THE MIND OF THE ANIMAL--COMPARATIVE PSYCHOLOGY.
It has already been pointed out that the animal has a very important
share of the endowment which we call mind. Only recently has he been
getting his due. He was formerly looked upon, under the teachings of a
dualistic philosophy and of a jealous humanity, as a soulless machine,
a mere automaton which was moved by the starting of certain springs to
run on until the machine ran down. There are two reasons that this
view has been given up, each possibly important enough to have
accomplished the revolution and to have given rise to Animal
Psychology.
First, there is the rise of the evolution theory, which teaches that
there is no absolute break between man and the higher animals in the
matter of mental endowment, and that what difference there is must
itself be the result of the laws of mental growth; and the second
reason is that the more adequate the science of the human mind has
become the more evident has it also become that man himself is more of
a machine than had been supposed. Man grows by certain laws; his
progress is conditioned by the environment, both physical and social,
in which he lives; his mind is a part of the natural system of things.
So with the animal. The animal fulfils, as far as he can, the same
sort of function; he has his environment, both physical and social; he
works under the same laws of growth which man also obeys; his mind
exhibits substantially the same phenomena which the human mind
exhibits in its early stages in the child. All this means that the
animal has as good right to recognition, as a mind-bearing creature,
so to speak, as the child; and if we exclude him we should also
exclude the child. Further, this also means--what is more important
for the science of psychology--that the development of the mind in its
early stages and in certain of its directions of progress is revealed
most adequately in the animals.
_Animal Instinct._--Turning to the animals, the first thing to strike
us is the remarkable series of so-called animal Instincts. Everybody
knows what animal instincts are like; it is only necessary to go to a
zoölogical garden to see them in operation on a large scale. Take the
house cat and follow her through the life of a single day, observing
her actions. She washes her face and makes her toilet in the morning
by instinct. She has her peculiar instinctive ways of catching the
mouse for breakfast. She whets her appetite by holding back her meal
possibly for an hour, in the meantime playing most cruelly with the
pitiful mouse, letting it run and catching it again, and doing this
over and over. If she has children she attends to their training in
the details of cat etiquette and custom with the utmost care, all by
instinct; and the kittens instinctively respond to her attentions. She
conducts herself during the day with remarkable cleanliness of life,
making arrangements which civilized man follows with admiration. She
shows just the right abhorrence of water for a creature that is not
able to swim. She knows just what enemies to fly from and when to turn
and fight, using with inborn dexterity her formidable claws. She
prefers nocturnal excursions and sociabilities, having eyes which
make it safe to be venturesome in the dark. She has certain vocal
expressions of her emotions, which man in vain attempts to eradicate
with all the agencies of domestication. She has special arts to
attract her mate, and he in turn is able to charm her with songs which
charm nobody else. And so on, almost _ad infinitum_.
Observe the dog, the birds of different species, the monkeys, the
hares, and you find wonderful differences of habit, each adapting the
animal differently, but with equal effectiveness, to the life which he
in particular is called upon to lead. The ants and bees are
notoriously expert in the matter of instinct. They have colonies in
which some of the latest principles of social organization seem to
find analogues: slavery, sexual regulations, division of labour,
centralization of resources, government distribution of food, capital
punishment, etc.
All this--not to stop upon details which the books on animal life give
in great abundance--has furnished grounds for speculation for
centuries, and it is only in the last generation that the outlines of
a theory of instinct have been filled in with substantial knowledge. A
rapid sketch of this theory may be drawn in the following pages.
1. In instinct in general there is a basis of inherited nervous
tendency toward the performance of just the sort of action which the
instinct exhibits. This nervous tendency shows itself independently of
learning by the individual in a great many cases, as in the instinct
of sucking by young animals, pecking for food by young fowls, the
migrating actions of adult mammals and birds, the courting movements
of many varieties of animal species. In all this we have what is
called the "perfect" instinct. To be perfect, an instinct must be
carried out successfully by the animal when his organism is ready,
without any instruction, any model to imitate, any experience to go
upon. The "perfect" instincts are entirely congenital or inborn; the
nervous apparatus only needs to reach the proper stage of maturity or
growth, and forthwith the instinctive action is performed as soon as
the external conditions of life are such as to make its performance
appropriate and useful.
2. On the other hand, many instincts--indeed, probably the greater
number--are not perfect, but "imperfect." Imperfect instincts are
those which do not fully equip the animal with the function in
question, but only take him part way to the goal. He has a spontaneous
tendency to do certain things, such as building a nest, singing, etc.;
but he is not able to do these things adequately or perfectly if left
to himself from birth. This sort of endowment with imperfect instincts
has been the field of some of the most interesting research in animal
psychology, and has led to a new view of the relation of instinct to
intelligence.
3. It has been found that young animals, birds, etc., depend upon the
example and instruction of adults for the first performance of many
actions that seem to be instinctive. This dependence may exist even in
cases in which there is yet a congenital tendency to perform the
action. Many birds, for example, have a general instinct to build a
nest; but in many cases, if put in artificial circumstances, they
build imperfect nests. Birds also have an instinct to make vocal
calls; but if kept from birth out of hearing of the peculiar notes of
their species, they come to make cries of a different sort, or learn
to make the notes of some other species with which they are thrown.
4. The principal agency for the learning of the animals, and for the
supplementing of their instincts, is Imitation. The sight of certain
movements on the part of the adult animals, or the hearing of their
cries, calls, notes, etc., leads the young to fall into an imitation
of these movements or vocal performances. The endowment which such a
young animal has in the direction of making movements and cries
similar to those of his species aids him, of course, in imitating
these in preference to others. So the endowment and the tendency to
imitate directly aid each other in all such functions, and hurry the
little creature on in his acquisition of the habits of his species. We
find young animals clinging even in their imitations pretty closely to
their own proper fathers and mothers, who are thus enabled to bring
them up _comme il faut_.
5. There is every reason to think, moreover, that the tendency to
imitate is itself instinctive. Young animals, notably the monkey and
the child, fall spontaneously to imitating when they reach a certain
age. Imitation shows itself to be instinctive in the case of the
mocking bird, the parrot, etc. Furthermore, the mechanism of this
function of imitation is now very well known. The principle of
psychology recognised above under the phrase Kinæsthetic Equivalents,
teaches us that the idea of a movement, coming into the mind through
sight or some other sense, stirs up the proper apparatus to bring
about the same movement in the observer. This we see in the common
tendency of an audience to repeat the gestures of a speaker, and in
many similar cases. When this principle is extended to include all
sorts of experiences besides those of movement, we have what is
generally called Imitation. Moreover, every time that by action the
child imitates, he perceives his own imitation, and this again acts as
a "copy" or model for another repetition of the act, and so on. This
method of keeping himself going gives the young animal or child
constant practice, and renders him more and more efficient in the acts
necessary to his life.
6. It is evident what great profit accrues from this arrangement
whereby a general instinct like imitation takes the place of a number
of special instincts, or supplements them. It gives a measure of
plasticity to the creature. He can now respond suitably to changes in
the environment in which he lives. The special instincts, on the
contrary, are for the most part so fixed that the animal must act just
as they require him to in this or that circumstance; but as soon as
his instinct takes on the form of imitation, the resulting action
tends to conform itself to the model actions of the other creatures
which set "copies" before him.
These more or less new results due to recent research in the province
of Instinct have had direct bearing upon theories of the origin of
instinct and of its place in animal life.
_Theories of Instinct._--Apart from the older view which saw in animal
instinct simply a matter of original created endowment, whereby each
animal was made once for all "after his kind," and according to which
there is no further reason that the instincts are what they are than
that they were made so; apart from this "special creation" view, two
different ideas have had currency, both based upon the theory of
evolution. Each of these views assumes that the instincts have been
developed from more simple animal actions by a gradual process; but
they differ as to the elements originally entering into the actions
which afterward became instinctive.
1. First, there is what is called the Reflex Theory. This holds that
instincts are reflex actions, like the closing of the eye when an
object threatens to enter it, only much more complex. They are due to
the compounding and adding together of simple reflexes, in greater and
greater number, and with increasing efficiency. This theory attempts
to account for instinct entirely in terms of nervous action. It goes
with that view of evolution which holds that the nervous system has
had its growth from generation to generation by the continued reflex
adjustments of the organism to its environment, whereby more and more
delicate adaptations to the external world were secured. In this way,
say the advocates of this theory, we may account for the fact that the
animal has no adequate knowledge of what he is doing when he performs
an act instinctively; he has no end or aim in his mind; he simply
feels his nervous system doing what it is fitted to do by its organic
adaptations to the stimulations of air, and earth, and sea, whatever
these may be.
But it may be asked: Why do succeeding generations improve each on its
parents, so that there is a gradual tendency to perfect the instinct?
The answer to this question brings up another great law of
biology--the principle of Variations. This principle states the common
fact that in every case of a family of offspring the individual young
vary slightly in all directions from their parents. Admitting this, we
will find in each group of families some young individuals which are
better than their parents; these will have the advantage over others
and will be the ones to grow up and have the children of the next
generation again, and so on. So by constant Variation and Natural
Selection--that is, the "Survival of the Fittest" in competition with
the rest--there will be constant improvement in the Instinct.
2. The other theory, the rival one, holds that there are some
instincts which show so plainly the marks of Reason that some degree
of intelligent adjustment to the environment must be allowed to the
animal in the acquiring of these functions. For example, we are told
that some of the muscular movements involved in the instincts--such,
for example, as the bird's nest-building--are so complex and so finely
adjusted to an end, that it is straining belief to suppose that they
could have arisen gradually by reflex adaptation alone. There is also
a further difficulty with the reflex theory which has seemed
insurmountable to many of the ablest psychologists of animal life; the
difficulty, namely, that many of the instincts require the action of a
great many muscles at the same time, so acting in "correlation" with
or support of one another that it is impossible to suppose that the
instinct has been acquired gradually. For in the very nature of these
cases we can not suppose the instinct to have ever been imperfect,
seeing that the partial instinct which would have preceded the perfect
performance for some generations would have been not only of no use to
the creature, but in many cases positively injurious. For instance,
what use to an animal to be able partly to make the movements of
swimming, or to the birds to build an inadequate nest? Such instincts
would not be usable at all. So we are told by the second theory that
the animals must have had intelligence to do these things when they
first acquired them. Yet, as is everywhere admitted, after the
instinct has been acquired by the species it is then carried out
without knowledge and intelligent design, being handed down from
generation to generation by heredity.
This seems reasonable, for we do find that actions which were at first
intelligent may be performed so frequently that we come to do them
without thinking of them; to do them from habit. So the animals, we
are told, have come to do theirs reflexly, although at first they
required intelligence. From this point of view--that although
intelligence was at first required, yet the actions have become
instinctive and lacking in intelligent direction in later
generations--this is called the theory of Lapsed Intelligence.
This theory has much to commend it. It certainly meets the objection
to the reflex theory which was stated just above--the objection that
some of the instincts could not have arisen by gradual reflex
adaptations. It also accounts for the extremely intelligent appearance
which many instincts have.
But this view in turn is liable to a criticism which has grown in
force with the progress of biological knowledge in recent years. This
criticism is based on the fact that the theory of lapsed intelligence
demands that the actions which the animals of one generation have
acquired by their intelligence should be handed down through heredity
to the next generation, and so on. It is evident that unless this be
true it does no good to the species for one generation to do things
intelligently, seeing that if the effects on the nervous system are
not transmitted to their children, then the next and later generations
will have to start exactly where their fathers did, and the actions in
question will never become ingrained in the nervous system at all.
Now, the force of this criticism is overwhelming to those who
believe--as the great majority of biologists now do[1]--that none of
the modifications or so-called "characters" acquired by the parents,
none of the effects of use or disuse of their limbs, none of the
tendencies or habits of action, in short, none of the changes wrought
in body or mind of the parents during their lifetime, are inherited by
their children. The only sorts of modification which show themselves
in subsequent generations are the deep-seated effects of disease,
poison, starvation, and other causes which concern the system as a
whole, but which show no tendency to reproduce by heredity any of the
special actions or functions which the fathers and mothers may have
learned and practised. If this difficulty could be met, the theory
that intelligence has been at work in the origination of the complex
instincts would be altogether the preferable one of the two; but if
not, then the "lapsed intelligence" view must be thrown overboard.
[Footnote 1: The matter is still under discussion, however, and I do
not mean in any way to deny the authority of those who still accept
the "inheritance of acquired characters."]
Recent discussion of evolution has brought out a point of view under
the name of Organic Selection which has a very fruitful application to
this controversy over the origin of instincts. This point of view is
one which in a measure reconciles the two theories. It claims that it
is possible for the intelligent adaptations, or any sort of
"accommodations," made by the individuals of one generation, to set
the direction of subsequent evolution, even though there be no direct
inheritance of acquired characters from father to son. It proceeds in
the case of instinct somewhat thus:
Suppose we say, with the first theory given above, that the organism
has certain reflexes which show some degree of adaptation to the
environment; then suppose we admit the point, urged by the advocates
of the lapsed intelligence theory, that the gradual improvement of
these reflexes by variations in the endowment of successive
generations would not suffice for the origin of instinct, seeing that
partial instincts would not be useful; and, further, suppose we agree
that many of the complex instincts really involved intelligent
adaptation in their acquisition. These points carefully understood,
then one new and further principle will enable us to complete a theory
which will avoid the objections to both the others. This principle is
nothing else than what we have seen already--namely, that the
intelligence supplements the partial instincts in each generation and
makes them useful in the respects in which they are inadequate, and so
keeps the young alive in successive generations as long as the
instinct is imperfect. This gives the species time gradually to
supplement its instinctive endowment, in the course of many
generations each of which uses its intelligence in the same way: time
to accumulate, by the occurrence of variations among the offspring,
the changes in the nervous system which the perfect instinct requires.
Thus as time goes on the dependence of each generation upon the aid of
intelligence is less and less, until the nervous system becomes
capable of performing the function quite alone. The result then will
be the same as if the acquisitions made by each generation had been
inherited, while in reality they have not. All that this theory
requires in addition to what is admitted by both the historical views
is that the species be kept alive long enough by the aid of its
intelligence, which supplements imperfect instincts, to give it time
to produce sufficient variations in the right direction. The instinct
then achieves its independence, and intelligent supervision of it is
no longer necessary (see Fig. 1).
[Illustration: FIG. 1,--Origin of instinct by Organic Selection: _A
n_, perfect instinct. 1, 2 ... _n_, successive generations. Solid
lines, nervous equipment in the direction of the instinct. Dotted
lines, intelligence supplementing the nervous equipment. The
intelligence is relied upon to keep the species alive until by
congenital variations the nervous equipment becomes "perfect."]
This theory is directly confirmed by the facts, already spoken of,
which show that many instincts are imperfect, but are pieced out and
made effective by the intelligent imitations and acquisitions of the
young creatures. The little chick, for example, does not know the
value of water when he sees it, as essential as water is to his life;
but he depends upon imitation of his mother's drinking, or upon the
mere accident of wetting his bill, to stimulate his partial instinct
of drinking in the peculiar fashion characteristic of fowls, by
throwing back the head. So in other functions which are peculiar to a
species and upon which their very lives depend, we find the delicate
adjustment between intelligent adaptation by conscious action and the
partially formed instincts which the creatures possess.
In the theory of Organic Selection, therefore, we seem to have a
positive solution of the question of the origin of instinct. It is
capable of a similar application in other cases where evolution has
taken certain definite directions, seemingly guided by intelligence.
It shows us that mind has had a positive place in the evolution of
organic nature.
* * * * *
_Animal Intelligence._--Coming to consider what further equipment the
animals have, we light upon the fact just spoken of when we found it
necessary to appeal in some measure to the animal's Intelligence to
supplement his instincts. What is meant by Intelligence?
This word may be used in the broad sense of denoting all use of
consciousness, or mind, considered as a thing in some way additional
to the reflexes of the nervous system. In the life of the animal, as
in that of man, wherever we find the individual doing anything with
reference to a mental picture, using knowledge or experience in any
form, then he is said to be acting intelligently.
The simplest form of intelligent action in the animal world and that
from which most of the higher forms have arisen is illustrated in the
following example: a chick will peck at a strange worm, and, finding
it unpalatable, will then in the future refuse to peck at worms of
that sort. This refusal to do a second time what has once had a
disagreeable result is intelligent. We now say that the chick "knows"
that the worm is not good to eat. The instinctive action of pecking at
all worms is replaced by a refusal to peck at certain worms. Again,
taking the reverse case, we find that the chick which did not respond
to the sight of drinking water instinctively, but had to see the
mother drink first, acted intelligently, or through a state of
consciousness, when it imitated the old hen, and afterward drank of
its own accord. It now "knows" that water is the thing to drink.
The further question which comes upon us here concerns the animal's
acquisition of the action appropriate to carry out his knowledge. How
does he learn the muscular combinations which supplement or replace
the earlier instinctive ways of acting?
This question appears very clearly when we ask about the child's
acquisition of new acts of skill. We find him constantly learning,
modifying his habits, refining his ways of doing things, becoming
possessed of quite new and complex functions, such as speech,
handwriting, etc. All these are intelligent activities; they are
learned very gradually and with much effort and pains. It is one of
the most important and interesting questions of all psychology to ask
how he manages to bring the nervous and muscular systems under greater
and greater control by his mind. How can he modify and gradually
improve his "reactions"--as we call his responses to the things and
situations about him--so as to act more and more intelligently?
The answer seems to be that he proceeds by what has been called
Experimenting. He does not simply do things because he has
intelligence,--simply that is, because he sees how to do them without
first learning how; that is the older and probably quite erroneous
view of intelligence. The mind can not move the body simply by its
fiat. No man can do that. Man, like the little animal, has to try
things and keep on trying things, in order to find out the way they
work and what their possibilities are. And each animal, man, beast, or
bird has to do it for himself. Apart from the instinctive actions
which the child does without knowing their value at all, and apart
from the equally instinctive imitative way of doing them without
aiming at learning more by the imitations, he proceeds in all cases to
make experiments. Generally his experiments work through acts of
imitation. He imitates what he sees some other creature do; or he
imitates his own instinctive actions by setting up before him in his
mind the memories of the earlier performance; or, yet again, after he
has struck a fortunate combination, he repeats that imitatively. Thus,
by the principle already spoken of, he stores up a great mass of
Kinæsthetic Equivalents, which linger in memory, and enable him to
act appropriately when the proper circumstances come in his way. He
also gets what we have called Associations established between the
acts and the pleasure or pain which they give, and so avoids the
painful and repeats the pleasurable ones.
The most fruitful field of this sort of imitative learning is in
connection with the "try-try-again" struggles of the young, especially
children. This is called Persistent Imitation. The child sees before
him some action to imitate--some complex act of manipulation with the
hand, let us say. He tries to perform it in an experimental way, using
the muscles of the hand and arm. With this he strains himself all
over, twisting his tongue, bending his body, and grimacing from head
to foot, so to speak. Thus he gets a certain way toward the correct
result, but very crudely and inexactly. Then he tries again,
proceeding now on the knowledge which the first effort gave him; and
his trial is less uncouth because he now suppresses some of the
hindering grimacing movements and retains the ones which he sees to be
most nearly correct. Again he tries, and again, persistently but
gradually reducing the blundering movements to the pattern of the
copy, and so learning to perform the act of skill.
The massive and diffused movements which he makes by wriggling and
fussing are also of direct use to him. They increase remarkably the
chances that among them all there will be some movements which will
hit the mark, and so contribute to his stock of correct Equivalents.
Dogs and monkeys learn to unlock doors, let down fence rails, and
perform relatively complex actions by experimenting; persistently
with many varied movements until the successful ones are finally
struck.
This is the type of all those acts of experimenting by which new
complex movements are acquired. In children it proceeds largely
without interference from others; the child persists of himself. He
has greater ability than the animals to see the meaning of the
completed act and to really desire to acquire it. With the animals the
acquisitions do not extend very far, on account of their limitation in
intelligent endowment; but in the training of the domestic animals and
in the education of show-animals the trainer aids them and urges them
on by making use of the associations of pleasure and pain spoken of
above. He supplements the animal's feelings of pain and pleasure with
the whip and with rewards of food, etc., so that each step of the
animal's success or failure has acute associations with pain or
pleasure. Thus the animal gradually gets a number of associations
formed, avoids the actions with which pain is associated, repeats
those which call up memories of pleasure all the way through an
extended performance in regular steps; and in the result the
performance so closely counterfeits the operations of high
intelligence--such as counting, drawing cards, etc.--that the audience
is excited to admiration.
This first glimpse of the animal's limitations when compared with man
may suggest the general question, how far the brutes go in their
intelligent endowment. The proper treatment of this much-debated point
requires certain further explanations.
In the child we find a tendency to act in certain ways toward all
objects, events, etc., which are in any respect alike. After learning
to use the hands, for example, for a certain act, the same hand
movements are afterward used for other similar acts which the child
finds it well to perform. He thus tends, as psychologists say, to
"generalize," that is, to take up certain general attitudes which will
answer for a great many details of experience. On the side of the
reception of his items of knowledge this was called Assimilation, as
will be remembered. This saves him enormous trouble and risk; for as
soon as an object or situation presents itself before him with certain
general aspects, he can at once take up the attitude appropriate to
these general aspects without waiting to learn the particular features
of the new. The ability to do this shows itself in two rather
different ways which seem respectively to characterize man on the one
hand and the lower animals on the other.
With the animals this tendency to generalize, to treat objects in
classes rather than as individuals, takes the form of a sort of
composition or direct union of brain pathways. Different experiences
are had, and then because they are alike they tend to issue in the
same channels of action. The animal is tied down strictly to his
experience; he does not anticipate to any extent what is going to
happen. He does not use one experience as a symbol and apply it
beforehand to other things and events. He is in a sense passive;
stimulations rain down upon him, and force him into certain attitudes
and ways of action. As far as his knowledge is "general" it is called
a Recept. A dog has a Recept of the whip; so far as whips are not too
different from one another, the dog will act in the same way toward
all of them. In man, on the other hand, the development of mind has
gone a decided step further. The child very quickly begins to use
symbols, words being the symbols of first importance to him. He does
not have, like the brute, to wait for successive experiences of like
objects to impress themselves upon him; but he goes out toward the
new, expecting it to be like the old, and so acting as to anticipate
it. He thus falls naturally into general ways of acting which it is
the function of experience to refine and distinguish. He seems to have
more of the higher sort of what was called above Apperception, as
opposed to the more concrete and accidental Associations of Ideas. He
gets Concepts, as opposed to the Recepts of the animals. With this
goes the development of speech, which some psychologists consider the
source of all the man's superiority over the animals. Words become
symbols of a highly abstract sort for certain classes of experiences;
and, moreover, through speech a means of social communication is
afforded by which the development of the individual is enormously
advanced.
It is probable, in fact, that this difference--that between the
Generalization which uses symbols, and mere Association--is the root
of all the differences that follow later on, and give man the
magnificent advantage over the animals which he has. From it is
developed the faculty of thinking, reasoning, etc., in which man
stands practically alone. On the brain side, it requires special
developments both through the preparation of certain brain centres
given over to the speech function, and also through the greater
organization of the gray matter of the cerebral cortex, to which we
revert again in a later chapter. Indeed, looked at from the side of
the development of the brain, we see that there is no break between
man and the animals in the laws of organization, but that the
difference is one of evolution.
Later on in the life of the child we find another contrast connected
with the difference of social life and organization as between the
animals and man. The animals probably do not have a highly organized
sense of Self as man does; and the reason doubtless is that such a
Self-consciousness is the outcome of life and experience in the very
complex social relations in which the human child is brought up, and
which he alone is fitted by his inherited gifts to sustain.
_The Play of Animals._--Another of the most interesting questions of
animal life is that which concerns their plays. Most animals are given
to play. Indeed that they indulge in a remarkable variety of sports is
well known even to the novice in the study of their habits. Beginning
when very young, they gambol, tussle, leap, and run together, chase
one another, play with inanimate objects, as the kitten with the ball,
join in the games of children and adults, as the dog which plays hide
and seek with his little master, and all with a knowingness and zest
which makes them the best of companions. The volumes devoted to the
subject give full accounts of these plays of animals, and we need not
repeat them; the psychologist is interested, however, mainly in the
general function of play in the life of the individual animal and
child, and in the psychological states and motives which it reveals.
Play, whether in animals or in man, shows certain general
characteristics which we may briefly consider.
1. The plays of animals are very largely instinctive, being indulged
in for the most part without instruction. The kitten leaps impulsively
to the game. Little dogs romp untaught, and fall, as do other animals
also, when they are strong enough, into all the playful attitudes
which mark their kind. This is seen strikingly among adult animals in
what are called the courtship plays. The birds, for example, indulge
in elaborate and beautiful evolutions of a playful sort at the mating
season.
2. It follows from their instinctive character that animal plays are
peculiar to the species which perform them. We find series of sports
peculiar to dogs, others to cats, and so on through all the species of
the zoölogical garden, whether the creatures be wild or tame. Each
shows its species as clearly by its sportive habits as by its shape,
cry, or any other of what are called its "specific" habits. This is
important not only to the zoölogist, as indicating differences of
evolution and scale of attainment, environment, etc., but also to the
psychologist, as indicating differences of what we may call animal
temperament. Animals show not only the individual differences which
human beings do, one liking this game and another that, one being
leader in the sport and another the follower, but also the greater
differences which characterize races. The Spaniards love the bull
fight; other nations consider it repulsive, and take their fun in less
brutal forms, although, perchance, they tolerate Rugby football! So
the animals vary in their tastes, some playing incessantly at
fighting, and so zealously as to injure one another, while others
like the milder romp, and the game with flying leaves, rolling stones,
or the incoming waves on the shore.
3. Psychologically, the most interesting characteristic of animal, as
of human, play is what is called the "make-believe" state of mind
which enters into it. If we consider our own sports we find that, in
the midst of the game, we are in a condition of divided consciousness.
We indulge in the scheme of play, whatever it be, as if it were a real
situation, at the same time preserving our sense that it is not real.
That is, we distinguish through it all the actual realities, but make
the convention with our companions that for the time we will act
together as if the playful situation were real. With it there is a
sense that it is a matter of voluntary indulgence that can stop at
anytime; that the whole temporary illusion to which we submit is
strictly our own doing, a job which we have "put up" on ourselves.
That is what is meant by make-believe.
Now it is clear that the animals have this sense of make-believe in
their games both with other animals and with man. The dog plays at
biting the hand of his master, and actually takes the member between
his teeth and mumbles it; but all the while he stops short of painful
pressure, and goes through a series of characteristic attitudes which
show that he distinguishes very clearly between this play biting and
the real. If perchance the master shows signs of being hurt, the dog
falls into attitudes of sorrow, and apologizes fulsomely. So also when
the animals play together, a vigorous squeal from a companion who is
"under" generally brings him his release.
The principal interest of this make-believe consciousness is that it
is considered by many to be an essential ingredient of Æsthetic
feeling. A work of art is said to have its effect through its tendency
to arouse in us a make-believe acceptance of the scene or motive
presented, while it nevertheless remains contrasted with the realities
of our lives. If this be true, the interesting question arises how far
the animals also have the germs of Æsthetic feeling in their
make-believe situations. Does the female pea-fowl consider the male
bird, with all his display of colour and movement, a beautiful object?
And does the animal companion say: How beautiful! when his friend in
the sport makes a fine feint, and comes up serene with the knowing
look, which the human on-looker can not fail to understand?
In some cases, at any rate, we should have to reply to this question
affirmatively, if we considered make-believe the essential thing in
æsthetic enjoyment.
_Theories of Animal Play._--The question of the meaning and value of
play to the animals has had very enlightening discussion of late.
There are two principal theories now advocated.
I. The older theory considered play simply the discharge of surplus
nerve force in the animal's organism. He was supposed to play when he
felt fresh and vigorous. The horse is "skittish" and playful in the
morning, not so much so at night. The dogs lie down and rest when they
are tired, having used up their surplus energies. This is called the
Surplus-Energy Theory of play.
The difficulty with this theory is that it is not adequate to explain
any of the characteristics of play which have been given above. Why
should play be instinctive in its forms, showing certain complex and
ingrained channels of expression, if it were merely the discharge of
surplus force? We are more lively in the morning, but that does not
explain our liking and indulging in certain sorts of complex games at
all hours. Moreover, animals and children will continue to play when
greatly fatigued. A dog, for example, which seems absolutely "used
up," can not resist the renewed solicitations of his friends to
continue the chase. Furthermore, why is it that plays are
characteristic of species, different kinds of animals having plays
quite peculiar to themselves? It is difficult to see how this could
have come about unless there had been some deeper-going reason in
accordance with which each species has learned the particular forms of
sport in which it indulges.
The advocates of this theory attempt to meet these objections by
saying that the imitative instinct accounts for the particular
directions in which the discharges of energy occur. A kitten's plays
are like those of the cat tribe because the kitten is accustomed to
imitate cats; when it falls to playing it is with cats, and so it
sheds its superfluous energies in the customary imitative channels. In
this way it grows to learn the games of its own species. There is a
good deal in this point; most games are imitative in so far as they
are learned at all. But it does not save the theory; for many animal
plays are not learned by the individual at all, as we have seen above;
on the contrary, they are instinctive. In these cases the animal does
not wait to learn the games of his tribe by imitation, but
starts-right-in on his own account. Besides this there are many forms
of animal play which are not imitative at all. In these the animals
co-operate, but do not take the same parts. The young perform actions
in the game which the mother does not.
All this goes to support another and most serious objection to this
theory--in the mind of all those who believe in the doctrine of
evolution. The Surplus-Energy Theory considers the play-impulse, which
is one of the most widespread characters of animal life, as merely an
accidental thing or by-product--a mere using-up of surplus energies.
It is not in any way important to the animals. This makes it
impossible to say that play has come to be the very complex thing that
it really is by the laws of evolution; for survival by natural
selection always supposes that the attribute or character which
survives is important enough to keep the animal alive in the struggle
for existence; otherwise it would not be continued for successive
generations, and gradually perfected on account of its utility.
On the whole, therefore, we find the Surplus-Energy Theory of play
quite inadequate.
II. Another theory therefore becomes necessary if we are to meet these
difficulties. Such a theory has recently been developed. It holds that
the plays of the animals are of the greatest utility to them in this
way: they exercise the young animals in the very activities--though in
a playful way--in which they must seriously engage later on in life. A
survey of the plays of animals with a view to comparing them in each
case with the adult activities of the same species, confirms this
theory in a remarkably large number of cases. It shows the young
anticipating, in their play, the struggles, enjoyments, co-operations,
defeats, emergencies, etc., of their after lives, and by learning to
cope with all these situations, so preparing themselves for the
serious onset of adult responsibilities. On this theory each play
becomes a beautiful case of adaptation to nature. The kitten plays
with the ball as the old cat handles the mouse; the little dogs
wrestle together, and so learn to fight with teeth and claws; the deer
run from one another, and so test their speed and learn to escape
their enemies. If we watch young animals at play we see that not a
muscle or nerve escapes this preliminary training and exercise; and
the instinctive tendencies which control the play direct the
activities into just the performances which the animal's later
life-habits are going on to require.
On this view play becomes of the utmost utility. It is not a
by-product, but an essential part of the animal's equipment. Just as
the infancy period has been lengthened in the higher animals in order
to give the young time to learn all that they require to meet the
harsh conditions of life, so during this infancy period they have in
the play-instinct a means of the first importance for making good use
of their time. It is beautiful to see the adults playing with their
young, adapting their strength to the little ones, repeating the same
exercises without ceasing, drilling them with infinite pains to
greater hardihood, endurance, and skill.
On this theory it is also easy to see why it is that the plays are
different for the different species. The actual life conditions are
different, and the habits of the species are correspondingly
different. So it is only another argument for the truth of this theory
that we find just those games natural to the young which train them
in the habits natural to the old.
This view is now being very generally adopted. Many fine illustrations
might be cited. A simple case may be seen in so small a thing as the
habit of leaping in play; the difference, for example, between the
mountain goat and the common fawn. The former, when playing on level
ground makes a very ludicrous exhibition by jumping in little
up-and-down leaps by which he makes no progress. In contrast with this
the fawn, whose adult life is normally in the plains, takes a long
graceful spring. The difference becomes clear from the point of view
of this theory, when we remember that the goat is to live among the
rocks, where the only useful jump is just the up-and-down sort which
the little fellow is now practising; while the deer, in his life upon
the plains, will always need the running jump.
Finally, on this theory, play becomes a thing for evolution to
cultivate for its utility in the progress of animal life, and for that
reason we may suppose it has been perfected in the remarkable variety
and beauty of form which it shows.
On the psychological side, we find a corresponding state of things.
The mind in the young animal or child gets the main education of early
life through its play situations. Games have an extraordinary
pedagogical influence. The more so because they are the natural and
instinctive way of getting an education in practical things. This
again is of supreme utility to the individuals.
Both for body and mind we find that play illustrates the principle of
Organic Selection explained above. It makes the young animal flexible,
plastic, and adaptable; it supplements all his other instincts and
imperfect functions; it gives him a new chance to live, and so
determines the course of evolution in the direction which the playful
animal represents. The quasi-social and gregarious habits of animals
probably owe much of their strength to the play-impulse, both through
the training of individual animals and through the fixing of these
tendencies as instincts in various animal species in the way just
mentioned.
In another place below I analyze a child's game and draw some
inferences from it. Here it may suffice to say that in their games the
young animals acquire the flexibility of mind and muscle upon which
much of the social co-operation, as well as the individual
effectiveness, of their later life depends. With children, it is not
the only agency, of course, though its importance is not less. We have
to carry the children further by other means; but the other means
should never interfere with this natural schooling. They should aim
the rather by supplementing it wisely to direct its operation and to
extend its sphere.