Applied Psychology for Nurses | Page 3

has taken its place with other sciences.
It must be admitted that no psychologist is willing to stop with the known and proved, but, when he has presented that, dips into the fascinations of the yet unknown, and works with promising theory, which tomorrow may prove to be science also. But we will first find what they have verified, and make that the safe foundation for our own understanding of ourselves and others.
What do we mean by "mental life"?--or, we might say, the science of the life of the mind. And what is mind?
But let us start our quest by asking first what reasons we have for being sure mind exists. We find the proof of it in consciousness, although we shall learn later that the activities of the mind may at times be unconscious. So where consciousness is, we know there is mind; but where consciousness is not, we must find whether it has been, and is only temporarily withdrawn, before we say "Mind is not here." And consciousness we might call awareness, or our personal recognition of being--awareness of me, and thee, and it. So we recognize mind by its evidences of awareness, i. e., by the body's reaction to stimuli; and we find mind at the very dawn of animal life.
Consciousness is evidenced in the protozo?n, the simplest form in which animal life is known to exist, by what we call its response to stimuli. The protozo?n has a limited power of self-movement, and will accept or reject certain environments. But while we see that mind expresses itself in consciousness as vague, as dubious as that of the protozo?n, we find it also as clear, as definite, as far reaching as that of the statesman, the chemist, the philosopher. Hence, the "phenomena of mental life" embrace the entire realms of feeling, knowing, willing--not of man alone, but of all creatures.
In our study, however, we shall limit ourselves to the psychology of the human mind, since that concerns us vitally as nurses. Animal psychology, race psychology, comparative psychology are not within the realm of our practical needs in hospital life. We would know the workings of man's mind in disease and health. What are the instinctive responses to fear, as shown by babies and children and primitive races? What are the normal expressions of joy, of anger, or desire? What external conditions call forth these evidences? What are the acquired responses to the things which originally caused fear, or joy, or anger? How do grown-ups differ in their reactions to the same stimuli? Why do they differ? Why does one man walk firmly, with stern, set face, to meet danger? Why does another quake and run? Why does a third man approach it with a swagger, face it with a confident, reckless smile of defiance?
All these are legitimate questions for the psychologist. He will approach the study of man's mind by finding how his body acts--that is, by watching the phenomena of mental life--under various conditions; then he will seek for the "why" of the action. For we can only conclude what is in the mind of another by interpreting his expression of his thinking and feeling. We cannot see within his mind. But experience with ourselves and others has taught us that certain attitudes of body, certain shades of countenance, certain gestures, tones of voice, spontaneous or willed actions, represent anger or joy, impatience or irritability, stern control or poise of mind. We realize that the average man has learned to conceal his mental reactions from the casual observer at will. But if we see him at an unguarded moment, we can very often get a fair idea of his mental attitude. Through these outward expressions we are able to judge to some extent of the phenomena of his mental life. But let us list them from our own minds as they occur to us this work-a-day moment, then, later on, find what elements go to make up the present consciousness.
As I turn my thoughts inward at this instant I am aware of these mental impressions passing in review:
You nurses for whom I am writing.
The hospitals you represent.
What you already know or do not know along these lines.
A child calling on the street some distance away.
A brilliant sunshine bringing out the sheen of the green grass.
The unmelodious call of a flicker in the pine-tree, and a towhee singing in the distance.
A whistling wind bending the pines.
A desire to throw work aside and go for a long tramp.
A patient moving about overhead (she is supposed to be out for her walk, and I'm wondering why she is not).
The face and voice of an old friend whom I was just now called from my work to see.
The plan and details of my writing.
The face and gestures of my old psychology