Man can Revert to Savagery
It is different with man. He is preeminently the educable, the reflective, the adaptive animal. Since the experiences of no two men are quite similar, they differ in knowledge, ideas, and aspirations, and, therefore, none are very closely alike mentally. The child does not follow exactly in the footsteps of the parent. So great is human adaptability that, though the mind of the savage differs immensely in all except instinct and power of learning from that of the civilised man, yet, were the child of the latter trained from birth by the former, he could not be other than a savage.
On the other hand, utter savages—for example, the Maories of New Zealand—have passed in a single generation from barbarism to civilisation. The average individual amongst us may be trained to fill the rôle of a beggar or a king, a scientist or a monk, a thief or a legislator. He is able to dwell in the Tropics or in the Arctic, in the town or in the wild. Memory, knowledge, intelligence, adaptability, are all links in a single chain of efficiency.
Dawn of Human Life
Memory is of two sorts, conscious and unconscious. The conscious memory contains experiences which can be recollected, such as the words of a language or the sights we have seen. The unconscious memory contains impressions which cannot be recalled to mind, but which are none the less important. Thus, we learn to use our limbs, a process which involves a precise but quite unconscious adjustment of the actions of numerous nerves and muscles, the very names and existences of which are known only to the anatomist. So, also, in youth we unconsciously imitate our fellows, adopting in great measure their mental tones and attitudes without knowing how or when we were influenced. Much, too, that was once capable of being recalled is added to that hidden store, and, though apparently lost, remains potent for good or evil. Our minds are like floating icebergs, of which the visible part is but a fraction of the whole, and are moved by deep currents in a seemingly unaccountable way. At birth the mind of a child, unlike that of a beetle, is practically blank. Sights and sounds and the other feelings convey no meanings to it. But soon the messages sent by the sensation are understood. In a few weeks the child evolves order out of chaos, and comprehends to a wonderful degree the world around it. It learns to move its muscles in a purposeful way, and in a year or two is able to walk and speak a language, and do a vast deal more besides. In these early years, the period of man’s greatest mental activity, are made his most valuable and indispensable acquirements. But as he becomes more and more completely equipped for the battle of life, his powers of adding to the store slowly decline. In adult life the gains are balanced by the losses. In old age the losses exceed the gains. Compare the perfection with which the young acquire the manners of society, and every accent, inflection, and intonation of a language, with the imperfections displayed when learning is undertaken later.
Habits are Imitation Instincts
We learn to do new things, acquire new knowledge, and think new thoughts with toil. But practice brings facility. In the end we perform with ease that which was acquired with difficulty. We cannot, however, unlearn as we learnt, by an act of will. The facility lingers, and, as a consequence, our actions and thoughts, our mental attitudes, our whole outlook on life becomes more or less automatic and stereotyped. In other words, our acquirements come at last to resemble instincts, and are often so misnamed, as when a boy who has learned to dodge is said to avoid a blow instinctively. A being from another planet who for the first time saw a man walking or cycling could not distinguish the nature of these acquirements from such instinctive movements as the running or flying of an insect. The patriotism of a Spartan or a Japanese differs from that of a bee only in its mode of origin. In brief, the low animal is a creature of instincts, the man is a creature of habits, which are nothing other than imitation instincts.
Mankind’s Substitutes for Instinct
A principal function, then, of our faculty of making mental acquirements, of our conscious and unconscious memories, is to supply us with those automatic ways of thinking and acting which are our substitutes for instincts. Our conscious memories supply us with our stereotyped mental attitudes—desires, beliefs, aspirations, habitual way of thinking, and so forth. Our unconscious memories supply our stereotyped ways of acting—the automatic ways of acting we have just considered. It is a principal business of our lives to acquire them; but, though a great advantage is thus gained, one almost as great is lost. We act and think more quickly in familiar situations, but in proportion as we grow older we lose our splendid human capacity for learning. Beyond the verge of our imitation instincts spreads a domain, very wide in the infant, but narrowing as we pass towards old age, which is the real realm of the active intellect. Here, where thoughts and actions are not yet stereotyped, memory gathers fresh harvests, imagination plays, and reason ponders. Here man is a rational being in the strict sense of the word.
Mind and Memory