whilst sucking, and the expression of their swimming eyes seem to
show that this is the case. This infant smiled when 45 days, a second
infant when 46 days old; and these were true smiles indicative of
pleasure, for their eyes brightened and eyelids slightly closed. The
smiles arose chiefly when looking at their mother and were therefore
probably of mental origin; but this infant often smiled then, and
for some time afterwards, from some inward pleasurable feeling, for
nothing was happening which could have in any way excited or amused
him. When 110 days old he was exceedingly amused by a pinafore being
thrown over his face and then suddenly withdrawn; and so he was when
I suddenly uncovered my own face and approached his. He then uttered
a little noise which was an incipient laugh. Here surprise was the
chief cause of the amusement, as is the case to a large extent with
the wit of grown-up persons. I believe that for three or four weeks
before the time when he was amused by a face being suddenly uncovered,
he received a little pinch on his nose and cheeks as a good joke. I
was at first surprised at humor being appreciated by an infant only a
little above three months old, but we should remember how very early
puppies and kittens begin to play. When four months old, he showed in
an unmistakable manner that he liked to hear the pianoforte played;
so that here apparently was the earliest sign of an æsthetic feeling,
unless the attraction of bright colors, which was exhibited much
earlier, may be so considered.
AFFECTION.--This probably arose very early in life, if we may judge
by his smiling at those who had charge of him when under two months
old; though I had no distinct evidence of his distinguishing and
recognizing any one, until he was nearly four months old. When nearly
five months old he plainly showed his wish to go to his nurse. But he
did not spontaneously exhibit affection by overt acts until a little
above a year old, namely, by kissing several times his nurse who had
been absent for a short time. With respect to the allied feeling of
sympathy, this was clearly shown at six months and eleven days by his
melancholy face, with the corners of his mouth well depressed, when his
nurse pretended to cry. Jealousy was plainly exhibited when I fondled a
large doll, and when I weighed his infant sister, he being then fifteen
and one half months old. Seeing how strong a feeling jealousy is in
dogs, it would probably be exhibited by infants at an earlier age than
that just specified, if they were tried in a fitting manner.
_Association of Ideas, Reason, Etc._--The first action which exhibited,
as far as I observed, a kind of practical reasoning, has already been
noticed, namely, the slipping his hand down my finger so as to get the
end of it into his mouth; and this happened on the 114th day. When four
and a half months old, he repeatedly smiled at my image and his own in
a mirror, and no doubt mistook them for real objects; but he showed
sense in being evidently surprised at my voice coming from behind him.
Like all infants, he much enjoyed thus looking at himself, and in less
than two months perfectly understood that it was an image; for if I
made quite silently any old grimace, he would suddenly turn round to
look at me. He was, however, puzzled at the age of seven months, when
being out of doors he saw me on the inside of a large plate-glass
window, and seemed in doubt whether or not it was an image. Another
of my infants, a little girl, when exactly a year old, was not nearly
so acute, and seemed perplexed at the image of a person in a mirror
approaching her from behind. The higher apes which I tried with a small
looking-glass behaved differently; they placed their hands behind
the glass, and in doing so showed their sense, but far from taking
pleasure in looking at themselves, they got angry and would look no
more.
When five months old, associated ideas arising independently of any
instruction became fixed in his mind; thus as soon as his hat and
cloak were put on, he was very cross if he was not immediately taken
out of doors. When exactly seven months old, he made the great step
of associating his nurse with her name, so that if I called it out
he would look round for her. Another infant used to amuse himself by
shaking his head laterally; we praised and imitated him, saying, “Shake
your head;” and when he was seven months old, he would sometimes do so
on being told without any other guide. During the next four months the
former infant associated many things and actions with words; thus when
asked for a kiss he would protrude his lips and keep still--would shake
his head and say in a scolding voice, “Ah,” to the coal-box or a little
spilt water, etc., which he had been taught to consider as dirty. I
may add that when a few days under nine months old, he associated his
own name with his image in the looking-glass, and when called by name
would turn towards the glass, even when at some distance from it. When
a few days over nine months, he learned spontaneously that a hand or
other object causing a shadow to fall on the wall in front of him was
to be looked for behind. Whilst under a year old, it was sufficient to
repeat two or three times at intervals any short sentence to fix firmly
in his mind some associated idea. In the infant described by M. Taine,
the age at which ideas readily became associated seems to have been
considerably later, unless, indeed, the earlier cases were overlooked.
The facility with which associated ideas due to instruction and others
spontaneously arising were acquired, seemed to me by far the most
strongly marked of all the distinctions between the mind of an infant
and that of the cleverest full-grown dog that I have ever known. What
a contrast does the mind of an infant present to that of the pike,
described by Professor Mobius,[I] who, during three whole months dashed
and stunned himself against a glass partition which separated him from
some minnows; and when, after at last learning that he could not attack
them with impunity, he was placed in the aquarium with these same
minnows, then in a persistent and senseless manner he would not attack
them!
[I] ‘Die Bewegungen der Thiere,’ etc., 1878, p. 11.
Curiosity, as M. Taine remarks, is displayed at an early age by
infants, and is highly important in the development of their minds; but
I made no special observation on this head. Imitation likewise comes
into play. When our infant was only four months old, I thought that
he tried to imitate sounds; but I may have deceived myself, for I was
not thoroughly convinced that he did so until he was ten months old.
At the age of eleven and a half months, he could readily imitate all
sorts of actions, such as shaking his head and saying “Ah” to any dirty
object, or by carefully and slowly putting his forefinger in the middle
of the palm of his other hand, to the childish rhyme of “Pat it and pat
it and mark it with T.” It was amusing to behold his pleased expression
after successfully performing any such accomplishment.
I do not know whether it is worth mentioning, as showing something
about the strength of memory in a young child, that this one, when
three years and twenty-three days old, on being shown an engraving
of his grandfather, whom he had not seen for exactly six months,
instantly recognized him and mentioned a whole string of events which
had occurred whilst visiting him, and which certainly had never been
mentioned in the interval.
MORAL SENSE.--The first sign of moral sense was noticed at the age
of nearly thirteen months; I said, “Doddy (his nickname) won’t give
poor papa a kiss,--naughty Doddy.” These words, without doubt, made
him feel slightly uncomfortable; and at last, when I had returned to
my chair, he protruded his lips as a sign that he was ready to kiss
me; and he then shook his hand in an angry manner until I came and
received his kiss. Nearly the same little scene recurred in a few
days, and the reconciliation seemed to give him so much satisfaction
that several times afterwards he pretended to be angry and slapped me,
and then insisted on giving me a kiss. So that here we have a touch
of the dramatic art, which is so strongly pronounced in most young
children. About this time it became easy to work on his feelings and
make him do whatever was wanted. When two years and three months old,
he gave his last bit of gingerbread to his little sister, and then
cried out with high self-approbation, “Oh, kind Doddy, kind Doddy.”
Two months later he became extremely sensitive to ridicule, and was so
suspicious that he often thought people who were laughing and talking
together were laughing at him. A little later (two years and seven and
a half months old) I met him coming out of the dining-room with his
eyes unnaturally bright, and an odd, unnatural or affected manner, so
that I went into the room to see who was there, and found that he had
been taking pounded sugar, which he had been told not to do. As he had
never been in any way punished, his odd manner certainly was not due
to fear, and I suppose it was pleasurable excitement struggling with
conscience. A fortnight afterwards I met him coming out of the same
room, and he was eyeing his pinafore, which he had carefully rolled
up; and again his manner was so odd that I determined to see what was
within his pinafore, notwithstanding that he said there was nothing,
and repeatedly commanded me to “go away,” and I found it stained with
pickle-juice; so that here was carefully planned deceit. As this child
was educated solely by working on his good feelings, he soon became as
truthful, open and tender as any one could desire.
UNCONSCIOUSNESS, SHYNESS.--No one can have attended to very young
children without being struck at the unabashed manner in which they
fixedly stare without blinking their eyes at a new face; an old person
can look in this manner only at an animal or inanimate object. This,
I believe, is the result of young children not thinking in the least
about themselves, and therefore not being in the least shy, though they
are sometimes afraid of strangers. I saw the first symptom of shyness
in my child when nearly two years and three months old; this was shown
towards myself, after an absence of ten days from home, chiefly by his
eyes being kept slightly averted from mine; but he soon came and sat on
my knee and kissed me, and all trace of shyness disappeared.
MEANS OF COMMUNICATION.--The noise of crying or rather of squalling,
as no tears are shed for a long time, is of course uttered in an
instinctive manner, but serves to show that there is suffering. After a
time the sound differs according to the cause, such as hunger or pain.
This was noticed when this infant was eleven weeks old, and I believe
at an earlier age in another infant. Moreover, he appeared soon to
learn to begin crying voluntarily, or to wrinkle his face in the manner
proper to the occasion, so as to show that he wanted something. When
46 days old, he first made little noises without any meaning to please
himself, and these soon became varied. An incipient laugh was observed
on the 113th day, but much earlier in another infant. At this date I
thought, as already remarked, that he began to try to imitate sounds,
as he certainly did at a considerably later period. When five and a
half months old, he uttered an articulate sound “da,” but without any
meaning attached to it. When a little over a year old, he used gestures
to explain his wishes; to give a simple instance, he picked up a bit
of paper, and, giving it to me, pointed to the fire, as he had often
seen and liked to see paper burnt. At exactly the age of a year, he
made the great step of inventing a word for food, namely, _mum_, but
what led him to it I did not discover. And now, instead of beginning to
cry when he was hungry, he used this word in a demonstrative manner or
as a verb, implying “Give me food.” This word, therefore, corresponds
with _ham_, as used by M. Taine’s infant at the later age of fourteen
months. But he also used _mum_ as a substantive of wide signification;
thus he called sugar _shu-mum_, and a little later after he had learned
the word ‘black,’ he called liquorice _black-shu-mum_--black-sugar-food.
I was particularly struck with the fact that when asking for food by
the word _mum_ he gave to it (I will copy the words written down at
the time), “a most strongly marked interrogatory sound at the end.” He
also gave to “Ah,” which he chiefly used at first when recognizing
any person or his own image in a mirror, an exclamatory sound, such as
we employ when surprised. I remark in my notes that the use of these
intonations seemed to have arisen instinctively, and I regret that
more observations were not made on this subject. I record, however,
in my notes that at a rather later period, when between eighteen and
twenty-one months old, he modulated his voice in refusing peremptorily
to do anything by a defiant whine, so as to express, “That I won’t;”
and again his humph of assent expressed, “Yes, to be sure.” M. Taine
also insists strongly on the highly expressive tones of the sounds
made by his infant before she had learned to speak. The interrogatory
sound which my child gave to the word _mum_ when asking for food is
especially curious; for, if any one will use a single word or a short
sentence in this manner, he will find that the musical pitch of his
voice rises considerably at the close. I did not then see that this
fact bears on the view which I have elsewhere maintained that before
man used articulate language, he uttered notes in a true musical scale,
as does the anthropoid ape Hylobates.
Finally, the wants of an infant are at first made intelligible
by instinctive cries, which after a time are modified in part
unconsciously, and in part, as I believe, voluntarily as a means of
communication,--by the unconscious expression of the features--by
gestures and in a marked manner by different intonations,--lastly by
words of general nature invented by himself, then of a more precise
nature imitated from those which he hears; and these are acquired at a
wonderfully quick rate. An infant understands to a certain extent, and
as I believe, at a very early period, the meaning or feeling of those
who tend him, by the expression of their features. There can hardly be
a doubt about this with respect to smiling; and it seemed to me that
the infant whose biography I have here given understood a compassionate
expression at a little over five months old. When six months and eleven
days old, he certainly showed sympathy with his nurse on her pretending
to cry. When pleased after performing some new accomplishment, being
then almost a year old, he evidently studied the expression of those
around him. It was probably due to differences of expression and not
merely of the form of the features that certain faces clearly pleased
him much more than others, even at so early an age as a little over
six months. Before he was a year old, he understood intonations and
gestures, as well as several words and short sentences. He understood
one word, namely, his nurse’s name, exactly five months before he
invented his first word, _mum_; and this is what might have been
expected, as we know that the lower animals easily learn to understand
spoken words.
CORRESPONDENCE.
_COMPARATIVE LONGEVITY AND GREATNESS._
Whether or not great men are favored by an increase of years above
those allotted to more ordinary mortals has long been a question of
interest, and has acquired a special importance in connection with the
study of the natural history of men of genius, and the discussions
of the possible relation of greatness to degeneracy and to insanity.
Questions of this type can only be decided on the basis of extensive
and carefully collected data, which unfortunately it is difficult and
at times impossible to collect or to find. It is therefore natural that
such evidence as seems to exist and to carry with it some degree of
logical force should be brought forward in proof of a claim which on
general principles is both pleasing and plausible. Of this type is the
problem of the relation between longevity and greatness, and of this
type is the evidence now and then brought forward to substantiate the
belief that great men are, as regards longevity, an unusually favored
class.
The most recent presentation of the topic (by Mr. Thayer in the Forum,
February, 1900) collects a list of some five hundred prominent men and
women of the nineteenth century and finds that these persons lived on
an average sixty-eight years and eight months; that is, nearly thirty
years longer than the population as a whole. And on the basis of this
conclusion the writer combats the notion that nineteenth-century men of
genius or of eminence exhibit signs of degeneracy, because longevity
and the ability to do sustained work for a large number of years is
in itself a sign of unusual vitality and vigor. As these conclusions
are apt to be extensively quoted, and as they seem to me founded upon
a serious fallacy, I shall attempt to present as simply as possible
the nature of the desired evidence which alone could prove that great
men are longer lived than others, and to show that the evidence thus
far presented is inadequate to support the conclusion which has been
drawn. Mr. Thayer is not the first one to present the average age at
death of a number of eminent persons as evidence of unusual longevity.
In an article which was reprinted in the Popular Science Monthly for
May, 1884, the average age at death of 1,741 astronomers was given,
and found to be sixty-four years and three months; and on the basis
of this fact the author claimed that astronomers enjoyed unusual
longevity. In a brief contribution published in Science, October 1,
1886 (and republished in Nature, November 4, 1886), I called attention
to the fallacy inherent in such conclusions, and also presented some
new contributions to the question of the longevity of great men. The
materials of that article I shall utilize in the present discussion.
To reach the kernel of the matter at once, the reader must note that
the fallacy consists in neglecting to consider that in dealing with
astronomers or with great men, or with persons of eminence of the
nineteenth century, one is dealing with a group which is already
carefully selected, _and the selection of which inevitably involves the
attainment of a certain age_. The result is that we are not dealing
with average persons as regards longevity, but with persons who in
the very nature of things have already reached a certain period of
maturity. No one can become a poet, or a novelist, or a painter, or a
philosopher, or a commander or a statesman unless he lives at least a
sufficient number of years to acquire the development of an adult, and
to have the opportunity of developing his abilities and distinguishing
himself. If great men were great from their infancy, and if we had the
means of ascertaining this fact, then, and only then, would the method
used be correct.
It is ordinarily stated that the average duration of life is somewhere
between thirty-three and forty years, and Mr. Thayer considers that in
the present century it has moved forward towards the latter figure.
What this means is that if we were to keep a record of the age at death
of all Americans who are to be born within the first ten years of the
coming century, we should find that their average age at death would
be some thirty odd years. But this number can by no means be used as
a standard with which to compare the average age at death of men of
distinction, or indeed of any other class of men selected according
to a standard which involves on their part the attainment of mature
years. If we were investigating the longevity of twins, or of persons
with supernumerary toes, or indeed of persons possessing any quality
which one could detect in new-born infants, and if we could determine
the average life-period of this class of persons and find that it
markedly exceeded the average of the entire community, we should be
entitled to conclude that twins, or persons who have supernumerary
toes, are blessed with a greater longevity than the average man. But
so long as men who are to acquire distinction bear no traces upon
them of this power until they exhibit their powers and actually gain
distinction, it is obvious that we are concerned with their longevity
only from that moment when they have entered, or have become promising
candidates for that class of selected individuals whose longevity we
are investigating. Proceeding on this basis, I tried to determine the
age at which, on the average, men of genius had accomplished a work
sufficient to entitle them to be so denominated. This investigation
was instigated by Mr. C. S. Peirce, then in charge of courses in logic
at the Johns Hopkins University. Under his leadership a small company,
of whom I was one, proposed to study certain traits of great men, and
for this purpose we tried to select the three hundred greatest men
of all times. The work was never carried on to completion, so that
the final selection of the names, and particularly their use in the
present connection, must rest on my sole responsibility. I mention
these facts mainly to indicate the general representative character
of the list which I used. I take from my previously published article
the following essential facts: Omitting all doubtful names, about two
hundred and fifty names remain, presenting a list which most persons
would agree to be fairly representative of the greatest men of all
times. Of these again I selected _at random_ those about whom it was
easiest to fix the age at which they had done work which would entitle
them to a place on this list, or work which almost inevitably led to
such distinction. It is a date about midway between the first important
work and the greatest work. The average of over sixty such ages is
thirty-seven years; which means that, on the average, a man must be
thirty-seven years old in order to be a candidate for a place on this
list. The real question, then, is, How does the longevity of this
select class of thirty-seven-year-old men compare with that of more
ordinary individuals? The answer is given by the expectation of life
at thirty-seven years, which is twenty-nine years, making the average
age at death sixty-six years. And this is precisely the age at death of
these sixty great men; showing that, as a class (for these sixty may be
considered a fair sample) great men are not distinguished by longevity
from other men.
It will thus be seen that my own conclusion is entirely opposed to
that of Mr. Thayer. But this opposition rests not upon a difference
of data, but upon a difference of logic. To my mind the enumeration of
ages at death of any number of great men cannot prove unusual longevity
unless we take into consideration and can determine the number of years
which, on the average, a person must have lived in order to become a
candidate for the class under consideration. The comparison with the
average age (that is, the period of about thirty-five or more years)
is not only false; it is essentially absurd; for it would become
possible only if we had among poets, and painters, and musicians, and
historians, and scientists, and generals a goodly number who succumbed
to the diseases of early infancy, or to some of the ills that juvenile
flesh is heir to.
It may be well to illustrate at this point just what conclusions may be
drawn from the data which Mr. Thayer and other writers have presented.
The first conclusion is that it takes a considerable length of time
to become eminent--on the whole a very natural and comprehensible
statement. And with regard to the astronomers previously mentioned it
is even possible to go farther; for these astronomers have been divided
into four degrees of eminence, and it is found that astronomers of
the first rank are longer-lived than those of the second, and these
in turn are longer-lived than those of the third class, and these in
turn are longer-lived than those of the fourth class. Therefore, the
author concludes, the greatest astronomers have been most favored with
length of years, and adds, as practical advice, “Be an astronomer
and live long.” Now, of course, the true conclusion is that it takes
longer to accomplish work which will entitle one to pre-eminence
amongst astronomers than to do work which will only achieve moderate
distinction. And the practical conclusion would read, “Live long
enough to become great as an astronomer and you will probably, with
the ordinary expectation of life, have a good chance of completing
your three score and ten.” In the same way Mr. Thayer’s list of
nineteenth-century celebrities might fairly be said to suggest the
conclusion that in the present century one must already have labored
for a goodly number of years before one’s name would be selected by a
student of the longevity of great men. So far, then, these facts have
an interesting interpretation.