141. Why does generalization play such an insignificant part in the mental life of animals?
142. What are the four languages of educated normal people?
143. Which of these languages is acquired first by the child?
144. How does baby talk originate?
145. How are the reduplications of baby talk to be explained?
146. What is the origin of “a foreign accent” in speech?
147. Why does voluntary imitation of speech sounds by a baby develop at first very slowly?
148. Illustrate the inventiveness of children in learning to speak.
149. What could make one think that children surpass grown people in the ability to generalize?
150. What are the four stages in the development of an individual’s language?
151. What is the advantage or disadvantage of uniformity and individuality in the use of language?
152. Illustrate how a word of individual meaning changes to a general meaning.
153. Illustrate how a word of general meaning changes to an individual meaning.
154. Explain the psychological origin of a metaphor and a metonymy.
155. Illustrate and explain the deterioration of words.
156. Illustrate slang and explain its origin.
157. Is it desirable that the written language should retard the growth of the spoken language? Give reasons for your answer.
158. What significance has language besides serving as a means of communication?
159. What is a definition? Why can a definition never become perfect?
§ 17. JUDGMENT AND REASON
1. _Coherent Thought_
When I receive a letter from a friend, I perceive its words, I become conscious of their meaning, I remember my relations to him; for instance, the time of our first meeting. But my thought proceeds. I wonder how he is getting along now, whether better or worse than myself, whether he has succeeded in overcoming through his greater energy the obstacles which retarded my progress. This is more than perception, imagination, or abstract consciousness. It is a _coherent process of thinking_. The best way of describing its characteristics is to tell what the opposite of _coherent_ thought is.
First, coherent thought is not dreaming. The elements of a dream are of course united by something. But they are united only like the links of a chain. If the second link were removed, nothing would hold the first and the third together. This chain-like thought is frequent in the insane. The following is an example from Diefendorf’s _Psychiatry_:--
“My mother came for me in January. She had on a black bombazine of Aunt Jane’s. One shoestring of her own and got another from neighbor Jenkins. She lives in a little white house kitty corner of our’n. Come up with an old green umbrella ’cause it rained. You know it can rain in January when there is a thaw. Snow wasn’t more than half an inch deep, hog-killing time, they butchered eight that winter, made their own sausages, cured hams, and tried out their lard. They had a smoke house. [Question: But how about your leaving Hartford?] She got up to Hartford on the half-past eleven train and it was raining like all get out. Dr. Butler was having dinner, codfish, twasn’t Friday, he ain’t no Catholic, just sat with his back to the door and talked and laughed and talked.”
In other cases, mere similarity of words of different meaning, rhyme, familiar questions, or spatial contiguity of things lead consciousness from one idea to a second, from the second to the third, and so on, without any common tie which would unite all these ideas into one system.
Coherent thought, secondly, is no endless recurring of the same few ideas, as when I am brooding over something, when a song which I have heard occupies my mind and gives me no peace, when the thought of having possibly failed to lock the door properly prevents me from sleeping. This recurring kind of thought, too, is a frequent symptom in cases of mental derangement; for example, as a continuously present desire to kill somebody, or as the permanent idea of one’s own sinfulness and worthlessness.
Coherent thought is intermediate between the two extremes just mentioned. It is a train of thought regulated by the associative connections between all the separate ideas and one central idea which dominates and unifies the whole. The thought of a football game or of the destiny of the United States branches out into innumerable partial thoughts, each one leading to another one. But they are all united by their relation to this game or to this nation. Such a coherent thought need not possess a considerable length. Sometimes, as in unconstrained conversation or in letter writing, it may soon be followed by another coherent thought, this by a third, and so on, and these may be related to each other merely like the links of a chain. Sometimes, however, it lasts for hours, as in lecturing on a definite subject, or in writing or reading a chapter of a book or a whole book.
Coherent thought depends largely on _memory_, on associative connections. But it depends also on those conditions which determine _attention_: unless the thoughts have an affective value, unless they are interesting to the individual in question, they are not likely to enter consciousness. Because of this dependence on the conditions of attention, certain persons are capable of coherent thought in some lines, but not in others. Whenever the purely _associative_ function predominates over the conditions of _attention_, or conversely, those abnormalities occur of which we have just spoken, mere chain-like thought, or obsession by a single idea.
Nothing else favors coherent thought so much as the possession of language. The simplicity of a word or phrase and its connection with experiences of unlimited complexity enable the mind to keep within one system of thought in spite of temporary deviations, numerous and winding though they be. Such complicated ideas, inexhaustible to him who tries to describe them, as propriety, honor, duty, may guide and determine a long-continued train of thoughts and actions. The most important one of all these guiding ideas, crystallizing around a single word, is the idea of self, of _I_.
2. _The Self and the World_
Among the impressions received by a child through his sense organs, some must very early distinguish themselves from the rest. (1) When the child is carried about or creeps about, the majority of his impressions change from moment to moment: instead of a wall with pictures, seen a few seconds ago, he sees windows with curtains; instead of tables and chairs he sees houses, trees, and strange people. Certain impressions, however, hardly change. Whatever else he may see, he almost invariably sees also his hands and some of the lower parts of his body. Whatever may be the position of his body, sensations from his clothing, from the movements of his limbs, from the processes in his digestive and other organs are always present. (2) Another impressive phenomenon is this. The things seen often move, and thus cause alterations in the field of vision. But when these moving things are his own arms and legs, yielding to the pull of their muscles, there is an additional experience, made up of kinesthetic and usually also tactual sensations. Certain experiences are therefore a kind of twofold experience as compared with others which are of one kind only: visual plus kinesthetic-tactual. (3) In still a third way certain experiences distinguish themselves. Whenever the child’s hands and feet come in contact with external things, a tactual sensation is added to the visual impression. But when one hand touches the other hand or a foot or another part of the body, even a part which is not seen, a peculiar double tactual impression is received. That this double tactual sensation is particularly interesting may be concluded from the concentration with which an infant plays with his feet, and the enjoyment which a kitten seems to get from biting its tail.
For various reasons, therefore, the sensations of a child’s _own body_, visual, tactual, organic, etc., become experiences of a special class. By various peculiarities they distinguish themselves from all others and become a special, unitary group. But the child’s _ideas and feelings_, when compared with his perceptions, also form a peculiar system, often keeping unchanged while the perceptions change because of movements of the objective things or of the body itself. It is quite natural, then, that in opposition to the external world _a dual system_ is conceived, made up of the bodily sensations on the one hand and the ideas and feelings of frequently repeated or especially impressive experiences on the other. But in spite of this unison between the complex of bodily sensations and the complex of ideas, forming a personal world as opposed to the external world, there remains an opposition between the constituents of the personal world as between a material and a spiritual half of the whole.
This complex idea of a personal world, of personality, which constantly increases in content, is given a special name, John or Mary, and still later another name, _I_. The unity of the idea of personality, the readiness of its appearance in consciousness in spite of the multitude of its contents, is greatly enhanced by this name. The idea _I_ becomes the omnipresent and dominating factor in consciousness. I can see nothing, hear nothing, imagine nothing without, however vaguely, thinking that it is _I_ who reads, _I_ who answers, _I_ who designs. It is altogether impossible to express such thoughts in language without reference to the _I_ or the _mine_. In the ecstasy of the mystic or the mental exaltation of the insane, the idea of _I_ may be absent, but never under normal conditions at an age beyond that of infancy. Consciousness in which the idea of _I_ is rather pronounced is commonly called self-consciousness.
It is plain enough that thinking of the other half of the world, other than the self, is also facilitated by such names as “the world,” “the external world.” But the concept of the external world does not easily attain the unity of the concept of self, because the experiences referred to are too changeable in comparison with those referred to by _I_. We speak of the external world chiefly in order to distinguish it from the self, not because of the unity of its conception.
The extraordinary support which the consciousness of self receives from language has had also a certain undesirable consequence. We have mentioned in an earlier chapter the universal desire to imagine the world as being under the power of innumerable demons. The consciousness of the self thus leads naturally to the thought of a demon who inhabits the human body. When a person under ordinary conditions is conscious of the _I_, there is no time for its content to unfold itself to any considerable extent. Usually one small group of ideas enters consciousness, even when I ask myself the question as to what I am: ideas of a certain visual appearance, a certain position in society, a certain age, certain aims in life. It seems then that the concept of self is exceedingly simple. This apparent simplicity gives aid to the idea of the existence of a simple demon, independent of time, eternal, inhabiting and governing this body as long as its organs are held together by their normal physiological functions, after the body’s death going elsewhere--whither, we do not know. But this conclusion as to the existence of a simple, unitary subjective reality is no more justifiable than the statement that, because of the simplicity of the idea _it_ in ordinary language, there must be an absolutely simple objective reality which corresponds to it.
Mind may justly be called a unity. But it is not a simple, indescribable unity, a unitary something separable from the sum of the parts of which it consists. It is, rather, a unity comparable to the unity of an animal organism or a plant, which may be well described as consisting of so many different parts functioning together according to definite laws. Within the unity of the mind there are smaller groups which may also be called unities, though in a restricted sense. The _I_ is one of these subordinate unities. It, too, is not simple, but consists of parts, sometimes a greater, sometimes a smaller number. It may expand and include almost as much content as mind itself, provided that time is given for such an expansion, and a sufficient stimulus. Usually the _I_ is very poor in content, hardly anything else than the word-idea which is the representative of the whole concept.
3. _Intelligence_
It is but natural that thought is largely in harmony with the actual facts. Its contents are derived from sensory experiences, are molded by sensory experiences, and must therefore often be anticipations of sensory experiences. With reference to its agreement or disagreement with the actual facts, we give our thought the name of truth, knowledge--or error. Both truths and errors, like perceptions and illusions, are the results of the laws governing mental functions. But truths are more common in the mental life of certain individuals than in that of others. Youth is more apt than mature age to give free rein to its imagination, no matter whether it agrees with reality or not. This is partly the result of the mature man’s realizing the high value of this agreement and therefore striving for it; partly the unintended consequence of innumerable pleasant and sad experiences, of adaptations which have proved now more, now less successful. But aside from such differences developing during life, there are immense differences of a similar kind resulting from native capacities. We speak of such capacities as reason, judgment, intelligence.
Intelligence does not consist merely in a good memory, making possible the exact reproduction of experiences of long ago. A good memory in this sense contributes much toward a high degree of intelligence, but is not identical with it. Even the feeble-minded are often found to possess an astonishing capacity for retaining dates, poetry, music. But memory adapts the thought processes only to very simple and frequently recurring events. When the circumstances become complicated, it soon proves inadequate.
Imagine a servant sent on an errand. He finds it impossible to execute the instructions received from his master. That ends it, if he is deficient in intelligence. No instructions have been given for this case; thus there is nothing to do but to return home. But the thought of an intelligent servant is more comprehensive. He recalls his master’s situation and analogous cases; the probable purpose of the master’s order; other possibilities of realizing the same end. Thus he succeeds perhaps in reconstructing the totality of the conditions which led his master to send him, and in meeting these conditions.
Take another example. Of several physicians, all but one are mistaken in the diagnosis of a case. Why do they differ? Every disease is characterized by a multitude of symptoms. Some of them are obvious, so that no one can fail to notice them: the complaints of the patient. Others are more hidden, but no less important. The physician must search for them. Each symptom, for example, fever, lack of appetite, dizziness, megalomania, may appear in very different diseases. A definite group of symptoms in definite degrees of intensity is characteristic of a particular disease. Two conditions, therefore, must be fulfilled to make a correct diagnosis. The symptoms which are hidden must be called up by those which are obvious, so that the physician can search for them and determine whether they are present or absent; for without first thinking of them he cannot search for them. Secondly, the thought of the present and absent symptoms must reproduce the idea of the disease which is characterized by the presence or absence of just these symptoms. This reproduction is possible only in a mind in which all these ideas are very closely connected, forming a well-organized system. Where this is not the case, the less obvious symptoms cannot influence the decision, and the correctness of the diagnosis becomes a matter of chance.
Lack of intelligence, then, means a _deficiency in the organization of ideas_, a lack of those manifold interconnections by which a large number of ideas may enter into a unitary group--no matter how _effectively_ each idea is associated with a small number of others, that is, how excellent the person’s _memory_. Intelligence means organization of ideas, manifold interconnection of all those ideas which ought to enter into a unitary group, because of the natural relations of the objective facts represented by them. The discovery of a physical law in a multitude of phenomena apparently unrelated, the interpretation of an historical event of which only a few details are directly known, are examples of intelligent thought which takes into consideration innumerable experiences neglected by the less intelligent mind. Neither memory alone nor attention alone is the foundation of intelligence, but a union of memory and attention. Energy of concentration must be combined with breadth of interest. It is clear that thought determined by both these conditions is more likely to agree with the enormously complicated events in the external world than thought which is governed mainly by one of them.
How does human intelligence differ from that of animals? That man is immeasurably superior to animals cannot be doubted. But human superiority does not consist in the possession of a higher faculty--let us call it reason--in no way dependent on the lower, animal faculties, to which it is added as a jeweler’s tools might be added to a blacksmith’s tools. The difference between the animal mind and the human mind is simply this: that the imaginative anticipation of possible experiences of the future is brought about in the human mind by means of more abstract and therefore more comprehensive ideas than in the animal mind. Man’s mind is by natural inheritance far more capable of forming abstract ideas than is the mind of the highest animals. Man is further immensely aided in abstract thought by language--his own invention--which furnishes him with symbols taking the place of the most complicated ideas, and because of their simplicity, effecting economy in mental work as tools and machines do in manual labor. Animals, too, possess symbols, cries; but their number is insignificant. The difference between man and animals is therefore only one of degree in properties which are common to both. But these degrees are indeed very far apart in the scale.
