Nothing else favors coherent thought so much as the possession of language. The simplicity of a word or phrase and its connection with experiences of unlimited complexity enable the mind to keep within one system of thought in spite of temporary deviations, numerous and winding though they be. Such complicated ideas, inexhaustible to him who tries to describe them, as propriety, honor, duty, may guide and determine a long-continued train of thoughts and actions. The most important one of all these guiding ideas, crystallizing around a single word, is the idea of self, of I.
[2.] The Self and the World
Among the impressions received by a child through his sense organs, some must very early distinguish themselves from the rest. (1) When the child is carried about or creeps about, the majority of his impressions change from moment to moment: instead of a wall with pictures, seen a few seconds ago, he sees windows with curtains; instead of tables and chairs he sees houses, trees, and strange people. Certain impressions, however, hardly change. Whatever else he may see, he almost invariably sees also his hands and some of the lower parts of his body. Whatever may be the position of his body, sensations from his clothing, from the movements of his limbs, from the processes in his digestive and other organs are always present. (2) Another impressive phenomenon is this. The things seen often move, and thus cause alterations in the field of vision. But when these moving things are his own arms and legs, yielding to the pull of their muscles, there is an additional experience, made up of kinesthetic and usually also tactual sensations. Certain experiences are therefore a kind of twofold experience as compared with others which are of one kind only: visual plus kinesthetic-tactual. (3) In still a third way certain experiences distinguish themselves. Whenever the child’s hands and feet come in contact with external things, a tactual sensation is added to the visual impression. But when one hand touches the other hand or a foot or another part of the body, even a part which is not seen, a peculiar double tactual impression is received. That this double tactual sensation is particularly interesting may be concluded from the concentration with which an infant plays with his feet, and the enjoyment which a kitten seems to get from biting its tail.
For various reasons, therefore, the sensations of a child’s own body, visual, tactual, organic, etc., become experiences of a special class. By various peculiarities they distinguish themselves from all others and become a special, unitary group. But the child’s ideas and feelings, when compared with his perceptions, also form a peculiar system, often keeping unchanged while the perceptions change because of movements of the objective things or of the body itself. It is quite natural, then, that in opposition to the external world a dual system is conceived, made up of the bodily sensations on the one hand and the ideas and feelings of frequently repeated or especially impressive experiences on the other. But in spite of this unison between the complex of bodily sensations and the complex of ideas, forming a personal world as opposed to the external world, there remains an opposition between the constituents of the personal world as between a material and a spiritual half of the whole.
This complex idea of a personal world, of personality, which constantly increases in content, is given a special name, John or Mary, and still later another name, I. The unity of the idea of personality, the readiness of its appearance in consciousness in spite of the multitude of its contents, is greatly enhanced by this name. The idea I becomes the omnipresent and dominating factor in consciousness. I can see nothing, hear nothing, imagine nothing without, however vaguely, thinking that it is I who reads, I who answers, I who designs. It is altogether impossible to express such thoughts in language without reference to the I or the mine. In the ecstasy of the mystic or the mental exaltation of the insane, the idea of I may be absent, but never under normal conditions at an age beyond that of infancy. Consciousness in which the idea of I is rather pronounced is commonly called self-consciousness.
It is plain enough that thinking of the other half of the world, other than the self, is also facilitated by such names as “the world,” “the external world.” But the concept of the external world does not easily attain the unity of the concept of self, because the experiences referred to are too changeable in comparison with those referred to by I. We speak of the external world chiefly in order to distinguish it from the self, not because of the unity of its conception.
The extraordinary support which the consciousness of self receives from language has had also a certain undesirable consequence. We have mentioned in an earlier chapter the universal desire to imagine the world as being under the power of innumerable demons. The consciousness of the self thus leads naturally to the thought of a demon who inhabits the human body. When a person under ordinary conditions is conscious of the I, there is no time for its content to unfold itself to any considerable extent. Usually one small group of ideas enters consciousness, even when I ask myself the question as to what I am: ideas of a certain visual appearance, a certain position in society, a certain age, certain aims in life. It seems then that the concept of self is exceedingly simple. This apparent simplicity gives aid to the idea of the existence of a simple demon, independent of time, eternal, inhabiting and governing this body as long as its organs are held together by their normal physiological functions, after the body’s death going elsewhere—whither, we do not know. But this conclusion as to the existence of a simple, unitary subjective reality is no more justifiable than the statement that, because of the simplicity of the idea it in ordinary language, there must be an absolutely simple objective reality which corresponds to it.
Mind may justly be called a unity. But it is not a simple, indescribable unity, a unitary something separable from the sum of the parts of which it consists. It is, rather, a unity comparable to the unity of an animal organism or a plant, which may be well described as consisting of so many different parts functioning together according to definite laws. Within the unity of the mind there are smaller groups which may also be called unities, though in a restricted sense. The I is one of these subordinate unities. It, too, is not simple, but consists of parts, sometimes a greater, sometimes a smaller number. It may expand and include almost as much content as mind itself, provided that time is given for such an expansion, and a sufficient stimulus. Usually the I is very poor in content, hardly anything else than the word-idea which is the representative of the whole concept.
[3.] Intelligence
It is but natural that thought is largely in harmony with the actual facts. Its contents are derived from sensory experiences, are molded by sensory experiences, and must therefore often be anticipations of sensory experiences. With reference to its agreement or disagreement with the actual facts, we give our thought the name of truth, knowledge—or error. Both truths and errors, like perceptions and illusions, are the results of the laws governing mental functions. But truths are more common in the mental life of certain individuals than in that of others. Youth is more apt than mature age to give free rein to its imagination, no matter whether it agrees with reality or not. This is partly the result of the mature man’s realizing the high value of this agreement and therefore striving for it; partly the unintended consequence of innumerable pleasant and sad experiences, of adaptations which have proved now more, now less successful. But aside from such differences developing during life, there are immense differences of a similar kind resulting from native capacities. We speak of such capacities as reason, judgment, intelligence.