The Story of the Mind

J >> James Mark Baldwin >> The Story of the Mind

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17

Thus we see that the terms and faculties of the older psychology can
be arranged under this doctrine of Apperception without the necessity
of thinking of the mind as doing more than the one thing. It simply
groups and combines its material in different ways and in ever higher
degrees of complexity.

Apperception, then, is the one principle of mental activity on the
side of its reception and treatment of the materials of experience.

There is another term very current in psychology by which this same
process is sometimes indicated: the phrase Association of Ideas. This
designates the fact that when two things have been perceived or
thought of together, they tend to come up together in the mind in the
future; and when a thing has been perceived which resembles another,
or is contrasted with it, they tend to recall each other in the same
way. It is plain, however, that this phrase is applied to the single
thoughts, sensations, or other mental materials, in their relations or
connections among themselves. They are said to be "associated" with
one another. This way of speaking of the mental materials, instead of
speaking of the mind's activity, is convenient; and it is quite right
to do so, since it is no contradiction to say that the thoughts, etc.,
which the mind "apperceives" remain "associated" together. From this
explanation it is evident that the Association of Ideas also comes
under the mental process of Apperception of which we have been
speaking.

There is, however, another tendency of the mind in the treatment of
its material, a tendency which shows us in actual operation the
activity with which we have now become familiar. When we come to look
at any particular case of apperception or association we find that the
process must go on from the platform which the mind's attainments have
already reached. The passing of the mental states has been likened to
a stream which flows on from moment to moment with no breaks. It is so
continuous that we can never say: "I will start afresh, forget the
past, and be uninfluenced by my history." However we may wish this, we
can never do it; for the oncoming current of the stream is just what
we speak of as ourselves, and we can not avoid bringing the memories,
imaginations, expectations, disappointments, etc., up to the present.
So the effect which any new event or experience, happening for the
first time, is to have upon us depends upon the way it fits into the
current of these onflowing influences. The man I see for the first
time may be so neutral to me that I pass him unregarded. But let him
return after I have once remarked him, or let him resemble a man whom
I know, or let him give me some reason to observe, fear, revere, think
of him in any way, then he is a positive factor in my stream. He has
been taken up into the flow of my mental life, and he henceforth
contributes something to it.

For example, a little child, after learning to draw a man's face, with
two eyes, the nose and mouth, and one ear on each side, will
afterward, when told to draw a profile, still put in two eyes and
affix an ear to each side. The drift of mental habit tells on the new
result and he can not escape it.

He will still put in the two eyes and two ears when he has before him
a copy showing only one ear and neither eye.

In all such cases the new is said to be Assimilated to the old. The
customary figure for man in the child's memory assimilates the
materials of the new copy set before him.

Now this tendency is universal. The mind must assimilate its new
material as much as possible, thus making the old stand for the new.
Otherwise there would be no containing the fragmentary details which
we should have to remember and handle. Furthermore, it is through this
tendency that we go on to form the great classes of objects--such as
man, animal, virtue--into which numbers of similar details are put,
and which we call General Notions or Concepts.

We may understand by Assimilation, therefore, the general tendency of
new experiences to be treated by us in the ways which similar material
has been treated before, with the result that the mind proceeds from
the particular case to the general class.

Summing up our outcome so far, we find that general psychology has
reached three great principles in its investigation of knowledge.
First, we have the combining tendency of the mind, the grouping
together and relating of mental states and of things, called
_Apperception_. Then, second, there are the particular relations
established among the various states, etc., which are combined; these
are called _Associations_ of Ideas. And, third, there is the tendency
of the mind to use its old experiences and habits as general patterns
or nets for the sorting out and distributing of all the new details of
daily life; this is called _Assimilation_.

II. Let us now turn to the second great aspect of the mind, as general
or introspective psychology considers it, the aspect which presents
itself in Action or conduct. The fact that we act is of course as
important as the fact that we think or the fact that we feel; and the
distinction which separates thought and action should not be made too
sharp.

Yet there is a distinction. To understand action we must again go to
introspection. This comes out as soon as we ask how we reach our
knowledge of the actions of others. Of course, we say at once that we
see them. And that is true; we do see them, while as to their thoughts
we only infer them from what we see of their action. But, on the other
hand, we may ask: How do we come to infer this or that thought from
this or that action of another? The only reply is: Because when we act
in the same way this is the way we feel. So we get back in any case to
our own consciousness and must ask how is this action related to this
thought in our own mind.

To this question psychology has now a general answer: Our action is
always the result of our thought, of the elements of knowledge which
are at the time present in the mind. Of course, there are actions
which we do from purely nervous reasons. These are the Instincts,
which come up again when we consider the animals. But these we may
neglect so long as we are investigating actions which we consider our
own. Apart from the Instincts, the principle holds that behind every
action which our conduct shows there must be something thought of,
some sensation or knowledge then in mind, some feeling swelling within
our breast, which prompts to the action.

This general principle is Motor Suggestion. It simply means that we
are unable to have any thought or feeling whatever, whether it comes
from the senses, from memory, from the words, conduct, or command of
others, which does not have a direct influence upon our conduct. We
are quite unable to avoid the influence of our own thoughts upon our
conduct, and often the most trivial occurrences of our daily lives act
as suggestions to deeds of very great importance to ourselves and
others. For example, the influence of the newspaper reports of crime
stimulate other individuals to perform the same crimes by this
principle of suggestion; for the fact is that the reading of the
report causes us to entertain the thoughts, and these thoughts tend to
arouse in us their corresponding trains of suggested action.

The most interesting and striking sphere of operation of the principle
of Suggestion (of other sorts as well as motor) is what is commonly
known simply as Hypnotism. To that, as well as to further
illustrations of Suggestion, we will return later on.

We are able, however, to see a little more in detail how the law of
Motor Suggestion works by asking what sort of action is prompted in
each case of thought or feeling, at the different levels of the mind's
activity which have been distinguished above as all illustrating
Apperception--e.g., the stages known as Perception, Imagination,
Reasoning, etc.

We act, of course, on our perceptions constantly; most of our routine
life is made up of such action on the perceptions of objects which lie
about us. The positions of things in the house, in the streets, in the
office, in the store, are so well known that we carry out a series of
actions with reference to these objects without much supervision from
our consciousness. Here the law of Motor Suggestion works along under
the guidance of Perception, Memory, and the Association of Ideas. Then
we find also, in much of our action, an element due to the exercise of
the Imagination. We fill in the gaps in the world of perception by
imagining appropriate connections; and we then act as if we knew that
these imaginations were realities. This is especially true in our
intercourse with our fellow-men. We never really know what they will
do from time to time. Their action is still future and uncertain; but
from our familiarity with their character, we surmise or imagine what
they expect or think, and we then act so as to make our conduct fit
into theirs. Here is suggestion of a personal kind which depends upon
our ability, in a sense, to reconstruct the character of others,
leading us out into appropriate action. This is the sphere of the most
important affairs of our lives. It appears especially so when we
consider its connection with the next great sort of action from
suggestion.

This next and highest sphere is action from the general or abstract
thoughts which we have been able to work up by the apperceiving
activity of the mind. In this sphere we have a special name for those
thoughts which influence us directly and lead us to action: we call
such thoughts Motives. We also have a special name for the sort of
action which is prompted by clearly-thought-out motives: Will. But in
spite of this emphasis given to certain actions of ours as springing
from what is called Will, we must be careful to see that Will is not a
new faculty, or capacity, added to mind, and which is different from
the ways of action which the mind had before the Will arose. Will is
only a name for the action upon suggestions of conduct which are so
clear in our minds that we are able to deliberate upon them, acting
only after some reflection, and so having a sense that the action
springs from our own choice. The real reasons for action, however, are
thoughts, in this case, just as in the earlier cases they were. In
this case we call them Motives; but we are dependent upon these
Motives, these Suggestions; we can not act without Motives, nor can we
fail to act on those Motives which we have; just as, in the earlier
cases, we could not act without some sort of Perceptions or
Imaginations or Memories, and we could not fail to act on the
Perceptions or other mental states which we had. Voluntary action or
Will is therefore only a complex and very highly conscious case of the
general law of Motor Suggestion; it is the form which suggested action
takes on when Apperception is at its highest level.

The converse of Suggestion is also true--that we can not perform an
action without having in the mind at the time the appropriate thought,
or image, or memory to suggest the action. This dependence of action
upon the thought which the mind has at the time is conclusively shown
in certain patients having partial paralysis. These patients find that
when the eyes are bandaged they can not use their limbs, and it is
simply because they can not realize without seeing the limb how it
would feel to move it; but open the eyes and let them see the
limb--then they move it freely. A patient can not speak when the
cortex of the brain is injured in the particular spot which is used in
remembering how the words feel or sound when articulated. Many such
cases lead to the general position that for each of our intentional
actions we must have some way of thinking about the action, of
remembering how it feels, looks, etc.; we must have something in mind
_equivalent_ to the experience of the movement. This is called the
principle of Kinaesthetic Equivalents, an expression which loses its
formidable sound when we remember that "kinaesthetic" means having the
feeling of movement; so the principle expresses the truth that we must
in every case have some thought or mental picture in mind which is
equivalent to the feeling of the movement we desire to make; if not,
we can not succeed in making it.

What we mean by the "freedom" of the will is not ability to do
anything without thinking, but ability to think all the alternatives
together and to act on this larger thought. Free action is the fullest
expression of thought and of the Self which thinks it.

It is interesting to observe the child getting his Equivalents day by
day. He can not perform a new movement simply by wishing to do so; he
has no Equivalents in his mind to proceed upon. But as he learns the
action, gradually striking the proper movements one by one--oftenest
by imitation, as we will see later on--he stores the necessary
Equivalents up in his memory, and afterward only needs to think how
the movements feel or look, or how words sound, to be able to make
the movements or speak the words forthwith.

III. Introspection finds another great class of conditions in
experience, again on the receptive side--conditions which convert the
mind from the mere theatre of indifferent changes into the vitally
interested, warmly intimate thing which our mental life is to each of
us. This is the sphere of Feeling. We may see without more ado that
while we are receiving sensations and thoughts and suggestions, and
acting upon them in the variety of ways already pointed out, we
ourselves are not indifferent spectators of this play, this
come-and-go of processes. We are directly implicated; indeed, the very
sense of a self, an ego, a me-and-mine, in each consciousness, arises
from the fact that all this come-and-go is a personal growth. The mind
is not a mere machine doing what the laws of its action prescribe. We
find that nothing happens which does not affect the mind itself for
better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, for pleasure or for
pain; and there spring up a series of attitudes of the mind itself,
according as it is experiencing or expecting to experience what to it
is good or bad. This is, then, the great meaning of Feeling; it is the
sense in the mind that it is itself in some way influenced for good or
for ill by what goes on within it. It stands midway between thought
and action. We feel with reference to what we think, and we act
because we feel. All action is guided by feeling.

Feeling shows two well-marked characters: first, the Excitement of
taking a positive attitude; and, second, the Pleasure or Pain that
goes with it.

Here, again, it may suffice to distinguish the stages which arise as
we go from the higher to the lower, from the life of Sensation and
Perception up to that of Thought. This was our method in both of the
other phases of the mental life--Knowledge and Action. Doing this,
therefore, in the case of Feeling also, we find different terms
applied to the different phases of feeling. In the lowest sort of
mental life, as we may suppose the helpless newborn child to have it,
and as we also think it exists in certain low forms of animal life,
feeling is not much more than Pleasures and Pains depending largely
upon the physical conditions under which life proceeds. It is likely
that there are both Pleasures and Pains which are actually sensations
with special nerve apparatus of their own; and there are also states
of the Comfortable and the Uncomfortable, or of pleasant and
unpleasant feeling, due to the way the mind is immediately affected.
These are conditions of Excitement added to the Sensations of Pleasure
and Pain.

Coming up to the life of Memory and Imagination, we find many great
classes of Emotions testifying to the attitudes which the mind takes
toward its experiences. They are remarkably rich and varied, these
emotions. Hope gives place to its opposite despair, joy to sorrow, and
regret succeeds expectation. No one can enumerate the actual phases of
the emotional life. The differences which are most pronounced--as
between hope and fear, joy and sorrow, anger and love--have special
names, and their stimulating causes are so constant that they have
also certain fixed ways of showing themselves in the body, the
so-called emotional Expressions. It is by these that we see and
sympathize with the emotional states of other persons. The most that
we have room here to say is that there is a constant ebb and flow, and
that we rarely attain a state of relative freedom from the influence
of emotion.

The fixed bodily Expressions of emotion are largely hereditary and
common to man and the animals. It is highly probable that they first
arose as attitudes useful in the animal's environments for defence,
flight, seizure, embrace, etc., and have descended to man as
survivals, so becoming indications of states of the mind.

The final and highest manifestation of the life of feeling is what we
call Sentiment. Sentiment is aroused in response to certain so-called
ideal states of thought. The trend of mental growth toward constantly
greater adequacy in its knowledge leads it to anticipate conditions
when its attainments will be made complete. There are certain sorts of
reality whose completeness, thus imagined, arouses in us emotional
states of the greatest power and value. The thought of God gives rise
to the Religious sentiment, that of the good to the Ethical or Moral
sentiment, that of the beautiful to the Esthetic sentiment. These
sentiments represent the most refined and noble fruitage of the life
of feeling, as the thoughts which they accompany refer to the most
elevated and ideal objects. And it is equally true that the conduct
which is performed under the inspiration of Sentiment is the noblest
and most useful in which man can engage.

CHAPTER III.

THE MIND OF THE ANIMAL--COMPARATIVE PSYCHOLOGY.

It has already been pointed out that the animal has a very important
share of the endowment which we call mind. Only recently has he been
getting his due. He was formerly looked upon, under the teachings of a
dualistic philosophy and of a jealous humanity, as a soulless machine,
a mere automaton which was moved by the starting of certain springs to
run on until the machine ran down. There are two reasons that this
view has been given up, each possibly important enough to have
accomplished the revolution and to have given rise to Animal
Psychology.

First, there is the rise of the evolution theory, which teaches that
there is no absolute break between man and the higher animals in the
matter of mental endowment, and that what difference there is must
itself be the result of the laws of mental growth; and the second
reason is that the more adequate the science of the human mind has
become the more evident has it also become that man himself is more of
a machine than had been supposed. Man grows by certain laws; his
progress is conditioned by the environment, both physical and social,
in which he lives; his mind is a part of the natural system of things.
So with the animal. The animal fulfils, as far as he can, the same
sort of function; he has his environment, both physical and social; he
works under the same laws of growth which man also obeys; his mind
exhibits substantially the same phenomena which the human mind
exhibits in its early stages in the child. All this means that the
animal has as good right to recognition, as a mind-bearing creature,
so to speak, as the child; and if we exclude him we should also
exclude the child. Further, this also means--what is more important
for the science of psychology--that the development of the mind in its
early stages and in certain of its directions of progress is revealed
most adequately in the animals.

_Animal Instinct._--Turning to the animals, the first thing to strike
us is the remarkable series of so-called animal Instincts. Everybody
knows what animal instincts are like; it is only necessary to go to a
zooelogical garden to see them in operation on a large scale. Take the
house cat and follow her through the life of a single day, observing
her actions. She washes her face and makes her toilet in the morning
by instinct. She has her peculiar instinctive ways of catching the
mouse for breakfast. She whets her appetite by holding back her meal
possibly for an hour, in the meantime playing most cruelly with the
pitiful mouse, letting it run and catching it again, and doing this
over and over. If she has children she attends to their training in
the details of cat etiquette and custom with the utmost care, all by
instinct; and the kittens instinctively respond to her attentions. She
conducts herself during the day with remarkable cleanliness of life,
making arrangements which civilized man follows with admiration. She
shows just the right abhorrence of water for a creature that is not
able to swim. She knows just what enemies to fly from and when to turn
and fight, using with inborn dexterity her formidable claws. She
prefers nocturnal excursions and sociabilities, having eyes which
make it safe to be venturesome in the dark. She has certain vocal
expressions of her emotions, which man in vain attempts to eradicate
with all the agencies of domestication. She has special arts to
attract her mate, and he in turn is able to charm her with songs which
charm nobody else. And so on, almost _ad infinitum_.

Observe the dog, the birds of different species, the monkeys, the
hares, and you find wonderful differences of habit, each adapting the
animal differently, but with equal effectiveness, to the life which he
in particular is called upon to lead. The ants and bees are
notoriously expert in the matter of instinct. They have colonies in
which some of the latest principles of social organization seem to
find analogues: slavery, sexual regulations, division of labour,
centralization of resources, government distribution of food, capital
punishment, etc.

All this--not to stop upon details which the books on animal life give
in great abundance--has furnished grounds for speculation for
centuries, and it is only in the last generation that the outlines of
a theory of instinct have been filled in with substantial knowledge. A
rapid sketch of this theory may be drawn in the following pages.

1. In instinct in general there is a basis of inherited nervous
tendency toward the performance of just the sort of action which the
instinct exhibits. This nervous tendency shows itself independently of
learning by the individual in a great many cases, as in the instinct
of sucking by young animals, pecking for food by young fowls, the
migrating actions of adult mammals and birds, the courting movements
of many varieties of animal species. In all this we have what is
called the "perfect" instinct. To be perfect, an instinct must be
carried out successfully by the animal when his organism is ready,
without any instruction, any model to imitate, any experience to go
upon. The "perfect" instincts are entirely congenital or inborn; the
nervous apparatus only needs to reach the proper stage of maturity or
growth, and forthwith the instinctive action is performed as soon as
the external conditions of life are such as to make its performance
appropriate and useful.

2. On the other hand, many instincts--indeed, probably the greater
number--are not perfect, but "imperfect." Imperfect instincts are
those which do not fully equip the animal with the function in
question, but only take him part way to the goal. He has a spontaneous
tendency to do certain things, such as building a nest, singing, etc.;
but he is not able to do these things adequately or perfectly if left
to himself from birth. This sort of endowment with imperfect instincts
has been the field of some of the most interesting research in animal
psychology, and has led to a new view of the relation of instinct to
intelligence.

3. It has been found that young animals, birds, etc., depend upon the
example and instruction of adults for the first performance of many
actions that seem to be instinctive. This dependence may exist even in
cases in which there is yet a congenital tendency to perform the
action. Many birds, for example, have a general instinct to build a
nest; but in many cases, if put in artificial circumstances, they
build imperfect nests. Birds also have an instinct to make vocal
calls; but if kept from birth out of hearing of the peculiar notes of
their species, they come to make cries of a different sort, or learn
to make the notes of some other species with which they are thrown.

4. The principal agency for the learning of the animals, and for the
supplementing of their instincts, is Imitation. The sight of certain
movements on the part of the adult animals, or the hearing of their
cries, calls, notes, etc., leads the young to fall into an imitation
of these movements or vocal performances. The endowment which such a
young animal has in the direction of making movements and cries
similar to those of his species aids him, of course, in imitating
these in preference to others. So the endowment and the tendency to
imitate directly aid each other in all such functions, and hurry the
little creature on in his acquisition of the habits of his species. We
find young animals clinging even in their imitations pretty closely to
their own proper fathers and mothers, who are thus enabled to bring
them up _comme il faut_.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17