tary chemical and physical aspects of the environment. Touch, moreover, gives us form and position and passes imperceptibly into that vague but enormously important sense, the muscle sense, through which the movements of our bodies, our limbs and other parts are checked and adjusted and the whole problem of spatial relations receives a new setting. Closely allied to these senses is the ear as an organ of equilibration responding to the pull of gravity and to our sudden changes in position and, like the muscle sense, affecting our conscious states so slightly that we scarcely know we have such a sense till on sea or on train excessive stimulation due to the unusual form of motion draws on characteristic discomforts. Next may be mentioned the ear as an organ of hearing attuned to the sounds of nature and in man attentive to the voice, that marvelous means of signaling whereby the momentary mental life of one human being can be quickly and accurately imposed upon another. And finally the eye with its responsiveness to light three thousand times greater than that of the most sensitive photographic plate, adjusted to color and to form, and in no whit behind the ear in its social significance. Thus our sense organs literally deluge us with a flood of messages concerning our surroundings and yield us all the elements out of which our mental life is built. In fact there is good reason to believe that without this sensory inrush consciousness itself could never come into being. The newborn brain is not unlike the western desert; only after irrigation in the form of sensory inflow does consciousness begin to blossom.

Considering the enormous significance of the sense organs for man as the means of supplying him with the content of his mind, it is not surprising that in attacking the problem of the brain and our mental states students should have made their approach

almost entirely from the sensory side. The quality and quantity of sensations were exhaustively investigated and even the central nervous organs were dealt with from the standpoint of their sensory relations. In brief, the sensation became more and more the established unit in considering nervous action, and we were led to interpret the nervous states of the whole range of lower animals by the sense organs they were shown to possess. If a particular worm or jelly fish had an unusually developed eye, it was assumed that the given animal enjoyed an excess of sensation akin to sight with us as compared with its less fortunate neighbors. If a crawfish inhabiting caves possessed degenerate eyes, but was covered with enormously developed tactile hairs, it was supposed to have realized something of that excessive development of touch which we know is characteristic of the human blind. Thus the well-known relations of our sense organs to our mental life gave a basis for the assumption of corresponding mental states in the lower animals.

If, however, the sources of our nervous organs are such as I have sketched, it is extremely doubtful whether the interpretations just mentioned are at all justifiable. In the beginning sense organs had nothing whatever to do with the delivery of messages to a conscious center. They were organs concerned merely with the calling forth of muscular movements. The animal with especially developed eyes or with unusual organs of touch is not necessarily endowed with special sensations in these directions; it may be an animal merely adapted to respond with unusual delicacy to light or touch and without central nervous relations at all. Thus the sense organs in the lower animals come to have a very different significance from that formerly attributed to them. They are special means

of exciting action rather than organs of an informing nature. It must also not be forgotten that though the sense organs of the higher animals are in many cases primarily organs of information, so to speak, they probably all still retain their original function of exciting muscles, at least indirectly, to action. They are the beginnings of practically all reflex arcs. Not only is this true, but not a few of them retain, so far as our conscious life is concerned, much of that hidden and submerged state that characterizes them in the lower animals. They lie in their activities below the conscious and even the subconscious level. This can be exemplified in one of the senses already named, the muscle sense. We are almost continuously cognizant of light, noise, smell and so forth, but we find it almost impossible to realize in our conscious states sensations from the muscle sense. Obscure, vague and indefinite, they impress us scarcely at all. Only here and there do they appear to rise into the region of strong sensation. Within the last few years it has been shown that the sensation of hunger is dependent upon stomach movements. Each hunger pang is due to a wave of muscular contraction passing over the walls of the stomach. It is, therefore, not improbable that the hunger pang is a muscle sensation that, from its organic importance, has lifted itself from the low level of unconscious activity into the higher strata of our conscious states.

The great majority of the sense organs of the lower animals are concerned with yielding impulses to motion that are in no way associated with consciousness, and this is undoubtedly their primitive function. Such animals often exhibit complicated systems of transmission tracts connecting their sense organs with their muscles, and these tracts collectively mark the beginning of a central nervous system. It is probable that a sensory equipment of this kind, with the

well-established beginnings of a central apparatus, afforded the necessary settings for the appearance of consciousness, which thus found roughed out by the earlier necessities of the organism a system of sensory and central components capable of sustaining future growth. At this stage the sense organ must have added to its primitive function of calling forth muscle activity that of supplying messages to a growing central organ, a function that has become of such paramount importance in man.

If this outline of the sources of our nervous activity is true, it follows that any conception of the nervous system that assumes sensation as a basal phenomenon is most assuredly to be abandoned. Sensations are associated with only the later phases of nervous development. The feature that has been present throughout the whole period of this evolution is muscular activity. In fact, as I have already stated, we have reason to believe that muscular activity preceded nervous origins and that nervous tissue appeared in consequence of the presence of muscles. Our own sensations, then, are not our most fundamental and primitive nervous processes, but behind these and of much more ancient lineage are our impulses to action, our wishes, our desires, and the whole vague body of nervous states that drive us to do things. These are the most ancient and deeply seated of our nervous propensities, and immeasurably antedate in point of origin, our sensations with all that supergrowth that constitutes the fabric of our mental life. We do well to warn ourselves to think before we act. Action is the oldest and most ingrained of our nervous functions, thinking the newest.

You will pardon me if I have led you from the realm of simple fact and observation far afield into that of pure speculation, for the general scheme of the sources of our nervous action that I have outlined must be

regarded as largely speculative. Such outlines are, however, suggestive of the myriads of questions that science attempts to answer. And the answers, when found, are the means of correcting these outlines that they may coincide more nearly with the truth. It is to the attainment of this general truth that establishments such as the Scripps Institution are dedicated. May the increased facilities that we celebrate to-day yield an ample and worthy return. G. H. PARKER

HARVARD UNIVERSITY

A SHORT ADDRESS TO THE GRADUATING CLASS OF THE HARVARD

MEDICAL SCHOOL, 1917

IT is on occasions such as this, at certain eras in the lives of young men, that we compel them to listen to words of counsel, however this ultimate end of giving counsel may be concealed in verbiage. Older men, in which class I have been rather reluctantly compelled to put myself, are generally selected to give utterance to these words, from the fact that, having had a wider experience, their views will have a greater importance, and indeed many of them and even their hearers really believe this. It must be said that there is no demand for this on your part and these addresses, like lectures, are forced upon you; at least I do not think you would rise up and clamor for them, but you passively

submit.

If one looks over the literature of addresses-and the sum of the published ones would almost fill the Alexandrian Library

there is great similarity in the matter and in the form of presentation. In recent years there has been some decline in attempts at eloquence and you are no longer told that medicine is a useful and noble profession, with citation of examples, or that you are a vessel embarking on the sea of life, this associated with descriptions of

lighthouses, cross currents, storms, etc. I speak feelingly, for on looking over some old addresses of mine I found that I also had once spoken of ships and storms and lighthouses, and I should like to humbly apologize to my former auditors.

This desire of ours to talk is partly due to the garrulousness of age, which is compelled to substitute words for action, and having found how much easier the process is, and how pleasant, indulges itself in the vice; and partly to the persistence of an utterly mistaken view of education. The idea that education, that process which aims at the development of the individual with the view that he shall be capable of greater service and of greater individual happiness, can be attained by telling the aspiring student things or having him study merely the product that others have wrought, has unfortunately not entirely passed. If I have learned anything in my now somewhat long life as a teacher it is that the process of education consists in giving the student opportunity, the material to study, be it mankind, books, ants or dead bodies, and in every way assisting him in the study, always recollecting that the result must be individual, the product of the material which his brain has received, digested and assimilated. We must not think that we can give him in words merely the conceptions which we have arrived at, although he may derive some profit by comparing our concepts with his own.

We should not think that in an address we can give a young man any thing of real value. What we are depends upon the individuality of our living material and the result of the action upon this of the special matter which education gives plus the more generalized influences of the environment. It is particularly now, when such enormous changes in environmental conditions, as compared with those under which

we have lived, exist and are in process of creation, that the futility of attempts to force our views upon you must be apparent. As I see the great struggle now it is not only between democracy and imperialism, but underlying this a still greater struggle between socialism and individualism. This is apparent in medicine as it is in every other domain of life and what will be the outcome no man can say. The currents in the sea are so vast in extent and power, the winds so variable, that there is the temptation to merely stand aloof and be swept along. I think I can advise you, reluctant as I am to attempt advice, to resist this; plunge in and struggle for what seems to you the right, remembering that general conditions of social environment depend upon the actions of individuals and it is you who are the creative force on you rests the responsibility.

With this as a preamble it would give me great pleasure to pursue the subject further, for I really like to talk, and as I look around and see you I recall many happy hours which are associated with you and I am grateful to you for having given me this happiness. But fortunately for us all time passes, changes, it is now gone, and I have been spared the chance of giving you opinions which are probably erroneous and possibly productive of injury.

I think, however, it is only right that I should tell you that addresses may have a great importance and even determine future events, as the following example shows. Some time ago I happened to be in the capital of a Brazilian state just after a gubernatorial election. There had been the usual phenomena which such an event in a Brazilian city produces. Some fifty people killed, three times as many wounded, a newspaper office blown up and on numerous houses the peculiar pits made by the modern jacketed bullet. At the time I

reached there, two weeks after the inauguration, everything was going on as usual. It seems that full arrangements were made to blow up the governor on his way home after the inaugural address. But the importance of the address had not been properly considered. The governor spoke long, giving the history of the country from its discovery, the modern conditions and the hopes of the future. The matter was dull, hours which seemed like weeks and minutes which seemed like days passed and he continued to speak without the audience being able to see any hope of cessation. The conspirators were nervous, the exciting events had deprived many of them of their wonted calm siestas, and under the soothing influence of the orator many slept; others were not able to endure the absence of alcohol for so long a period and these departed to look for it; for others so long a period of silence on their part could not be endured and these departed to gather up an audience; others felt they might be missed at home and these sought the presence of the household gods. In short the conspiracy was broken up, the audience gradually departed with the taxis which were to have formed the procession, and the governor was finally left speaking to a single close friend who went home with him by a back way, and the country for a time was saved. The party newspapers which printed the speech said it was a masterly effort; the opposition was silent, for their newspaper had been blown W. T. COUNCILMAN

up.

HARVARD UNIVERSITY

SOME SUGGESTIONS FOR NATIONAL SERVICE ON THE PART OF ZOOLOGISTS AND ZOOLOGICAL LABORATORIES

In an article in the New Republic for March 31 last entitled "America Prepares" William Hard pokes fun at the enthusiasm for organization which has taken possession of the coun

try; the National Research Council receives its share of serio-comic attention and as a climax of the ridiculous and absurd there is mentioned the Committee on Zoology and Animal Morphology. "I doubt," he says, "if any other nation ever responded to the prospect of war with a scheme of national defense which included a Committee on Zoology and Animal Morphology."

It should not be forgotten that the establishment of the National Research Council antedated the declaration of war by a whole year and that one of its chief functions was and is the promotion of research in all branches of science in the belief that human progress depends upon increasing knowledge of nature and that national welfare can be advanced most effectively by the cooperation of scientific investigators.

With the country at war it is but natural that the activities of the Research Council should be directed primarily to problems connected with the war and patriotic men and women in all branches of science, as well as in

every other occupation, are asking how they may best serve the nation in this crisis. Zoologists, no less than others, are asking this question and it is with a view to answering it in a general way that the Committee on Zoology of the National Research Council has drawn up the following suggestions.

The

To the zoologists no less than to the New Republic it is evident that this science is only indirectly and remotely related to war-indeed it has been claimed that hitherto the biological sciences are the only ones which have not been used for the destruction of human life. greatest national service which the biological sciences can render in war as well as in peace is in conserving human life, and also in protecting and improving useful animals and plants and in controlling or destroying injurious ones; when it is remembered that practically everything which we eat or wear comes from animals or plants it will be realized that this is no slight service.

Many of the practical and economic branches of biology have long been well organized for such service and this applies particularly to

medicine, sanitation and agriculture, but in each and all of these branches the trained zoologist may render valuable aid. Probably no other scientific men are better prepared by training and no other institutions better fitted by equipment to assist in medical and sanitary work than are zoologists and zoological laboratories, and in the matter of the propagation and improvement of useful animals and the destruction of useless or injurious ones the zoologist should be especially at home. In many instances zoologists who have hitherto confined their attention to theoretical and general problems would need to turn their attention to new lines of work, but it can not be doubted that practise in solving general and theoretical problems would be of great value in dealing with specific and practical ones.

I. SANITARY WORK

1. Much sanitary work is primarily zoological as, for instance, the study of the life histories of parasitic protozoa, tapeworms, flukes, roundworms, insects, mites, etc., together with methods of their control or eradication.

2. The elimination or control of animal carriers of disease-germs, such as flies, mosquitoes, bugs, fleas, lice, rats, etc.

3. Assistance in medical diagnosis, as in the microscopical or chemical examination of blood, urine, feces, sputum, etc.

4. Microscopical or chemical examination of water and soil of camp sites, drainage areas of cities, etc.

5. The zoological aspects of the collection and disposal of garbage and sewage.

In view of the importance of zoological science in dealing with old and new problems which will arise in connection with sanitation it would be very desirable to have at least one trained zoologist connected with the medical staff of each mobilization camp.

II. AGRICULTURAL WORK

1. Cooperation with the agricultural agencies of the states and nation in the elimination of animals which prey upon or are parasitic upon domestic animals; of animal pests destructive to crops, fruits, forests, to stored vegetables, grain and other food supplies, to