that it is one phase of the process, but also that it determines future experiences by fixing the attitude and method of approach to situations. A man is biassed by the opinions which he has formed as a result of previous experiences. Consequently, he does not approach the new with an open mind. He has acquired a certain mental "set" which perverts his judgment. This is one of the reasons for the importance of instruction. For, after all, teaching consists largely in constructing and in reconstructing experience. In the case of the more mature it is chiefly the latter. If the instances which have been cited are indicative of human action in general, they emphasize again the important fact in adaptation and behavior, that man adopts the simplest method that will approximate the results which he wishes to gain, instead of examining ways and means with the view of finding the most efficient plan of action; and in thinking his procedure is the same. He accepts superficial evidence, assumes that things are as they appear to be. Therefore, if one event follows another, the first is accepted as the cause of the second. Consequently, when a given method in salesmanship or advertising is attended by success, the method is assumed to be good in all localities and on every occasion. Yet prevailing conditions may occasionally produce results, regardless of the quality of salesmanship or advertising. Since, however, this happy combination of circumstances is not likely to be reproduced, the man who does not understand them is beginning a career of failure. He does not see the meaning of action and response. He misunderstands the human mind. He fails to comprehend the significance of behavior. In thinking and acting, chance thus creates disordered responses, the chance of poor instruction or no instruction at all, and the chance of business tradition and opinions. It is the animal method on which human behavior has been grafted. Turning now to learning in the narrower sense of gaining proficiency in some definite act of skill, we find that the investigations have disclosed several facts of considerable moment in the psychology of learning. Typewriting is an unusually good illustration because it is typical of much of the work done by the younger men and women in business offices. Fortunately, several investigations have been made of the progress of beginners. Two different studies were undertaken by Hill and Rejall. These experiments consisted of typewriting, on successive days, with occasional intermissions, first, the same 100-word paragraph, and second, a 300-word page of changing material. The practice was continued for five months. The measure of progress, in the one case, was the length of time required for writing the 100 words, and in the other the 300 words of new matter. The two striking characteristics of the experiments were irregularity in the acquisition of skill and occasional delays in progress. The meaning of the irregularities is quite clear. Progress is rarely continuous. Some of these variations are caused by the physiological condition of the learner. He may not be "fit." A night out, slight digestive disturbance, or fitful sleep are sufficient to blunt the edge of one's feelings, and consequently to lower efficiency. At times, again, the learner feels splendidly, yet for some undiscoverable reason he is not able to get results. Every one has such days. But the physiological condition does not explain all of the irregularities in progress. A beginner in a new sort of work, or a new subject of study, advances for a time and then suddenly, and often unexpectedly, his progress is interrupted. He may work as hard as before, yet for some reason he does not advance. These periods of temporary arrest of progress are called plateaus in the curve of learning, and the investigation of the acquisition of skill in typewriting to which reference 1 1 Pedagogical Seminary, vol. 20, p. 516. has just been made reveals several of them.1 On the 25th of November, for example, one of the investigators wrote the 100-word selection in four minutes and seventeen seconds; but between that day and the 6th of December, inclusive, there were only three days when he reduced the time required for the task. On all the other days of the ten devoted to the work his record was either the same or worse than on the 25th of November. One of these improved scores was only seven seconds better than the record for the 25th of November. It is quite evident, then, that we have here a period of arrest in progress. Intermittent improvement in score indicates the tendency of the learner, but he cannot yet be depended upon to maintain the record. In a longer or shorter period of time, however, the better score becomes a permanent acquisition. Barring occasional "off days," the learner now knows that he can make it. This new record becomes the centre, as it were, around which the score for a week or so is likely to oscillate. Sometimes the learner will do better, and again not so well, but he rarely falls back to an earlier lower level of accomplishment. Improvement is, therefore, usually intermittent. After hovering around a certain record for a time-in typewriting several days or a week-the learner goes forward. Then his new achievement becomes the centre of variation until he is prepared to make a further advance. The following experience in golf, written by a friend, illustrates both retardation, which appears in the curve of progress as a plateau, and also temporary improvement, which, though not maintained, shows, nevertheless, the drift of the learning process. 1 Professor Thorndike, who prepared the experiments for publication, says that the absence of "any clear plateaus or 'resting stages' is noteworthy." The explanation is that his curves were plotted from weekly averages. Whether plateaus would show themselves in such a curve depends, in large part, upon their distribution. In a curve plotted by days from Hill and Rejall's figures several plateaus extending from four to seven days are quite evident. "I had played golf with unsatisfactory results for a year and a half and had succeeded in getting good control of the various irons, but I had acquired no certainty in driving. In order to overcome this difficulty I had taken lessons and had learned the theory so that it was at my command, but in practice the results were more often disastrous than good. I could not see any positive improvement from month to month in the certainty of my drive. One day I took my usual position for driving. Before making the attempt I thought over the directions for successful driving, and went through the act once, trying to just graze the ground, and following through with my club. Again I took my position. This time the movements were enlivened with the thought that I was going to hit the ball and see how far I could drive it. There was neither pull nor slice, and the ball went almost as straight as one could draw a line in the direction in which I had intended. The distance was about 160 yards. Again I took my place and added 20 yards to the drive. fifteen consecutive drives were made, only one of which was defective, and the distance increased until it reached about 200 yards. For several weeks I drove with equal success, in one case on links on which I had never played before. My longest drive was over 240 yards. After a number of weeks of successful driving I was playing one day, and for no apparent reason I topped the ball. Again and again, both that day and on subsequent days, I endeavored to recover the skill which I had lost in a way I could not explain. Several months have passed, and I have not yet regained the successful drive which I acquired so suddenly and carried on so successfully for several weeks and then as suddenly lost. It seems to be a case of persistent retardation, but what I have done I can do again, some time." As many as The writer has obtained the golf scores of an enthusiastic player. They are his record for three consecutive |