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The Martin G. Brumbaugh Lectures
in Education
First Series
FOUNDATIONS OF EDUCATION
Foundations of Education
edited by
FREDERICK C. GRUBER
Associate Professor of Education
University of Pennsylvania
PHILADELPHIA
UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA PRESS
© 1957 by the Trustees of the University of Pennsylvania
Published in Great Britain, India, and Pakistan

by the Oxford University Press
London, Bombay, and Karachi
Library of Congress Catalogue Card Number 56-12796
Printed in the United States of America

American Book-Stratford Press, Inc., New York
The Martin G. Brumbaugh
Lectures in Education
MARTIN G. B R U M B A U G H , 1862-1930, in whose honor

the present series of lectures is named, was the first profes-
sor of pedagogy at the University of Pennsylvania, occupy-
ing the chair from 1895 to 1905. He was a man of great
energy and competence, and carried on pedagogical courses
of much influence. In 1900 he interrupted his lectures to
serve as Commissioner of Education in Puerto Rico, to
which post he was appointed by President McKinley. He
is credited with having established the first American pub-
lic school system on the island, not only in the principal
cities but also in the rural areas. He lectured at teachers'
institutes in Pennsylvania and Ohio, and published a num-
ber of readers for elementary schools. Other important
posts held by Dr. Brumbaugh were Superintendent of
Schools of Philadelphia, Governor of the Commonwealth
of Pennsylvania, and President of Juniata College.
In the summer of 1955 the Trustees of the University
set aside a sum to provide for a series of conferences on
education. Accordingly, a distinguished series of talks and
panel discussions was arranged to consider "America's Re-
sources of Specialized T a l e n t " based on the findings re-
ported under that title by the Commission on Human
Resources and Advanced Training, created by the Confer-
ence Board of Associated Research Councils. T h e success
5
6 T H E MARTIN G. BRUMBAUGH LECTURES IN EDUCATION
of these conferences caused the Trustees to set aside a

similar sum for the 1956 summer session.
There is great need for the educational practitioner con-
stantly to receive fresh insights into the fundamental rea-
sons for what takes place in the classroom. The present
series of lectures has been arranged to meet this need. The
series also brings outstanding scholars in various disci-
plines from other universities to our campus so that our
students and as many members of the general public as
wish to avail themselves of the opportunity may benefit
from the expression of different points of view.
The present vloume makes these four brilliant essays
available to a larger reading public. It is the first in a series
of projected publications dealing with the foundations
upon which present-day educational practice must be built
if it is to attain the high hopes that the American people
hold for it.
Thanks is hereby given to authors and publishers for
permission to quote from their published works and to all
who have contributed to the success of the series.
Contents
PAGE
T h e Martin G. Brumbaugh Lectures in
Education 5
T h e 1956 Brumbaugh Lecturers 9
Editor's Preface 11
T h e Instrument Maker
by Thomas Woody 19
A Psychological Basis for Learning

by J. W. Tilton 36
Dimensions of Social Stratification

by August B. Hollingshead 65
Building a Philosophy of Education

by J. Donald Butler 75
The 1956 Brumbaugh Lecturers
T H O M A S W O O D Y is Professor of Education at the Uni-

versity of Pennsylvania. He is a graduate of Indiana
University, taught German in the public high school at
Warsaw, Indiana, and pursued graduate study at Colum-
bia University, where he took the doctorate. He has trav-
eled in Great Britain, Czechoslovakia, France, Germany,
the Scandinavian countries, and the Soviet Union. A Gug-
genheim Fellowship was awarded him for study in the
Soviet Union which resulted in publication of New Minds:
New Men? The Emergence of the Soviet Citizen. He has
contributed to numerous professional reference works and
periodicals and is the author of several books, among them
A History of Women's Education in the United States,
Life and Education in Early Societies, and Liberal Educa-
tion for Free Men. He received an award for his historical
work by the American Academy of Physical Education
(1952) and was elected Associate Member of the American
Academy of Physical Education in 1956.
J O H N W A R R E N T I L T O N is Associate Professor of Educa-

tional Psychology at Yale University. He holds a bachelor's
degree from the University of Pennsylvania and the doc-
torate from Teachers College, Columbia University. Be-
fore coming to his present position he had wide experience
as teacher and administrator in the public schools and as a
9
10 T H E 1 9 5 6 BRUMBAUGH LECTURERS
member of the staff of Teachers College, Columbia Uni-

versity. His best-known work is An Educational Psychol-
ogy of Learning.
AUGUST DE B E L M O N T H O L L I N G S H E A D is Professor of So-

ciology at Yale University. He took his A.B. at the Univer-
sity of California and his Ph.D. from the University of
Nebraska. He was Social Research Council Fellow at the
University of Chicago from 1941 to 1943 and served as
First Lieutenant USAAF from 1943 to 1945. Among his
principal writings are Principles of Human Ecology and
Elmtown's Youth.
J . D O N A L D B U T L E R is Professor of the History and Phi-

losophy of Education at Princeton Theological Seminary.
He received his bachelor's degree from the University of
Omaha and the doctorate from New York University. He
is also an ordained minister of the Presbyterian Church.
Before coming to his present position, he taught philoso-
phy at New York University and served with the Office of
Civilian Defense during World War II. He is a Fellow of
the Philosophy of Education Society and the author of the
widely used text, Four Philosophies and Their Practice in
Education and Religion.
Editor's Preface
WORDSWORTH'S often quoted line, "the child is father

of the man," suggests the unfolding of the human poten-
tial. In a real sense, then, what the next generation will be
is implicit in childhood and youth. T h e future of America
is largely fashioned in its public school which is the insti-
tution American society has chosen to support from pub-
lic funds and has charged specifically with the responsibil-
ity for the formal education of all its people. T h e role of
the teacher in American society is, therefore, a most re-
sponsible and exacting one, for he must discover and
guide this potential in its development toward self-
realization and competent democratic living.
George Herbert Palmer has described the ideal teacher
as one who has an aptitude for vicariousness, an accumu-
lated wealth of knowledge, the ability to invigorate life
through knowledge, and a readiness to be forgotten. Hu-
mility and love of humanity are desirable virtues for all,
but especially are they necessary in teaching. T h e y are of
slow growth and are the product of many factors.
Knowledge and the ability to invigorate life through
knowledge are characteristics of the teacher which lie par-
ticularly within the province of university schools of edu-
cation to develop. Like the training of the physician, the
training of the educationist must include the acquisition
of many skills and the practice of them in order to put
knowledge to use, to make it come alive for the student, or
11
12 EDITOR'S PREFACE
in Palmer's phrase "to invigorate life through knowledge."

This is the professional side of teacher-training. It is the
basis for the art of teaching. It is what makes the educa-
tional practitioner.
Knowledge is the basis upon which the whole structure
of education rests, for in truth the teacher cannot invigo-
rate life through knowledge for others if he does not pos-
sess it himself. T h e verb "to teach" takes two objects, the
person and the thing, so that to teach requires knowledge
of what is taught and who is taught. T h e former represents,
in part, the cultural heritage; the latter, those to whom it
will be transmitted as a living thing and whose responsibil-
ity it will be to increase and to use it. There is the jewel-
box type of knowledge, knowing for its own sake, and
there is knowledge which is operational in society. Both
are important because they increase the individual's qual-
ity of living, his personal satisfaction, and his social com-
petence.
T h u s the educationist needs to draw upon many disci-
plines for the foundations of his practice. Aside from a
thorough knowledge of his subject and of the human ma-
terial with which he works, he should understand the
place of education in present-day society and the steps by
which it has developed. This background comprises five
general areas: man, society, history, philosophy, and meth-
ods of research. T h e study of man in his anthropological,
biological, and psychological aspects is essential for an un-
derstanding of the complex nature of the human beings
with whom the teacher works. T h e study of society places
man in the social setting in which he operates. T h e his-
tory and the philosophy of education complete the picture,
the one by examining the record of the past, the other by
formulating a rational construct for the determination of
EDITOR'S PREFACE 13
aims, values, and the future direction of education. Meth-
ods of research provide instruments for the measurement
and critical evaluation of educational practice and for the
accumulation of objective data for the further develop-
ment of educational procedures. These then are the
foundations of education.
In his penetrating essay, " T h e Instrument Maker," Pro-
fessor Woody examines man's record in the development
of one of his unique characteristics, the making of instru-
ments. Over the centuries man has developed mechanical
instruments, the instruments of thought, and instruments
of social organization. It is in the development and opera-
tion of instruments of government that man has often met
frustration and failure, he maintains, for neither has he
had the breadth of vision and the courage to take a world
view of human brotherhood, nor has he disciplined him-
self in the use of the meager instruments which he has
fashioned. " T h e instrument maker," says Dr. Woody, "may
well find the answer . . . by dealing with concrete matters
and situations, rather than universals."
In " A Psychological Basis for Learning" Professor Til-
ton deals specifically with the psychological phenomena
upon which learning is based. In a masterly treatment of
this complex subject he points out the general tendency in
the last quarter-century toward a greater consensus of
opinion among psychologists with regard to learning the-
ory. On the one hand he is critical of the educational psy-
chologist who has a tendency to develop a psychological
system to fit a preconceived theory of education, and on
the other he remarks that the experimental psychologist in
dealing with simpler forms of animal life has a tendency to
overlook the complexity and the variety of situations in
which responses are required in social situations.
14 EDITOR'S P R E F A C E
Professor Hollingshead in his "Dimensions of Social

Stratification" carries on from this point in his examina-
tion of our society in the light of the American creed that
"all men are born free and equal." He points out that our
culture, being largely British, places members of other
nationality groups at a disadvantage. He mentions the per-
sistency of caste and class systems in American society and
goes on to discuss the kinds of power systems operative
therein. He illustrates the tremendous struggle and some-
times frustrating experiences of those who seek to attain
status higher than their own and concludes that "people
in a given social stratum have intimate personal ties with
one another," and that "classes constitute effective social
systems within a community."
In the final essay of the series, "Building a Philosophy
of Education," Professor Butler sketches some of the bases
upon which a philosophy of education should be built. He
is critical of the casual consideration of the value aspects
of life and existence, and suggests that a formulation of
objectives for education should be based upon a systematic
world view including metaphysics, epistemology, and axi-
ology. In conclusion, he remarks, "We are not being re-
sponsible educators if we hold unexamined world views
and are not self-consciously critical of the views we hold."
The first essay examines the record of mankind. It sug-
gests a humanistic approach and the application of the
scientific method. The second and third essays accept the
empiricism of the first, and present observable data re-
garding human learning and the status of our society in
one aspect of its organization, the social group on the com-
munity level. The writer of the final essay believes that
man cannot form an adequate world view upon the basis
of empiricism alone. He maintains that a proper value sys-
EDITOR'S P R E F A C E 15
tern in education must be epistemologically and metaphys-
ically grounded and consistent. He examines a number of
value systems, among them Christian idealism, to which he
subscribes.
T o be a teacher, then, a man must be a person of parts.
Almost twenty-five hundred years ago Confucius remarked
that the art of being a teacher is the art of learning to be a
ruler of men, and therefore, he continues, one cannot be
too careful in choosing one's teacher. In twentieth-century
America the problem is even more complex, for as the
most experienced learner and leader in the group, the
teacher must see in each less experienced learner the po-
tentialities which make each man at once not only a fol-
lower, but more important a ruler of himself and others.
FREDERICK C . GRUBER
Philadelphia, 1956
FOUNDATIONS OF EDUCATION
The Instrument Maker
THOMAS WOODY
A life-long investigator of human nature once remarked

wryly that man, by virtue of modern scientific inquiry, was
first bereft of his ideas, then of his faculties, and finally
lost his mind. Let us, just for the moment, as we contem-
plate the "instrument maker," assume that this once valued
domain has been restored to us!
A small brass bowl, with the proud name Bida cut upon
its base, stands before me. How long the artisan ancestors
of its craftsman author had made bowls I do not know. A
bronze samovar, nearby, proclaims its origin in far-famed
Tula. T h e bowl and samovar stir a train of memories: a
miller grinding corn in a curious, crude contraption,
turned laboriously by a sluggishly moving stream; a potter
dreamily fashioning a vase upon his wheel; a peasant with
an ox and high-wheeled arba threading slowly the narrow,
meandering streets which pass the monumental ruins of
Tamerlane; Jan Zizka's "battle wagon," in a fortress cave
of old Tabor; Tycho Brahe's crypt in the Tyn Church
and the crude and curious instruments which he made, in
order that he might fulfill his keen desire to catalogue a
thousand stars.
This mélange of memories set me thinking of the most
dynamic aspect of man's historic record: his growing skill
19
20 FOUNDATIONS O F EDUCATION
in devising instruments of infinite variety and ends. By

these he has transformed nature and made her subservient
to his desire. He is the only being who can do so, for he
alone makes instruments; and he grows by making them.
If reverie be thinking, as poets tell, then dogs can think;
for all have seen their favorite friend revel in sleep in
feats imagined, yet not done. But dogs and other highly
intelligent animals make no instruments, and they remain
the same. Cleverness in using instruments made by others
they often do exhibit in great degree—even as do humans,
male and female.
A troublesome, long-standing argument is recalled by
the foregoing observations on thinking and making, and
the difference between man and animal in such activities.
Which came first, idea or act? We shall not attempt in
twenty minutes to cut this knot of ages past, but merely
taking note of opposed positions may provide a frame of
reference in which the instrument maker may be best ob-
served. Plato boldly gave idea (i5ia) priority.1 Aristotle de-
murred upon this point. 2 Christian theologians found
Plato's concept acceptable, with emendations; after twelve
centuries they made up with Aristotle and found him use-
ful, too. But the ambivalent argument ran on and on and
on. Echoes of it are heard in Faust trying to translate the
New Testament into German, where it stands written:
"In the beginning was the Word." But he cannot value
"Word" so highly. Truly enlightened, one might better
write: "In the beginning was the mind." But not so fast!
Is it truly "mind" which works and creates all things?
l Cratylus, 389; Meno, 81-86; Parmenides, 132; The Dialogues of Plato,

trans, by B . Jowett, 5 vols. (Oxford University Press, New York, 1892).
iEthica, Bk. I, 6; The Works of Aristotle, trans, under the editorship
of J . A. Smith and W. D. Ross, 11 vols. ( T h e Clarendon Press, Oxford,
1908-1931).
T H E INSTRUMENT MAKER 21
Rather, it should stand: "In the beginning was not mind
but power." Yet, even as he writes it down, something
tells him it is not so. At length, inspired, he writes, con-
tent: "In the beginning was the act."
Goethe's final translation, giving act priority, is sym-
bolic of the dawning day of science and technology. Blind
and about to die, Faust still dreams of doing. We leave
the argument a question still: Did he, or did he not, think
first; was thought at first the mere reflection of an act?
II
In the life of the instrument maker four orders of his

product may be examined briefly. T h e high-wheeled arba,
the potter's wheel, and Zizka's armored wagon suggest the
first category, tools of a concrete order, his manufactures:
ax, spear, arrow, scraper, awl, fire-drill, hoe, and the crude
cross section of a tree. With them he conquered nature
and other men. With these and kindred tools he became
competent, even distinguished, as an agriculturist, and his
exploits in warfare grew. With wheel and tamed wild
horse he became the first Blitz-krieger, as the record shows.
From these first crude instruments their maker moved,
slowly, haltingly, then after millenniums with a burst of
speed, to the air marvels of our time. But the wheel, so
quickly out of sight, is still a prime necessity in taking off,
and a great convenience and comfort, to say the least, in
landing! True, one may take flight from water, as some
birds do, but even the Navy likes plenty of broad decks
and sturdy wheels.
Instruments of the Air Age serve life and death equally
22 FOUNDATIONS OF EDUCATION
well, even as did those of ruder times. The plane sows

seed, and sprays and dusts the succeeding crop with in-
secticide; it can scatter as readily machine-gun bullets,
bombs, gas, and germs for genocide. The instrument
makers still choose their target: shall it be men or grass-
hoppers? William James called for a moral equivalent for
war. One primary element in warfare is marksmanship,
whether with spear or spitfire. Man gets a thrill from
accuracy in the use of instruments, reading the tally of
things done. Consult the chronicle of any day of war: so
many lives taken, so many towns, cities, depots destroyed.
Now, hitting a grasshopper or a boll weevil is something
of a challenge to the accuracy of the gunner, and a test of
the excellence of his instruments. Perhaps demonstrated
superiority in this, and in allied performances, merits a
crux honoris—let us say, crossed stalks of wheat in a circlet
of cotton blossoms.
With instruments, even the simplest, came training in
their use—an apprenticeship to the act, whether of peace
or of war, long or short, as the difficulty of its mastery
dictated. Children watched the making and use of scraper,
shuttle, loom, flail, and pestle, and practiced in play with
miniature bow and arrow, or made mimic warfare with
hatchet, knife, or spear and shield. Pindar portrayed the
skillful, youthful Achilles:
Aloft, like wind, his little javelin flew:
The lion and the brinded boar he slew. . . .
Homer tells of mastery of the instruments of war:
His sharpened spear let every warrior wield,
And every warrior fix his brazen shield;
Let all excite the fiery steeds of war,
~/ind all for combat fit the rattling car.
THE INSTRUMENT MAKER 23
As for the distaff side of life, Penelope wove by day and
unraveled by night. Hesiod's rustic woman's "nimble
hand" must, on weaving day,
Throw first the shuttle and the web expand. . . .
These poetic figures doubtless learned the use of instru-

ments by an informal apprenticeship; but more perfected
instruments and processes required formal training under
the eye of a master, and for an extended time, to make
man a shoemaker, mason, carpenter, sculptor, painter,
weaver. T h u s artistic remains and scattered early docu-
ments testify. 8
hi
T h e scope and character of the instrument maker's out-

put altered when nomadism gave way to life in long-settled
communities. W h e n he roamed the woods for berries,
roots, and game, and led in every way a life extremely
precarious, his store of goods was slight. But in the new
permanent habitat, accumulation of personal possessions,
land and its produce, grew to great proportions, popula-
tion increased numerically, labor became specialized, and
its products were perfected. Records became a necessity.
W r i t i n g developed, various forms of it, in widely separated
centers in the Tigris-Euphrates, Nile, Indus, and Yellow
River valleys. These early written records of things and
events, and increasingly of man's thought and feeling
about himself and them, lie at the basis of human history,
* Thomas Woody, Life and Education in Early Societies (The Macmillan

Company, New York, 1949), pp. 328-29.
extending vastly what is told by mute remains of artifacts

of what are often called prehistoric times.
Precisely who first employed this graphic instrument,
and where, no one can say and prove it first. Egypt was
long reputedly the earliest home of letters. Aristotle, in
the Metaphysica* traced the liberal arts to Egyptian priests,
who had the leisure to cultivate them. Henri Frankfort,
in The Birth of Civilization in the Near East,9 recently
offered evidence pointing to a Mesopotamian origin,
whence Egyptians borrowed certain forms and then im-
proved them, developing a system of their own. C. J . Ball,
in Chinese and Sumerian* showed the marked similarity
in over a hundred Chinese and Sumerian characters. But
whether writing came from one place or several, so great
was the appreciation of this instrument that it was credited
imaginatively to mythical benefactors, gods or men:
Oannes, Thot, Ts'ang Kie, archivist to Huang T i . Cadmus
brought them letters, the Greek legend said.
Though such high authorship suggests unbounded ap-
proval of the birth of letters, such was not the case. As
some once professed doubt whether women should have
learned the alphabet, Amnion of Egypt condemned as un-
wise the gift to men of writing, so Plato says in the
Phaedrus/ for reliance upon letters would destroy memory
and would lead to pretended knowledge, the semblance
of truth rather than the reality. An element of truth lay
in the tale. Each gain may entail a compensatory loss.
What was gained by letters was a lengthening record and,
given time and the criticism ultimately applied to it, in-
creased accuracy of our knowledge of the instrument maker
«Bk. A, 1.
5 Indiana University Press, Bloomington, 1951, pp. 106/.
• Oxford University Press, London, 1913, pp. 55 ff.
* 274-75.
and all his works. Pre-literate man's memory was indeed
well stored, as epic tales, long told by generation after
generation of wandering rhapsodes before they were writ-
ten down, remind us. But literate man's mind, in effect,
came to be possessed of an artificial memory, measured in
millenniums and filled with far more than mere tradi-
tional lore could keep alive. By letters, moreover, he had
within his reach, just for the effort, a similarly enlarged
account of his literate neighbor's culture. Cross-fertiliza-
tion of men's minds became imminent.
How this instrument came to be, we may say with some
assurance, even though the first place be uncertain and
the author of it remain anonymous. "Fair writing," of
which men still spoke with evident feeling of admiration
till typewriters were invented—and some still dream of,
yet seldom find, reveals the artist and suggests the source.
Look at Chinese characters, the instrument used to make
them, and the close kin of art and writing, as now under-
stood, is clear. When primitive men, pre-literate as we
call them more precisely, drew or cut pictures of animals
or other elements of their environment on cavern wall or
boulder, they left a record—a written record, an artistic
record, a pictorial tale. T h e Greeks had a word for it
(Ypdqxo), useful to our understanding of this original re-
lationship between what we came to differentiate as aes-
thetic art and the art of writing. Originally, the term meant
to scrape, or scratch, and later to represent by lines drawn,
to express by written characters, or to write.
Now mastery of this new instrument that was to add
many a cubit to man's intellectual stature, required ap-
prenticeship to the act, even as had mastery of other in-
struments. T h e discipline of that apprenticeship must be
directed by those to whom it was already a familiar skill.
On occasion it might be informally acquired, but the dif-

ficulty of its intricacies, the fact that few had knowledge
of them and found their distinctive skill a valuable asset,
favored the growth of formal apprenticeship, especially
when the subject matter wrapped up in letters grew to a
considerable volume, often with a holy halo hanging oveT
it. Hence schools arose. Curiously enough, faithful to the
old, established habit of keeping mental possessions by
repetition, the text, although now written down, was apt
to be learned by heart. Ultimately, however, the folly and
futility of the practice became evident and it declined.
T h e most sacred texts, once written, could not be readily
altered, neither a jot nor tittle of a line. Only Plato was
bold enough to purge Homer, even though Homer's text
and theme were secular, not sacred. Translation was clearly
a hazardous enterprise. Puritan divines declared that it
had been a chief design "of that old deluder, Satan, to
keep men from a knowledge of Scriptures" by keeping
them in an unknown tongue.
IV
Matters obvious to everyone have been dealt with in the

foregoing, so as to set in proper perspective a third instru-
ment man has fashioned: government. It, too, like me-
chanical inventions and literary arts, has often been cred-
ited as an institution of the gods. Such a conception haj
been favored from time to time by those to whom it was
eminently serviceable; for, obviously, if set up and sanc-
tioned by superhuman authority and wisdom, then lesser
beings in whose interest such authority had functioned
should not tamper with it.
Government is an instrument, the chief instrument, of
collective man. From the simplest, smallest primitive
groups (family, phratry, tribe, city) to the larger and more
complex (nations and empires), this instrument in some
form functions in some fashion. It is the chief, the most
important, social instrument, for all lesser, subsidiary in-
struments fulfill their ends effectively only as government
performs its proper functions well.
Now it is an arresting fact that though, as noted, man
contrived formal systematic apprenticeships to train arti-
sans in the mastery of mechanical operations, government,
despite its difficult intricacies and the importance of its
successful operation, has been left less studied, less per-
fected than the construction and operation of mechanical
instruments. Indeed, in the ascending hierarchy of instru-
mental constructions which man has fashioned, he has
given less attention to the more important and more atten-
tion to the less. He was, for ages, far less a master in the
realm of letters and their teaching than in industrial arts;
and letters and the teaching of them outsped his meander-
ing pace in arts of government. This does not imply that
he studied them not at all. Aristotle, Confucius, Plato,
Locke, Rousseau, and others refute any such notion. But
man has scarcely begun to make government the business
of those who have studied it, who have been disciplined
therein, making marriage of theory and practice. Rather,
in this pre-eminently important domain, man has relied
on experience.
Now experience, we know, is a good teacher, but it has
its limitations. It keeps a dear school, as has been said by
a wise man, who added, but "fools will learn in no other."
How frequently we find ourselves in this category! Ex-
perience is necessary for action, and politics requires
action. Those who have experience, as Aristotle noted in

the Metaphysical are more successful than those with
theoretical knowledge, but who lack experience. One who
knows theory has an understanding of matters in a general,
over-all, or universal sense, but he does not know particu-
lars, has not "know-how," as we sometimes say, and so he
fails. Observing the wreck and ruin of governments
throughout the ages, one may infer that thorough, scien-
tific study of this most important instrument of his well-
being needs to be yoked with equal attention to the prac-
tice of political action.
No problem of today matches in importance that of
mastering the most important instrument of collective life
which man fashions. He sets up governments, but they
are never self-operating, going on and on, once set in
motion, as Deists fancied the universe had done ever since
God started the clockwork. Franklin was wise: the gov-
ernment he had helped to fashion, even though imperfect
as an instrument, would he thought function very well
as long as there were good men to operate it. Touche.
These good men are not ready-made by nature; she gives
men natural talent but in this, as in other matters, edu-
cation must perfect nature's offering. Politics, like other
arts, requires the union of idea and act. The engineers of
states need schooling: they need a quick intelligence, fitted
for their tasks by nature and perfected by training and by
basic study of their instrument; these they need not less
but more than those who pilot, equip, and keep in con-
dition the latest marvels of the air. Training a pilot costs
heavily in time and money. What heads of states have
had a comparable education for their responsible posi-
tions? Herbert Spencer noted this curious and quite pos-
« B k . A, 1.
sibly fatal discrepancy in man's preparation, in The Man
versus the State: Although one might think men would
enter upon law making with "greatest hesitation . . . in
this more than anything else do they show a confident
readiness. Nowhere is there so astounding a contrast be-
tween the difficulty of the task and the unpreparedness of
those who undertake it. Unquestionably among monstrous
beliefs one of the most monstrous is that while for a simple
handicraft, such as shoemaking, a long apprenticeship is
needful, the sole thing which needs no apprenticeship is
making the nation's laws!" 9
Can the instrument maker fashion and control a mecha-
nism equal to the task of government in the world today?
There is neither ground for unqualified optimism nor for
complete despair. History is replete with records of mo-
mentary victories and ultimate defeat; yet, after a fashion,
and with many a period of regression, man has muddled
through, and emerged with key in hand to unlock the
door of his defeat. Particular civilizations collapsed, but
man survived and saved something from the wreckage;
elsewhere, and on altered principles, he began to build
anew. Long ago I saw an etching by an obscure artist. In
the foreground were mighty walls, fresh-built and strong;
behind them, trailed off into the distant background a
long series of moldering, crumbling ruins, the most remote
all but covered by nature's hands. He called it: Civiliza-
tion. It brought to memory Goethe's summary of human
history:
Walls I see thrown down, walls I see erected,

Here prisoners, there also prisoners, many.
Is, perhaps, the world only a giant prison? . . .
» T h e Caxton Printers, Caldwell, Idaho, 1940, pp. 117-18.

Mutation is the law of life, in man himself, and in the

human collective. States, as Hannibal observed, 10 cannot
stand still; there must be either progression or regression.
Man directs the process, often has directed it successfully
to a certain point; there, for some reason, mind failed,
constructive integration ended, and disintegration gained
the upper hand. Greek cities, individually, formed an in-
tegrated whole of surrounding villages and towns, but they
themselves never learned to unite. Even Greek philoso-
phers sought only a better city-state. T h e practical man,
Pericles, had "know-how," but his schemes were open to
suspicion of selfish ends. T h e Latin city pushed its own
interests forward successfully enough to form an imposing
empire. But Scipio, one of those who helped to build
Rome's power, saw prefigured in the fate of mighty Carth-
age the destiny that would one day be her own. 11 In fact
the magnificent structure, seemingly fit to last forever, as
Romans fancied, already suffered from internal weaknesses
which increased rather than diminished.
Presumably the political problems of Greece and Rome
were not unsusceptible of solution. But minds fashioned
by city-state experience were not competent to cope with
the problems of a larger, more complicated structure. And
formal education gave no constructive aid. Indeed, the
excellence it once had—its close relation to the life men
led—gave place to linguistic niceties and the pursuit of
fables. For good reason: teachers who dared to deal with
political realities were banned, the others intimidated.
T e l l me what you want done, a master draftsman said
to me, and I shall design a machine to do it. T h e r e is no
10 Livy, X X X , 44, trans, by B. O. Foster et al., IS vols. (Harvard Univers-
ity Press, Cambridge, 1919—).
" Polybius, The Histories, X X X V I I I , 21-22; Appian, Punic Wars, 132,
trans, by W. R. Paton, 6 vols. (Heinemann, London, 1922-1927).
T H E I N S T R U M E N T MAKER 31
comparable political competence. As political instrument
maker, modern man has not shown himself overly bold
or successful in his inventions. Though nations today
dwarf city-states of old, the principles of their foundation
are in many respects the same. "How do fish live in the
sea?" asks a landsman of a fisherman, in Oppian's Hali-
éutica. "Just as men do upon the land," replies the fish-
erman, "the stronger swallowing the weaker." Cleon,
recommending heavy penalties on Mitylenaeans, would
have the strong levy all they can and the weak give what
they must. 12 Such a peace lasts just as long as the weak
remain so; once they recover, the process is repeated and
victor and vanquished exchange roles. And as a peace thus
established is unstable, so too are states. You may conquer
the world on horseback, said a Chinese philosopher, but
you cannot govern it on horseback.
There is too much truth for comfort in the words of the
philosopher and the fisherman's tale. Man must muster
more sense than a fish! He needs intelligence surpassing
that of empire builders. T h a t he has strength and courage,
the virtues serviceable in war, we know. These are good;
but they are not enough. For the problems of his world
are social and economic and they can be solved only by
political intelligence. War could only make them worse,
not solve them. Indeed, considering that man's mechanical
devices have so far oútstripped his political instruments,
his atom and hydrogen bombs, his armies and navies,
backed by prodigious technological industries, could even
end the experiment of civilization so auspiciously begun.
" Thucydides, Bk. I l l , 37, trans, by B. Jowett (Boston, 1883).
Whatever else it be, man's mind is an instrument—the

greatest of instruments he has fashioned, the contriver of
all instruments. Something is given by nature: man is able
to use symbols; these he has made and altered from time
to time in important ways. Primitive Christians refash-
ioned the mind of pagan Europe. T h e mind of thirteenth-
century Christians differed sharply from its primitive form.
Both are difficult for us to fathom, and become a field for
experts to explore. Mind today is an instrument fashioned
since the sixteenth century, but it is not complete. Plus ça
change, plus la même chose is proverbial wisdom. But the
change transforms man's world. In the beginning man had
no scientific understanding of his universe, but by the dis-
cipline of scientific method he remade his mind and there-
by brought the universe within his grasp. T o accomplish
this grand project, Bacon stressed the necessity of throw-
ing out old idols of the mind, thus beginning its reconsti-
tution. T h e importance of this mental renovation is gen-
erally recognized by scientists. But students of the social
domain are still plagued by numerous idols of the mind;
these are not readily disposed of.
T h e greatest barriers to useful political innovation are
in the mind of the instrument maker. T h e nationalistic
mind, fashioned and furnished by centuries of successful
wars which built the great nations of the earth, continues
to think and act in terms of power and cunning that can
outwit and outweigh all others. That national mind, at its
peak of perfection, is arrogant, boastful, competitive, self•
T H E I N S T R U M E N T MAKER 33
ish, and provincial. Such traits one would not want in a
next-door neighbor; they would promote unpleasant
brawls, to say the least. We condemn these characteristics
in national neighbors, apparently oblivious of them in
ourselves. When nations become next-door neighbors—as
geography and technology have made them—the same
traits in them make wars probable, if not inevitable, when-
ever serious problems and conflicts of interest arise. "Wars
begin in the minds of men"; 18 so runs a thesis which has
found wide acceptance. If this is not the total truth of the
matter, it is a substantial part of it. Having in reality "one
world," as Wendell Willkie noted years ago, it is highly
important that the instrument maker refashion his mind
to fit and to be serviceable thereto. T h a t remade mind
will be marked, in contrast to the old, by certain traits we
often praise but fail to exhibit: modesty in regard to our
own attainments, co-operativeness and generosity in re-
gard to others; a world-wide universality in outlook and
attitude. This is no easy task for present man. In all ages,
remaking his own mind has been the most difficult of
undertakings. There is the crust of customary habit to be
broken; there is the jeering crowd, saying you can't change
nature; there is the subtle, insinuating doubt of the good-
ness of nature and of reason itself expressed by Mephisto:
Man nennt's Vemunft, doch braucht's allein

Nur thierischer als jedes Thier zu sein.
But man's is the spirit of affirmation: we can fashion a
mind which can solve the crucial problems of our time,
if we will and act accordingly. T h e potentialities of the
mental instrument are infinitely varied; we have scarcely
is The Defenses of Peace, Documents Relating to Unesco, Pt. 1, Depart-
ment of State (U.S. Government Printing Office, Washington, D.C., 1946).
tested them as yet. Mind was made a subtle instrument

for penetrating myth, for exploring the mysteries of a life
to come, and for unlocking the secrets of the book of the
material universe; it is on the eve of a conquest, the most
difficult of undertakings, the mastery of the social domain.
As the character of soils in our western prairies demanded
certain improvements of the plowshare; as mind that
delved into myth expertly was specially sharpened for its
task; as minds of Schoolmen were made extraordinarily
acute within their realm of operations; and as the mind
of chemist, geologist, physicist is specially disciplined to
cope with its respective problems, the instrument of the
social scientist must be disciplined for its task by being
focused on the crucial problems involved. Robert S. Lynd
nudged social scientists years ago, in Knowledge for
Whatf 14
T h e problems which matter most involve the instru-
ment of government on the intranational and the inter-
national levels. Central among them are: how to estab-
lish and maintain freedom of communication, the basic
consideration in human enlightenment; how to transfer
international use of force to police departments, even as
criminal acts of individuals and gangs have been trans-
ferred within the state; and how to contrive distribution of
material goods so as to still the gnawing hunger which
afflicts the world despite a productive technology that
could provide plenty. In these and in other areas one might
name, it is obvious that we have already great funds of
knowledge, but implementation of what we know falls
short We need a marriage of idea and act. A world that
knows and is able to act, yet does not act accordingly, is
surely doomed.
" Princeton University Press, Princeton, 1939.
Most potent and far-reaching in its implications is the
threat to free communications that rest upon assembly,
speech, publication, and freedom of the air waves. Of this
area, so boldly and devastatingly assaulted in the past ten
years in the name of preserving liberty, Zechariah Chafee,
Jr., a long-time student of this aspect of American life,
finds grounds for a qualifiedly optimistic appraisal in The
Blessings of Liberty,16 despite the subtleties of suppression
practiced and a certain weakening of resistance to their
use.
Less optimistic is the outlook for integration of a world
economy. In his recently published work, An International
Economy,1* Gunnar Myrdal came to the disturbing yet
scarcely surprising conclusion that with respect to the
problems of economic integration we are simply drifting,
and neither governments nor parties are actually confront-
ing the issues. We have knowledge, but to act effectively a
drastically altered mental outlook is required. How is this
to be accomplished?
The instrument maker may well find the answer
(whether the question is one of communications, goods,
or war) by dealing with concrete matters and situations
rather than universals—those idols which have so often ob-
structed human understanding and stirred emotions to the
boiling point. Every farmer the world round knows a pig's
a pig, and that a fat pig is better than a razorback. But
even the most astute of philosopher-farmers may get over-
heated if they try to determine the pig's place in the uni-
verse, or how to control him in this best of worlds at our
command.
w J . B. Lippincott, Philadelphia, 1956.

1« Harper & Brothers, New York, 1956, pp. 299 ff.
A Psychological Basis for Learning
J . W . TILTON
Appreciable progress has been made in Psychology in the

description of learning. Thirty years ago when Perrin and
Klein 1 reviewed the situation with regard to theories of
learning, they found it necessary to list eight different
points of view. T h e labels and proponents were as follows:
Theory Label Proponent

Intensity Carr
Confirmation—Inhibition Hobhouse
Congruity Holmes
Completeness of Response Peterson
Conditioned Reflex Smith and Guthrie
Modified Pleasure—Pain Thorndike
Frequency—Recency Watson
Drive (or Motor Set) Woodworth (and Tolman)
Early this year, the second edition of Hilgard's Theories

of Learning 2 appeared. In spite of the growth of the field
i F. A. C. Perrin and D. B. Klein, Psychology: its Methods and Principles
(Henry Holt, New York, 1926), pp. 218-43.
s E. R. Hilgard, Theories of Learning, 2nd edition (Appleton-Century-
Crofts, 1956).
36
A PSYCHOLOGICAL BASIS FOR LEARNING 37
and the many psychologists referred to in this book, and

in spite of Hilgard's determination to avoid oversimplifi-
cation, it is apparent that today's differences are between
the Guthrie, Hull, and Skinner varieties of conditioning
theory (sometimes referred to as stimulus-response theory)
and the Tolman type of theory commonly referred to as
sign learning, but sometimes referred to as expectancy
theory or as cognitive theory. Thorndike's views, now usu-
ally referred to as connectionism, are described in an early
chapter of the Hilgard book, but only because they were
such influential antecedents of current views. T h e views of
Koffka and Koehler in gestalt psychology, of Lewin in field
theory, and of Freud on psychodynamics are given due ex-
position, but with the recognition that these men were not
primarily interested in the problem of learning.
Looking back at the thirty-year period between the
Perrin and Klein description in 1926 and his own review
in 1956, Hilgard sees clearly a progressive tendency to
want to settle differences in the laboratory and a corre-
sponding decrease in the tendency to resort to heated
argument. Hilgard notes 8 that "because of its more pre-
cise formal structure, stimulus-response theory has
guided more research and theory construction in recent
years than cognitive theory." But, he then points out,
"many of the problems set for stimulus-response psychol-
ogists . . . were posed by those from the other camp." In
other words, "As stimulus-response experimentation and
theorizing have become more developed, many of the chal-
lenging problems which cognitive theorists first called at-
tention to have taken on new interest for the stimulus-
response theorists. For example, instead of denying latent
* Ibid., p. 445.
learning, new stimulus-response derivations are required

to account for i t . . . . " Hilgard concludes * that "progress is
being made, and there is reason to hope that we are mov-
ing toward the unification of theory."
In the March, 1956, issue of the Psychological Review,
Seward 5 was less restrained in characterizing the progress
which has been made. His paper was a description of the
present status of reinforcement and expectancy theories as
exemplified by Hull's last revision and by Mac Corquodale
and Meehl's recent formalization of Tolman's view. Seward
not only described the two approaches as "converging to-
ward a common set of principles," but expressed the
opinion that "major controversial issues will undoubtedly
become harder to find."
In the same issue of the Review is a paper by Mowrer 8
who began as a reinforcement theorist in the Hull tradi-
tion, but who later took the position that there are two
kinds of learning, only one of which requires reinforce-
ment, the other, as Guthrie maintains, being satisfactorily
accounted for by contiguity. Now Mowrer has again re-
vised his views, taking the position that "all learning is
sign learning." T h e r e are indeed, signs of progress toward
a unification of learning theory.
Is it appropriate at this point for an educational psychol-
ogist to evaluate the theory about which there are increas-
ing signs of agreement? It would seem at first thought that
if the theory has developed out of much experimentation
and if experimental psychologists show signs of basic agree-
* Ibid., p. 456.
5 J . P. Seward (University of California at Los Angeles), "Reinforcement
and Expectancy," Psychological Review, March, 1956, 63:105-13.

«O. H. Mowrer (University of Illinois), "Two-Factor Learning Theory
Reconsidered," Psychological Review, March, 1956, 63:114-28.
merit, that would settle thj: matter. It might seem that if

the theory fits the facts, then as the saying goes, we had
jolly well better like the theory.
II
There is however another consideration. Evaluation

from the point of view of the consumer is still in order.
It is appropriate for the educational psychologist, standing
as a middleman between the psychologist and the educa-
tionist, to evaluate psychology against the need for educa-
tional application. This is appropriate in the same sense
that the engineer may say to the physicist, these are our
problems, physic» is adequate in this respect but not in
that.
I therefore ask you to consider with me what education
needs in a psychology of learning. Let us consider the full
educational effort in terms of the various psychological
areas involved. Just as we have used the various areas of
living known as the cardinal principles of education to
check the fullness of our educational effort, so let us now
ask whether learning theory provides adequately for all
the various psychological areas in which learning needs
direction.
We would find considerable agreement, I think, that
the educational task is psychologically very complex, in-
volving to an important degree the development of mem-
ory, perception, meaning, understanding, intelligence,
transfer, problem solving, interests, attitudes, apprecia-
tions, values and ideals, as well as the development of
habits and skills. May we feel confident that present-day
learning theory is adequate for this psychologically com-

plex task? Has it been derived from adequate interest and
experimentation in all these areas?
T h e answer is "No." None of the areas have been
ignored, but impressive as is the progress made between
1926 and 1956 the theory of learning which has emerged
is still basically a habit psychology. I would not have you
belittle the progress made. As a psychologist I am proud
of it, but as an educationist I think it is only a beginning,
and that the development of learning theory has not kept
pace with the rate at which education has grown away
from the possibility of being adequately served by a habit-
centered psychology.
It is questionable whether psychology can ever come to
grips with the phenomena of creative intelligence by start-
ing from a concept of habit. Psychologists made the de-
cision that they would have to start with the simplest phe-
nomena, progressing gradually toward an explanation of
the human behavior associated with the higher mental
processes. But perhaps this cannot be done. It is quite pos-
sible that what we have called habit can be better de-
scribed in terms of intelligence, than that intelligence can
be described in terms of the concept of habit.
T h e answer depends upon what kind of a world we live
in. Thirty years ago many people made a sharp distinction
between habit and intelligence. They divided man's be-
havior into two categories, repetitive and creative, because
they thought we face two kinds of situations, familiar and
novel. I do not know how many people still make this dis-
tinction, but I have come to the belief that the situations
we face fall on a continuum from the most familiar to the
most novel; that the most familiar are in minor respects
novel, and that the most novel are in minor respects fa-
miliar. This is, I repeat, a matter of belief, but I think
many people share it.
Now if situations are as believed, then every situation
is to some extent a situation calling for transfer, and what
we need is an understanding of how we use our experience
in somewhat new situations, and how we may do so to the
best advantage. T h e psychology of learning which we need
is an adequate understanding of transfer. Our knowledge
of the responses which are almost repetitive will then be
more valid because such responses will be understood as
limiting cases of intelligent behavior.
in
I am convinced that when such a theory is firmly

grounded and generally accepted, learning will more com-
monly be thought of in qualitative terms and with refer-
ence to a single experience. In other words, it will less fre-
quently be thought of as by necessity a gradual long-drawn-
out affair. E. L. Thorndike took two steps in this direction
when, twenty-five years ago, he dropped what he had called
the Law of Use, and also described the role of punishment
as not being that of a "weakener."
Thorndike's revised views were soon generally accepted.
As a matter of fact, not all theorists needed to follow
Thorndike's lead concerning punishment. From the out-
set, Guthrie had contended that punishment played no
lawful role in learning, its value depending upon what
punishment made the learner do. If you're trying to teach
a dog to jump through a hoop, he said, the effectiveness of
punishment even depends on where it's applied, front or
T
rear. Guthrie would have liked it better if Thorndike had
discarded his whole "Law of Effect."
But reward remained in Thorndike's thinking a gradual
strengthener of connections. And, even though he dropped
the Law of Use, forgetting conceived of as a slow function
of disuse apparently remained unchanged in his thinking.
On the whole, in his later work, Thorndike did not de-
velop the theory of learning in the needed directions,
although there were starting points for such a development
as early as in his 1913 text.
More recently, in Clark Hull's thinking, as in Thorn-
dike's, strengthening was a key concept and as it is today
in the thinking of those whose theorizing has been most
influenced by Hull. I sometimes wonder if the prestige
attached to the fitting of curves to laboratory data has not
slowed the development of learning theory in the direc-
tion I have indicated as needed while advancing it in other
directions.
In this situation educational psychologists are either
neglecting learning theory (a phenomenon which I shall
consider later) or they are doing their best with insufficient
help from learning theorists. Finding a poor foundation
for education in the dominant "habit-strength" theory of
learning, educational psychologists if they are to teach
learning theory at all must either teach a very limited
psychology of learning simply because it is well formu-
lated of try by themselves to meet the need more appropri-
ately. They frequently choose the latter course, and in
doing so, are of necessity depending to an unfortunate de-
gree upon their own observation and analysis of human
development.
* E. R. Guthrie, The Psychology of Learning (Harper & Brothers, New

York, 1935), p. 154.
IV
But I wish to defer comment upon educational psychol-

ogy until the inadequacy of learning theory as formalized
by experimental psychologists has been more fully con-
sidered. Within their own ranks some are quite aware that
current theory is inadequate. For instance the editor 8 of
the Journal of Experimental Psychology, Arthur Melton,
thinks learning theory suffers because so frequently the
learning studied is that of rats: " T o me, one obvious criti-
cism of what has happened in the last 25 years is the domi-
nation of theories of learning by the rat. As I see it this is
a matter of emphasis, rather than a matter of right or
wrong. T h e defenders of the rat can, with justification,
point to use of an animal with limited symbolic capabili-
ties as having real advantages for the abstraction of the
fundamental laws of learning—of a kind." T o Melton, to
quote another sentence, " I t seems as though the science of
rat learning is becoming an end in itself rather than a
means to the end of understanding behavior in general,
including the richest form of behavior variation which is
found in human beings."
I do not think these remarks by Melton will be as in-
fluential as they need to be. Psychologists are used to being
criticized for studying rat-psychology. They are unim-
pressed because they are convinced that there are human
counterparts to the rat-behavior they are studying. Melton
might have accomplished more by criticizing the theory-
«Arthur W. Melton, "Present Accomplishment and Future Trends In
Problem Solving and Learning Theory," American Psychologist, June,
1956, 11:278-81.
makers for not doing justice to the intelligence of the rat.

In other words, my contention is that what is so obviously
needed as a psychological foundation for the direction of
human learning is even needed for the full explanation of
the behavior of the lower animals. T h e need is for a theory
of learning which provides recognition at the outset of the
creative nature of behavior; a need for a theory that first
and foremost is designed to describe the most intelligent
behavior of the organism. My belief is that when learning
is so described, the theory can then be extended satisfac-
torily to cover the more habitual aspects of behavior.
Present theory is limited or restricted because it is con-
ceived as an attempt to understand the gradual formation
of habits. It may be very adequate in a limited sphere of
behavior, but conceived as it is, it cannot be satisfactorily
extended to cover the highest forms of human learning.
In expressing the need for a theory of learning keyed to
transfer and intelligence and yielded by a single experi-
ence, I do not want to give the impression that I think
there is no need in education for practice. Such a position
would be like that taken by the proverbial ostrich. What
I do say is that there is not one kind of need for practice,
but several and that in each case the kind of need should
be specified. Improvement in the efficiency of teaching in
those areas in which practice is necessary must come by
asking " W h y is practice necessary?" "Why is such learning
usually slow?"
I'd like to suggest several answers to these questions,

realizing as I do so, and as an educational psychologist is
often obliged to do, that I am proceeding at a confidence
A P S Y C H O L O G I C A L BASIS FOR L E A R N I N G 45
level upon which a laboratory psychologist would refrain

from operating.
T h e first answer, that is, the first reason why learning
comes slowly with practice is that not one but many learn-
ings are required. Probably the chief reason why we find
it easy to think of learning as a slow long-drawn-out process
is the frequency with which we speak of psychologically
very complicated objectives as if they were psychologically
simple units. W e speak of learning to play the piano, learn-
ing to spell, learning the addition facts, learning to write,
memorizing a poem, learning the meaning of a list of new
words.
If a person from a desert region were to go on a trip to
a region of ice and snow and to rent a strange car to use
there, the situation would make a severe demand upon the
person by reason of the fact that many things are strange
at the same time. Taken singly no one aspect of this ad-
justment would offer much difficulty. It is the same way
with learning. If you need to remember the names of all
the people you meet at a reception, learning is difficult
because of the confusion and interference introduced by
the multiplicity of learnings involved. No one by itself
would offer any difficulty, nor with adequate interest and
attention would it require practice. When boy meets girl,
for instance, he doesn't need practice to remember her
name.
There are two functions which teachers need to per-
form in order to reduce the need for practice in compli-
cated learning tasks. One is to break up the task in order
to reduce interference between the parts, the other is to
make sure that the need for prior learnings does not un-
necessarily complicate the new learning, as is the case when
a child is asked to learn to subtract with an inadequate
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CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE,
AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 114, VOL. III, MARCH 6, 1886 ***
CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL
OF
POPULAR
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND
ART.
CONTENTS
COCAINE.
IN ALL SHADES.
SHOT-FIRING IN COAL-MINES: AN IMPROVED METHOD.
THE HAUNTED JUNGLE.
AN EVERY-DAY OCCURRENCE.
A NIGHT IN A WELL.
PERSEPHONÉ.
No. 114.—Vol. III. SATURDAY, MARCH 6, 1886. Price 1½d.
COCAINE.
A new discovery in medicine, which has established its claim to
general utility, is as much a matter for congratulation on the part of
the general public as on the part of the members of that profession
whose duty it is to use it. The stir in the world which Simpson’s grand
discovery of chloroform excited is still well remembered, and upon
reflection, persons even now could not fail to be impressed with the
incalculable amount of relief from suffering of which the drug is the
source, if they were to pay a visit to one of our large hospitals and
judge for themselves. It is true that chloroform has some drawbacks;
it is even true that indirectly, if not directly fatal results have followed
its use; but what good thing is free from all blemish, and how, ‘in this
best of all possible worlds,’ can we expect everything to be as we
should wish?
The discovery of ether, it should be remembered, afforded surgeons
the opportunity in after-years of making a choice between the two
drugs. Fortunately, in this connection the effects of each are different
in certain particulars, so that, in a given number of cases, the use of
ether is advisable, and chloroform is to be avoided. The explanation
of this can be readily understood. The effect of chloroform is to
depress the action of the heart. In cases of an overdose of this drug,
the heart is paralysed; and when death occurs during its
administration, there need not necessarily have been more than a
very small dose given; but owing to some undiscovered weakness of
the heart, which the drug unfortunately becomes the means of
rendering manifest, sudden stoppage of the organ takes place, with,
of course, death as a consequence. On the other hand, ether has
exactly the opposite effect. The heart’s action is stimulated during its
administration, and the contractions of the organ are rendered more
vigorous. Thus, whenever there is any suspected weakness of the
heart in patients to whom an anæsthetic is about to be administered,
there is no hesitation on the part of the surgeon in using ether, which
under these circumstances is certainly the safest drug to employ.
But apart from these considerations, all drugs which possess the
property of producing what is called general anæsthesia, are
associated with certain discomforts, certain inconveniences which
materially detract from their usefulness. It is not necessary here to
specify the nature of these, for the knowledge of them has almost
become common property, so that there are persons who would
preferably endure the suffering of an operation than submit to the
administration of an anæsthetic, the after-effects of which, perhaps,
previous experience has taught them to be careful to avoid. Surely,
then, under these circumstances, it must be a matter of extreme
comfort for the public to know that a drug has been discovered
whose property is such as to enable the surgeon in many cases to
dispense with either ether or chloroform during the performance of
an operation. This is the new discovery which agreeably startled the
world of medicine towards the end of the year 1884. The drug in
question is called Cocaine, from Coca—though sometimes also
written cucaine and cuca—and it possesses the remarkable property
of causing local anæsthesia when applied to a mucous membrane,
of which more anon. The plant from which this alkaloid is derived is
Erythroxylon coca, which is largely cultivated in the warm valleys of
the eastern slopes of the Andes, between five and six thousand feet
above the level of the sea, where almost the only variation of the
climate is from wet to dry, where frost is unknown, and where it rains
more or less every month in the year.
A few details with reference to this remarkable plant may not here be
out of place. It is described as a ‘shrub from four to six feet high,
branches straight and alternate, leaves in form and size like tea-
leaves, flowers, with a small yellowish white corolla, ten stamens,
and three pistils. In raising the plant from the seed, the sowing is
commenced in December and January, when the rain begins, and
continues until April. The seeds are spread on the surface of the soil
in a small nursery or raising-ground, over which there is generally a
thatch-roof. At the end of about fourteen days, they come up, the
young plants being continually watered and protected from the sun.
At the end of eighteen months, the plants yield their first harvest, and
continue to yield for upwards of forty years. The first harvest, the
leaves are picked very carefully one by one, to avoid disturbing the
roots of the young tender plants. Gathering takes place three times,
and even four times in the year. The most abundant harvest takes
place in March, immediately after the rains. With plenty of watering,
forty days suffice to cover the plants with leaves afresh. It is
necessary to weed the ground very carefully, especially while the
plants are young. The harvest is gathered by women and children.
The greatest care is required in the drying of the leaves; for too
much sun causes them to dry up and lose their flavour; while, if
packed up moist, they become fetid. They are generally exposed to
the sun in thin layers.’ Such is, in brief, the account of the plant
whose alkaloid, cocaine, has attained so marked a popularity within
the short space of a few months.
Although the plant has only recently become known to us, its virtues
have long been recognised by the natives of that part of the world in
which it grows. It is stated that in 1583 the Indians consumed one
hundred thousand ‘cestos’ of coca, worth 2½ dollars each in Guzco,
and four dollars in Potosi. In 1591 an excise of five per cent. was
imposed on coca; and in 1746 and 1750, this duty yielded eight
hundred and fifteen hundred dollars respectively, from Caravaya
alone. Between 1785 and 1795, the coca traffic was calculated at
1,207,436 dollars in the Peruvian vice-royalty, and including that of
Buenos Ayres, 2,641,478 dollars. The coca trade is a government
monopoly in Bolivia, the state reserving the right of purchasing from
the growers and reselling to the consumer. This right is generally
farmed out to the highest bidder. The proximate annual produce of
coca in Peru is about fifteen million pounds, the average yield being
about eight hundred pounds an acre. More than ten million pounds
are produced annually in Bolivia; so that the annual yield of coca
throughout South America, including Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador, and
Pasto, may be estimated at thirty million pounds.
It is scarcely pleasant news for us to learn that the natives who
cultivate the coca-plant themselves absorb so much of the products
of their own cultivation. We have here, doubtless, the explanation of
the costliness of cocaine and the scarcity of the drug in England.
This can hardly be otherwise, it is to be feared, for some time to
come, when we remember that the reliance upon the extraordinary
virtues of the coca-leaf amongst the Peruvian Indians is so strong,
that in the Huanuco province they believe that if a dying man can
taste a leaf placed upon his tongue, it is a sure sign of his future
happiness! When Weston the pedestrian was performing his feats of
endurance in England, it was noticed that from time to time he
placed something in his mouth, which he afterwards chewed. For
long he refused to divulge what the nature of this substance was, but
at last he acknowledged that he always provided himself with some
coca-leaves; and he added, that the chewing of these gave him
strength, and enabled him more easily to accomplish his allotted
task.
In the states above referred to, the natives are accustomed to use
the leaves largely for the purpose of allaying hunger. Now, the sense
of hunger takes origin in the nerves of the stomach, and it is evident
that if these nerves are rendered incapable of exercising their
functions, the sensations to which they give rise must decline and
remain temporarily in abeyance. This is precisely what takes place
when coca-leaves are eaten. Their effect is to paralyse for the time
being the sensitive ends of the nerves of the stomach, and to
establish practically a condition of local anæsthesia within the interior
of that organ. The sensation of hunger, of course, under such
circumstances becomes impossible; and the native, after eating a
few leaves, goes on his way rejoicing, with the same sensations as if
he had partaken of a hearty repast.
Although cocaine has been known for a good many years, and has
from time to time formed the subject of inquiry amongst distinguished
British and continental savants, including the veteran Sir R.
Christison, it was reserved for Dr Carl Koller of Vienna to
demonstrate the practical use to which its marvellous property could
be put. It occurred to this gentleman that the drug might be of use in
the department of diseases of the eye. With this object in view, he
experimented upon the eyes of animals, applying the drug in solution
of a certain strength, and carefully noting the results. He found that
in the course of a few moments, after the drug had been instilled
several times into the conjunctival sac of an animal, the organ
became insensible; that he was able to touch the cornea—the front
part of the eye, which is endowed with extreme sensibility—with a
pin without the least flinching on the part of the animal.
Experimenting further, he ascertained that the insensibility was not
confined to the superficial parts of the eye, but that it extended
throughout the corneal substance, even to the structures within the
ocular globe, and thus the fact so far of the utility of the drug for
operative purposes came to be established. Then he turned his
attention to cases in which the eye was the seat of disease, and the
cornea acutely inflamed and painful, and he found that much relief
from the symptoms was obtained by the use of the drug. Soon after
this, he commenced to employ cocaine in operations performed
upon the eyes of patients. The results were highly satisfactory; and
since then, cataracts have been operated on, squinting eyes put
straight, foreign bodies upon the cornea removed painlessly and with
ease, under the influence of the drug. In cataract especially, cocaine
is of great value; this operation can be performed by its means
without the slightest sensation of pain, and yet the patient is fully
conscious, and is of course able to follow during its performance the
precise instructions of the surgeon.
Now, to an outside observer, cocaine is apt to produce impressions
somewhat akin to the marvellous. Here is a description which a
writer gives in a recent number of the St James’s Gazette. A camel-
hair brush is dipped into a small bottle containing a fluid as
transparent as water. With the brush so charged, the part—let us say
a portion of the tongue—is painted several times. After an interval of
about a dozen minutes, another brush is taken, but in this instance a
glass one, and dipped into a bottle, the fumes, colour, and label of
which establish its contents as fuming nitric acid. The tongue is
freely brushed with the acid, great care being observed in so doing,
and submits to the procedure without the slightest recoil indicative of
pain.
Such is cocaine, and such is its effect upon every mucous
membrane. We have referred to its utility in the practice of
ophthalmic surgeons; but it is not only in this department of the
healing art that cocaine has been found useful; it can be employed
whenever an operation upon any mucous membrane has to be
performed. The drug has been used in the extraction and stopping of
teeth; and results, nothing less than startling in their completeness,
have been obtained with cocaine in all branches of medicine and
surgery, bringing relief to thousands of sufferers, and—it is true to
remark—more than that, unqualified gratification to the physician or
surgeon in charge. Even that immemorial bugbear, sea-sickness,
has often fled before the influence of cocaine.
One word more. In the present prosaic condition of the world, when
the surfeit of new discoveries seems to have bred in this connection
the familiarity which produces the conventional contempt, it is
refreshing to draw attention to a discovery which has surpassed the
ordinary standard of greatness sufficiently to enable it to figure as a
wonder of the age. Cocaine flashed like a meteor before the eyes of
the medical world, but, unlike a meteor, its impressions have proved
to be enduring; while it is destined in the future to occupy a high
position in the estimation of those whom duty requires to combat the
ravages of disease.
IN ALL SHADES.
BY GRANT ALLEN,
Author of ‘Babylon,’ ‘Strange Stories,’ etc.
etc.
CHAPTER XII.
On the morning when the Severn was to reach Trinidad, everybody
was up betimes and eagerly looking for the expected land. Nora and
Marian went up on deck before breakfast, and there found Dr
Whitaker, opera-glass in hand, scanning the horizon for the first sight
of his native island. ‘I haven’t seen it or my dear father,’ he said to
Marian, ‘for nearly ten years, and I can’t tell you how anxious I am
once more to see him. I wonder whether he’ll have altered much! But
there—ten years is a long time. After ten years, one’s pictures of
home and friends begin to get terribly indefinite. Still, I shall know
him—I’m sure I shall know him. He’ll be on the wharf to welcome us
in, and I’m sure I shall recognise his dear old face again.’
‘Your father’s very well known in the island, the captain tells me,’
Marian said, anxious to show some interest in what interested him so
much. ‘I believe he was very influential in helping to get slavery
abolished.’
‘He was,’ the young doctor answered, kindling up afresh with his
ever-ready enthusiasm—‘he was; very influential. Mr Wilberforce
considered that my father, Robert Whitaker, was one of his most
powerful coloured supporters in any of the colonies. I’m proud of my
father, Mrs Hawthorn—proud of the part he bore in the great
revolution which freed my race. I’m proud to think that I’m the son of
such a man as Robert Whitaker.’
‘Now, then, ladies,’ the captain put in drily, coming upon them
suddenly from behind; ‘breakfast’s ready, and you won’t sight
Trinidad, I take it, for at least another fifty minutes. Plenty of time to
get your breakfast quietly and comfortably, and pack your traps up,
before you come in sight of the Port-o’-Spain lighthouse.’
After breakfast, they all hurried up on deck once more, and soon the
gray peaks and rocky sierras of Trinidad began to heave in sight
straight in front of them. Slowly the land drew closer and closer, till at
last the port and town lay full in sight before them. Dr Whitaker was
overflowing with excitement as they reached the wharf. ‘In ten
minutes,’ he cried to Marian—‘in ten minutes, I shall see my dear
father.’
It was a strange and motley scene, ever fresh and interesting to the
new-comer from Europe, that first glimpse of tropical life from the
crowded deck of an ocean steamer. The Severn stood off, waiting for
the gangways to be lowered on board, but close up to the high
wooden pier of the lively, bustling, little harbour. In front lay the busy
wharf, all alive with a teeming swarm of black faces—men in light
and ragged jackets, women in thin white muslins and scarlet turbans,
children barefooted and half naked, lying sprawling idly in the very
eye of the sun. Behind, white houses with green venetian blinds;
waving palm-trees; tall hills; a blazing pale blue sky; a great haze of
light and shimmer and glare and fervour. All round, boats full of noisy
negroes, gesticulating, shouting, swearing, laughing, and showing
their big teeth every second anew in boisterous merriment. A general
pervading sense of bustle and life, all meaningless and all
ineffectual; much noise and little labour; a ceaseless chattering, as of
monkeys in a menagerie; a purposeless running up and down on the
pier and ’longshore with wonderful gesticulations; a babel of
inarticulate sounds and cries and shouting and giggling. Nothing of it
all clearly visible as an individual fact at first; only a confused mass
of heads and faces and bandanas and dresses, out of which, as the
early hubbub of arrival subsided a little, there stood forth prominently
a single foremost figure—the figure of a big, heavy, oily, fat, dark
mulatto, gray-haired and smooth-faced, dressed in a dirty white linen
suit, and waving his soiled silk pocket-handkerchief ostentatiously
before the eyes of the assembled passengers. A supple, vulgar,
oleaginous man altogether, with an astonishing air of conceited self-
importance, and a profound consciousness of the admiring eyes of
the whole surrounding negro populace.
‘How d’ye do, captain?’ he shouted aloud in a clear but thick and
slightly negro voice, mouthing his words with much volubility in the
true semi-articulate African fashion. ‘Glad to see de Severn has
come in puncshual to her time as usual. Good ship, de Severn;
neber minds storms or nuffin.—Well, sah, who have you got on
board? I’ve come down to meet de doctor and Mr Hawtorn. Trinidad
is proud to welcome back her children to her shores agin. Got ’em on
board, captain?—got ’em on board, sah?’
‘All right, Bobby,’ the captain answered, with easy familiarity. ‘Been
having a pull at the mainsheet this morning?—Ah, I thought so. I
thought you’d taken a cargo of rum aboard. Ah, you sly dog! You’ve
got the look of it.’
‘Massa Bobby, him doan’t let de rum spile in him cellar,’ a ragged fat
negress standing by shouted out in a stentorian voice. ‘Him know de
way to keep him from spilin’, so pour him down him own troat in time
—eh, Massa Bobby?’
‘Rum,’ the oily mulatto responded cheerfully, but with great dignity,
raising his fat brown hand impressively before him—‘rum is de staple
produck an’ chief commercial commodity of de great an’ flourishin’
island of Trinidad. To drink a moderate quantity of rum every mornin’
before brekfuss is de best way of encouragin’ de principal
manufacture of dis island. I do my duty in dat respeck, I flatter
myself, as faithfully as any pusson in de whole of Trinidad, not
exceptin’ His Excellency de governor, who ought to set de best
example to de entire community. As de recognised representative of
de coloured people of dis colony, I feel bound to teach dem to
encourage de manufacture of rum by my own pussonal example an’
earnest endeavour.’ And he threw back his greasy neck playfully in a
pantomimic representation of the art of drinking off a good glassful of
rum-and-water.
The negroes behind laughed immoderately at this sally of the man
addressed as Bobby, and cheered him on with loud vociferations.
‘Evidently,’ Edward said to Nora, with a face of some disgust, ‘this
creature is the chartered buffoon and chief jester to the whole of
Trinidad. They all seem to recognise him and laugh at him, and I see
even the captain himself knows him well of old, evidently.’
‘Bless your soul, yes,’ the captain said, overhearing the remark.
‘Everybody in the island knows Bobby. Good-natured old man, but
conceited as a peacock, and foolish too.—Everybody knows you
here,’ raising his voice; ‘don’t they, Bobby?’
The gray-haired mulatto took off his broad-brimmed Panama hat and
bowed profoundly. ‘I flatter myself,’ he said, looking round about him
complacently on the crowd of negroes, ‘dere isn’t a better known
man in de whole great an’ flourishin’ island of Trinidad dan Bobby
Whitaker.’
Edward and Marian started suddenly, and even Nora gave a little
shiver of surprise and disappointment. ‘Whitaker,’ Edward repeated
slowly—‘Whitaker—Bobby Whitaker!—You don’t mean to tell us,
surely, captain, that that man’s our Dr Whitaker’s father!’
‘Yes, I do,’ the captain answered, smiling grimly. ‘That’s his father.—
Dr Whitaker! hi, you, sir; where have you got to? Don’t you see?—
there’s your father.’
Edward turned at once to seek for him, full of a sudden unspoken
compassion. He had not far to seek. A little way off, standing
irresolutely by the gunwale, with a strange terrified look in his
handsome large eyes, and a painful twitching nervously evident at
the trembling corners of his full mouth, Dr Whitaker gazed intently
and speechlessly at the fat mulatto in the white linen suit. It was
clear that the old man did not yet recognise his son; but the son had
recognised his father instantaneously and unhesitatingly, as he stood
there playing the buffoon in broad daylight before the whole
assembled ship’s company. Edward looked at the poor young fellow
with profound commiseration. Never in his life before had he seen
shame and humiliation more legibly written on a man’s very limbs
and features. The unhappy young mulatto, thunderstruck by the
blow, had collapsed entirely. It was too terrible for him. Coming in,
fresh from his English education, full of youthful hopes and vivid
enthusiasms, proud of the father he had more than half forgotten,
and anxious to meet once more that ideal picture he had carried
away with him of the liberator of Trinidad—here he was met, on the
very threshold of his native island, by this horrible living contradiction
of all his fervent fancies and imaginings. The Robert Whitaker he
had once known faded away as if by magic into absolute nonentity,
and that voluble, greasy, self-satisfied, buffoonish old brown man
was the only thing left that he could now possibly call ‘my father.’
Edward pitied him far too earnestly to obtrude just then upon his
shame and sorrow. But the poor mulatto, meeting his eyes
accidentally for a single second, turned upon him such a mutely
appealing look of profound anguish, that Edward moved over slowly
toward the grim captain and whispered to him in a low undertone:
‘Don’t speak to that man Whitaker again, I beg of you. Don’t you see
his poor son there’s dying of shame for him?’
The captain stared back at him with the same curious half-sardonic
look that Marian had more than once noticed upon his impassive
features. ‘Dying of shame!’ he answered, smiling carelessly. ‘Ho, ho,
ho! that’s a good one! Dying of shame is he, for poor old Bobby!
Why, sooner or later, you know, he’ll have to get used to him.
Besides, I tell you, whether you talk to him or whether you don’t, old
Bobby’ll go on talking about himself as long as there’s anybody left
anywhere about who’ll stand and listen to him.—You just hark there
to what he’s saying now. What’s he up to next, I wonder?’
‘Yes, ladies and gentlemen,’ the old mulatto was proceeding aloud,
addressing now in a set speech the laughing passengers on board
the Severn, ‘I’m de Honourable Robert Whitaker, commonly called
Bobby Whitaker, de leadin’ member of de coloured party in dis
island. Along wit my lamented friend Mr Wilberforce, an’ de British
parliament, I was de chief instrument in procurin’ de abolition of
slavery an’ de freedom of de slaves troughout de whole English
possessions. Millions of my fellow-men were moanin’ an’ groanin’ in
a painful bondage. I have a heart dat cannot witstand de appeal of
misery. I laboured for dem; I toiled for dem; I bore de brunt of de
battle; an’ in de end I conquered—I conquered. Wit de aid of my
friend Mr Wilberforce, by superhuman exertions, I succeeded in
passin’ de grand act of slavery emancipation. You behold in me de
leadin’ actor in dat famous great an’ impressive drama. I’m an ole
man now; but I have prospered in dis world, as de just always do,
says de Psalmist, an’ I shall be glad to see any of you whenever you
choose at my own residence, an’ to offer you in confidence a glass
of de excellent staple produck of dis island—I allude to de wine of de
country, de admirable beverage known as rum!’
There was another peal of foolish laughter from the crowd of
negroes at this one ancient threadbare joke, and a faint titter from
the sillier passengers on board the Severn. Edward looked over
appealingly at the old buffoon; but the mulatto misunderstood his
look of deprecation, and bowed once more profoundly, with immense
importance, straight at him, like a sovereign acknowledging the
plaudits of his subjects.
‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘I shall be happy to see any of you—you, sah, or
you—at my own estate, Whitaker Hall, in dis island, whenever you
find it convenient to visit me. You have on board my son, Dr
Whitaker, de future leader of de coloured party in de Council of
Trinidad; an’ you have no doubt succeeded in makin’ his
acquaintance in de course of your voyage from de shores of
England. Dr Whitaker, of de University of Edinburgh, after pursuin’
his studies’——
The poor young man gave an audible groan, and turned away, in his
poignant disgrace, to the very furthest end of the vessel. It was
terrible enough to have all his hopes dashed and falsified in this
awful fashion; but to be humiliated and shamed by name before the
staring eyes of all his fellow-passengers, that last straw was more
than his poor bursting heart could possibly endure. He walked away,
broken and tottering, and leaned over the opposite side of the
vessel, letting the hot tears trickle unreproved down his dusky
cheeks into the ocean below.
At that very moment, before the man they called Bobby Whitaker
could finish his sentence, a tall white man, of handsome and
imposing presence, walked out quietly from among the knot of
people behind the negroes, and laid his hand with a commanding air
on the fat old mulatto’s broad shoulder. Bobby Whitaker turned round
suddenly and listened with attention to something that the white man
whispered gently but firmly at his astonished ear. Then his lower jaw
dropped in surprise, and he fell behind, abashed for a second, into
the confused background of laughing negroes. Partly from his
childish recollections, but partly, too, by the aid of the photographs,
Edward immediately recognised the tall white man. ‘Marian, Marian!’
he cried, waving his hand in welcome towards the new-comer, ‘it’s
my father, my father!’
And even as he spoke, a pang of pain ran through him as he thought
of the difference between the two first greetings. He couldn’t help
feeling proud in his heart of hearts of the very look and bearing of his
own father—tall, erect, with his handsome, clear-cut face and full
white beard, the exact type of a self-respecting and respected
English gentleman; and yet, the mere reflex of his own pride and
satisfaction revealed to him at once the bitter poignancy of Dr
Whitaker’s unspeakable disappointment. As the two men stood there
on the wharf side by side, in quiet conversation, James Hawthorn
with his grave, severe, earnest expression, and Bobby Whitaker with
his greasy, vulgar, negro joviality speaking out from every crease in
his fat chin and every sparkle of his small pig’s eyes, the contrast
between them was so vast and so apparent, that it seemed to make
the old mulatto’s natural vulgarity and coarseness of fibre more
obvious and more unmistakable than ever to all beholders.
In a minute more, a gangway was hastily lowered from the wharf on
to the deck; and the first man that came down it, pushed in front of a
great crowd of eager, grinning, and elbowing negroes—mostly in
search of small jobs among the passengers—was Bobby Whitaker.
The moment he reached the deck, he seemed to take possession of
it and of all the passengers by pure instinct, as if he were father to
the whole shipload of them. The captain, the crew, and the other
authorities were effaced instantly. Bobby Whitaker, with easy, greasy
geniality, stood bowing and waving his hand on every side, in an
access of universal graciousness towards the entire company. ‘My

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The Distributed University for Sustainable Higher

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Library of Congress Catalogue Card Number 56-12796

Printed in the United States of America

MARTIN G. B R U M B A U G H , 1862-1930, in whose honor

of these conferences caused the Trustees to set aside a

T h e 1956 Brumbaugh Lecturers 9

A Psychological Basis for Learning

Dimensions of Social Stratification

Building a Philosophy of Education

T H O M A S W O O D Y is Professor of Education at the Uni-

J O H N W A R R E N T I L T O N is Associate Professor of Educa-

member of the staff of Teachers College, Columbia Uni-

AUGUST DE B E L M O N T H O L L I N G S H E A D is Professor of So-

J . D O N A L D B U T L E R is Professor of the History and Phi-

WORDSWORTH'S often quoted line, "the child is father

in Palmer's phrase "to invigorate life through knowledge."

Professor Hollingshead in his "Dimensions of Social

A life-long investigator of human nature once remarked

in devising instruments of infinite variety and ends. By

l Cratylus, 389; Meno, 81-86; Parmenides, 132; The Dialogues of Plato,

In the life of the instrument maker four orders of his

well, even as did those of ruder times. The plane sows

Throw first the shuttle and the web expand. . . .

These poetic figures doubtless learned the use of instru-

T h e scope and character of the instrument maker's out-

* Thomas Woody, Life and Education in Early Societies (The Macmillan

extending vastly what is told by mute remains of artifacts

On occasion it might be informally acquired, but the dif-

Matters obvious to everyone have been dealt with in the

action. Those who have experience, as Aristotle noted in

Walls I see thrown down, walls I see erected,

» T h e Caxton Printers, Caldwell, Idaho, 1940, pp. 117-18.

Mutation is the law of life, in man himself, and in the

Whatever else it be, man's mind is an instrument—the

Man nennt's Vemunft, doch braucht's allein

tested them as yet. Mind was made a subtle instrument

w J . B. Lippincott, Philadelphia, 1956.

Appreciable progress has been made in Psychology in the

Theory Label Proponent

Early this year, the second edition of Hilgard's Theories

and the many psychologists referred to in this book, and

learning, new stimulus-response derivations are required

and Expectancy," Psychological Review, March, 1956, 63:105-13.

merit, that would settle thj: matter. It might seem that if

There is however another consideration. Evaluation

learning theory is adequate for this psychologically com-

I am convinced that when such a theory is firmly

* E. R. Guthrie, The Psychology of Learning (Harper & Brothers, New

But I wish to defer comment upon educational psychol-