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At the First Race Betterment Conference held at Battle Creek, Mich., many methods were suggested by which it was believed that the people of America might be made, on the average, healthier, happier, and more efficient. One afternoon the discussion turned to the children of the slums. Their condition was pictured in dark colors. A number of eugenists remarked that they were in many cases handicapped by a poor heredity. Then Jacob Riis—a man for whom every American must feel a profound admiration—strode upon the platform, filled with indignation.

"We have heard friends here talk about heredity," he exclaimed. "The word has rung in my ears until I am sick of it. Heredity! Heredity! There is just one heredity in all the world that is ours—we are children of God, and there is nothing in the whole big world that we cannot do in His service with it."

It is probably not beyond the truth to say that in this statement Jacob Riis voiced the opinion of a majority of the social workers of this country, and likewise a majority of the people who are faithfully and with much self-sacrifice supporting charities, uplift movements, reform legislation, and philanthropic attempts at social betterment in many directions. They suppose that they are at the same time making the race better by making the conditions better in which people live.

It is widely supposed that, although nature may have distributed some handicaps at birth, they can be removed if the body is properly warmed and fed and the mind properly exercised. It is further widely supposed that this improvement in the condition of the individual will result in his production of better infants, and that thus the race, gaining a little momentum in each generation, will gradually move on toward ultimate perfection.

There is no lack of efforts to improve the race, by this method of direct change of the environment. It involves two assumptions, which are sometimes made explicitly, sometimes merely taken for granted. These are:

1. That changes in a man's surroundings, or, to use the more technical biological term, in his nurture, will change the nature that he has inherited.

2. That such changes will further be transmitted to his children.

Any one who proposes methods of race betterment, as we do in the present book, must meet these two popular beliefs. We shall therefore examine the first of them in this chapter, and the second in Chapter II.

Galton adopted and popularized Shakespere's antithesis of nature and nurture to describe a man's inheritance and his surroundings, the two terms including everything that can pertain to a human being. The words are not wholly suitable, particularly since nature has two distinct meanings—human nature and external nature. The first is the only one considered by Galton. Further, nurture is capable of subdivision into those environmental influences which do not undergo much change—e.g., soil and climate—and those forces of civilization and education which might better be described as culture. The evolutionist has really to deal with the three factors of germ-plasm, physical surroundings and culture. But Galton's phrase is so widely current that we shall continue to use it, with the implications that have just been outlined.

The antithesis of nature and nurture is not a new one; it was met long ago by biologists and settled by them to their own satisfaction. The whole body of experimental and observational evidence in biology tends to show that the characters which the individual inherits from his ancestors remain remarkably constant in all ordinary conditions to which they may be subjected. Their constancy is roughly proportionate to the place of the animal in the scale of evolution; lower forms are more easily changed by outside influence, but as one ascends to the higher forms, which are more differentiated, it is found more and more difficult to effect any change in them. Their characters are more definitely fixed at birth.[1]

It is with the highest of all forms, Man, that we have now to deal. The student in biology is not likely to doubt that the differences in men are due much more to inherited nature than to any influences brought to bear after birth, even though these latter influences include such powerful ones as nutrition and education within ordinary limits.

But the biological evidence does not lend itself readily to summary treatment, and we shall therefore examine the question by statistical methods.[2] These have the further advantage of being more easily understood; for facts which can be measured and expressed in numbers are facts whose import the reader can usually decide for himself: he is perfectly able to determine, without any special training, whether twice two does or does not make four. One further preliminary remark: the problem of nature vs. nurture can not be solved in general terms; a moment's thought will show that it can be understood only by examining one trait at a time. The problem is to decide whether the differences between the people met in everyday life are due more to inheritance or to outside influences, and these differences must naturally be examined separately; they can not be lumped together.

To ask whether nature in general contributes more to a man than nurture is futile; but it is not at all futile to ask whether the differences in a given human trait are more affected by differences in nature than by differences in nurture. It is easy to see that a verdict may be sometimes given to one side, sometimes to the other. Albinism in animals, for instance, is a trait which is known to be inherited, and which is very slightly affected by differences of climate, food supply, etc. On the other hand, there are factors which, although having inherited bases, owe their expression almost wholly to outside influences. Professor Morgan, for example, has found a strain of fruit flies whose offspring in cold weather are usually born with supernumerary legs. In hot weather they are practically normal. If this strain were bred only in the tropics, the abnormality would probably not be noticed; on the other hand, if it were bred only in cold regions, it would be set down as one characterized by duplication of limbs. The heredity factor would be the same in each case, the difference in appearance being due merely to temperature.

Mere inspection does not always tell whether some feature of an individual is more affected by changes in heredity or changes in surroundings. On seeing a swarthy man, one may suppose that he comes of a swarthy race, or that he is a fair-skinned man who has lived long in the desert. In the one case the swarthiness would be inheritable, in the other not. Which explanation is correct, can only be told by examining a number of such individuals under critical conditions, or by an examination of the ancestry. A man from a dark-skinned race would become little darker by living under the desert sun, while a white man would take on a good deal of tan.

The limited effect of nurture in changing nature is in some fields a matter of common observation. The man who works in the gymnasium knows that exercise increases the strength of a given group of muscles for a while, but not indefinitely. There comes a time when the limit of a man's hereditary potentiality is reached, and no amount of exercise will add another millimeter to the circumference of his arm. Similarly the handball or tennis player some day reaches his highest point, as do runners or race horses. A trainer could bring Arthur Duffy in a few years to the point of running a hundred yards in 9–⅗ seconds, but no amount of training after that could clip off another fifth of a second. A parallel case is found in the students who take a college examination. Half a dozen of them may have devoted the same amount of time to it—may have crammed to the limit—but they will still receive widely different marks. These commonplace cases show that nurture has seemingly some power to mold the individual, by giving his inborn possibilities a chance to express themselves, but that nature says the first and last word. Francis Galton, the father of eugenics, hit on an ingenious and more convincing illustration by studying the history of twins.[3]

There are, everyday observation shows, two kinds of twins—ordinary twins and the so-called identical twins. Ordinary twins are merely brothers, or sisters, or brother and sister, who happen to be born two at a time, because two ova have developed simultaneously. The fact that they were born at the same time does not make them alike—they differ quite as widely from each other as ordinary brothers and sisters do. Identical twins have their origin in a different phenomenon—they are believed to be halves of the same egg-cell, in which two growing-points appeared at a very early embryonic stage, each of these developing into a separate individual. As would be expected, these identical twins are always of the same sex, and extremely like each other, so that sometimes their own mother can not tell them apart. This likeness extends to all sorts of traits:—they have lost their milk teeth on the same day in one case, they even fell ill on the same day with the same disease, even though they were in different cities.

Now Galton reasoned that if environment really changes the inborn character, then these identical twins, who start life as halves of the same whole, ought to become more unlike if they were brought up apart; and as they grew older and moved into different spheres of activity, they ought to become measurably dissimilar. On the other hand, ordinary twins, who start dissimilar, ought to become more alike when brought up in the same family, on the same diet, among the same friends, with the same education. If the course of years shows that identical twins remain as like as ever and ordinary twins as unlike as ever, regardless of changes in conditions, then environment will have failed to demonstrate that it has any great power to modify one's inborn nature in these traits.

With this view, Galton collected the history of eighty pairs of identical twins, thirty-five cases being accompanied by very full details, which showed that the twins were really as nearly identical, in childhood, as one could expect to find. On this point, Galton's inquiries were careful, and the replies satisfactory. They are not, however, as he remarks, much varied in character. "When the twins are children, they are usually distinguished by ribbons tied around the wrist or neck; nevertheless the one is sometimes fed, physicked, and whipped by mistake for the other, and the description of these little domestic catastrophes was usually given by the mother, in a phraseology, that is sometimes touching by reason of its seriousness. I have one case in which a doubt remains whether the children were not changed in their bath, and the presumed A is not really B, and vice versa. In another case, an artist was engaged on the portraits of twins who were between three and four years of age; he had to lay aside his work for three weeks, and, on resuming it, could not tell to which child the respective likeness he had in hand belonged. The mistakes become less numerous on the part of the mother during the boyhood and girlhood of the twins, but are almost as frequent as before on the part of strangers. I have many instances of tutors being unable to distinguish their twin pupils. Two girls used regularly to impose on their music teacher when one of them wanted a whole holiday; they had their lessons at separate hours, and the one girl sacrificed herself to receive two lessons on the same day, while the other one enjoyed herself from morning to evening. Here is a brief and comprehensive account: 'Exactly alike in all, their schoolmasters could never tell them apart; at dancing parties they constantly changed partners without discovery; their close resemblance is scarcely diminished by age."

FOUR BABY GIRLS AT ONCE