-
ferent from that in which the whites are developed. It may per-
haps be predicted by some one that at some time in the future
it will be possible to study a large body of negroes whose es-
sential environment has, from birth up, been practically the
same as that of a large body of whites with whom they may
be compared. But it is necessary to bear in mind that if such
a condition is realized in any group the "negroes" in the group
will not be negroes; they will not even be half breeds.

But all this is speculation on the basis of an assumption that
requires detailed consideration. Manifestly we have no such
measures as those we have been assuming. When will they
be developed? I myself am an optimist on this point: I
think that we will develop a reasonably adequate battery of
such measures relatively soon perhaps in a hundred years or
so. We have a few simple tests now, and these can be ex-
tended and added to progressively if we can manage to keep
some psychologists on the job of development for a sufficient
time. But my optimism begins to rip at the seam when I con-
sider the fact that is hard to keep even a small body of com-
petent investigators at scientific work along this line. The
workers who might be laboring in the field are lured away by
the siren of application and waste their time and energies in
efforts to extend the application of measures which are well
enough as clinical expedients, but which should be merely
stepping stones to the end in view.

Some people actually seem to think, in short, that the vast
problems we face are adequately to be solved by intelligence
tests. Now, the intelligence test is all well enough as a means
of grading people roughly for certain purposes, when the tests
are devised for the specific practical ends to which they are to
be applied, and standardized empirically. And the intelligence
test might have been a valuable tool with which to carve out
other tools of service for the measure of attainments with
respect to actual mental standards. What the intelligence
test does, when sagaciously applied to a group who have been
all trained for a certain purpose (such as banking or entering
college), is to measure (very roughly) the extent to which
the training for that purpose has been successful. In short,

372 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

the intelligence test is a trade test, and^nothing more, and is
most efficient when developed and applied with reference to
trades as specific as possible, whether the trade is that of be-
ing a college student or a typesetter. But because the intelli-
gence test measures directly only the results of training, and
measures with adequacy only training of very specific and
limited sorts, its possibilities as an instrument for the solving
of problems of racial psychology are ^ very limited, and it can
never be more than a minor aid in this work. It seems prob-
able, however, that in the immediate future there will be a
considerable flood of supposed contributions on racial differ-
ences based on intelligence tests, which will make necessary a
painful and dangerous cleaning-up process later.

The problem of psychology, in regard to the field of racial
psychology, is not difficult to find, but it hardly lies in that
field as yet. We must keep on with the difficult work of de-
veloping measures of mental function, and set our faces against
the naive and hasty applications of the undeveloped measures
as firmly as we set against the conclusions from the simple
and uncritical observations with which treatises on racial psy-
chology have hitherto been filled. ;On a basis of sound ex-
perimental work and sound mental measurements, racial psy-
chology may some day be established.

The psychological problems of eugenics and the psychologi-
cal problems of overpopulation are essentially connected, and
both are complicated by the situations we have just discussed.

Eugenics has a positive and a negative program: the pro-
motion of the reproduction of the fit, and the repression of the
reproduction of the unfit. But apparently, the positive pro-
gram is a failure, since no means have been found for the pro-
motion of propagation beyond the rate at which it progresses
without encouragement, except the promotion brought about
by a reduction of the total population relative to its natural
resources and cultural ideals. Propaganda and bonuses, and
all other artificial stimulations, are apparently entirely ineffec-
tual. The reasons for this ineffectualness are fairly obvious
and we need not pause on them. The relief of the pressure
of population, on the other hand, affects all classes, and prob-
ably the unfit especially, so that the negative program is
doubly important. Moreover, any increase of reproductive rate
might be at the present time an evil in itself, since it would
add to the present overpopulation.

Since eugenic fitness is a matter of mentality as well as of

PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIAL PROBLEMS 373

physique, one problem for the psychologist is outlined: the
determination of mental fitness. And here the problem is
largely yet to be solved. One class of the unfit, the feeble
minded may well be detected by the Binet-Simon tests. But
no one could reasonably maintain that the feeble minded are
the only mentally unfit from the eugenic point of view. And
the determination of the other types, if any, is yet to be made,
and the means for their detection developed. It is not merely
a matter of the development of measures for emotional and
moral deficiency, and for instability, for example : but the de-
termination of the types of deficiency which are fatally hered-
itary. In this determination the psychologist and the gen-
eticist must work hand in hand, and the psychologist must
avoid the genetic use of crude and hastily constructed tests or
mere casual observation, such as have, unfortunately, been ap-
plied in the genetic field.

At the other end of the scale, the problem is more difficult,
if not impossible. The really superior mentality is much more
difficult to determine than the really defective. Moreover, if
the really superior in some one line is determined, it may not
be the fittest eugenically: for it may carry with it defects in
some other line. That we should breed through "genius" is by
no means established; perhaps we should breed around it.
Happily, this problem of the "fittest" is of no serious con-
sequence eugenically, since the positive program, as I have
said before, is impractical.

But having determined, let us assume, the unfit, the matter
of their elimination from reproduction is now the question.
The lethal method we may consider inapplicable. Steriliza-
tion has also turned out to be impracticable, at least in the
present social condition. Segregation covers but a fraction of
the problem. Prohibition of marrying is merely a form of
legal humor, and prohibition of mating can be enforced only
on the most unfit and by segregation, sterilization, or death.
What, then, is the possibility *f or an actual eugenic program?
Apparently nothing but contraception. And here we run up
against psychological problems of a new sort, and of great
difficulty.

The problems concerning contraception are of two sorts:
those which concern the actual effects of the practice, and those
concerning the undoubtedly strong popular feeling against it*
The physical problems of the effects of the practice are simple,
and the difficulties uncovered by the analysis of the problems

374 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

are relatively simple also; and there is today no serious doubt
that these difficulties could be overcome. On the psychological
side the problems are more complicated. The psychological
effects of the practice are not definitely known, but are matters
still for conjecture and biased belief. This problem is one
not to be solved in an easy way, but it must be solved. The
question, moreover, as to how different classes of society will
react to a fuller knowledge of more efficient and physiologi-
cally harmless methods of birth control, is one which must
be settled by expert psychological analysis. We know what
classes today are practicing family limitation, but we have
only theories as to which sections of the classes not practicing
it today will practice it to a relatively greater extent than
others under conditions of more general extension. We know
that among other classes, the feeble minded are not practicing
contraception, and will not practice it under present condi-
tions. To what extent they would practice it under improved
conditions of cheapness and convenience is the question. I
may believe that the eugenically inferior classes will tend to
eliminate themselves through contraception, if conditions are
made easy for them; but I may be entirely wrong. Actual
experimentation would be possible in this field only through
embarking blindly on a supposed eugenic problem in order to
determine by the results whether it would be actually eugenic,
dysgenic, or neither. It is possible, however, that informa-
tion concerning the reproductive desires of various classes of
the population can be obtained in advance of the entering
upon such a social program. If so, the information must be
gathered by psychologists.

It must be admitted, I think, that the present experimental
methods of psychology are inadequate for these problems.
As a substitute, the questionary method has been adopted to
a certain extent, and I think that some useful material may
actually be gathered in this way, although such materials will
never be final data, but merely orientational and suggestive. Ob-
viously, some method must be devised that will be of the type
which is designated by the vague and misleading term "ob-
jective": I have earlier suggested the use of the theatre in
such problems, and I think that "objective" material may be
gathered which can be statistically treated; but the planning
and ordering of the work will require much preliminary an-
alysis. Furthermore, the problem turns on the question of
there being a really fundamental distinction between two

PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIAL PROBLEMS 375

classes of desires, both sexual in the broad sense, which I have
called "reproductive" and "amatory." It does not turn on the
question as to the ultimate nature of these or of any other
desires.

Another problem, fundamentally involved in the one just
outlined, concerns the relation of reproductive desire to stock
values. I have an idea that there is a rather definite connec-
tion here; that the tendency to reproductive desire is inherit-
able (in the usual sense of the term) ; and that the stocks
which have the stronger reproductive desire are fundamentally
the best stocks in several respects. This, however, is a psycho-
genetic assumption which must be tested.

The problem of the relation of amatory desire to stock
values is a different, but essentially related problem. As I
understand it, the notions of some stock breeders are strongly
in accord with such an assumption. But among the lower
animals, the effective force of reproductive desire is not sep-
arable from the effective force of amatory desire; and the
same condition largely holds for the human race, so long as
contraception is not practiced. But as soon as contraception
is introduced, the effects of these desires is dissociated, and
the merely amatory desire becomes negligible as a reproductive
factor. In fact, it is probable that the reproduction tendency
would be lessened, with increasing strength of amatory desire,
even if the reproductive desire were not weakened. This pos-
sibility introduces a serious eugenic problem, since we do not
know whether or not the amatory desire is linked with other
tendencies which are of value to the stock, or whether certain
valuable tendencies may not even be directly based on the
amatory tendencies.

The second group of problems I mentioned above must also
be solved if contraception as a eugenic measure is to be seri-
ously considered. The extent and force of the prejudice
against contraception are manifestly great. These prejudices
would have to be overcome or circumvented, if the practice of
contraception were to have eugenic effects. Here, the work
of the psychologists would be distinctly in the applied field,
and would depend upon an adequate analysis of the causes of
the prejudice.

Admittedly, the basis of the prejudices is fear, of two sorts.
First : a fear that one's group will be overcome by other groups
that reproduce more rapidly; overcome either in war, or else
by a more gradual crowding out. This is distinctly a phase

376 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

of group psychology, dependent on group pride and group
feeling of more general sorts. Second: a religious fear of
punishment in another world for disobeying a command of the
church. The church, however, in promoting this fear, is mo-
tived by the same group feelings which are powerful in all
other groups. That church whose members reproduce most
rapidly has the best chance of survival and growth. This
organized opposition of a powerful group which is fighting
for its life is admittedly the most serious obstacle to eugenic
contraception.

The "will-to-live" of a group (I use this philosophical term
with apologies) is a remarkable thing, but is something to be
reckoned with. It is manifested in groups of all kinds, and
sets the interests of the group above the more strictly individ-
ual interests, even where these are in conflict. Aside from
the religious groups, its most striking manifestation is in civic
groups. The denizens of the modern great cities are proud of
their cities' over-growth, and will foster it even at serious in-
dividual expense. In spite of the rapid increase in taxes, in
rentals and other prices, and the decrease in the general com-
forts of living which are entailed by overgrowth, the people
want it. The inhabitants of Baltimore, for example, outside
of a small class of real estate dealers, and speculators whose
specific interests are in the exploitation of overgrowth, would
benefit very largely if the city should actually shrink a little:
yet they are unanimously anxious for rapid growth, and are
cast down if their city grows less rapidly than some rival city.

When, to this group mania, you add the religious notion
of an other-worldly value in the growth of an organization,
the dangerous side of group spirit becomes accentuated. Here
is a psychological problem of extreme difficulty, in the face
of which one may almost despair.

On the hopeful side, however, we may note that this group
tendency has no moral foundation; no basis in the essential
necessity of regarding the rights of others, the obligation
which binds man to man in all groups above the lowest stage
of organization. This is the weak spot in group pride at which
the tendency can be attacked.

Every member of the group is anxious for his group to
grow, but is perfectly willing that the growth shall be at the
expense of other individuals in the group rather than at his
own cost Few opponents of contraception feel a personal
duty to reproduce, but feel, rather, a strong desire that other

PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIAL PROBLEMS 377

members of the group shall do the reproducing. This fact
is strikingly exemplified in the practices of the religious monks
and nuns, who, while teaching the sin of non-reproduction,
produce no children themselves. Of course, this apparent in-
consistency is defended by making a distinction between not
marrying, and not marrying reproductively ; but this bit of
sophistry deceives no one, and general failure of the group-
members to mate would exterminate the group as rapidly as
would mating contraceptively, and would be as definitely de-
nounced if it threatened.

The same separation of personal practice from group feel-
ing is just as evident outside the church. And inside of the
church, as well as out, individuals practice contraception in
complete disregard of their group principles and group preju-
dices. In so far as they are inhibited in the practice they
are Inhibited by just three things. First: by the individual
reproductive desire in its relations to economic status and cul-
tural ideals. Second: by the lack of information, or lack of
the means, of contraception. Third: by the personally ob-
jectionable features of such means as the individuals may
possess.

The prejudices against contraception are therefore more
largely to be circumvented than to be overcome, if contracep-
tion does turn out to be a commendable eugenic measure.
The circumvention is possible through the devising of means
of contraception which have not the actual physiological and
psychological objections which attach to present day means;
and through methods of popular education which are slowly
possible in spite of religious prejudices. The first problem
must be solved first; but there is no doubt of the success of
the experimental work now under way in foreign countries.
Even in this problem, the psychological factors are paramount ;
and the second problem is distinctly one in which applied
psychology must play a large role, if the program is really
desirable.

All these problems lead to, and in part depend upon, the
problem of overpopulation. Years ago, Malthus pointed out
the fatal dangers of overpopulation, but his views were shortly
discredited through the opening up of vast tracts of land pre-
viously unavailable for the support of European peoples.
These tracts were opened up by the invention of the steamboat,
the locomotive, and modern harvesting and manufacturing
machinery. Now that the pressure of population is again

378 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

acute, and white men are getting a bit squeamish about
slaughtering inferior peoples in order to take their lands,
and there is clearly no New World to conquer, the im-
portance of Malthus' contribution has been recognized, and
the fact, rather than the danger, of overpopulation is ad-
mitted. We know that war is caused almost entirely by over-
population, and that future war is inevitable if the pressure
of population is not relieved. We know that our problems
of crime and vice are accentuated by overpopulation. We
know that while the land may be made to produce vastly more
than it does, the labor required for the increase, increases in
a much higher ratio than the produce. We know that the
culture of a crowded population must decline, even if war is
miraculously averted. Specifically, we know that the social
problems of the United States would be greatly lessened, and
the value of life to the individual inhabitants greatly increased,
if the total population could be materially decreased in the
next ten years, instead of increased. Worse yet, we know
that the available mineral resources of the world are approach-
ing definitely a time of exhaustion, and the soil itself wasted
through too extensive cultivation and denuding of forests.
And knowing all this, we are beginning to take a tardy in-
terest in the ways and means of reducing population.

The changed methods of warfare which make the prospect
of the next war appalling are important influences in deter-
mining the new interest in the problems of population: yet I
should like to point out that these new methods of warfare
are the only means which could delay the final catastrophe, if
we do not take other intelligent measures.

In the past, warfare has been necessarily attended by, and
based on, vast destruction of natural resources. The destruc-
tion of human life has been of little consequence, if any, ex-
cept to the individuals themselves. But the natural resources
destroyed are not replaceable.

When the Assyrians, urged on by over-population of their
territories, slaughtered the inhabitants of other lands which
they needed, they not only destroyed the buildings and other
accumulations of culture, but cut down the vital date palm
trees and even the forests. That this was an essential detail
of their method of warfare, numerous linscriptions show.
Similar methods of destruction were employed by all ancient
nations, so that not only the easily replaceable population but
also the accumulations of culture were destroyed. And this
in many cases was an irreplaceable loss. In the recent con-

PSYCHOLOGY AND SOCIAL PROBLEMS 379

flict, the destruction of mines and machinery and noble speci-
mens of architecture was an essential practical detail of war,
and the loss to the world if the Germans had succeeded in de-
molishing London can hardly be grasped. But still more seri-
ous was the irreplaceable loss of metals, especially copper,
sunk in the sea and blown into fragments in munitions. This
one war took an enormous amount from the steadily shrinking
inheritance of our descendants.

But all this will be changed. In another war, by the use
of gas, a great city will be taken by the poisoning or asphyxi-
ation of its inhabitants without the injury of a fresco or a
linotype machine, and with slight loss of metals. The next
war will reduce the pressure of population by mass destruc-
tion; but the resources and the accumulations of man will be
but slightly diminished. In this respect, chemical warfare will
be of incalculable benefit. But on the other hand, war is in-
evitable so long as the over-population is not alleviated in some
other way. The advances of humanitarianism and medical
science have but made the conditions worse and accelerated the
coming of conflict. Plagues and pestilences, formerly of such
service in keeping population down, are being brought under
control, and the yellow peril and the perils of all other colors
thereby exaggerated. It is a serious question whether the ex-
tension of "public hygiene" to Asiatic and African countries
is something to be proud of, or another social crime.

I have touched on but a few of the social problems which
demand the attention of the psychologist and which depend
upon the applications of psychology for their solution. In
attacking these problems, we need to make use of the methods
and results of general, experimental and individual psychology.
In other words, the foundations must be laid in that psychol-
ogy which is distinctly a biological science. But as we go on
towards the solution of our problems we need other concep-
tions and other methods. The work passes rapidly out of
the field of the natural sciences, and becomes more and more
affiliated with what are sometimes called the social sciences,
and the methods of philology, ethics, political science, and so-
cial anthropology become more and more essential. Yet the
work is so definitely dependent on its psychological founda-
tions that it still remains psychology. If, in the light of the
foregoing discussion, we again ask whether social psychology
is a real and distinct subject, the answer, it seems to me, must
be in the affirmative. Social psychology is to be distinguished
from the more fundamental parts of psychology in that it is
a social science, rather than a biological science.

PART VI

Psychologies Called "Structural"

MADISON BENTLEV

CHAPTER XVII

THE PSYCHOLOGIES CALLED ''STRUCTURAL*:
HISTORICAL DERIVATION*

BY MADISON BENTLEY

My earliest memory of the newspaper cartoon represents a
wide circle of men, all facing outward and each pointing to his
neighbor on the right. The cartoonist meant to represent, as
I recall, a ring of Tammany politicians surrounding "Boss
Tweed." Each is charged with the theft of the city's treasury
and each denies his own culpability, pointing to his neighbor
as the guilty man. If we ask today who represents the psy-
chology of 'structure/ I doubt whether we shall find anyone
to acknowledge that his own brand is of that kind ; though the
epithet will often be accompanied by a gesture of indication
toward a fellow-psychologist. We should all agree that no
one in this country has done so much to expound the doctrine
as Professor Titchener has; but he has not for some time re-
searched or written under its rubrics and he explicitly remarked
some time ago that, in his opinion, "both 'f unctionaF and 'struc-
tural/ as qualifications of 'psychology/ are now obsolete
terms." 1

Notwithstanding the fact that the concept of structure, as it
has been used to designate a point of view and a method in
psychology, is no longer to be regarded as current in our
phraseology, the contributions made to the science under its
name, as well as the influence which it has exerted upon psy-
chology at large, seem to justify a serious consideration of its
meaning and its value. Thus I have accepted your generous
invitation to add the psychologies called 'structural* to the
other species and varieties which you have already considered
in earlier lectures.

In a brilliant essay in 1884 2 the late William James was
urging the importance of what he called the transitive (as set
against the more permanent substantive) parts of the stream
of consciousness. The transitive parts had been overlooked, as
he thought, in the English and German conceptions of the idea

*Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University, Jan-
uary 5, 1926.

*Amer. J. PsychoL, 1921, 32, 533.
S 0n some omissions of introspective psycholc>gy, Mind, 1884, 9, 1-26.

384 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

or Vorstellung. Instead of gluing ideas together by some out-
side force or principle, such as 'reason/ 'intelligence/ 'associ-
ation' or the 'ego/ James proposed to make the stream real
and to complete it by filling in such transitive parts as the
feeling of 'and 5 and the feeling of 'but'; in short, by adding
to consciousness something like Herbert Spencer's 'feelings of
relation/ "There is no evidence whatsoever (he says) for sup-
posing the pure atomic ideas of red and yellow, and the other
elements of mental structure, to exist at all no one of them
is an actual psychic fact." They are only qualities of the outer
world; the mental vehicle by which we think them is a
"feeling representing a highly complex object, that quality in
relation with something else" (p. 9). Instead of separate and
discrete elements James proposes to account for the continuity"
and coherence of our knowledge by a like fluent continuity in
the conscious 'stream' or the stream of 'feelings.' Thus he
comes to the distinction between the 'subjective constitution' of
the 'stream' and the 'cognitive functions' which the 'feelings'
subserve (p. 11). The contrast between feeling, on the one
hand, and thought or knowledge, on the other, is not a differ-
ence between passive sense and creative intellect. The con-
trast is rather (to quote James's phrase) "between two aspects,
in which all mental facts without exception may be taken,
their structural aspect, as being subjective, and their functional
aspect as being cognitions. In the former aspect, the highest
as well as the lowest is a feeling, a peculiarly tinged segment.
This tingeing is its sensitive body, the wie ihm zu Muthe
ist, the way it feels whilst passing. In the other aspect,
the lowest mental fact as well as the highest may grasp
some bit of truth as its content, even though that truth were
as relationless a matter as a bare unlocalized and undated qual-
ity of pain. From the cognitive point of view (he continues),
all mental facts are intellections. From the subjective point
of view all are feelings. Once admit that the passing and
evanescent are as real parts of the stream as the distinct and
comparatively abiding; once allow that fringes and halos, in-
articulate perceptions, whereof the objects are as yet unnamed,
mere nascencies of cognition, premonitions, awarenesses of di-
rection, are thoughts sui generis, as much as articulate imagin-
ings and propositions are; once restore, I say, the vague to
its psychological rights, and the matter presents no further
difficulty.

"And then we see that the current opposition of Feeling to

HISTORICAL DERIVATION 385

Knowledge is quite a false issue. If every feeling is at the
same time a bit of knowledge, we ought no longer to talk of
mental states differing by having more or less of the cognitive
quality; they only differ in knowing more or less, in having
much fact or little fact for their object. The feeling of a
broad scheme of relations is a feeling that knows much; the
feeling of a simple quality is a feeling that knows little. But
the knowing itself, whether of much or of little, has the same
essence, and is as good knowing in the one case as in the other.
Concept and image, thus discriminated through their objects,
are consubstantial in their inward nature, as modes of feeling.
The one, as particular, will no longer be held to be a relatively
base sort of entity, to be taken as a matter of course, whilst
the other, as universal, is celebrated as a sort of standing
miracle, to be adored but not explained. Both concept and
image, qua subjective, are singular and particular. Both are
moments of the stream, which come and in an instant are
no more. The word universality has no meaning as applied
to their psychic body or structure, which is always finite. It
only has a meaning when applied to their use, import, or refer-
ence to the kind of object they may reveal" (pp. 18-19, foot-
note).

It is a curious fact that this locus classicus for the psychol-
ogical distinction between structure and function should be
lodged in a footnote and should be reproduced in the same form
in the chapter on Conception in the Principles of Psychology
of 1890 (vol. i. 478-479). I do not remember that James
elsewhere makes use in his psychological writings of the term
'structure' ; although his whole descriptive account of 'feelings'
and 'thoughts/ of unf ringed and fringed segments of conscious-
ness, of the 'psychic body' and its cognitive meaning or func-
tion, is logkally constitutive of his entire treatment. This neglect
of an important pair of terms which he seems to have intro-
duced into our literature, appears to be explained by the fact
that his own main interest lay in cognition and in epistemologi-
cal problems. James excelled, as we all know, in a keen, flash-
ing kind of observation (though continued and consistent scru-
tiny under experimental conditions irked him) ; and we owe to
him a large amount of inspective information upon the transi-
tive and fleeting aspects of experience. But, even here, the
'feelings' chiefly interest him for the cognitive functions which
they carry and much less for their own existential form or, as
he puts it, their "substantive mental kernel-of-content," their
"psychic body" or "structure." It is also worth noting, as we

386 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

pass, that the men stamped and impressed by James's teachings
have seldom made use of this fundamental distinction and still
more rarely have they added to the structure or the existential
side of experience. Only Angell, as I recall, has taken seriously
the distinction; though he used it, as we shall presently see,
in quite a different context.

Now if we turn toward the progress of psychology upon the
continent, we shall find still earlier than James a distinction
which bears as directly upon our approach to the psychologies
called 'structural' as does James. The setting of the two dis-
tinctions, however, is different. Instead of the two parallel
aspects, structural and functional, we now find psychology tak-
ing, at the hands of different psychologists and within the
framework of different systems, the two general directions
which we might expect from James's distinction. This diver-
gence appears in Brentano's empirical psychology of act and
Wundt's experimental psychology of observed process? Bren-
tano's fundamental facts are, as you know, activities, the
activities of ideating, judging and loving-hating. The differ-
entia of these psychical activities is their reference to an object, .
a relation to a content. This 'immanent objectivity' is never
to be found in physical phenomena. Wundt's fundamental
facts, on the other hand, are directly drawn from the observa-
tion of the processes of life. Physiology views life, so to say,
from the outside ; but psychology from the inside. The psychi-
cal side of life, as it is immediately given, is complex; and
the primary function of psychology is therefore to analyse it
into its simpler ultimately into its elementary parts or pro-
cesses. So far as logic goes, this psychical side of life is
James's existential or structural side ; though James was quick
to contend that it was no more subject to dismembering by
analysis than is the fluent water in the stream. To dismember
was, for him, to destroy. At most only moments or phases
or coloring could be distinguished as they flash by. For
Wundt, on the other hand, observation was able to distinguish
sensations, which differed among themselves both in quality
and in intensity. In fact, those were the only attributive
characteristics of the simple processes. The sensations as so
observed and so described made no reference in any direction,

'Brentano's Psychologie^ vom empirischen Standpunkte and Wundt's
Grundzuge der physiologischen Psychologic (first edition) both ap-
peared in the year 1874. Cf. E. B. Titcfcener, Amer. J. Psychol., 1921,
32, 10&-120.

HISTORICAL DERIVATION 387

neither to the agents and energies of stimulus, nor to the
bodily organs themselves, nor to the objects of knowledge or
of desire. They were purely existential. Such matters as
judgment, conception and emotive attitude toward objects lie
outside and beyond this observable region of the mental.
Actual experience always contains formations and complexes
of the simple processes; but those formations, when existen-
tially regarded, are psychical just as their constituent processes
are, and the forms and laws of their construction suggest one
of the major problems of psychology. The acts of Brentano,
on the other hand, with their immanent objectivity lead us at
once to the functional relation of the individual to the objects
of apprehension, to the truths and acknowledgments reached
in judgment, and to the objects of emotive likes and dislikes,
of desire and interest. All this is not to say that Brentano
works out his functional view of consciousness as James works
out his doctrine of cognition; it is only to say that the same
functional aspect of experience as meaning or reference char-
acterizes that side of James's psychology as it does Brentano's.

Neither do I mean to contend that Wundt, on the other side,
succeeded, when he came to attention, to action and to thought,
in maintaining his existential and descriptive view of mind,
which was doubtless suggested, in large measure, by his earlier
studies in sense-physiology. But that was his point of de-
parture and it was a view which both led him toward the
direct experimental attack upon psychological problems and
led his pupils and followers to a more explicit, and possibly
more consistent, "structural" view in the Jamesian sense. His
psychology, then, with all its frailties and limitations, looks
distinctly toward a scientific future of exploration and discov-
ery in the laboratory. 4

One of the first attempts made by the pupils of Wundt to
bring together experimental facts, with as little general theory
and philosophical bias as possible, was Kiilpe's Grundriss of
1893. Since this Grundiss or Outline was "based upon the re-
sults of experimental investigation" we may expect to find in it

*0f course we must not think of either point of view as originating
with these two men. Both are much older. Of. Titchener, op. cit.,
p. 119. We need not follow the differences between the non-struc-
tural psychologies of function and of act. Titchener has written
critically of this distinction in his articles upon Functional psychology
and the psychology of act (Amer. J. PsychoL 1921, 32, 519-542; 1922
33, 43-83). He is here inclined to read into "function" a biological
and teleological sense which does not accord with James's meaning.

388 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

a strong emphasis placed upon the analytical observation of ex-
perience. By limiting this observation to those properties which
are dependent upon the physical organism Kiilpe followed
Wundt to an examination of the elementary processes and of the
modes of their interconnection. One of the virtues of Kiilpe's
psychology was the simplicity and the directness of its logic.
Another was its success in bringing together in a natural,
coherent and empirical way, most of the laboratory studies
then extant. Both virtues were destined to exert an influence
in later "structural" envisagements of the psychological field.

From Kiilpe we must turn to Ebbinghaus, who likewise ap-
proaches psychology from the controlled observation of the
laboratory. The first edition of his Grwndzuge began to ap-
pear (I. Halbband) in 1897. For him the immediate experi-
ence of the living being furnishes the materials of psychology.
But this material is both extensive and complicated and, like
the body, it displays a high degree of unity and integrity. The
mental life is organized even as the body is organized. How
then is it to be studied and known ? We are accustomed, says
Ebbinghaus, 5 to approach any complicated set of phenomena
from three different directions and thus to regard it in turn
from three points of view. First we regard it existentially,
for what it is. Here we analyse the complex into simpler
parts, work out the structure (Ban) and the properties of
these parts, and the mode of their combination; secondly, we
consider the occurrences and changes to which these parts are
subjected, and thirdly, we regard the developmental history of
both structure and changes.

These three ways-of -regarding appear, for example, in the
sciences of organic nature as (1) morphology, which seeks
the laws of structure of living things, (2) physiology, the
description of the life-processes, the functions of the organs,
a,nd (3) the embryological or racial history of form and func-
tion. No one of these modes of approach to natural phen-
omena is better or more complete than the others. Each is
abstract; but each is necessary to the understanding of organic
nature. The mental life, too, has its temporal development
and transformation. Each aspect must be studied in its place.
Mind is, to be sure, unitary and total ; but we shall know little
about it unless we examine its rich variety, its on-goings and
its genetic changes. Our examination must not of course

B H. Ebbinghaus, Grundsuge der Psychologie, 1905, (2nd ed.), vol. i,
176-182.

HISTORICAL DERIVATION 389

reduce the totality to a sum or to an aggregate of parts or
of separate functions. Thus Ebbinghaus proceeds in his own
exposition, first treating his material anatomically or struc-
turally, then advancing to the functional view, and ending with
the facts and laws of development. Although the logic of the
exposition is by no means so clear-cut as in Kiilpe, the three-
fold treatment is sufficiently exemplified. He always keeps
within sight, however, of his living organic totality. 6

In his article of 1898 7 upon The postulates of a structural
psychology Titchener repeats Ebbinghaus's analogy with the
biological sciences, applying the tripartite division also to tax-
onomy, ecology and phylogeny. The analogy is, as he thinks,
complete. "We can represent modern psychology" so he de-
clares "as the exact counterpart of modern biology. There
are three ways of approaching the one as there are three
ways of approaching the other." (450). "The primary aim
of the experimental psychologist has been to analyse the struc-
ture of mind; to ravel out the elemental processes from the
tangle of consciousness. . . . His task is a vivisection. . . .
He tries to discover, first of all, what is there and in what
quantity, not what it is there for" (450) . Mind thus becomes
"a complex of processes, shaped and moulded under the con-
ditions of the physical organism" (451).

But "descriptive" psychology the psychology of memory,
recognition, judgment, volition and so on Titchener dis-
covers to be "chiefly occupied with problems of function" or
of "mental physiology." Here there is "much of value" as
he admits; but the functional point of view cannot "lead to
results of scientific finality." The revolt from a philosophical
treatment of faculties rather leads straight toward a scientific
morphology, which is well designed to supply a foundation to
the new science. Our author predicts "a long period of ana-
lytical research, whose results .... shall ultimately serve as
basis for the psychology of function" (454). He then goes
on to describe the elementary structures in the attributive
terms which are familiar to all of you and the complex mor-
phological formations, the structural "organs," in the classes
worked out by Wundt and Kiilpe from the logic of John Stuart

*See, e. g., his treatment of the general attributes of sensation: form,
magnitude, interval, movement, identity, similarity, difference, and
the like. The recent psychology of the Gestalt lies much nearer to
this type of psychology than to the systems of Wundt and Kulpe.

7 E. B. Titchener, Philos. Rev., 1898, 7, 449465.

390 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

Mill. He ends by the anticipation that the psychology of func-
tion may have "a great future ;" but also with the conviction
that "the best hope for psychology lies today in a continuance
of structural analysis."

In estimating the importance of this paper, which is some-
times referred to as marking the entrance of the structural
point of view into psychology, we must observe that its main
result was to clarify, as by a refined process of the etcher, the
distinction which had already been made. It is very much
cleaner-cut than Ebbinghaus, if only because Titchener was
throwing up a substantial wall of partition behind which he
obviously meant to labor and to give battle ; while Ebbinghaus
was laying out the wide psychological domains into great fields
in which he proposed freely to pass from place to place with
only a formal recognition of inside boundaries. However im-
portant or trivial we shall find the accomplishments of struc-
turalism to be, we must recognize the gain in clear thinking
which accrued to Titchener's sharply drawn distinction between
the analytical psychology of structure and the descriptive psy-
chology of mental operation and functional performance.

Within analytical observation itself, he made it clear that
much that passes for an introspective photography of mind
was a presentation of logical meanings and of ethical and
social values; the "unschooled introspection" of the mental
"Is-for," he called it, as set against the schooled observation
of what consciously "Is" (1899, 29 Iff). While he tended con-
stantly to speak of the former as the "besetting sin of the
descriptive psychologist" and of the latter as the truly psy-
chological method, he does admit a psychology of psychophysi-
cal (as distinguished from logical, ethical and social) functions,
in which value-to-the-organism shall be the basal concept (1899,
293). Taken as a doctrine and as a fundamental mode of
procedure in psychological observation, then, the structural
point of view in Titchener seeks to perpetuate and to clarify
the contention of James, Wundt, Kiilpe, Ebbinghaus, and many
others, that the ultimate materials of psychology are Erlebnisse,
not Erfahrungen; that is to say, the fluent processes of concrete
experiencings, not those crystallized and logicized ideas of
Hume, Spencer and the Mills, under which he had been reared.
In the light of subsequent events in psychology, it is worth
noting that so early as 1899 our author had regarded his dis-
tinction of structure and function as "no more than a working
schema by which one's present knowledge may be temporarily

HISTORICAL DERIVATION 391

arranged a schema to be ruthlessly discarded so soon as a
better is proposed" (297).

Now is is almost a truism that no one understands himself
until he understands his opponent. We can hardly expect,
therefore, to recover the structural point of view of that time
unless we consider the counter doctrine of function against
which it contended. Talk as they would in polite terms of pa-
rallel advance, dividing the field and complementing each the
other, the underlying conviction of each. party was that it was
itself the main reliance of psychology. Sharpening and narrow-
ing the concept of a dissecting kind of analysis only tended to
establish more firmly those who went in for mental functions.
We have seen the influence of biology in modeling the newer
science of psychology. We must also observe that biology
threatened to absorb psychology, as well as to set it models. This
threat came through the functionalists. Mind is, so they said,
but an organic device. It is one of the means of subsistence
and of adjustment to the environment. Perceiving, valuing,
appreciating, acting and knowing are devices for survival. They
are fuctional resources. Such a view appeared soon after
Titchener's article in J. R. Angell's espousal of function.*
Structure, for him, bore only upon the discernment of com-
plexity in fragments of consciousness. It was not otherwise
comparable to the cellular members of a living body or to the
physical and chemical elements. Function, on the contrary,
was the main aspect of our common experiences. It was.
the "how" and the "why" of our processes of conscious adjust-
ment; and since it included cognition, conation, affective ap-
preciation, and much besides, it led straight into all the prob-
lems of logic, ethics, aesthetics and the other philosophical dis-
ciplines.

An interesting variation in the existential or structural treat-
ment appeared in the writings of Mtinsterberg near the be-
ginning of the century. In his Presidential Address of 1898 9 "
before the American Psychological Association Miinsterberg
distinguished psychology from history, contending that psy-
chology, like physics, regards its objects as complexes of ele-
ments, while history deals with the will-attitudes and the pur-

^The relations of structural and functional psychology to philoso-
phy. Univ. of Chicago Decennial PubL, 1903, ser. 1, vol. vi, pt. 2,,
55-73; also Philos. Rev. t 1903, 12, 243-271. The actual contents of a
functional psychology based upon evolutionary conceptions are set
forth by Angell in his Psychology ; an introductory study of the:
structure and function of human consciousness, 1904.

Psychol. Rev., 1899, 6, 1,31.

392 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

poses of a person. But later 10 he came to distinguish within
psychology itself both causal and purposive varieties. The
first studied consciousness by way of analysis, reducing it to
simplest parts, which were then causally explained by reference
to neural processes. The second sought to understand in terms
of value the purposes of man. Both taken together gave Miin-
sterberg a basis for his psychology of applications. The first
appears roughly to represent the structural point of view ; but,
in reality, it is a mixture of process and function. Sensations
and their associated components appear along with such mat-
ters of performance as action, perception, and the activities of
the social mind. Where, therefore, Miinsterberg speaks of
"the world of mental processes" (1914, 285), we are not to
take the phrase in the sense of Titchener's anatomical descrip-
tion. It soon became the fashion to 'reconcile* structure and
function, just as it is now the fashion to reconcile behaviorism
and introspection. Among these attempts at reconciliation of
the two standpoints may be mentioned the Presidential Address
of Professor Calkins before the same Association in 1905. 11
Carrying over George Darwin's distinction between the biolo-
gist's functional relationship of the organism to the environ-
ment and the physicist's analytic interest in the ultimate struc-
tures of matter, Calkins attempted to show that the postulates
of a self -psychology could well make use of analysis (which
she held to be the essential point of the structuralists) and at
the same time make use of the category of function. The self,
that is to say, is to be at once structurally analysed and func-
tionally set into relation with the physical and social environ-
ment. This view, which regarded with disfavor the biological
trend of the times among the functionalists, depended, of
course, upon its basal conception of a conscious "self." Its al-
leged merit is, in this connection, the ackowledgment of an
inescapable self, which demands for its description both an
analysis into structures and the recognition of outside func-
tional relations.

From the turn of the century, and especially after the rival
claims of the structural and the functional psychologies had
been set forth by Titchener and Angell, vigorous and wide-
spread discussions upon the distinction sprang up on all sides. 12

IO E. g., in Psychology, general and applied, 1914.

n M. *W. Calkins, Psychol. Rev., 1906, 13, 61-81 ; cf . Psychology as
science of selves, Philos Rev., 1900, 9, 490-501.

"Among the earliest attacks upon structuralism stand those of
W. Caldwell in Psychol Rev., 1898, 5, 401-408; 1899, 6, 187-191.

HISTORICAL DERIVATION 393

Out of these discussions grew a very well marked partisan
difference which was destined to play a prominent part in the
writings and in the laboratories of American psychology for
the next two decades. Let me emphasize the reference to the
laboratories, for structuralism has laid great weight upon its
own suitability for the experimental attack upon psychological
problems. By its contributions to experimental research its
value may then fairly be judged. Next time we shall begin
here and go on to consider the fruits of the structural view and
try to estimate their importance for our subject.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE WORK OF THE STRUCTURALISTS*

BY MADISON BENTLEY

A convenient starting-point for our examination of struc-
turalism, as it actually worked itself out in the laboratories,
may be set by a summary of the problems of experimental
psychology which was made in 1904 by Professor Titchener
for the International Congress in St. Louis.

The materials for this summary Titchener gathered, as he
tells us, 13 from five representative periodicals, two German,
one French and two American, and all of them at that time
of several years standing.

After drawing a distinction between the "psychological" and
the "psychophysical" experiment (the former aiming at an
"introspective acquaintance with the processes and formations
of a given consciousness" ; the latter at a "numerical determin-
ation"), the reviewer goes on to give the result of his survey.
He finds (1) that the recent course of experimental psychology
had been away from psychophysics and toward introspection;
(2) that studies upon sensation, attention, perception, memory,
association and action had been abundant, and (3) that the
trend had been from the simple in mind toward the complex.
His counsel for future work lays stress, as we might expect,
upon those fields where the structural mode is most at home;
first upon sensation, affection and attention, designated as the
three fundamental departments of psychology, and afterwards
upon the analytical side of memory, association, action and
the higher intellectual processes. He is obviously troubled
by the functional terms "perception" and "imagination" which
he would like to banish or discard. In the one topic he finds "no
very pressing problem," and, in the other, experiment "hardly
over the threshold." Finally, the conquest of the total con-
sciousness, the "ultimate goal" of experiment, appears to be
remote. At the end Titchener considers briefly and with some
diffidence the experimental problems of the non-structuralist,
the man who is not "enamored of introspection." Though he
obviously tries to be non-partisan, he virtually drives the non-
structuralist from the study of the normal, human adult. Ex-
periment here "must take the form of introspective analysis."

*Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University, Jan-
uary 6, 1926.
"Amer. J. PsychoL, 1905, 16, 208-234.

396 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

He has "little sympathy or patience" with others. Their mode
is inherently "vicious/ 5 and so on. A sort of tolerance is
shown for outsiders in animal and child psychology and in the
treatment of the abnormal ; and the claims made for structural
analysis in those domains are decidedly weak.

Here we have, then, twenty years ago, a very fair intimation
of what we may expect of a structural psychology, as well as
a statement of its past conquests in the experimental field.
Now let us turn the page to a later time and look for ful-
filment.

When, in the autumn of 1909, Clark University celebrated
its twentieth anniversary, Professor Titchener was asked to
review the past decade in experimental psychology, 14 a period
which was long enough, as he thought, to warrant an inventory.
Let us see what the claims of structuralism were at this time.
The speaker prefaced his inventory by a high tribute to Ebbing-
haus, recently dead, and by an anticipation that only "a small
minority" in his audience would adopt his standpoint of un-
applied or "pure" science and would accept his conclusions.

By way of review Titchener found heavy inroads of practi-
cal interest, mentioning Meumann and pedagogy, Stern and
Aussage, Jung and diagnosis, Miinsterberg and psychotherapy.
He hints that such men are casual visitors to psychology, dwell-
ing for a time at the psychological cross-roads and passing on
with the gratitude and the "godspeed" of the faithful. In
this implied canon of criticism you see now, as some of us saw
then, the parti pris, the logical petitio, and confusion of struc-
tural analysis with psychology ueberltaupt; and you will be pre-
pared for the standards of criticism by means of which the
decade's fruitfulness was judged. Good energy has been "di-
verted," as we are told, into practical channels which might
otherwise have been expended in the service of science, while
non-psychological "temperaments," attracted to the laboratory,
whether "by curiosity, by mere chance of novelty," or in a
"serious mood," have "placed positive hindrances in the way
of scientific advance."

The topical review is the same as before. Knowledge of
sensation has increased, though theory there is still unsatisfac-
tory. The psychophysics of sensation has most strikingly ad-
vanced. We well remember that our author has himself, in
the meantime, made (especially by way of critical and clarified

"Amer. /. Psychol, 1910, 21, 404r421.

THE WORK OF THE STRUCTURALISTS 397

exposition) a very large contribution in his Quantitative Psy-
chology. 15 In simple feeling the reviewer found much product
but not much gain. The problem is still "upon the regular
waiting list," where it remains, as I venture to think, in this
year of grace 1926. The subject of attention has gained by
"many systematic treatises and laboratory studies" upon the
measurement of clearness. Perception again troubles Titchener
as a "field of vast range and uncertain limits." Certain spatial
and temporal perceptions have been advanced, notably by Be-
nussi and other members of the Austrian school of Meinong;
while biology and motor theories have run riot in America.
Memory and association have profited more in the psychophysi-
cal and practical directions than in their pure, analytical prob-
lems. Of the four researches mentioned, two authors (Kuhl-
mann and Whipple) had been connected with your own Uni-
versity. Action has taken strides in the way of structural analy-
sis, Ach and Watt making noteworthy contributions. Imagina-
tion is still "virgin territory." The emotions await agreement
upon the affective qualities ; but the experimental studies of the
thought-processes have, more than any one line of investigation,
"characterized the decennium." You know as well as I the
works of Wiirzburg and of Binet, Bovet, and Woodworth to
which reference is made, and you also know the clear-cut ex-
position of all these works in Titchener's own "Experimental
psychology of the thought processes" (1909).

For the extensions of experiment outside these preferred
headings of the structuralist, Titchener has time as before
for "only a word or two." Individual psychology is increasing
in importance, while the study of the abnormal has fallen below
expectations. The psychology of the animals is growing; but
the mental endowment of the animals can be profitably studied
"only by men trained in human psychology." Titchener closes
his review by the declaration that "to approach the study of
mind without analysis would, in fact, be nothing less than
ridiculous; and, in fact, no one does it," a statement which
would scarcely have been made ten years later.

I have dwelt upon these reviews of 1905 and 1910 less
because they represent achievements in the field of psychology
at large than because they may fairly be supposed to give a

"In another connection I have questioned the logic of bringing the
psychophysical metric methods under sensation instead of under the
rubrics of function. (The field of psychology, 1924, 400413.)

398 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

favorable view of structuralism during the years when that
form of psychological activity was especially vigorous and pro-
ductive. In the later review (the earlier is chiefly based upon
a general survey of a few of the journals) Titchener cites over
60 articles and books as making contributions to his brand of
"pure science." But we must remark that a dozen of these are
psychophysical (most of them works on Methodik) and of
these only two can be said to be chiefly analytical in his sense.
Moreover, this whole dozen would appear to be at least as con-
tributive to other brands of psychology; while several of the
works can scarcely be called "structural" at all, either in aim or
intent. These include Bering's Lehre, Nagel's Handbuch,
Wundt's Bemerkungen, Pillsbury's Attention, Burr's Auf-
merksamkeit, Woodworth's Imageless Thought, and the whole
list of Gottingen studies of Association. To be sure many of
these works have been found to be useful to men working under
what Titchener calls the "temperament" of the structuralist. But
all who know the psychological literature of those times will
see that, from most of them, the non-structuralist however
"impure" his temperament has been able to abstract a good
deal of comfort. Nothing could be more useful, for example,
to a certain "functional temperament" than G. E. Miiller's
Komplex, Pillsbury's and Diirr's Attention, and Messer's and
Woodworth's Gedanken; while the debt of Gestaltpsychologie
to Hering and Ebbinghaus is actually as great as it would be if
it were frankly acknowledged.

The same selective appropriation from sources common to
all psychologies appears in Ruckmick's review in 191 5. 16 By
counting titles in certain sections 17 of the Psychological Index
(1905-1915) this historian discovers "roughly two-and-a-half
times as many introspective as non-introspective experimental
papers." Again we must make allowance for the outlying
provinces of psychology (intensively cultivated during this de-
cade) and also for the fact that "introspective" covers a multi-
tude of meanings and is by no means coincident with the
"structural" variety. The outcome may supply a hard nut for
the behaviorist to crack; but I doubt whether anyone, no
matter what his "temperament/' can extract much consolation
from the ratio.

The logical maturity of our doctrine was within sight whea

**C. A. Ruckmick, The last decade of psychology in review, Amer.
Psychol. Ass., Dec., 1915, and Psychol. Bull., 1916, 13, 109-120.
"Coincident, in the main, with Titchener's range.

THE WORK OF THE STRUCTURALISTS 399

Kulpe and his pupils approached the citadel of thought by
way of the analytical method. Not daunted by Marbe's meagre
results with the simpler "judgments" or by Binet's divinatory
distinctions in the field of the intellect, Kiilpe set out upon the
direction indicated in Ach's studies of action by the method of
"systematic experimental introspection." We know the gen-
eral issue of the work. Wundt thought the method employed
(Ausfragemethode} logically imperfect, and he himself had
resorted to the genetic method of the Volkerpsychologie. Titch-
ener, who was presently to undertake these problems in his
own laboratory by way of structural analysis, finds 18 in 1909

the "three most tangible things characteristic and new" in

the outcome to be "a specific problem set: a principle of ex-
planation discovered: a volume of untrimmed introspections
offered in evidence."

There are many opinions upon the contribution made to
thinking by the 'structural' methods. I doubt, however,
whether anyone who has tried to write a coherent psychology
of thinking would contend that these methods have either sup-
plied the materials for this difficult chapter or so much as in-
dicated a usable means toward its experimental conquest. We
have, to be sure, various raw Gedankenelemete and the pro-
cesses of the sensationalists; but, since thinking is a mode of
performance and not any specific set of processes, the method
of structural analysis would appear to be at most a preliminary
reconnaissance of new territory and not a means of conquest.

Clark University has played its part in the history of struc-
tural examination. The careful and meticulous researches of
the late Professor Baird represent, as it seems to me, the most
persistent attempt to resolve the subtlest and most refrac-
tory problems of experience by the methods of analysis. If
they did not succeed in storming the citadels of thinking, they
stand, nevertheless, as notable instances of refined scientific
procedure in the laboratory, and they have, moreover, produced
factual materials with which every student of thought must
hereafter acquaint himself.

It is impossible, at this time, to place a final value upon the
standpoint which we have been examining. If I set down
what seem to me to be its psychological virtues and its limita-
tions, I do this principally by way of an individual opinion
when complete objectivity is still out of the question. But

"Lectures en the experimental psychology of the thought Processes,
1909, 165.

400 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

opinion at least challenges divergent opinion, and it also stands
the chance of containing a partial truth.

In the first place, structuralism was timely. It stood for
high standards of research when a multitude of new problems
appeared for which psychology had no canons and no adequate
procedures. Philosophy, physiology, general biology, and the
arts of application all stood at the door demanding admittance.
By setting off a definite and circumscribed area our doctrine
demanded the best empirical tools and means available. It took
over, notably from physiology, certain definite problems and
these it made really and clearly psychological. The immediate
formulation of functionalism and the gradual emergence of an
"objective" point of view naturally followed. These proposals
had, at the least, something definite against which to protest.
Protestantism is never a primary movement in human thought.
It presupposes some current doctrine, creed, or method to pro-
test. The more definite and aggressive the entrenched doc-
trine, the better for the protestants.

In the second place, structuralism had the scientific virtue
of reducing logical concepts and of setting free certain prob-
lems which demanded an experimental solution. When we
examine psychology at the opening of this century we see that
this was not a superfluous or merely academic virtue.

In the third place, structuralism set a premium upon his-
torical studies and upon an historical continuity within psy-
chology. Other types of psychology might but so far as I
know no other type does insist so effectively upon historical
coherence. The first generation of psychologists (the genera-
tion responsible for the opening of the laboratories and the es-
tablishment of academic departments) knew their antecedents.
Had they not, I doubt whether they could have made their
way with presidents, trustees, and the great public. Such
historical knowledge has not been the rule in the succeeding
generations. Flagrant instances of ignorance of antecedents,
and of present rival doctrines as well, lead one to wonder
what mental age would be indicated by an intelligence test
applied to psychologists upon their own subject. You will
agree, as I think, that no single individual has done so much
to cultivate this historical knowledge of psychology as has Pro-
fessor Titchener.

Again, and finally, the great productivity in certain branches
of psychology under the standpoint of structural analysis is
acknowledged by everyone who knows the literature of the

THE WORK OF THE STRUCTURALISTS 401

last quarto-century. Who can here estimate relative values?
It would be a wise psychologist, much more objective than the
most ardent of the "objectivists," who could accord to each
school its just due; and, once accorded, what school would be
convinced !

Upon certain general points, however, we may, as I think,
look for agreement among those who are accustomed to keep
the run of psychological production here and abroad.

First, it is obvious that research under the category of "struc-
ture" has been most productive in certain limited fields of
adult human psychology. These fields include sensation, simple
feeling, attention and action. Here description in "process"
(or its equivalent) has greatly added to our knowledge. While
not inventive or revolutionary the methods here have been
as I should say sounder and more productive than any other
methods in psychology. But wherever the facts and the con-
cepts have called for an account of operation or performance,
as in perception, memory and thinking, the structural methods
have shown themselves to be inadequate. In the fields of the
abnormal, the genetic and the individual, not much has been
contributed from this direction.

In the second place, the revival and extension of quantitative
problems and procedures owe much to structuralism, or, at
the least, to certain advocates of that doctrine. Titchener's
Quantitative Psychology was almost encyclopedic in its pro-
portions. It has greatly advanced what we may call the psy-
chologization of the metric methods. But whether measure-
ment in psychology is really mental measurement, as some
structuralists have argued, I have had occasion to doubt; for
I have thought that what we actually measure by the psycho-
physical methods is functional output and not anything which
can be turned into "process." However that may be, our debt
to the strict methodology of the structuralists is here very
great ; and it will appear greater as the promise of the present
is gradually fulfilled.

On the other side of the ledger, too, certain entries must be
made. In the first place, structuralism has, to my mind, never
justified its dogmatic assertion that first-hand observation of
human experience was synomynous with structural observation.
Neither has it justified its contention that the main method
of science was analysis. It is, as I think, not much less than
a caricature of the sciences of nature to say that the physicist,
the chemist, and the zoologist are always and only analysing.

402 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

Koehler has, as we know, recently given very definite indica-
tions to the contrary; but outside the range of this dogma it
has, for some time, been generally conceived to be a formal
and logical not a realistic view of science which has brought
into relief the typical chemist or physicist as forever breaking
down his substances into constituent elements. Analysis, surely !
but not simply analysis; and, for many problems, not analysis
at all.

Once more. The dogma of the simple has tempted the struc-
turalist to confuse his province with the general range of psy-
chological problems and methods. What this doctrine can do
has been abundantly shown. Its genius is expressed in the
range of its actual accomplishments. But what lies beyond
must also be considered. It succeeds best, as it seems to me,
in its description of the qualitative variety within experience.
There it is very strong where the doctrine of the Gestalt is
weak. But it needs to be complemented and supplemented by
many other characterizations of experience, to say nothing of
those problems of organic performance in which experience
is only implied. I do not hold with those who believe that
a simple verbal formula (e.g., the formula of stimulus-re-
sponse), with only a general and hypothetical conception of
bodily mechanisms, will enable the psychologist to meet the de-
mands both of science and of the various forms of practice
from animal training to sociology. That savors of science
by the attachment of labels. But I see no reason why all the
knowledge we can muster should not be used by those interested
in the arts of practice. In reflecting upon the call to adminis-
trative duties of your late Professor Sanford, Titchener re-
marked 19 that experimental results must justify themselves by
some sanction, some principle of co-ordination, and that, in ex-
perimental psychology, he could see but two sanctions; the
first "system, the applied logic of general psychology, and the
second application." Surely, if we justify the research of our
laboratories by way of these two sanctions, we shall discover
not one single experimental road to follow, but many.

There is still another defect which, while it is not peculiar
to structuralism alone, deserves to be set down in this list
with considerable deliberation. It appears in the assumption
that the parts or members of experience run a course parallel
to that of excitatory processes in the receptor. In the struc-
tural accounts of sensation each element has its own specific

"Amer. J. PsychoL, 1925, 36, 159.

THE WORK OF THE STRUCTURALISTS 403

antecedent, and the 'theories' of sensation (visual, auditory,
and the rest) attempt to set forth the antecedent term in this
invariable sequence. A corollary of this one-to-one relation
between sensation and neural process appears in the emphasis
laid by the structuralist upon "stimulus." 20 We see, then, how
naturally sensationalism has tended toward a peripheral and
sensory theory of bodily substrates. Again, in Angell's bio-
logical functionalism consciousness confesses its dependence
upon physical antecedents within and without the organism.
While the one-to-one correlation is less rigidly carried out here,
the same principle of determination is evident. Only in the
selective powers of attention and volition does consciousness
wear the appearance of an originator and director. Nowhere,
however, does this principle appear so fundamental to any psy-
chological doctrine as in the stimulus-response hypothesis of
behaviorism. There the consequent term is not sensation and
not conscious function, but movement. As the organism is
stimulated so does it move. Without this one-to-one parallel-
ism behaviorism falls to the ground, or else it becomes (as
we now frequently see it becoming) something different, though
wearing the same label.

I have spoken of this common tendency as a 'defect.' There
is, as I think, enough evidence to sanction the statement. The
upholders of the Gestodt-theorie have not minimized as we
all know the deficiencies of this hypothesis of a constant re-
lation of psychological antecedent and consequent (Konstanz-
hypothese). For them stimulus is not the real determiner of
experience. As the latter is always a unitary whole or totality,
so does it depend upon a similar kind of total-function in the
body. Stimulus is the more or less incidental occasion of the
experience, not the model or pattern of its integral charac-
teristics. While an allied tendency to forsake local functions
and neuronal tracts in the brain appears in the cerebral studies
of Franz, Lashley and others, as well as in much current work
among the neurologists von F&ch. Now the sequences "stimu-
lus-sensation" and "stimulus-movement" rest upon the old con-
ceptions of local excitation and of the reflex-arc as the repre-
sentative functional unit of the nervous system; conceptions
which have, as it seems to many, lost (in spite of their
simplicity) most of their former usefulness in psychology. On

The study of the affective qualities has always been more diffi-
cult. Structural analysis has vacillated between the views of re-
ceptors and no-specific receptors for the simple feelings.

404 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

the one -hand, structuralism and behaviorism have laid too
much emphasis upon stimulus and its direct organic effects
at the receptor, in the brain, in experience, and in movement.
Configurationism, on the other, goes too far in making stim-
ulus and receptor merely incidental to experience. In hold-
ing to an intermediate position I should say that stimulus and
the integral and functionally tuned body are co-determiners,
which must be taken into strict account whether we seek the
essential antecedents of experience, of the structural attributes,
or of the organic movement.

Thus our adverse criticisms tend rather toward the pretenses
and the inherent limitations than toward the actual procedures
of structuralism. There is no doubt, moreover, that the criti-
cisms should be tempered by reflection upon the complementary
frailties and limitations of competing standpoints. If this creed
does ultimately rest upon a certain kind of "temperament," as
we have heard that it does, and upon a preference for prob-
lems of a certain restricted type, as we have seen that it does,
then its claim to supply the one substantial foundation for our
subject or to represent a "purer" and more desirable set of
scientific principles than others would seem to stand with no
more justification than do the similar pretensions of rival doc-
trines.

In our final estimation of this standpoint we must consider,
as we observed at the beginning, that it represents a closed
chapter in psychological history. 21 - We take the past as it
stands. We act foolishly when we try to ignore it; and we
proceed with wisdom when we acknowledge the substantial con-
tributions which the doctrine of mental structures has made
to the subject of our common study and our common regard.

^In a remark upon the passing of the structure-function antithesis,
Titchener has recently referred to the "radical change wrought over
the whole field of the science since it turned to phenomenology"
(Amer. J. PsychoL, 1925, 36, 323). How emphatically his own en-
visagement of psychology has been modified is indicated .by the
catholic range of articles published in the American Journal of Psy-
chology under his competent editorship of the last five years.

CHAPTER XIX

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL ORGANISM*

BY MADISON BENTLEY

Within the last three decades the influence of the biological
sciences upon our subject has been very great. Especially in
America have these disciplines deeply impressed psychology
both by way of their general point of view and by way of their
methods of procedure. This deep impress of the biological
pattern is to be first ascribed, as we may suppose, to the rapid
advancement of physiology and of the evolutionary studies
of the organism at a time when psychology was forsaking its
ancient philosophical allies and seeking an alliance with the
sciences of nature. The impress itself is plainly to be seen in
the trend of our animal studies, in genetic accounts of the
human being, in the adaptive and adjustive types of functional-
ism, and in various behavioristic writings of the last two
decades.

To many this inclination in psychology to merge with the
biological group is wholly admirable. Those who encourage
the tendency are content to adopt the concepts and the prob-
lems of the zoological sciences; though they generally limit
themselves to certain problems of anatomy and physiology
or to certain phases of the dynamic relations of the animal to
its surroundings.

Anyone who is familiar with our current books and periodi-
cals will have observed that this biological point of view has
been productive. It has been productive, that is to say, within
a fairly limited range of problems; a range which covers
many inquiries into neural functions, the movement systems
of the body, and the active ecological adjustments of the organ-
ism. But we must also observe that many facts of psychologi-
cal import naturally lie without this range; though they are
sometimes forced within it by a strained and illogical inclusion.
Such an effort to biologize facts which lie outside the realm of
the active body and its functions appears, for example, in the
attempts of the behaviorist to write "objectively" of memory,
imagination, thinking and the like, in terms of "responsive'*
adjustments of the body to its environment.

*Powell Lecture in Psychological Theory at Clark University, Jan*
nary 7, 1926.

406 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

It is this logical and factual failure of biological concepts
and principles within a relatively large part of ^ psychology
which suggests the distinction between the biological and the
psychological organism; or between what we may more ac-
curately describe as the psychologist's conception as set over
against the biologist's conception of the living being. The pro-
posal to start fresh with a new view of the organism is cer-
tain to meet with resistance; but with resistance which rests
upon nothing more secure, as I venture to believe, than the
temporal priority and the scientific prestige of a group of dis-
ciplines firmly established in the intellectual life of European
and American cultures. We can well conceive that a funda-
mental and rapid development of psychology fifty or seventy-
five years ago, out of which a biological group might gradually
have come, would have found us with as strong a contrary
bias against a mere anatomy or a mere treatment of bodily
functions. At all events it is worth our while to neglect, for
the moment, the biological abstractions from the totality of
our lives and to encourage a view of the organism which shall
be distinctively psychological.

To be sure, such phrases as "the totality of life" or "the
total process of living" should be qualified by any form of
psychology which hopes to escape the charge that it seeks to
embrace the whole round of human life. No one of the sciences
treats exhaustively and at large its objects of study. Much is
known and written about the surface of the earth which does
not fall under geography; much about animals which is not to
be found within the zoological treatises, and so with all the
others. It is only quite special and restricted views and as-
pects of objects and processes which fall within the compass
of any of the sciences of nature. Psychology orients itself in
just the same way. The self-styled psychology of the romantic
magazine and of the character analyst may capitalize anything
which brings in the "human element" or the "inner life" of
man; but any psychology which makes its peace with logic,
which is constituted of principles, and which respects facts, must
restrict itself to a point of view just as rigorously as do botany,
physics, geology, and all the rest.

When we propose the "total" or "psychological" organism
as the object of our study and investigation we only mean to
psychologize those facts of life which include at once
tjbe experiences which we commonly call "thinking," "wishing/*
"remembering/' and the like, and also certain zoological de-

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL ORGANISM 407

tails of the body and its operations. The proposal lays em-
phasis neither upon a "consciousness" which inhabits or shadows
the body nor upon a self-sufficient mechanism of flesh and blood
which suffers from and reacts to the agencies of the physical
environment and which is only attended by an adventitious
and half-real mind or spirit. Instead of two "aspects," then
one of them real and efficacious, the other epiphenomenal we
have one unitary organism, described in part in experiential,
and in part in bodily, terms. Thus we advance one step from
the abstract, cellular organism of the anatomist, physiologist,
and student of genetics, from which all experience has been
strained away, toward the concrete creature of our everyday
lives. Only one step, for we still abstract, in psychology, from
the personal, social, economic and political affairs where value,
not description, plays the chief role.

Let us observe how an inquiry into such a psychological
organism would stand related to some of the conceptions which
we find current in our field today.

As regards, first, the behavioristic forms of doctrine we
notice a difference with respect to the environment. The basal
relation of stimulus to response implies that the environment
is primary. The physical milieu affects itself by way of the
organism, which it essentially controls. Since movement and
some other vital activities are ultimately determined by the
function of the receptors, and these latter organs by the ener-
gies of the stimulus, it follows that, for the behaviorists, the
organism is more or less secondary to these physical systems
which lie without. In our view, on the other hand, the total
organism 'is central. It is the main object of study. It is no
more absolutely independent of other systems than other ob-
jects of the universe are; but it is regarded for its own sake
and other systems are treated in their relation to it. It is
relatively independent.

With respect to the historical doctrine of structuralism our
proposal shares the concept of experience. But whereas ex-
perience was there regarded as a complex which was to be
described first of all by an analysis into elementary processes
having assignable properties or attributes, experience is here
to be considered as an integral part of the organism, and it is
to be described in such subdivisions or aspects as its own nature
suggests and to be treated as a part of the activity of the total
elementary qualities upon stimulus here gives way to the total
organic system. Furthermore, the alleged dependence of the

408

PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

organism, which stands as the real temporal antecedent. One
but only one of the determinants of experience is stimulus,
which stands among an entire congeries of physical agents
momentarily affecting the organism. Where experience is iso-
lated for its own separate description, both its qualitative va-
riety and patterning and its inherent unities have to be con-
sidered: where the organism is to be viewed functionally, ex-
perience merges with other factors and moments in the total
performance.

From configurationism, taken in the sense of the Ge stall,
we should chiefly dissent where that doctrine exaggerates the
importance of the "total" side of experience, contending for
the primacy of the whole and subordinating the part, together
with its antecedent conditions, to a structure (Struktur) which
is frequently ambiguous and conspicuously undeterminable. Its
neglect of qualitative variety should be replaced by a more em-
pirical and a more catholic description.

While psychoanalysis takes a direction divergent from the
psychological view which we here sustain, certain fundamental
similarities may be made out. There, too, emphasis is laid
upon the integrity, especially the temporal integrity, of the
living being. The individual is to be understood, according to
the psychoanalyst, only by an inquiry into its past and with a
prediction into its future. Whether it is made or marred depends
upon its past, and its destiny likewise rests upon its reconstitu-
tion and re-organization in course. The divergent path of
psychoanalysis begins with the assumption of conflicting psy-
chical forces which are designed to explain the nature of human
experience and of human character. Here the mental or the
"spiritual" is made primary. Libido, the unconscious, com-
pensation, sublimation, and the like, are causal agents which
engender and mould the life-course of the individual and of
society. This infringement of the total psychological organism
and this creation of mental forces stand, of course, against the
principles and the point of view here suggested.

These relations and distinctions may be set forth by the aid
of_the following simple diagram.

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL ORGANISM 409

The section of the figure bounded by solid lines is de-
signed schematically to represent the course of events within
the psychological organism during a small segment of time.
The dotted lines suggest that the segment is to be taken as an
artificially limited moment within a continuous course. The
zig-zig line from "stim" to "mvmt" stands for the alleged
coupling of the behaviorist. Its course suggests that the real
connection between a specific stimulus and a certain move-
ment is (a) a continuous and constantly modified series of
events, (b) determined in part by a large number of stimulus
elements and in part by the total state and functional tendency
of the entire psychological organism. The whole figure is
meant to emphasize the fact that the organism is for us an
integer ; i. e., a relatively independent system which is, in spite
of its constant interplay with other systems, taking its
course and making its changeable, but individual, way across
its life-span. Here the psychological emphasis is upon the
organism; not upon an environment which bounds and deter-
mines the organism from the two sides of stimulus and response.
As against the structuralist's parallelism formulated between
process (or attribute) and stimulus (or property of stimulus)
the figure represents the natural coherences of experience and of
bodily function as these are decreed by the total antecedent
state, the functional trend, and the stimulus^patterns upon many
receptors. As set against the psychical agencies which are
postulated by the psychoanalyst to explain the "mental" pe-
culiarities of a "physical" organism, the schema proposes a
total and integral organism whose functions flow from a long
and varied past under the modifying influences of a constantly
changing present.

We may, at the end, indicate the way in which the conception
of pur psychological organism contributes to the solution of the
main problems of psychology. 1

I. Performance and character of the adult human being.
Description, which is here the primary mode of procedure,
takes two directions. The first looks toward the phenomeno-
logical depiction of experience, both as regards its qualitative
characteristics and other details and as regards the functional
description of its performance and operations. In so far as
character can be made independent of past history and genetic

'The problems here distinguished have 'been more explicitly dis-
cussed by the author in PsychoL Rev.> 1926, 33 t 71-105.

410 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

continuity, it -becomes, under this heading, the empirical prob-
lem of the general and generic features of the individual or
"person."

II: The comparative study of animals. As in all applica-
tions of the comparative method to the sciences, the psychologi-
cal description of individuals is made as intensive and as
exact as possible. Upon the basis of the individual descriptions
a legitimate use of inference leads toward a sound comparison
of unlike but related organisms. Here the logic of the pro-
cedure is exactly the same as it is in astral physics, paleontology
and many other natural sciences. The only distinguishing fea-
ture of the comparisons here proposed is that the objects com-
pared are psychological organisms and not the organisms of
the embryologist and the geneticist.

III. . Psychological history of the individual, of human kbiti?
and of the animal series. The threefold problem of genesis
and development is here wholly determined by the underlying
conception of the organism. Zoological histories, whether onto-
genetic or phylogenetic, are used only to this end, as are also
studies of the behavior of the child, of the cultural levels of
man, and of other animals. The primary aim is to establish,
by all feasible means and methods, genetic continuities and dis-
junctions of a psychological kind within the individual and
among blood relations.

IV. Individual, class and racial differences. Here all the
facts and principles derived from the three preceding subdi-
visions are brought together and made to bear upon the discov-
ery of a differential psychology. The psychological conception
of the individual seems to be especially appropriate in this
group of problems. ; For it is plain that neither
somatic factors nor mental factors are adequate, when
taken alone, to the description of the differentiating character-
istics of the individual. The essential similarities and dis-
similarities seem, on the contrary, to inhere in the total organ-
ism. Even the quantitative distinctions drawn between human
beings as of "intelligence" or of "character" rest upon func-
tional capabilities which express, not the body alone or the
mind alone, but the total organism. Furthermore, the failure
of many attempts to typify by a single "measure" these char-
acteristics of the individual suggests that the entire history
of the organism must be considered in this branch of psy-
chology. The same necessity for depicting 4he entire person

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL ORGANISM 411

or individual appears in drawing distinctions between classes,
races and ethnic groups.

V. Psychological deficiencies and disorders. Those defects,
diseases, and abnormalities which the psychologist seeks to
describe and to understand rest, for the greater part, upon a
disturbance or an eccentricity of functions which express the
total organism. The deficiency or disorder appears therefore in
memory, perception, understanding, action, emotion, and the
like; and these are precisely the functional modes of the psy-
chological individual.

VI. Social psychology. Since every empirical psychology
has had to reject such fictions as "the social consciousness,"
"the group mind," "the consciousness of kind/' and other like
social faculties, the actual realities of socialization itself and
the concrete display of socialization in observed human groups
and relationships have appeared to be of primary importance,
in the study of the social life of man and of other animals.
And here it appears that man is socialized only as he exercises
the functions of the total organism. It is the significance of the
object or person perceived, the emotion suffered, the common
action undertaken, and so on, that is socialized and that thus
socializes the individual and the group. It is not any mysterious
instinct or innate power which draws men together. Of course
it is necessary in social studies to go behind the actual moment
of socialization to its conditions and causes; but here again
whatever makes the psychological organism and makes it change
and develop underlies the socialized experience and the con-
duct of the human individual. The integral character of the
whole individual likewise suggests an integration of these con-
ditions as well. Hence we have, instead of a bundle of in-
stincts, a dozen springs of human action, or the coercion of
"social institutions," the development of the socialized person
unfolding as the product (not the sum) of (1) racial stock,
(2) the sheer processes of growth, (3) the moulding influence
of the physical surroundings, (4) intercourse with other be-
ings, and (5) the impress of institutions, traditions and cus-
toms. No one of these factors is to be exalted above the
others, and no combination of them is to be regarded as ex-
ternal and merely summative.

We have proposed, in fine, to set out upon the road toward
psychological description and explanation under the logical guid-
ance of a psychologist's organism or of a psychological organ-
ism; discounting, on the one hand, the philosopher's notion of

412 PSYCHOLOGIES OF 1925

an independent mind or consciousness, and, on the other, the
biologist's abstraction of an organized and self-sufficient body
of flesh and blood. With this approach, pur main problems con-
cern those active and experiencing individuals which we our-
selves are day by day and moment by moment. Only we must
leave aside for separate and non-psychological consideration'
all concerns of "human nature" which are private, valuational
and normative. The organism so regarded has seemed to us
to offer a promising and suitable approach to the main fields,
of psychological exposition and research.