Although a high degree of freedom can ex_Human nature and the social order

social order, it by no means follows that every complex social order is

free. On the contrary, it has more often been true in the past that very

large and intricately organized states, like the Roman Empire, were

constructed on a comparatively mechanical or unfree principle. And in

our own time a vast and complex empire, like Russia or China, may be

less free than the simplest English-speaking colony. There are serious

objections to identifying progress, as Herbert Spencer sometimes appears

to do, with the mere differentiation and co-ordination of social

functions. But the example of the United States, which is perhaps on the

whole the most intricately differentiated and co-ordinated state that

ever existed, shows that complexity is not inconsistent with freedom. To

enter fully into this matter would require a more careful examination of

the institutional aspect of life than I wish to undertake at present;

but I hold that the possibility of organizing large and complex

societies on a free principle depends upon the quickness and facility of

communication, and so has come to exist only in recent times. The great

states of earlier history were necessarily somewhat mechanical in

structure.

It happens from time to time in every complex and active society, that

certain persons feel the complexity and insistence as a tangle, and seek

freedom in retirement, as Thoreau sought it at Walden Pond. They do not,

however, in this manner escape from the social institutions of their

time, nor do they really mean to do so; what they gain, if they are

successful, is a saner relation to them. Thoreau in his hut remained as

truly a member of society, as dependent for suggestion upon his books,

his friends, and his personal memories, and upon verbal expression for

his sense of self, as did Emerson in Concord or Lowell in Cambridge; and

I imagine that if he had cared to discuss the matter he would have

admitted that this was the case. Indeed, the idea of Thoreau as a

recluse was not, I think, his own idea, but has been attached to him by

superficial observers of his life. Although he was a dissenter from the

state and the church of his time, his career would have been impossible

without those institutions, without Harvard College, for instance, which

was a joint product of the two. He worked out his personal development

through congenial influences selected from the life of his time, very

much as others do. He simply had peculiar tendencies which he developed

in a peculiar way, especially by avoiding a gregarious mode of life

unsuited to his temperament. He was free through the social order, not

outside of it, and the same may be said of Edward Fitzgerald and other

seclusive spirits. No doubt the commonplace life of the day is a sort of

slavery for many sensitive minds that have not, like these, the

resolution to escape from it into a calmer and broader atmosphere.

Since freedom is not a fixed thing that can be grasped and held once for

all, but a growth, any particular society, such as our own, always

appears partly free and partly unfree. In so far as it favors, in every

child, the development of his highest possibilities, it is free, but

where it falls short of this it is not. So far as children are

ill-nurtured or ill-taught, as family training is bad, the schools

inefficient, the local government ill-administered, public libraries

lacking, or private associations for various sorts of culture deficient,

in so far the people are unfree. A child born in a slum, brought up in a

demoralized family, and put at some confining and mentally deadening

work when ten or twelve years old, is no more free to be healthy, wise,

and moral than a Chinese child is free to read Shakespeare. Every social

ill involves the enslavement of individuals.

This idea of freedom is quite in accord with a general, though vague,

sentiment among us; it is an idea of fair play, of giving everyone a

chance; and nothing arouses more general and active indignation among

our people than the belief that someone or some class is not getting a

fair chance. There seems, however, to be too great complacency in the

way in which the present state of things is interpreted, a tendency to

assume that freedom has been achieved once for all by the Declaration of

Independence and popular suffrage, and that little remains but to let

each person realize the general blessing to the best of his ability. It

is well to recognize that the freedom which we nominally worship is

never more than partly achieved, and is every day threatened by new

encroachments, that the right to vote is only one phase of it, and

possibly, under present conditions, not the most important phase, and

that we can maintain and increase it only by a sober and determined

application of our best thought and endeavor. Those lines of Lowell’s

“Commemoration Ode” are always applicable:

“—the soft Ideal that we wooed

Confronts us fiercely, foe-beset, pursued,

And cries reproachful: Was it then my praise,

And not myself was loved? Prove now thy truth.

I claim of thee the promise of thy youth.”

In our view of freedom we have a right to survey all times and countries

and from them form for our own social order an ideal condition, which

shall offer to each individual all the encouragements to growth and

culture that the world has ever or anywhere enjoyed. Any narrowness or

lack of symmetry in life in general is reflected in the contraction or

warping of personal development, and so constitutes a lack of freedom.

The social order should not exaggerate one or a few aspects of human

nature at the expense of others, but extend its invitations to all our

higher tendencies. Thus the excessive preoccupation of the nineteenth

century with material production and physical science may be regarded as

a partial enslavement of the spiritual and æsthetic sides of humanity,

from which we are now struggling to escape. The freedom of the future

must, it would seem, call more and more for a various, rich, and

tolerant environment, in which all sorts of persons may build themselves

up by selective development. The day for any sort of dogmatism and

coercive uniformity appears to be past, and it will be practicable to

leave people more and more to control by a conscience reflecting the

moral opinion of the group to which their inclination and capacity

attach them.

The substitution of higher forms of control for lower, the offering more

alternatives and trusting the mind to make a right selection, involves,

of course, an increased moral strain upon individuals. Now this increase

of moral strain is not in all cases exactly proportioned to the ability

to bear it well; and when it is not well borne the effect upon character

is more or less destructive, so that something in the way of degeneracy

results.

Consequently every general increase of freedom is accompanied by some

degeneracy, attributable to the same causes as the freedom. This is very

plainly to be seen at the present time, which is one, on the whole, of

rapid increase of freedom. Family life and the condition of women and

children have been growing freer and better, but along with this we have

the increase of divorce and of spoiled children. Democracy in the state

has its own peculiar evils, as we all know; and in the church the decay

of dogmatism and unreasoning faith, a moral advance on the whole, has

nevertheless caused a good many moral failures. In much the same way the

enfranchisement of the negroes is believed to have caused an increase of

insanity among them, and the growth of suicide in all countries seems to

be due in part to the strain of a more complex society. It is not true,

exactly, that freedom itself causes degeneracy, because if one is

subjected to more strain than is good for him his real freedom is rather

contracted than enlarged, but it should rather be said that any movement

which has increase of freedom for its general effect can never be so

regulated as to have only this effect, but is sure to act upon some in

an opposite manner.

Nor is it reasonable to sit back and say that this incidental

demoralization is inevitable, a fixed price of progress. On the

contrary, although it can never be altogether dispensed with, it can be

indefinitely reduced, and every social institution or influence that

tends to adapt the stress of civilization to the strength of the

individual does reduce it in some measure.

INDEX

Adolescence, the self in, 169

Affectation, 173 ff, 320

Altruism, 4, 90;

in relation to egoism, 92 ff, 115, 188 ff, 344 ff

Ambition, 275 f

Americanism, unconscious, 36

Anger, development of, 232 ff;

animal, 240

Anglo-Saxons, cantankerousness of, 268;

idealism of, 288

Antipathy, 233 ff

Appreciation, necessary to production, 59

Art, creative impulse in, 57;

personal symbols in, 71 ff;

mental life a work of, 123 f;

plastic, mystery in, 316 f;

as idealization, 363

Ascendency, personal, 283–325

Asceticism, 154, 223

Augustine, St., 218

Aurelius, Marcus, on freedom of thought, 35;

self-feeling of, 218

Author, an, as leader, 303 ff

Authority, personal, in morals, 353 ff, 384. See also Leadership

Baldwin, Prof. J. M., 15;

on social persons, 90; 176, 271, 286

Bastien-Lepage, 355

Belief, ascendency of, 310 f, 317 f

Beowulf, on honor, 209 f

Bismarck, 254;

ascendency of, 298, 302

Blame, nature of, 289

Blowitz, M. de, 298

Body, relation of, to the self, 144 f, 163

Booth, Charles, 276

Brotherhood, extension of the sense of, 114 f

Brown, John, 377

Browning, 316

Bryant, Sophie, on antipathy, 235

Bryce, Prof. James, 38, 309

Burke, Edmund, 202, 302 f

Burroughs, John, on the physiognomy of works of genius, 74

Cæsar, as a personal idea, 99

Cant, 320

Casaubon, Mr., 224 f

Chagrin, 241

Charity, 238, 336. See also Altruism, Right

Chicago, aspect of the crowd in, 37

Child, Theodore, 355

Child, a, unlovable at birth, 45

Children, imitation in, 19 ff;

sociability of, 45 ff;

imaginary conversation of, 52 ff;

study of expression by, 62 ff;

growth of sentiment in, 79 ff;

development of self in, 142, 146;

use of “I” by, 157 ff;

reflected self in, 164 ff;

anger of, 232 f;

hero-worship of, 279;

ascendency over, 289 f;

habitual morality in, 340 f;

moral growth of, 349 ff;

causes of degeneracy in, 378 ff;

what constitutes freedom for, 393 f, 398, 401;

spoiled, 403

China, organization of, 399

Chinese, European lack of moral sense regarding, 362

Choice, in relation to suggestion, 14–44;

as an organization of social relations, 16 f;

practical limitations of, 31 ff;

is exhausting, 33 f

Christ, self-feeling of, 142;

indignation felt by, 247;

as leader, 323;

as moral authority, 353

“Christian’s Secret of a Happy Life,” 34

Church, inculcation of personal authority in the, 353;

freedom in the, 398, 403

City life, effect upon sympathy, 112 f

Classification of minds as stable or unstable, 186 f, 200 ff, 382 f

Collectivism, 4

Columbus, 269, 306

Communicate, the impulse to, 56 ff

Communication, of sentiment, 104 f;

effect of modern, 114;

influence of means of, 361, 365, 399

Communion, as an aspect of society, 102–135

Competition, 252, 256 f

Confession, 54, 356 f

Conformity, 262 ff

Conscience, 12, 180, 202, 239, 249, 258;

social aspect of, 326–371;

voice of, 328;

individual and social aspects of, 346 f;

in degeneracy, 383 ff;

is the test of freedom, etc., 396.

See also Humility, Altruism

Selfishness, nature of, 179 ff;

as a mental trait, 186 ff

“Sense of other persons,” 176

Sensual, as opposed to the social, 347 f

Sensuality, 182

Sentiment, personal, genesis of, 79 ff;

is differentiated emotion, 80;

in personal ideas, 81 ff;

relation to persons, 83;

more communicable than sensation, 104 f;

moral, 327 ff; 389

Sentiments, as related to selfishness, 182;

literary, 361

Seven deadly sins, 381

Sex, in sympathy, 121 f;

in the self, 171 ff

Shakespeare, 11, 73, 76;

on the genesis of sentiment, 80 f, 103, 106, 141, 145, 148, 188, 195,

210, 255, 282

Shame, fear of, 260 f;

sense of, 350

“Sheridan’s Ride,” 292

Sherman, General, 299

Shinn, Miss, 167

Sidis, Dr. B., 36

Sidney, Sir Philip, 83

Silence, fascination of, 314 f

Simplicity, 174

Sin, 376, 381

Sincerity in leadership, 317 ff

Slums, 379

Smiles, earliest, 45 ff;

interpretation of, 64 f

Sociability and personal ideas, 45–101

“Social,” meanings of the word, 3 f

Social faculty view, 11 f

Social groups, sensible basis of the idea of, 77;

relation of to the individual, 114

Social order, reflected in sympathy, 111 ff;

freedom in relation to, 397 ff

Social reality, the immediate is the personal idea, 84

Socialism, 4 ff, 90

Society, and the individual, 1–13, 134 f, 324 f;

in morals, 342 ff, 393;

is primarily a mental fact, 84;

is a relation among personal ideas, 84;

each mind an aspect of, 84 f;

the idea of, 85;

must be studied in the imagination, 86 ff;

is the collective aspect of personal thought, 100;

a phase, not a separable thing, 101

Sociology, too much based on material notions, 85, 89 f, 98 ff;

must observe personal ideas, 87 ff;

deals with personal intercourse in primary and secondary aspects, 101

Solitude, apparent, 57 f

Sophocles, 142

Spanish-American war, consolidating effect of, 293

Specialization, effect of, 115 ff

Spencer, Herbert, on egoism and altruism, 92;

nature of his system, 92;

on progress, 399

Spencerism, 306

Stability and instability in the self, 200 ff

Stable and unstable types of mind, 186 ff, 200 ff, 382 f

Stanley, Prof. H. M., 27, 138, 201, 214

Sterne, L., 194

Stevenson, R. L., physiognomy in his style, 77, 88, 95, 192, 195, 260,

320, 355

Strain of the present age, 112

Struggle for existence, as a view of life, 272

Style, the personal idea in, 73 ff;

what it is, 74;

personal ascendency in, 303 ff

Suger, the Abbot, 37

Suggestibility, 39 ff

Suggestion, and choice, 14–44;

definition of, 14;

in children, 19 ff;

contrary, 23, 267;

scope of in life, 29 ff

Superficiality of the time, 112, 198

Symbols, personal, 69 ff;

in art and literature, 71 ff

Symonds, J. A., 155, 169 f, 279, 317

Sympathy, or communion as an aspect of society, 102–135;

meaning of, 102 ff;

as compassion, 103;

a measure of personality, 106 ff;

universal, 113 f;

reflects social processes, 119 ff;

selective, 122 ff;

and love, 124 ff;

a particular expression of society, 133 ff;

hostile, 160, 234 ff;

in leadership, 294 ff;

lack of, in degeneracy, 382;

with criminal acts a test of responsibility, 387 ff

Sympathies, reflect the social order, 111 ff

Tact, 183 f;

in ascendency, 297 f

Tarde, G., 15, 272

“Tasso,” quoted, 122, 150

Tennyson, 129, 210, 287, 318

Thackeray, 76, 192

Thoreau, H. D., his relation to society, 57 f, 399 f; 157, 192, 195,

197, 235, 244, 270

Toleration, 264

Truth, motive for telling, 358 f

Tylor, E. B., 42, 314

Vanity, 199, 203 ff

Variation, degeneracy as, 374 f

Wagner, Richard, 76

War, hostile feeling in, 257;

dramatic power of leadership in, 291 f

Washington, 83

Whitman, Walt, 192

Will, free, 4;

individual and social, 17;

popular view of, 18;

is it externally determined?, 18 f, 32 f;

activity of, reflects society, 38 f

William the Silent, 314

Withdrawal, physical, 219;

imaginative, 220 ff

Wrong, as the irrational, 329;

emphasized by example, 356;

degeneracy as, 372 ff;

idea of, 377;

not always opposed by conscience, 385 f;

the unfree, 396

Wundt, on “Ich,” 138

Youth, sense of, 128, 280

-----

Footnote 1:

Also free will, determinism, egoism, and altruism, which involve, in

my opinion, a kindred misconception.

Footnote 2:

It should easily be understood that one who agrees with what was said

in the preceding chapter about the relation between society and the

individual, can hardly entertain the question whether the individual

will is free or externally determined. This question assumes as true

what he holds to be false, namely that the particular aspect of

mankind is separable from the collective aspect. The idea underlying

it is that of an isolated fragment of life, the will, on the one hand,

and some great mass of life, the environment, on the other; the

question being which of these two antithetical forces shall be master.

If one, then the will is free; if the other, then it is determined. It

is as if each man’s mind were a castle besieged by an army, and the

question were whether the army should make a breach and capture the

occupants. It is hard to see how this way of conceiving the matter

could arise from a direct observation of actual social relations.

Take, for instance, the case of a member of Congress, or of any other

group of reasoning, feeling, and mutually influencing creatures. Is he

free in relation to the rest of the body or do they control him? The

question appears senseless. He is influenced by them and also exerts

an influence upon them. While he is certainly not apart from their

power, he is controlled, if we use that word, _through_ his own will

and not in spite of it. And it seems plain enough that a relation

similar in kind holds between the individual and the nation, or

between the individual and humanity in general. If you think of human

life as a whole and of each individual as a member and not a fragment,

as, in my opinion, you must if you base your thoughts on a direct

study of society and not upon metaphysical or theological

preconceptions, the question whether the will is free or not is seen

to be meaningless. The individual will appears to be a specialized

part of the general life, more or less divergent from other parts and

possibly contending with them; but this very divergence is a part of

its function—just as a member of Congress serves that body by urging

his particular opinions—and in a large view does not separate but

unites it to life as a whole. It is often necessary to consider the

individual with reference to his opposition to other persons, or to

prevailing tendencies, and in so doing it may be convenient to speak

of him as separate from and antithetical to the life about him: but

this separateness and opposition are incidental, like the right hand

pulling against the left to break a string, and there seems to be no

sufficient warrant for extending it into a general or philosophical

proposition.

There may be some sense in which the question of the freedom of the

will is still of interest; but it seems to me that the student of

social relations may well pass it by as one of those scholastic

controversies which are settled, if at all, not by being decided one

way or the other, but by becoming obsolete.

Footnote 3:

The imitativeness of children is stimulated by the imitativeness of

parents. A baby cannot hit upon any sort of a noise, but the admiring

family, eager for communication, will imitate it again and again,

hoping to get a repetition. They are usually disappointed, but the

exercise probably causes the child to notice the likeness of the

sounds and so prepares the way for imitation. It is perhaps safe to

say that up to the end of the first year the parents are more

imitative than the child.

Footnote 4:

“In like manner any act or expression is a stimulus to the

nerve-centres that perceive or understand it. Unless their action is

inhibited by the will, or by counter-stimulation, they must discharge

themselves in movements that more or less closely copy the

originals.”—Giddings, Principles of Sociology, 110.

Footnote 5:

H. M. Stanley, The Evolutionary Psychology of Feeling, p. 53.

Footnote 6:

Goethe, in various places, contrasts modern art and literature with

those of the Greeks in respect to the fact that the former express

individual characteristics, the latter those of a race and an epoch.

Thus in a letter to Schiller—No. 631 of the Goethe-Schiller

correspondence—he says of Paradise Lost, “In the case of this poem, as

with all modern works of art, it is in reality the individual that

manifests itself that awakens the interest.”

Can there be some illusion mixed with the truth of this idea? Is it

not the case that the nearer a thing is to our habit of thought the

more clearly we see the individual, and the more vaguely, if at all,

the universal? And would not an ancient Greek, perhaps, have seen as

much of what was peculiar to each artist, and as little of what was

common to all, as we do in a writer of our own time? The principle is

much the same as that which makes all Chinamen look pretty much alike

to us: we see the type because it is so different from what we are

used to, but only one who lives within it can fully perceive the

differences among individuals.

Footnote 7:

See the latter chapters of his Psychology of Suggestion.

Footnote 8:

See Harper’s Magazine, vol. 79, p. 770.

Footnote 9:

See The American Commonwealth, vol. ii., p. 705.

Footnote 10:

Memoirs of U. S. Grant, vol. i., p. 344.

Footnote 11:

See his Primitive Culture, vol. ii., p. 372.

Footnote 12:

K. C. Moore, The Mental Development of a Child, p. 37.

Footnote 13:

The Senses and the Will, p. 295.

Footnote 14:

See his First Three Years of Childhood, p. 13.

Footnote 15:

Oxenford’s Translation, vol. i., p. 501.

Footnote 16:

See his Essay on Vanity.

Footnote 17:

Early Spring in Massachusetts, p. 232.

Footnote 18:

The First Three Years of Childhood, p. 77.

Footnote 19:

See his Biographical Sketch of an Infant, Mind, vol. ii., p. 289.

Footnote 20:

A good way to interpret a man’s face is to ask oneself how he would

look saying “I” in an emphatic manner. This seems to help the

imagination in grasping what is most essential and characteristic in

him.

Footnote 21:

Only four words—“heart,” “love,” “man,” “world”—take up more space in

the index of “Familiar Quotations” than “eye.”

Footnote 22:

On the fear of (imaginary) eyes see G. Stanley Hall’s study of Fear in

The American Journal of Psychology, vol. 8, p. 147.

Footnote 23:

Two apparently opposite views are current as to what style is. One

regards it as the distinctive or characteristic in expression, that

which marks off a writer or other artist from all the rest; according

to the other, style is mastery over the common medium of expression,

as language or the technique of painting or sculpture. These are not

so inconsistent as they seem. Good style is both; that is, a

significant personality expressed in a workmanlike manner.

Footnote 24:

P. 493.

Footnote 25:

With me, at least, this is the case. Some whom I have consulted find

that certain sentiments—for instance, pity—may be directly suggested

by the word, without the mediation of a personal symbol. This hardly

affects the argument, as it will not be doubted that the sentiment was

in its inception associated with a personal symbol.

Footnote 26:

This idea that social persons are not mutually exclusive but composed

largely of common elements is implied in Professor William James’s

doctrine of the Social Self and set forth at more length in Professor

James Mark Baldwin’s Social and Ethical Interpretations of Mental

Development. Like other students of social psychology I have received

much instruction and even more helpful provocation from the latter

brilliant and original work. To Professor James my obligation is

perhaps greater still.

Footnote 27:

I distinguish, of course, between egotism, which is an English word of

long standing, and egoism, which was, I believe, somewhat recently

introduced by moralists to designate, in antithesis to altruism,

certain theories or facts of ethics. I do not object to these words as

names of theories, but as purporting to be names of facts of conduct I

do, and have in mind more particularly their use by Herbert Spencer in

his Principles of Psychology and other works. As used by Spencer they

seem to me valid from a physiological standpoint only, and fallacious

when employed to describe mental, social, or moral facts. The trouble

is, as with his whole system, that the physiological aspect of life is

expounded and assumed, apparently, to be the only aspect that science

can consider. Having ventured to find fault with Spencer, I may be

allowed to add that I have perhaps learned as much from him as from

any other writer. If only his system did not appear at first quite so

complete and final one might more easily remain loyal to it in spite

of its deficiencies. But when these latter begin to appear its very

completeness makes it seem a sort of a prison-wall which one must

break down to get out.

I shall try to show the nature of egotism and selfishness in Chapter

VI.

Footnote 28:

Some may question whether we can pity ourselves in this way. But it

seems to me that we avoid self-pity only by not vividly imagining

ourselves in a piteous plight; and that if we do so imagine ourselves

the sentiment follows quite naturally.

Footnote 29:

Sympathy in the sense of compassion is a specific emotion or

sentiment, and has nothing necessarily in common with sympathy in the

sense of communion. It might be thought, perhaps, that compassion was

one form of the sharing of feeling; but this appears not to be the

case. The sharing of painful feeling may precede and cause compassion,

but is not the same with it. When I feel sorry for a man in disgrace,

it is, no doubt, in most cases, because I have imaginatively partaken

of his humiliation; but my compassion for him is not the thing that is

shared, but is something additional, a comment on the shared feeling.

I may imagine how a suffering man feels—sympathize with him in that

sense—and be moved not to pity but to disgust, contempt, or perhaps

admiration. Our feeling makes all sorts of comments on the imagined

feeling of others. Moreover it is not essential that there should be

any real understanding in order that compassion may be felt. One may

compassionate a worm squirming on a hook, or a fish, or even a tree.

As between persons pity, while often a helpful and healing emotion,

leading to kindly acts, is sometimes indicative of the absence of true

sympathy. We all wish to be understood, at least in what we regard as

our better aspects, but few of us wish to be pitied except in moments

of weakness and discouragement. To accept pity is to confess that one

falls below the healthy standard of vigor and self-help. While a real

understanding of our deeper thought is rare and precious, pity is

usually cheap, many people finding an easy pleasure in indulging it,

as one may in the indulgence of grief, resentment, or almost any

emotion. It is often felt by the person who is its object as a sort of

an insult, a back-handed thrust at self-respect, the unkindest cut of

all. For instance, as between richer and poorer classes in a free

country a mutually respecting antagonism is much healthier than pity

on the one hand and dependence on the other, and is, perhaps, the next

best thing to fraternal feeling.

Footnote 30:

Much of what is ordinarily said in this connection indicates a

confusion of the two ideas of specialization and isolation. These are

not only different but, in what they imply, quite opposite and

inconsistent. Speciality implies a whole to which the special part has

a peculiar relation, while isolation implies that there is no whole.

Footnote 31:

See his Essay on Friendship.

Footnote 32:

Lewes’s Life of Goethe, vol. i, p. 282.

Footnote 33:

Goethe, Biographische Einzelheiten, Jacobi.

Footnote 34:

“I had to love him, for with him my life grew to such life as I had

never known.”—Act 3, sc. 2.

Footnote 35:

Emerson, Address on The Method of Nature.

Footnote 36:

De Imitatione Christi, part iii., chap. 5, pars. 3 and 4.

Footnote 37:

“_The words_ ME, _then, and_ SELF, _so far as they arouse feeling and

connote emotional worth, are_ OBJECTIVE _designations meaning_ ALL THE

THINGS _which have the power to produce in a stream of consciousness

excitement of a certain peculiar sort_.” Psychology, i., p. 319. A

little earlier he says: “_In its widest possible sense_, however, _a

man’s self is the sum total of all he_ CAN _call his_, not only his

body and his psychic powers, but his clothes and his house, his wife

and children, his ancestors and friends, his reputation and works, his

lands and horses and yacht and bank account. All these things give him

the same emotions.” Idem, p. 291.

So Wundt says of “Ich”: “Es ist ein _Gefühl_, nicht eine Vorstellung,

wie es häufig genannt wird.” Grundriss der Psychologie 4. Auflage, S.

265.

Footnote 38:

It is, perhaps, to be thought of as a more general instinct, of which

anger, etc., are differentiated forms, rather than as standing by

itself.

Footnote 39:

Plumptre’s Sophocles, p. 352.

Footnote 40:

Psychology, i., p. 307.

Footnote 41:

“Only in man does man know himself; life alone teaches each one what

he is.”—Goethe, Tasso, act 2, sc. 3.

Footnote 42:

John Addington Symonds, by H. F. Brown, vol. ii. p. 120.

Footnote 43:

Compare Some Aspects of the Early Sense of Self, American Journal of

Psychology, ix., p 351.

Footnote 44:

Life and Letters of Charles Darwin, by F. Darwin, p. 27.

Footnote 45:

This sort of thing is very familiar to observers of children. See, for

instance, Miss Shinn’s Notes on the Development of a Child, p. 153.

Footnote 46:

John Addington Symonds, by H. F. Brown, vol. 1, p. 63.

Footnote 47:

P. 70.

Footnote 48:

P. 74.

Footnote 49:

P. 120.

Footnote 50:

P. 125.

Footnote 51:

P. 348.

Footnote 52:

Attributed to Mme. de Staël.

Footnote 53:

I do not attempt to distinguish between these words, though there is a

difference, ill defined however, in their meanings. As ordinarily used

both designate a phase of self-assertion regarded as censurable, and

this is all I mean by either.

Footnote 54:

Letters, p. 46.

Footnote 55:

Compare Stanley, The Evolutionary Psychology of Feeling, p. 271 _et

seq._

Footnote 56:

Wilhelm Meister’s Travels, Chap. XII., Carlyle’s Translation.

Footnote 57:

Quoted by Gummere, Germanic Origins, p. 266.

Footnote 58:

Œnone.

Footnote 59:

Travels, chap. 10, in Carlyle’s translation.

Footnote 60:

Stanley, The Evolutionary Psychology of Feeling, p. 280.

Footnote 61:

“Strive manfully; habit is subdued by habit. If you know how to

dismiss men, they also will dismiss you, to do your own things.”—De

Imitatione Christi, book i., chap. 21, par. 2.

Footnote 62:

De Imitatione Christi, book iii., chap. 23, par. 1.

Footnote 63:

Tulloch’s Pascal, p. 100.

Footnote 64:

See his History of European Morals, vol. ii., p. 369.

Footnote 65:

Perez, The First Three Years of Childhood, p. 66.

Footnote 66:

Mind, new series, vol. iv., p. 365.

Footnote 67:

A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, pp. 303, 328.

Footnote 68:

See his essay on the Journal of the Brothers Goncourt.

Footnote 69:

See his Life and Letters, vol. ii., p. 192.

Footnote 70:

Compare Professor Simon N. Patten’s Theory of Social Forces, p. 135.

Footnote 71:

Thoreau, A Week, etc., p. 304.

Footnote 72:

Compare G. Stanley Hall’s study of Fear in the American Journal of

Psychology, viii., p. 147.

Footnote 73:

The terrors of our dreams are caused largely by social imaginations.

Thus Stevenson, in one of his letters, speaks of “my usual dreams of

social miseries and misunderstandings and all sorts of crucifixions of

the spirit.”—Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson, i., p. 79.

Footnote 74:

Maine, Ancient Law, p. 62.

Footnote 75:

Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship, v., 16, Carlyle’s Translation.

Footnote 76:

In reading studies of a particular aspect of life, like M. Tarde’s

brilliant work, Les Lois de l’Imitation, it is well to remember that

there are many such aspects, any of which, if expounded at length and

in an interesting manner, might appear for the time to be of more

importance than any other. I think that other phases of social

activity, such, for instance, as communication, competition,

differentiation, adaptation, idealization, have as good claims as

imitation to be regarded as the social process, and that a book

similar in character to M. Tarde’s might, perhaps, be written upon any

one of them. The truth is that the real process is a multiform thing

of which these are glimpses. They are good so long as we recognize

that they _are_ glimpses and use them to help out our perception of

that many-sided whole which life is; but if they become _doctrines_

they are objectionable.

The Struggle for Existence is another of these glimpses of life which

just now seems to many the dominating fact of the universe, chiefly

because attention has been fixed upon it by copious and interesting

exposition. As it has had many predecessors in this place of

importance, so doubtless it will have many successors.

Footnote 77:

Decline and Fall, vol. vii., p. 82; Milman-Smith edition.

Footnote 78:

Emerson, address on New England Reformers.

Footnote 79:

Psychology, vol. ii., p. 409.

Footnote 80:

See Darwin’s Life and Letters, by his son, vol. i., p. 47.

Footnote 81:

Emerson, New England Reformers.

Footnote 82:

Psychology, vol. ii., p. 314.

Footnote 83:

In Harper’s Magazine, vol. 78, p. 870.

Footnote 84:

Reminiscences quoted by Garland in McClure’s Magazine, April, 1897.

Footnote 85:

From a letter published in the newspapers at the time of the

dedication of the Grant Monument, in April, 1897.

Footnote 86:

Mr. Howells remarks that “in Europe life is histrionic and dramatized,

and that in America, except when it is trying to be European, it is

direct and sincere.”—“Their Silver Wedding Journey,” Harper’s

Magazine, September, 1899.

Footnote 87:

Related by W. H. Gibson, in Harper’s Magazine for May, 1897.

Footnote 88:

The fact that the Roman system meant organized _ennui_ in thought, the

impossibility of entertaining large and hopeful views of life, is

strikingly brought out by the aid of contemporary documents in Dill’s

Roman Society. Prisoners of a shrinking system, the later Romans had

no outlook except toward the past. Anything onward and open in thought

was inconceivable by them.

Footnote 89:

See Primitive Culture, by E. B. Tylor, chap. xiv.

Footnote 90:

J. A. Symonds, History of the Renaissance in Italy, The Fine Arts, p.

329. Hamerton has some interesting observations on mystery in art in

his life of Turner, p. 352; also Ruskin in Modern Painters, part v.,

chaps. 4 and 5.

Footnote 91:

Tennyson, The Holy Grail.

Footnote 92:

See p. 248.

Footnote 93:

See his Instinct and Reason, p. 569.

Footnote 94:

M. J. Guyau, Esquisse d’une Morale sans Obligation ni Sanction,

English translation, p. 93.

Footnote 95:

Idem, p. 149.

Footnote 96:

Idem, p. 87.

Footnote 97:

Idem, p. 82.

Footnote 98:

Studies of Childhood, p. 284.

Footnote 99:

See his First Three Years of Childhood, p. 287.

Footnote 100:

Psychology, vol. i., p. 315.

Footnote 101:

Emerson, History.

Footnote 102:

Idem, Spiritual Laws.

Footnote 103:

Amer. Jour. of Psychology, vol. 7, p. 86.

Footnote 104:

See pp. 101, 210, 226.

Footnote 105:

The Pathology of Mind, p. 425.

Footnote 106:

C. L. Dana, Nervous Diseases, p. 425.

Footnote 107:

Aus Meinem Leben, Book XI.

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