HEREDITARY TRANSMISSION. EDUCATION

I

The most difficult thing in the study of man is to surprise him on the threshold of life, to meet him as he detaches himself from the tissues of the mother, in the guise of a cell seeking the mysterious contact of the fertilising element; to seize the moment in which that wondrous force containing potentially the whole story of an existence penetrates the chemical elements of the germ; to learn how, in the protoplasm of the first imperceptible nucleus, that marvellous activity awakes which only death will end.

There is a comparatively long period at the very beginning of our existence in which the nature and differential properties of the tissues lie, so to speak, dormant in a crumb of protoplasm. Microscopists discover no difference between the cells of that primary tissue. The turbidness appearing on the whitish leaflet of the germ seems regulated from the beginning of the division of labour; at a few points the materials accumulate which are requisite for the transformation of the cells, as though these last, too much occupied in their prodigious activity of separating and multiplying, must find close at hand the materials which they need to make a man, without the delay of elaborating and preparing them before they introduce them into their body. Thus it has been found, that from the beginning sugar or glycogen, one of the most important substances in the composition of the muscles, is present in abundance.

But up to this point, and even for many days afterwards, there is no indication, no possible recognition, even of a rough outline of a human form. And yet in this confusion of atoms we exist. Here our passions lie sleeping; on this whitish leaflet are written in undecipherable characters those links of heredity which connect us with our family and with past generations. As from the scarcely visible germ in the heart of the acorn the majestic oak will spring to reign over the forest, so from this indistinct cellular mass a being will be formed to represent in his microcosm the whole history of the human race, with its fears, diseases, instincts, passions, its hate, vileness, and grandeur.

The terrible legend of curses blasting the innocence of unborn babes, the blessings cast forth into the future for the enjoyment of generations yet to come, are not wholly a foolish fable. Destiny loads each one of us with a fatal inheritance. Though we were abandoned in the forest, imprisoned in the dungeon of a tower, without a guide, without example, without light, there yet would awake in us, like a mysterious dream, the experience of our parents and our earliest ancestors.

What we call instinct is the voice of past generations reverberating like a distant echo in the cells of the nervous system. We feel the breath, the advice, the experience of all men, from those who lived on acorns and struggled with the wild beasts, dying naked in the forests, down to the virtue and toil of our father, to the fear and love of our mother.

II

Methods of education are essentially two in number, severity and indulgence. Which is better? It is impossible to give a categorical answer, for we are not concerned with the education of a brain or a man in general, but of the brain and man of a special case.

Some say that until the child has become a rational being it must be considered and treated as a little animal, because it has no sense of shame, nor of the rights of property, nor of social duty; that the didactic methods which it most fears must be adopted, that is to say, those only which serve to tame and domesticate animals—punishments, the whip, blows.

Happily, in the midst of the animal instincts a light is soon diffused in the child’s brain which will place him above all the animals of the earth, and none can say with certainty when these first flashes of reason appear.

The pain of a blow must always appear to him so out of proportion to all his instinctive, involuntary movements, that instead of softening him it will rouse profound resentment in him, and impress him with the distressing idea of permanently threatening dangers and of the strangeness of his surroundings, in which, without any plausible reason, caresses alternate with blows.

The same methods should be followed in education as in the teaching of science, which are those giving to man the firmest and most lasting convictions. Whatever may be the force of authority, it can never be compared in efficacy to that of conviction; we should never issue any command without showing the reasons why it should be done in this way rather than in another.

Children should be brought up as though they were rational, because the animal in them disappears, the man remains. Recourse should be had to the most intelligible and convincing means; if it is seen that they have acquired bad habits, the opportunities for ill-doing should be removed and the effort made, by offering them other attractions, to preserve them from the temptation of those acts or those things which they are to avoid.

One may be more indulgent with good, docile children. Those who cry easily, who blush and scream, give less trouble than those who grow pale and tremble, who do not manifest their resentment by an immediate outburst, as though they were brooding hatred in a corner of their hearts.

A peasant-woman, in speaking of someone, once said to me: 'I have seen him gnash his teeth when a boy for a mere nothing, and so I would not marry him, and I was quite right.’ In mental sufferings, when the tension of the nervous system cannot find a vent in immediate emotion, it accumulates and becomes more incontrollable in long-suppressed outbursts; the rage which we thought subdued continues to torture us and gnaw our vitals.

Indulgence should be shown to nervous children who suffer from convulsions, or are predisposed to such. One must be kind to them and not oppose their caprices with too much severity, unless they are actually insensate. Even loving punishment provokes an explosion of grief and nervous agitation in these unhappy children; every violent emotion leaves an imperceptible, morbid, accumulative tendency behind. In opposing them one falls 'out of the frying-pan into the fire.’

It is better to preserve their lives and postpone stricter education till they become less sensitive; in the meantime they must not be fatigued with study, but strengthened like a plant which one places in the sun and open air, and from which one prunes the injurious shoots at a later time. This is often successful, and then they may be ranked again with healthy children. Even for the latter, premature education is a very grievous error. Parents who make their children learn too many things, sacrifice their future to gratify their own ambition. Nature must not be forced, nor the activity of the nervous system exhausted before the body has grown strong.

Parents who have already some weak spot—a little fault in the character, a slight blemish in the organism—should redouble their care in order to cure their children from their own defects. Just as a scirrhus, cancer, consumption, neurosis, are transmitted from one generation to another, just as the large mouth, the long nose, the eyes and hair of this or that colour, are inherited, so vices, virtues, and moral dispositions are handed down from family to family. In little villages especially, in which one may best trace the customs of an ancestor in the whole of his descendants, one often hears such sayings as 'His father was just the same; his grandfather was a great good-for-nothing, too.’ 'Generosity is hereditary in that house.’ Thus were cynicism and cruelty transmitted from one to another in the family of the Claudii.

The root of a family tree may be compared to one of those Chinese boxes full of other boxes gradually decreasing in size, the unending succession of which strikes us with wonder. Marriage and intermarriage with other families mix and mingle these boxes in such a way that an inextricable confusion arises; but if from some height we could watch the long line of generations, we should see that they continue slowly to disclose themselves. Some children resemble the grandfather, the great-grandfather, or the great-great-grandfather, as though a seed had passed through several generations without unclosing, and then had suddenly sprung into life with such resemblance in features, manners, voice, eyes, character, that the old people recognise it and say, 'He is the very image of his grandfather.’ Thus the forefathers are born and live again in future generations.

III

What a wonderful phenomenon is this power in man to reappear in future generations by means of heredity, to transmit his own nature to his descendants by transfusing it—working it into their organism! And no less wonderful is it to see how not only instincts but organs gradually disappear in the course of generations when they are not put into action. In insects, crustaceans, fish, amphibians which have migrated to caverns and have lived for many generations in the dark, the eyes are almost imperceptible, and this is certainly not the result of natural selection, for eyes are not injurious even to beings living in the dark, but solely because, with the cessation of the activity of an organ, it must of necessity retrograde.

Three or four generations are necessary before horses completely lose their wild instincts, so that some horse-breeders only choose those that have been already trained in the circus.

If one takes two hounds exactly alike (of the same mother and the same litter) and accustoms the one to the chase, the other to watch the house; if one then allows them to breed separately, so as to form two distinct families, one to start the game for man when hunting, the other to guard his house against strangers, we may be certain that after four or five generations their instincts will be profoundly modified. If after ten years one takes a litter from each of these families descended from a common ancestor, and rears them in the same room under the same conditions, far from every noise, and brings them when they are grown into a meadow, it will be seen that, at the report of a gun, the offspring of the dogs trained for the chase will look around as though trying to espy a bird, while the others run off terrified.

On the shores of certain almost desert islands birds are found which, like the Phalaropus of Iceland,[38] are very much afraid of man, while those living in the interior of the island are not at all timorous. If one reads Brehm’s 'Animal Life,’ one finds similar instances of fear transmitted from generation to generation, with marked differences in the same species according to the relations which the animals have with man. Although monkeys in general are very timid, and always flee at the sight of man, the Semnopithecus entellus, which the Indians worship and honour as a divinity, has become so bold that it enters the gardens, steals everything, plunders the houses, rummages in the trunks and cupboards of the Europeans, and snatches food from off the table or out of their hands. A missionary relates that he was once in a disagreeable predicament, because he had nothing to offer to these impudent monkeys, and that, if he had not defended himself in time with a stick, the animals would have whipped him.[39]

The mechanism by which these far-reaching changes in the instincts of animals are accomplished and transmitted by means of heredity to successive generations is one of the most obscure facts in medicine. The drunkard begets children predisposed to madness, just as the syphilitic transmit their curse to the innocent victims to whom they give life, but we know nothing of the manner of transmission; heredity of instinct remains inscrutable; the physiologist cannot yet confront such problems, so that he becomes a simple chronicler of the facts of which he does not know the laws, nor the intricate connecting threads.

Brown-SÉquard tried to subject this problem to experimental study, and obtained results which surprised all physiologists. He observed that guinea-pigs in which he had severed the sciatic nerve produced epileptic offspring, and that the destruction in male or female of certain parts of the nerve-centres caused marked malformation in the ears and eyes of the progeny.

Pasteur found that the lambs of ewes that had been protected from a contagious malady called anthrax by inoculation with a diluted virus, were not attacked by this disease, and that even when inoculated with the active virus which would cause the death of other animals, they resisted it and did not succumb. This fact was confirmed by Toussaint and others.

There were, indeed, many indications in science which led to the idea of protecting from diseases by means of heredity. If small-pox does not rage as formerly, if the victims are no longer so numerous, and if even the unvaccinated recover more easily, it is because a modification of our organism has been brought about through heredity and inoculation. Whenever this disease appears in a district which was never before infected, it rages as violently as formerly. The same thing takes place when the inhabitants of a country where this disease is unknown come to a town in the air of which the germs are present in abundance. The eight Eskimos who were brought a short time ago to the Jardin d’Acclimatation in Paris all died of the small-pox.

It is a well-known fact that children of the same stock do not all resemble each other like stereotyped editions. Very often brothers and sisters, although they may have a striking physical resemblance to each other, show great difference of character; and what is of more importance to our study, these variations occur even though all the members of a family have been brought up in the same way.

It is with heredity as with certain chemical combinations arranged in kindred categories because of similarity of structure and composition, although one is noxious, the other beneficial, one poisonous, the other neutral. Even in twins joined together—there are several cases in the annals of medicine—in those also which I studied together with Professor Fubini, who are connected at the lower part of the trunk and have only two legs together, and who must certainly have always lived under the same conditions, there are yet profound differences of character.

We must therefore distinguish between the hereditary and the personal character, the characteristics of the family and those of the individual.

IV

The greater the advance of science, the greater should be the authority of the physician in education. All pedagogic systems deviating from natural means lead us into error and into morbid conditions of mind and body. Education should be conducted according to the laws of life, the needs of the organism, and the material interests of society.

The study of all that relates to the development of the intellectual faculties, the cure of aberrations of instinct and moral defects caused by the turbulence of the passions are problems so closely connected with phenomena of the physical order, that the physiologist and the physician should devote their attention to them as to a biological fact, as to the cure of a disease.

Unhappily, even considered from this point, the problem of education presents most serious difficulties. Some passions are incurable; others the body cannot resist, but wastes rapidly away under them, as under the fatal sway of a galloping consumption. The will does not suffice, for itself is only the result of the vitality of the organism, and of the greater or lesser resistance of which the nervous system feels itself capable.

The succession of causes and effects often forms an indissoluble circle which man cannot break with the simple force of his will. Weakness produces fear, and fear produces weakness. Here is a fatal revolution in the functions of the organism. Of what use are the arbitrary and imaginary distinctions philosophers have made in the functions of the mind, when they cannot be separated from those of the body? There are in life fatal cliffs, currents which we cannot stem, and which carry us to inevitable destruction.

Weakness increases excitability, excitability foments lasciviousness, and lasciviousness in its turn begets weakness. Here the functions of the organism are like a gaping whirlpool, like an avalanche moving onwards and dragging us to the fatal precipice, does a foot but slip on the path of life.

We now see that in our body some mechanism is lacking which would act as a curb to save us when we fall. It is one of the greatest imperfections of our nature that at every false step we may be thrown down and crushed, as though in the wheels of a machine. We may compare ourselves to those poor wretches who intoxicate themselves with opium or alcohol, and who, at last, cannot stop themselves on their downward path of intemperance, because if they cease drinking, opium-smoking, or opium-eating, there is an immediate aggravation of the morbid phenomena and tremor with which they are afflicted.

The primary cause of their disease now assuages the disease itself; it is a remedy which soothes them and slowly kills them.

Physiology is still too imperfect to make intelligible to us the intricate network of causes which impel man to act in one way rather than in another. Our eye cannot discern many important factors in human actions which, perhaps, will become evident to future generations. Chronicles, annals, biographies offer insufficient data and details too imperfectly known. I do not know when it will be possible to others to penetrate, as Taine did, far into the history of nations, to discover the biological laws governing the rise and fall of the greatness of a people. I only know that I am saddened and perplexed at the unhappy thought that, as the brain of the human race grows more perfect, the more sensitive and excitable will it become, the more will emotional desires wax within it.

V

Courage springs from three sources: nature, education, and conviction. Each of these may so preponderate as to compensate for the deficiency of the others. It is useless to say to a man, 'You must be courageous,’ in order to make him so. Every day we see that the example of parents, education, admonitions, do not suffice to implant virtue in the children. There is a vital element in education which must be prepared long before, like the soil and the seed before the harvest; parents must bequeath to their children the inheritance of a constitution, robust and full of courage.

Fear attacks and nullifies every effort of the will in such a manner that it has always been esteemed a deed of heroism to combat and subdue it utterly. Alexander of Macedonia offered up sacrifices to Fear before he went to battle, and Tullus Hostilius erected temples and consecrated priests to it. In the museum of Turin there are two Roman medals, one of which bears the impression of a terrified woman, the other the head of a man with hair on end and frightened, staring eyes. They were struck by the consuls of the family of the Hostilii in remembrance of the vows made to propitiate Fear, which threatened to invade the ranks of the soldiers, who thereupon were led to victory.

The consciousness of strength makes us stronger. The history of medicine is full of the marvellous effects of confidence. If we were to cite all the examples of hysterical women, nervous, melancholy, paralytic men who, on the simple word of a physician, through faith in the efficacy of some remedy, have taken courage and recovered, we should see that every day wonders and miracles worthy of the saints are performed.

Neither may we say that it is all the effect of imagination, of fancy, because the modification of the circulation in the brain of one who resolutely determines to overcome a difficulty produces such an increase of energy in the nerve-centres and in the tension of the muscles that we sometimes see deeds performed by the pusillanimous such as were never expected of them, however strong and robust they may be physically.

We have seen that of itself the brain can originate nothing; at the most it seems to us free to choose amongst the various things presented to it. But, however heavily liberty may be fettered, it is yet beyond doubt that we may give a certain direction to our mind, and the aim of education must be to keep the attention continually fixed on those things which can strengthen the character.

In his celebrated book on the 'Passions of the Soul,’ Descartes says,[40] 'Pour exerciter en soi la hardiesse, et Ôter la peur, il ne suffit pas d’en avoir la volontÉ, mais il faut s’appliquer À considÉrer les raisons, les objets ou les exemples qui persuadent que le pÉril n’est pas grand; qu’il y a toujours plus de sÛretÉ en la dÉfense qu’en la fuite; qu’on aura de la gloire et de la joie d’avoir vaincu, au lieu qu’on ne peut attendre que du regret et de la honte d’avoir fui, et choses semblables.'

VI.

What is most difficult in education is persistence; what is most efficacious is example. Severity is useless, perseverance it is which wins the day; there is nothing more harmful and fatal than inconstancy of purpose.

The paramount object of education should be to increase the strength of man, and to foster in him everything which conduces to life. Children whom parents teach to attribute too much importance to every little pain are thus predisposed to hypochondria. Sadness is a languor of the body, and we know by long experience that the melancholy and the timid oppose less resistance to diseases than others.[41]

In women one minute of intense fear produces far more frightful effects, and inflicts far more serious injuries, than in men, but the fault is ours, who have always considered the weakness of women a charm and an attraction; it is the fault of our erroneous system of education, which only seeks to develop the affections of the woman, neglecting what would be more efficacious—the creation of a strong character. We sometimes imagine that the most important branch of culture is that which we attain through education and study, that the progress of humanity is wholly represented by science, literature, works of art which are handed down from one generation to another; but in ourselves, our blood, there is a no less important factor. Civilisation has remoulded our nerve-centres; there is a culture which heredity transmits to the brain of our children; the supremacy of present generations depends upon the greater power in thinking, the greater skill in acting. The future and the power of a nation do not lie solely in its commerce, its science, or its army, but in the hearts of its citizens, the wombs of its mothers, the courage or cowardice of its sons.

Let us remember that fear is a disease to be cured; the brave man may fail sometimes, but the coward fails always.

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