are "communal" nest-builders. They build colonies of nests, close
together. Imagine twenty-five or more Baltimore orioles massing
their nests together on one side of a single tree, in a genuine
village. That is the habit of some of the weaver birds;--and this
brings us to what is called the most wonderful of all
manifestations of house-building intelligence among birds. It is
the community house of the little sociable weaver-bird of South
Africa (_Philetoerus socius_). Having missed seeing the work
of this species save in museums, I will quote from the Royal
Natural History, written by the late Dr. Richard Lydekker, an
excellent description: --This species congregates in large flocks,
many pairs incubating their eggs under the same roof, which is
composed of cartloads of grass piled on a branch of some camel-
thorn tree in one enormous mass of an irregular umbrella shape,
looking like a miniature haystack and almost solid, but with the
under surface (which is nearly flat) honeycombed all over with
little cavities, which serve not only as places for incubation,
but also as a refuge against rain and wind.
"They are constantly being repaired by their active little
inhabitants. It is curious that even the initiated eye is
constantly being deceived by these dome-topped structures, since
at a distance they closely resemble native huts. The nesting-
chambers themselves are warmly lined with feathers."
Here must we abruptly end our exhibits of the intelligence of a
few humble little birds as fairly representative of the wonderful
mental ability and mechanical skill so common in the ranks of the
birds of the world. It would be quite easy to write a volume on
The Architectural Skill of Birds!
Now, let us look for a moment into the house-building intelligence
and skill of some of the lower tribes of men. Out of the multitude
of exhibits available I will limit myself to three, widely
separated. In the first place, the habitations of the savage and
barbaric tribes are usually the direct result of their own mental
and moral deficiencies. The Eskimo is an exception, because his
home and its location are dictated by the hard and fierce
circumstances which dictate to him what he must do. Often he is
compelled to move as his food supply moves. The Cliff-Dweller
Indian of the arid regions of the Southwest was forced to cliff-
dwell, in order to stave off extermination by his enemies. Under
that spur he became a wonderful architect and engineer.
For present purposes we are concerned with three savage tribes
which might have been rich and prosperous agriculturists or
herdsmen had they developed sufficient intelligence to see the
wisdom of regular industry.
Consider first the lowest of three primitive tribes that inhabit
the extreme southern point of Patagonia, whose real estate
holdings front on the Strait of Magellan. That region is treeless,
rocky, windswept, cold and inhospitable. I can not imagine a place
better fitted for an anarchist penal colony. North of it lie
plains less rigorous, and by degrees less sterile, and finally
there are lands quite habitable by cattle-and-crop-growing men.
But those three tribes elect to stick to the worst spot in South
America. The most primitive is the tribe of "canoe Indians" of
Tierra del Fuego, which probably represents the lowest rung of the
human ladder. Beside them the cave men of 30,000 years ago were
kings and princes. Their only rivals seem to be the Poonans of
Central Borneo, who, living in a hot country, make no houses or
shelters of any kind, and have no clothing but a long strip of
bark cloth around the loins.
The Fuegians have long been known to mariners and travellers. They
inhabit a region that half the year is bleak, cold and raw, but
they make nothing save the rudest of the rude in canoes--of rough
slabs tied together and caulked _with moss,_--and rough bone-
pointed spears, bows, arrows and paddles. Their only clothing
consists of skins of the guanacos loosely hung from the neck, and
flapping over the naked and repulsive body. They make no houses,
and on shore their only shelters from the wind and snow and
chilling rains are rabbit-like forms of brush, broken off by hand.
These people are lower in the scale of intelligence than any wild
animal species known to me; for they are mentally too dull and low
to maintain themselves on a continuing basis. Their hundred years
of contact with man has taught them little; and numerically they
are decreasing so rapidly that the world will soon see the
absolute finish of the tribe.
In the best of the three tribes, the Tchuelclus, the birth rate is
so low that within recent times the tribe has diminished from
about 5,000 to a remnant of about 500.
Now, have those primitive creatures "immortal souls?" Are they
entitled to call chimpanzees, elephants, bears and dogs "lower
animals?" Do they "think," or "reason," any more than the animals
I have named?
It is a far cry from the highest to the lowest of the human race;
and we hold that the highest animals intellectually are higher
than the lowest men.
Now go with me for a moment to the lofty and dense tropical forest
in the heart of the Territory of Selangor, in the Malay Peninsula.
That forest is the home of the wild elephant, rhinoceros and
sladang. And there dwells a jungle tribe called the Jackoons, some
members of which I met at their family home, and observed
literally in their own ancestral tree. Their house was not wholly
bad, but it might have been 100 per cent better. It was merely a
platform of small poles, placed like a glorified bird's nest in
the spreading forks of a many-branched tree, about twenty feet
from the ground. The main supports were bark-lashed to the large
branches of the family tree. Over this there was a rude roof of
long grass, which had a fairly intelligent slope. As a shelter
from rain, the Jackoon house left much to be desired. The scanty
loin cloths of the habitants knew no such thing as wash-day or
line. With all its drawbacks, however, this habitation was far
more adequate to the needs of its builders than the cold brush
rabbit-forms of the Patagonian canoe Indians.
We now come to a tribe which has reduced the problem of housing
and home life to its lowest common denominator. The Poonans of
Central Borneo, discovered and described by Carl Bock, build _no
houses of any kind,_ not even huts of green branches; and their
only overture toward the promotion of personal comfort in the home
is a five-foot grass mat spread upon the sodden earth, to lie upon
when at rest. And this, in a country where in the so-called "dry
season" it rains half the time, and in the "wet season" all the
time.
The Poonans have rudely-made spears for taking the wild pig, deer
and smaller game, their clothes consist of bark cloth, around the
loins only. They know no such thing as agriculture, and they live
off the jungle.
It was said some years ago that a similarly primitive jungle tribe
of Ceylon, known as the Veddahs, could count no more than five,
that they could not comprehend "day after to-morrow," and that
their vocabulary was limited to about 200 words.
It is very probable that the language of the Poonans and the
Jackoons is equally limited. And what are we to conclude from
all the foregoing? Briefly, I should say that the architectural
skill of the orioles, the caciques and the weaver birds is greater
than that of the South Patagonia native, the Jackoon and the
Poonan. I should say that those bird homes yield to their makers
more comfort and protection, and a better birth-rate, than are
yielded by the homes of those ignorant, unambitious and
retrogressive tribes of men now living and thinking, and supposed
to be possessed of reasoning powers. If the whole truth could be
known, I believe it would be found that the stock of ideas
possessed and used by the groups of highly-endowed birds would
fully equal the ideas of such tribes of simple-minded men as those
mentioned. If caught young, those savages could be trained by
civilized men, and taught to perform many tricks, but so can
chimpanzees and elephants.
Curiously enough, it is a common thing for even the higher types
of civilized men to make in home-building just as serious mistakes
as are made by wild animals and savages. For example, among the
men of our time it is a common mistake to build in the wrong
place, to build entirely too large or too ugly, and to build a
Colossal Burden instead of a real Home. From many a palace there
stands forth the perpetual question: "_Why_ did he do it?"
Any reader who at any time inclines toward an opinion that the
author is unduly severe on the mentality of the human race, even
as it exists today in the United States, is urged to read in the
_Scientific Monthly_ for January, 1922, an article by
Professor L. M. Tennan entitled "Adventures in Stupidity.--A
Partial Analysis of the Intellectual Inferiority of a College
Student." He should particularly note the percentages on page 34
in the second paragraph under the subtitle "The Psychology of
Stupidity."
VIII
THE MENTAL STATUS OF THE ORANG-UTAN
My first ownership of a live orang-utan began in 1878, in the
middle of the Simujan River, Borneo, where for four Spanish
dollars I became the proud possessor of a three-year old male. No
sooner was the struggling animal deposited in the bottom of my own
boat than it savagely seized the calf of my devoted leg and
endeavored to bite therefrom a generous cross section. My leggings
and my leech stockings saved my life. That implacable little beast
never gave up; and two days later it died,--apparently to spite
me.
My next orang was a complete reverse of No. 1. He liked not the
Dyaks who brought him to me, but in the first moment of our
acquaintance he adopted me as his foster-father, and loved me like
a son. Throughout four months of jungle vicissitudes he stuck to
me. He was a high-class orang,--and be it known that many orangs
are thin-headed scrubs, who never amount to anything. His skull
was wide, his face was broad, and he had a dome of thought like a
statesman. He had a fine mind, and I am sure I could have taught
him everything that any ape could learn.
During the four months that he lived with me I taught him, almost
without effort, many things that were necessary in our daily life.
Even the Dyaks recognized the fact that the "Old Man" was an orang
(or "mias") of superior mind, and some of them traveled far to see
him. Unfortunately the exigencies of travel and work compelled me
to present him to an admiring friend in India. Mr. Andrew Carnegie
and his then partner, Mr. J. W. Vandevorst, convoyed my Old Man
and another small orang from Singapore to Colombo, Ceylon, whence
they were shipped on to Madras, received there by my old friend A.
G. R. Theobald,--and presented at the court of the Duke of
Buckingham.
Up to a comparatively recent date, the studies of the
psychologists that have been devoted to the minds of animals below
man, have been chiefly concerned with low and common types.
Comparatively few investigators have found it possible to make
extensive and prolonged observations of the most intelligent wild
animals of the world, even in zoological gardens, and their
observations on wild animals in a state of nature seem to have
been even more circumscribed. I know only three who have studied
any of the great apes.
In attempting to fathom the mental capacity and the mental
processes of some of the highest mammals, there is the same
superior degree of interest attaching to the study of wild species
that the ethnologist finds in the study of savage races of men
that have been unspoiled by civilization. Obviously, it is more
interesting to fathom the mind of a creature in an absolute state
of nature than of one whose ancestors have been bred and reared in
the trammels of domestication and for many successive generations
have bowed to the will of man. The natural fury of the Atlantic
walrus, when attacked, is much more interesting as a psychologic
study than is the inbred rage of the bull-dog; and the remarkable
defensive tactics of the musk-ox far surpass in interest the
vagaries of range cattle.
For several reasons, the great apes, and particularly the
chimpanzees and orang-utans, are the most interesting subjects for
psychologic study of all the wild-animal species with which the
writer is acquainted. Primarily this is due to the fact that
intellectually and temperamentally, as well as anatomically,
these animals stand very near to man himself, and closely resemble
him. The great apes mentioned can give visible expression to a
wide range of thoughts and emotions,
The voice of the adult orang-utan is almost absent, and only
sufficient to display on rare occasions. What little there is of
it, in animals over six years of age, is very deep and guttural,
and may best be described as a deep-bass roar. Under excitement
the orang can produce a roar by inhalation. Young orangs under two
years of age often whine, or shriek or scream with anger, like
excited human children, but with their larger growth that vocal
power seems to leave them.
Despite the difference in temperament and quickness in delivery, I
regard the measure of the orang-utan's mental capacity as being
equal to that of the chimpanzee; but the latter is, and always
will remain, the more alert and showy animal. The superior feet of
the chimpanzee in bipedal work is for that species a great
advantage, and the longer toes of the orang are a handicap.
Although the orang's sanguine temperament is far more comforting
to a trainer than the harum-scarum nervous vivacity of the
chimpanzee, the value of the former is overbalanced, on the stage,
by the superior acting of the chimp. For these reasons the
trainers generally choose the chimp for stage education.
The chimpanzee is not only nervous and quick in thought and in
action, but it is equally so _in temper._ It will play with
any good friend to almost any extent, but the moment it suspects
malicious unfairness, or what it regards as a "mean trick," it
instantly becomes angry and resentful. Once when I attempted to
take from our large black-faced chimpanzee, called Soko, a small
lump of rubber which I feared she might swallow, my efforts were
kindly but firmly thwarted. At last, when I diverted her by small
offerings of chocolate, and at the right moment sought by a
strategic movement to snatch the rubber from her, the palpable
unfairness of the attempt caused the animal instantly to fly into
a towering passion, and seek to wreak vengeance upon me. Her lips
drew far back in a savage snarl, and she denounced my perfidy by
piercing cries of rage and indignation. She also did her utmost to
seize and drag me forcibly within reach of her teeth, for the
punishment which she felt that I deserved.
A large male orang-utan named Dohong, under a similar test,
revealed a very different mental attitude. He dexterously snatched
a valuable watch-charm from a visitor who stood inside the railing
of his cage, and fled with it to the top of his balcony. As
quickly as possible I thrust my handkerchief between the bars, and
waved it vigorously, to attract him. At once the animal came down
to me, to secure another trophy, and before he realized his
position I successfully snatched the charm from him, and restored
it unharmed to its owner. Dohong seemed to regard the episode as a
good joke. Without manifesting any resentment he turned a
somersault on his straw, then climbed upon his trapeze and began
to perform, as if nothing in particular had occurred.
The orang is distinctly an animal of more serene temper and more
philosophic mind than the chimpanzee. This has led some authors
erroneously to pronounce the orang an animal of morose and
sluggish disposition, and mentally inferior to the chimpanzee.
After a close personal acquaintance with about forty captive
orangs of various sizes, I am convinced that the facts do not
warrant that conclusion. The orang-utans of the New York
Zoological Park certainly have been as cheerful in disposition, as
fond of exercise and as fertile in droll performances as our
chimpanzees. Even though the mind of the chimpanzee does act more
quickly than that of its rival, and even though its movements are
usually more rapid and more precise, the mind of the orang carries
that animal precisely as far. Moreover, in its native jungles the
orang habitually builds for itself a very comfortable nest on
which to rest and sleep, which the chimpanzee ordinarily does not
do.
I think that the exact mental status of an anthropoid ape is best
revealed by an attempt to train it to do some particular thing, in
a manner that the trainer elects. Usually about five lessons,
carefully observed, will afford a good index of the pupil's mental
capabilities. Some chimpanzees are too nervous to be taught, some
are too obstinate, and others are too impatient of restraint. Some
orang-utans are hopelessly indifferent to the business in hand,
and refuse to become interested in it. I think that no orang is
too dull to learn to sit at a table, and eat with the utensils
that are usually considered sacred to man's use, but the majority
of them care only for the food, and take no interest in the
function. On the other hand, the average chimpanzee is as restless
as a newly-caught eel, and its mind is dominated by a desire to
climb far beyond the reach of restraining hands, and to do almost
anything save that which is particularly desired.
Among the twenty or more orangs which up to 1922 have been
exhibited in the Zoological Park, two stand out with special
prominence, by reason of their unusual mental qualities. They
differed widely from each other. One was a born actor and
imitator, who loved human partnership in his daily affairs. The
other was an original thinker and reasoner, with a genius for
invention, and at all times impatient of training and restraint.
The first was named Rajah, the latter was called Dohong.
Rajah was a male orang, and about four years of age when received
by us. His high and broad forehead, large eyes and general breadth
of cranium and jaw marked him at once as belonging to the higher
caste of orangs. Dealers and experts have no difficulty in
recognizing at one glance an orang that has a good brain and good
general physique from those which are thin-headed, narrow-jawed,
weak in body and unlikely to live long.
At the Zoological Park we have tested out the orang-utan's
susceptibility to training, and proven that the task is so simple
and easy that even amateurs can accomplish much in a short time.
Desiring that several of our orangs should perform in public, we
instructed the primate keepers to proceed along certain lines and
educate them to that idea. Naturally, the performance was laid out
to match our own possibilities. In a public park, where only a
very little time can be devoted to training, we do not linger long
over an animal that is either stupid or obstinate. Those which
cannot be trained easily and quickly are promptly set aside as
ineligible.
Without any great amount of labor, and with no real difficulty,
our orangs were trained to perform the following simple acts:
1. To sit at table, and eat and drink like humans. This involved
eating sliced bananas with a fork, pouring out milk from a teapot
into a teacup, drinking out of a teacup, drinking out of a beer-
bottle, using a toothpick, striking a match, lighting a cigarette,
smoking and spitting like a man.
2. To ride a tricycle, or bicycle.
3. To put on a pair of trousers, adjust the suspenders, put on a
sweater or coat, and a cap, reversing the whole operation after
the performance.
4. To drive nails with a hammer.
5. Use a key to lock and unlock a padlock. The animal most
proficient in this became able to select the right Yale key out of
a bunch of half a dozen or more, with as much quickness and
precision as the average man displays.
The orang Dohong learned to pedal and to guide a tricycle in about
three lessons. He caught the two ideas almost instantly, and soon
brought his muscles under control sufficiently to ride
successfully, even under difficult conditions.
It was quickly recognized that our Rajah was a particularly good
subject, and with him the keepers went farther than with the four
others. From the first moment, the training operations were to him
both interesting and agreeable. The animal enjoyed the work, and
he entered into it so heartily that in two weeks he was ready to
dine in public, somewhat after the manner of human beings.
A platform eight feet in height was erected in front of the
Reptile House, and upon it were placed a table, a high chair such
as small children use, and various dishes. To the platform a step-
ladder led upward from the ground. Every day at four o'clock lusty
Rajah was carried to the exhibition space, and set free upon the
ground. Forthwith the keepers proceeded to dress him in trousers,
vest, coat and cap. The moment the last button had been fastened
and the cap placed upon his head, he would promptly walk to the
ladder, climb up to the platform, and in the most business-like
way imaginable, seat himself in his chair at the table, all ready
to dine.
He used a napkin, ate his soup with a spoon, speared and conveyed
his sliced bananas with his fork, poured milk from a teapot into
his teacup, and drank from his cup with great enjoyment and
decorum. When he took a drink (of tea) from a suspicious-looking
black bottle, the audience always laughed. When he elevated the
empty bottle to one eye and looked far into it, they roared; and
when he finally took a toothpick and gravely placed it in his
mouth, his auditors were delighted. Several times during the
progress of each meal, Rajah would pause and benignly gaze down
upon the crowd, like a self-satisfied judge on his bench.
Not once did Rajah spoil this exhibition, which was continued
throughout an entire summer, nor commit any overt act of
impatience, indifference or meanness. The flighty, nervous temper
of the chimpanzee was delightfully absent. The most remarkable
feature of it all was his very evident enjoyment of his part of
the performance, and his sense of responsibility to us and to his
audiences.
Rajah easily and quickly learned to ride a tricycle, and guide it
himself. But for his untimely death, through a remarkable invasion
of a microscopic parasite (_Balentidium coli_) imported from
the Galapagos Islands by elephant tortoises, his mind would have
been developed much farther. Since his death, in 1902, we have had
other orang-utans that were successfully taught to dine, but none
of them entered into the business with the same hearty zest which
characterized Rajah, and made his performances so interesting.
We now come to a consideration of simian mental traits of very
different character. Another male orang, named Dohong, of the
same age and intellectual caste as Rajah, developed a faculty for
mechanics and invention which not only challenged our admiration,
but also created much work for our carpenters. He discovered, or
invented, as you please, the lever as a mechanical force,--as fairly
and squarely as Archimedes discovered the principle of the screw.
Moreover, he delighted in the use of the new power thus acquired,
quite as much as the successful inventor usually does. At the same
time, two very bright chimpanzees of his own age, and with the
same opportunities, discovered nothing.
[Illustration caption: THUMB-PRINT OF AN ORANG-UTAN
A group of fourteen experts in the New York City Departement of
Criminal Records were unable to recognise this thumb print as
anything else than that of a man]
[Illustration caption: "RAJAH," THE ACTOR ORANG-UTAN
In three lessons he learned to ride a tricycle]
Dohong was of a reflective turn of mind, and never was entirely
willing to learn the things that his keepers sought to teach him.
To him, dining at a table was tiresomely dull, and the donning of
fashionable clothing was a frivolous pastime, On the other hand,
the interior of his cage, and his gymnastic appliances of ropes,
trapeze and horizontal bars, all interested him greatly. Every
square inch of surface, and every piece of material in his
apartment, was carefully investigated, many times over.