In the meantime, the families of the fifteen brothers and sisters of Deborah’s grandfather had been worked out, and the names of several living relatives back in the mountain ascertained. The time was ripe.

Appealing for a night’s lodging at the home of a retired farmer, the field worker was fortunate enough to be received. As the hostess was showing her to a room, she asked tentatively, “You have lived in B—— a long time?” “About sixty-five years,” was the pleasant reply. “So, then, you know something of most of the old families?” “There are not many old residents of B—— with whose history I am not familiar.” Then followed a few cautious questions in regard to the Kallikak family which drew forth answers that soon convinced the field worker she was on solid ground and could advance without wasting time in needless precautions. At this juncture, the supper bell rang. In the dining room the acquaintance of the host was made. When the meal was over, the couple turned their united attention to the problem put before them. “Why,” the host began, when he comprehended what was wanted, “do you know that is the worst nest you’re getting into, in the whole country? The mountains back here are full of these people; I can point out to you where every one of them lives.” Then he turned to the table and began to sketch a map of the mountain roads which must be followed next day. In the midst of this he paused, as though an idea had come to him, then he said hesitatingly, “You see, it’s really impossible for a stranger like you to find all these people. Some of them live on obscure back roads that you could hardly get at without a guide. Now, my time is of no value, and if you will permit me, I will gladly serve in that capacity myself.” Needless to say, his services were thankfully accepted, with the result that nearly two hundred persons were added to Deborah’s family chart.

This proved, however, only the beginning of the study that has been made of the family in the vicinity of B——. Numerous visits to many homes, always from the center of the genial couple’s house, have made the field worker such a well-known figure among these people, that they long ago forgot what little surprise they may have felt at her first visit. “You’re one of the family?” was frequently asked her at the beginning. “No, not really, only as I know so many of your cousins and aunts and uncles, I thought, since I was in B——, I would like to know you.” This usually sufficed, but if it did not, the field worker was able so to inundate the questioner with information about his own relatives, that before she was through, he had forgotten that anything remained unanswered. The relation once established, no further explanation was necessary. She was able to go in and out among them, study their mentality, awake their reminiscences, until finally the whole story was told.

Besides members of the family, numerous old people were here and there discovered who were able to add materially to the information otherwise obtained. One shrewd old farmer who was found tottering in from the field proved to be of especial service in determining the mental status of Martin Kallikak Jr. In introducing herself, the field worker had spoken of her interest in Revolutionary times and of having come to him because she had been told that he was well informed as to the history of the locality. “Yes,” he said, with excusable pride, as he led the way to the kitchen steps descending into the garden, “not much has happened in this place for the last seventy years in which I have not taken an active part. Do you see that tree there?” and he pointed to a fine maple that threw its luxuriant shade over the path that led to the barn. “The day my wife and I came here sixty years ago, we planted that tree. It was a little sapling then, and see what it has become!” After much more talk she cautiously put the question, “Do you remember an old man, Martin Kallikak, who lived on the mountain edge yonder?” “Do I?” he answered. “Well, I guess! Nobody’d forget him. Simple,” he went on; “not quite right here,” tapping his head, “but inoffensive and kind. All the family was that. Old Moll, simple as she was, would do anything for a neighbor. She finally died—burned to death in the chimney corner. She had come in drunk and sat down there. Whether she fell over in a fit or her clothes caught fire, nobody knows. She was burned to a crisp when they found her. That was the worst of them, they would drink. Poverty was their best friend in this respect, or they would have been drunk all the time. Old Martin could never stop as long as he had a drop. Many’s the time he’s rolled off of Billy Parson’s porch. Billy always had a barrel of cider handy. He’d just chuckle to see old Martin drink and drink until finally he’d lose his balance and over he’d go! But Horser—he was a case! I saw him once after I’d heard he was going to marry Jemima. I looked him over and said, ‘Well, if you aren’t a fine-looking specimen to think of marrying anybody!’ and he answered, ‘I guess you’re right—I aren’t much, but I guess I’ll do fer Jemima.’

“Such scandals as there were when those girls were young!” he continued. “You see, there was a fast set of young men in B—— in those days, lawyers, who didn’t care what they did. One of them got paid back, though, for Jemima wanted to put her child on the town, and they made her tell who was its father. Then he had to give something for its support, and she gave it this man’s full name. I saw him one day soon afterward and he was boiling with rage. All the comfort I gave him was to say, ‘I don’t see but what you’re getting your just deserts, for if anybody wants to play with the pot, they must expect to get blackened!’

“By the way! Do you know that old Martin had a half brother Frederick—as fine a man as the country owned—who lived about twenty miles from here? You see, Martin’s mother was a young girl in Revolutionary times when Martin’s father was a soldier. Afterwards he went back home and married a respectable woman.”

“Did you ever see the mother of old Martin?” the field worker asked. “No, she was dead before my time, but I have heard the folks talk about her. She lived in the woods not far from here. Dear me!” he went on, “it’s been so long since I’ve thought of these people that many things I forget, but it would all come back to me in time.”

Two daughters of Jemima lived in B——. A little study of Chart V, sections A and B, will place them in their relation to the rest of the family and give the chief facts of their lives. Little more need be added. One of them was early put out to service and later married a cobbler to whom she has borne many children. She is not known to have had any illegitimate offspring, but if she escaped, her daughter has made up for her deficiency in this respect. The other sister grew up in the mountain hut with her mother, and was living there when her grandfather died. Her husband and most of her children are defective, but there are two by unknown fathers who are normal. One of these, a girl of considerable ability, supports herself and mother in a decent way and is respected by her townspeople. The mother is tall, lean, angular, much resembling Jemima, except that the latter was even more masculine. Many are the living inhabitants of B—— to whom the old woman was a well-known figure, for she often came down into the town bringing berries to sell, her large feet shod with heavy boots, her skirts short, while her sharp, angular features were hidden in the depths of a huge sunbonnet. She thus formed a striking picture that could not easily be forgotten.

A third daughter of Jemima had gone to Brooklyn to live, and the question kept repeating itself, “What will she be like?” and this all the more because of the uncertainty of the parentage on the father’s side. Perhaps he was a normal man. Perhaps this will prove to be a normal woman and so break the dead monotony of this line of defectives.

In a back tenement, after passing through a narrow alley, the home of this woman was found. It was about ten o’clock in the morning. After climbing a dark and narrow stairway, one came to a landing from which a view could be had of the interior of the apartment. In one room was a frowsled young woman in tawdry rags, her hair unkempt, her face streaked with black, while on the floor two dirty, half-naked children were rolling. At the sight of a stranger, they all came forward. The field worker made her way as best she could, across heaps of junk that cluttered the room, to a chair by an open window through which a breath of outside air could be obtained. On the bureau by the window a hideous diseased cat was curled in the sunshine. The mother, Jemima’s daughter, was not at home, but the woman who had presented herself was her daughter, and these were the grandchildren. The woman’s feeble-mindedness made it possible to ask her question after question, such as could not have been put to a normal person. Her answers threw a flood of light upon the general depravity of life under such conditions. When the mother at last arrived, she proved to be of a type somewhat different from anything before encountered in this family. She appeared to be criminalistic, or at least capable of developing along that line. Unfortunately, the visit could not either be prolonged or repeated, so that no satisfactory study was made.

In the city, the individual is lost in the very immensity of the crowd that surrounds him, so that his individual actions, except such as he himself chooses to reveal or can be made to reveal, are lost to the people about him; therefore there was little hope of obtaining much side light on the problem here presented. During the short interview the older woman showed unmistakable signs of wanting to appear respectable in the midst of her depravity, something quite characteristic of the high-grade moron type in the family. She was friendly and distinctly more intelligent than her daughter, but there was little more will power or ability to cope with the problems of life. One of her daughters had disappeared off the face of the earth a few years before—there had been a baby—that was all they knew. She was working at Coney Island. One day she came home and, when she left the next morning, it was the last they ever saw of her. A brother of the girl had also disappeared in much the same way.

The field worker left the tenement with the positive assurance that environment without strict personal supervision made little difference when it was a question of the feeble-minded.

Owing to the courtesy of the County Superintendent and the intelligent coöperation of the teachers, it was possible to apply the Binet tests to all the descendants of Martin Kallikak who could be found in the schools. The request for this had been made in a way to give no clew to the particular purpose underlying the search. By selecting from every class one or two bright pupils to take the tests along with the dull ones, all personal element was eliminated. As children everywhere are found to delight in the tests, only those who were not called out were disappointed.

A morning was spent in a schoolhouse situated on the top of a bold, rocky ledge that went by the picturesque name of Hard Scrabble. It was within a quarter of a mile of the ruins of Martin Kallikak’s hut, and a number of his descendants were enrolled among its pupils.

One of the grandsons of “Old Sal” lived on a farm near Cedarhill, several miles farther up the ridge. This man, Guss Saunders by name, had been reported to be the father of a large family. Nothing, however, had been learned of him beyond the facts stated, and therefore the inference was that he had turned out better than the rest of his brothers. It had been to determine this matter that the long ride was undertaken.

Arrived at the farm, the question of the mentality of this family was quickly answered. Desolation and ruin became more apparent at every step. The front of the large farmhouse was quite deserted, but following a few tracks the back door was reached. Such an unwonted spectacle as a visitor attracted instant attention. The door opened, revealing a sight to which, alas, the field worker was only too accustomed. She gazed aghast at what appeared to her to be a procession of imbeciles. The tall, emaciated, staggering man at the head braced himself against a tree, while the rest stopped and stood with a fixed, stupid stare. Quickly regaining control, the field worker said pleasantly, “Good afternoon, Mr. Saunders. I hope you don’t mind my intruding on you this way, but you see I am looking up the children of the neighborhood, and I was sorry not to find any of yours in the Cedarhill school to-day.” He at once thought he had to do with a school inspector, and his answer bears no setting forth in print. It was an incoherent, disjointed, explosive protest against school laws in general and fate in particular. It was mixed up with convulsive sobs, while his bleared, swollen eyes brimmed over with tears. The field worker began to feel real sympathy for the man, although she knew that he was drunk and that drunkards are easily moved to tears. “Oh, I am sorry for you,” she said; “your wife then is dead, is she?” “Yes, she’s dead!” he answered with a wild gesture, “they took her right out of that room—they said they’d cure her, if I’d let her go. You can see the doctors in B——, they know all about it—they’ll tell you what they done—they took her away, and she never come back—Oh!” Stifling his sobs, he went on, “And now they say I am to send my children to school—and what can I do? Look there!” pointing to a lump of humanity, a girl who, at first glance, had thrown her imbecilic shadow over the whole group, making them all look imbecilic—“do you see that girl? She’s always fallin’ into fits, and nobody can’t do nothin’ with her.” Breaking in here, the field worker said, “But, Mr. Saunders, you ought not to have the burden and the care of that girl; she could be made so happy and comfortable in a place where they understand such cases. You ought—” The field worker could get no farther. His eyes suddenly assumed a wild, desperate look and he burst out, “No, no! They’ll never get her. They tried it once, but they didn’t get her. They took my wife away and she never came back—they’ll never get her!” A few soothing words to allay the storm she had unconsciously raised, another expression of sympathy, and the field worker drove away, pondering deeply the meaning of what had been seen and heard.

We have come to the point where we no longer leave babies or little children to die uncared for in our streets, but who has yet thought of caring intelligently for the vastly more pathetic child-man or child-woman, who through matured sex powers, which they do not understand, fill our land with its overflowing measure of misery and crime? Such thoughts as these filled the mind of the field worker on the ride home.

Arrived at B——, her first care was to obtain an interview with the doctor who had attended Guss’s wife when she died. She found him ready to explain all he could of the family which he had always known and attended. “The mother,” he said, “was a kind-hearted, simple-minded soul, who tended as best she could to the needs of her family.” The epileptic girl, he explained, had always been a great care, and the doctor himself, aided by several prominent citizens, had taken the trouble to complete all necessary arrangements for having her admitted to the epileptic colony at Skillman. The father, however, could never be made to give his consent. The mother was still quite young when she was carrying her eleventh child. Some accident happened which threatened her with a miscarriage. The doctor was summoned. He saw that it was a serious case and sent for two other physicians in consultation. It was decided that an immediate operation was necessary, if the woman’s life was to be saved. They succeeded in persuading Guss to allow her to be removed to the hospital. Their efforts, however, were unavailing; she died under the operation.

On the outskirts of B—— lived the owner of the Cedarhill farm worked by Guss Saunders. He proved to be an intelligent man, with an admirably appointed home. He was keenly alive to the needs of the family, about which the field worker came to inquire. “The pity about Guss,” he began, “is that he can never let drink alone. Why, do you know, if I paid that man wages, he’d use every cent for rum. I ceased giving him money long ago, for if I had, the town would have had to look after his children. I give him credit at the store, and they supply him with what he needs.”

The foregoing glimpses of the defective branch of the Kallikak family must suffice, though the field worker’s memory and notebook contain many similar instances.

In turning to describe the other branch of the family, two difficulties confront the writer.

First, the question of identification. The persons already described are either gone and have left nothing behind them by which they can be identified, or, if living, will never recognize themselves in this book.

The opposite is true of the good family. Some of them will recognize themselves, but the public must not discover them. To insure this, the writer must refrain from telling the very facts that would give the story its most interesting touches.

The second difficulty is that a description of the activity of a normal family of respectability and usefulness is never as interesting as the bizarre experiences of the abnormal.

Hence the reader will find in the following sketches only such facts as will show the thoroughly normal and regular family life of the intelligent citizens of a commonwealth.

In a certain village of New Jersey, lying picturesquely on the crest of a hill, is a graveyard where Martin Kallikak Sr. and several of his immediate descendants lie peacefully at rest. He had in his lifetime a great passion for the accumulation of land and left large farms to most of his children. These farms lie in the vicinity of the aforesaid village. Some of them are still in the possession of his descendants, while others have passed into strangers’ hands. On the hill above this village is a stucco farmhouse in a fine state of preservation. It belonged to Amos—lineal descendant of one of the colonial governors of New Jersey and to Elizabeth, daughter of Martin Kallikak Sr. The farm is, at present, in the possession of the widow of Elizabeth’s grandson, the latter having been a minister in New York City. In renting the farm, the family has always retained a wing of the house, which, although remodeled, still presents much the same appearance as in the days of Amos and Elizabeth. There is the same fireplace, the same high-backed chairs, the clock, desk, and china cupboard. Every summer the family has come back to the old place to enjoy the country air, the luscious grapes and other fruit planted by their ancestor.

On another hill, less than two miles distant, lives a granddaughter of the same Amos and Elizabeth. Her father had been, in his day, one of the wealthiest and most prominent citizens of the community. In an old desk, part of his inheritance from his mother, was found a number of valuable papers belonging to the Kallikak family. One of these is the famous deed of the original purchase made in 17— by Casper Kallikak, signed by the governor of the colony. These papers the daughter guards with great pride. She is a woman of ability and manages her large farm with admirable skill. The splendid old homestead, which has been remodeled and fitted up with all modern conveniences, was built by her mother’s ancestor. Although she is deeply interested in all family matters, she has been too much engrossed in business affairs to have given this subject much attention. A daughter of hers, however, who has inherited the taste, has been able to make up for her mother’s lack in this respect. The young woman is now married, and her oldest son bears the united name of his two ancestors, the colonial governor and Martin Kallikak.

Miriam, the oldest daughter of Martin Sr., married a man who was a carpenter and a farmer. Although of good family, yet, for some unknown reason, he was not personally acceptable to Martin or his wife. Miriam died when only thirty-six years old, and her husband married again. In his will, Martin makes no mention of his grandchildren by this daughter. They have been respectable farming people, but have never held the same social position as the other members of the family.

Martin’s third daughter, Susan, married a man descended from a family conspicuous in the colonial history of New Jersey and which counts among its members one of the founders of Princeton University, while a collateral branch furnished a signer to the Declaration of Independence. One of Susan’s sons is still living, having attained the advanced age of ninety-eight. He is a resident of the town that bears his family name and has always been conspicuous as a loyal and upright citizen. To-day, the old man has quite lost his mental power but retains his courteous manner and placid gentlemanly countenance.

In a central region of northern New Jersey, remote from any direct line of travel, lies a town named for one of the families connected with the earliest settlement of the colony. This family rose to distinction in many of its branches, but honors itself chiefly for having produced one of the most brilliant advocates of the cause of Independence of which New Jersey can boast. He was descended on his mother’s side from the first president of Princeton University and took his degree there before he was sixteen years of age. From this family, Martin Kallikak’s youngest son, Joseph, chose his wife. It is interesting to note that the descendants of this pair have shown a marked tendency toward professional careers. One daughter, however, married a farmer, and most of her descendants have remained fixed to the soil. Another daughter married a prominent merchant, and this line, having been fixed in the city, has produced men chiefly engaged in mercantile pursuits; but the sons, of whom there were five, all studied medicine, and although only one of these became a practicing physician, their children have carried on the family tradition in this line.

On the outskirts of another New Jersey town, in a beautiful old homestead, inherited from his mother, lives a grandson of Frederick Kallikak, oldest son of Martin. He is a courteous, scholarly man of the old school. His home is rendered particularly attractive by the presence of his southern wife and two charming daughters. In his possession are numerous articles belonging to his great-grandfather. This gentleman manifested such an intelligent interest in giving information in regard to his family that it seemed a question of honor to inform him as to the purpose of the investigation, laying bare the facts set forth in this book. He proved to be, perhaps, the one man best qualified in the entire family for entering into an analysis of its characteristics, and this he did freely, in so far as it would serve the ends of the investigation.

Another descendant of Martin Kallikak Sr., a granddaughter of his youngest child, Abbie, had been previously informed regarding the same facts. This lady is a person not only of refinement and culture but is the author of two scholarly genealogical works. She has, for years, been collecting material for a similar study of the Kallikak family. This material she generously submitted to the use of the field worker. In the end she spent an entire day in the completion and revision of the normal chart presented in this book. No praise can be too high for such disinterested self-forgetfulness in the face of an urgent public need. We owe to these two persons most of the information which has made possible the study of the normal side of this family.

Of Martin Kallikak Sr., himself, the record of many characteristic traits has been preserved. As stated in another chapter, his father died when he was a lad of fifteen. The father, in his will, after enumerating certain personal bequests to his wife, recommends the selling of the homestead farm, in order to provide for the education of his children. There is a quaint document still in existence, in which Martin Kallikak, having attained his majority, agrees to pay £250 to each of his three “spinster” sisters, still minors, in return for a quitclaim deed of the homestead farm. This was a considerable burden for a young man to assume, but it seems to have given him the impetus which later made him a rich and prosperous farmer.

He had joined the Revolutionary Army in April, 1776. Two years later he was wounded in a way to disable him for further service, and he then returned to the home farm. During the summer of enforced idleness he wooed and won the heart of a young woman of good Quaker family. Her shrewd old father, however, refused to give his consent. To his objections, based on the ground that Martin did not own enough of this world’s goods, the young man is recorded as saying, “Never mind. I will own more land than ever thou did, before I die,” which promise he made true. That the paternal objection was overruled is proven by the registry of marriages, which gives the date of Martin’s union with the Quakeress as January, 1779.

The old Bible of Casper Kallikak, one of the family heirlooms, is in the possession of a Reverend Mr. ——, who is descended from Casper through the line of one of his daughters. This Bible was bought in 1704 and is still in an excellent state of preservation, for, although time-stained, the pages are intact and there still may be seen in legible handwriting the family record penned so long ago. On a flyleaf, is a quaint verse in which old Casper bequeaths the volume to his eldest son, bidding him, “So oft as in it he doth looke” remember how his father had “aye been guided by ye precepts in this booke,” and enjoining him to walk in the same safe way.

CHAPTER V
WHAT IS TO BE DONE?

No one interested in the progress of civilization can contemplate the facts presented in the previous chapters without having the question arise, Why isn’t something done about this? It will be more to the point if we put the question, Why do we not do something about it? We are thus face to face with the problem in a practical way and we ask ourselves the next question, What can we do? For the low-grade idiot, the loathsome unfortunate that may be seen in our institutions, some have proposed the lethal chamber. But humanity is steadily tending away from the possibility of that method, and there is no probability that it will ever be practiced.

But in view of such conditions as are shown in the defective side of the Kallikak family, we begin to realize that the idiot is not our greatest problem. He is indeed loathsome; he is somewhat difficult to take care of; nevertheless, he lives his life and is done. He does not continue the race with a line of children like himself. Because of his very low-grade condition, he never becomes a parent.

It is the moron type that makes for us our great problem. And when we face the question, “What is to be done with them—with such people as make up a large proportion of the bad side of the Kallikak family?” we realize that we have a huge problem.

The career of Martin Kallikak Sr. is a powerful sermon against sowing wild oats. Martin Kallikak did what unfortunately many a young man like him has done before and since, and which, still more unfortunately, society has too often winked at, as being merely a side step in accordance with a natural instinct, bearing no serious results. It is quite possible that Martin Kallikak himself never gave any serious thought to his act, or if he did, it may have been merely to realize that in his youth he had been indiscreet and had done that for which he was sorry. And being sorry he may have thought it was atoned for, as he never suffered from it any serious consequences.

Even the people of his generation, however much they may have known about the circumstances, could not have begun to realize the evil that had been done. Undoubtedly, it was only looked upon as a sin because it was a violation of the moral law. The real sin of peopling the world with a race of defective degenerates who would probably commit his sin a thousand times over, was doubtless not perceived or realized. It is only after the lapse of six generations that we are able to look back, count up and see the havoc that was wrought by that one thoughtless act.

Now that the facts are known, let the lesson be learned; let the sermons be preached; let it be impressed upon our young men of good family that they dare not step aside for even a moment. Let all possible use be made of these facts, and something will be accomplished.

But even so the real problem will not be solved. Had Martin Kallikak remained in the paths of virtue, there still remained the nameless feeble-minded girl, and there were other people, other young men, perhaps not of as good a family as Martin, perhaps feeble-minded like herself, capable of the same act and without Martin’s respectability, so that the race would have come down even worse if possible than it was, because of having a worse father.

Others will look at the chart and say, “The difficulty began with the nameless feeble-minded girl; had she been taken care of, all of this trouble would have been avoided.” This is largely true. Although feeble-mindedness came into this family from other sources in two generations at least, yet nevertheless these sources were other feeble-minded persons. When we conclude that had the nameless girl been segregated in an institution, this defective family would not have existed, we of course do not mean that one single act of precaution, in that case, would have solved the problem, but we mean that all such cases, male and female, must be taken care of, before their propagation will cease. The instant we grasp this thought, we realize that we are facing a problem that presents two great difficulties; in the first place the difficulty of knowing who are the feeble-minded people; and, secondly, the difficulty of taking care of them when they are known.

A large proportion of those who are considered feeble-minded in this study are persons who would not be recognized as such by the untrained observer. They are not the imbeciles nor idiots who plainly show in their countenances the extent of their mental defect. They are people whom the community has tolerated and helped to support, at the same time that it has deplored their vices and their inefficiency. They are people who have won the pity rather than the blame of their neighbors, but no one has seemed to suspect the real cause of their delinquencies, which careful psychological tests have now determined to be feeble-mindedness.

The second difficulty is that of caring for this large army of people. At the lowest estimates of the number needing care, we in the United States are at present caring for approximately one tenth of the estimated number of our mental defectives. Yet many of our States think that they are now being over-taxed for the care of these people, so that it is with great difficulty that legislatures can be induced to appropriate money enough to care for those already in institutions. It is impossible to entertain the thought of caring for ten times as many. Some other method must be devised for dealing with the difficulty.

Before considering any other method, the writer would insist that segregation and colonization is not by any means as hopeless a plan as it may seem to those who look only at the immediate increase in the tax rate. If such colonies were provided in sufficient number to take care of all the distinctly feeble-minded cases in the community, they would very largely take the place of our present almshouses and prisons, and they would greatly decrease the number in our insane hospitals. Such colonies would save an annual loss in property and life, due to the action of these irresponsible people, sufficient to nearly, or quite, offset the expense of the new plant. Besides, if these feeble-minded children were early selected and carefully trained, they would become more or less self-supporting in their institutions, so that the expense of their maintenance would be greatly reduced.

In addition to this, the number would be reduced, in a single generation, from 300,000 (the estimated number in the United States) to 100,000, at least,—and probably even lower. (We have found the hereditary factor in 65 per cent of cases; while others place it as high as 80 per cent.)

This is not the place for arguing the question or producing the statistics to substantiate these statements. Suffice it to say that every institution in the land has a certain proportion of inmates who not only earn their own living, but some who could go out into the world and support themselves, were it not for the terrible danger of procreation,—resulting in our having not one person merely, but several to be cared for at the expense of the State. These statements should be carefully considered and investigated before any one takes the stand that segregation in colonies and homes is impossible and unwise for the State.

The other method proposed of solving the problem is to take away from these people the power of procreation. The earlier method proposed was unsexing, asexualization, as it is sometimes called, or the removing, from the male and female, the necessary organs for procreation. The operation in the female is that of ovariectomy and in the male of castration.

There are two great practical difficulties in the way of carrying out this method on any large scale. The first is the strong opposition to this practice on the part of the public generally. It is regarded as mutilation of the human body and as such is opposed vigorously by many people. And while there is no rational basis for this, nevertheless we have, as practical reformers, to recognize the fact that the average man acts not upon reason, but upon sentiment and feeling; and as long as human sentiment and feeling are opposed to this practice, no amount of reasoning will avail. It may be shown over and over again that many a woman has had the operation of ovariectomy performed in order to improve her physical condition, and that it is just as important to improve the moral condition as the physical. Nevertheless, the argument does not convince, and there remains the opposition as stated.

In recent years surgeons have discovered another method which has many advantages. This is also sometimes incorrectly referred to as asexualization. It is more properly spoken of as sterilization, the distinction being that it does not have any effect on the sex qualities of the man or woman, but does artificially take away the power of procreation by rendering the person sterile. The operation itself is almost as simple in males as having a tooth pulled. In females it is not much more serious. The results are generally permanent and sure. Objection is urged that we do not know the consequences of this action upon the physical, mental, and moral nature of the individual. The claim is made that it is good in all of these. But it must be confessed that we are as yet ignorant of actual facts. It has been tried in many cases; no bad results have been reported, while many good results have been claimed.

A more serious objection to this last method comes from a consideration of the social consequences. What will be the effect upon the community in the spread of debauchery and disease through having within it a group of people who are thus free to gratify their instincts without fear of consequences in the form of children? The indications are that here also the evil consequences are more imaginary than real, since the feeble-minded seldom exercise restraint in any case.

Probably the most serious difficulty to be overcome before the practice of sterilization in any form could come into general use would be the determining of what persons were proper subjects to be operated upon.[3]

This difficulty arises from the fact that we are still ignorant of the exact laws of inheritance. Just how mental characteristics are transmitted from parent to child is not yet definitely known. It therefore becomes a serious matter to decide beforehand that such and such a person who has mental defect would certainly transmit the same defect to his offspring and that consequently he ought not to be allowed to have offspring.

THE MENDELIAN LAW

In 1866 an Austrian monk by the name of Gregor Mendel discovered and published a law of inheritance in certain plants, which, after lying practically unknown for nearly forty years, was rediscovered in 1900 and since then has been tested with regard to a great many plants and animals.

Mendel found that there were certain peculiarities in plants which he termed “unit characters” that were transmitted from parent to offspring in a definite way. His classical work was on the propagation of the ordinary garden pea, in which case he found that a quality like tallness, as contrasted with dwarfness, was transmitted as follows:—

If tall and dwarf peas were crossed, he found in the first generation nothing but tall peas. But if these peas were allowed to grow and fertilize themselves, in the next generation he got tall and dwarf peas in the ratio of three to one. The dwarf peas in this case bred true, i.e. when they were planted by themselves and self-fertilized there was never anything but dwarf peas, no matter how many generations were tested. On the other hand, the tall peas were divisible by experiment into two groups; first, those that always bred true, viz. always tall peas; and secondly, another group that bred tall and dwarf in the same ratio of three to one; and from these the same cycle was repeated. Mendel called the character, which did not appear in the first generation (dwarfness), “recessive”; the other (tallness) he called “dominant.” The recessive factor is now generally considered to be due to the absence of something which, if present, would give the dominant factor. According to this view, dwarfness is simply the absence of tallness.

This law has been found to hold true for many unit characters in many plants and animals. Since study in human heredity has been taken up, it has been a natural question, Does this same law apply to human beings? It has been found that it does apply in the case of many qualities, like color of hair, albinism, brachydactylism, and other peculiarities. Investigation has of late been extended to mental conditions. Rosanoff has shown pretty clearly that the law applies in the case of insanity, while Davenport and Weeks have shown evidence that it applies in cases of epilepsy.

Our own studies lead us to believe that it also applies in the case of feeble-mindedness, but this will be taken up in a later work to which we have already referred. We do not know that feeble-mindedness is a “unit character.” Indeed, there are many reasons for thinking that it cannot be. But assuming for the sake of simplifying our illustration that it is a “unit character,” then we have something like the following conditions.

If two feeble-minded people marry, then we have the same unit character in both, and all of the offspring will be feeble-minded; and if these offspring select feeble-minded mates, then the same thing will continue. But what will happen if a feeble-minded person takes a normal mate? If feeble-mindedness is recessive (due to the absence of something that would make for normality), we would expect in the first generation from such a union all normal children, and if these children marry persons like themselves, i.e. the offspring of one normal and one defective parent, then the offspring would be normal and defective in the ratio of three to one. Of the normal children, one third would breed true and we would have a normal line of descent.

Without following the illustration further, we see already that it is questionable whether we ought to say that the original feeble-minded individual should have been sterilized because he was feeble-minded. We see that in the first generation all of his children were normal and in the next generation one fourth of them were normal and bred true. We should not forget, however, that one fourth of his grandchildren would be feeble-minded and that two other fourths had the power of begetting feeble-minded children. We must not forget, either, that these are averages, and that for the full carrying out of these figures there must be a large enough number of offspring to give the law of averages room to have full play. In other words, any marriage which, according to the Mendelian principle, would give normals and defectives in the ratio of three to one might result in only one child. That child might happen to be one of the feeble-minded ones, and so there is propagated nothing but the feeble-minded type. It is equally true that it might be the normal child, with a consequent normal line of descendants; or still again, it might be one of the intermediate ones that are capable of reproducing again the ratio of three normal to one defective, so that the chance is only one in four of such offspring starting a normal line.

Let us now turn to the facts as we have them in the Kallikak family. The only offspring from Martin Kallikak Sr. and the nameless feeble-minded girl was a son who proved to be feeble-minded. He married a normal woman and had five feeble-minded children and two normal ones. This is in accordance with Mendelian expectation; that is to say, there should have been part normal and part defective, half and half, if there had been children enough to give the law of averages a chance to assert itself. The question, then, comes right there. Should Martin Jr. have been sterilized? We would thus have saved five feeble-minded individuals and their horrible progeny, but we would also have deprived society of two normal individuals; and, as the results show, these two normals married normal people and became the first of a series of generations of normal people.

Taking this family as a whole, we have the following figures:—

There were 41 matings where both parents were feeble-minded. They had 222 feeble-minded children, with two others that were considered normal. These two are apparent exceptions to the law that two feeble-minded parents do not have anything but feeble-minded children. We may account for these two exceptions in one of several ways. Either there is a mistake in calling them normal, or a mistake in calling the parents feeble-minded; or else there was illegitimacy somewhere and these two children did not have the same father as the others of the family. Or we may turn to the Mendelian law and we discover that according to that law there might be in rare instances such a combination of circumstances that a normal child might be born from two parents that function as feeble-minded. For practical purposes it is, of course, pretty clear that it is safe to assume that two feeble-minded parents will never have anything but feeble-minded children.

Again, we find that there were eight cases where the father was feeble-minded and the mother normal, and there were ten normal children and ten defective.

There were twelve cases where the father was normal and the mother feeble-minded, with seven feeble-minded children and ten normal. Both of these are in accordance with Mendelian expectations.

We further find that in the cases where one parent was feeble-minded and the other undetermined, the children were nearly all feeble-minded, from which we might infer that the probabilities are great that the unknown parent was also feeble-minded.

We shall not go further into this matter in the present paper, but leave the detailed study of this family from the Mendelian standpoint for further consideration, when we take up the large amount of data which we have on three hundred other families. Enough is here given to show the possibility that the Mendelian law applies to human heredity. If it does, then the necessity follows of our understanding the exact mental condition of the ancestors of any person upon whom we may propose to practice sterilization.

From all of this the one caution follows. At best, sterilization is not likely to be a final solution of this problem. We may, and indeed I believe must, use it as a help, as something that will contribute toward the solution, until we can get segregation thoroughly established. But in using it, we must realize that the first necessity is the careful study of the whole subject, to the end that we may know more both about the laws of inheritance and the ultimate effect of the operation.

CONCLUSION AND RÉSUMÉ

The Kallikak family presents a natural experiment in heredity. A young man of good family becomes through two different women the ancestor of two lines of descendants,—the one characterized by thoroughly good, respectable, normal citizenship, with almost no exceptions; the other being equally characterized by mental defect in every generation. This defect was transmitted through the father in the first generation. In later generations, more defect was brought in from other families through marriage. In the last generation it was transmitted through the mother, so that we have here all combinations of transmission, which again proves the truly hereditary character of the defect.

We find on the good side of the family prominent people in all walks of life and nearly all of the 496 descendants owners of land or proprietors. On the bad side we find paupers, criminals, prostitutes, drunkards, and examples of all forms of social pest with which modern society is burdened.

From this we conclude that feeble-mindedness is largely responsible for these social sores.

Feeble-mindedness is hereditary and transmitted as surely as any other character. We cannot successfully cope with these conditions until we recognize feeble-mindedness and its hereditary nature, recognize it early, and take care of it.

In considering the question of care, segregation through colonization seems in the present state of our knowledge to be the ideal and perfectly satisfactory method. Sterilization may be accepted as a makeshift, as a help to solve this problem because the conditions have become so intolerable. But this must at present be regarded only as a makeshift and temporary, for before it can be extensively practiced, a great deal must be learned about the effects of the operation and about the laws of human inheritance.