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Chapter 6 - The Normal Distribution
Note to instructors: Graphs are not to scale 6.

and are intended to convey a general idea. Gaussian distribution and bell curve
Answers are generated using Table E.
Answers generated using the TI calculator
7.
will vary slightly. Some TI calculator
The area is found by looking up D œ 1Þ!( in
answers are shown.
Table E and subtracting 0.5.
Area œ 0.)577 0.5 œ 0.3577
EXERCISE SET 6-1
1.
The characteristics of the normal
distribution are:
0 1.07
a. It is bell-shaped.
b. It is symmetric about the mean.
8.
c. The mean, median, and mode are equal.
The area is found by looking up D œ 1.77 in
d. It is continuous. Table E and subtracting 0.5.
e. It never touches the X-axis. Area œ 0.9616 0.5 œ 0.4616
f. The area under the curve is equal to 1.
g. It is unimodal.
h. About 68% of the area lies within 1
standard deviation of the mean, about 95%
within 2 standard deviations, and about 0 1.77
99.7% within 3 standard deviations of the
mean. 9.
The area is found by looking up D œ "Þ*$ in
2. Table E and subtracting 0.5.
Many variables are normally distributed, Area œ 0.9732 0.5 œ !Þ%($#
and the distribution can be used to
describe these variables.
3.
1 or 100%. 0 "Þ*$
4. 10.
50% of the area lies below the mean, and The area is found by looking up D œ 0.32
50% lies above the mean. in Table E and subtracting from 0.5.
Area œ 0.5 0.3745 œ 0.1255
5.
68%, 95%, 99.7%
0.32 0
Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education.

All rights reserved. No reproduction or distribution without the prior written consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
109
11. 15.
The area is found by looking up D œ 0.$7 The area is found by looking up the values
in Table E and subtracting from 1. 1.09 and 1.83 in Table E and subtracting the
Area œ 1 0.6%%$ œ 0.3&&( areas.
Area œ 0.9664 0.8621 œ 0.1043
0 0.$(
1.09 1.83
12.
The area is found by looking up D œ 2.01 16.
in Table E and subtracting from 1. The area is found by looking up the values
Area œ 1 0.9778 œ 0.0222 1.23 and 1.90 in Table E and subtracting the
areas.
Area œ 0.9713 0.8907 œ 0.0806
0 2.01
13. 0 1.23 1.90

The area is found by looking up D œ 1.87
in Table E.
17.
Area œ 0.0$!(
The area is found by looking up the
values "Þ%' and "Þ(( in Table E and
subtracting the areas.
Area œ !Þ!(#" !Þ!$)% œ !Þ!$$(
1.)( 0
14.
The area is found by looking up D œ 0.75 1.(( 1.%6 0
in Table E.
Area œ 0.2266
18.
The area is found by looking up the values
0.96 and 0.36 in Table E and
subtracting the areas.
Area œ 0.3594 0.1685 œ 0.1909
0.75 0

110
18. continued 22.

The area is found by looking up 1.31 in
Table E. Area œ 0.9049
0.96 0.36 0
0 1.31
19.
The area is found by looking up the values
1.46 and 1.98 in Table E and 23.
subtracting the areas. The area is found by looking up 0.1)
Area œ 0.0721 0.0239 œ 0.0482 in Table E and subtracting it from 1.
1 0.%#)' œ !Þ&("%
1.98 1.46 0
0.") 0
20.
The area is found by looking up the values 24.
1.12 and 0.24 and subtracting the areas. The area is found by looking up 1.92
Area œ 0.5948 0.1314 œ 0.4634 in Table E and subtracting the area from
1. Area œ 1 0.0274 œ 0.9726
1.12 0 0.24
1.92 0
21.
The area is found by looking up "Þ"# in 25.
Table E. Area œ !Þ)')' For z œ 0.44, the area is 0.3300. For
z œ 1.92, the area is 1 0.9726 œ
0.0274 Area œ 0.3300 0.0274 œ
0.3574
0 "Þ"#
0.44 0 1.92

111
26. 31.
For z œ 2.15, the area is 0.0158. For Area œ 1 !Þ**!" œ !Þ!!**
z œ 1.62, the area is 1 0.9474 œ
0.0526 Area œ 0.0158 0.0526 œ
0.0684
0 #Þ$$
32.
2.15 0 1.62 Area œ 1 0.7939 œ 0.2061
27.
Area œ !Þ)#)* !Þ& œ !Þ$#)*
0 0.82
33.
0 0.9& Area œ !Þ!'&&
28.
Area œ 0.9750 0.5 œ 0.4750
"Þ&" 0
34.
0 1.69 Area œ 0.0384
29.
Area œ 0.5 !Þ!)$) œ !Þ%"'#
1.77 0
35.
"Þ$) 0
Area œ 0.9699 0.0192 œ 0.9507
30.
Area œ 0.5 0.1093 œ 0.3907
2.07 0 1.88
1.23 0

112
36. 41.
Area œ 0.9406 0.4207 œ 0.5199 Since the D score is on the left side of 0, use
the negative D table. Areas in the negative
D table are in the tail, so we will use
0.5 0.4175 œ 0.0825 as the area. The
closest D score corresponding to an area of
0.20 0 1.56 0.0825 is D œ 1.39.
(TI answer œ 1.3885)
37.
Area œ 0.9845 0.9947 œ 0.0428 42.
Since the D score is on the right side of 0,
use the positive D score table. Areas for
positive D scores include the left side of the
curve, which has an area of 0.5. Hence, we
must use 0.5 0.4066 œ 0.9066 as the
0 1.56 2.13
area. The D score corresponding to an area
of 0.9066 is z œ 1.32.
38. (TI answer œ 1.3201)
Area œ 0.9236 0.8686 œ 0.055
43.
D œ 2.08, found by using the negative D
table.
0 1.12 1.43
44.
39.
Using the positive D table,
Area œ 0.9222
1 0.0239 œ 0.9761, thus D œ 1.98.
45.
Use the negative D table and
0 1.42
1 0.8962 œ 0.1038 for the area. The D
score is D œ 1.26.
40. (TI answer œ 1.2602)
Area œ 1 0.0764 œ 0.9236
46.
D œ 1.84, found by using the positive D
table.
1.43 0

113
47. 50.
a. Using the negative D table, For a middle area of 48%, 24% lies on
area œ 1 0.9887 œ 0.0113. Hence each side of 0. To find the D score on the
D œ 2.28. left side, use area œ0.5 0.24 œ 0.26.
(TI answer œ 2.2801) The D score closest to an area of 0.26 is
0.64. Since the curve is symmetrical
b. Using the negative D table, about the mean (or center line), the D
area œ 1 0.8212 œ 0.1788. Hence score on the right side is 0.64.
D œ 0.92. (TI answer œ „ 0.6433)
51.
c. Using the negative D table, PÐ " D "Ñ œ 0.8413 0.1587
area œ 1 0.6064 œ 0.3936. Hence œ 0.6826
D œ 0.27.
(TI answer œ 0.26995) PÐ # D #Ñ œ 0.9772 0.0228
œ 0.9544 (TI answer œ 0.9545)
48.
a. D œ 0.12 for area œ 0.5478 PÐ $ D $Ñ œ 0.9987 0.0013
(TI answer œ 0.1201) œ 0.9974 (TI answer œ 0.9973)
b. D œ 0.52 for area œ 0.6985 They are very close.

52.
c. D œ 1.18 for area œ 0.8810 For the 75th percentile D œ 0.67
49.
a. For total area œ 0.05, there will be For the 80th percentile D œ 0.84
area œ 0.025 in each tail. The D scores are (TI answer œ 0.8416)
„ 1.96.
(TI answer œ „ 1.95996) For the 92th percentile D œ 1.41
b. For total area œ 0.10, there will be
area œ 0.05 in each tail. The D scores are 53.
D œ „ 1.645. For D œ 1.2, area œ 0.1151
(TI answer œ „ 1.64485) Area (left side) œ 0.5 0.1151 œ 0.3849
0.8671 0.3849 œ 0.4822
c. For total area œ 0.01, there will be Area (right side) œ 0.4822 0.5 œ
area œ 0.005 in each tail. The D scores are 0.9822
D œ „ 2.58. For area œ 0.9822, D œ 2.10 Thus,
(TI answer œ „ 2.57583) P( 1.2 D 2.10Ñ œ 0.8671

114
54. 58. continued

For D œ 2.5, area œ 0.9938 (2)#
e e 2
Area (right side) œ 0.9938 0.5 œ 0.4938 For B œ 2, C œ
2
œ
É 21 É6.28
0.7672 0.4938 œ 0.2734
0.1353
Area (left side) œ 0.5 0.2734 œ 0.2266 œ œ 0.05
É6.28
For area œ 0.2266, D œ 0.75
Thus, PÐ 0.75 D 2.5Ñ œ 0.7672 B C
-2.0 0.05
55. -1.5 0.13
For D œ 0.5, area œ 0.3085 -1.0 0.24
0.3085 0.2345 œ 0.074
-0.5 0.35
For area œ 0.074, D œ 1.45
0 0.40
Thus, PÐ 1.45 z 0.5Ñ œ 0.2345
0.5 0.35
For D œ 0.5, area œ 0.3085 1.0 0.24
0.5 0.3085 œ 0.1915 1.5 0.13
0.2345 0.1915 œ 0.043 2.0 0.05
0.5 0.043 œ 0.543
For area œ 0.543, D œ 0.11 0.4
Thus, PÐ 0.5 D 0.11Ñ œ 0.2345 0.3
0.2
0.1
56. 0
0.76 ƒ 2 œ 0.38 on each side. -2 -1 0 1 2
Area (right side) œ 0.5 0.38 œ 0.88

D œ 1.175
59.
Area (left side) œ 0.5 0.38 œ 0.12 Since the area under the curve to the left of
D œ 1.175 D œ #Þ$ and the area under the curve to the
Thus, PÐ 1.175 D 1.175Ñ œ 0.76 right of D œ "Þ# are overlapping areas,
(TI answer œ „ 1.17499) this covers the entire area under the curve.
Thus, the total area is 1.00.
57.
ÐX0)# X#
/
2(1)#
e
2 60.
yœ œ
1 É 21 É 21 Since the area under the curve to the right
of D œ #Þ$ does not overlap the area to the
58. left of D œ "Þ#, the area is 0.
Each B value ( 2, 1.5, etc.) is
#
e B
2 EXERCISE SET 6-2
substituted in the formula C œ to get
É 21
the corresponding C value. The pairs are 1.

then plotted as shown below. %! %$Þ(
Dœ "Þ' œ #Þ$"

115
1. continued 3.
750,000 706,242
P(D < #Þ$") œ !Þ!"!% or 1.04% a. D œ œ 0.84
52,145
P(D > 0.84) œ 1 0.7995 œ 0.2005 or

20.05% (TI answer œ 0.2007)
#Þ$" 0
2.
0 0.84
35,000 47,750
a. D œ œ 2.24
5680
600,000 706,242
b. D œ œ 2.04
52,145
45,000 47,750
Dœ œ 0.48
5680 700,000 706,242
Dœ œ 0.12
52,145
P( 2.24 < D < 0.62)
œ 0.3156 0.0125 P( 2.04 < D <0.12) œ 0.4522
0.0207
P œ 0.3031 or 30.31% (TI answer P œ 0.4315 or 43.15% (TI answer
œ 0.3017) œ 0.4316)
2.46 0.48 2.04 0.12
40,000 47,750
b. D œ œ 1.36 4.
5680
For the 90th percentile, area œ 0.4 and
P(D > 1.36) œ 1 0.0869 œ 0.9131
D œ 1.28
B œ 1.28(92) 1028
B œ 1145.8 or 1146
12001028
For a score of 1200, D œ œ 1.87
92
P(D > 1.87) œ 1 0.9693 œ 0.0307 or

1.36 3.07%
c. Not too happy! It's really at the bottom

of the heap! 5.
200225
31,000 47,750
a. D œ œ 2.5
10
Dœ œ 2.95
5680
220225
Dœ œ 0.5
10
P(D Ÿ 2.95) œ 0.0016
Only 0.16% of salaries are below $31,000. P( 2.5 < D < 0.5 ) œ
0.3085 0.0062 œ 0.3023 or 30.23%

116
5. continued 6. continued
2.5 0.5 1.01 0.93
b. D œ 2.5 7.
P(D 2.5) œ 0.0062 or 0.62% a. D œ ")"&
#Þ" œ "Þ%$
P(D > "Þ%$) œ 1 !Þ*#$' œ !Þ!('%

or (.'%% (TI answer œ 0.!('%)
2.5
6.
a. D œ
1000982
œ 0.1 0 "Þ%$
180
P(D 0.1) œ 1 0.5398 œ 0.4602 or

b. D œ "$"&
#Þ" œ !Þ*&
46.02%
P(D !Þ*&) œ !Þ"("" or "(.""%
(TI answer œ 0."("")
0.1
1475982 !.*&
b. D œ œ 2.74
180
P(D 2.74) œ 1 0.9969 8.

œ 0.0031 or 0.31% a. D œ
15,00012,837
œ 1.44
1500
P( D > 1.44) œ 1 0.9251 œ 0.0749 or

7.49%
2.74
800982
c. D œ œ 1.01
180
0 1.44
1150982
Dœ œ 0.93
180
13,00012,837
P( 1.01 D 0.93) œ b. D œ œ 0.11
1500
0.8238 0.1562 œ 0.6676 or 66.76% 14,00012,837
Dœ œ 0.78
1500

117
8. continued 10.
3025
P( 0.11 < D < 0.78) œ 0.7823 0.5438 Dœ œ 0.82
6.1
œ 0.2385 or 23.85%
P(D 0.82) œ 1 0.7939 œ 0.2061 or
20.61%
1825
Dœ œ 1.15
6.1
0.11 0.78 P(D 1.15) œ 0.1251 or 12.51%
9. 11.
For B 15,000 miles:
10003262
15,00012,494
a. D œ œ 2.06
1100
Dœ œ 1.94
1290
P( D 2.06) œ 1 0.0197 œ 0.9803 or
P(D 1.94) œ 1 0.9738 œ 0.0262 98.03% (TI answer œ 0.9801)
2.06
0 1.94
40003262
For B 8000 miles: b. D œ œ 0.67
1100
800012,494
Dœ œ 3.48 P( D > 0.67) œ 1 0.7486 œ 0.2514 or
1290
25.14% (TI answer œ 0.2511)
P(D 3.48) œ 0.0003
0 0.67
30003262
3.48 0 c. D œ œ 0.24
1100
For B 6000 miles: P( 0.24 < z < 0.67) œ 0.7486

0.4052 œ 0.3434 or 34.34%
600012,494
Dœ œ 5.03 (TI answer œ 0.3430)
1290
P(D 5.03) œ 0.0001
Maybe it would be good to know why it

had only been driven less than 6000
miles. 0.24 0.67

118
12. 14.
P(B $$.00) œ P(D ?) Dœ
384 225
œ 3.53
45
For area œ 0.15, D œ 1.04
Using D œ P(D 3.53) œ 1 0.9999 œ 0.0001
= :
\\
The probability is less than 0.0001.

$Þ!! $Þ%#
1.04 œ
s
1.04= œ $Þ!! $Þ%#

1.04= œ !Þ%#
= œ !Þ%!$) or ¸ %!.$) cents
0 3.53
13.
15.
a. D œ "%#"$!
& œ #Þ%
7472
a. D œ œ 0.67
3
P(D > 2.4) œ 1 !Þ**") œ !Þ!!)#
6872
(TI answer œ 0.!!)#) Dœ œ 1.33
3
P( 1.33 < D < 0.67) œ

!Þ7486 !Þ0918 œ !Þ6568
(TI answer œ !Þ6568)
0 #Þ%
b. D œ "#&"$!
& œ "
P(D < ") œ !Þ"&)(

1.33 0.67
(TI answer œ !Þ"&)()
b.
7072
Dœ œ 0.67
3
P(D 0.67) œ 1 0.2514 œ 0.7486

1 0
c. D œ "$'"$!
&
œ "Þ#
"#)"$!
Dœ & œ !Þ%
0.67
P( !Þ% < D < "Þ#) œ
!Þ))%* !Þ$%%' œ !Þ&%!$
7572
(TI answer œ !Þ&%!$) c. D œ œ1
3
P(D 1) œ 0.8413
!Þ% "Þ#

119
16. 19.
P)! corresponds to D œ 0.84 The middle 80% means that 40% of the
area will be on either side of the mean.
For male professors: The corresponding D scores will be
B œ 0.84(5200) 99,685 „ 1.28.
B œ $104,053 B œ 1.28(92) 1810 œ 1692.24 sq. ft.
B œ 1.28(92) 1810 œ 1927.76 sq. ft.
For female professors:
(TI answers: 1927.90 maximum,
B œ 0.84(5200) 90,330
1692.10 minimum)
B œ $94,698
17.
3836
Dœ œ 0.4
5
1692 1810 1928
3236
Dœ œ 0.8
5
20.
P( 0.8 < D < 0.4) œ
The middle 80% means that 40% of the
!Þ6554 !Þ2119 œ !Þ4435
(TI answer œ !Þ4435)
Thus, D œ „ 1.28
B œ 1.28(15,000) 246,300 œ $227,100
B œ 1.28(15,000) 246,300 œ $265,500
0.8 0.4
18.
The middle 50% means that 25% of the 227,100 246,300 265,500
Thus, area œ 0.25 and D œ „ 0.67. 21.
B œ 0.67(103) 792 œ 861.01 1200949
Dœ œ 2.51
B œ 0.67(103) 792 œ 722.99 100
P( D 2.51) œ 1 0.9940 œ 0.006 or 0.6%

The contributions are between $723
and $861.
0 2.51
$723 $861 For the least expensive 10%, the area is 0.4
on the left side of the curve. Thus,
D œ 1.28.
B œ 1.28(100) 949 œ $821

120
22. 25. continued

The bottom 5% (area) is in the left tail of
For the shortest 30%, the area is 0.30.
the normal curve. The corresponding z
Thus, D œ 0.52.
score is found using area œ 0.05. Thus,
B œ 0.52(1.449) 4.8
D œ 1.645.
B œ 4.047 days or 4.05 days
B œ 1.645(18) 122.6 œ 92.99 or 93
26.
a. For the top 3%, the area is 0.97.
Thus, D œ 1.88.
92.99 122.6
B œ 1.88(100) 400
B œ 588 minimum score to receive the
23.
award.
The middle 50% means that 25% of
the area will be on either side of the b. For the bottom 1.5%, the area is
mean. The corresponding D scores 0.015. Thus, D œ 2.17.
will be „ 0.67. B œ 2.17(100) 400
B œ 0.67(4) 120 œ 117.32 B œ 183
B œ 0.67(4) 120 œ 122.68 The minimum score needed to avoid
(TI answer: 117.32 . 122.68) summer school is 184 since a score of
183 would be included in the summer
school group.
27.
117.32 120 122.68 The bottom 18% area is 0.18. Thus,
D œ 0.92.
24. B œ 0.92(6256) 24,596 œ $18,840.48
For the oldest 20%, the area is 0.8. (TI answer œ $18,869.48)
Thus, D œ 0.84.
22.8 œ 0.84= 19.4
28.
= œ 4.048 or 4.05 years
For B > 25 gallons:
25 34
Dœ œ 3.33
25. 2.7
For the longest 10%, the area is 0.90. P(D > 3.33) œ 1 0.0004 œ 0.9996
Thus, D œ 1.28 (TI answer œ 0.9996)
Since 5 œ 2.1, 5 œ È#Þ" œ 1.449
#
B œ 1.28(1.449) 4.8
B œ 6.65 or 6.7 days
25 34

121
28. continued 32.

No. Any subgroup would not be a
For 28 B 30 gallons:
perfect representation of the seniors;
28 34
Dœ œ 2.22 therefore, the mean and standard
2.7
30 34 deviation would be different.

Dœ œ 1.48
2.7
P( 2.22 Ÿ D Ÿ 1.48) 33.

œ 0.0694 0.0132 œ 0.0562 For temperature of at least 85°, area
(TI answer œ 0.0562) is 1 0.05 œ 0.95. Then D œ 1.645
85 œ 1.645= 73
= œ 7.29°
34.
28 30 34 No. The shape of the distributions
would be the same, since D scores are
29. raw scores scaled by the standard
The 10% to be exchanged would be at deviation.
the left, or bottom, of the curve;
therefore, 35.
area œ 0.10 and the corresponding D score For payments above $1255.94, area is
will be 1.28. 1 0.25 œ 0.75. Then D œ 0.67
B œ 1.28(5) 25 œ 18.6 months. 1255.94 œ 0.67(120) B
B œ $1175.54
36.
3.75% area in the left tail means that
18.6 25 area œ 0.0375. Thus, D œ 1.78.
85.
1.78 œ
30. 6
The top 20% means that area œ 0.80. The 1.78(6) œ 85 .

corresponding D score is 0.84. . œ 95.68
B œ 0.84(9) 64 œ 71.56 ¸ 72
37.
Since P(13.1 < B < 23.5) œ 0.95, the area
on each side of the mean is 0.475.
Thus, D œ „ 1.96.
64 71.56 23.518.3
1.96 œ =
= œ 2.653
31. 1518.3
Dœ œ 1.24
a. . œ 120 5 œ 20 2.653
P(D < 1.24) œ 0.1075
b. . œ 15 5 œ 2.5
c. . œ 30 5œ5

122
38. 40.
The cutoff for the A's and F's would be: Histogram:
B œ . D5 20
B œ 60 1.65(10) 15
Frequency
B œ 76.5 for the A's 10
B œ 60 ( 1.65)(10) 5
B œ 43.5 for the F's

0
16.5-87.5 87.5-158.5 158.5- 229.5- 300.5- 371.5-
229.5 300.5 371.5 442.5
Tax
For the B's and D's: The histogram shows a positive skew.
B œ 60 (0.84)(10)
3(147.04138.5)
B œ 68.4 for the B's PI œ œ 0.27
93.55
B œ 60 ( 0.84)(10)
IQR œ Q$ Q" œ 200 62 œ 138
B œ 51.6 for the D's
1.5(IQR) œ 1.5(138) œ 207
Q" 207 œ 145
The grading scale would be:
77 and up A Q$ 207 œ 407
68 76 B There is one outlier.
52 67 C Conclusion: The distribution is not
44 51 D normal.
0 43 F
41.
39. Histogram:
Histogram: 18
16
14
12
12
Frequency
10 10
8 8
6
6
4
f
4 2
2 0
27.5-102.5 102.5-177.5 177.5-252.5 252.5-327.5 327.5-402.5
0
636.5-926.5 926.5-1216.5 1216.5-1506.5 1506.5-1796.5 1796.5-2086.5 Revenue
Num ber of Movies
The histogram shows a positive skew.
The histogram shows a positive skew.
3(9059)
PI œ œ 1.04
3(970.2853.5) 89.598
PI œ œ 0.93
376.5 IQR œ Q$ Q" œ 111 32 œ 79
1.5(IQR) œ 1.5(79) œ 118.5
IQR œ Q3 Q" œ 910 815 œ 95
Q" 118.5 œ 86.5
1.5(IQR) œ 1.5(95) œ 142.5
Q$ 118.5 œ 229.5
Q" 142.5 œ 672.5 There are two outliers.
Q$ 142.5 œ 1052.5 Conclusion: The distribution is not normal.
There are several outliers.
Conclusion: The distribution is not
normal.

123
42. 6.
Histogram: Dœ \.
5
8
6
4
7.
f
2 X. 6360
0 Dœ 5 œ 8
œ 2.05
Én
2.5-17.5 17.5-32.5 32.5-47.5 47.5-62.5 62.5-77.5 É30
Runs
5860
Dœ œ 1.37
The histogram shows a negative skew. 8
É30
3(45.252)
PI œ œ 0.99 P( 1.37 D 2.05) œ 0.9798 0.0853
20.58
IQR œ Q$ Q" œ 60.5 29.5 œ 31 œ 0.8945or 89.45%

1.5(IQR) œ 1.5(31) œ 46.5
Q" 46.5 œ 17
Q$ 46.5 œ 107
There are no outliers.
Conclusion: The distribution is not normal. 58 60 63
43. Answers will vary. 8.

X. 1717.2
Dœ 5 œ 2.5
œ 0.59
EXERCISE SET 6-3 Én
É55
1817.2
Dœ œ 2.37
1. 2.5
É55
The distribution is called the sampling
P( 0.59 D 2.37) œ 0.9911 0.2776
distribution of sample means.
œ 0.7135 or 71.35%
2.
The sample is not a perfect representation of
the population. The difference is due to
what is called sampling error.
17 17.2 18
3.
The mean of the sample means is equal to 9.
the population mean. X. 10 12
a. D œ 5 œ 3.2
œ 3.75
Én
É36
4.
P(z 3.75) œ 0.00009
The standard deviation of the sample means
is called the standard error of the mean.
5X œ 5
Én
5.
The distribution will be approximately
normal when sample size is large. 10 12

124

X. 10 12
b. D œ 5 œ 3.2
œ 3.75
Én
É36
P(D 3.75) œ 1 0.00009 œ 0.99991

$56,000 $57,337
11.
X. 37.536
Dœ 5 œ 3.6
œ 2.47
10 12 Én
É35
X. 3436
c. D œ
X.
œ
12 12
œ0 Dœ 5 œ 3.6
œ 3.29
Én
5 3.2
Én É35
É36
Dœ
X.
5 œ
11 12
œ 1.88 P( 3.29 < D < 2.47) œ 0.9932 0.0005
3.2
Én
É36 œ 0.9927or 99.27%
P( 1.88 D 0) œ 0.50 0.0301
œ 0.4699
34 36 37.5
11 12 12.
$45,000 $37,764
a. D œ œ 1.42
$5100
10.
$52,000 $57,337 P(D 1.42) œ 1 0.9222 œ 0.0778 or
a. D œ œ 0.71
$7500 7.78%
P(D < 0.71) œ 0.2389 or 23.89%
0 1.42
0.71 0
$38,000 $37,764
b. D œ $5100
œ 0.40
$56,000$57,337 É75
b. D œ $7500
œ 1.78
É100 P(D 0.40) œ 1 0.6554 œ 0.3446
P(D < 1.78) œ 0.0375 or 3.75% or 34.46%
$37,764 $38,000

125
13. 15. continued

X. 8 8.61
Dœ 5 œ 1.39
œ 3.10
Én
É50
P(D 3.1) œ 1 0.001 œ 0.9990

2708 3000
16.
23.824.3
Dœ 2.6
œ 1.10
8 8.61 É33
P(D < 1.10) œ 0.1357 or 13.57%

14.
Since 8 30, we can use the normal
distribution.
10501028
Dœ 100
œ 3.11 23.8 24.3
É200
P(D 3.11) œ 1 0.9991 œ 0.0009 17.

or 0.001 X. 120 123
Dœ 5 œ œ 0.55
(TI answer œ 0.0009) Én
21
É15
Thus, we would be surprised to get a
X. 126123
sample mean of 1050 since the Dœ 5 œ #" œ 0.55
Én É15
probability is very small.
P( 0.55 D 0.55) œ 0.7088 0.2912
œ 0.4176 or 41.76%
15.
X. 3000 2708
Dœ œ œ 0.72
5 405
P(z 0.72) œ 1 0.7642 œ 0.2358

120 123 126
18.
$3800 $4064
0 0.72 a. D œ œ 2.57
460
É20
X. 3000 2708 P(D 2.57) œ 0.0051 or 0.51%

Dœ 5 œ 405
œ 3.95
Én
É30
P(z 3.95) œ 1 0.9999 œ 0.0001

P(D 3.95) 0.0001
$3800 $4064

126
b. D œ
$4100 $4064
œ 0.35 P(D 4.57) œ 0.0001 or 0.01%
460
É20 (TI answer œ 0.0000024)
P(D 0.35) œ 1 0.6368 œ 0.3632 The probability is less than 0.0001.
$4064 $4100 $48,000 $51,803
19. 21.
X. 1980 2000 X. 8.28.9
Dœ œ œ 0.75 a. D œ œ œ 0.44
5 187.5 5 1.6
Én
É50
P(D 0.44) œ 0.33 or 33%
X. 1990 2000
Dœ 5 œ 187.5
œ 0.38
Én
É50
P( 0.75 D 0.38)
œ 0.3520 0.2266 œ 0.1254
(TI answer œ 0.12769) 0.44 0
8.28.9
b. D œ 1.6
œ 1.38
É10
P(D 1.38) œ 0.0838 or 8.38%

1980 1990 2000
20.
For B $50,000:
X. $50,000 $51,803 8.2 8.9
Dœ 5 œ $4850
œ 2.17
Én
É34
c. Yes, since the probability is slightly
P(D 2.17) œ 1 0.0150 œ 0.985 or
more than 30%.
98.5%
d. Yes, but not as likely.
22.
121.8 120
$50,000 $51,803 a. D œ œ 0.32
5.6
120 120
For B $48,000: Dœ œ0
5.6
$48,000 $51,803
Dœ $4850
œ 4.57 P(0 D 0.32) œ 0.6255 0.5 œ 0.1255
É34 or 12.55%

127
24.
36 36.2
a. D1 œ œ 0.05
3.7
37.5 36.2
D2 œ œ 0.35
3.7
0 0.32
P( 0.05 D 0.35) œ 0.6368 0.4801
121.8 120
b. D œ 5.6
œ 1.76 œ 0.1567 or 15.67%
É30
120 120
Dœ 5.6
œ0
É30
P(0 D 1.76) œ 0.9608 0.5

œ 0.4608 or 46.08% 0.05 0 0.35
36 36.2
b. D1 œ 3.7
œ 0.21
É15
37.5 36.2
D2 œ 3.7
œ 1.36
É15
120 121.8
P( 0.21 D 1.36) œ 0.9131 0.4168
c. Sample means are less variable than œ 0.4963 or 49.63%
individual data. (TI answer œ 0.04779)
23.
220 215
a. D œ œ 0.33
15
P(D 0.33) œ 1 0.6293 œ 0.3707 or
36 36.2 37.5
37.07%
25.
1 0.0985 œ 0.9015
The D score corresponding to an area of
0.9015 is 1.29.
0 0.33
1.29 œ &#!&!)
(#
È8
220 215 12È8

b. D œ 15
œ 1.67 1.29 œ
72
92.88 œ 12È8
É25
P(D 1.67) œ 1 0.9525 œ 0.0475 or

7.74 œ È8
4.75%
59.9 œ 8
The sample size is approximately 60.
215 220

128
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severer test of the political and moral fibre of mankind, of its power to
hold itself together in vast, efficient, plastic wholes. Whatever races
or social systems fail to produce this fibre must yield ascendency to
those which succeed.
This stronger personality depends also upon training; and
whatever peoples succeed in being righteous on a great scale will do
so only by adding to natural capacity an education suited to the
growing demands of the situation—one at the same time broad and
special, technical and humane. There can be no moral order that
does not live in the mind of the individual.
Besides personality—or rather correlative with it—there must be
an adequate mechanism of communication and organization. In
small groups the requirements of structure are so simple as to make
little trouble, but in proportion as the web of relations extends and
diversifies, they become more and more difficult to meet without
sacrificing human nature; so that, other things equal, the freedom
and real unity of the system are likely to vary inversely with its
extent. It is only because other things have not remained equal,
because the mechanism has been improved, that it has become
possible, in a measure, to reconcile freedom with extent.
Communication must be full and quick in order to give that
promptness in the give-and-take of suggestions upon which moral
unity depends. Gesture and speech ensure this in the face-to-face
group; but only the recent marvellous improvement of
communicative machinery makes a free mind on a great scale even
conceivable. If there is no means of working thought and sentiment
into a whole by reciprocation, the unity of the group cannot be other
than inert and unhuman. This cause alone would account for the lack
of extended freedom previous to the nineteenth century.
There must also be forms and customs of rational organization,
through which human nature may express itself in an orderly and
effective manner. Even children learn the need of regular discussion
and decision, while all bodies of adults meeting for deliberation find
that they can think organically only by observance of the rules which
have been worked out for such occasions. And if we are to have
great and stable nations, it is easy to see that these rules of order
must become a body of law and custom including most, if not all, of
the familiar institutions of society. These are a product of progressive
invention, trial, and survival as much as the railroad or the factory,
and they have in the long run the same purpose, that of the fuller
expression of human nature in a social system.
As might be expected from these conditions, there is a principle of
compensation at work in the growth of the larger mind. The more
betterment there is, the more of vital force, of human reason, feeling,
and choice, goes into it; and, as these are limited, improvement in
one respect is apt to be offset, at least in part or temporarily, by delay
or retrogression in others.
Thus a rapid improvement in the means of communication, as we
see in our own time, supplies the basis for a larger and freer society,
and yet it may, by disordering settled relations, and by fixing
attention too much upon mechanical phases of progress, bring in
conditions of confusion and injustice that are the opposite of free.
A very general fact of early political history is deterioration by
growth. The small state cannot escape its destiny as part of a larger
world, but must expand or perish. It grows in size, power, and
diversity by the necessities of its struggle for existence—as did
Rome, Athens, and a hundred other states—but in so doing
sacrifices human nature to military expediency and develops a
mechanical or despotic structure. This, in the long run, produces
weakness, decay, and conquest, or perhaps revolt and revolution.
The requirements of human nature—both direct, as expressed in
social idealism, and indirect, as felt in the ultimate weakness and
failure of systems which disregard them—are irrepressible.
Gradually, therefore, through improvement and through the survival
of higher types in conflict, a type of larger structure is developed
which less sacrifices these requirements.
Much of what is unfree and unhuman in our modern life comes
from mere inadequacy of mental and moral energy to meet the
accumulating demands upon it. In many quarters attention and effort
must be lacking, and where this is the case social relations fall to a
low plane—just as a teacher who has too much to do necessarily
adopts a mechanical style of instruction. So what we call “red tape”
prevails in great clerical offices because much business is done by
persons of small ability, who can work only under rule. And great
bureaucratic systems, like the Russian Empire, are of much the
same nature.
In general the wrongs of the social system come much more from
inadequacy than from ill intention. It is indeed not to be expected that
all relations should be fully rational and sympathetic; we have to be
content with infusing reason and sympathy into what is most vital.
Society, then, as a moral organism, is a progressive creation,
tentatively wrought out through experiment, struggle, and survival.
Not only individuals but ideas, institutions, nations, and races do
their work upon it and perish. Its ideals, though simple in spirit, are
achieved through endless elaboration of means.
It will be my further endeavor to throw some light upon this striving
whole by considering certain phases of its organization, such as
Communication, Public Opinion, Sentiment, Classes, and
Institutions; always trying to see the whole in the part, the part in the
whole, and human nature in both.
PART II
COMMUNICATION
CHAPTER VI
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF COMMUNICATION
Meaning of Communication—Its Relation to Human Nature—

To Society at Large.
By Communication is here meant the mechanism through which
human relations exist and develop—all the symbols of the mind,
together with the means of conveying them through space and
preserving them in time. It includes the expression of the face,
attitude and gesture, the tones of the voice, words, writing, printing,
railways, telegraphs, telephones, and whatever else may be the
latest achievement in the conquest of space and time. All these
taken together, in the intricacy of their actual combination, make up
an organic whole corresponding to the organic whole of human
thought; and everything in the way of mental growth has an external
existence therein. The more closely we consider this mechanism the
more intimate will appear its relation to the inner life of mankind, and
nothing will more help us to understand the latter than such
consideration.
There is no sharp line between the means of communication and
the rest of the external world. In a sense all objects and actions are
symbols of the mind, and nearly anything may be used as a sign—as
I may signify the moon or a squirrel to a child by merely pointing at it,
or by imitating with the voice the chatter of the one or drawing an
outline of the other. But there is also, almost from the first, a
conventional development of communication, springing out of
spontaneous signs but soon losing evident connection with them, a
system of standard symbols existing for the mere purpose of
conveying thought; and it is this we have chiefly to consider.
Without communication the mind does not develop a true human
nature, but remains in an abnormal and nondescript state neither
human nor properly brutal. This is movingly illustrated by the case of
Helen Keller, who, as all the world knows, was cut off at eighteen
months from the cheerful ways of men by the loss of sight and
hearing; and did not renew the connection until she was nearly
seven years old. Although her mind was not wholly isolated during
this period, since she retained the use of a considerable number of
signs learned during infancy, yet her impulses were crude and
uncontrolled, and her thought so unconnected that she afterward
remembered almost nothing that occurred before the awakening
which took place toward the close of her seventh year.
The story of that awakening, as told by her teacher, gives as vivid
a picture as we need have of the significance to the individual mind
of the general fact and idea of communication. For weeks Miss
Sullivan had been spelling words into her hand which Helen had
repeated and associated with objects; but she had not yet grasped
the idea of language in general, the fact that everything had a name,
and that through names she could share her own experiences with
others, and learn theirs—the idea that there is fellowship in thought.
This came quite suddenly.
“This morning,” writes her teacher, “while she was washing, she
wanted to know the name for water.... I spelled w-a-t-e-r and thought
no more about it until after breakfast. Then it occurred to me that with
the help of this new word I might succeed in straightening out the
mug-milk difficulty [a confusion of ideas previously discussed]. We
went out into the pump-house and I made Helen hold her mug under
the pump while I pumped. As the cold water gushed forth filling the
mug I spelled w-a-t-e-r in Helen’s free hand. The word coming so
close upon the sensation of cold water rushing over her hand seemed
to startle her. She dropped the mug and stood as one transfixed. A
new light came into her face. She spelled water several times. Then
she dropped on the ground and asked for its name, and pointed to the
pump and the trellis, and suddenly turning round she asked for my
name. I spelled ‘teacher.’ Just then the nurse brought Helen’s little
sister into the pump-house, and Helen spelled ‘baby’ and pointed to
the nurse. All the way back to the house she was highly excited, and
learned the name of every object she touched, so that in a few hours
she had added thirty new words to her vocabulary.”
The following day Miss Sullivan writes, “Helen got up this morning
like a radiant fairy. She has flitted from object to object, asking the
name of everything and kissing me for very gladness.” And four days
later, “Everything must have a name now.... She drops the signs and
pantomime she used before, so soon as she has words to supply their
place, and the acquirement of a new word affords her the liveliest
pleasure. And we notice that her face grows more expressive each
day.”[22]
This experience is a type of what happens more gradually to all of
us: it is through communication that we get our higher development.
The faces and conversation of our associates; books, letters, travel,
arts, and the like, by awakening thought and feeling and guiding
them in certain channels, supply the stimulus and framework for all
our growth.
In the same way, if we take a larger view and consider the life of a
social group, we see that communication, including its organization
into literature, art, and institutions, is truly the outside or visible
structure of thought, as much cause as effect of the inside or
conscious life of men. All is one growth: the symbols, the traditions,
the institutions are projected from the mind, to be sure, but in the
very instant of their projection, and thereafter, they react upon it, and
in a sense control it, stimulating, developing, and fixing certain
thoughts at the expense of others to which no awakening suggestion
comes. By the aid of this structure the individual is a member not
only of a family, a class, and a state, but of a larger whole reaching
back to prehistoric men whose thought has gone to build it up. In this
whole he lives as in an element, drawing from it the materials of his
growth and adding to it whatever constructive thought he may
express.
Thus the system of communication is a tool, a progressive
invention, whose improvements react upon mankind and alter the life
of every individual and institution. A study of these improvements is
one of the best ways by which to approach an understanding of the
mental and social changes that are bound up with them; because it
gives a tangible framework for our ideas—just as one who wished to
grasp the organic character of industry and commerce might well
begin with a study of the railway system and of the amount and kind
of commodities it carries, proceeding thence to the more abstract
transactions of finance.
And when we come to the modern era, especially, we can
understand nothing rightly unless we perceive the manner in which
the revolution in communication has made a new world for us. So in
the pages that follow I shall aim to show what the growth of
intercourse implies in the way of social development, inquiring
particularly into the effect of recent changes.
FOOTNOTES:
[22] The Story of My Life, 316, 317.
CHAPTER VII
THE GROWTH OF COMMUNICATION
Pre-Verbal Communication—The Rise of Speech—Its Mental

and Social Function—The Function of Writing—Printing
and the Modern World—The Non-Verbal Arts.
The chief means of what we may call pre-verbal communication
are the expression of the face—especially of the mobile portions
about the eyes and mouth—the pitch, inflection, and emotional tone
of the voice; and the gestures of the head and limbs. All of these
begin in involuntary movements but are capable of becoming
voluntary, and all are eagerly practised and interpreted by children
long before they learn to speak. They are immediately joined to
action and emotion: the inflections of the voice, for instance, play
upon the child’s feelings as directly as music, and are interpreted
partly by an instinctive sensibility. I have heard a child seventeen
months old using her voice so expressively, though inarticulately, that
it sounded, a little way off, as if she were carrying on an animated
conversation. And gesture, such as reaching out the hand, bending
forward, turning away the head, and the like, springs directly from
the ideas and feelings it represents.
The human face, “the shape and color of a mind and life,” is a kind
of epitome of society, and if one could only read all that is written in
the countenances of men as they pass he might find a great deal of
sociology in them. Hereditary bias, family nurture, the print of the
school, current opinion, contemporary institutions, all are there,
drawn with a very fine pencil. If one wishes to get a real human
insight into the times of Henry the Eighth, for example, he can hardly
do better than to study the portrait drawings of Holbein; and so of
other periods, including our own, whose traits would appear
conspicuously in a collection of portraits. Many people can
discriminate particular classes, as, for instance, clergymen, by their
expression, and not a few will tell with much accuracy what church
the latter belong to and whether they are of the lower rank or in
authority. Again there is a difference, indescribable, perhaps, yet
apparent, between the look of American and of English youths—still
more of girls—which reflects the differing social systems.
This sort of communication is, of course, involuntary. An artificial
mechanism of communication originates when man begins
purposely to reproduce his own instinctive motions and cries, or the
sounds, forms, and movements of the world about him, in order to
recall the ideas associated with them. All kinds of conventional
communication are believed to be rooted in these primitive
imitations, which, by a process not hard to imagine, extend and
differentiate into gesture, speech, writing, and the special symbols of
the arts and sciences; so that the whole exterior organization of
thought refers back to these beginnings.
We can only conjecture the life of man, or of his humanizing
progenitor, before speech was achieved; but we may suppose that
facial expression, inarticulate cries and songs,[23] and a variety of
imitative sounds and actions aroused sympathy, permitted the
simpler kinds of general ideas to be formed, and were the medium
through which tradition and convention had their earliest
development. It is probable that artificial gesture language was well
organized before speech had made much headway. Even without
words life may have been an active and continuous mental whole,
not dependent for its unity upon mere heredity, but bound together
by some conscious community in the simpler sorts of thought and
feeling, and by the transmission and accumulation of these through
tradition. There was presumably coöperation and instruction of a
crude sort in which was the germ of future institutions.
No one who has observed children will have any difficulty in
conjecturing the beginnings of speech, since nearly every child starts
in to invent a language for himself, and only desists when he finds
that there is one all ready-made for him. There are as many natural
words (if we may call them so) as there are familiar sounds with
definite associations, whether coming from human beings, from
animals, or from inanimate nature. These the child instinctively loves
to reproduce and communicate, at first in mere sport and sociability,
then, as occasion arises, with more definite meaning. This meaning
is easily extended by various sorts of association of ideas; the
sounds themselves are altered and combined in usage; and thus
speech is well begun.
Many humble inventors contribute to its growth, every man,
possibly, altering the heritage in proportion as he puts his
individuality into his speech. Variations of idea are preserved in
words or other symbols, and so stored up in a continuing whole,
constantly growing in bulk and diversity, which is, as we have seen,
nothing less than the outside or sensible embodiment of human
thought, in which every particular mind lives and grows, drawing
from it the material of its own life, and contributing to it whatever
higher product it may make out of that material.
A word is a vehicle, a boat floating down from the past, laden with
the thought of men we never saw; and in coming to understand it we
enter not only into the minds of our contemporaries, but into the
general mind of humanity continuous through time. The popular
notion of learning to speak is that the child first has the idea and then
gets from others a sound to use in communicating it; but a closer
study shows that this is hardly true even of the simplest ideas, and is
nearly the reverse of truth as regards developed thought. In that the
word usually goes before, leading and kindling the idea—we should
not have the latter if we did not have the word first. “This way,” says
the word, “is an interesting thought; come and find it.” And so we are
led on to rediscover old knowledge. Such words, for instance, as
good, right, truth, love, home, justice, beauty, freedom; are powerful
makers of what they stand for.
A mind without words would make only such feeble and uncertain
progress as a traveller set down in the midst of a wilderness where
there were no paths or conveyances and without even a compass. A
mind with them is like the same traveller in the midst of civilization,
with beaten roads and rapid vehicles ready to take him in any
direction where men have been before. As the traveller must pass
over the ground in either case, so the mind must pass through
experience, but if it has language it finds its experience foreseen,
mapped out and interpreted by all the wisdom of the past, so that it
has not only its own experience but that of the race—just as the
modern traveller sees not only the original country but the cities and
plantations of men.
The principle that applies to words applies also to all structures
that are built of words, to literature and the manifold traditions that it
conveys. As the lines of Dante are “foot-paths for the thought of
Italy,” so the successful efforts of the mind in every field are
preserved in their symbols and become foot-paths by which other
minds reach the same point. And this includes feeling as well as
definite idea. It is almost the most wonderful thing about language
that by something intangible in its order and movement and in the
selection and collocation of words, it can transmit the very soul of a
man, making his page live when his definite ideas have ceased to
have value. In this way one gets from Sir Thomas Browne, let us
say, not his conceits and credulities, but his high and religious spirit,
hovering, as it were, over the page.
The achievement of speech is commonly and properly regarded
as the distinctive trait of man, as the gate by which he emerged from
his pre-human state. It means that, like Helen Keller, he has learned
that everything has, or may have, a name, and so has entered upon
a life of conscious fellowship in thought. It not only permitted the rise
of a more rational and human kind of thinking and feeling, but was
also the basis of the earliest definite institutions. A wider and fuller
unity of thought took place in every group where it appeared. Ideas
regarding the chief interests of primitive life—hunting, warfare,
marriage, feasting and the like—were defined, communicated and
extended. Public opinion no doubt began to arise within the tribe,
and crystallized into current sayings which served as rules of thought
and conduct; the festal chants, if they existed before, became
articulate and historical. And when any thought of special value was
achieved in the group, it did not perish, but was handed on by
tradition and made the basis of new gains. In this way primitive
wisdom and rule were perpetuated, enlarged and improved until, in
connection with ceremonial and other symbols, they became such
institutions, of government, marriage, religion and property as are
found in every savage tribe.
Nor must we forget that this state of things reacted upon the
natural capacities of man, perhaps by the direct inheritance of
acquired social habits and aptitudes, certainly by the survival of
those who, having these, were more fitted than others to thrive in a
social life. In this way man, if he was human when speech began to
be used, rapidly became more so, and went on accumulating a
social heritage.
So the study of speech reveals a truth which we may also reach in
many other ways, namely, that the growth of the individual mind is
not a separate growth, but rather a differentiation within the general
mind. Our personal life, so far as we can make out, has its sources
partly in congenital tendency, and partly in the stream of
communication, both of which flow from the corporate life of the race.
The individual has no better ground for thinking of himself as
separate from humanity than he has for thinking of the self he is to-
day as separate from the self he was yesterday; the continuity being
no more certain in the one case than in the other. If it be said that he
is separate because he feels separate, it may be answered that to
the infant each moment is separate, and that we know our personal
life to be a whole only through the growth of thought and memory. In
the same way the sense of a larger or social wholeness is perhaps
merely a question of our growing into more vivid and intelligent
consciousness of a unity which is already clear enough to reflective
observation.
It is the social function of writing, by giving ideas a lasting record,
to make possible a more certain, continuous and diversified growth
of the human mind. It does for the race very much what it does for
the individual. When the student has a good thought he writes it
down, so that it may be recalled at will and made the starting-point
for a better thought in the same direction; and so mankind at large
records and cherishes its insights.
Until writing is achieved the accumulation of ideas depends upon
oral tradition, the capacity of which is measured by the interest and
memory of the people who transmit it. It must, therefore, confine
itself chiefly to ideas and sentiments for which there is a somewhat
general and constant demand, such as popular stories—like the
Homeric legends—chants, proverbs, maxims and the like. It is true
that tradition becomes more or less specialized in families and
castes—as we see, for instance, in the widespread existence of a
hereditary priesthood—but this specialization cannot be very
elaborate or very secure in its continuance. There can hardly be,
without writing, any science or any diversified literature. These
require a means by which important ideas can be passed on
unimpaired to men distant in time and space from their authors. We
may safely pronounce, with Gibbon, that “without some species of
writing no people has ever preserved the faithful annals of their
history, ever made any considerable progress in the abstract
sciences, or ever possessed, in any tolerable degree of perfection,
the useful and agreeable arts of life.”[24]
Nor can stable and extended government be organized without it,
for such government requires a constitution of some sort, a definite
and permanent body of law and custom, embracing the wisdom of
the past regarding the maintenance of social order.
It is quite the same with religious systems. The historical religions
are based upon Scriptures, the essential part of which is the
recorded teaching of the founder and his immediate disciples, and
without such a record Christianity, Buddhism or Mohammedanism
could never have been more than a small and transient sect. There
may well have been men of religious genius among our illiterate
forefathers, but it was impossible that they should found enduring
systems.
The whole structure and progress of modern life evidently rests
upon the preservation, in writing, of the achievements of the antique
mind, upon the records, especially, of Judea, Greece and Rome. To
inquire what we should have been without these would be like asking
what we should have been if our parents had not existed. Writing
made history possible, and the man of history with his complex
institutions. It enabled a rapid and secure enlargement of that human
nature which had previously been confined within small and unstable
groups.
If writing, by giving thought permanence, brought in the earlier
civilization, printing, by giving it diffusion opened the doors of the
modern world.
Before its advent access to the records of the race was limited to a
learned class, who thus held a kind of monopoly of the traditions
upon which the social system rested. Throughout the earlier Middle
Ages, for example, the clergy, or that small portion of the clergy who
were educated, occupied this position in Europe, and their system
was the one animate and wide-reaching mental organization of the
period. For many centuries it was rare for a layman, of whatever
rank, to know how to sign his name. Through the Latin language,
written and spoken, which would apparently have perished had it not
been for the Church, the larger continuity and coöperation of the
human mind was maintained. Those who could read it had a
common literature and a vague sense of unity and brotherhood.
Roman ideas were preserved, however imperfectly, and an ideal
Rome lived in the Papacy and the Empire. Education, naturally, was
controlled by the clergy, who were also intrusted with political
correspondence and the framing of laws. As is well known they
somewhat recast the traditions in their own interest, and were aided
by their control of the communicating medium in becoming the
dominant power in Europe.
Printing means democracy, because it brings knowledge within the
reach of the common people; and knowledge, in the long run, is sure
to make good its claim to power. It brings to the individual whatever
part in the heritage of ideas he is fit to receive. The world of thought,
and eventually the world of action, comes gradually under the rule of
a true aristocracy of intelligence and character, in place of an
artificial one created by exclusive opportunity.
Everywhere the spread of printing was followed by a general
awakening due to the unsettling suggestions which it scattered
abroad. Political and religious agitation, by no means unknown
before, was immensely stimulated, and has continued unabated to
the present time. “The whole of this movement,” says Mr. H. C. Lea,
speaking of the liberal agitations of the early sixteenth century, “had
been rendered possible by the invention of printing, which facilitated
so enormously the diffusion of intelligence, which enabled public
opinion to form and express itself, and which, by bringing into
communication minds of similar ways of thinking, afforded
opportunity for combined action.” “When, therefore, on October 31,
1517, Luther’s fateful theses were hung on the church door at
Wittenberg, they were, as he tells us, known in a fortnight throughout
Germany; and in a month they had reached Rome and were being
read in every school and convent in Europe—a result manifestly
impossible without the aid of the printing press.”[25]
The printed page is also the door by which the individual, in our
own time, enters the larger rooms of life. A good book, “the precious
life blood of a master spirit stored upon purpose to a life beyond
life,”[26] is almost always the channel through which uncommon
minds get incitement and aid to lift themselves into the higher
thought that other uncommon minds have created. “In study we hold
converse with the wise, in action usually with the foolish.”[27] While
the mass of mankind about us is ever commonplace, there is always,
in our day, a more select society not far away for one who craves it,
and a man like Abraham Lincoln, whose birth would have meant
hopeless serfdom a few centuries ago, may get from half a dozen
books aspirations which lead him out to authority and beneficence.
While spoken language, along with the writing and printing by
which it is preserved and disseminated, is the main current of
communication, there are from the start many side channels.
Thus among savage or barbarous peoples we everywhere find,
beside gesture language, the use of a multitude of other symbols,
such as the red arrow for war, the pipe of peace, signal fires,
notched sticks, knotted cords, totems, and, among nations more
advanced in culture, coats-of-arms, flags and an infinite diversity of
symbolic ritual. There is, indeed, a world of signs outside of
language, most of which, however, we may pass by, since its general
nature is obvious enough.
The arts of painting, sculpture, music, and architecture, considered
as communication, have two somewhat different functions: First, as
mere picture or image writing, conveying ideas that could also be
conveyed (though with a difference) in words; and, second, as the
vehicle of peculiar phases of sentiment incommunicable in any other
way. These two were often, indeed usually, combined in the art of the
past. In modern times the former, because of the diffusion of literacy,
has become of secondary importance.
Of the picture-writing function the mosaics, in colors on a gold
ground, that cover the inner walls of St. Mark’s at Venice are a
familiar instance. They set forth in somewhat rude figures, helped
out by symbols, the whole system of Christian theology as it was
then understood. They were thus an illuminated book of sacred
learning through which the people entered into the religious tradition.
The same tradition is illustrated in the sculpture of the cathedrals of
Chartres and Rheims, together with much other matter—secular
history, typified by figures of the kings of France; moral philosophy,
with virtues and vices, rewards and punishments; and emblems of
husbandry and handicraft. Along with these sculptures went the
pictured windows, the sacred relics—which, as Gibbon says, “fixed
and inflamed the devotion of the faithful”[28]—the music, and the
elaborate pageants and ritual; all working together as one rich sign,
in which was incarnated the ideal life of the times.
A subtler function of the non-verbal arts is to communicate matter
that could not go by any other road, especially certain sorts of
sentiment which are thus perpetuated and diffused.
One of the simplest and most fruitful examples of this is the
depiction of human forms and faces which embody, as if by living
presence, the nobler feelings and aspirations of the time. Such
works, in painting or sculpture, remain as symbols by the aid of
which like sentiments grow up in the minds of whomsoever become
familiar with them. Sentiment is cumulative in human history in the
same manner as thought, though less definitely and surely, and
Christian feeling, as it grew and flourished in the Middle Ages, was
fostered by painting as much, perhaps, as by the Scriptures. And so
Greek sculpture, from the time of the humanists down through
Winckelmann and Goethe to the present day, has been a channel by
which Greek sentiment has flowed into modern life.
This record of human feeling in expressive forms and faces, as in
the madonnas and saints of Raphael, is called by some critics
“illustration”; and they distinguish it from “decoration,” which includes
all those elements in a work of art which exist not to transmit
something else but for their own more immediate value, such as
beauty of color, form, composition and suggested movement. This
latter is communication also, appealing to vivid but otherwise
inarticulate phases of human instinct. Each art can convey a unique
kind of sentiment and has “its own peculiar and incommunicable
sensuous charm, its own special mode of reaching the imagination.”
In a picture the most characteristic thing is “that true pictorial quality
... the inventive or creative handling of pure line and color, which, as
almost always in Dutch painting, as often also in the works of Titian
or Veronese, is quite independent of anything definitely poetical in
the subject it accompanies” in music “the musical charm—that
essential music, which presents no words, no matter of sentiment or
thought, separable from the special form in which it is conveyed to
us.”[29] And so with architecture, an art peculiarly close to social
organization, so that in many cases—as in the Place of Venice—the
spirit of a social system has been visibly raised up in stone.
It needs no argument, I suppose, to show that these arts are no
less essential to the growth of the human spirit than literature or
government.
FOOTNOTES:
[23] On the probability that song preceded speech, see Darwin,
Descent of Man, chap. 19.
[24] Decline and Fall, Milman-Smith edition, i, 354.
[25] The Cambridge Modern History, i, 684, 685.
[26] Milton, Areopagitica.
[27] Bacon, Antitheta on Studies.
[28] Decline and Fall, Milman-Smith edition, iii, 428.
[29] Walter Pater, Essay on the School of Giorgione.

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Note to instructors: Graphs are not to scale 6.

Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education.

13. 0 1.23 1.90

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18. continued 22.

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Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education.

Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education.

b. D œ 0.52 for area œ 0.6985 They are very close.

Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education.

54. 58. continued

Thus, PÐ  0.5  D  0.11Ñ œ 0.2345 0.3

Area (right side) œ 0.5  0.38 œ 0.88

the corresponding C value. The pairs are 1.

Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education.

P(D > 0.84) œ 1  0.7995 œ 0.2005 or

 2.46  0.48  2.04  0.12

P(D > 1.87) œ 1  0.9693 œ 0.0307 or

c. Not too happy! It's really at the bottom

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 2.5  0.5  1.01 0.93

P(D > "Þ%$) œ 1  !Þ*#$' œ !Þ!('%

P(D  0.1) œ 1  0.5398 œ 0.4602 or

P(D  2.74) œ 1  0.9969 8.

P( D > 1.44) œ 1  0.9251 œ 0.0749 or

Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education.

0.11 0.78 P(D   1.15) œ 0.1251 or 12.51%

For B  6000 miles: P(  0.24 < z < 0.67) œ 0.7486 

P(D   5.03) œ 0.0001

Maybe it would be good to know why it

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The probability is less than 0.0001.

 1.04= œ $Þ!!  $Þ%#

P(  1.33 < D < 0.67) œ

P(D <  ") œ !Þ"&)(

P(D   0.67) œ 1  0.2514 œ 0.7486

Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education.

P( D  2.51) œ 1  0.9940 œ 0.006 or 0.6%

Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education.

22. 25. continued

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28. continued 32.

30  34 deviation would be different.

P(  2.22 Ÿ D Ÿ  1.48) 33.

The top 20% means that area œ 0.80. The  1.78(6) œ 85  .

Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education.

B œ 43.5 for the F's

Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education.

IQR œ Q$  Q" œ 60.5  29.5 œ 31 œ 0.8945or 89.45%

43. Answers will vary. 8.

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9. continued 10. continued

P(D   3.75) œ 1  0.00009 œ 0.99991

Copyright © 2018 McGraw-Hill Education.

Thus, PÐ 0.5 D 0.11Ñ œ 0.2345 0.3

Area (right side) œ 0.5 0.38 œ 0.88

P(D > 0.84) œ 1 0.7995 œ 0.2005 or

2.46 0.48 2.04 0.12

P(D > 1.87) œ 1 0.9693 œ 0.0307 or

2.5 0.5 1.01 0.93

P(D > "Þ%$) œ 1 !Þ*#$' œ !Þ!('%

P(D 0.1) œ 1 0.5398 œ 0.4602 or

P(D 2.74) œ 1 0.9969 8.

P( D > 1.44) œ 1 0.9251 œ 0.0749 or

0.11 0.78 P(D 1.15) œ 0.1251 or 12.51%

For B 6000 miles: P( 0.24 < z < 0.67) œ 0.7486

P(D 5.03) œ 0.0001

1.04= œ $Þ!! $Þ%#

P( 1.33 < D < 0.67) œ

P(D < ") œ !Þ"&)(

P(D 0.67) œ 1 0.2514 œ 0.7486

P( D 2.51) œ 1 0.9940 œ 0.006 or 0.6%

30 34 deviation would be different.

P( 2.22 Ÿ D Ÿ 1.48) 33.

The top 20% means that area œ 0.80. The 1.78(6) œ 85 .

IQR œ Q$ Q" œ 60.5 29.5 œ 31 œ 0.8945or 89.45%

P(D 3.75) œ 1 0.00009 œ 0.99991

P(D 3.1) œ 1 0.001 œ 0.9990

P(D < 1.10) œ 0.1357 or 13.57%

P(D 3.11) œ 1 0.9991 œ 0.0009 17.

P(z 0.72) œ 1 0.7642 œ 0.2358

X. 3000 2708 P(D 2.57) œ 0.0051 or 0.51%

P(z 3.95) œ 1 0.9999 œ 0.0001

P(D 1.38) œ 0.0838 or 8.38%

P(0 D 1.76) œ 0.9608 0.5

220 215 12È8

P(D 1.67) œ 1 0.9525 œ 0.0475 or