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THE PLAY OF ANIMALS

BY

KARL GROOS

PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN THE
UNIVERSITY OF BASEL

TRANSLATED WITH THE AUTHOR S CO-OPERATION

By ELIZABETH L. BALDWIN

WITH A PREFACE AND AN APPENDIX BY

J. MARK BALDWIN

PROFESSOR IN PRINCETON UNIVERSITY

NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

Copyright. 1898,
By D APPLETON AND COMPANY.

EDITOR'S PREFACE*

Ix this Yolume Professor Groos makes a contribu-
tion to three distinct but cognate departments of in-
quiry : philosophical biology, animal psycholog}^, and the
genetic study of art. Those who have followed the be-
ginnings of inquiry into the nature and functions of
play in the animal world and in children will see at
once how much light is to be expected from a thor-
ough-going examination of all the facts and observations
recorded in the literature of animal life. This sort of
examination Professor Groos makes with great care and
thoroughness, and the result is a book which, in my
opinion, is destined to have wide influence in all these
departments of inquiry.

I wish, before speaking of certain conclusions which
are of especial interest, to make some running comments
on the contents of the book, without, of course, forestall-
ing the reader's ovm. discovery of its riches. Chapter I
is an examination of Mr. Spencer's " surplus-energy ''
theory of play; the result of which is, it seems, to put
this theory permanently out of court. The author's

♦ In this preface certain passages are repeated from a review
of the German edition of Professor Groos' book, printed in Sci-
ence, February 26, 1897. . ^ 0£? '" /I

iv THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

main contention is that play, so far from being "by-
play," if I may so speak, is a matter of serious moment
to the creature. Play is a veritable instinct. This
view is expanded in Chapter II, where we find a fine
treatment in detail of such interesting topics as imita-
tion in its relation to play, the inheritance of acquired
characters apropos of the rise of instincts, and the place
and function of intelligence in the origin of these pri-
mary animal activities. This chapter, dealing with the
biological theory of play, is correlated with Chapter V,
in which the Psychology of Animal Play is treated.
Together they furnish the philosophical and theoretical
basis of the book, as the chapters in between furnish the
detailed data of fact. I shall return to the biological
matter below. Chapters III and IV go into the actual
Plays of Animals with a wealth of detail, richness of
literary information, and soundness of critical interpre-
tation which are most heartily to be commended. In-
deed, the fact that the first book on this subject is at the
same time one of such unusual value, both as science and
as theory, should be a matter of congratulation to work-
ers in biology and in psychology. The collected cases,
the classification of animal plays, as well as the setting
of interpretation in which Professor Groos has placed
them — all are likely to stand, I think, as a piece of
work of excellent quality in a new but most important
field of inquiry.

With this general and inadequate notice of the divi-
sions and scope of the book, I may throw together in a
few sentences the main theoretical positions to which the
author's study brings him. He holds play to be an in-
stinct developed by natural selection (he gives good rea-
sons for not accepting the inheritance of acquired char-
acters), and to be on a level with the other instincts

EDITOR'S PREFACE. V

which are developed for their utilit3\ It is very near,
in its origin and function, to the instinct of imitation,
but yet they are distinct (a word more below on the rela-
tion between play and imitation). Its utility is, in the
main, twofold : First, it enables the young animal to ex-
ercise himself beforehand in the strenuous and necessary
functions of its life and so to be ready for their onset;
and, second, it enables the animal by a general instinct to
do many things in a playful way, and so to learn for itself
much that would otherwise have to be inherited in the
form of special instincts ; this puts a premium on intelli-
gence, which thus comes to replace instinct (p. 71).
Either of these utilities. Professor Groos thinks, would
insure and justify the play instinct; so important are
they that he suggests that the real meaning of infancy
is that there may be time for play (see his preface).
This general conception of play has been set forth by
other writers; but Professor Groos works it out in this
book in a way which attaches his name permanently to it.

It is especially in connection with this latter func-
tion of play, I may add, that the instinct to imitate comes
in to aid it. Imitation is a real instinct, but it is not
always playful; play is a real instinct, but it is not
always imitative. There is likely, however, to be a great
deal of imitation in pla}', since the occasion on which a
particular play-function develops is often that which also
develops the imitative tendency as well — i. e., the actual
sight or hearing of the acts or voices of other animals.
Moreover, the acquisition of a muscular or vocal action
through imitation makes it possible to repeat the same
action afterwards in play.

It is only a step, therefore, to find that imitation,
as an instinct, has to have ascribed to it, in a measure,
the same race utility as play — that of going before the

Vi THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

intelligence and preparing the way for it, by rendering
a great number of specialized instincts unnecessary. It
is interesting to the present writer to contrast this view
with that which he has himself recently developed * —
i. e., the view that imitation supplements inadequate
congenital variations in the direction of an instinct, and
so, by keeping the creature alive, sets the trend of fur-
ther variations in the same direction until the instinct is
fully organized and congenital. If both of these views be
true, as there seems reason to believe, then imitation
holds a remarkable position in relation to intelligence
and instinct. It stands midway between them and aids
them both. In some functions it keeps the perform-
ance going, and so allows of its perfection as an in-
stinct; in others it puts a stress on intelligence, and so
allows the instinct to fall away, if it have no independent
utility in addition to that served by the intelligence, f
In other words, it is through imitation that instincts both
arise and decay; that is, some instincts are furthered,
and some suppressed, by imitation. And all this is ac-
complished with no appeal to the inheritance of ac-
quired characters. Professor Groos agreeing with Weis-
mann that the operation of natural selection as gen-
erally recognised is probably sufficient (see his preface).
For myself I find most helpful the theory of Organic
Selection referred to by Professor Groos on pages 64 and

* See Science, March 20, 1896.

f In a private communication Professor Groos sucfgests to me
that the two views may well be held to supplement each other.
The case is very much the same with early intellif,'ence, in the
form of Association of Ideas: where it fully accomplishes the
utility also subserved by an instinct, it tends to supersede the
instinct; otherwise it tends to the development of the instinct
(Groos, this edition, p. 71, and Baldwin, Science, April 10, 1896).

EDITORS PREFACE. yii

65. Following up his kindly reference, I venture, with
his concurrence, to reprint as an Appendix to this trans-
lation a short article of my own on Organic Selection.

The difficulty which I see to this conception of play
as a pure instinct is that which is sometimes urged also
against considering imitation an instinct — i. e., that it
has no definite motor co-ordinations, but has all the va-
riety which the different play-forms show. If the defi-
nite congenital plays are considered each for itself, then
we have a great many instincts, instead of a general play
instinct. But that will not do, for it is one of Professor
Groos' main contentions, in the chapter on The Psy-
chology of Animal Play, that they have a common gen-
eral character which distinguishes them from other
specialized instinctive actions. They are distinguished
as play actions, not simply as actions. This difficulty
really touches the kernel of the matter, and serves to
raise the question of the relation of imitation to play;
for imitation presents exactly the same conditions — a
general tendency to imitate, which is not exhausted in the
particular actions which are performed by the imitation.
I shall remark on the solution of it below, in speaking of
Professor Groos' psychology of play. It will be inter-
esting to see how he treats this problem in his promised
work on Die Spiele der Menschen, for the imitative ele-
ment is very marked in children's plays. In view of
this objection to the use of the term " instinct " for
play — ^^ impulse " possibly being better — I venture to
suggest that the theory which regards play as a native
tendency of the animal to practise certain special func-
tions, before they are really required of him, be called
the " practice theory '' of play.

Other matters of interest in this biological part are
the gi-eat emphasis which Groos finds it necessary to

viii THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

put on " tradition," instruction, imitation, etc., in young
animals, even in enabling them to come into possession
of their natural instincts; in this the book tends in the
same direction as the later volume of Prof. C. Llo3'd
Morgan. The present writer has also, emphasized the
fact under the term social heredity. Again, there is an
acute discussion of Darwin's Sexual Selection, a discus-
sion which Professor Groos sufficiently explains in his
own preface.* I find an anticipation of the position —
as it were, a happy intuition — in the Non-Religion of
the Future of M. Guyau (page 302. Again, the imper-
fect character of most instincts is emphasized, and the
interaction with imitation and intelligence.

Finally, I should like to suggest that a possible cate-
gory of " Social Plays '' might be added to Groos' classi-
fication; plays in w^iich the utility of the play in-
stinct seems to have reference to social life as such. In
such a category it might be possible to place certain of
the animals' performances which seem a little strained
under the other heads; and also those performances in
which the social function of commwiication is playfully
exercised. A good deal might be said also in question of
the author's treatment of " Curiosity " (Neugier) . He
makes curiosity a matter of the attention, and finds
the restless activity of the attention a play function.
My criticism would be that w^hile curiosity does bring
the animal into possession of the details of knowledge
before they are pressed in upon him by harsh experience,
yet attention does not altogether fulfil the requirements
of the author's psychological theory of play.

* " Sexual " is referred back to " natural " selection. althouc:h
the direct results of such preferential matine: would still seem to
be a " determination " of variations for natural selection to work
upon {cf. Science, November 23, 1896, p. 726).

EDITOR'S PREFACE. ix

Turning now to the interesting question of the psy-
chological theory, we find it developed, as it would have
to be, in a much more theoretical way. The play con-
sciousness is fundamentally a form of " conscious self-
illusion " — bewusste Selhsttduschung. It is just the
difference between play activity and strenuous activity
that the animal knows, in the former case, that the situ-
ation is not real, and still allows it to pass, submitting to
a pleasant sense of "make-believe." It is only fair to
say, however, that Herr Groos admits that in certain
more definitely instinctive forms of play this criterion
does not hold; it would be difficult to assume any con-
sciousness of self-illusion in the fixed courting and pair-
ing plays of birds, for example. The same is seen in the
very intense reality which a child's game takes on some-
times for an hour at a time. Indeed, the author distin-
guishes four stages in the transition from instincts in
which the conscious illusion is absent, to the forms of
play to which we can apply the phrase " play activity "
in its true sense — i. e., that of Scheinthdtigleeit. The
only way to reconcile these positions that I see is to hold
that there are two different kinds of play : that which is
not psychological at all — i. e., does not show the psycho-
logical criterion at all — and that which is psycho-
logical as "' conscious self-illusion." Herr Groos does
distinguish between " objective " and " subjective "
Scheinthdtigl-eit (p. 292). The biological criterion of
definite instinctive character might be invoked in the
former class, and the psychological criterion in the other ;
and we would then have a situation which is exemplified
in many other functions of animal and human life —
functions which are both biological and instinctive, and
also psychological and intelligent, as, e. g., sympathy,
fear, bashfulness. Then, of course, the further question

X THE PLAY OP ANIMALS.

comes up as to which of these forms is primar}^; again
the old problem as to whether intelligence arose out of
retiexes or the reverse.

I think some light falls on this time-honoured prob-
lem from the statement of it in connection with this
new question of play ; especially when we remember Herr
Groos" theory of the function of imitation with the ex-
tension of his view suggested above. If imitation stands
midway between instinct and intelligence, both further-
ing the growth of instinct in some cases, and also, in
other cases, leading to its decay in the presence of intel-
ligence, then we might hold something like this : In pro-
portion as an action loses its consciously imitative and
volitional character, to that degree it tends to be in-
capable of " make-believe *' exercise, becoming real in
consciousness and instinctive in performance (and this
applies to the cases in which imitation has itself become
habitual and instinctive, as in the mocking-bird) ; and
on the contrary, in proportion as an instinctive action
is modified and adapted through imitation and intelli-
gence, to that degree it becomes capable of assuming
the '' make-believe " character and is indulged in as con-
scious play. I can not enlarge upon this here, but it
seems to square with a good many of the facts; both
with those which Professor Groos cites as showing that
imitation opens the way for the decay of instinct with
the growth of intelligence, and with those which Pro-
fessor Lloyd Morgan and I have cited as showing that
imitation keeps congenital variations alive and so allows
them to accumulate into instincts. It is also consistent
with the view that imitation is a sort of meeting point
of race habit, represented by instinct, and race accom-
modation, represented by intelligence: just the double
function which imitation serves also in the development

EDITOR'S PREFACE. xi

of the individual, as I have argued in detail in my vol-
ume on Mental Development in the Child and the Eace.

Going into the analysis of the play psychosis, Herr
Groos finds several sources of pleasure to the animal in
it: pleasure of satisfying an instinct, pleasure of move-
ment and energetic action, but, most of all, " pleasure
in being a cause." This last, together with the
" pleasure in experimenting," which characterizes many
play activities, is urged with great insistence, and
properly so. Even the imitative function is said to
produce the joy of " victory over obstacles." Yet here
again the author is compelled to draw the distinction
between the play which is psychological enough to have
a represented object, and the instinctive sort in which
the pleasure is only that of the instinct's own perform-
ance. The pleasure of overcoming friction of move-
ment, also, seems very doubtful, since in most games we
stop playing when the friction and inertia of the mus-
cles come to consciousness as fatigue. Much more, how-
ever, is to be said for the pleasure of rivalry, or of over-
coming an opponent, in the higher types of play; but
Herr Groos scarcely does this justice.

The second element in the play or Schein con-
sciousness is the feeling of freedom (Freiheitsgefuhl) .
In play there is a sense of " don't-have-to," so to
speak, which is contrasted both with the necessity of
sense and with the imperative of thought and conscience.
Tliis idea seems to be part of Schiller's theory of play.
So Groos thinks the general feeling of freedom holds
in consciousness only while there is a play of motives, to
which the agent may put an end at any moment — a
sense of " don't-have-to " in the life of choice. This
sense of freedom keeps the "make-believe" conscious-
ness pure and prevents our confusing the game with

xii THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

the real activities of life. This is very interesting and
suggestive. The sense of freedom is certainly promi-
nent in play. Whether it should be identified with the
sense of control which has been used by some writers as
a criterion (both in a negative and in a positive sense)
of the belief in realities already experienced, or again
with the freedom with which choice is pregnant, is more
questionable. Without caring to make a criticism of
Professor Groos' position, I may yet point out that in
our choices there are those which are free with a " don't-
have-to " freedom, and there are choices — and these are
the momentous ones, the ones to which freedom that
men value attaches — which are strenuous and real in the
extreme. Indeed, it seems paradoxical to liken the moral
life, with its sense of freedom, to a " game of play," and
to allow the hard-pressed sailor on the ethical sea to
rest on his oars behind a screen of Schein and plead, " I
sha'n't play." Seriously, this is what some other writer
might press on to ; and it comes out again in the author's
extremely interesting sections on art, of which I may
say a word in conclusion.

Those who have read Professor Groos' former stimu-
lating book, Einleitung in die iEsthetik, will anticipate
the connection which he finds between play and art.
The art consciousness is a consciousness of an " inner
imitation," which is in so far " make-believe " as con-
trasted with reality. The " self-conscious illusion " of
the play consciousness is felt in extreme form in the
theatre, and it is found to be pleasurable even when we
play with painful situations, as in tragedy. In art the
desire to make an impression on others shows the " pleas-
ure of being cause." This intent to work on others
is a necessary ingredient in the art impulse. Groos
differs from K. Lange, who holds a similar view of the

EDITOR'S PREFACE. xiii

necessary division of consciousness between reality and
'^ make-believe ^' in the aesthetic, in that Lange thinks
there must be a continual oscillation between the two poles
of the divided consciousness, while Groos thinks there
is rather a settling down in the state of illusion, as in
an artist's preoccupation with his creations, a novelist
with his characters, and a child with her doll. In
art the other great motive of play, " experimenting,'' is
also prominent, and is even more fundamental from a
genetic point of view.

Here again the question left in my mind is this:
whether the '^ make-believe " motive is really the same as
the art motive. Do we not distinguish between the
drama (to take the case most favourable to the theory) as
amusement and the drama as art? And does the drama-
tist who is really an artist write to bring on a conscious-
ness of self-illusion in the spectator by presenting to him
a " make-believe " scene ? Does he not rather aim to pro-
duce an " inner imitation " in him which shall arouse
the emotional and volitional attitudes of full reality?
There does seem to be, in a work of fine art, a strenuous
outreach not only toward the imitation of truth, but
toward the actual conviction of truth. It may be that
we should distinguish with Aristotle between truth
which comes to us didactically and truth which comes
artistically, and find in the method of the latter, and in
that alone, the source of aesthetic impression; but even
then we should not have to feel the aesthetic creation
to be " make-believe." In any case the theory of Pro-
fessor Groos, which has its roots in the views of Lange
and Von Hartmann, is extremely interesting and
valuable, especially as contrasted with the recent psy-
chological theory of Mr. H. E. Marshall. As to Pro-
fessor Groos' theory, musical art would present diffi-

xiv THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

culties, and so would lower sensuous aesthetic effects gen-
erally.

Genetically art rests upon play, according to Herr
Groos, in that the three great motives of art production,
^' Seli-exhihiiion'' {Selbstdarstelluiig) , "Imitation/' and
"Decoration" (Ausschmuckung) , are found in the
three great classes of animal plays, respectively, " Court-
ing," "Imitation," and "Building Art" {Bauhilnste,
seen in birds' nest-building, etc.). On the strength of
this. Professor Groos finds both aesthetic appreciation
and impulse in the animals, and all rests upon the origi-
nal " experimenting " impulse of play. Of this, how-
ever, Professor Groos does not give a satisfactory account,
I think. Experimenting seems to be a necessary part of
effective learning by " imitation," and the use made of it
in the selection of movements may be its original use. I
have suggested elsewhere ( Social and Ethical Interpreta-
tions, sections 98 to 102) some reasons for thinking also
that decorative art may have sprung from the " self-ex-
hibiting " impulse, thus reducing the aesthetic motives to
two.

On the whole. Professor Groos' book is both a
pioneer work and one of great permanent value. In
venturing to criticise it I have thought it best to raise
points of discussion — even though to a thinker like Pro-
fessor Groos they may be trivial and easily answered —
as fitted to give to the lay reader a sense of the larger
issues for the sake of which, after all, the delightful
stories of animal life in the book have been collected by
the author.

J. Maek Baldwix.
Princeton, April, 1898,

EDITOR'S PREFACE. XV

The translator wishes it to be said that all the altera-
tions made for this edition have been either requested or
approved by the author, only some few footnotes of a
bibliographical sort having been added after Professor
Groos saw the proofs. The additions made by the trans-
lator in the notes are put in brackets, both those which
Professor Groos has seen and also the very few others
which were subsequently added. The reader will also
notice from the title-page that the author has now been
called from his former position at Giessen to the chair in
Philosophy in the University of Basel.

J. M. B.

AUTHOR'S PEEFACE.

Animal psychology is regarded by many some^vliat
contemptuously as a sort of amusement, from which
nothing worth speaking of can be expected for the ad-
vancement of our modern science of the mind. I do not
believe this. In the first place, it is quite wrong to judge
animal psychology mainly from its value for the inter-
pretation of the mind of man, making secondary the
independent interest to which it lays claim. Yet, apart
from this, such a study is valuable to the anthropologist
in many ways, though it must be admitted that but little
has as yet been accomplished in this direction. Unfor-
tunately, many of the works hitherto published on the
subject of animal psychology labour under the disadvan-
tage of being strongly biased, and suffer also from a
lack of method. Their authors, justly indignant at the
arrogance of man in despising the animals and claiming
for themselves all the higher and more refined attri-
butes, naturally wish to prove that animals, too, possess
a high degree cf intelligence and feeling; they accord-
ingly emphasize the resemblance of animals to man, and
their work becomes an interesting collection of anecdotes
of specially gifted individual animals — collections, no
doubt, possessing much intrinsic worth but of little value
2 xvii

xviii THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

to the psychologist. If the observation of animals is to bo
rendered fruitful for the unsolved problems of anthro-
pology, an untried way must be entered upon; attention
must be directed less to particular resemblances to man,
and more to specific animal characteristics. Hereby a
means may be found for the better understanding of the
animal part in man than can be attained through the
discussion of human examples alone. Man's animal na-
ture reveals itself in instinctive acts, and the latest in-
vestigators tell us that man has at least as many in-
stincts as the brutes have, though most of them have
become unrecognisable through the influence of edu-
cation and tradition. Therefore an accurate knowledge
of the animal world, where pure instinct is displayed,
is indispensable in weighing the importance of inherited
impulses in men.

The number of investigators who have adopted this
method is not great, and I venture to hope that this
book may be in some degree influential in increasing
it, as well as respect for animal psychology as a science.

The world of play, to which art belongs, stands in
most important and interesting contrast with the stern
realities of life; yet there are few scientific works in
the field of human play, and none at all in that of ani-
mal play — a fact to be accounted for, probably, by the
inherent difficulties of the subject, both objective and
subjective. The animal psychologist must harbour in
his breast not only two souls, but more; he must unite
with a thorough training in physiology, psychology, and
biology the experience of a traveller, the practical
knowledge of the director of a zoological garden, and
the outdoor lore of a forester. And even then he
could not round up his labours satisfactorily unless he
were familiar with the trend of modern a3sthetics. In-

AUTHOR'S PREFACE. xix

deed, I consider this last point so important that I
venture to affirm that none but a student of aesthetics
is capable of writing the psychology of animals. If in
this statement I seem to put myself forward as a stu-
dent of aesthetics, I can only say that I hope for indul-
gence, in view of the many shortcomings which are
apparent in this effort, on the ground that a versatility
so comprehensive is unattainable by an ordinary mortal.

The first two chapters seek to establish the concep-
tion of play on a basis of natural science. There are
two quite different popular ideas of play. The first is
that the animal (or man) begins to play when he feels
particularly cheerful, healthy, and strong; the second —
which I found even entertained by a forester — that the
play of young animals serves to fit them for the tasks
of later life. The former view tends to a physiological,
the latter to a biological, conception of play. The first
finds its scientific basis in the theory of surplus energy,
which is amplified by Herbert Spencer especially, but
which was previously promulgated by Schiller, as I
have attempted to show in the beginning of the book.
This explanation of play is certainly of great value,
but is not fully adequate, and I have reached the con-
clusion that a state of surplus energy may not always
be even a conditio sine qua non of play.

The physiological conditions which cause a young
beast of prey to follow a rolling ball need not, appar-
ently, be different from those of the grown animal in
pursuit of its natural prey. The other view, by keep-
ing before the eyes the biological significance of play,
seems to me to open the way to a more thorough un-
derstanding of the problem.

This reference to biology brings me at once to the
difficult question of instinct. After a long historical

XX

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

and critical investigation of the subject;, I intrench
myself in the principles defined by H. E. Ziegler, who,
as a disciple of Weismann, refers all instincts directly to
natural selection. Accordingly, I have not used the La-
niarckian principle of the transmission of acquired char-
acters, which, to say the least, is doubtful, in the inter-
pretation of fact. On this definition of instinct as a basis
a new biological theory of play is developed, of which the
following are the main points : The real problem lies in
the play of the young; that once successfully explained,
adult play will offer no special difficulties. The play of
youth depends on the fact that certain instincts, espe-
cially useful in preserving the species, appear before the
animal seriously needs them. They are, in contrast with
later serious exercise (Ausilhung) , a 'preparation (Vor-
iibung) and practice (Eifiiliung) for the special instincts.
This anticipatory appearance is of the utmost impor-
tance, and refers us at once to the operation of natural
selection; for, when the inherited instinct may be sup-
plemented by individual experience, it need not be so
carefully elaborated by selection, which accordingly fa-
vours the evolution of individual intelligence as a substi-
tute for blind instinct. At the moment when the intelli-
gence reaches a point of development where it is more
useful than the most perfect instinct, natural selection
will favour individuals in whom instinct appears
only in an imperfect form, manifesting itself in early
youth in activity purely for exercise and practice — that
is to say, in animals ivhich play. Indeed, the conclusion
seems admissible, in summing up the biological signifi-
cance of play, that perhaps the very existence of youth is
due in part to the necessity for play; the animal does
not play because he is young, he has a period of youth
because he must play. Whoever has observed the tre-

AUTHOR'S PREFACE. xxi

mendoiis force of the play impulse in young animals will
hardly fail to give this thought some hospitality.

Though calling in the principle of natural selection
exclusively, on the lines of Weismann's theory, in ex-
plaining these phenomena, I am by no means convinced
of the all-sufficiency of this law, but freely admit the
possibility that still other and perhaps unknown forces
contribute their influence in this process of evolu-
tion. The conception of evolution itself is gaining
strength and assurance with the progress of time, but
with respect to specific Darwinism a note of fin-de-siede
lightness is audible to the attentive ear. I do not know
whether the following idea has occurred to any one else,
but to me it is somewhat baffling. It is quite conceivable
that a man might arise and say : " Three of the most dis-
tinguished investigators in the subject of descent are
Wallace, Weismann, and Galton. Now, I agree with
Wallace in discarding sexual selection; I hold with
Weismann that the inheritance of acquired characters
is impossible; and I combat with Galton the idea
that natural selection is sufficient to explain the change
from an established species to a new one." What, then,
is left of the Darwinian theory of organic evolution?

In the third and fourth chapters a system of animal
play is developed for the first time on the biological the-
ory as a basis. The variety and scope of such play has
been up to this time very much underrated, as, I believe,
this classification and grouping under important heads
will show. The discussion of curiosity developed a
theory of attention which was simultaneously pub-
lished as a short article, Ueber unbewusste Zeitschat-
zung, in Zeitschrift fiir Psychologic u. Physiologic der
Sinnesorgane. In the introduction to the chapter de-
voted to love plays I have attempted an essential modi-

xxii THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

fication of the doctrine of sexual selection, making it a
special case of natural selection. While agreeing Avith
Wallace that the unusual colours and forms, as well as
complicated calls, are to be considered as largely a
means of defence and offence and of recognition among
animals, I yet believe that in their higher manifestations
such phenomena often have a very close connection
with sexual life. This is more obviously the case with
the display of ornamentation, of skill in flying, dan-
cing, and swimming, and in bird-song. The disciple of
Weismann who can not accept Spencer's explanation of
such phenomena must either cleave to Darwin's sexual
selection, as Weismann himself does, or seek a new
principle. Such a principle I believe I have found. It
depends on two closely related facts. As sexual impulse
must have tremendous power, it is for the interest of the
preservation of the species that its discharge should be
rendered difiicult. This result is partly acomplished in
the animal world by the necessity for great and often
long-continued excitement as a prelude to the act of
pairing. This thought at once throws light on the
peculiar hereditary arts of courtship, especially on the
indulgence in flying, dancing, or singing by a whole
flock at once. But the hindrance to the sexual func-
tion that is most efficacious, though hitherto unappre-
ciated, is the instinctive coyness of the female. This
it is that necessitates all the arts of courtship, and
the probability is that seldom or never does the fe-
male exert any choice. She is not awarder of the prize,
but rather a hunted creature. So, just as the beast
of prey has special instincts for finding his prey,
the ardent male must have special instincts for sub-
duing feminine reluctance; and just as in the beast
of prey the instinct of ravenous pursuit is refined into

AUTHOR'S PREFACE. xxiii

the various arts of the chase, so from such crude efforts
at wooing, tliat courtship has finally developed, in which
sexual passion is psychologically sublimated into love.
According to this theory, there is choice only in the sense
that the hare finally succumbs to the best hound, which
is as much as to say that the phenomena of courtship
are referred at once to natural selection. It follows, too,
that however useful attractive form and colouring may
be in relation to other ends, they certainly contribute to
that of subduing feminine coyness, and hence further
the sexual life.

The last chapter treats of the psychological aspects
of play. Setting out from the physiological side, I
lead up to the central idea of the w^hole conception,
namely, "joy in being a cause"; which seems to me to
be the psychic accompaniment of the most elementary
of all plays, namely, experimentation. From here as
a starting point it permeates every kind of play, and
has even in artistic production and aesthetic enjoyment a
significance not sufficiently appreciated.

But the principal content of the closing chapter is
the investigation of the more subtle psychic phenome-
non that is connected with the subject, namely, " make-
believe," or '^conscious self-illusion." The remarks
on divided consciousness and the feeling of freedom
during make-believe activity prove that the attempt to
penetrate into the modern aesthetic problem is a serious
undertaking. They point to a field beyond the limits
of the subject of this treatise, which I hope to discuss
exhaustively in my next work, having human play for its
subject.

Kakl Groos.

GiESSEN, October, 1S95.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

Editor's preface

Author's preface .

I. — The surplus theory of play
II. — Play and instinct .
III.— The play of animals
Experimentation .
Movement plays .
Hunting plays

a. With real living prey

h. With living mock prey

c. With lifeless mock prey
Fighting plays

a. Teasing

h. Tussling among young animals

c. Playful fighting between adult animal:
Constructive arts .
Nursing plays
Imitative play
Curiosity

PAGE

iii

xvii

1

25

83

85

09

120

120

123

130

135

130

139

145

152

167

178

214

xxvi THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

CHAPTER PAGE

IV. — The play of animals {continued). Love plays . 229

Love plays among young animals .... 253

Courtship by means of the arts of movement . . 257
Courtship by means of the display of unusual or

beautiful forms or colors 265

Courtship by means of noises and tones . . . 271

Coquetry in the female 283

V. — The psychology of animal play .... 287

Editor's appendix on organic selection . . . 329

Index 333

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

CHAPTEE I.

THE SURPLUS EXEKGY THEORY OF PLAY.

The most influential tlicor}- of play explains it by
means of the surplus energy principle. In what follows
I shall attempt to demonstrate that this theory has not
the scope usually attributed to it. It owes its develop-
ment and extension principally to Herbert Spencer, but
it is based on a principle of Schiller's, in whose philoso-
phy, however, it holds but a subordinate jolace. It is
necessary here in the beginning of the inquiry, to set
Schiller's priority in the right light, as it does not seem
to be generally known. Schiller's treatment of play
and the play instinct is to be found in his excellent let-
ters On the Esthetic Education of Mankind. Later I
shall enter more fully into their contents, confining
myself here to the passage on which the theory of sur-
plus energy is especially based. It is in the twenty-
seventh letter, and reads as follows: " Nature has indeed
granted, even to the creature devoid of reason, more
than the mere necessities of existence, and into the
darkness of animal life has allowed a gleam of freedom
to penetrate here and there. When hunger no longer
torments the lion, and no beast of prey appears for him
to fight, then his unemployed powers find another out-
let. He fills the wilderness with his wild roars, and his
1

D. H. HILL LIBRARY
North Carolina State CoHega

2 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

exuberant strength spends itself in aimless activity. In
the mere joy of existence, insects swarm in the sunshine,
and it is certainly not always the cry of want that we
hear in the melodious rhythm of bird-songs. There is
evidently freedom in these manifestations, but not free-
dom from all necessity, only from a definite external
necessity. The animal works when some want is the
motive for his activity, and plays when a superabun-
dance of energy forms this motive — when overflowing
life itself urges him to action.'' * I will not assert that
in his choice of examples from animal life Schiller has
here set forth particularly clear or imchallengeable
cases, but that what he had to say about them is ex-
pressed with perfect clearness — namely, that the ani-
mal is impelled to serious work by an external want,
but to play by his own superfluity of energy. Through
the one he restores his depleted powers; by means of
the other he gives vent to superfluous ones.

Jean Paul and J. E. Beneke express themselves much
as Schiller does with reference to human play. " Play,"
says Jean Paul in Levana (§.49), "is at first the ex-
pression of both mental and physical exuberance. Later,
when school discipline has subjected all the passions to
rule, the limbs alone give expression to the overflowing
life by running, leaping, and exercising generally." And
Beneke says, " The child directs his superfluous energy
chiefly to play," f and traces this tendency back to " con-
servation of original powers." X

* See also Schiller's poem, Der spielende Knabe, first published
in 1800 in the first volume of poems: " Yet exuberant strength
makes its own fancied bounds."

■}• Erziehungs- und Unterrichtslehre, Berlin, 1885, i, 181.

X Lehrbuch der Psychologie als Naturvvissenschaft, Berlin,
1833, p. 24.

THE SURPLUS ENERGY THEORY OF PLAY. 3

Spencer gives a short account of his theory in the
last chapter of the Principles of Psychology, which
treats of the aesthetic feelings. " Many years ago," says
he (§ 533), " I met with a quotation from a German
author to the effect that the aesthetic sentiments origi-
nate from the play impulse. I do not remember the
name of the author, and if any reasons were given for
this statement, or any inferences drawn from it, I can
not recall them. But the statement itself has remained
with me, as being one which, if not literally true, is yet
the adumbration of a truth." It is now well known to
many readers of Spencer from what German work was
derived this citation which made such a lasting impres-
sion on him. Many have publicly expressed themselves
on the subject, as Sully, Grant Allen,* and myself in
my Einleitung in die ^sthetik.f The doctrine of the
origination of the esthetic feelings from play impulses
is the cardinal point of Schiller's theory of the beautiful
as it is revealed to us in these letters on aesthetic educa-
tion. Schiller himself, not to speak of Kant, may have
been influenced by Home, and so the idea merely found
its way back to England when he in turn influenced
Spencer. So far this indebtedness of Spencer to Schiller
is pretty generally recognised in professional circles.
But it is quite otherwise with the passage just quoted;
it occurs in a part of the ^Esthetics letters, compara-
tively unfamiliar, and therefore seemingly overlooked
by most readers. " The theory " (of play impulse), says
Wallaschek, " remained unheeded, though committed to
writing nearly a century ago. Put, in our times, into

* Soe R. Wallaschek, On the Origin of Music, Mind, vol. xvi
(1891). p. ?.T6.
t P. 176.

4 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

scientific form by Mr. Herbert Spencer, it has nothing
in common with its earlier presentment beyond the
name, the grounds being qnite different." Had the
above-cited passage from Schiller's letters been known
to Wallaschek, he could never have written this state-
ment, for it sets forth in plain words the very "grounds"
on which Mr. Spencer founded his theory — namely, the
doctrine of superfluous energy as the cause of play.
Moreover, Schiller is the forerunner of Spencer, not only
in that he derives the aesthetic feelings from play im-
pulses, but also in teaching that play impulse itself has
its origin in superfluous energy. How far-reaching this
correspondence is will be seen if I now let Spencer speak:
" Inferior kinds of animals have in common the trait
that all their forces are expended in fulfilling functions
essential to the maintenance of life. They are unceas-
ingly occupied in searching for food, in escaping from
enemies, in forming places of shelter, and in making
preparation for progeny. But as we ascend to animals
of high types, having faculties more efficient and more
numerous, we begin to find that time and strength are
not wholly absorbed in providing for immediate needs.
Better nutrition, gained by superiority, occasionally
yields a surplus of vigour. The appetites being satis-
fied, there is no craving which directs the overflowing
energies to the pursuit of more prey or to the satisfac-
tion of some pressing want. The greater variety of
faculty commonly joined with this greater efficiency of
faculty has a kindred result. When there have been
developed many powers adjusted to many requirements,
they can not all act at once; now the circumstances call
these into exercise and now those, and some of them
occasionally remain unexercised for considerable periods.
Thus it happens that in the more evolved creatures there

THE SURPLUS ENERGY THEORY OF PLAY. 5

often occurs an energy somewhat in excess of immediate
needs, and there comes also such rest, now of this faculty
and now of that, as permits the bringing of it up to a
state of high efficiency by the repair which follows
waste." If we add to this the fact that such overflow
of energy is explained by Spencer physiologically as a
reintegration which more than balances the using up
of brain cells, thus producing in the cells an " excessive
readiness to decompose and discharge," we have become
gfiquainted with the foundation of Spencer's theory of
play. It is perfectly evident that it has more in com-
mon with Schiller's theory than the mere name; that,
indeed, in its " grounds " it fully coincides with the
passage cited from the Esthetics letters.* In one point
only does Spencer go beyond Schiller's conception: he
connects the idea of imitation with that of the overflow
of energy. And it is exactly at this point that Spencer
seems to me to have erred. I will return to his own
text and endeavour to show that he can not substantiate
his data. After he has given the foregoing physiologi-
cal explanation of surplus energy, he goes on: " Every
one of these mental powers then being subject to this
law, that its organ, when dormant for an interval
longer than ordinary, becomes unusually ready to act,
unusually ready to have its correlative feelings aroused,
giving an unusual readiness to enter upon all the cor-
relative activities; it happens that a simulation of these
activities is easil}^ fallen into, where circumstances
offer, in place of the real activities. Hence play of all
kinds." " It is," says E. Wallaschek, in ' agreement

* It is of course possil^le that Spencer may, notwitlistanding
this coincidence, have arrived at the idea of surplus energy inde-
pendently of Schiller.

6 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

with Spencer, "the siirphis vigour in more highly de-
veloped organisms, exceeding what is required for im-
mediate needs, in which play of all kinds takes its rise,
manifesting itself by way of imitation or repetition of
all those efforts and exertions which are essential to
the maintenance of life/' *

In review I may here enumerate the essential points
so far made:

1. The higher animals being able to provide them-
selves with better nourishment than the lower, thei*
time and strength are no longer exclusively occupied
in their own maintenance, hence they acquire a super-
abundance of vigour.

2. The overflow of energy will be favoured in those
cases where the higher animals have need for more di-
versified activities, for while they are occupied with
one, the other special powers can find rest and reinte-
gration.

3. When, in this manner, the overflow of energy
has reached a certain pitch, it tends to discharge.

4. If there is no occasion at the moment for the
correlative activity to be seriously exercised, simp]}^ imi-
tative activity is substituted, and this is play.

There can be no doubt that the conception of play
thus set forth is very plausible, but its inadequacy can
easily be demonstrated. Should play indeed be univer-
sally considered as the imitation l1 ecrious activities,
for which there may be inclination but no opportunity?
There is, of course, no doubt that imitation is of the
greatest importance in much play, and I shall often
have occasion to refer in the sequel to the imitative im-
pulses. Nevertheless it is true that the conception of

* On the Origin of Music, Mind, xvi (1891), p. 376.

THE SURPLUS ENERGY THEORY OF PLAY. 7

imitation here set forth— namely, as the repetition of
serious activities to which the individual has himself
become accustomed — can not be applied directly to the
primary phenomena of play — that is, to its first ele-
mentary manifestations, to the play of young animals
and of children. For such plays, which must be ex-
plained at the very outset in order to get a satisfactory
conception of the subject, are very often not imitations
(Nachahmungen), but rather premonitions (Vorahm-
ungen) of the serious occupations of the individual.
The " experimenting " of little children and young ani-
mals, their movement, hunting, and fighting games,
which are the most important elementary forms of play,
are not imitative repetitions, but rather preparatory ef-
forts. They come before any serious activity, and evi-
dently aim at preparing the young creature for it and
making him familiar with it. The tiny bird that tries
its wings while still in the nest; the antelope that (as
Dr. A. Seitz, director of the zoological gardens at Frank-
fort, tells me) attempts to practise leaping at the age
of six weeks; the young monkey that playfully seizes
anything within his reach, and is only quieted when he
has caught his claws in the tufts of hair on his own
body, and fettered them; the giraffe that is at home in
its cage by the third day of life; the feline tribe that
learn so early to cling by their claws; the dog which
educates itself, by play, for fighting with other dogs,
and for pursuing, seizing, shaking, and rending its
prey; the infant that through continual practice in
moving the fingers and toes, in kicking, creeping, and
raising itself, in crowing and babbling, wins the mas-
tery over his organs; the boy that romps with others,
and "can no more help running after another boy
who runs provokingly near him than a kitten can help
3

8 THE PLAY OP ANIMALS.

running after a rolling ball * — all these do not imitate
serious action, whose organ has been dormant for an
interval "longer than ordinary/' but rather, impelled
by irresistible impulse, they make their first prepara-
tions for such activities in this way.

Spencer's theory of play is therefore unsatisfactory,
so far as concerns the adequacy of its explanation of
the problem by means of the principle of imitation of
previously accomplished serious activities of the indi-
vidual, f And since in all the cases cited there is really
no imitation of other individuals — that is, no " drama-
tization of the acts of adults'' of which Spencer else-
where treats — it appears that this principle of imitation
can not be taken as a universal explanation of play.
Nor can I agree with Professor Wundt when he says,
in his Lectures on Human and Animal Psychology:
"We regard certain actions of the higher animals as
play when they appear to be imitations of voluntary
acts. But they can be recognised as imitations be-
cause the result striven for only appears to be such,
while the real end is the production of certain pleasur-
able effects, which are connected, though as mere ac-
companiments only, with real voluntary action. This
is as much as to say that animal play is in general
terms identical with that of the human being. For
this is, at least in its simpler form, and especially as it
appears in the play of children, ' imitation of the busi-
ness of practical life' stripped of its original aim and
having a pleasurable mental effect." % Wundt, in his

* W. James, The Principles of Psychology, London, 1891, II,
p. 427.

f See also the fine passage in Von Hartmann, Philos. d. Un-
bewussten, 10. Aiifl.. i, p. 179 f.

X W. Wundt, Vorlesungen iiber die Menschen und Thierseele,
2. Aufl., 1893, p. 388 (Eng. trans., p. 357).

THE SUEPLUS EXERGY THEORY OF PLAY. 9

Ethik, in which he is evidently influenced by Spencer,
sets forth this idea perhaps more clearly. " Play," he
says there, " is the child of work. There is no kind
of play that does not find its prototype in some form
of serious activity which naturally precedes it." "^

It is, of course, undeniable that many plays originate
in such imitation, but a glance over the passages cited
above is sufficient to show that the most important and
elementary kinds of play can be attributed neither to
imitative repetition of the individuars former acts, nor
to imitation of the performances of others.

If, then, Spencer's theory becomes so far untenable
through the deviation of its imitative principle from
Schiller's, our next step is evidently to inquire whether
Schiller's idea alone would be satisfactory. Can it be
admitted that accumulated superabundance of energy
alone suffices to explain all the phenomena of play in
animals? In order to get at the full meaning of this
conception we must consider the psychological aspect
of the surplus energy theory, as well as its merely physi-
ological side. No doubt superabundant physical activity
may often be considered as the psychological expres-
sion of exuberant spirits. This comes very near the
idea that the play of animals and human beings origi-
nates in such physically conditioned dispositions; it is
only necessary to instance the great influence good
weather and comfortable temperature have on animals
and men. Karl Milller notices this in an article on The
Mental Life of Higher Animals in connection with the
great influence the weather has on bird-songs, and says
further: "Does this belong to the sexual instinct? Or
has not rather the sense of comfort and well-being the

* Ethik, 1886, p. 145.

10 TQE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

most influential part in it? Look at the healthy boy as
he runs outdoors with his bread and butter. We often
see him break forth into the most childish expressions
of delight over the joy-bringer in his hand, and this de-
light in the thought of eating will show itself in leap-
ing and running, and often in singing, the more ex-
cessively the more feeling or temperament controls
him. And though the more advanced adult may not
express his pleasurable excitement in singing, he does
by. whistling." * Th. Ziegler makes use of the same
idea: " Joy in life, consciousness of strength, and the
feeling of power — in short, the feeling of pleasure as
such, is in its primitive and original meaning the
beginning and the end of play for children." f And
W. H. Hudson says in his wonderful book, The Natural-
ist in La Plata: J " My experience is that mammals and
birds, with few exceptions — probably there are really no
exceptions — possess the habit of indulging frequently in
more or less regular or set performances, with or without
sound, or composed of sound exclusively, and that these
performances, which in many animals are only discord-
ant cries and choruses, and uncouth, irregular motions,
in the more aerial, graceful and melodious kinds take
immeasurably higher, more complex, and more beautiful
forms." * " AVe see that the inferior animals, when the
conditions of life are favourable, are subject to periodical
fits of gladness, affecting them powerfully, and standing
out in vivid contrast to their ordinary temper. And we

* Westermann's Ilhistrirte Monatshefte, 1880, pp. 239, 240.
f Th. Ziegrler, Das Gefiihl, 1893, p. 236.

t First edition. London: Chapman and Hall, 1802. Third
edition, 1895 (ray citation is from this). See the brilliant criticism
of the work by Wallace, in Nature, April 14, 1892.

# Loc. cit, 264.

THE SURPLUS ENERGY THEORY OF PLAY. H

know what this feeling is — this periodic intense elation
which even civilized man occasionally experiences when
in perfect health, more especially when young. There
are moments when he is mad with joy, when he can not
keep still, when his impulse is to sing and shout aloud
and laugh at nothing, to run and leap and exert himself
in some extravagant way. Among the heavier mam-
malians the feeling is manifested in loud noises, bellow-
ings, and screamings, and in lumbering, uncouth mo-
tions— throwing up of heels, pretended panics, and
ponderous mock battles. In smaller and livelier ani-
mals, with greater celerity and certitude in their mo-
tions, the feeling shows itself in more regular and often
in more complex movements. Thus Felidce, when
young, and very agile, sprightly species like the puma,
throughout life simulate all the actions of an animal
hunting its prey. . . . Birds are more subject to this
universal joyous instinct than mammals, more buoyant
and graceful in action, more loquacious, and have voices
so much finer, their gladness shows itself in a greater
variety of ways, with more regular and beautiful mo-
tions, and with melody." *

There is certainly no question that from the concep-
tion of physical and mental overflow of energy as it is
laid before us in this series of pictures, a knowledge of
one of the most important characteristics of the play
condition is obtained. The physiological impulse that
impels the latent powers to activity, and that mental
joyousness whose highest point of development Schiller
has justly recognised as the feeling of liberty, certainly
form one of the most obvious characteristics of play.
But it is quite as certain that the question whether by

* Loc. cit„ 280 f.

12 THE PLAY OP ANIMALS.

it a full comprehension of human and animal play can
be obtained, must receive a negative answer; for, while
simple overflow of energy explains quite well that the
individual who finds himself in a condition of overflow-
ing energy is ready to do something, it does not explain
how it happens that all the individuals of a species
manifest exactly the specific kind of play expression
which prevails with their own species, but differs from
every other. " Every species," says Hudson most truly,*
" or group of species has its own inherited form or style
of performance; and however rude and irregular this
may be, as in the case of the pretended stampedes and
fights of wild cattle, that is the form in which the feel-
ing will always be expressed." Such a fact, depending
as it does on the phenomena of hereditary transmission,
evidently can not be explained by simple overflow of
energy in an individual. Spencer has attempted to make
use of the theory of imitation to point out the how and
why of play activity. But we have seen that the most
elementary and important plays can not be referred to
it. It thus becomes necessary to call in the aid of some
other conception of the subject. The solution of the
problem is near at hand. Instead of pressing the idea
of imitation exclusively, it is necessary to include that
of instinct in general. Spencer himself has approached
the right understanding of the problem. When he asks.
What acts are chiefly imitated? — he reaches the con-
clusion, chiefly such actions as " in the life of this par-
ticular creature play the most important role." f

And proceeding to give some examples of this, he

* Loc. cit., 281.

f Principles of Psychology, ii., p. 709. See Wallaschek as above:
the imitation of actions that are " essential for the preservation of
life."

THE SURPLUS ENERGY THEORY OF PLAY. 13

points out that these important activities are instincts,
in particular destructive and robbing instincts. Thus
it is only necessary for him to modify his theory of imi-
tation to stand directly in the presence of the right con-
ception of play which lies so near his own. What form
would the theory of play take in this case? Something
like this: The activity of all living beings is in the high-
est degree influenced by hereditary instincts — that is,
the way an animal of a particular species controls his
members and uses his voice, the way he moves about in
his natural element, supplies himself with food, fights
with other animals, or avoids them — his manner of
doing all these things is governed fundamentally by in-
herited instincts. "When, now, there is on the one hand
little demand for the serious activity of such instincts,
and, on the other hand, the reintegration of nerve en-
ergy so far surpasses its expenditure that the organism
requires some discharge of the accumulated supply of
force — and both conditions are likely to be the case in
youth * — then such instincts find expression even with-
out serious occasion. The kitten treats a scrap of paper
as its prey, the young bear wrestles with his brother, the
dog which after long confinement is set free hunts aim-
lessly about, etc. But such actions are exactly what we
mean by the word play.f

Paul Souriau seems to occupy a position similar to
this in an interesting article X where he advances the
following idea: There are various grounds for the pleas-

* Also with animals in confinement. Spencer has specially
alluded to this.

f Thus the imitative impulse appears as a special instinct re-
lated to the others. Concerning its significance 1 shall speak later,

t Le plaisir du mouvement, Revue Scientifique, iii serie, tome
xvii, p. 365 S. L'esthetique du mouvement, Paris, 1889, p. 11 ff.

14: THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

lire that animals almost universally take in movement.
One of them is found in the fact that the animal is
obliged to have a great capacity for movement in all
the tasks of its life^ for obtaining food, fleeing from its
enemies, etc., and accordingly is endowed by nature
with a corresjDondingly great feeling of the necessity for
movement. When there is no occasion to give free play
to this feeling, of necessity the confined impulses seek
to break through all restrictions, even without serious
motive, and so play arises, " Hence the movements of
captive animals, of the lion who walks up and down his
cage, of the canary bird that hops from perch to perch."
So the necessity for movement controls even an in-
active existence. For Souriau, too, there are inherited
instincts that lead to play when superfluous nervous
energy is present and the occasion for serious activity
wanting.*

Such a conception as this, which does not need the
principle of imitation, seems to me to be much nearer
the truth. If we glance backward from this point of
our inquiry we perceive that the essential points of the
whole question have shifted considerably. At first the
idea of the overflow of energy stood predominantly in
the very centre of our mental horizon. But soon it ap-
peared that for a full estimate of play it was necessary
to consider something else. 'Now that we have found
this something else to be instinct, the principle of sur-
plus energy begins to lose some of its original impor-
tance. For it is now apparent that the real essence of

* Gr. H. Schneider expresses a similar view. He, too, places in-
stinct more in the fore<2:round. bnt without recoo:nising the fact
that the chief sic:nificance of the Spencerian principle would thus
he imperilled. Der thicrische Wille, 1880, p. G8. Der raenschliche
Wille, 1882, p. 201 f.

THE SURPLUS ENERGY THEORY OF PLAY. 15

play, the source from whicli it springs, is to be sought
in instinct. It is an essential fact that the instincts
are constantly lurking in ambush ready to spring out
on the first occasion. A condition of surplus energy
still appears as the conditio sine qua non, that permits
the force of the instincts to be so augmented that final-
ly, when a real occasion for their use is wanting, they
form their own motive, and so permit indulgence in
merely sportive acts. Here I reach the limits of a
merely physiological explanation of play. But before
going a step further in the criticism of the overflow-of-
energy theory by seeking to find a standpoint which in-
cludes the biological significance of play, I may here
consider another theory which at first appears to be dia-
metrically opposed to that of surplus energy. I mean
the conception which obtains, especially in Germany,
that play is for recreation. Steinthal has recently
shown * very beautifully how recreation may be consid-
ered from its intrinsic significance to mean making
one's self over — that is, creating anew, restoring lost
powers, both physical and mental. Such restoration
can be had partially by means of sleep and nourishment.
But in recreative play strength is needed to win
strength. This idea is advanced by many. Guts
Muths entitles his collection of games, Games for the
Exercise and Eecreation of Body and Mind.f

Schaller says that to the cultivated consciousness
play presents itself somewhat as follows: An occupa-
tion not directed to the satisfaction of simply natural
requirements or to the discharge of the practical busi-

* H. Steinthal, Zu Bibel nnd RcH,£rionpphilosop]iie. A^ortrage
und Abhandlungen, new series, Berlin. 1805. p. 249.
f First edition, 1793; eighth edition, 1893.

IQ THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

ness of life, but securing rather the end of recreation.*
Lazarus directs us, when we need restoration, to flee
from empty idleness to active recreation in play.f The
Jesuit Julius Caesar Bulengerus begins his book on the
games of the ancients with these words: " ISTeque homi-
nes neque bruta in perpetua corporis et animi conten-
tione esse possunt non magis quam fides in cithara aut
nervus in arcu. Ideo ludo egent. Ludunt inter se catuli
equulei, leunculi, ludunt in aquis pisces, ludunt homines
labore fracti, et aliquid remittunt, ut animos reficiant." X
But the most attractive exposition of the theory of recre-
ation is given in an old legend quoted by Guts Muths.*
John the Evangelist was once playing with a partridge,
which he stroked with his hand. A man came along,
in appearance a sportsman, and beheld the evangelist
with astonishment because he took pleasure in a little
creature which was of no account. ^^ Art thou, then,
really the evangelist whom everybody reads and whose
fame has brought me here? How does such vanity com-
port with thy reputation?" "Good friend," replied
the gentle John, "what is that I see in your hand?"
" A bow," answered the stranger. " And why do you
not have it always strung and ready for use? " " That
would not do. If I kept it strung it would grow lax, and
be good for nothing." " Then," said John, " do not
wonder at what you see me do."

Here, then, there seems to be an irreconcilable con-
flict. The Schiller-Spencer theory allows the accumu-
lated surplus of energy to expend itself in play; the rec-

* J. Schaller, Das Spiel iind die Spiele, Weimar, 18G1.
f M. Lazarus, Ueber die Reize des Spiels, Berlin, 1883, p. 48 ff.
X De Ludis privatis ac domesticis Veterum, 1627, p. 1.
#Guts Muths, loc. cit., 23 f.

THE SURPLUS ENERGY THEORY OF PLAY. 17

reation theory, on the contrary, finds in the very acts
restoration of the powers that are approaching exhaus-
tion. There they are wastefully cast off; here, thriftily
stored away. Is it not remarkable that the same object
can present itself to the observer in ways so contrary?
A closer examination, however, shows that in this case
the contradiction is only apparent. In fact, the two
ideas can in many cases be so developed that they appear
as different aspects of the same conception mutually ex-
planatory of each other. When, for example, a student
goes to have a game of ninepins in the evening, he thus
tones up his relaxed mental powers at the same time that
he finds a means of relieving his accumulated motive
impulses, repressed during his work at the desk. So it
is the same act that on the one hand disposes of his
superfluous energy, and on the other, restores his lost
powers. This is true in all cases when play can be con-
sidered as recreation. The recreation theory is thus,
so far as it has any value at all, not contradictory, but
rather supplementary to the Schiller-Spencer idea of
play. An exhaustive criticism of the recreation theory,
in so far as it claims to explain play, I do not consider
necessary in a book treating of the play of animals. For
it must be evident to any one, on reflection, that this idea,
which may be very effective in a limited sphere, could
not be justifiably expanded for application to the whole
field of play. It occupies too much the standpoint of
the adult who seeks recreation in a " little game " after
the burden and heat of the day. That play can furnish
recreation is not questioned, only that the necessity for
recreation originates play. That the young dog romps
with his fellows because he feels the need of recreation
no one will seriously affirm. Evidently the advocates of
the recreation theory, as a rule, know very little about the

18 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

play of animals, and probably they have no conception
of the extent of the subject. But the child whose whole
mental life, as J. S dialler rightly remarks,* partakes
predominantly of the character of play, must bear wit-
ness to the fact that while play may satisfy in many cases
the need for recreation, it most certainly does not origi-
nate in it. I have been obliged to give special attention
to the recreation theory, because it seemed to contradict
the doctrine of surplus energy. It has now been shown
that this is not the case. In seeking to go a step further
in my criticism of the Spencerian theor}^, I find no sup-
port in the recreation idea, but must attempt to go on
independently. Let us present clearly to our minds the
position of our inquiry. Setting out with the overflow-
of-energy idea, we found that Spencer's connection of
this principle with that of imitation Avas not applicable
to all play. Thus the expectation of explaining it all
by means of surplus energy alone was found to be un-
tenable. We then went on to include the idea of in-
stinct. The overflow of accumulated vigour no longer
appeared as the source of play, but yet as its conditio
sine qua non. As now I proceed in the following pages
to throw doubt also upon this formulation of the Schiller-
Spencerian principle, I wish to avoid misunderstanding
by making it clear at the outset that I do not underesti-
mate the worth of that idea. It only seems to me that,
even considering it as a mere conditio sine qua non of
play, there is still a large territory to be accounted for
outside of its limits. However, the overflow of energy
is sufficiently important, and must be considered still the
most favourable though not the necessary condition of
play.

* Das Spiel und die Spiele, 1861, p.

THE SURPLUS ENERGY THEORY OF PLAY. 19

Going on now to the arguments that ground my
own opinion, it can yery easily be shown that the facts
do not point to the universal or essential value of the
Schiller-Spencerian principle. Certainly in innumerable
cases the superfluity of unemployed energy gives an im-
pulse to play, but in many others one is impressed with
the fact that instinct is a power in itself which does not
need special accumulated stores of energy to bring it
into activity. Some examples will make this clear.
[N'otice a kitten when a piece of paper blows past. Will
not any observer confirm the statement that just as an
old cat must be tired to death or else already filled to
satiety if it does not try to seize a mouse running near it,
so will the kitten, too, spring after the moving object,
even if it has been exercising for hours and its super-
fluous energies are entirely disposed of? Or observe the
play of young dogs when two of them have raced
about the garden until they are obliged to stop from
sheer fatigue, and they lie on the ground panting, with
tongues hanging out. Xow one of them gets up, glances
at his companion, and the irresistible power of his in-
nate longing for the fray seizes him again. He ap-
proaches the other, sniffs lazily about him, and, though
he is evidently only half inclined to obey the power-
ful impulse, attempts to seize his leg. The one provoked
yawns, and in a slow, tired kind of way puts himself on
the defensive; but gradually instinct conquers fatigue
in him too, and in a few minutes both are tearing madly
about in furious rivalry until the want of breath puts
an end to the game. And so it goes on with endless
repetition, until we get the impression that the dog
waits only long enough to collect the needed strength,
not till superfluous vigour urges him to activity. I have
often noticed that a young dog whom I have taken for

20 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

a long walk, and who at last, evidently tired out, trotted
behind me in a spiritless manner very different from
his usnal behaviour, as soon as he was in the garden and
spied a piece of wood, sprang after it with great bounds
and began playing with it. Just so we see children out
walking who are so tired with their constant running
about that they can only be kept from tears by coaxing,
yet quickly set their tired little legs in motion again and
deny their fatigue if an opportunity offers for play. Of
children and young animals it is true that, except when
they are eating, they play all day, till at night, tired
out with play, they sink to sleep. Even sick children
play, but only to the extent that their strength admits
of it, and not as it exists overabundantly. Similar
observations may be made with regard to the playing
adult in many cases. A student who has worked all
day with a mental strain, so that he can hardly collect
his thoughts for any serious effort, sits down in the even-
ing to the mock battle of a card table and takes his part
in the game with spirit for its complicated problems. "If
any one will analyze the mental operations belonging to
a single game of cards, the chains of reasoning which
each player carries on for himself and attributes to the
others, in order to plan for circumventing them, he will
be much surprised at the variety and inexhaustible rich-
ness of mental activity displayed." * Can we speak in
such cases of a superfluity of mental energy that origi-
nated from the fact of longer rest than usual?

A soldier or a banker who is engaged day by day in
an exciting struggle with the caprices of fortune hurries
to the gaming table, and for half the night, wavering
between hope and fear, strives to produce the same sen-

* Lazarus, Reize des Spiels, p. 116.

THE SURPLUS ENERGY THEORY OF PLAY. 21

sations. Must it not be admitted that he does not
play for recreation nor for the relief of stored-up en-
ergy? It is the simple force of the demon instinct
that urges and even compels to activity not only if and
so long as the vessel overflows (to use a figure of speech),
but even when there is but a last drop left in it. The
theory of overflowing energy requires that first and
necessarily there shall be abounding vigour; from it the
impulse must originate. Superabundant life compels
itself to act, says Spencer. The instincts would in that
case be only the bed prepared for the self-originated
stream to flow in. I maintain, on the other hand, that
though this often appears true, it does not always prove
to be so.*

It is not necessarily true that the impulse results
from the overreadiness and straining of the nervous sys-
tem for discharge. Notice the kitten that lies there la-
zily, perhaps even softly dozing, till a ball rolls toward it.
Here the impulse comes from an external excitement
that wakes the hunting instinct. If the kitten has a
particular need for motor discharge she will play of

* Even in the case where the Spencerian theory appears to be
most satisfactory — namely, that of the playful acts of animals in
confinement, the monotonous walking up and down in the cage,
the gnawing and licking the woodwork — is primarily not an in-
stance of overflowing energy, but rather of thwarted instinct.
Thus Lloyd Morgan says : " The animal prevented from perform-
ing his instinctive activities is often apparently unquiet, uneasy,
and distressed. Hence I said that the animals in our zoological
gardens, even if born and reared in captivity, may exhibit a
craving for freedom and a yearning to perform their instinctive
activities. This craving may be regarded as a blind and vague
impulse, prompting the animal to perform those activities which
are for its own good and for the good of the race to which it be-
longs." Animal Life and Intelligence, 1891, p. 430.

22 THE PLxVY OF ANIMALS.

course. But when this need is not present, as is the
case in our examjDle, she still leaps after the ball; and
only when disabled through utter fatigue would the
cat fail to obey the impulse. The physiological condi-
tions that lead a young animal to play at hunting need
not be any other than those which enable an adult ani-
mal to pursue its natural prey.

If, therefore, these facts lead us to expect to find
the chief problems of play in our conception of instinct,
they also force upon us a consideration of the great bio-
logical significance of play. For even if I should not
succeed in convincing the reader that superabundance of
nerve energy is not even a conditio sine qua non, but
rather only a particularly favourable condition for play,
I have still every right to maintain that the Schiller-
Spencer theory is unsatisfactory; for while it attempts,
it is true, to make clear the physiological conditions of
play, this theory has notliing to say about its great bio-
logical significance. According to it, play would be only
an accidental accompaniment of organic development.
Tor the advance toward perfection, due to the struggle
for existence, brings it about that the more highly de-
veloped animals have less to do than their powers are
competent for. Opposed to this xiew is the very gen-
eral conviction among those who study animals that
the play of young animals especially has a clearly defined
biological end — namely, the preparation of the animal
for its particular life activities. I have heard this ex-
planation of play given in similar terms by foresters and
by zoological specialists. Thus Paul Souriau says, in the
article already referred to : " The necessity for move-
ment is especially great in youth, because the young ani-
mal must try all the movements that he has to make
later, and also exercise his muscles and joints to de-

THE SURPLUS ENERGY THEORY OF PLAY. 23

velop them. We know that all animals have a tendency
to make use of a certain amount of energy, determined
not by the accidental needs of the individual, but by the
needs of the species in general." But if this is the case,
play itself is not merely a result of the accidental needs
of the individual, but rather an effect of natural selec-
tion, which works for anything that is serviceable for
the preservation of the species. The observation of the
different kinds of play is sufficient to establish this.
Most plays of young animals — and it is this that must
always present the essential problem in a theory of play
— act for the preservation of the individual, all for the
preservation of the species. At the same time the natu-
ral— that is, the self-originated — plays of human beings
are to be considered as practice that is useful not only to
the individual, but also to the race. '^ Pro patria est,
dum ludere videmur " is the motto that Guts Muths has
placed in the front of his book.

Can a phenomenon that is of so great, so incalculable
value possibly be simply a convenient method of dis-
sipating superfluous accumulations of energy? In all
this there seems nothing to hinder the assumption that
the instincts operative in play, like so many phenomena
of heredity, first appear when the animal really needs
them. Where, then, would be the play of the young?
It would not be provoked either by overflowing nervous
energy or by the need for recreation. Yet the early
appearance of this instinct is of inestimable impor-
tance. Without it the adult animal would be but poorly
equipped for the tasks of his life. He would have far
less than the requisite amount of practice in running
and leaping, in springing on his prey, in seizing and
strangling the victim, in fleeing from his enemies, in
fighting his opponents, etc. The muscular system would
4

24: THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

not be sufficiently developed and trained for all these
tasks. Moreover, nmch would be wanting in the struc-
ture of his skeleton, much that must be supplied by func-
tional adaptation during the life of each individual, even
in the period of growth. The thought presents itself
here that it must be the iron hand of natural selection
that brings into bold relief without too compelling in-
sistence and apparently without serious motive — namely,
by means of play — what will later be so necessary. There
need not be any particular superfluity of energy; so long
as only a small remnant of unemployed force is present
the animal will follow the law that heredity has stamped
upon him.

Thus we see that the explanation of play by means
of the overflow-of-energy theory proves to be unsatisfac-
tory. A condition of superabundant nervous force is
always, I must again emphatically reiterate, a favourable
one for play, but it is not its motive cause, nor, as I
believe, a necessary condition of its existence. Instinct
alone is the real foundation of it. Foundation, I say,
because all play is not purely instinctive activity. On
the contrary, the higher we ascend in the scale of exist-
ence the richer and finer become the psychological phe-
nomena that supplement the mere natural impulse, en-
nobling it, elevating it, and tending to conceal it under
added details.

But the fundamental idea from which we must pro-
ceed is instinct. My first task must be the examination
of instinct; and after a longer, but I hope not altogether
uninteresting, exposition, I shall return to the points
made above and give them more adequate treatment.

CHAPTER II.

PLAY AND INSTINCT.

Would it not be building on water or shifting sand
to attempt the explanation of a psychological phenome-
non by means of the mere concept of instinct? " The
word instinct/' remarked Hermann Samuel Eeimarus in
1760, "has been until now so vague and unsettled that
it scarcely had any certain meaning, or rather it had the
most various uses." * This was still quite true up to the
middle of the present century of the topic as a whole,
and it will probably always continue to be true in
regard to many details. "In speaking on instinct,"
says Eibot, with laconic brevity, "the first difficulty
is to define it." f Since the time of Darwin, how-
ever, a great and important forward step has been
taken, and Darwinism has assumed of late years a form
that offers a fixed point of departure for the investi-
gation of the problem that concerns us in this chap-
ter. It is by no means my intention in what follows to
give a history of the idea of instinct— a task never yet
undertaken, to my knowledge. Still, it is necessary to
clear the way for the comprehension of the problem and
the appreciation of the view which I shall advocate, by

* H. S. Reimarus, AUgemeine Betrachtungen iiber die Triebe
der Thiere, bauptsiichlich iiber ihre Kunsttriebe, Hamburg, 1773.
+ Th. Ribot, L'Heredite psychologique, Paris, 1804, p. 15.

35

26 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

a glance at the most important positions of modern
thought. The following points of view may be distin-
guished :

1. The transcendental-teleological conception: (a)
the theological, (h) the metaphysical, explanation of in-
stinct.

2. The point of view which repudiates the notion of
instinct.

3. The Darwinian solution, by means of (a) the
transmission of both acquired and congenital characters;
(b) the transmission of acquired characters only; (c) the
transmission of congenital characters only.

Very early in modern thought we see the theological
form of the transcendental-teleological conception of in-
stinct brought forward by Descartes. For while he, fol-
lowing the Spaniard Pereira, denied to animals a rea-
soning intelligence, and considered them as mere ma-
chines or automata, he advocated the idea that the
apparent intelligent actions of animals are to be traced
directly to divine influence. The almost marvellous
suiting of means to end seen in the actions of many ani-
mals, especially those displaying constructive instincts,
furnishes sufficient ground for a similar opinion among
many not at all inclined to deny all intellectual life to
animals. (The strict Cartesian doctrine was for a long
time so influential that the celebrated Leroy, through
fear of persecution by the Sorbonne, published his letters
on animal intelligence * as the work of a " physician
of Nuremberg.")

The idea that these mysterious instinctive capabili-
ties are directly implanted in the animal by God had a

* Ch. G. Leroy, Lettres philosophiqnes siir I'intelligence et la
perfectibilite des aniraaux, 1764, new edition, 1803.

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 27

great attractive power for religious natures, and espe-
cially so at the epoch of the Enhghtenment, that period
of reflective thought when the favourite attitude was
one of " adoring contemplation" of the Creator's power.
A naive conception of the universe like that of Gellert,
for instance, who informs us in one of his poems that
God called the sun and moon into existence for the pur-
pose of dividing the seasons, naturally impels its holders
to similar conclusions with regard to the adaptation of
animal instincts. Two examples from this period and
three modern ones may serve to illustrate this concep-
tion. Komanes quotes this remark of Addison's: "I
look upon instinct as upon the principle of gravitation
in bodies, which is not to be explained by any known
qualities inherent in the bodies themselves, nor from
any laws of mechanism, but as an immediate impression
from the first mover and divine energy acting in the

creatures.

Eeimarus regards instinct as a direct proof of the
existence of God. His work, referred to above, contains
a chapter on knowledge of the Creator through animal
art-impulses, in which he expresses the opinion that
such powers of body and soul as animal instincts dis-
close surpass the forces of Nature, showing us the " wise
and good Author of Nature who has appointed for every
animal the powers necessary for his hfe."

A definition from the eighth edition of the Encyclo-
pedia Britannica may be mentioned as a modern ex-
ample- t "It thus remains for us to regard mstmct as
a mental faculty, sui generis, the gift of God to the lower
animals, that man in his own person and by them might
be relieved from the meanest drudgery of Nature.

* G. J. Romanes, Animal Intelligence, p. 11. ^ ^

t Cited from Romanes's Darwin and after Darwm, i, p. ^yu.

28 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

Brehm mentions a professor of zoology * by whom
the old theory of instinct was set forth in its crude dual-
istic form — which was at that time combated most ener-
getically by the opposers of the word instinct — i. e., that
animals have only instinct and no reasoning powers,
while man has reasoning powers and no instinct. " We
know well/' says this zoologist, " that a being capable of
adapting means to his ends must be a reflecting, reason-
ing being, and that in this world man is the only such be-
ing. An animal does not think, does not reason, nor set
itself aims, and therefore, if it acts intelligently, some
other being must have thought for it. A higher law pro-
vides the ways and means of its defence. The acts of
men alone are governed by their own reason. Deep
thought is doubtless disclosed in the actions of animals,
but the animals did not think them any more than does a
machine whose work represents an embodied chain of
reasoning. The bird sings entirely without his own co-
operation; he must sing when the time comes, and he
can not do otherwise, nor can he sing at any other time.
The bird fights because fight he must by order of a
higher power. The fact is evident that the animal does
not consciously fight for any special thing, such as the
undisturbed possession of the female, nor seek by his
struggles and effort to attain it. He acts as a mere crea-
ture of Nature under her stringent laws. It is not the
animal that acts, for he is impelled by a higher power
to altogether fixed courses of conduct. Parent birds
can not deviate from a certain fixed method of rearing
their young; both must work and help in the process;
a command from above compels them to stay and work

* V. B. Altum, Der Vogel und sein Leben, Miinster, 1875, fifth
edition, p. 6 1, 114, 126 ; 13 f., 138, 141.

PLAY AND IXSTINCT. 29

together. This is all that a happy marriage means to
birds. There is no freedom, no voluntary action, no
play of varying moods, no life of emotion or of thought
to be expressed in the animal's actions. Without know-
ing what he does or why he does it, he makes directly
for Nature's goal." *

The well-known zoologist AYasman refers instinct
to the Supreme Power, but with greater moderation.
He holds that in instinctive acts themselves feeling and
presentation may be present, but, so far as instincts are
not explicable by the animal's own intelligence, he
refers them to the Creator's influence. " Since,"
he says, " animals do not know the end of their in-
stinctive actions, so much the less can they consciously
pursue it. There must be a higher intelligence present,
which not only knows the end but has ordered it. This
intelligence can be no other than that of the Creator who
has arranged the order of Xature, and made everything
conducive to the proper preservation of that order. The
adaptability of the several instincts of unreflecting
brutes, as well as their correlation to those of other mem-
bers of creation, must have its origin in creative intelli-
gence." t

The efforts of metaphysicians to find a solution of
the question are of a similar character. The spiritual
principle is, of course, substituted for the Christian's
God, but the transcendental-teleological view is re-
tained. A few citations may be useful here too. Schel-

* A. E. Brehra, Thierleben, vol. i., p. 21.

f E. Wasman, Die Zusammengesetzten und Gemischten Kolo-
nien der Ameisen, Miinster, 1891. p. 214. See, also, the interest-
ing article by 0. Fliigel, Zur Psychologie und Entwickelungsge-
schichte der Ameisen, Zeitschrift fiir exacte Philosophie, vol. xx,
p. 66.

30 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

ling puts All-pervading Reason in the place of a personal
God. " Animals/' he says, " in their acts express or wit-
ness to the All-pervading Eeason, without themselves
reasoning. Eeason is in what they do without being in
themselves. They may be said to reason through the
force of Xature, for Nature is reason." And likening in-
stinct to gravity, as Addison did, he reaches the conclu-
sion that " the animal is held by instinct to the absolute
Substance as to the ground by gravitation." *

G. F. Schuberth derives instinct from the " world-
soul." t El. C. Carus says it is " the unconscious work-
ing of the Idea " that produces organic adaptation and
beauty, and also instinctive activity. J: Similar to this is
E. von Hartmann's tracing of instinct to the " Uncon-
scious." An exact student of Darwinian literature, he
recognises the Darwinian principles only as means or
instruments used by the Unconscious, in which alone
the ultimate explanation is to be sought."*

So much for the transcendental-teleological theory.
I am far from concurring with the many modern inves-
tigators who regard all religious or metaphysical ideas
with contempt, seeing in the former a disease of youth,
and in the latter youthful sentimentalism not worthy
of the serious consideration of riper years."^ In a dec-

* System der gesammten Philosophie und der Naturphilosophie
insbesondere, p. 238.

f Allgemeine Thierseelenkimde, Leipsic, 1863, p. 14, 23.
:}: Vergleichende Psychologie, Vienna, 1866, p. 59.

* Das Unbewusste vom Standpunkt der Physiologie und De-
scendenztheorie, in the third volume of his Philosophie des Unbe-
wussten, 1889, p. 271.

^ This false idea is referable to the principles of A. Comte, who
laid down the " fundamental law " of the three stages of develop-
ment in man — the theological or fiction stage, the metaphysical or
abstract stage, and the scientific or positive stage — and likened

PLAY AND IXSTIXCT. 31

ade when we again stand at a turning point of time,
when in poHte literature the word is, Xaturalism is
dead; when plastic art turns toward a manifold, m3-s-
tic, new idealism; when a Xeo-vitalism is arising in bi-
ology; when a Brunetiere proclaims with cool audacity
the bankruptcy of positive science * — such a time is
hardly a suitable one for the too confident assertion of
the all-sufificiency of the exact sciences. Weismann has
indeed given the title " The All-sufficiency of Natural
Selection " to one of his essays, but in another of his
writings occurs a figure which I like better. In con-
trast to the common opinion which likens empirical
knowledge to a building resting on sure foundations
and rising from a firm basement safely to the high-
est story, he says of the exact sciences : " They all
build from above, and not one of them has found a
basement yet — not even physics." f This is indeed
true. The metaphysical problems do not float above
us far off in the clouds while we peacefully do our
work on the firm, enduring earth, but they are rather
beneath us, and our clear empirical knowledge rests
on their mysterious depths like the sun-reflected sails
of a ship on dark waves. So long as this is so, man
can not satisfy himself with the " unknowable " and
the " ignorabimus " of positivism, but will constantly
seek to fathom these bafflingly mysterious depths on
which he is borne along. In this book, however, no
attempt is made at a metaphysical solution of instinct

them to the three stages of individual development — childhood,
youth, and manhood. Cours de philosophie positive, second edi-
tion, 1852, vol. i, pp. 14, 17.

* F. Brunetiere, La science et la religion, Paris, 1895.

f Die Bedeutung der sexuellen Fortpflanzung fiir die Selec-
tionstheorie, Jena, 1886, p. 60.

32 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

or any other problem. Metaphysics, or the first sci-
ence, as its original name signified, should rather be
called the last science. It belongs to the end rather than
to the beginning of an inquiry. So it will be at the close
of my book on human play that I shall speak of the
metaphysical side of my subject, if at all. For surely
whether its use is justifiable or not, the time is past when
it could be appealed to as a means of approaching a sub-
ject before empirical research was attempted. The
merely metaphysical grounding of phenomena will never
again suifice.

As a result of this empirical tendency we see a strong
opposition to the transcendental-teleological view arise
in the second half of our century. It assumes the form
of a double criticism, a negative and a positive. The
one wishes to eliminate the word instinct altogether
wherever possible. The other gives to it a new meaning,
no longer involving the supernatural.

The repudiation or rejection of the conception of in-
stinct arises from the fact that the attempt is made to
explain all instinctive acts as the result of individually
acquired experience and reflection. Of the many who
have adopted this view, I notice only the more modern.*

Turning first to the great work of Alexander Bain,
The Senses and the Intellect, we find there a long chap-
ter on instinct, but in it no mention is made of the
actions which we are usually accustomed to speak of as
instinctive. Only reflex movements, such as heart beats,
breathing, coughing, sneezing, gestures, etc., are referred
to. Bain's view of real instinct is first developed in the

* For older scholars holding this view, see Fr. Kirehner, Ueber
die Thierseele, Halle, 1890, and L. Biichner, Aus dem Geistesleben
der Thiere, third edition, Leipsic, 1880.

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 33

section on " Associations of Volition/' * where he seeks
to show that such instinctive acts are acquired by in-
dividuals rather than inherited. In his companion work,
The Emotions and the Will, he teaches, too, that hered-
ity only explains the simple movements that can be at-
tributed to reflex action. The development of these to
complicated instinctive acts, he says, depends on the in-
dividual performance of the animal.'.f

Alfred Eussel "Wallace was formerly another op-
ponent of the idea of instinct. He differed from Bain in
denying to the word its application to even simple reflex
action. " It is sometimes absurdly stated that the new-
born infant ^ seeks the breast,' and this is held to be a
wonderful proof of instinct. No doubt it would be if
true, but, unfortunately for the theory, it is totally
false, as every nurse and medical man can testify. Still,
the child undoubtedly sucks without teaching, but this
is one of those simple acts dependent upon organization
which can not properly be termed instinct any more than
can breathing or muscular movement." ij:

Wallace believed, moreover, as Bain does, that in-
stinctive acts must be learned by each individual. This
appears most clearly in his brilliant essay on The Phi-
losophy of Birds' Nests.*

* A. Bain, The Senses and the Intellect, third edition, London,
1868, p. 409.

t A. Bain. The Emotions and the Will, third edition, London,
1880, p. 53. Bain records observations of a newborn iamb to show-
that the so-called instinctive capabilities were acquired by it. But
this should be compared with Hudson's notice of wild sheep: he
often saw these stand on their feet five seconds after birth, and
when one minute old run after the mother. The Naturalist in La
Plata, p. 109.

X A. R. Wallace, Contributions to the Theory of Natural Selec-
tion, p. 206. * Loc. ciL, p. 211 f.

34 THE PLAY OP ANIMALS.

It is generally asserted that birds would build nests
like all others of their kind even if they had never seen
them. That would undeniably be instinctive. " This
point, although so important to the question at issue, is
always assumed without proof, or even against proof,
for the known facts are opposed to it. Birds brought
up from the egg in cages do not make the character-
istic nest of their species, even though the proper ma-
terials are supplied them, and often make no nest
at all, but rudely heap together a quantity of ma-
terials."

" With regard to the song of birds, moreover, which
is thought to be equally instinctive, the experiment has
been tried, and it is found that young birds never have
the song peculiar to their species if they have not heard
it, whereas they acquire very easily the song of almost
any other bird with which they are associated." For
AVallace, such cases are accounted for by simple imita-
tion and in a slight degree by adaptation of the indi-
vidual to new conditions.f However, he does not con-
sider it impossible that the existence of pure instinct
may be proved in some cases. J

Later, Wallace changed his view entirely, and ad-
mitted inherited instinct. " Much of the mystery of
instinct arises from the persistent refusal to recognise
the agency of imitation, memory, observation, and rea-
son as often forming part of it "; but with these ele-
ments depending on individual effort, he recognises the
force of inheritance as one of the actual elements of

* Loc. cit, p. 220. This shows the building tendency in spite of
the abnormal conditions !

f His grounds bring to mind in part those of Condillac and
Leroy.

X Loc. cit., p. 230.

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 35

instinct. Indeed, he approaches Weismann's standpoint
on this question, as I do.*

Tlie discussion took on a more polemic form in
Germany. Materiahsm made the attack. Carl Vogt,
in the last chapter of his Pictures from Animal Life,
speaks contemptuously of " so-called instinct." Brehm
in his great work employs all the eloquence at his com-
mand against the '^impossible doctrine of so-called in-
stinct in animals." f And Biichner follows him with
an exhaustive discussion. All these writers agree in
attacking first the theological conception, to which their
materialistic point of view is, of course, fundamentally
opposed. And they naively assume that any other point
of view is out of the question. Thus we find in Biich-
ner this remarkable definition: "Men have fallen into
strange ignorance and conceit in calling the unknow-
able soul-expression of animals instinct, a word derived
from the Latin instinguere (to stimulate or incite), and
therefore necessarily implying a supernatural stimulator
or inciter." % ^^T^en the materialists become acquainted
with Darwin^s positive criticism of the old instinct idea,
they agree indeed with it, but, passing by with slight no-
tice his theory, they were not disturbed in their polemic
against the " unfortunate word instinct." Biichner, espe-
cially, protests in several of his works sharply and per-
sistently against the use of the word. He dwells on its
variability of signification and on its mistaken employ-
ment, and considers parental teaching and individual ex-
perience and reflection the true sources of actions usually
called instinctive. He points out after careful study
that " the most of what was formerly ascribed to instinct

* A. R. Wallace, Darwinism, p. 442.

f Thierleben, second edition, i, p. 20.

X L. Biichner, Kraft und Stoff, 1883, p. 471.

36 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

may be explained in ways altogether different and more
natural, either as produced by genuine reflection and
choice, or by experience, instruction, and information;
or by practice and imitation; or by a particularly good
development of the senses, especially of smell; or by
custom and organization; or by reflex action, etc. For
example, when the caterpillar uses the fibre which Na-
ture provides for building its nest, for hanging itself
from a tree and thus eluding the pursuit of its enemies;
or when caterpillars shut up in a drawer eat off the paper
lining and use it for making a cocoon; or when toads
persist in devouring great quantities of ants which taste
good but which they can not digest, although they
know (?) that pain and illness must be the conse-
quence; or when bees passionately consume honey mixed
with brandy, which maddens and unfits them for work;
w'hen birds build their nests near human habitations
for the purpose of using material such as thread and
woollen scraps; or when, according to the observations
of G. H. Schneider, certain crustaceans in captivity
use bits of cloth and paper to hide under in the ab-
sence of weeds, though when both are present their
choice is always in favour of the vegetable substance;
or when bees, presented with a set of prepared cells, stop
building cells and carry their honey to the finished ones;
or when birds prefer an artificial nest box or an appro-
priated nest to the product of their own skill; or when
ants seize strange nests in the same way and establish
themselves comfortably there instead of building for
themselves; or when many kinds of bees, instead of col-
lecting their own honey, get a supply by robbing other
hives; or when animals imitate the voice or the cries
of other animals happening to be near for purposes of
defence or enticement — in these and a thousand similar

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 37

cases whose enumeration would fill a whole book, instinct
can not be the cause or the occasion of a single one of
such actions." *

The wealth of examples with which the author clev-
erly overwhelms us might be convincing to an uncritical
reader. In truth, however, Buchner combats only the
most extreme conception of instinct, that is hardly to be
"taken seriously in our day; just as in his antagonism
to theology and metaphysics he attacks with his ma-
terialistic weapons only the extremest orthodoxy and the
most abstruse speculation, but in such a manner that
an unlearned reader might well get the impression
that theology and metaphysics generally had received
their death blow. What Biichner refutes is the idea
of a direct and miraculous imparting by God to the ani-
Inals of absolutely inflexible and inerrant instincts. It
is*"surely possible to reject this view and yet believe in
an instinct which acts under normal conditions suitably
to ends, as inborn capacity in man and beast, without
individual experience and without a knowledge of the
end, but which may vary under different circumstances,
and become in abnormal cases so unsuited to the sup-
posed end that it may be said to " err." Moreover,
Biichner and the other opponents of instinct can by
no means claim that their idea is altogether contrary
to the pre-Darwinian view, for the extreme instinct
theory briefly outlined above was not by any means uni-
versally held even before Darwin. Thus Eeimarus, who
has been quoted already, and who was easily the most
influential animal psychologist of his time, his Gen-
eral Observations on the Impulses of Animals pass-

* L. Buchner, Aus dem Geistesleben der Thiere, third edition,
Leipsic, 1880, p. 16.

38 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

ing through many editions and being translated into
French and Dutch— in this work (§98) Reimarus says:
'' The mechanical instincts of animals are not so fixed
in every point that the creature is not left the power
to modify them according to circumstances and the
extent of his own knowledge." * And the first sen-
tence of § 101 runs thus: "Animals may sometimes err
in their impulses, though this seldom happens when
they are entirely left to themselves."

The denial of inherited instinct can in no wise be
regarded as established. Eeimarus himself has contro-
verted, on grounds which in essentials are not yet ob-
solete, those who regard instinct as an empty or mean-
ingless word.f For example, he says in §93: "Many
mechanical instincts are practised from birth without
experience, instruction, or example, and yet faultlessly.
They are thus seen to be certainly inborn and inherited.
. . . This is the case with all insect grubs that envelop
themselves with a spun web, such as wasps and many
caterpillars, bees, and ants. How can a worm that has
lived scarcely a day, and that shut up in the dark
ground or a little shell, possibly have acquired of itself
such skill from experience or from lessons and examples?

* See the fra^i^mentary posthumous publication, H. S. Reima-
rus's Angefauf^ene Betrachtungen iiber die besonderen Arten der
thierischen Kunsttriebe, Hamburg, 1773, introduction.

f I fully agree with A. Kussmaul in what he says of the "splen-
did work " of Reimarus, *' which will stand for all time as a model
for critical investigators in this subject " (Unters. liber d. Seelen-
leben des neugeborenen Menschen, Leipsic, 1850, p. 5). The book
of G. F. Meier (Versuch eines neuen Lehrgebaudes von den Seelen
der Thiere, Halle, 1749) is also celebrated, but can not be compared
with Reimarus' work, seeing that, excepting some observations on
ants, it contains essentially only the typical " logical reasoning o£
the EnlightenmenL"

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 39

The same question may be asked about the animals that
are hatched out by the sun on the sand, and as soon as
they creep out of the egg hurry to the water without
being shown the way; of the young duck, too, that in
spite of the cries of the clucking hen betakes itself to
the strange element. We have incontrovertible proof also
that the mechanical impulses are innate and inherited
in animals that are taken living from the mother's
womb, and so could not by any possibility have seen any
others or have learned to act as they do. The cele^
brated Swammerdam has made such an experiment with
the water snail, which is born alive. He took a little
one just ready for birth and placed it in water, where
it immediately began to move about quite as well as
the mother could. And this implies groat skill, for, in
order to sink, these snails retire into the shell and com-
press the air contained in the end-chambers, thus becom-
ing heavier than the water. To rise, they come out a
little, causing the inclosed air and their own body to
occupy more space and so become Ughter than the water.
For surface swimming they turn over so that the shell
is like a boat, the feet are extended on both sides, and an
undulating movement like that of the land snail sends it
slowly over the water. This skill and readiness in move-
ment the snail cut from its mother's body has certainly
not learned nor practised, but brought already developed
into the world." I may here point out that Keimarus
very rightly emphasizes the difficulty of learning an
entirely new kind of movement. If, for example, suck-
ing the breast "were not innate skill, so to speak,
there is no reason why grown people should not do
it as well as children, particularly as they are prac-
tised in various movements of the mouth, and even
in sucking at other soft tubes. But, speaking for my-
5

40 THE PLAY OF AXIMALS.

self at least, I must own that I can no longer do it " *
(§ 138).

It would hardly be necessary to cite further exam-
ples of inherited instinct f if the principle involved were
not so vital to my purpose. As this is so, I give the views
of two modern philosophers Avho both defend the idea
of instinct, though from very different standpoints and
without being in any special sense Darwinians.

E. von Hartmann gives the following among a great
many other examples: " Caterpillars of the Saturnia
pavonia minor eat the leaves of a shrub as soon as they
emerge from the egg, go underneath the leaves when it
rains, and change their skin from time to time; this is
their whole existence, and in it not the least evidence
of intelligence can be found. But the time comes for
spinning their cocoon, and they build it firm and strong,
with a double arch formed by gathering the fibres to-
gether at the top, so that they are very easy to open
from the inside, but offer considerable resistance to any
external force. Were this arrangement the result of
conscious intelligence, a chain of reasoning something
like this would be necessary: ^I am now approaching
a chrysalis state, and, immovable as I am, I shall be
exposed to attack; therefore I will inclose myself in a
cocoon. Since I shall not be in a condition as a butter-
fly to effect an exit either through mechanical or through
chemical means, as many other caterpillars do, I must
therefore provide an opening. But at the same time,

* It may be mentioned that even the sceptic David II nine called
instinct a primary gift of Nature, a degree of capability that ordi-
narily surpasses the animal's powers and can not be much bettered
by the longest practice or use. An Inquiry concerning the Human
Understanding, p. 99.

f See also A. and K. Mliller, Wohnungen, Leben und Eigeu-
thiimlichkeit in der hoheren Thierwelt, p. 8 f.

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 41

that this opening may not be used by my enemies, I must
use such an arrangement of the fibrous web as will
allow me to push out but will yet offer resistance to out-
side pressure, according to the principle of the arch/
This does seem too much to expect from the poor httle
caterpillar." *

Wundt cites the same example, originally suggested
by Autenrieth,t as especially significant, and says, more-
over: " If it were actually through a capacity for adapt-
ing means to an end that the bird produces its nest,
the spider its web, and the bee its cell structure, a degree
of intelligence would be required that man himself, in
the course of a mere individual Hfe, would hardly be
capable of. A further proof of the fallacy of such an
explanation is the regularity with which certain actions
are performed by individuals of the same species where
there is not always any association between them. Such
association, of course, exists among the bee and ant
tribes and among those animals whose young remain
for some time after birth with their parents, but in
numerous other cases the little creature begins its Ufe
independently. When the caterpillar creeps out of the
egg its parents are long since dead, yet it prepares a
cocoon like theirs. x\nd, finally, there are many cases
where the instinct-acts that seem to be intelligent appear
to include a direct foresight of the future. How can this
foresight possibly be intelligent when there has never
been analogous experience in the individual's life? Nor
has it received information in any way. When the moth
incloses its eggs in a furry covering made of its own hair,
the winter, which makes this warm wrapping necessary

* E. von Hartmann. Philosophie dcs Unbewussten, i. p. 79.
f J. H. F. Autcnrieth, Ansichten uber Natur- uud Scelenleben,
1836, p. 171,

42 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

for tlie j^reservation of the egg, has not yet come. The
caterpillar has never exj)erienced the metamorphosis for
which it prepares," ^

I conclude with a few examples from the numerous
witnesses among modern scientists. " The instinct for
flight to warmer lands/^ says Xaumann^f " is born in
migratory birds. Young ones taken from the nest and
allowed to fly about freely in a large room sufficiently
prove this. They circle about their prison at night,
during their time of migration, just as the old birds do
in confinement." Douglas Spalding experimented:!: as
Swammerdam also did. He took little chicks from the
egg, put caps on them that covered the eyes until they
were two days old. "When these were removed one of
them at once followed with its eyes and head a fly some
twelve inches away. A few minutes later it picked at its
own toes, and in the next moment sprang vigorously
after a fly and devoured it. It ran at once, with evident
assurance, to a hen brought near, and seemed to need no
experience or association in all this to enable it to go
over or around impediments, for these were its first les-
sons in life. Spalding has also shown experimentally
that young swallows can fly without teaching as soon
as they reach the proper age. Further he relates: " One
day, after I had been stroking my dog, I reached my
hand into a basket which held four blind kittens three
days old. The smell of my hand made them spit and
hiss in a ridiculous way." * Eomanes succeeded in mak-

* It may be noted here that Lotze, too. liolds the hypothesis of
instinct as indispensable. See his larf^er Metaphysik, p. 299.

f J. A. Xaumann, Naturgeschichte der Yr)g-el Deutschlands, i,
p. 86.

X ^lacmillan's "Maijazine, February. 1873.

* See Wesley Mills, The Psychic Development of Young- Ani-

PLAY AXD INSTINCT. 43

ing a quite similar experiment with young rabbits and
ferrets.* Hudson once found some eggs of the Parr a
jacana. "\Yhile I was looking closely at one of the
eggs/' says he, " lying on the palm of my hand, all at
once the cracked shell parted, and the young bird quick-
ly leaped from my hand and fell into the water. I am
Cjuite sure that its sudden escape from the shell and
from my hand was the result of a violent effort on its
part to free itself, and it was doubtless stimulated to
make the effort by the loud, persistent screaming of the
parent birds, which it heard while in the shell. Stoop-
ing to pick it up to save it from perishing, I soon saw
that my assistance was not required, for immediately on
dropping into the water it put out its neck and with the
body nearly submerged, like a wounded duck trjdng to
escape observation, it swam rapidly across, and, escaping
from the water, concealed itself in the grass, lying close
and perfectly motionless like a young plover." f

AVeinland reports of the snapping turtle: "For
months these turtles emerge daily from eggs laid in the
sand and moss, and it is noteworthy that the first move-
ments of the little heads thrust out of the broken shell
are those of snapping and biting." 'ij:

_Pre3'er and Binet are firmly convinced that instinct
is the source of the child's first attempts to walk. Ac-
cording to Binet's observations, children only a few
weeks old really take measured steps when held up so
that the soles of their feet rest on the floor.* In short,

Trials, 1895, iv and vi, where Spalding's investiiration is referred to
as "somewhat overdone, though reliable in the main."

* G. J. Romanes, Mental Evolution in Animals, p. 164f. See
also Hudson's Naturalist in La Plata, chap, vi, p. 89.

t The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 112.

X From Brehm's Thierleben, second edition, vii, p. G4.

* A. Binet, Recherches sur les raouveraents quelques jeunes

4A THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

James is perfectly right when he says that the sitting
hen, for example, needs no further experience or psychic
process than the feeling that the egg is just " the-never-
to-be-too-much-sat-upon object.'^ *

From all this it appears that there is no doubt that
inherited instincts exist, and that a positive rather than
a negative criticism will be needed in dealing with this
idea, which, indeed, is much easier to affirm than to ex-
plain. We at once reach the conclusion, however, that it
is necessary to eliminate from the definition of instinct
the transcendental-teleological method of conceiving it
— a task which has been attempted by the promulgators
of the Lamarck-Darwinian theory. " An important rea-
son for the slow advance of scientific knowledge is the
universal and almost unconquerable adherence to teleo-
logical conceptions, which are substituted for distinctly
scientific ones. Nature may afi'ect us ever so impressively
and ever so variously, but it is all lost upon us because we
look for nothing in her manifestations that we have not
already read into them; because we will not permit her
to make the advances, but are always trying with impa-
tient, ambitious reasoning to approach her. Then, w^hen
in the course of centuries there comes one who draws
near to her with a quiet, modest, and receptive mind,
and lights upon innumerable phenomena which we, by
our preoccupation, have overlooked, we are amazed in-
deed that so many eyes should not have seen them be-
fore in such clear light. This striving with unnecessary
haste after harmony before the various tones w^hich
should compose it have been collected, this violent

enfants. [See also the experiments of Baklwin, Mental Develop-
ment in the Child and the Race, second edition, chap, v, § 1.]

* W. James, The Principles of Psychology, London, 1891, vol.
ii, p. 387.

PLAY AND IXSTIXCT. 45

usurpation by the intellectual jDowers of a realm where
they have not undisputed sway, explain the unfruitful-
ness of so many thinkers for the advancement of science.
It is difficult to say whether mere sentiment, which
assumes no definite form, or much reasoning tending to
no purport, has interfered more with our progress in
knowledge/' But who has written this masterly indict-
ment of modern science? I fancy that one would not
easily detect the author, did not certain artistic expres-
sions betray him, and withal the perfect style which is as
brilliant and as penetrating as a good sword.*

Lamarck published his theory of development in
1801, and extended it in the Philosophic zoologique,
which appeared in 1809, as well as in the introduction
to his work on the Histoire naturelle des animaux sans
vertebres. As the fundamental principle of his theory,
he lays down the inheritance of acquired characters by
individuals (especially functional adaptations). Dar-
win included this principle in his theory advanced in
1859, but perfected it by his more important and com-
prehensive conception of natural selection. According
to it, not only functional adaptations, but also the in-
heritance of congenital characters produce changes in
species, so that in each generation congenital " indi-
vidual variations " appear of which the '^ fittest " always
come out best in the struggle for existence, and are
thus transmitted further (Spencer, Survival of the Fit-
test). In the whole organic world this principle rules,
adapting means to ends without there being any end —
that is, any conscious or voluntary end. The transcen-
dental-teleological principle is thus excluded, " The

* Rchillor, Ueber die iisthetische Erziehung des Menschen, thir-
teenth letter.

46 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

useful becomes the necessary as soon as it comes to be
possible." *

Darwin himself attached greater importance to con-
genital qualities than to the inheritance of acquired ones,
as clearly appears in his definition of instinct. He says
in his Origin of Species: "It would be the most serious
mistake to suppose that the greater number of instincts
have been acquired by habit in one generation, and then
transmitted by inheritance to successive generations. It
can be clearly shown that the most wonderful instincts
with which we are acquainted — namely, those of the
hive-bee and of many ants — could not possibly have been
thus acquired." And in the Descent of Man: " Some
intelligent actions — as when birds on oceanic islands
first learn to avoid man — after being performed during
many generations become converted into instincts, and
are inherited. . . . But the greater number of the more
complex instincts appear to have been gained in a wholly
different manner through the natural selection of varia-
tions of simpler instinctive actions." f

We see, then, that Darwin derives instinct from two
distinct sources. The principal source is natural selec-
tion; the less important is the inheritance of intellec-
tual capacity and then of acquired characters. Eo-
manes follows him closely in his distinction between

* A. Weismann, Amphimixis, Jena, 1891, p. 159. [The anfhor
here includes a quotation from Kant's Physische Geo.ijrraphie (TT.
Th., Abs. i, § 3) showing that that philosopher had the idea of pro-
gressive development resulting from artificial selection, which in
Darwin's mind led to the doctrine of Natural Selection. He refers
also to Fischer's Geschichte d. neu. Philos., third edition, iii, p.
161.]

■f The Descent of Man, chap, ii. See also a similar passage
from Darwin's manuscript in Romanes's Mental Evolution in Ani-
mals, p. 209.

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 47

primary and secondary instinct. He says: "I shall
allude to instincts which arise hy way of natural selec-
tion, without the intervention of intelligence, as primary
instincts, and to those which are formed by the lapsing
of intelligence as secondary instincts." *

Eomanes in turn has influenced some other animal
psychologists. Thus Foveau de Courmelles says, in elab-
orating Eomanes' distinction: " The primary instincts
consist of non-intelligent habits devoid of adaptability,
transmissible by heredity, themselves subject to variation
and liable to become fixed. Secondary instincts are in-
telligent adaptations that have become automatic and
hereditary." f And Lloyd Morgan, who refers to
Romanes's treatment of the instinct idea as most mas-
terly and admirable, likewise adopts the division into
primary and secondary instincts, but, owing to the in-
fluence of Weismann and Galton, is very cautious about
approaching the subject of the inheritance of acquired
characters, and, consequently, that of secondary in-
stincts. He accordingly attributes to these principles
only a probable value. :j:

The great majority of modern animal psychologists,
however, explain instinct by the Lamarckian principle
of the inheritance of acquired characters alone, or almost
alone. Their conception of instinct is something like
this: Darwin had already pointed out its analogy to acts

* Mental Evolution in Animals, chap. xii. I am well awn re
that the distinctions between "inherited" and "acquired," "pri-
mary " and " secondary," instincts are not exactly the same, but
I can not go into these finer points here.

f Les facultes mentales des animaux, Paris. 1890, p. 55.

X Animal Life and Intelligence, p. 433. [The reader should
turn to Lloyd Morgan's later work. Habit and Instinct, in which
he gives up the " inheritance of acquired characters " altogether.]

48 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

in individual life which have become reflex through
practice and repetition; the piano player reaches for the
right key '^ mechanically/^ intuitively, though at first
he could make the same movement only under the con-
trol of conscious will. In just the same way inherited
instinct depends on a " lapsing of intelligence " (Lewes),
but instead of being accomplished in a single life, it pro-
gresses in such a manner that the conscious practice
of earlier generations becomes the reflex activity of
later ones."^ This is what is meant by the common desig-
nation of instinct as inherited habit or hereditary mem-
ory. I cite only a few examples: Preyer and Eimer use
these expressions in defining instinct, and L. Wilser calls
it hereditary skill or aptitude, f Wundt says, " Move-
ments that originally appeared as simple or compound
acts of the will, but later, either in the life of the indi-
vidual or in the progress of race development, have be-
come partially or entirely mechanical, we call instinctive
acts." X Th. Eibot,* with Lewes, calls instinct " con-
science eteinte/' and Schneider refers what he recognises
as hereditary in instinctive acts to the practice and habit
of ancestors. || Thus he explains our instinctive fear in
the dark as the inheritance of acquired association:

* This interesting passage is from Leroy : " What we regard as
entirely mechanical in animals may be ancient habit perpetuated
from generation to generation." Lettres philosophiques sur I'in-
telligence et la perfectibilite des animaux, new edition, Paris, 1802,
p. 107.

f W. Preyer, Die Seele des Kindes, Leipsie, 1890, p. 186. Eimer,
Entstehung der Arten, i, p. 240. L. Wilser, Die Vererbung der
geistiiren Eigenschaften, Heidelberg, p. 9.

X W. Wundt, Vorlesungen fiber die Menschen- und Thierseele,
second edition. 1892, p. 422. [Eng. trans., p. 388.]

# L'Heredite psychologique, fifth edition, p. 19.

II G. H. Schneider, Der thierische Wille, Leipsie, 1880, p. 14G.

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 49

" Not only our savage ancestors but even those of later
times who have not had the good fortune to live, as we
of the present do, in circumstances rendered secure by
orderly government, could not undertake the slightest
journey, especially by night, with the carelessness with
which we now in middle Europe tramp through the
loneliest mountain pass or traverse the densest woods
by day or night. They had much to fear from wild ani-
mals, especially bears, and from men, such as highway-
men and the famous robber knights, and in lonely woods
and passes were never safe. Moreover, the feeling of
fear which besets the young, especially when travelling
alone on a dark night in a lonely wood or valley, is so
universal that we are forced to connect it with the com-
mon experience of earlier generations, and consider it
an inherited feeling." *

If this reference of instinct to the inheritance
of acquired characters which we find is so general be
correct, play can be explained about as follows: Our
ancestors have throughout their whole lives made use of
their arms and legs for ever}^ possible movement; ac-
cordingly, their descendants have in their earliest in-
fancy the impulse to kick with the legs and to grasp
everything in their hands. The forbears hunted ani-
mals; hence the hunt and chase games of the descend-
ants. Our ancestors were obliged to hide from their
enemies in a thousand ways; hence the hiding games of
children. Thus Schneider says: " The boy does not
now eat the sparrows, beetles, flies, and other insects
that he eagerly seizes and perhaps tears to pieces, nor
does he intend to devour the young birds that he takes
from their nests in high trees, often at the peril of his

* G. H. Schneider, Der menschliche Wille, Berlin, 1882, p. 68.

50 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

life; but merely seeing these things wakes in him a
strong impulse to plunder, hunt, and kill, apparently
because his savage ancestors commonly gained their
subsistence by such means. There is in him an in-
timate causal connection between the sight of cer-
tain free animals, or birds' eggs, and the impulse to
plunder, slay, and rend. That this was the case
with our animal ancestors we are convinced from
the life of modern apes, which is sustained principal-
ly by means of spoil taken from smaller animals, espe-
cially insects, young birds, and birds' eggs." * " Girls,
as well as boys, show in their play unmistakable signs
of having inherited the characteristic habits of the
race."t Thus play becomes the result of intelligent
activity of preceding generations, a form of heredi-
tary skill.

In the last decade, however, the general conception
of instinct has undergone an essential transformation
through x^ugust Weismann's neo-Darwinism. I can
not here, of course, go thoroughly into the highly com-
plex grounds of this theory of heredity. ij: Weismann
postulates an hereditary substance carried on continu-
ously through succeeding generations, the germ plasm
(Keimplasma ^) which is present in the so-called chro-
mosomes, or colourless bodies of different shapes inside
the cell nuclei (" chromatin bodies " or " chromatin
nuclei "). He not only asserts in a general way that this
substance inside the germ cells must have an exceedingly

* Der menschliche Wille, p. 62.
t Ibid., p. 32.

t See especially Die Continiiitat des Kei in pi asm as. Jena, 1885.
Amphimixis oder die Vermischung der Individuen, Jena, 1891.
Das Keimplasma, Jena. 1892.

* Keimplasma, p. 33.

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 51

complicated structure ^ historically handed down, which,
indeed, is undeniably the case, but in a more daring
hypothesis he attempts to establish the essential elements
of this structure: the molecules of germ plasm go in
various w^ays to form Biophores, which determine the
cell qualities; f these in turn form Determinants,:]: which
again find their higher unity in the Ide; ^ these, again,
are grouped in the Idant,|| which is identical with the
chromosome.

But this world of minute elements represented by
the germ cells is, as I said before, continuous — ^that is,
it is not produced anew in each individual, but persists
with great stability throughout the countless successions
of related life forms, building up organisms but never
exhausted in the process, and not influenced by indi-
vidual experience or by heredity. It may be figured as
a creeping root, stretching far from the parent stock;
single plants rise from it at different points, represented
by the individuals of successive generations.^ If, then,
a material so constituted is the only medium for the
operation of heredity, there can be no transmission of
acquired characters. ^

Weismann's theory taken as a whole is far from uni- \
versally recognised as established. It has a great num-
ber of opponents, of whom I mention only Haeckel,^ '

* Keimplasma, p. 82.
+ Ibid., p. 53.

t Ibid., p. 76.

* Earlier called " Ahnenplasma" by Weisrnami, ibid., p. 84.
II Ibid., p. 90.

^ A. Weisraann, Die Bedeutiiug der sexuellen Fortpflanzung
fur die Selectionstheorie, Jena, 1886, p. 20.

^ Haeckel, Natiirlicho Schopfiine:so:eschicht.e, 1889, p. 198. An-
thropogenie oder Entwickelungsgeschichte des Menschen, 1891,
preface.

52 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

Eimer,* Wilser^f Hertwig^ Eomanes,** Herbert Spen-
cer,! | Wundt,^ Siilly^O and Eibot.1; The truth is, it is
not yet given to ns entirely complete, for almost every
work of the gifted author yet published shows some
modification more or less important.:!; The weightiest
point to be determined before the theory can be further
developed is that of the relation of the individual to the
hereditary substance or of the soma to the germ plasm.
Does this germ plasm pervade the endless series of in-
dividuals with absolute continuity, changing only
through its combination with that of other individuals
(amphimixis)? Weismann formerly appeared to attrib-
ute absolute persistence to the germ plasm; indeed,
he has, in one instance at least, emphasized this doctrine.
Yet in 1886 he admitted that monads that are propa-
gated by mere division may inherit acquired characters. J
In 1891 he limits this possibility to unicellular structures
without a nucleus.** In other directions, however, he has

* Th. Eimer, Die Eiitstehung der Arten aiif Grund von Verer-
ben erworbener Eigensehaften nach den Gesetzen organischen
Wachsens, 1888.

f L. Wilser, Die Vererbung der geistigen Eigenschaften, 1892.
X O. Hertwig. Zeit- und Streitfragen der Biologic, vol. i. Pra-
formation oder Epigenese?, 1894.

* G. J. Romanes, Critical Examination of Weismannism.

II Herbert Spencer, The Inadequacy of Natural Selection, 1803.
A Rejoinder to Professor Weismann, 1803. Weismannism once
more, 1894.

^ Wundt, Vorlesungen iiber die Menschen- und Thierseele, sec-
ond edition, 1802, p. 441.

0 J. Sully, The Human Mind, 1802, i, p. 139.

:l Th. Ribot, L'heredite psychologique, 1894. preface.

^ Since this was written the theory of " Germinal Selection "
has been added to it.

J Die Bedeutung der sexuellen Fortpflanzung fiir die Selec-
tionstheorie, Jena, 1886, p. 38.

*"^ Amphimixis, Jena, 1891. (Weismann must of course hold to

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 53

weakened this position by the admission that the germ
plasm may have only a '' very great " but not absolute
persistence. I do not refer to his granting the inherit-
ance of diseases (these are, after all, only pollutions of
the stream that may not essentially alter it), but to his
admitting the possibility of modifying the germ plasm
by changing nutriment and temperature. *

Next in order is his essay on External Influences as
Aids to Development (1894), where he shows that he is
not blind to the importance of external conditions. He
here concedes that the development of germ plasm itself
may be modified by means of changes in nutriment and
temperature, while predispositions that remain latent
under ordinary circumstances ma}' be stimulated to
activity by such " external aids.'' The fact that this is
not the cause but only the occasion of the modification
is especially emphasized, the cause being always the pre-
disposition latent in the germ. That the persistent qual-
ity of the germ plasm was only relative had already been
clearly intimated, however, in his more important work,
Das Keimplasma^ 1892, p. 526. Speaking of a butter-
fly, which has bright or dark wings, according to the
climate, he goes on to say: "The modifying influence,
here temperature, affects in each individual both the
fundament of the wings — that is, a portion of the soma
■ — and also the germ plasm contained in germ cells of the
organism. In the wing-fundament the same determi-
nants change as in the germ-cells — namely, those of the
wing-scales. The first modification can not influence
the germ cells, and so affects only the colour of the wings

the inheritance of acquired characters for at least the lowest orders,
for the mixinq presupposes some ^iven differences.)

* This appears in the early essay Ueber die Vererbung, Jena,
1883, p. 49.

54: THE PLAY OF AXIMALS.

belonging to the one individual; but the other passes
over to succeeding generations and determines the colour
of their wings so far as they are not further modified
by later temperature conditions." It is only by means
of such variations in the germ structure, brought about
by external influences, that Weismann can now find a
possible explanation of the origin of new species.*

I now pause to gather up these positions. Weis-
mann's theory is not sufficiently defined by the thesis:
there is no inheritance of acquired characters; for, in
the first place, he grants such inheritance in the case
of unicellular structures without a nucleus, where his
distinctions between morpJio plasm and ideoplasm, soma-
togen and hiastogen do not hold; and, secondly, while
there is indeed for him no inheritance of acquired
characters among individuals of the higher forms of
life, there is the inheritance of the acquired charac-
ters of germ plasm. For conditions which infiuence an
individual organism may take effect in the hereditary
substance present in it and produce inheritable changes
in that substance. Acquired variation in the individual
may run parallel, under certain conditions, with acquired
and inherited variation in the germ plasm, but is never
the cause of it. They are simultaneous reactions from a
third condition — namely, the external influence. So it
appears that what is usually meant by the phrase in-
heritance of acquired characters — namely, the carrying
over from one generation to another of acquired charac-
ters of the body — is actually excluded by Weismann's
theory, f

* Keim plasma, especially pp. 542. 544, 54G. Sec also G. J. Ro-
manes's Examination of Weismannism.

f I can not resist citins: Kant here as an advocate of the old
preformation doctrine. In 1775 he said in his article on The

U-^

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 55

It is undoubtedly true that Weismann has seriously
shaken the faith in inheritance of acquired charac-
ters which formerly played so important a role in phi-
losophy, especially in the departments of ethics and soci-
ology. He accomplished this quite as much by his
searching criticism of the Lamarckian principle as by
his own complicated theory of heredity. Even adher-
ents of the Lamarckian system admit that its principles
were rather too easily assumed. And, fortunately, one
can speak of a neo-Darwinism as opposed to neo-La-
marckism * without being pledged to all the mysteries
of Biophores and Determinants, Ides and Idants. Gal-
ton,! an author whose stirp theory is in many re-
spects analogous, is ver\' sceptical in regard to the in-
heritance of acquired characters, if he does not abso-

Various Races of Man : " Organic bodies naturally contain germs
of special flevelopments that pertain to special parts. Birds of
the same species that live in difiPerent climates have the germs of
an extra set of feathers, that are developed or not according to
climatic conditions. . . . External things may be the occasion but
can never be the cause of such developments, which are always
hereditary and specific. Accident or mechanical-physical causes
can as little effect any permanent modification in the form or attri-
butes of the members as they can produce an organism itself. . . .
Diseases are sometimes hereditary, but these do not belong to the
organism but are rather ferments in bad humors which propagate
themselves by infection. . . . Air, sunshine, and food may modify
an animal's body during its growth, but these modifications are
not to be confused with the generative force which carries on its
operations independently of them, so that whatever was to be
pt^rpetuated was already being developed for the advantage and
permanence of the creature." Kant here speaks of modifications
within the species, and from a teleological standpoint. Neverthe-
less the similarity of ideas is astonishing.

* Lester F. Ward, Neo-Darwinism and Neo-Lamarekism. 1891.

f Francis Galton, A Theory of Heredity, Journal of the An-
thropological Institute, vol. v, pp. 329 ff., and especially 344 i.
6

56 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

lutely deny it. Similar opinions are held by James,
Yirchow, Meynert, His, Ziehen, 0. Fliigel, Wallace,
; Eay-Lankester, Thiselton Dyer, Brooks, Baldwin, Van
1 Benimelen, Spengel, and many others.* A. Forel has
I also joined their ranks, f He says: " I, too, used to be-
\ lieve that instincts were hereditary habits, but I am
now convinced that this is an error, and have adopted
Weismann's view. It is really impossible to suppose
that acquired habits, like piano playing and bicycle rid-
ing for instance (these are certainly acquired), could
hand over their mechanism to the germ plasm of the
offspring." J

The transition to the idea of instinct is easy at this
point, for, even according to the latest formulation of
Weismann's theory, it is quite impossible that the intel-
ligent actions of ancestors should be transmitted to their
descendants as instincts. Even if a modification of the
hereditary substance should take place it would not
originate in the intelligent act, but in the external con-
'ditions that impelled the individual to perform the act.
Let us take Schneider's example of fear in the dark.
Our ancestors frequently encountered in the dark the
terrible cave bear. This repeated experience most prob-
' ably produced in their brains an acquired sensory motor
tract: " Dark — be wary! " Now, is it at all conceivable

* W. Jaines, The Principles of Psycho]o2:y, 1801, vol. ii. p. 678.
Th. Ziehen, Leitfaden der physiolofrischen Psychologie, 1893, p. 13.
O. FU'igel. Ueber das Seelenleben der Thiere, Zeitschrift fiir exaete
Philos., vol. xiii (1885), p. 143: Ueber den Instinct der Thiere mit
besondere Rlicksieht auf Romanes nnd Spencer (1890). ibid., p. 17.
A. R. Wallace. Darwinism. Baldwin, American Naturalist. June,
July, 1896. For the other authors see Weismann's Das Keim-
plasma, p. 519.

f [As has Lloyd Morgan. See his Habit and Instinct.]

i A. Forel, Gehirn und Seele, 1894, p. 21.

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 57

that a variation 23arallel with this can have been ef-
fected in the reproductive substance through which pre-
dispositions arose that at once produced a similar
tract in the brains of their descendants? This is in-
credible. It follows, then, since by supposition only
the external environment and not the bodily changes
work upon the germ plasm, that any explanation of in-
stinct by means of the inheritance of acquired characters
is quite impossible. There remains, then, to be consid-
ered in this example only the explanation by means
of selection, the Darwinian position. This is simple
enough, supposing it to be really a case of heredity
(as I do not pretend to affirm categorically): it has
always been the case that more of those individuals
perished who were inclined to walk about carelessly in
dark caves and woods.

Weismann himself has not neglected the question
of instinct. He said as long ago as 1883 that all in-
stincts have their roots not in the acts of individuals,
but rather in germ variation.* In the same lecture he
also pointed out that many instinctive acts are per-
formed only once in a lifetime — for instance, the flight
of the queen bee — and would thus be inherited. without
practice.! And in a paper on the Allmacht der Natur-
ziichtung, 1893, he cites a highly interesting example
which seems to exclude every explanation other than
that of selection. It concerns, on the one hand, the
origin of physical characters and of instincts, and on
the other the decadence of the latter. In this case
the inheritance of acquired characters is out of the
question, as the subject is a sterile individual. The
workers among ants are known to be sterile. Among

* Ueber f|pr Vprerhuntr. Jena, IS^d, p. 37.

f Ibid. See also the remark of Darwin cited above.

58 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

some species the female workers have the slaveholding
instinct. This instinct must have arisen hefore the spe-
cies had sterile workers (they have developed from fe-
males originally productive); for all the intermediate
stages are known between those which hold no slaves at
all and those which always do it. The Formica san-
guinea do not yet show the slaveholding tendency as a
fixed and demonstrable characteristic of their species, nor
have they the extraordinary physical modification that
marks the Pohjergus refescens, settled slaveholders. Ac-
cordingly, we have here two developmental stages with
clearly marked instincts. It is between these two stages
that the variation to sterile workers must have taken
place. The jaws must be changed from working tools to
deadly weapons, as well as become adapted for carrying;
they have become sword-sharp pincers, sharp and strong,
suited alike for seizing and bringing home the young
from other nests and for boring into the heads of ene-
mies. At the same time the instinct for plundering is
enormously strengthened. And here the hereditary effect
of practice can not possibly be argued. The sterile
workers could not possibly transmit anything, and their
progenitors possessed neither such organs nor such in-
stincts. On the other hand, the domestic instincts are
weakened; workers of the Polyergus neither care for the
larv^ nor collect food and building material. In fact,
they seem to have lost entirely even the capacity to
recognise and appropriate their own proper nourishment.
" Forel, Lubbock, and Wasman are all convinced that
the assertion made by Huber long ago is entirely correct.
I have repeated his experiment, as well as Forel's, with
the same result. These insects starve when confined, if
none of their slaves are at hand to feed them. They
do not recognise a drop of honey as something that will

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 59

satisfy their hunger, and when Wasman placed a dead
pupa actually in their jaws, they made no attempt to eat
it, only licked it inquiringly, and left it. But as soon as
one of their slaves — that is, a worker of the Formica
fiisca — was introduced, they approached and begged it
for food. The slave hastened to the honey drop, filled
her mouth, and brought the food to her ladyship." *
AYhat a splendid example this would be of the hereditary
effect of disuse, says Weismann, if only these workers
were not sterile! As the unreasoning conduct of these
workers excludes the idea that their behaviour springs
from the judgment of individuals, there remains for an
explanation only selection, and selection of the mother
at that. It must be noted, on the one hand, that those
ant communities are more thriving whose productive
females bring forth workers whose individual varia-
tions are in the direction of the decided modifications in
physical qualities and in instinct mentioned above, f On
the other hand, if the force of selection relaxes with
reference to the weakening instinct, there results a
community where the fruitful females produce workers
whose instinct for collecting, rearing the young, and
foraging is constantly diminishing (negative selection or
panmixia).

Instances like this must increase the doubt about
the inheritance of acquired characteristics. Let us now
turn our attention to some other arguments for neo-
Darwinism. To its advocates the fact is very significant
that not a single example seriously threatening Weis-
mann's theory has been brought forward by their op-

* Weismann, Der Allraacht der Naturzuchtung, Jena, 1893,
p. 52.

f The same idea may be found in Darwin's Origin of Species,
in loc.

L

60 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

ponents. Many of the cases cited with that in view are
scientifically unreliable, and the rest can be explained
quite well by the principle of selection. If acquired
characters were hereditary, what an instinctive predis-
position there would be for such acts as writing, for in-
stance!— and Spencer would be able to ascribe Mozarf s
precocious musical talent to the practice of a few previ-
ous generations! It should further be borne in mind
that the long-continued experiments of Weismann and
others have never produced a positive instance of such
transmission. Darwin himself was interested in the
question. Romanes tells us that in 1874 he had a long
conversation with him on the subject, and undertook a
systematic series of experiments under his direction. He
continued them for more than five years almost uninter-
ruptedly, but they were all unsuccessful; so he, too,
found it impossible to establish the truth of the inherit-
ance of acquired characters.*
*— As regards instinct, there is, further, the a 'priori
argument that it is inconceivable how acquired connec-
tions among the brain cells could so affect the inner
structure of the reproductive substance as to produce
inherited brain tracts in later generations. And, finally,
there is this consideration mentioned by Ziegler as a
suggestion of Meynert's: "It is well known that in the
higher vertebrates acquired associations are located in
the cortex of the hemispheres. As an acquired act be-
comes habitual, it may be assumed that the correspond-
ing combination of nervous elements will become more
dense and strong and the tract proportionally more
fixed. This being the case, it follows that the tracts of
acquired and habitual association, as well as those of

* Romanes, A Critical Examination of Woismannism, preface.

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 61

acquired movement, pass through the cerebrum. In-
stincts and reflexes, however, have their seat for the
most part elsewhere. The tracts of very few of them
are found in the cortex of the hemispheres. It is chiefly
in the lower parts of the brain and spinal cord that the
associations and co-ordinations corresponding to in-
stincts and reflexes have their seat. When the compara-
tive anatomist investigates the relative size of the hemi-
spheres in vertebrates (especially in amphibians, rep-
tiles, birds, and mammals), a very evident increase in
size is observed which apparently goes hand in hand
with the gradual gain in intelligence. In the course of
long phylogenetic development, during which the hemi-
spheres have gradually attained their greatest dimen-
sions, they have constantly been the organ of reason and
the seat of acquired association. If, then, habit could
become instinct through heredity, it is probable that the
cerebrum would in much greater degree than is the fact
be the seat of instinct." *

But what part has psychology had in this war of
opinions? It is impossible for her to give a satisfactory
answer to this question. She must pick her way cau-
tiously, and in the matter of instinct the adoption of
the neo-Darwinistic theory is evidently the most prudent
course, for to it belongs the now universally recognised
principle of selection. Accordingly, when I speak of
instinct it will be in accordance with this idea of innate
hereditary variations, passing by the Lamarckian theory
as either obsolete or a point of view yet to be sub^-tanti-
ated. In what follows I adhere in essentials to the defi-
nition that Ziegler, a follower of Weismann, has given in

* H. E. Ziegler, Ueber den Begriff des Instincts, Verh. d.
deutsche zool. Gesellschaft. 1891, p. 184. vSee also Baldwin, Men-
tal Development in the Child and the Race, chap, vii, § 4.

62 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

the address already cited, with the exception of one
point, which I shall indicate at once. Ziegler has set
forth with great skill, clearness, and technical scholar-
ship a point of view which is now more and more
attracting the attention of modern zoologists; and the
leading features of his exposition coincide with the
views of many modern psychologists. In all instinct
there is a close connection between a particular stimulus
and a particular act, a connection that is of utility
under ordinary conditions. Is this useful adjustment
attributable to conscious will? No. On the contrary,
the idea of consciousness must be rigidly excluded from
any definition of instinct that is to be of practical
utility. (Who can tell whether a dog, a lizard, a fish,
a beetle, a snake, or an earthworm performs an action
consciously or unconsciously? It is always hazardous in
scientific investigation to allow a hypothesis which can
not be tested empirically.)

It follows, that such fixed and useful connections
between stimulus and action are to be treated as reflexes.
Instincts are, as Herbert Spencer has rightly said, com-
plex reflex acts. But the connection between reflex
action and instinct is explicable only by means of selec-
tion, and selection in the Weismannian sense, which
excludes the inheritance of acquired characters. " In
the progress of phylogenetic development natural selec-
tion lays the foundation of instincts, and accordingly
they are useful. Instincts are adapted to conditions, and
serve generally for the preservation of the individual,
always for that of the species." There must be, physio-
logically speaking, certain connecting paths among the
ganglion cells that — existing as hereditary predisposi-
tions— contain " hereditary tracts."

* See James, The Principles of Psychology, ii, p. 891.

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 63

The complexity of instinct that is often so baffling,
and its wonderful adaptiveness are, after all, not more
difficult to explain than the other things about an organ-
ism. For example: " The marvellous instinct that leads
the wood bee (Xylocopa violacea Fabr.) to build its in-
tricate nest in the trunks of trees is not more inexplicable
than the faceted eyes of these very insects. . . . The
principles involved in the morphological structure of
the organ also account for the instincts; and there are
also to be taken into account homology, analogy, and
parallel development, individual variation, natural selec-
tion, and the resulting adaptation, cross-breeding, and
atavism; here also there are cases of rudimentary and
hindered development, natural or artificial deformity."
No part can be had, in the genesis of instinct, by associa-
tion resting on a foundation of previous experience, what
we mean by understanding, intelligence in its widest
sense; nor by acquired tracts, for these are not hereditary.

After giving this elaboration of Ziegler's theory in
his own terms, I make these essential points:

1. The assumption that intelligent acts are the
ground of the origin of instinct is unwarrantable. Even
if the Lamarckian theory is not absolutely tabled, it is
much wiser, so long as the question remains open, to be
content with the leading Darwinian principle, since its
grounds are more assured.

2. In the explanation of instinct (and of play) we
need consider only natural selection, for we do not know
any other principle of development. The simple reflex
action must develop in the process of time into the com-
plex reflex actions that we call instinctive. In this way
we try to explain their adaptability as well as we explain
organic adaptability in general. Whether it can be satis-
factorily done is another question. I am not one of the

6i THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

number who believe in the " all-sufficiency of natural
selection." Leaving out of the question the fact that
our knowledge of phylogenesis rests finally on the mys-
terious ocean of metaphysical problems, of which I have
spoken, it is by no means settled, even in the sphere of
empirical science, that selection of ordinary individual
variation suffices to bring about, even gradually and by
minute degrees, a change from one species to another.
There are those who deny this, to whom the Darwinian
system is comparatively insignificant. As in surging
water the particles of each wave move both backward
and forward, so that the surface motion forward is really
only apparent, so the selection of hereditary qualities
can not extend beyond a certain definite point, and
for the transformation to new species other and essen-
tially different variations are necessary, in their opin-
ion, in the structure of the germ substance itself.*

Nevertheless, we know no principle except that of
selection, and we must go as far as that will take us.
Absolute knowledge of such phenomena is practically
unattainable, f

* Thus Galton and Bateson. F. Galton, Discontinuity in Evo-
lution, Mind, 1894.

f Since this was written a new theory has been proposed which
is evidently well adapted to supplement the selection principle.
Baldwin has discovered a way whereby natural selection is fur-
thered by individual accommodations or functional adaptations, and
directed by them without the assumption of any direct inheritance
of acquired characters ; as he says " the appearance of such inherit-
ance will be fully explained " (Mental Development in the Child and
the Race, German translation, p. 188. fourth English edition, chap,
vii, g 4). [Of. The Psychological Pveview, vol. iv, p. 394 f., July, 1897.
This influence is called by him "organic selection".] Independ-
ently of Baldwin, Osborn and Lloyd Morgan have reached a simi-
lar position. [It is also now accepted by Mr. Alfred Russel Wallace
and Prof. E. B. Poulton, of Oxford. The latter says (Science, New

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 65

3. Since instincts, according to Spencer^s view, al-
ready explained, are only complicated reflex acts, the
question may be excluded whether animals acting in-
stinctively are conscious in play of what they do. It
is evident, of course, that many instinctive actions are
accompanied by consciousness, but seeing that even the
instincts thus consciously practised are probably derived
from unconsciously perfected reflexes, it is impossible to
draw the line.*

Ziegler is more cautious than Eomanes and Schnei-
der, who attempt to find a definite boundary line between

York, October 15, 1897, p. 585) : " These authorities justly claim that
the power of the individual to phiy a certain part in the struggle
for life may constantly give a definite trend and direction to evo-
lution, and that although the results of purely individual response
to external forces are not hereditary, yet indirectly they may re-
sult in the permanent addition of corresponding powers to the
species. . . . The principles involved seem to constitute a substan-
tial gain in the attempt to understand the motive forces by which
the great process of organic evolution has been brought about."]
The importance of this theory seems to me to depend mainly upon
whether the fostering of "congenital variations" in this way is of
sufficient '' selective value," even though we grant the supposition
made, that the animals are kept alive by their individual accom-
modations. Baldwin has considered this point (Science, New York,
March 20 and April 10, 1896), but perhaps without giving it suffi-
cient prominence. It should also be borne in mind that individual
accommodations become through practice instinct-like ("semi-
automatic "), so that the necessity for the perfection of the con-
genital function is somewhat diminished. [Cf. the Appendix.]

* W. Wundt (Grundziige der physiologischen Psychologic, ii,
582) and E. Alix (L'esprit de nos betes, Paris, 1890, p. 580) arc of
the opinion that the reflex itself is conscious movement become
mechanical. Both of them connect this idea with the inherit-
ance of acquired characteristics. Apart from that, it is not con-
tradictory of what has been said, for frequently-repeated reflexes
are often carried on unconsciously, even when they were accom-
panied by consciousness when first appearing in the individual.

66 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

instinct and reflex action according as consciousness
is present or not. * In the opposite direction, he is
more cautious than Ziehen^f who accepts the hypothesis
of the absolute unconsciousness of instinctive acts.
Ziegler is probably influenced here, as on other points, by
Herbert Spencer, who thus guardedly expresses himself:
" Instinct in its higher forms is probably accompanied
by a rudimentary consciousness." J; So far I agree with
Ziegler, but his avoidance of any definite expression of
opinion as to whether consciousness is or is not present
is significant in another connection, and here, as I think,
he is not entirely in the right. Every instinctive act is a
means for preserving the species. This fact gives the
question of consciousness a double significance, as Hart-
mann's definition, for example, clearly shows : " Instinct
is the conscious willing of means to an unconsciously
willed end." **

As concerns the means, that is, the act itself, it
is safer, as has been remarked, to avoid the terms
'' conscious " and " unconscious " altogether. But it
seems permissible to say, at least with reference to the
end of a particular action, " by instinct we understand
the impulse to an action whose end the individual is
unconscious of, but which nevertheless furthers the at-
tainment of that end." || That is to say, the conscious-
ness of an end as such is entirely separable from the in-
stinctive act. Ziegler does not leave room for any psy-
chic factor, not even a negative one, in his definition.

* Romanes, Animal Intelligence, 1892, p. 11. Especially in
Schneider's book, Der thierische Wille.

f Th. Ziehen, Leitfaden der physiologischen Psychologic, p. 12.
X n. Spencer, Principles of Psychology, p. 105.

* Hartmann, Philosophic der Fnbewussten, i, p. 76.
II Schneider, Der thierische Wille, p. 61.

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 67

" Who can know whether the bird when she builds her
nest already has the knowledge that her young will
find a warm bed in it? And even as applied to man
this criterion is misleading. For example, when a
mother suckles her child the action is evidently in-
stinctive, though the mother perhaps cherishes the hope
that the child may become the support of her old age
and the representative of his family, thus knowing per-
fectly well not only the immediate end of her action,
but also its utmost consequences." On this account
Ziegler prefers not to speak of the presence or absence
of consciousness of end or object. But it seems to
me that the subject has quite a different aspect if we
first try to make clear just what is meant by lack of
consciousness of end or object. There are two widely
different ways of interpreting the expression. First,
there is the relativity of the end to be considered, as
Schneider has justly remarked in his later work, Der
menschliche Wille.* When a beast of prey scents his
victim, and creeps toward it with the movement pecul-
iar to his kind, this creeping is a means to the end of
approaching near enough for a spring. The spring is a
means to the end of seizing the animal and slaying it.
Eending the prey is a means to the end of eating it, and
this in turn serves the end of nutrition, and so on. Only
the last and highest end is, as far as we know, not
a relative one — namely, the preservation of the species.
But under present conditions only reflecting man can
be conscious of this end, and even he is scarcely con-
scious of it in actual everyday life. There is usually
only a relative consciousness of end even in our actions
which are not instinctive. When a man buys a new suit

* Darwin also, in The Origin of Species, p. 328.

68 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

of clothes he does not reflect that he is thus furthering
the preservation of his kind (Schneider). As for the in-
stinctive acts of children, savages, and animals, it may
safely be affirmed that in them such adaptation of means
to the end as selection requires for the preservation of
the species is entirely unconscious. At the same time
there may very well be consciousness of relative ends.
The fox out hunting, for instance, may have a memory
of gastronomic enjoyment in his mind as his end idea.
I consider this first conception of activity unconscious of
its end inadequate, however, because, as has been said,
actions not instinctive are also often unaccompanied by
a consciousness of their highest or final end.

Nevertheless, the position to be mentioned as second,
combated by Ziegler, seems to me to be nearer the truth,
namely, the position that an action is only instinctive
when it does not include a consciousness of end, either
relative or absolute, as its motive. Let us again take the
fox, scenting his prey. If in creeping toward it he has
a conscious end, this can only be grounded in in-
dividually acquired associations of smell with the agree-
able taste of the victim, and in the recollection that it
has been known to escape in consequence of careless
movements on the part of the pursuer. We can not
speak of instinct within the limits of such acquired
association, so far as it operates as a motive. So far,
on the other hand, as the mere external stimulus to
the olfactory nerves of the fox excites to functional
activity the hereditary tracts in the animal's brain, so
far his act is just as instinctive as the spitting of a kitten
at the hand which has stroked a dog, or the bird that
builds a nest. Even if the bird does have the conscious-
ness that its young will find a warm bed there, its action
may still be purely instinctive, so long as that conscious-

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 69

ness remains a mere memory, without motive power. As
soon, however, as the idea affects the will, we have no
longer a purely instinctive action to deal with, but one
that is partly instinctive and partly voluntary. Inas-
much, also, as conscious action often tends to become
instinctive, I may take account of that fact, and accord-
ingly formulate this approximate definition: The actions
of men and animals are instinctive when originated by
means of hereditary brain tracts (presumably of selective
origin) and without an idea serving as their motive.

The fact that the same act may be partly instinctive
and partly voluntary is of importance in many con-
nections, not least in that of play, in which the higher
the stage the more the individual accommodations are
involved. Formerly extreme theorists entertained the
view that only animals have instinct, only man has
reason. Cuvier believed that the relation of instinct
and intelligence was that of inverse ratio; Flourens, the
same. Darwin opposes Cuvier's idea, but thinks that
"man perhaps has somewhat less than the animals
standing next him," and that the instincts of higher
animals are less numerous and simpler than those of
the lower orders.* James, on the contrary, reverses the
proportion, and says that man is probably the animal
wdth most instincts, t This is perfectly true if it is borne
in mind that some actions are partly voluntary and
partly instinctive. Take, for instance, lovers of the

* Descent of Man, ed. in one vol., p. 75.

f The Principles of Psycholoory, vol. ii, p. 389. Pouchet, too, in
the Revue des deux mondes. February, 1870, and Alix (L'esprit de
nos betes, 1890) express the view that the most intelligent animals
have an especially large number of instincts. [See also Lloyd Mor-
gan. Habit and Instinct, for a general discussion and (p. 328) for a
criticism of James. The same author collects and criticises Some
Definitions of Instinct, in Natural Science, May, 1895.]

70 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

chase, who are perfectly conscious of the object of their
actions and yet are in great part impelled by instinctive
impulses. If such half-instinctive phenomena are in-
cluded in the category, then man has as many instincts
as any animal, if not more. By this elucidation we
reach the truth that lies concealed in the theory men-
tioned above — namely, that the lower the animal stands
the purer are its instincts; the higher its place the more
will the hereditary tracts be weakened, altered, or sup-
planted by acquired tracts. ^' The more various and
ready the inherited mechanical impulses of a class of
animals," say the Miillers, " the less do we find of in-
dependent mental capacity." * And Flourens remarks,
^' Intelligence does not enter into instinct, but it influ-
ences it, protects it, and alters circumstances to suit it,
and this agreement between instinct and intelligence is
well worth attention." f

I am now firmly convinced that this relation is itself
eminently useful, and that it is due to negative as w^ell as
positive selection. Hartmann has already pointed out
that Nature substitutes instinct where the means are not
at hand for conscious action or acquisition. J; The higher
and more complicated the scale of activity which the
struggle for existence requires of a species the more will
selection favour development of the brain and of the
mental capacities. The more these increase by means
of positive selection the less will its aid be needed in the
sphere of instinct. The result will be that fewer indi-
viduals will have completely developed hereditary tracts

* A. and K. Milller, Wohnungen, Leben und Eigenthiimlich-
kciten in der hohci-en Thierwelt, p. 217.

f P. Flourens, Psycholojjie oomparee. second edition, 1864, p. 10.
See also .1. Sally, The Human Mind, 1892, i, p. 187.

X Hartmann, Philos. d. Unbewussten, i, p. 185.

PLAY AXD INSTINCT. 71

for future transmission. In short, where positive selec-
tion furthers the growth of intelligence, for instinct
there will be a certain degree of negative selection or
panmixia. (This, of course, applies only to instincts
for which conscious actions can be advantageously sub-
stituted.*) Indeed, it might even be said that the de-
generation of instinct is due to positive selection. "We
have no intimation at what stage of evolution the ani-
mal world first achieves activity that depends on its
own intelligence or the capacity for individually ac-
quired association; but we may assume that at some
point in the progress of evolution the creature attained
sufficient intelligence to accomplish many things by
means of it better than by instinct. From this moment
on, extensive inheritance of brain mechanism would have
been positively prejudicial to the further development of
intelligence, and a positive selection may be assumed thaf
would directly favour less finished instincts in order to
produce in the nervous system a partiality for the now
more useful acquired functions, f

* [Romanes thinks the existence of both sorts of function shows
the inheritance of acquired characters in the case of instincts
(Heredity and Utility, p. 74 f.) : but Baldwin shows that in such
cases the instinctive performance has an additional utility, thus
supporting the position of the text (Science, New York, April 10,
1896).]

f Wundt also points to this idea in the section on "Affects and
Impulses" in his Physiolofr. Psychologic. Vol. ii, p. 512, of the
fourth edition runs thus : " The many-sidedness of a creature offers
a wide field for individual development, and at the same time the
determination hy heredity is constantly diminished." Cf. the very
precise statement of this by Baldwin in Mental Development in
the Child, etc., chap. xvi. § 1 (German edition). [See Psychological
Review, iv, July, 1897, p. 399, and his preface to this work.] The
contrary supposition that imperfect instincts betoken early stages
in evolution is surely incorrect in many cases.
7

72 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

Be that as it may, we may explain by such degenera-
tion of instincts the countless cases which have caused
such men as Wallace to doubt whether there is any in-
stinct at all. In his chapter on The Philosophy of Birds'
Nests, Wallace has collected observations intended to
prove that birds do not come into possession of their
songs by inheritance, but learn them individually. Bar-
rington caged young linnets with singing larks, whose
song they learned so well that, even when placed with
other linnets, they did not change them. A bullfinch
sang like a wren and without any of the characteristics of
its own kind, and similar results were obtained from the
wheat-ear, fallow-finch, nightingale, and woodpecker.
" These facts," says Wallace, " and many others which
might be quoted, render it certain that the peculiar notes
of birds are acquired by imitation, just as a child learns
English or French, not by instinct, but by hearing
the language spoken by its parents." * This sounds
very convincing, but it is first to be considered that the
use of the voice is instinctive, and then that imitation
itself is instinctive, of which more is to be said below;
and, finally, that the experiment failed with young birds
taken from the nest when only a few days old, for they
could never be infiuenced again in the same way by later
experiences. The song of birds is no doubt a mixed
phenomenon in which instinct and experience blend, f

Such advancement of the evolution of intelligence
as we have been considering is favoured also by play, as I

* Wallace, Contributions to the Theory of Natural Selection,
in loc.

t [This conclusion is strongly supported by the researches of
Lloyd Morgan. See his Habit and Instinct.] There is evidence,
too, that complicated songs are produced without teaching. Sim-
ple calls like those of the cuckoo and quail are purely instinctive.

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 73

believe. I trace the connection as follows: A succession
of important life tasks is appointed for the adult animal
of the higher orders^ as for primitive man, some of the
principal being as follows:

1. Absolute control of its own body. Grounded on
this fundamental necessity are the special tasks, namely:

2. Complete control over the means of locomotion
for change of place, characteristic of the species, as walk-
ing, running, leaping, swimming, flying.

3. Great agility in the pursuit of prey, as lying in
wait, chasing, seizing, shaking. Equal fitness for escap-
ing from powerful enemies, as fleeing, dodging in rapid
flight, hiding, etc.

4. Special abihty for fighting, especially in the strug-
gle with others of the same kind during courtship, etc.

After the foregoing discussion there can be no doubt
that instinct plays a part in all this adaptation for the
struggle for life and preservation of the species, so neces-
sary in man and other animals. Further — and here
I again come into touch with the end of the last chap-
ter— it would be entirely in harmony with other phe-
nomena of heredity if we found that these instincts ap-
pear at that period of life when they are first seriously
needed. Just as many physical peculiarities which are
of use in the struggle for the female only develop when
the animal needs them; just as many instincts that be-
long to reproduction first appear at maturity; so the
instinct of hostility might first spring up in the same
manner only when there is real need for it; and so it
might be supposed wdth other instincts in connection
with the related activities. The instinct for flight would
only be awakened by real danger, and that of hunting
only when the animal's parents no longer nourished
it, and so on. What would be the result if this were

74 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

actually the case — if, in other words, there were no such
thing as pla}^? It would be necessary for the special
instincts to be elaborated to their last and finest details.
For if they were only imperfectly prepared, and there-
fore insufficient for the real end, the animal might as
well enter on his struggle for life totally unprepared.
The tiger, for instance, no longer fed by his parents, and
without practice in springing and seizing his prey, would
inevitably perish, though he might have an undefined
hereditary impulse to creep upon it noiselessly, strike
it down by a tremendous leap, and subdue it with tooth
and nail, for the pursued creature would certainly escape
on account of his unskilfulness.*

Without play practice it would be absolutely indis-
pensable that instinct should be very completely devel-
oped, in order that the acts described might be accurately
performed by inherited mechanism, as is also the case
with such instinctive acts as are exhibited but once in
a lifetime. Even assuming this possibility, what be-

> comes of the evolution of higher intelligence? Animals
would certainly make no progress intellectually if they
were thus blindly left in the swaddling-clothes of in-
herited impulse; but, fortunately, they are not so dealt

-with. ^ In the very moment when advancing evolution
has gone so far that intellect alone can accomplish more
than instinct, hereditary mechanism tends to lose its per-
fection, and the " chiselling out of brain predisposi-
tions" t by means of individual experience becomes more
and more prominent. And it is by the play of children
and animals alone that this carving out can be proper-
ly and perfectly accomplished. So natural selection

* In such a case, of course, the parents would never have
brouerht him living prey to play with.

f E. V. Ilartmann, Pliilosophic des Unbewussten, iii, p. 244.

PLAY AND IXSTIXCT. 75

through the play of the young furthers the fulfilment of
Goethe's profound saying: " What thou hast inherited
from the fathers, labour for, in order to possess it."

At this point the full biological significance of play
first becomes apparent. It is a very widespread opinion
that youth, which belongs, strictly speaking, only to the
higher orders, is for the purpose of giving the animal
time to adjust itself to the complicated tasks of its life to
which its instincts are not adequate.* The higher the
attainment required, the longer the time of preparation.
This being the case, the investigation of play assumes
great importance. Hitherto we have been in the habit
of referring to the period of youth as a matter of fact
only important at all because some instincts of biological
significance appear then. Xow we see that youth proba-
bly exists for the sake of play. x\nimals can not be said
to play because they are young and frolicsome, hut
rather they have a period of youth in order to play; for
only by so doing can they supplement the insufficient
hereditary endowment with individual experience, in
view of the coming tasks of life. Of course this does not
exclude other grounds, physiological ones, for instance,
for the phenomenon of youth; but so far as concerns the
fitting of the animal for his life duties, play is the most
important one.

I may now briefly recapitulate. Our leading ques-
tion seems to be as to the play of the young. That once
adequately explained, the play of adults would present
no special difficulties. The play of young animals has
its origin in the fact that certain very important in-
stincts appear at a time when the animal does not seri-

* See J. IMark Baldwin, Mental Development in the Child and
the Race, 1895, p. 28 f.

76 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

ously need them. This premature appearance can not
be accounted for by inherited skill, because the inherit-
ance of acquired characters is extremely doubtful. Even
if such inheritance did have a part in it, the explanation
by means of selection would still be most probable, since
the utility of play is incalculable. This utihty consists
in the practice and exercise it aifords for some of the
more important duties of life, inasmuch as selection tends
to weaken the blind force of instinct, and aids more and
more the development of independent intelligence as a
substitute for it. At the moment when intelligence is
sufficiently evolved to be more useful in the struggle for
life than the most perfect instinct, then will selection
favour those individuals in whom the instincts in ques-
tion appear earlier and in less elaborated forms — in
forms that do not require serious motive, and are merely
for purposes of practice and exercise — that is to say,
it will favour those animals which play. Finally, in
estimating the biological significance of play at its true
worth, the thought was suggested that perhaps the very
existence of youth is largely for the sake of play.

The animals do not play because they are young, but
they have their youth because they must play.*

But I must call attention to another important phe-
nomenon that also has a direct relation to play, name-
ly, the imitative impulse. It was remarked in the pre-
vious chapter that while imitation is not an essential
feature of play, it is very often present. This is a suitable
place to notice this important subject, which will con-
stantly recur in the progress of our inquiry. First, it

* [The author here adds several pages in which he suggests that
the conscious accompaniments of play — fully described in later
chapters — are also due to natural selection ; and points out the
" play comradeship " of young animals, saying, " Daher ist die
sociale bedeutung der Spiele ausserordentlich gross."]

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 77

is very probable that imitation is itself instinctive.
True, it is possible to conceive of the imitative im-
pulse as of individual origin. Wundt teaches that
every idea of movement presses to fulfil itself. (Many
psychologists seek to reduce even the will to such ideas.)
The notion of the movements seen in others is, of course,
included, and trhis is the imitative impulse.* But an
origin so entirely individual and even accidental can
hardly be attributed to an impulse of such enormous
power. Wundt refers to the impulses, too, as hereditary
phenomena, and, if I understand him aright, does not
exclude imitation, f Schneider thus expresses himself
on the subject: " Wundt is quite right in regarding ap-
perception of a movement idea, and the feelings con-
nected with it as a direct impulse to make the movement.
And the word idea is not used in a narrow sense, for
even the perception of a movement awakens this impulse,
and is the cause of many imitative movements." Schnei-
der is, how^ever, of the opinion that the development of
this "intimate causal connection" rests in both cases
on heredity (according to him, indeed, on the inheritance
of acquired characters), and advances as an explana-
tory proof of this the fact that the imitative impulse
is restricted to cases that are useful to the individual.
"When a young lion sees a fish swimming or a bird
flying he hardly feels a desire to swim or fly, while
the old lion's movements when he observes them arouse
the imitative impulse in him, because he is disposed
to the movements by heredity. This is a proof that

* Wundt, Phys. Psych., fourth edition, p. 567 ff. The same
thought is brought out by James Mill in his Anal, of the Phenom.
of the Human Mind. 1829, vol. ii. chap. xxiv.

f See Vorlesungen liber Menschen- und Thierseele, second edi-
tion, p. 433. [Eng. trans., pp. 388 ff.]

78 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

apperception should not be regarded as only a move-
ment idea, for if that were all it is, animals, at least,
would seek to imitate every motion they see, and we
might expect to see a child at once begin a swaying
motion on beholding a pendulum, instead of reaching
for the ball of it, as it does." *

Spencer also, James, and Strieker, regard the imita-
tive impulse as an inherited instinct, and I think it is
safe to trust these psychologists, f

The imitative impulse is thus found to be an instinct
directly useful in the serious work of life among most,
and presumably among all, of the higher gregarious ani-
mals. Its simplest manifestation is the taking to flight
of a whole herd as soon as one member shows fear. J A
more particular case is seen among certain domestic
animals that blindly follow a leader — a fact well known
to the crafty Panurge in Eabelais's grotesque romance,
when during the voyage he wants to play a joke on the
owner of a flock of sheep.* This phenomenon, which
may be explained by the principle of division of labour
(for in this way one animal can watch for the whole

* Der mensjchliche Wille, p. 811.

+ Sully's g^round for combating this view (The Ilnman Mind,
1892. vol. ii, p. 218). namely, that imitation first appears in a child's
fourth month, is. of course, no argument against tlie heredity of
the impulse. [Baldwin has published a special criticism of the
arguments against the instinct-view of imitation, loc. cii.; and
Bain, who formerly did not accept the instinct-view, has recently
adopted it. Of. Baldwin. Mind, January, 1894, p. 52; and Bain,
Senses and Intellect, fourth edition, p. 441.]

X According to Wallace, the white back of many animals is a
signal of danger for inciting their comrades' imitation in flight.
Darwinism, pp. 217 ff.

* He persuaded the owner to sell him a sheep, chose the bell-
wether, and threw him overboard, whereupon the whole flock
jumped after him and were drowned.

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 79

flock), is also useful in advancing intellectual develop-
ment, since selection favours young animals skilled in its
use. So we have here an hereditary instinct that is even
more especially adapted than that of play to render many
other instincts unnecessary, and thus open the way for
the development of intelligence along hereditary lines
that can be turned to account for the attainment of
qualities not inherited. Young animals, even some not
gregarious, have an irresistible impulse to imitate any ac-
tion of their parents, toward which their instinctive im-
pulse is very weak, and they learn in this way what would
never be developed in them individually without this
imitative impulse. The examples cited from Wallace
can be explained in this way. They do not argue against
instinct, but rather show that many instincts are becom-
ing rudimentary in the higher animals because they are
being supplanted by another instinct — imitative im-
pulse. And this substitution is of direct utility, for it
furthers the development of intelligence. This reminds
us of the teaching of Plato, that the ability to learn pre-
supposes " reminiscence ^' from a previous existence. By
means of imitation animals learn perfectly those things
for which they have imperfect hereditary predispositions.
We then reach the following conclusion in our play
inquiry — namely, that all youthful play is founded on
instinct. These instincts are not so perfectly developed,
not so stamped in all their details on the brain, as they
would have to be if their first expressions were to be
in serious acts. Therefore they appear in youth, and
must be perfected during that period by constant prac-
tice. At the same time, where physical movements are
concerned, the muscular system will also be developed
by this exercise suitably for subsequent serious work — a
result which would not be attained adequately with-

80 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

out play. In this way we can explain those plays re-
ferred to in this and the previous chapter, which can not
be designated as imitative play, such as the gambolling
of young creatures, their play with the organs of mo-
tion and speech, mock fighting, etc. Besides these plays,
which are founded on strongly developed instincts, and
can therefore be practised without a model, there are
many others worthy of consideration: those in which
at least two instincts are involved — one an impulse only
rudimentarily present, though easily aroused, and the
other the accompanying imitative instinct. To this
class belong the instances already cited of young birds
learning to sing, probably, too, the barking of puppies,
and the imitative play of little girls whose motherly
tending of their dolls could hardly reach the perfec-
tion in which we see it without imitation. It would be
certainly hard to explain the choice of models by the
different sexes without hereditary predisposition — why
the boy's tin soldiers are his favourite toys, while the
little girl is always the mother and housekeeper. Final-
ly, it must be admitted that there are cases where the
imitative impulse exceeds the limits of instinct and
apparently works alone, as when apes imitate the actions
of men, when parrots learn to speak intelligently, and
when children play horse cars, railroad, hunter, teacher,
and the like. But even here a latent desire to experi-
ment contributes, and it is evident how necessary such
play is to the development of mind and body.

We now have all the principles necessary for a psy-
chology of play; only in outline, however. All refine-
ments and expansions which may subsequently be
brought to light, and which I may call idealizations of
the bald play instinct, must be treated later. The fol-
lowing remarks will conclude this chapter:

PLAY AND INSTINCT. 81

Play is found among adult animals. A creature
that once knows the pleasure of play will derive satis-
faction from it even when youth is gone. And preserva-
tion of the species is advanced by exercise of the mind
and body even in later years. I have a dog twelve
years old that still shows a disposition to play now and
then. We often see grown-up animals playfully roll
over and over without any object, and many birds ap-
pear to sing from mere sportiveness without relation to
courtship. Proof of this is difficult to substantiate, how-
ever. We do know that adult cats and dogs play, but
in regard to other animals we can only speak of proba-
bihties. If the playful character of some of the exam-
ples which I cite in the following chapters is not estab-
lished beyond a doubt, I am consoled by a statement
of Darwin's, made with great emphasis in The Descent
of Man: * " Nothing is more common than for animals
to take pleasure in practising whatever instinct they
follow at other times for some real good. How often
do we see birds which fly easily, gliding and sailing
through the air obviously for pleasure? The cat plays
with the captured mouse and the cormorant with the
captured fish. The weaver-bird when confined in a cage
amuses itself by neatly weaving blades of grass between
the wires of the cage. Birds which habitually fight dur-
ing the breeding season are generally ready to fight at
all times, and the males of the capercailzie sometimes
hold their Balzen at the usual place of assemblage dur-
ing the autumn. Hence it is not at all surprising that
male birds should continue singing for their own amuse-
ment after the season for courtship is over."

* Descent of Man, vol. ii, p. 60.

CHAPTEE III.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

The following treatise forms, so far as I know, the
first attempt at a systematic treatment of the play of
animals, and, in view of the unavoidable difficulties in-
herent in the task, I wish to bespeak the reader's indul-
gence at the outset. Modern works on the mental life
of animals, such as the writings of Carus, Schneider,
Wundt, Biichner, Espinas, Eomanes, Lloyd Morgan,
Flourens, Alix, and Foveau de Courmelles, contain only
meagre and general accounts of even the most important
plays.*

Thus Eomanes, in his laborious work. Animal In-
telligence, which in the edition of 1892 numbers five
hundred pages, makes, aside from the play of ants
and dolphins, only a few incidental observations on the
play of birds, dogs, and monke3^s.f

The great significance of play in physical and men-
tal development seems not to have attracted the atten-
tion of psychologists as it deserves to do. Therefore I
hope that this book, in spite of its imperfections, may
contribute to the result that in the future every ani-

* Among older works, Scheitlin's Thierseelenkunde is famous.
+ The observations made by this author's sister on a young ape,
included in the book, are much more valuable.

83

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 83

mal psychology shall contain a chapter devoted to
play.*

On account of this defect in the specific works on ani-
mal psychology I have been obliged to seek for most
of my material from other sources, and especially from
such books as contain descriptions of the habits of ani-
mals, though without aiming to meet the requirements
of psychology. Most of the observations described are
from Naumann, Bechstein, Rengger, Lenz, Ch. L. and
A. E. Brehm, K. and E. Miiller, Tschudi, Russ, Diezel,
Marshall, Darwin, Miss Romanes, Wallace, and Hudson.
A. E. Brehm's Thierlehen is the richest of these. It is
marred by the attempt to humanize the actions of ani-
mals, but this defect is not injurious to his descriptions
of plays. The examples without references in this and
the next chapter are from it. I have also made use of
such periodicals as Gartenlaube and Der Zoologisclien
Garten. I have examined many books of travel, but
usually with discouraging results. If they refer to the
play of animals at all, the most they say is that is was
" amusing," or " astonishing," or " droll," or " ex-
ceedingly funny," without any account of how or why.
Such a description as that of the young gorilla and
some other animals in the " Loango Expedition " forms
a notable exception. As far as personal observation
goes, I am familiar with the habits of dogs, as I
have always from my youth had various breeds of them
about me; and also I have collected enough material
in my frequent visits to the zoological gardens to fur-
nish cases of some kinds of play from my own obser-
vation. A complete review of all animal plays is not

* Alix alone ^ives it a single paragraph, and that is, of course,
totally inadequate.

84 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

possible here; indeed^ I have confined myself in essen-
tials to phenomena from the life of the higher orders,
because the play of the lower ones seems to me to
be too litle known. I have multiplied examples in
those departments where errors of judgment are most
liable to occur, and can only be set right by such ful-
ness of detail. I am afraid that this result has not
always been accomplished, however, and in the case
of the so-called love-plays the material was so copious
as to compel me to suppress much that was interest-
ing.

There is no difficulty in classifying our subject if
the conception developed in the preceding chapters is
accepted. I hope that no essential group has been
left out of the following table:

1. Experimentation.

2. ^Movement plays.

3. Hunting plays:

a. With real living prey.
h. With living mock prey.
c. With lifeless mock prey.

4. Fighting plays:

a. Teasing.

&. Tussling among young animals.

c. Playful fighting among grown animals.

5. Love plays:

a. Among young animals.
&. Ehythmical movements.

c. The display of beautiful and unusual colours

and forms.

d. The production of calls and notes.

e. The coquetry of the female.

6. Constructive arts.

7. Xursing plays.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 85

8. Imitative plays.

9. Curiosity.

This arrangement will be followed in order through-
out, except that I have treated love plays, which deserve
more than superficial elaboration, in a separate chap-
ter, after all the others.

1. Experimentation.

In opening this subject we are at once confronted
by a group of phenomena, familar enough in children,
but hardly noticed heretofore in the psychology of ani-
mals. The term experimentation is here used to de-
note such movements of young animals as enable them
first to win the mastery over their own organs, and
then over external objects. It includes stretching and
straining the limbs; tasting, seizing, and clawing; gnaw-
ing and scratching; exercising the voice and making
other sounds; rending, pulling, tearing, tugging, kick-
ing, lifting, and dropping objects, etc. Such experi-
mental movements are of fundamental importance for
all the life tasks of animals, for on them depends the
proper control of the body, muscular co-ordination, etc.;
and, psychically, they promote the development of the
perceptive faculties, such as space perception, atten-
tion, will power, memory, etc. They form the com-
mon foundation on which the specialized plays are
built up. Though the term hardly seems quite applica-
ble to all the examples included under this heading, I use
it in default of a better. It seems to have originated,
so far as I can trace its use, with Jean Paul, who speaks
in his Levana of " the child's experimental physics, op-
tics, and mechanics." He says, "Children take the great-
est pleasure in turning things around, in lifting them,
sticking keys in locks or anything of the sort, even in

86 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

opening and shutting doors." * Later, B. Sigismund
made use of the expression in his serviceable little
book,t and Preyer and Sikorski have established its use
in modern psychology.

Since the babyhood of animals is so much shorter
than that of the human infant, it offers much less
material for psychological investigation, and, besides,
there is no Preyer for the animals. I Still, we are not
entirely without material.

" With the stretching of his limbs,'^ say the Miil-
lers, " the young dog begins the first stage of his baby
play."* Puppies also begin very early to gnaw any
wooden object, as well as their own extremities, with
their little teeth, sharp as needles. Even the play with
their tails is at first purely experimental. Afterward
the chase instinct comes in, when the end seems to
vanish so mysteriously as they whirl. A dog that I once
owned was so small and weak that he always tumbled
over in attempting to bark. It was most ludicrous to
witness this ignominious ending to his hostile demon-
strations. A kitten, too, will play with its tail, and
exercise the claw-armed paws in seizing and holding. ||
Scheitlin observed a young panther playing with its
own tail,^ and Brehm relates how pumas at the age of

* Jean Paul. Levana. 2d ed., vol. i. p. 164.

f B. Sigismund, Kind nnd Welt, 1856, p. 73.

X The thoroughgoing papers of Wesley Mills on the psychic
development of young animals were not known to the author when
this passage was written. They were published in 1804 — 1896.
[Prof. Lloyd Morgan's observations on young birds should also be
referred to; cf. his Habit and Instinct, 1869.J

^ A. and K. Miiller. Charactere aus der Thierwelt— 1. Der junge
Hund, Gartenlaube, 1867, p. 455.

II As Wesley Mills observed on the twenty-ninth day. Loc.
cit., part ii. ^ Thierseelenkunde, ii, p. 155.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 87

from five to six weeks play with their mother's tail,
as do all the cat tribe. He also tells of a young fish-otter
that snapped at its tail and fore paws. This, however,
appears to belong rather to the chase phenomena, as it
is not purely experimental. But there are no clearly
defined boundaries between general experimentation
and specialized plays. The cat observed by Wesley Mills
touched the poker (on its fifty-ninth day), which was
hot. It hissed, but soon after it touched it again " in
its usual persistent way." It was fond of knocking
down spools from the table, and especially delighted in
taking pins out of the cushion.

A young polar bear that I knew often lay on its
back and bit its paws, or tried to tear a piece of paper,
and it has frequently been noticed that young bears make
a humming kind of sound, ending with a smack, when
they suck their paws.* Falkenstein relates of his go-
rilla, about a year and a quarter old: " He delighted in
the bath, and after a while tried to help himself when
I did not appear at his side at the right moment with
sponge and soap. That the water all ran out of the
tub in a few moments did not affect his enthusiasm.
He paddled on all fours in the wet, like the little dark-
ies during a shower." f

Little nestlings make fluttering efforts before they
can fly, and young sparrows chirp so lustily in the nest
as to suggest genuine voice practice. " Immediately on
being hatched," says Hermann Miiller, "the young
birds begin to lift up their voices. Of canaries, gold-
finches, siskins, and bullfinches hatched in confinement,
canaries peeped earliest and loudest, bullfinches latest

* L. Brehm, Bilder aus dera Thiergarten in Hamburg— 2, Un-
sere Baren, Gartenlanbe, p. 12.

f Falkenstein, M-pungu, Gartenlaube, 1876, p. 556.
8

88 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

and weakest, suggesting that the birds' later capacity
for singing might be gauged by their first twittering.
These loud, piercing notes are by no means signs of
hunger, but, on the contrary, indicate the greatest con-
tentment, for they cease at once when the mother leaves
them and cool air fills the nest."

I must insert here a remark that belongs to the
idealization of play. We may safely assume that the
satisfaction of instinctive impulse is not the only pleas-
ure in experimentation. Even in the animal intelli-
gence it denotes a finer psychical state. Preyer calls
the satisfaction it affords, pleasure in the possession of
power, in " being a cause " — such, for example, as the
child feels when he tears a paper into fragments.*

Lessing expressed it abstractly when he said that we
become more intensely conscious of our reality by means
of such strong excitations, f and animals may have the
same feeling as an accompaniment of instinctive ac-
tivity, and especially of playful experimentation. It
may be lacking in the very earliest infancy, but the
little polar bear that delightedly tore the paper bag
to bits certainly felt the pleasure of " being a cause " —
"in working his own sweet will,'' as Schiller has it in his
Kunstlern. This principle is even more applicable to
the examples which follow, relating as they do to more
mature animals. Before going on, however, I wish to
call attention to the absurd form this pleasure in being
a cause sometimes takes even in rational beings. How
many of us want to scribble or whittle or do something
with our hands all the time, to break a twig and chew
it while we walk, to strike the snow off walls as we pass,

* Die Seele des Kindes, p. 450.

f Letter to Mendelssohn, February 2, 1757.

THE PLAY OP ANIMALS. 89

to kick a pebble before us, to step on all the acorns
on the pavement, to drum on the Avindow pane, to hit
the wine glasses together, to roll up litle balls of bread,
etc. Perhaps to this category, too, belongs that inex-
plicable piece of folly, of which we are all guilty, that
when, for instance, a perfectly trustworthy person reads
aloud a telegram " Can not come — Henry,'' we are never
satisfied till we read it ourselves.

The case of animals is much like our own. The
impulse to experiment continues into advanced age,
and constantly tends to rise above its instinctive ori-
gin to freer, more individual activity, so that the
fully developed animal probably also feels some-
thing of the pleasure in exercising power, in being
a cause.

Beckmann says, in speaking of the raccoon: " The
caged creature devised a thousand ways to relieve the
tedium of his many idle hours. Now^ he would sit up
in a corner and, with a most serious expression, busy
himself with binding a piece of straw across his nose;
now he played absorbedly with the toes of his hind feet,
or made dashes for the end of his waving tail. Then,
having packed a quantity of hay in his pouch, he lay
on his back and tried to keep the mass in place by hold-
ing his tail tightly across it with his fore feet. Wlien-
ever he could get at masonry he gnawed the mortar and
did incredible damage in a short time. Then he sits
down, like Jeremiah before the ruins of Jerusalem, in
the midst of his heap of rubbish, looks darkly about,
and, exhausted with so much work, loosens his col-
lar with his fore paws. After a long fit of sulks he
can be restored to good humor at once by the sight of
a full water bucket, and he will make any effort to get
near it. Then he proceeds to test the depth of the

90 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

water carefully, for when he is playing at washing
things he wants to dip only his paws in the water,
not at all liking to stand in it up to his neck. After
satisfying himself on this point, he steps with evident
delight into the wet element and feels about on the bot-
tom for something to wash. An old pot handle, a bit of
porcelain, a snail shell, are favourite objects for his pur-
pose and are used over and over again. Now he spies an
old bottle in the distance which appears to be greatly in
need of washing. He reaches for it, but his chain is too
short, so without hesitation he lies down as a monkey
would do, gaining in that way the length of his body,
and rolls the bottle toward him with his outstretched
hind foot. The next moment we see him up on his
hind legs, slowly waddling back to the water, the big
bottle clasped in his fore paws and strained against his
breast. If he is disturbed in his attempt he behaves
like a self-willed, spoiled child, throwing himself on
his back and clinging with all fours so tightly to his
beloved bottle that he can be lifted by it. When he
at last becomes tired of his work in the water, he fishes
his plaything out, sits cross-legged and rocks to and
fro, constantly fingering and boring into the narrow
neck of the bottle."

This so-called washing seems to be characteristic of
various kinds of bears as well. I myself have observed
one instance, in the case of a polar bear that rolled an
iron pot to and fro in his bath tub, taking it at last to a
little trough of running water and there washing the in-
destructible vessel in earnest. It was very funny to see
the bear seize it firmly with his fore paws and go through
the motions of a washwoman scrubbing on a board.
When the bath was freshly cemented in this bear house
the animals were kept out of it for a day after the work

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 91

was finished, for it was well known that they would soon
spoil undried cement with their claws.

The following relates to dogs that have well passed
their infancy. It may be called experimentation when
a dog presses or rather scratches a beetle to death with
his paw, as they are given to doing with a strange mix-
ture of curiosity and aversion. A St. Bernard, three
and a half years old, that I formerly owned, spent many
hours every day gnawing to bits any pieces of wood he
could get hold of, usually from our wood pile unfor-
tunately.

Alix tells of an Arabian dog that frequently amused
itself playing with its own shadow on the wall. " Now
straightening up his long ears, now turning them to
right or left, now throwing them back, he produced in
this way strange figures which appeared to amuse him
greatly." *

A trustworthy person once told me of a dog that
had played so much with the damper of a stove that
he understood perfectly well how to turn it on. That
he ever did so with the intention of raising the tem-
perature seems to me a hazardous statement.

Some of the examples so far given relate to the
destructive impulse, which is, however, only an ex-
tended kind of experimentation. Thus Scheitlin relates
of an elephant : f " How amusingly that elephant in
Cassel acted when his attendant forgot him in his
stable! He went into the house, collected all the mov-
ables— tables, chairs, stools, pictures, and even the bed
from the chamber — in a pile in the sitting-room, wet
them all over, and walked out in the field as if he had
not been at any mischief,"

* E. Alix, L'esprit de nos betes, p. 440.
f Thierseelenkiinde, ii, p. 178.

92 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

The destructiveness of monkeys is proverbial. They
gnaw boards as dogs do — at least I have seen it done by
the baboon and chimpanzee, their eating trough being
badly disfigured in that way. Long-tailed monkeys
amuse themselves by breaking off tough branches as
they clamber from limb to limb.*

The book of daily observations, for which we are
indebted to Romanes's sister, is full of examples of
experimentation. It relates to a specimen of Cebus
fatuellus which Romanes gave to his sister in Decem-
ber, 1880. The following description is from her diary:

" I notice that the love of mischief is very strong
in him. To-day he got hold of a wineglass and an
egg-cup. The glass he dashed on the floor with all his
might, and of course broke it. Finding, however, that
the egg-cup would not break for being thrown down,
he looked round for some hard substance against which
to dash it. The post of the brass bedstead appearing
to be suitable for the purpose, he raised the egg-cup
high above his head and gave it several hard blows.
When it was completely smashed he was quite satis-
fied. He breaks a stick by passing it down between a
heavy object and the wall, and then hanging on to the
end, thus breaking it across the heavy object. He fre-
quently destroys an article of dress by carefully pull-
ing out the threads (thus unripping it) before he begins
to tear it with his teeth in a violent manner.

" In accordance with his desire for mischief, he is,
of course, very fond of upsetting things, but he always
takes great care that they do not fall on himself. Thus
he will pull a chair toward him till it is almost over-
balanced, then he intently fixes his eyes on the top

* Loango Expedition, ii, p. 239.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 93

bar of the back, and when he sees it coming over his
way, darts from underneath and watches the fall with
great delight; and similarly with heavier things.
There is a washstand, for example, with a heavy marble
top, which he has with great labour upset several times,
but always without hurting himself/' *

Vosmaern had a tame female orano^-outancf that
could untie the most intricate knots with fingers or
teeth, and took such pleasure in doing it that she regu-
larly untied the shoes of those who came near her.
Still more remarkable is the dexterity of Miss Komanes's
monkey. Her entry for January l-l, 1881, runs thus:
" To-day he obtained possession of a hearth-brush, one
of the kind which has the handle screwed into the
brush. He soon found the way to unscrew the handle,
and having done that he immediately began to try to
find out the way to screw it in again. This he in time
accomplished. At first he put the wrong end of the
handle into the hole, but turned it round and round
the right way of screwing. Finding it did not hold,
he turned the other end of the handle and carefully
stuck it into the hole, and began to turn it the right
way. It was, of course, a very difficult feat for him to
perform, for he required both his hands to hold the
handle in the proper position and to turn it between
his hands in order to screw it in, and the long bristles
of the brush prevented it from remaining steady or
with the right side up. He held the brush with his
hind hand, but even so it was very difficult for him to
get the first turn of the screw to fit into the thread;
he worked at it, however, with the most unwearying
perseverance until he got the first turn of the screw

* Romanes, Animal Intelligence, p. 484.

94 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

to catch, and he then quickly turned it round and
round until it was screwed up to the end. The most
remarkable thing was that, however often he was dis-
appointed in the beginning, he never was induced to
try turning the handle the Avrong way; he always
screwed it from right to left. As soon as he had accom-
plished his wish he unscrewed it again, and then
screwed it in again, the second time rather more easily
than the first, and so on many times. When he had
become by practice tolerably perfect in screwing and
unscrewing, he gave it up and took to some other
amusement. One remarkable thing is that he should
take so much trouble to do that which is of no material
benefit to him. ... It is not the desire of praise, as
he never notices people looking on; it is simply the
desire to achieve an object for the sake of achieving an
object, and he never rests nor allows his attention to
be distracted until it is done." * The report for Feb-
ruary 10, 1881, runs: ^'^Ye gave him a bundle of sticks
this morning, and he amused himself all day by poking
them in the fire and pulling them out again to smell
the smoking end. He likewise pulls hot cinders from
the grate and passes them over his head and chest, evi-
dently enjoying the warmth, but never burning him-
self. He also puts hot ashes on his head. I gave him
some paper, and, as he can not from the length of
his chain quite reach the fire, he rolled the paper up
into the form of a stick and then put it into the fire,
pulling it out as soon as it caught light, and watching
the blaze in the fender with great satisfaction. I gave
him a whole newspaper, and he tore it in pieces, rolled
up each piece, as I have described, to make it long

* Romnnes, Animal Intelligence, p. 400.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 95

enough to reach the fire, and so burned it all piece by
piece."*

We here see the playful experimentation, which at
first only serves the purpose of gaining control of the
bodily organs, become further and further developed.
Xo doubt, according to Darwin's theory of evolution,
primitive man acquired the ability to use fire by just
such experimentation.

The destructive impulse is manifested even more
strongly by parrots and some other birds than by mon-
keys. Their winter quarters are often patched and
mended like little Eoland's cloak in Uhland's story,
and the stronger the repairs the more eagerly do the
parrots attack them. Linden tells of the persistence
with which his cockatoos turned over the feeding
trough in their cage. " I have used every device to
make the troughs fast, winding fine wire about them
and to the iron bars, screwing them tightly from the
outside, etc., but my cockatoos know very well how to
unscrew, and get them loose sooner or later." " The
desire to do mischief is characteristic of the cockatoo,"
says Brehm, " and the performances of these birds pass
belief. They gnaw through planks five or six centimetres
thick, as I can testify from my own experience, and
even iron plates a millimetre thick; they smash glass,
and try to penetrate masonry." Eey relates of Caro-
lina parrots: " Their favourite mischief was throwing
their water-cups out of the cage after they had satis-
fied their thirst. Their delight was evident if the cups
broke." And Dickens says, with delightful exaggera-
tion, of a raven that died young: " It may have been
that he was too bright a genius to live long, or it may

* Romanes, Animal Intelligence, p. 493.

96 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

have been that he took some pernicious substance into
his bill, and thence into his maw, which is not improba-
ble, seeing that he new-pointed the greater part of the
garden wall by digging out the mortar, broke count-
less squares of glass by scraping away the putty all
round the frames, and tore up and swallowed, in splin-
ters, the greater part of a wooden staircase of six steps
and a landing." * Brehm's brother had ^ tame vulture
that often played with his master's fingers, taking them
in his beak without hurting them. Another bird of
the same kind, observed by Girtanner, tore the strong
padding of his cage in every direction, took the straw
out and played with it. He also clung to Girtanner's
watch chain and clothing, " pulled straw from my
hand, chuckling with delight. He took pleasure in
tearing or biting straw ropes, and came to me at once
wdien he saw that I was getting ready to make one."
Still another stroked his master (Baldenstein) with his
beak, or stuck it up his sleeve and uttered his contented
" Gich."

Animals often amuse themselves by making noises.
According to Scheitlin, hares can readily be trained to
drum, because the motion is natural to them. " They
drum with unexampled rapidity, quicker than any
drummer boy, and even with a sort of passion." f This
enjoyment of noise forms part of their pleasure in
breaking and tearing. Experiments with apes espe-
cially illustrate this. Savage thinks that chimpanzees
collect on purpose to play, on those occasions when they
beat with rods on sounding pieces of wood X This re-
mark, in which I at first had little faith, has been fully

* Introduction to Bamaby Rudge.

f Thierseelenknnde, ii, p. 117.

J Romanes, Animal Intelligence, p. 47G.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 97

confirmed by. the report of the Loango Expedition.
Falkenstein tells there of a young gorilla: "A peculiar,
almost childish, pleasure was awakened in him by strik-
ing on hollow, sounding bodies. He seldom missed
the opportunity, in passing casks, dishes, or griddles,
of drumming on them. On our homeward voyage he
indulged freely in this pastime, being allowed to move
about on the steamer.^' *

The same gorilla, too, frequently beat on his own
breast with both fists, " apparently from overflowing con-
tentment and sheer pleasure," a habit which in the adult
usually indicates strong emotion, especially anger.

Voice practice is very common. I have already
spoken of a puppy's attempts to bark, and I am inclined
to think that even the howling of a young dog may be a
kind of play; and I believe the same is true of young
lions, that from time to time rise up and give forth
frightful roars that commonly excite the others. The
purring of cats, too, is like play. Then there are the
deafening cries of the howling ape, considered by many
as only an amusement. The wonder is that the animals
have attained such a structure of the larynx as to be able
to produce them. One kind of ape produces a flutelike
note resembling the whistle of a bird, for which the lips
are contracted. " Usually it is when he is unemployed,
and seems to express his ennui by means of the sound." f

In many cases the vocal exercise consists in learning
by heart a simple or complicated decoy cry that is
usually connected with courtship, to which I will de-
vote the next chapter. A single other example of voice
practice will suffice, as it is a very valuable one. Hud-

* Loango Expedition, ii, p. 154.

f Rengger, Die Saugethiere von Paraguay, p. 45.

98 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

son relates of the crested screamer, or chakar (Chauna
cliavarria), that has a very loud voice: '" There is some-
thing strangely impressive in these spontaneous out-
bursts of a melody so powerful from one of these large
flocks, and, though accustomed to hear these birds from
childhood, I have often been astonished at some new
effect produced by a large multitude singing under cer-
tain conditions. Travelling alone one summer day, I
came at noon to a lake on the pampas called Kakel, a
sheet of water narrow enough for one to see across.
Chakars in countless numbers were gathered along its
shores, but they were all arranged in well-defined
flocks, averaging about five hundred birds in each flock.
These flocks seemed to extend all round the lake, and
had probably been driven by the drought from all the
plains around to this spot. Presently one flock near
me began singing, and continued their powerful chant
for three or four minutes; when they ceased, the next
flock took up the strains, and after it the next, and
so on until the notes of the flocks of the opposite shore
came floating strong and clear across the water — then
passed away, growing fainter and fainter, until once
more the sound approached me, travelling round to my
side again. The effect was very curious, and I was as-
tonished at the orderly way with which each flock
waited its turn to sing, instead of a general outburst
taking place after the flrst flock had given the signal.
On another occasion I was still more impressed, for here
the largest number of birds I have ever found congre-
gated at one place sang all together. This was on the
southern pampas, at a place called Gualicho, where I
had ridden for an hour before sunset over a marshy
plain where there was still much standing water in the
rushy pools, though it was at the height of the dry

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 99

season. This whole plain was covered with an endless
flock of chakars, not in close order, but scattered about
in pairs and small groups. In this desolate place I
found a gaucho and his family, and I spent the night
with them. . . . About nine o'clock we were eating
supper in the rancho, when suddenly the entire multi-
tude of birds covering the marsh for miles around burst
forth into a tremendous evening song. It is impossible
to describe the effect of this mighty rush of sound. . . .
One pecidiarity was that in this mighty noise, which
sounded louder than the sea thundering on a rocky
coast, I seemed to be able to distinguish hundreds, even
thousands, of individual voices.

" Forgetting my supper, I sat motionless and over-
come with astonishment, while the air and even the frail
rancho seemed to be trembling in that tempest of sound.
" ^\h.en it ceased, my host remarked, with a smile,
' We are accustomed to this, sehor— every evening we
have this concert.' It was a concert wor^h riding a
hundred miles to hear." *

Much might be said of the twittering of sparrows,
the quacking of ducks and geese, the flapping of storks,
etc.; but, as has been remarked, it is difficult to de-
termine how far such phenomena, especially the com-
plicated ones, are connected with courtship. I re-
serve for the next chapter a closer examination of them.
However, it may be noted here that in merely experi-
mental noises and voice practice there is a suggestion of
art which is not connected with courtship.
2. Movement Plays.
By this term I designate plays that involve change
of place for its own sake. Hunting and fighting, m-
* W. H. Hudson, The Naturalist in La Plata, 1895, p. 227.

100 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

deed^ also produce change of place to a considerable
extent, but with, them the movement has a specific aim.
Here I refer only to such plays as are concerned with
practice in locomotion as such, where the walking, run-
ning, leaping, climbing, flying, swimming of the ani-
mal finds its object in itself. As I said before, I pass
by the lower orders, though some of their actions, espe-
cially the swarming of insects, is very suggestive of
play. " With what joy in life insects swarm in the
sunshine! ^^ says Schiller; and Hudson is quite of
the same opinion w^hen he says: "I have spoken of
the firefly^s ^ pastime ' advisedly, for I have really never
been able to detect it doing anything in the evening be-
yond flitting aimlessly about, like house flies in a room,
hovering and revolving in company by the hour, appar-
ently for amusement." * It may well be that animals
quite low in the scale of being play, but who can prove
it ? " Ludunt in aquis pisces," says Julius Casar Bu-
lengerus. Ii it true that the fish tumble about so hap-
pily in their element ? Is not this supposition rather the
product of aesthetic sympathy — of the poetic delight
that we ourselves experience on beholding the light,
graceful movements of these delicate creatures? "In
very large aquariums or in its native waters the stickle-
back swims along rapidly and gracefully, often leaping
high out of the water, indulging in many gambols, but
careful in it all to keep watch of what goes before it —
namely, the young fry that forms its principle diet "
(Brehm). How are we to know in such a case that all the
movements do not serve the serious business of getting
food? According to Xoll, male and female carp chase
one another playfully and delight in sportive leaping.

* The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 170.

THE PLAY OF AXIMALS. IQl

But wko can say that sexual instinct is not responsible
for this ? And the same may be said of the art of the fly-
ing fish* Brehm says of them: " On board ship, swarms
of such fish can be seen at varying distances; they sud-
denly rise from the waves with a peculiar whirring and
shoot rapidly over the w^ater, sometimes rising to a
height of four or five metres from the surface and trav-
elling a hundred to a hundred and twenty metres before
vanishing again in the waves. Xot seldom this spec-
tacle is quickly repeated, for as soon as one company
rises, flies forward and falls, another begins to advance
in the same way, and before it sinks a third and fourth
are on tlie way. If these advances were made in a con-
tinuous direction w^e might suppose that their flight
over the waves was to escape some danger. But they
appear now here, now there, and keep to no particular
direction, but fly across and contrary to one another.
"We can only suppose, therefore, that it is all a play,
perhaps from pure exuberance of spirits, just as other
flsh swim rapidly over the water." Humboldt expresses
the same view of flying fish. The sceptic may, of course,
question whether all the motions described may not be
attributed to flight or the search for food. Yet such an
animal psychologist as Eomanes speaks with great as-
surance of the play of fishes.* He says: "Nothing can
well be more expressive of sportive glee than many of
their movements." f

I am by no means so fully convinced as Eomanes,
but still I consider it highly probable that movement
plays are manifested by fish. Their comparatively weak
mental endowment is not a difficulty to me, since I re-

* Mental Evolution in Animals, p. 382.
f Animal Intelligence, p. 247.

102 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

gard play as at first an instinct, producing activity
without serious motive. There can be no question that
they often seem to play as they tumble about, and Ko-
manes himself can offe-r no more convincing proof than
that. The intelligence of fish is not, however, so in-
ferior as is commonly supposed, and the probability that
they have movement plays becomes apparent from the
following observation of Beneke. He studied the hab-
its of Macropods thoroughly, and made a report on
them in Brehm^s Thierleben, including a detailed ac-
count of the courtship of these fish: " The male usual-
ly, though not invariably, keeps to one particular fe-
male. On approaching her he extends his tail and fins,
and grows perceptibly darker, while the female either
remains perpendicular, all her fins closely compressed,
and circles slowly round, or swims as the male does,
though in the opposite direction. Then they turn slow-
ly in circles together, the tail of one in front of the
other's head, both with stiffly distended fins. If they
become greatly excited during the play, the male trem-
bles while he spreads himself, very much as a cock does
when he struts around the hens, and the female often
imitates this." When his male fish died Beneke secured
another pair, and he says that the two females played
together in the same way. The playful character of
this can hardly be questioned, and, having admitted one
case, we can not deny that much of the tumbling about
in the water may really be playful. Of birds, however,
we can speak with greater certainty. There are, it is
true, many phenomena which have the appearance of
play, but really belong to the search for food. Nothing,
for instance, seems freer, lighter, or more aimless than
the flight of swallows in spring, and yet we know that
the impulse to satisfy their hunger, and not sportiveness,

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 103

is the reason for it. The same is true, as a rule, of the
cheerful hopping of birds from bough to bough and to
the ground. Courtship, too, is at the bottom of much of
the playful motion, as well as of voice practice. Ee-
f erring this class to the next chapter, I here confine my-
self to a series of examples, most of which can be
attributed with certainty to purely play impulse, and
the remainder with great probability. First we notice
the learning to fly, swim, or walk by young birds.

Birds can no more fly of themselves than babies can
walk. The infant's kicking corresponds to the flutter-
ing of httle birds in the nest and his first step to its
first attempt at flight. The tiny creature is very timid,
and hardly dares to trust itself in the air. According to
Hermann Miiller's observation, a canary bird makes its
first attempt to climb up on the nest rim on about the
sixteenth day. Weinland gives a detailed account of a
canary family: " Sixteenth day, 8 a. m.: The young dare
not climb out of the nest, but reach and stretch a
great deal. 10 a.m.: Amid great tumult one fluttered
onto the rim of the nest and perched there, breathing
hard and fast, appearing to be frightened at his own
daring. In a minute the forward youngster is back in
the nest. Seventeenth day, 7 a. m.: The feet as yet serve
only as wide supports, like those of the ostrich, and not
for dexterously clinging to boughs, as will be their later
function. Twelve o'clock: Little Blackhead, the strong-
er one, has hopped out on the perch near the nest and
down on the floor of the cage, and from there through
the door of another cage, then quickly back. The little
feet are still very unsteady, especially on the perch. On
the ground he sometimes steadies himself with his tail,
a use which is not made of it in later life. Eighteenth
day: Both little ones have hopped about in the cage
9

104 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

several times for some minutes and then back into the
nest. Blackhead is always the leader. Twentieth
day: Blackhead flew out of the cage; he found no place
to light, fluttering high in the air all the time. He made
the rounds of the ceiling several times, and at last, tired
out, he fluttered down the wall to the floor. Twenty-
first day: The yellow one also flies out in the room now.
They can not find the way back yet. Twenty-third day:
Blackhead took a bath. He plunged into the large
shallow basin, made some awkward fluttering motions,
and hurried out on the other side. Twenty-fourth day:
Both birds fly, eat, bathe, and make their toilet alone.^^ *

Dr. Krauss writes of the flying lessons of young
storks: " As soon as the young can stand firmly and get
to the edge of the nest, preparations for fiight begin.
Flapping their wings, they move round the nest, at first
without rising above it. Then with a kind of hop they
go a little higher, always hovering over the nest and
keeping up this climbing process until they are at least
a yard or two above it; they are able to continue the
hovering a half minute or longer, after which they anx-
iously cling to the horizontal projection of the nest.
Only when this has been repeated several times do they
break the magic circle, gliding boldly out into the open
air, describing in their flight a circle fifty or sixty
metres in diameter, above the nest. They repeat this
once, and then either fly back to the nest or rest on
some neighbouring roof. At the end of July or the be-
ginning of August begins the practice in high flying,
preparatory to the great migration.^' f

The parents of sparrows, shy of flight, urge them on

* A Bird Family, Der Zoolopsche Garten, June, 1891.
•f Krauss, Aus dem Freileben des Weissen Storchs, Der Zoolo-
gischen Garten, ix (1868), p. 131.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 105

by holding food before them and flying on with the
dainty morsel, uttering encouraging calls.*

" In the spring of 1872/' writes Liebe to Brehm,
" I noticed a pair of falcons circling over a wood. They
were the terror of cranes living in that region. I hap-
pened to be passing there daily, and saw that for eight
days one of the falcons came every evening to the wood
and perched in a tree for about a quarter of an hour.
After that he flew searchingly around the valley from
time to time. I thought that the female must have been
shot, but this suspicion was not confirmed. After some
days she came again to the wood with the male at the
usual hour, between 6 and 7 p. m., accompanied also by
two young ones, which were still so helpless as hardly to
be able to keep their equilibrium when perching in the
trees. Soon both the old birds were skimming through
the air, flying against the wind in their play. A beauti-
ful performance, which I had once seen in N'orway, and
once by the male of this same pair. The male
soon settled down, but the female kept up her won-
derful evolutions, constantly drawing nearer to the
young ones, till at last she shoved one of them, with a
side push, from the bough, whether with her wings or
breast my glass was not strong enough for me to see.
The little one must fly whether willing or no, and after
clumsily trying to imitate the movements of the old
bird, it soon lit again. Thereupon the mother pushed
the other one off its high perch and compelled it to fly
Hke the first. Shortly they made both the young ones
practice together, drove them aloft slantingly against
the wind, shot perpendicularly down and then up again
in splendid curves, and displayed all the skill that be-

* A. and K. Miiller, Thiere der Heimath, i, p. 28.

106 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

longs to their kind. The little ones, trying to do the
same things, awkwardly imitated their movements."
Such actions are not rare in the animal world, where
play and instruction are united, though in this case, with
Brehm, too much is made of the analogy to human con-
duct.*

I class the learning to swim of aquatic birds among
play movements. Here, too, the parents assist instinct,
and so hasten their preparation for life's tasks. Old
swimming birds take their young on their backs and
then slide them oif into the water — a very simple meth-
od, by which many a boy has been taught to swim.
Julius Tape gives a very beautiful description. He lived
for a long time on the Danube, and " often noticed that
young geese were afraid of the water before they learned
to swim, and only gradually became accustomed to it
by being, as it were, outwitted by the old ones. As soon
as the little ones are old enough to go on the water
their parents take them to the bank. The gander goes
before, keeping up a continual gabble, and the mother,
also gabbling, urges them on from behind. After a
very short trial of swimming the young ones are quick-
ly brought back to land, and this trial is repeated and
lengthened from day to day until they go into the
water alone." f That swimming is not entirely an ac-
quired art, however, but instinctive in part, is proved by
the case of ducks hatched by a hen. How Blichner
can find an argument against instinct in the fact that
these little ducks need a longer time to become accus-
tomed to the water I can not see. Hermann Miiller

* So in the teaching of young beasts of prey to seize their
victim.

f L. Blichner, Aus dem Geistesleben der Thiere, p. 31.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 107

says of young birds learning to walk: " The first move-
ments seem to be not on the toes, but on the heels.
If they are hurried, the birds tip forward, steadying
themselves with their Vvings." Biichner describes the
walking of little chickens, from Stiebeling's observa-
tions: "The chicken begins, probably about two hours
after it breaks the shell, to make feeble attempts at
walking, in which the wings serve as crutches. He
rises and sinks again, falls down and gets up again, so
that the whole process is more a slide than a walk. It
learns to walk in from five to eight hours if its mother
helps it, but from eight to sixteen hours are needed
if the chicks are separated from the hen as soon as
hatched." *

Such movements can of course be considered as
play only so long as they are simply exercise. As soon,
as the bird is far enough on to turn his flying to ac-
count in the search for food, play changes to seri-
ous activity. This transition takes place very quickly
in birds, but their short time for practice is just as
really a playtime as is the longer period of beasts of
prey.

Some phenomena belonging to migration ought per-
haps to be mentioned in this connection. That this
impulse is instinctive is witnessed to by the classic orni-
thologist Naumann, in a passage already quoted. " The
impulse to seek a warmer climate," he says, " is heredi-
tary in these birds. Young birds taken from the nest
and placed in a large room, where they are allowed to
fly about freely, prove this conclusively. They are rest-
less at night during the season for their migration, just

* IbifL. p. 31. From Stiebeling's Instinct in Chickens and
Ducks, New York, 1872.

108 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

as old birds of their kind are." * Before the time for
their departure migratory birds are fond of collecting
in large flocks, and this can only be regarded as play, es-
pecially in the case of the young, preparatory for the
long flight. Thus, in the spring, young nightingales
take little experimental trips from shrub to shrub and
field to field. It is the same with the young of the
whitethroat, bower bird, song thrush, and many other
kinds of birds, f Though it is doubtful, as I have said,
whether the so-called flying games of adult birds are
movement plays, I will include a couple of such exam-
ples. Scheitlin tells of a young crane: "He went to
the field with his master, rose in the air of his own
accord and with evident pleasure, tumbled about some,
and then came down and walked by his master's side.''
Hudson relates of the wonderful crested screamer:
" I was once very much surprised at the behaviour of a
couple of chakars during a thunderstorm. On a sultry
day in summer I was standing watching masses of
black cloud coming rapidly over the sky, while a hun-
dred yards from me stood the two birds, also apparently
watching the approaching storm with interest. Pres-
ently the edge of the cloud touched the sun and a twi-
light gloom fell on the earth. The very moment the
sun disappeared, the birds rose up and soon began singing
their long-sounding notes, though it was loudly thun-
dering at the time, while vivid flashes of lightning lit
the black cloud overhead at short intervals. I watched
their flight and listened to their notes, till suddenly, as
they made a wide sweep upward, they disappeared in

* J. A. Naumanii, Naturgeschichte der Vogel Deutschlands, i,
p. 86.

f A. and K. MuUer, Thiere der Heimath, i, p. 81.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 109

the cloud, and at the same moment their voices became
muffled, and seemed to come from an immense distance.
The cloud continued emitting sharp flashes of lightning,
but the birds never reappeared, and after six or seven
minutes once more their notes sounded clear and loud
above the muttering thunder. I suppose they had
passed through the cloud into the clear atmosphere
above it, but I was extremely surprised at their fearless-
ness." The beautiful floating motions of birds of prey
are principally for reconnoitring, and are also connected
with courtship, but it may well be supposed that the
birds sometimes exercise their skill from pure pleasure
in the movement. Darwin tells us that the condor gives
a splendid exhibition, floating for half an hour with-
out a movement of the wings, describing great circles,
rising and falling in beautiful curves.

What has been said with regard to the art of flying
applies also to the dancing of many birds, except that
I consider the connection with sexual instinct closer
in the latter case, where many of the movements are
highly specialized. Hudson, on the contrary, regards
the dances of birds as purely playful, originating in
cheerful spirits. Although I do not agree with him, I
must admit that the sexual explanation is impossible in
the case of one of his examples. He is speaking of the
spur-winged lapwing, that resembles the European lap-
wing, but is a third larger, more highly coloured, and
furnished with spurs on its wings. Three individuals
are required to perform their dance, which, according
to Hudson, is unique in this respect. " The birds are
so fond of it that they indulge in it all the year round
and at frequent intervals during the day, also on moon-
light nights. If a person watches any two birds for
some time — for they live in pairs — he will see another

110 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

lapwing, one of a neighbouring couple, rise up and fly
to them, . . . and is welcomed with notes and signs
of pleasure. Advancing to the visitor, they place them-
selves behind it; then all three, keeping step, begin a
rapid march, uttering resonant drumming notes in time
with their movements. . . . The march ceases; the
loader elevates his wings and stands motionless and
erect, still uttering loud notes; while the other two,
with puffed-out plumage and standing exactly abreast,
stoop forward and downward until the tips of their
beaks touch the ground, and, sinking their rhythmical
voices to a murmur, remain for some time in this pos-
ture. The performance is then over, and the visitor
goes back to his own ground and mate to receive a visit-
or himself later on.'^ * If this description is entirely
accurate, the foregoing will probably long remain one
of the unsolved riddles of animal life.

Finally, the swinging tliat gives such pleasure to
many birds must be included in the list of movement
plays. Every one knows how captive parrots and cana-
ries love to swing on a ring, and it appears from the
observation of Naumann that birds often cling to
the highest tip of a swaying bough to s^\1ng on it.
He has seen the blue titmouse, the bearded titmouse,
penduline titmouse, thistle finch, barley bird, birch
siskin, and others do this.f

But I must now leave the interesting world of birds
and turn to some other phenomena. Finsch has ob-
served the habits of seals in the vicinity of San Fran-
cisco, and describes them graphically. While the move-

* The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 269.

f J. A. Nanmann. Naturgcschichte der Vogel Deutschlands, ir,
pp. 67, 68, 88, 107, 120; v, pp. 134, 163, 182.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. m

ments of these lumbering animals on land are remark-
able, it is in the water that their skill is most admirably
displayed. They may be seen plunging into the sea,
either sliding down the smooth, sloping sand banks or
throwing themselves from a high rock; then they carry
on their play like dolphins, rapidly throwing themselves
over so that the belly is uppermost, and sometimes
springing entirely out of the -water. They swim round
in circles, now and then leaping up, splash about, whirl-
ing and turning and tumbling about like mad, and so
entirely forgetting themselves that the wary hunter
can easily come within harpooning distance and capture
them. The behaviour of seals in captivity is equally re-
markable.

In speaking of dolphins, Losche says: " Every sea-
man is delighted to see a school of dolphins. The
cheery travellers hurry along through the swelling waves
in a long and regular train, pursuing their way with a
speed that suggests a race, and with leaps of Avonderful
agility. Their glittering bodies rise in the air in fine
curves from one to two yards wide, fall headlong into
the water, and soon spring up again, carrying on the
game. The j oiliest of the flock turn somersaults in the
air, turning up their tails in a most comical manner.
Others fall flat on side or back, and still others remain
bolt upright, dancing along with the help of their tails
until they have made three or four forward move-
ments. They no sooner see a ship under full sail than
they turn about and follow it, and then begins real
sport. They circle around the vessel, leap in front of it,
and make the best possible exhibition of their skill.
The faster the boat moves the more riotous their an-
tics." Brehm gives this description of the exercise of a
cao:ed marten: " He amused himself for hours at a time

112 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

making bounds that brought him to one wall of his cage,
Avhere he quickly turned and sj^rang back, landing in
the middle of the floor, then to the other wall and back
— in short, describing the figure 8, and with such rapid-
ity that its outline seemed to be formed of the animal's
body/' *

A caged fox that I have observed behaved in the
same way, except that his motion was in a circle, because
on leaping to one wall he rebounded to the opposite one,
and only then came to the floor. Every visitor to zo-
ological gardens or menageries is familiar with the tiger's
ceaseless walking up and dow^n, the constant waving to
and fro of the badger's and bear's fore paws, and other
such motions. They are all playful, and are the best
possible examples of discharge of superabundant nerve
force; for, of course, caged animals do not have a suffi-
cient outlet for their energies. However, the kind of
movement is not determined by outward circumstances,
but, like all play, rests on an instinctive basis. A hunter,
cited by Tschudi, testifies that the badger when wild and
free and especially comfortable waves his fore paws in-
dolently. The decidedly rhythmical character of such
movements is noteworthy. Indeed, they tend to prove
that all free motion unimpeded by other forces is likely
to be rhythmical.

Schlegel tells of a tame leopard that was very fond
of children — " especially of a little girl five years old,
whom he often jumped over in play, and with such
ease that without any preparatory running he crouched
and easily bounded higher than the child's head.''

* When free, too, the younc: marten is much inrlined to move-
ment play, restlessly busyin.e: himself with all sorts of climbing
and leaping exercises (A. and K. MuUer, Hohern Thierwelt, p. 75).

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 113

Young bears are exceedingly playful. One that I
watched for a long time galloped with indefatigable
energy around the great kennel, directing his course
through the water pool each time. His noisy splashing
seemed to give him particular pleasure. The young
badgers in Regent's Park, London, amuse visitors by
turning somersaults hundreds of times in succession in
the same spot. The wild buck gives expression to its
joy in graceful, sportive leaps.* Such leaps, alternating
with tearing madly around, are expressions of well-being
which so intoxicate the young hare that his worst enemy,
the fox, creeps up unawares. Buffaloes, tapirs, and
crocodiles sport in the water as night comes on. The
leaping of young horses, asses, sheep, and goats is fa-
miliar. A phenomenon pointed out to me by Director
Seitz illustrates how closely such movement plays are
connected with habits which are indispensable in the
serious struggle for life. He writes: " It is my impres-
sion that, in general, the play of animals exercises them
in directions that will be useful for them in the neces-
sary struggle for existence. The gazelle practises long
jumping and leaping over bushes; goats and sheep, that
live in mountains, the direct high jump." Many will be
surprised to find an explanation for such goat leaps,
which usually make us laugh, and are certainly extraor-
dinary movements and wholly inexplicable on level
ground. They are, however, necessary practice for life
in rocky hills.

" A two-weeks-old goat," says Lenz, " not satisfied
with the remarkable leaping record which he had al-
ready made, had the greatest desire to attempt break-
neck feats. His motto was 'Excelsior.' His greatest

* A. and K. Muller, Thiere der Heimath, i, p. 422.

114 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

pleasure was to clamber on piles of wood or stone, on
walls and rocks, and to mount the stairs." *

The purely playful motions of cats should be men-
tioned here. They delight in racing about, but not so
often, I think, in circles, as dogs do. They prefer
straight lines and sharp turns with the genuine goat
jump. This sudden flight into the air, which appears
to take place without the animal's knowledge or inten-
tion, can not here be preparatory to life in the moun-
tains, but the cat finds the high jump very useful, not
only in pouncing on its prey, but also in escaping its
hereditary enemy. Chamois are, of course, adepts in
high jumping. A very remarkable movement play is re-
ported of them, whose actual occurrence was vouched
for to Brehm by two witnesses. " When in sum-
mer the chamois climb up to the perpetual snow, they
delight to play on it. They throw themselves in a
crouching position on the upper end of a steep, snow-
covered incline, work all four legs with a swimming
motion to get a start, and then slide down on the sur-
face of the snow, often traversing a distance of from a
hundred to a hundred and fifty metres in this way, while
the snow flies up and covers them with a fine powder.
Arrived at the bottom, they spring to their feet and
slowly clamber up again the distance they have slidden
down. The rest of the flock watch their sliding com-
rades approvingly, and one by one begin the same game.
Often a chamois travels down the snow slide two or
three times, or even more. Several of them frequently
come roughly together at the bottom." If this descrip-
tion is to be relied upon, we have here, as in the swing-
ing of birds and many other forms of experimentation,

* H. 0. Lenz, Gemeinniitzige Naturgeschichte, 1851, i, p. 612.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 115

genuine play. I do not consider this coasting impossi-
ble, since the chamois must frequently make their way
across snow-fields, and no doubt often slide down unin-
tentionally. I have seen a young dog slide all the way
across the room with his fore feet in a slipper, using
his hind feet as propellers, and all the while snapping
and snarling. In such cases accidental movements are
made, which may be repeated intentionally later. The
following incident, related by Alix, points more directly
to this supposition than the account of the coasting
chamois: "While manoeuvring in the Alps with a
squadron of my regiment, I was botanizing one day in
the neighbourhood of Briangon, followed by one of
those stray dogs that so frequently attach themselves to
moving troops. Just as I was about to begin the descent
by the interminable winding path wdiich gives access to
the defile, I noticed that the dog, instead of following
me, turned toward one of the steep declivities of the
mountain side, where there was an accumulation of
snow. Being puzzled to understand his behaviour, I
stood still and took in every movement of the animal.
And I was well rewarded, for by so doing I became wit-
ness to a strange spectacle, most wonderful even to the
man accustomed to the unlimited resourcefulness of
dogs. Placing himself on his back, his paws folded, his
head bent forward, the intelligent animal slid down on
the snow crust to the very base of the mountain. Ar-
rived at the edge of the snow bed, he quietly rose, cast
his eye toward me, wagged his tail, and lay down on
the grass to wait for me.''

Alix supposes the dog to have reasoned that the
way could thus be shortened. I consider more probable
the rather vulgar explanation that the dog had learned
this remarkable trick from rubbing his too populous

116 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

back on the snow. However, this forms a companion
piece to the tale of the chamois.

The etfort of puppies to walk is the first manifesta-
tion of movement play. At first they can only creep
about with difficulty, and when they learn to stand up,
an attempt to bark is enough to upset them. As soon as
they can stand decently they at once try to gallop,
usually in a slanting direction. By constant practice the
necessary accuracy is gained for carrying on their chas-
ing and fighting games.

The play of gro-WTi dogs in water is noteworthy.
The JSTewfoundland especially is such an enthusiastic
swimmer that he has been known to leap from a bridge
to get to his beloved element. However, as most of the
play of dogs belongs in another category I shall not
dwell on it here, except to record what in our fam-
ily we call the run-fever, the aimless and objectless
running about that is to be observed of little dogs in a
large room, but of large dogs only in the open air. He
tears about mldly, mostly in curves, though our fox
terrier loves to dash off straight as a line to a great dis-
tance till he is lost to the eye of his vainly whistling mas-
ter. It might be said that this points to imaginary prey,*
and that this is accordingly a chase play rather than
a movement play. Eomanes tells of a poodle, named
Watch, that belonged to the Archbishop of Canterbury,
that hunted for imaginary pigs when he heard the w^ord
called out. He went so far as to beg to be let out, run-
ning to the door for the purpose, and rushing out with-
out any further instigation than that the word " pigs "
should be mentioned. It is difficult to determine
whether he really imagined the pigs or not, but such

* Or perhaps in some cases an imaginary flock to collect.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. II7

actions are common enough. For instance, my pug, who
is a sworn foe of cats, flies to the garden and all along
the fences if he hears the cry "St! cats!^' I am
doubtful, however, whether this is properly called play;
at any rate, it is quite different from the run-fever,
for now the pug runs with loud cries and sharp atten-
tion, while in the run-fever the dog moves off silent-
ly and looks neither to the right hand nor to the left.
Consequently, I look upon the latter as play purely for
the sake of the movement. Perhaps in a sense the same
may be said of the propensity some dogs have for taking
walks. A bulldog of very philosophical disposition that
I owned when I lived in Heidelberg, took regular, soli-
tary walks that threatened to be expensive to his master.
He would go off without his muzzle, a thing forbidden
by the authorities; could be seen strolling boldly past
the police office, climbing the Schlossberg, and enter-
ing the garden of the palace, where dogs are not allowed
unless led by some one. Of course, we do not know how
much weight to attribute to the attractions of digging
under the curbing, sniffing at corners, and other pleas-
ures of freedom, yet I am sure the dog delighted in the
walk for its own sake, and am not afraid of contradic-
tion on this point from those who know dogs.

Last of all we must consider the monkeys. Their
movement plays may be divided into four groups: climb-
ing, leaping, swinging, and dancing. It is unnecessary
to describe the behaviour of caged monkeys, for even
the most careless sightseer stands long in front of a
monkey house in a zoological garden. I therefore con-
fine myself to some reports of their play when at lib-
erty, supposing the clambering about a ship to be free
motion. Captain Smith had an orang-outang three
months on board his vessel and allowed him perfect

118 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

freedom. Climbing and exercising in the rigging
seemed to give him the greatest pleasure, for he in-
dulged in it many times a day, and in such a manner
as to astonish all beholders with his dexterity. Ben-
nett makes a similar report of a specimen that he
brought to Europe. A female ape (Spinnenaffe), whose
habits have been well described by an Englishman, also
played in the rigging. When " Sally " really wanted to
have some fun she danced with such gaiety and abandon
on the sail yards that a spectator could hardly distinguish
arms, legs, and tail. At such times the name " spider
ape '' seemed especially appropriate, for she resembled
a giant tarantula in her motions. During this perform-
ance she would stop from time to time and gaze, with
familiar nods, at her admirers, wrinkle up her nose,
and emit short low sounds. She was usually liveliest at
about sunset. Her special delight was to clamber up
the rigging till she reached a horizontal sail yard or a
slender spar. Here she hung firmly by the end of her
tail and swung to and fro.* According to Duvaucel,
" the gibbon climbs with incredible rapidity up a bam-
boo stalk or to the top of a tree, there swings to and
fro several times, and then, aided by the impetus so
gained, throws himself a distance of twelve or thirteen
metres. Repeating this three or four times in rapid
succession, his progress appears much like the flight of
a bird. One is forced to believe that the consciousness
of his unparalleled dexterity affords him pleasure, for he
leaps unnecessarily over spaces that he could easily avoid
by a slight detour, varies his course, leaping to promising
boughs, swinging and hanging there, and again launch-
ing out in the air with unfailing certainty toward a new

* [See other cases in the original.]

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 119

goal. He seems to proceed magically, flying without
wings; he lives more in the air than on the branches." *
The yonng gorilla of which J. Falkenstein gives so
interesting a description, " performs so abandoned a
dance, falling over himself, whirling about, tumbling from
side to side, that the looker-on is forced to believe that
he has in some way become intoxicated. And in truth
he is drunk with pleasure, and by means of these antics
he proves his own strength to himself.'^ f The swing-
ing of monkeys is also a proof of the invention of plays
in the animal world. The explanation is not difficult,
seeing that the movements are often made intentionally
as the monkeys go about in the trees. The pleasure
they take in it seems to be unlimited. Pechuel-Loesche
tells us of one very clever ape that made himself a swing,
a case that would have surprised Descartes! A tame
long-tailed monkey that the members of the Loango Ex-
pedition kept at their station, a so-called Mbukubuku,
" was a devotee of swinging to an unprecedented degree,
and knew well how to satisfy his propensity. On any tree
that he could reach, on the roof, and on his own kennel
he found projections that served as supports, to which
he fastened his long chain by climbing over them or go-
ing round in such a way that it caught, and in this way
swung to his heart's content. He would go to work
with admirable deliberation and measure off a length of
his line sufficient for the purpose, and would repeat a
successful manner of fastening even after months/' X

* See Alix's description of a gibbon, L'esprit de nos betes,
p. 496.

f Loango Expedition, ii, p. 153.
X Ibid., iii, p. 243.

10

120 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

3. Hunting Plays.

Instinct is much more conspicuous in this class of
plays than in those which we have heretofore considered,
for by means of them the young animal, even while yet
having its food provided by parental care, practises
sportively those movements which will be used in ear-
nest later on.

Even the idomestic animals — the dog for instance,
that may never feed on prey, but eat all its life from
the prosaic feeding trough — carry on with passion-
ate zeal, plays the origin of which must be sought in the
ancestral manner of feeding. A glance over this class
of plays shows us that they naturally fall into three
groups: (a) Play with actual living prey, (b) Play with
living mock prey. Animals of the same kind usually
chase one another reciprocally; thus we have to con-
sider the letting themselves be chased, as well as the
active chasing, (c) Play with lifeless mock prey, with a
stick of wood, a ball, or other such objects. I have
arranged the order of these groups so that the examples
most illustrative of simple play shall come first, but it
would be a mistake to suppose that actual time sequence
is indicated by this order. On the contrary, play with
lifeless objects is in many cases first in point of time.

(a) Is the treatment of living prey by carnivorous
animals properly called play? A beast of prey seizes his
victim, does not kill it, but lets the slightly wounded
creature loose on the ground. It takes to flight, but is
instantly recaptured, perhaps shaken a little, and again
set free. This time it lies motionless, perhaps from
weakness, perhaps to feign death. But the merciless
beast keeps teasing it until it again attempts flight,
only to be seized once more by its tormentor. In this

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 121

way the " play " goes on until the victim really dies
and is devoured. I was formerly of the opinion that
the instinct here called out should not be regarded as
play at all, but had an entirely different meaning. The
explanation once suggested by G. Jaeger — namely, that
it was done for the purpose of improving the flavor
(as connoisseurs think that hunted game is especially
good) — does not appear probable, though it can hardly
be proved to be impossible. There may be some other
reason unknown to us for this phenomenon which ex-
cludes it from the category of plays, but it is generally
regarded as belonging there. Darwin unhesitatingly
enumerates it among other plays,* and Scheitlin says of
the cat: " She lets the mouse loose again and again in
order to catch it each time, and plays with it unmerci-
fully. Mouse and rolling ball are all alike to her, as the
real and the toy beetle are to the child." f Even if this
be true, there is still a difficulty. Granting that the ani-
mal sees no difference between the living and the lifeless,
how are we to explain the awakening of playfulness in
the very act of slaying, and so strongly as to hold in
check that instinct, which is so powerful in a beast of
prey?

The whole thing is usually ascribed to a natural in-
stinct for cruelty. Even Romanes says, " The feelings
that prompt a cat to torture a captured mouse can only,
I think, be assigned to the category to which by com-
mon consent they are ascribed — delight in torturing
for torture's sake.";j:

If this is true it is undoubtedly a play. The dispo-
sition to cruelty would explain the tendency to play at

* The Descent of Man, ii, p. 53.
•f Thierseelenkunde, ii, p. 232.
X Animal Intelligence, p. 413.

122 'l^HE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

killing, even in the midst of the actual thing. But is
this consensus omnium to be depended on? Is not
pleasure from cruelty a kind of degenerate aesthetic sat-
isfaction that requires higher intellectual capacity than
animals possess? I do not venture an assertion, but I
confess that the current idea seems to me very improba-
ble. A remark of Dr. Seitz in a letter to me seems
to be nearer the truth: " The cat's play with a cap-
tive mouse probably serves to practise the springing
movements, as well as affords an opportunity to study
the mouse's way of running and to acquire the necessary
stealth in ambush."

Thus torture of living prey w^ould be an instinctive
exercise for acquiring skill in the chase, later turned
to account by the animal; it is a play, whose use-
fulness accounts for its existence, unusual as it is. Ap-
pearing in early youth, it becomes firmly estabhshed
in riper years, and the pleasure in being a cause plays
its part.

Without assuming a positive attitude on this ques-
tion, I proceed to adduce some examples of torture by
beasts of prey. The cat has been referred to, and every
one is familiar with its habits. The wild cat also, ac-
cording to Scheitlin, plays with captive mice and birds.
A leopard that belonged to Raffles played for hours with
the fowls that were fed to him on the ship. Indeed, it
can safely be said that such behaviour is characteristic
of the whole feline tribe.

"Most of the cat family,'' says Brehm, "have the
horrible practice of torturing their victims, pretending
to set them at liberty, until the wretched creatures at last
succumb to their wounds." Lenz relates of a marten:
" His hunger satisfied, he would play for hours with the
birds brought to him. He liked little marmots even

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 123

better; he leaped and sprang about the incensed and
spitting animals, incessantly dealing them blows first
with the right paw and then with the left. If he were
hungry, however, he made no such delay, but devoured
them at once, bones, skin, and hair." *

I have included the dog's toying with a beetle under
the head of experimentation, though perhaps it would
be more appropriately placed here, for my terrier plays
with mice that he catches just as a cat does. It is cer-
tain, too, that foxes torment their victims long and
cruelly and instruct their young in the art.f The
mother weasel brings living mice to her little ones to
play with and to practise on, J;

" In Altures," says Humboldt, " we had an adventure
with a jaguar. Two children, a boy and a girl of eight
and nine years, were playing near the village. A jaguar
came out of the woods and bounded near them. After
leaping about for some time, he struck the boy on the
head with his paw, at first softly, and then so hard that
the blood streamed forth. At this the little girl seized a
stick and beat the animal till it fled. The jaguar seemed
to be playing with the children, as a cat does with
mice." * Finally, I may mention the cormorant that is
described in Darwin's Descent of Man (ii, p. 53) as
playing in a similar way with fishes.

(b) Play with living mock prey. An animal will
play with another, usually but not always of the same
kind, as he does with his prey. In that case both are
playing, and the value of such practice for the serious
tasks of after-life is evident. Among beasts of prey

* H. 0. Lenz. Gemeinntltzige Naturgesch., i, p. 166.
+ Ibid.. 1, p. 266,

i Mliller, Thiere der Heimath, i, pp. 352, 355.

* H. 0. Lenz, Gemeinniitzige Naturgesch., 1, p. 327.

124 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

the pursuer is far more active and interested in the
game than the fleeing one, while with herbivorous ani-
mals the contrary is the case; with these, as Dr. Seitz
writes, the animal that is fleeing plays the principal
part, the other merely co-operating and doing its share
in a perfunctory sort of way. The dog offers an excel-
lent example of the first class. A dog that sees another
approaching, frequently crouches in the open street
and remains quite motionless, with all the signs of
eager alertness. This instinctive lying in wait is evi-
dently rudimentary, for when the other dog comes up
the one in ambush rises forthwith and goes to meet his
comrade. Sometimes the dog goes so far as to hide
himself. Xot long ago I saw a young fox terrier leaping
around the corner of a house to hide himself from an-
other dog that was coming. Then followed the invita-
tion to play, made in a very characteristic manner, Avith
legs wide apart, a position well adapted to facilitate the
rapid projection of the body in flight. All ready to start,
he throws himself from right to left several times, in a
semicircle, before the flight really begins. The other in
the meantime is a fine picture of hypocrisy, as he glances
indifferently about as if the whole affair were nothing to
him. Xow, however, the fun begins, as the leader springs
forward, though not at full speed, and the other gives
chase with enthusiasm. Should the pursuer overtake his
mock prey, he tries to seize him in the neck or by the
hind leg, just as a dog does when chasing in earnest.
The other, without slackening his pace, turns his head
to defend himself by biting. Then a tussle often en-
sues. At last the players stand with tongues hanging
out, breathing heavily, until one of them suddenly
whirls around and the play begins anew. The elements
involved in all this are lying in wait, hiding, invitation

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 125

to play, deception, fleeing, pursuing, overtaking, seiz-
ing, and defence. I am anxious to emphasize tlie vari-
ous movements involved on account of the unsatisfac-
tory nature of the reports of the series of examples I
am about to relate. In order to avoid having too
many subdivisions, I cite cases of play between animals
of different kinds and between animals and men pro-
miscuously.

" While I was staying in Tunis," says Alix, " my
dog Sfax doted on playing hide and seek with the
native babies. . . . Concealing himself among the wood-
piles, Sfax described the most complicated zigzag, and
just when five or six of the youngsters thought they
were going to put their hands on him he w^ould appear
on a pile twenty metres away, sometimes in front,
sometimes behind, sometimes to the right or left. He
would stand there with an air of careless indifference
till his playfellows ran within two or three metres of
him; then gaily wagging his tail, he set off to make
more zigzags, and so on for more than an hour." *

Young horses gallop about the meadows, leaping
with joy; those grazing on the Eussian steppes some-
times accompany travelling carriages at a gallop for
many hours, f

Brehm says: " The tame cougar (puma) plays with
his master, delighting to hide at his approach and then
spring out unexpectedly, just as a tame lion does. It
may well be supposed that such savage demonstration
of affection is anything but agreeable at an inoppor-
tune moment." I Hudson considers the puma the most

* L'esprit de nos betes, p. 498.

f Scheitlin, Thierseelenkiinde, ii, p. 242.

X See Reng^er, Saugethiere von Paraguay, p. 189. A tame
jynx, brought up by 0. v. Loewis, behaved in the same way. Dcr
zoologische Garten, 186G, Xo. 4.

12G THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

playful of animals, with the exception of the monkey.
An Englishman told him the following incident: He
was once compelled to spend the night in the open air
in the pampas of La Plata. It was a bright moonlight
night, and at about nine o'clock he saw four pumas
approaching, two adult animals and two half-grown
young ones. Knowing that these animals never attack
men, he quietly watched them. After a while they
came very near him as they chased one another and
played at hide and seek like kittens; and finally they
jumped directly over the motionless man several times.
The mother cat will run forward some distance and call
the little ones after her. P. Kropotkine had a cat that
played regular hide and seek with him.* Monkeys do
the same, both on the ground and among the branches.

Young wolves play just as dogs do, and it is at
least in part a chase that Brehm describes of the
weasel: " Until these charming little creatures are quite
grown they play often during the day with their par-
ents, and it is a sight as strange as it is beautiful to see
a company of them collected in a meadow on a bright
day. The play goes merrily on. From this or that
hole a little head pops out and small bright eyes glance
from side to side. Everything being quiet and safe, one
after another comes out of the ground to the fresh
grass. The brothers and sisters tease one another, romp
and chase, and so cultivate the agility that is their
natural inheritance."

The head forester Nordlinger relates the following
of two ravens and a weasel: The latter had taken refuge
in a street gutter. As quick as lightning he darted out,
rustled through the dry leaves that partly covered the

* Revue scientifique, August 9, 1884.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 127

ground, and made a pretended attack on one of the
ravens ; throwing himself about among the leaves, like a
fish on land, and pretending to snatch the birds, he

' frightened his victims by the wildest, most dexterous
leaps, during which the white belly was as often upper-
most as the brown back. Then he fled back to the gut-
ter, from which only his fore legs protruded ; or he took
up his position on the street, awaiting the attack of
the raven which followed his own, and evidently with
as little serious intent. The raven, with head out-
stretched, ran after the alert creature, but with small
success, for he was not inclined to test his agil-
ity seriously against the powerful beak of one or per-
haps both of the birds. The game lasted with many*
variations on both sides for about ten minutes, when it
was interrupted by my dog, and the ravens flew away.*
Beckmann very beautifully describes the play of a
badger. " His only playmate was an exceedingly clever
and sensible dog, which I had accustomed from its
youth to live with all sorts of wild animals. Together
they went through a series of gymnastic exercises on
pleasant afternoons, and their four-footed friends came
from far and near to witness the performance. The
essentials of the game were that the badger, roaring
and shaking his head like a wild boar, should charge
upon the dog, as it stood about fifteen paces off, and
strike him in the side with its head; the dog, leaping

, dexterously entirely over the badger, awaited a second
and third attack, and then made his antagonist chase
him all round the garden. If the badger managed to
snap the dog's hind quarters an angry tussle ensued, but

* Mliller, Thiere der Heimath, i, p. 351. See also Hudson, loc.
cit., p. 385.

128 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

never resulted in a real fight. If Caspar, the badger,
lost his temper he drew off without turning round, and
got up snorting and shaking and with bristling hair, and
strutted about like an inflated turkeycock. After a few
moments his hair would smooth down, and with some
head-shaking and good-natured grunts the mad play
would begin again/^

Alix says that goats often play at hide and seek
with the village children.* Young foxes play this
game together, and so do squirrels. f The female mar-
ten carries on all sorts of gambolings with her young.
The little ones run after her, she leaps over them,
springs and whirls about like mad in every direction. J
Fraulein Minna Haass, of Rosterberg, had a tame
fawn named Lieschen that followed her mistress all
about, came at her call, and manifested a real attach-
ment for her. " The animal also cherished a friend-
ship with two huge mastiffs, and delighted to j^lay with
them. When ready for a game, the fawn would ap-
proach the dogs as they lay before the door, tap them
with her fore-foot, and take to flight. At this signal
a game followed exactly like the hide and seek played
by children, and a beautiful sight it was. If the dogs
were disinclined to play, Lieschen kept urging them till
they came." *

Antelopes when followed keep the same distance
from a pursuer, as if they were mocking at him. Seals
chase one another vigorously in the water. Birds, too,
have a kind of play that is like chasing. Naumann says

* Loc. cit., p. 173.

f A. and K. Miiller. Wohnnnj2:en, Leben nnd Ei^fent. in der
hoheren Thierwelt. pp. 00 und 161.

X A. and K, Miiller. Thiere der Heimath, vol. i. p. 364.

* Buchner, Liebe und Liebesleben in der Thierwelt, p. 263.

THE PLAY OP ANIMALS. 129

that, as autumn comes on, the redstart and their
young may be seen chasing and teasing one another.
Scheitlin tells of a tame stork "that very easily made
friends, especially with children, and would even play
with them, running after them with outstretched wings
and catching hold of their coats or sleeves with his bill,
and then back, looking round to see if the children
followed. It would wait to be caught by the wing and
then start after the children again. This scene was
repeated as often as the children played ' catcher ^ in
the street." * A. Giinzel relates of a tame and trained
magpie: "At the time of the morning recess she went
to the playground of the school children, especially of
the boys, to look on while they romped. She expressed
her pleasure by hopping about excitedly and snapping
her bill. The boys loved to tease her. She would
stretch her long tail out, and when any one tried to
touch it, spring so nimbly to one side that they never
succeeded in catching her. Even I could not touch her
then, though at other times she was quite docile. She
enjoyed this play, and would follow any one who caught
at her tail in order to repeat the game." f The older
Brehm relates of the golden-crested wren: " This little
bird carries on a strange performance in the fall, from
the beginning of September to the end of Xovember.
It begins by calling out repeatedly *^Si,si!^ whirls around,
and flaps its wings. Others answer to the call, and they
collect, all going through the same motions. From two
to six usually play together." |

" The woodpecker," writes "\Valter, " is an enthusias-
tic player, and often has his parents as playmates. A

* XanmaTin, iii. p. 581.

+ Die pefiederte Welt, 1887.

X Chr. L. Brehm, Beitrage zur Vogelkimde, ii, p. 126.

130 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

shaking twig or bit of cloth sets the whole family into
the most joyous agitation for fully five minutes. They
clamber about a tree like monkeys, hiding with out-
stretched wings behind the trunk till they are found,
and then they all run and dance around the tree, chasing
and teasing each other."

We must always remember in estimating these ac-
tions of birds that most of them are probably con-
nected with courtship. But Huber's observations of ants
— which, however, have been questioned — indicate that
these insects actually do play at hiding and chasing.*

(c) Play with lifeless objects. It usually appears,
as I have said, before the other two kinds of play already
mentioned.

The sportiveness of kittens is alone sufficient to prove
that play is founded on instinct. The tiny creature
creeps from its nest, still blind, but as soon as even one
eye is open it toys with every rolling, running, sliding,
or fluttering object in its reach, f and only when it has
practised on such things and become prepared for the
real business of a preying animal does the old cat
bring living prey to it. In this case play is surely not
the child of work, as Wundt calls it, but rather it is
Ziegler who is right when he says that work is the child
of play. J; Various kinds of movements are distinguish-
able in a cat's play with balls, suspended cords, bundles
of paper, etc. A moving object is best to test this with,
for, " cceteris paribus, objects moving slowly fasten the
attention most readily " * — a fact of significance in the
struggle for life.

* See Biichner, Geistesleben der Thiere, p. 196.

+ Scheitlin. Thierseelenkunde, ii, p. 217.

t Th. Zieorler, Das Geflihl, Stuttgart, 1898, p. 235.

** L. William Stern, Zeit. fiir Psych, u. Phvs. der Sinnes-

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 131

ObserTation of this motion produces in the young
animal first perfect motionlessness, attended by that
strenuous attention that we call " lying in wait/' whose
analogue is found in the feigning of death by an animal
when pursued. Actual deception is often involved in
this lying in wait, for the cat appears to be looking in
an entirely different direction while she creeps up
noiselessly with snakelike movements. Then comes the
spring on the object, which is clutched with the teeth
from above and the claws at the sides. If the object
is quite near, or if it hangs like a suspended string,
grabbing at it with the claws is substituted for this pro-
cess.

AVe may safely assume that the cat does not recog-
nise mock prey as such at this early stage, but we can
not be sure, on the contrary, that she thinks it is real
prey.

The sight of the moving object is sufficient to ac-
count for the whole series of instinctive acts, without
calling into use any higher psychological accompani-
ments. I am therefore not far from right if I use the
play with its own or the mother's tail as an illustration
here for the sake of simplicity. So far as it is not ex-
perimenting, it belongs in the category of chase plays.
I have slightly abridged Brehm's beautiful description:
" The playfulness of cats is noticeable in their first in-
fancy, and the mother does everything in her power
to encourage it. She becomes a child with her chil-
dren from love of them, just as a human mother for-
gets her cares in play with her darlings. The cat sits
surrounded by her little ones and slowly moves her

orsrane, vol. vii. 1894, p. 326. Cf. Schneider, Vierteljahr. fiir Wiss.
Philos., ii, 1878.

132 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

tail, which Gesner regards as the indicator of her moods.
The kittens hardly yet grasp its language, but they are
excited by the motion, their eyes take on expression,
and they prick up their ears. One and another clutch
awkwardly after the moving tail, one tries to clamber
on its mother^s back and turns a somersault, another
has spied the movement of its mother's ears and busies
itself with them, while the fifth goes on placidly suck-
ing. The contented mother quietly submits to it all."

I believe that all higher psychological accompani-
ments are wanting in the first play of young animals,
such as with a block or ball or anything of the sort,
but are necessarily developed by constant repetition
of the game. If a cat keeps running after such a ball,
in time a sort of role-consciousness comes to her, some-
thing like that which accompanies human actions that
are intentionally make-believe. This " doing as if,"
or playing a part, will appear very important in our
later observations, and I think we may be sure that the
kitten possesses it in some degree at least after fre-
quently repeated experiments. A circumstance that I
have not yet mentioned seems to increase this probabil-
ity. When the ball stops rolling the kitten starts it up
again by a gentle tap with her paw, in order to begin
the game again. This seems like conscious self-decep-
tion, involving some of the most subtle psychological
elements of the pleasure that play gives.

Dogs, too, are inclined to chase any moving object.
Brehm includes it among their characteristics. " They
all run after whatever goes quickly by them, be it man,
passing wagon, ball, stone, or what not, attempt to seize
and hold it, even when they know perfectly well that it
is a thing of no use to them." Every one knows the
ridiculous way in which a young dog will chase his own

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 133

tail, faster and faster, until he falls down. A suspended
cord is a welcome plaything to him, too; if he finds he
can not pull it down, he seizes it in his teeth and jerks
it from side to side, with threatening growls. Close
observation of such actions clearly reveals their instinc-
tive origin. The way young dogs will shake a cord or
scrap of cloth is excellent practice for shaking their
prey — a habit which apparently has the double object of
stunning the victim and deepening the hold of the dog's
teeth.

The fact that dogs beg to have a stone, a piece of
wood, or a ball thrown for them, shows how greatly
their chasing impulse is excited by the sight of moving
objects. While his master is getting ready for the
throw the dog stands waiting with, eager eyes and all
ready for the spring, and as soon as the object flies off
he is after it and trying to seize it. Small dogs seem
to hold their prey entirely with their teeth, while my
St. Bernard leaps upon the object with his fore paws
stiffly extended and deals a blow which would break the
backbone of small animals. He will gnaw for a long
time on a piece of wood that he has run after, carrying
it away in his mouth as he would real prey, and cling-
ing to it energetically if any effort is made to get it
from him. This instinct makes it easy to train dogs to
carry sticks or baskets. We can be much more confi-
dent that a dog has some consciousness of the pretence
of the thing in his play than we are in the case of the
cat. He knows perfectly well that the stick which he
brings and lays at his master's feet time and time again
is not alive, and he, too, sets his plaything in motion
when there is no one to throw it for him, by seizing it
in his mouth and tossing it up in the air. Many dogs
delight to play with the feet of their master or mistress

134 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

— a black boot has a particular fascination for the rat
terrier. It is a pretty sight to see one of them push
back a lady's skirt with his paw to find her foot and
then pounce upon it eagerly, never biting to hurt her,
however — another proof of the consciousness of make-
believe. Examples of such play with lifeless objects
are not abundant in the literature of the subject that
I am acquainted with. However, I am able to cite
a few.

Monkeys like to play with balls and other moving
objects,* and, according to Eengger, young jaguars do
the same, and often play for hours at a time with bits
of paper, oranges, or wooden balls, f Captive bears, too,
play with blocks and balls. Brehm says that young
ocelots " taken young and with care, are very tame;
they romp together like Ivittens, playing with a bit of
paper, a small orange, and such objects "; and Hudson
says of the puma that at heart it is always a kitten, tak-
ing unmeasured delight in its frolics, and when, as often
happens, one lives alone in the desert, it will amuse
itself by the hour fighting mock battles or playing at
hide and seek with imaginary companions, lying in wait
and putting all its wonderful strategy in practice to cap-
ture a passing butterfly. A tame puma that Hudson
knew was delighted when a string or handkerchief was
waved before him, and when one person was tired play-
ing with him he was ready for a game with the
next comer.t Many observers tell us of cranes: these
remarkable and intelligent birds throw stones and bits

* Scheitlin, Thierseelenkunde, ii, p. 125. Darwin, Descent of
Man, in loc.

f Sanq-ethiere von Paracrnay, pp. 173, 200, 211.
X The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 40.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 135

of mud in the air, as dogs do, and try to catch them
as they fall.*

4. Fighting Plays.
Such plays are usually to be regarded, in my opin-
ion, as preparatory for the struggle for the female,
though there are other reasons for the teasing and tus-
sling of young animals. That pleasure in possessing
power that appears in experimentation is certainly pres-
ent here as well, and such fights serve also as practice for
later battles other than those of courtship. Most ani-
mals, and especially carnivorous ones, are as pugnacious
in conducting their games together as they are over ac-
tual prey, for their chasing games very easily lead to
fights. But when we reflect that the defenceless crea-
tures, whose only safety is in flight, fight among them-
selves just as much as the beasts of prey do, we seem
to be shut up to the view that the principal use for
playful contests is preparation for the later struggle for
the female. The close connection between cruelty and
pugnacity on the one hand, and sexual excitement on
the other, is a fact confirmatory of this view. It is well
known that there is a kind of voluptuous pleasure in
cruelty. Preyer has published cases of perverted sexual
feeling t where the highest degree of excitement was
expressed by cruelty to smaller animals; and among
some animals — hares, for instance — it is common for the
female to be seriously abused in the act of pairing.
Schaeffer says:'t "Fighting and the impulse to kill are

* Scheitlin. ThiVrseelenknnde. i, 74. Nanraann, Xaturge-
schichte der Vojrel Deiitschlands. ix. pp. 3fi2, 393.

+ Miinchen. med. Wochenschrift, 1890. Xo. 23.

t Zeitschrift fiir Psychol, und Physiol, d. Sinnesorgane, vol. ii
(1891), p. 128.
11

136 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

so universally attributes of the male animal that we can
not doubt the connection between this side of the mas-
culine nature and the sexual. The writer himself be-
lieves, from personal observation, that in the perfect
male the first shadowy unrecognised suggestion of sex-
ual excitement may be aroused by reading of hunting
and fighting, and that the necessity for some sort of
satisfaction gives rise to combative games, such as the
ring fights of boys." If Schaeffer means that "the
fundamental sexual impulse for the utmost extensive
and intensive contact of the participants with a more
or less clearly defined idea of conquest underlying it "
is the main thing, I can only partly agree with him.
My idea is that teasing and fighting are closely con-
nected with the sexual life from the fact that they
furnish practice for the contest of courtship, without
being in any sense satisfying to the sexual instinct.
Among many animals that play in this way the female
yields to the victor of the males without resistance;
and, besides, it frequently happens in the fighting of
birds that there is no direct contact at all. Then, again,
many young animals have special plays connected with
pairing besides their fighting plays.

(a) Teasing arises Avhen the desire to fight either
does not seek or can not find direct satisfaction. A
belligerent animal delights to provoke others that are
perhaps not thinking of fighting. After establishing
its supremacy by this means the teasing is apt to develop
into cruel torture. There are some boys who can not
resist dealing an unprovoked cuff to another boy, or
pulling his hair, and there are just such animals. When
Bennett tried to bring an ape to Europe there were
other monkeys on the ship that would have nothing
to do with him, and he took revenge by seizing them

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 137

by the tails and dragging them about. He carried one
poor fellow to the top of a mast in this way and let him
fall. Brehm describes the behaviour of baboons toward
two Java apes. " These baboons, like all of their kind,
were most jovial fellows, and took the greatest delight in
teasing and tormenting the apes, which crouched close
together, clinging to one another. The baboons flew at
them, tore them apart, poked them in the ribs, pulled
their tails, and tried in every way to break up their de-
voted friendship. They climbed over them, tugged at
their hair, forced themselves between the inoffensive
pair, until the frightened creatures sought refuge in an-
other corner, only to be followed by their tormentors
and maltreated afresh."

A female of the same kind that Brehm brought to
Germany loved to tease the snappish house dog. When
he took his midday meal out in the court and had
stretched himself as usual on the greensward, the
roguish monkey would appear, and, seeing with satis-
faction that he was fast asleep, seize him softly by the
tail and wake him by a sudden jerk of that member.
The enraged dog would fly at his tormentor, barking and
growling, while the monkey took a defensive position,
striking repeatedly on the ground with her large hand
and awaiting the enemy's attack. The dog could never
reach her, though to his unbounded rage, for, as he
made a rush for her, she sprang at one bound far over
his head, and the next moment had him again by the

tail.

" A raccoon that was kept on a farm with other tame
animals/' writes L. Beckmann, " was specially attached
to a badger which was in the same inclosure. On hot
days the latter was accustomed to take his nap in the
open air under the shade of an alder. Then the mis-

138 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

chievous ^coon found his opportunity, but as he feared
the badger's bite he carefully kept his distance, satisfy-
ing himself with touching his victim softly in the rear
at regular intervals. This was enough to keep the
sleepy badger awake and reduce him to despair. In
vain he snapped at his tormentor ; the wary ^coon trotted
to the edge of the inclosure, and scarcely had the badger
composed himself again before he was at his old tricks.'^
I know from experience that young horses often tease
their masters. They will run up, stand very quiet with
head held high, then spring back and turn with a
menacing air. Scheitlin thus describes their actions:
"A young horse chased a company of travellers in a
narrow Alpine valley. He allowed them to walk past
him undisturbed at first, then galloped after them, sud-
denly stood still threateningly, then turned back and
pretended to graze, but soon came bounding on again.
This was repeated several times to the no small alarm
of the travellers, but he was evidently acting from pure
mischief, just like a youth in high spirits." *

Herds of gnus behave in much the same way, so that
travellers often have really to run the gauntlet among
them.

Saville Kent contributes the following anecdote
about dolphins: "A few dog-fish (Acanthias and Mus-
telus) three or four feet long now fell victims to their
tyranny, the porpoises seizing them by their tails, and
swimming off with and shaking them in a manner
scarcely conducive to their comfort or dignified appear-
ance. ... On one occasion I Avitnessed the two cetacea
acting evidently in concert against one of these un-
wieldy fish (skates), the latter swimming close to the

* Thierseelonlvundc, ii, p. 242.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 139

top of the water and seeking momentary respite from
its relentless enemies by lifting its unfortunate caudal
appendage high above its surface — the peculiar tail of
the skate being the object of sport to the porpoises,
which seized it in their mouths as a convenient handle
whereby to pull the animal about and worry it inces-
santly/'*

Birds, too, give vent to the fighting impulse by teas-
ing one another. Linden reports a parrot that teased
others in a good-natured way, and Humboldt had a
toucan which delighted in jDlaguing a sulky monkey
that was very easily provoked. Brehm tells this of the
ibis: " Those that I have known lived in comparative
peace with all the birds that share their quarters, but
assumed a certain authority over the weaker ones and
seemed to take pleasure in teasing them. The flamingoes
especially they could not let alone, and took the strangest
way to torment them. As they were sleeping with
head buried in their feathers, the ibis softly stole up and
picked at their web feet, with no intention of hurting
them, but from pure mischief. When a flamingo felt
this annoying tickling he moved off, gave a startled
glance at the ibis, and tried to get another nap, but
his tormentor was soon after him and at the old game."

(b) Tussling among young animals. Before enter-
ing fully on this part of my subject I am going to cite
a case that is to some degree problematical, to prove
that I do not overlook the possibility that fighting
play may be entirely due to the preying instinct of
a certain class of animals. I refer to the mock battles
of ants. Biichner writes: " It is on the g5minastic exer-
cises and plays of the Pratensis that Huber founded his

* Nature, vol. viii, Intellect of Porpoises.

140 THE PLAY OF AXIMALS.

celebrated observations. He saw these ants collect on
bright days on top of their hills and behave in a way
that he could only describe as regular ring games. They
rose on their hind legs, seized each other with fore-
feet, feelers, and jaws, and actually wrestled, all in quite
friendly fashion. When one gained the ascendency she
would seize all the rest, one by one, and throw them
over in a pile like skittles. Then she dragged them
about in her jaws.^' This description of Huber's was
published in many popular papers, but won little cre-
dence from the reading public. " Indeed, I myself,^' says
Forel, " found it hard to believe, in spite of the accu-
racy with which Huber recorded his observations, until
I saw it myself." A colony of Pratensis gave him this
opportunity as he approached them carefully. The
wrestlers seized one another with feet and jaws, rolled
together to the ground, just as playful urchins like to
do, pulled each other into their holes only to come out
and begin over again. All this was apparently done
without anger or spiteful feeling; it was clear that they
were actuated only by a spirit of friendly rivalry.* Sup-
posing that this is all play,f an admission that I am not
altogether prepared to make, there is, of course, no con-
nection with courtship. " I can understand," says
Forel, " that it must appear all the more incredible to
those who have not seen it, when they reflect that sex-
ual instinct can have nothing to do with this play."
The mock fights of ants must then be entirely for prac-
tice preparatory to their unusually quarrelsome and
predatory way of living. J Notwithstanding, I must hold

* A. Forel, Les fonrmis de la Suisse, 1874.
+ Blichner, Aus dem Geistesleben der Thiere, pp. 196, 220.
X IMcCook and Bates also have observations on the play of ants.
See Romanes, Animal Intelligence, p. 88.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 141

to the belief that mock fighting in general is prepara-
tory for the courtship contest. The fact that ants form
an exception does not warrant the conclusion that the
principle does not apply to the animals referred to in
what follows.

Again, I begin with the dog. All kinds of puppies
are indefatigable in playful romping, and gain in this
way much that is needful in the serious struggles of
later life. While they are very young, little dogs chase
each other awkwardly and try to seize the throat. Fox
terriers usually try to dodge the first attack,* others rise
on their hind feet and fight with front paws and teeth.
AYhen one is thrown he at once turns on his back to pro-
tect his neck, and dexterously wards off the enemy with
his fore feet. The victor, equally skilful, stands with
feet wide apart over his fallen foe and prevents him
from rising. If the dogs are of unequal size, the big
one often lies down of his owm accord and carelessly
keeps the little one at bay, as he makes excited dashes
for the enemy's throat from all sides. The quiet move-
ments of a huge mastiff in contrast with the audacity
and violence of a terrier, which attacked him in this
way, have often amused me.

Tussling like this, where pleasure in the possession
of power and the closely related rivalry, as well as mere
pugnacity, play important parts, is almost universally
practised among animals. All the feline tribe without
exception indulge in it, young tomcats especially, so
that the Germans have a special word for their fight-
ing, " Katzbalgerei" At the age of two months young
lions begin their play, which is like that of the house
cat, and the same is true of tigers, jaguars, leopards,

* Cf. Diezels, Niederjagd, p. 506.

142 TnE PLAY OF AXIMALS.

ocelots, etc. Young wolves howl and yelp during their
play; when tame they play with children. Brehm
writes: "Hyenas, taken young, soon become accustomed
to a particular person, and have a method of showing
their pleasure at the appearance of a friend, that is not
employed by any other beast of prey that is known to
me. They rise with cries and jump about like mad,
struggle with each other merely from pleasant excite-
ment, bite one another, roll over and over on the
ground, spring and leap and hop about the cage, all
the time keeping up uninterruptedly a sound for which
there is no word — the nearest approach, perhaps, is to
call it a twittering." Young male weasels romp and
tussle, sometimes biting one another severely, when
the savage nature asserts itself. Sables often play
merrily together, standing upright the better to fight,
and I have seen two ant-eaters chasing and plaguing
each other. Bennett says of young duckbills: " One
evening my two little pets came out as usual toward
dusk and ate their supper. Then they began to play
like a pair of puppies, seizing one another with their
bills, striking with the fore paws, clambering over each
other, etc. When one of them fell in the strife and
the other confidently expected him to get up at once
and renew the battle, if it occurred to him to lie
still and scratch himself, his comrade calmly watched
the proceeding and waited till the j^lay began
again.''

Bears stand upright when they fight, like squabbling
boys. A young polar bear that I have watched was
fond of playing with his mother; he chased her, bit her
feet, and scratched her nose, while she tried to seize
him as he lay on his back. Badgers " come out on
still, sunny days and amuse themselves; the clumsy

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 143

young ones hug each other like bears, tussle, and roll
about, dealing cuffs right and left." *

Beckmann describes the actions of a tame young
raccoon so beautifully that I can not resist quoting the
whole passage : " He had formed an offensive and de-
fensive alliance with a large bird dog. He Avas quite
willing to be tied to it, and then both followed their
master step by step, though when the raccoon was
alone on the chain he constantly pulled away. As soon
as he was unchained in the morning he joyfully bound-
ed off to find his friend. Standing on his hind feet,
he threw his fore paws around the neck of the dog,
whose head he gently bent forward. Then he examined
and sniffed about his friend's body with curiosity and
interest, seeming to discover new charms daily. Where
the hair was rough, he carefully licked it down. The
dog stood motionless and strangely serious during the
whole inspection, which frequently lasted a quarter of
an hour, changing his position or raising a limb when
the raccoon indicated that it was necessary. He drew
the line, however, on having the creature mount on his
back, and the attempt was a signal for a prolonged
tussle, where much courage and dexterity were dis-
played. The raccoon's mode of attack was to spring in
an unguarded moment at the throat of his much larger
and stronger opponent. Thrusting his body between
the dog's front legs, it attempted to hang on by his
neck. If he succeeded in this the dog was worsted and
could only roll frantically on the ground in his en-
deavours to rid himself of the fervid embrace. To
the credit of the rogue it should be said that he never

* A. and K. IMiiller. WohnuTiG:en. Leben und Eigenthiimlich-
keiten in der hoheren Thierwelt, p. 62.

144 THE PLAY OF AXIMALS.

abused his advantage, but contented himself with keep-
ing his head close under the dog's throat, out of danger
of a bite/'

I have already referred to the fact that animals not
inclined for fighting, except for defence, are as fond
of playful contests in their youth as are the most dan-
gerous and aggressive beasts of prey. In such cases we
must expect to find in preparation for courtship the
leading if not the only reason for such fighting. Young
horses, donkeys, zebras, etc, tear madly over the plains,
rear up at each other, strike with head and fore feet
at one another's legs and neck. Calves, too, fight ob-
stinately, approaching each other with lowered head,
each trying to push the other back. Goats fight in the
same way, and they too often measure strength in
friendly rivalry. If the contest becomes earnest, they
commonly rise on their hind feet and exert all their
strength for a side push.

I have seen two Madagascar monkeys wrestling to-
gether just as dogs do, except that the play became
more complicated from their being able to hold on with
hands and feet.

Every one knows how lambs frisk and play about a
meadow. Kids play just as the goats do, while young
deer rise on their hind feet and strike out with the front
ones.*

According to Steller, young sea bears also play and
quarrel like puppies. The father stays by and watches
them, and if a quarrel begins in earnest he urges them
on with growls, and kisses and licks the victor, then
pushes him to the ground, and is pleased if he resists.
It is worthy of remark that seals, whose young, it seems,

* A. and K. Miiller, Thiere der Heimath, i, p. 423.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 145

universally indulge in vigorous mock contests, are es-
pecially passionate and pugnacious during their court-
ship. ,

Finally, we will take a few examples from the birds.
^\^ater-wagtails chase and bite each other, apparently
in play, as is seen "most commonly late in summer
among young birds/^ * Young house and field sparrows
peck one another soundly while they are carrying on
their courtship plays, as do the nuthatch, starling, wood
lark, water-wagtail, and goldfinch. Young partridges
stands with wings wide spread and fight as hotly as if
they were already contesting for a lady love.f

(c) Playful fighting between adult animals. Many
a grown animal still takes pleasure in the mock com-
bats that he learned in youth, and it is unnecessary to
dilate on the usefulness of such sportive measuring of
strength in keeping him fit for actual warfare. From a
psychological point of view, however, this phenomenon
is especially noteworthy from the fact that the adult
animal, though already well acquainted with real fight-
ing, still knows how to keep within the bounds of play,
and must therefore be consciously playing a role, mak-
ing believe. This can hardly be denied, I think, in
some of the following cases.

Finsch says that seals make so much commotion in
the water while playing that they appear to be fighting
angrily, ' though it is really all frolic, just as the biting
is in which they indulge on land. Two of them open
their powerful jaws, angrily howling in a fearful way,
as though a serious combat were about to take place, but
instead°they lie down peacefully side by side, and per-
haps begin mutual lickings."

♦ Xaumann, iii, p. 814.

\ Chr. L. Brehm, Beitrage zur V5gelkunde, ii, p. 748.

14G THE PLAY OP ANIMALS.

Friendly dogs often keep up their playful fights to
an old age without ever being in the least angry; and
among the cattle on Alpine pastures, where the greatest
freedom is allowed them, these playful contests are fre-
quent. " The Alpine cows/"' says Scheitlin, " learn to
know their proper food more quickly, are more good-
natured, and take more pleasure in life than others.
They fight valiantly, both in play and in earnest; with
all their amiability and fondness for one another, they
gore and push terribly, yet not in anger or bad temper,
but like a lot of boys that fight to exercise their mus-
cles. They will stand for a long time with heads low-
ered and horns interlocked, as if they would never sepa-
rate. They do not look one another in the eye, as men
do, when fighting; their eyes are on the ground, their
whole mind is concentrated on the push. When one
succeeds in shoving the other back, neither seems to
care; the loser is not in the least ashamed, nor does the
victor show any pride or pleasure. Some of them are
very pugnacious, and display great courage and persist-
ence." *

Females are thus seen to display the eagerness for
combat that is in general so much more the character-
istic of the male; just as among ourselves, masculine
instincts often appear in women. Some female cats are
twice as aggressive and bloodthirsty in their breeding
time as any male, and there are some kinds of birds
whose females imitate the song of the males and mingle
in their battles, f

* Scheitlin, Thierseelenkiinde, ii, p. 201.

•f- The cows that undertake to lead and rule the herd will pome-
times fififht to the death. Their leadership is like that of the h}^^
in a wild state. See Tschudi, Das Thierleben der Alpenwelt, 1890,
p. 542.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 147

Pechuel-Loesche tells us, in the report of the Loango
Expedition, that African sheep are much more coura-
geous and bellicose than the European varieties. The
ram Mfuka that the travellers kept at their station
seems to have been a regular tyrant. " He would not
endure quarrelling or noise among the men or animals.
When the amorous goats fought, he would look at them
inquiringly for a while and then deliberately run them
down. If the men quarrelled, he acted as peacemaker in
the same thoroughgoing way, much to the amusement
of all concerned. On one occasion the spokesman of an
inland chief was talking violently before the door, when
Mfuka gently came up, measured his distance, and dealt
a mighty bloAv so energetically on the solidest part of the
man's anatomy that he fell sprawling on the sand. That
put an end to the speech. It was a rare spectacle to see
the amazed ambassador sitting there, and the ram stand-
ing by solemnly gazing at him.'' *

Brehm says of two curly bears, a male and a female:
" Soon began the merry game, in which they whirled
about so that it was impossible to distinguish one from
the other. They rolled on the floor like balls, seizing
and hugging each other, using jaws and tails indis-
criminately as weapons of offence and defence." It is
noteworthy that they never paired, though Brehm
hoped they would, and their play seems therefore to
have only the significance that Schaeffer attaches to
such romping.

Xow a few examples from the birds. The hooded
raven, which Xaumann watched from his hiding place
for hours at a time, is a very lively bird. " They often
quarrelled, but never seriously; they danced and hopped,

* Loango Expedition, iii, 1, p. 301.

148 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

rolled over in the snow, lay on their backs, took con-
strained positions, and uttered strange cries, apparently
with great effort/' *

Sale, who brought the first kakapo to Europe in
1870, writes of this bird: " His sportiveness is remark-
able. He runs from his corner, seizes my hand with
claws and beak, and tumbles about like a kitten on the
floor, still holding the hand; then he hurries off as if
to prepare for another attack. He is sometimes inclined
to be a little too rough in his play, but a mild reproof
checks him, and he is really an amusing fellow. When
I tried the experiment of bringing a dog or a cat to his
cage he would dance up and down with wings outspread
and making every pretence of anger, and his pleasure
was evident when he succeeded in exciting the animal."
To me it is very doubtful whether this was in truth
only feigned anger. Naumann also regards the follow-
ing familiar phenomenon as a play: " It is fine to see
how the jackdaws amuse themselves during a strong
wdnd at the top of a tower or tall tree. One will hustle
another off and take his place, only to be pushed off in
his turn by the next comer, and so on for hours. Crows
often do this too.'' f

Perhaps Brehm's report of a buzzard in captivity
belongs here also. This bird made friends with a little
dog, perching between his feet when he lay down, frol-
icked with him, and tweaked his hair with its beak.
Baldenstein had a tame vulture that was very fond of
him. Even when he teased the bird it made only play-
ful attacks on him, though under other circumstances
it made terrible use of its dangerous weapons.

The question now arises whether such playful fight-

- Naiimann, ii, p. 69. f Ibid., ii, p. 96.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 149

ing as we have been considering ever occurs during the
breeding season. The contest for the possession of a
female is usually a serious matter, often a life-and-death
struggle, and yet may there not be some fighting con-
nected with this period that is playful? Here, as in
most questions of animal psychology, absolute certainty
is unattainable, but we may inquire into the probabili-
ties, and it seems to me not impossible that contests
playful in character may take place even during court-
ship. Perhaps I may be allowed a human instance.
The belligerent spirit of young peasants is certainly of
this nature, little as the brawlers are conscious of it.
And however serious the fights that arise on Sundays
and holidays, they impress us as at bottom playful, for
neither combatant wishes actually to injure the other,
but rather to prove his own superiority, though this
may involve a desperate struggle. The fencing of stu-
dents, too, although often resulting in injuries that
would be dangerous without the immediate service of
a surgeon, are yet avowedly for sport. It occasionally
happens that a desire for revenge leads to the inflicting
of intentional and serious injury, but as a general thing
it is all for practice in acquiring skill and courage for
use in more serious circumstances. It may be the same
with animals. Even when they have overstepped the
bounds of the friendly tussling that we have been con-
sidering, and the contestants are angry and really try-
ing to hurt one another, still there may be something
of the temper of play. I do not assert that this is often
the case, but I may give a couple of examples that at least
give colour to the idea. We often see grown dogs chase
each other with loud cries without coming to a fight at
all, and this before the very eyes of the object of their
rivalry. Wliile snappish dogs bite one another sharply.

150 THE PLAY OF AXIMALS.

it seems to be done chiefly to prove how formidable
they are and how fearless. They slowly come together
with stiffened legs, back up, and ears and tail erect;
and each seeks to determine by characteristic and comic
sniffing what sort of fellow he has to do with. Then
they slowly walk around each other for some time, keep-
ing the legs stiff and each with his head turned, as
if aiming an attack at the others throat. Even after
all this they are very likely to separate quietly, but
sometimes they come to open combat. With frightful
screams they leap at one another, show their teeth,
growling, and sometimes bite a little, but almost always
part without having gone to the length of a serious
struggle.

My other example is from Baldamus's description
of the night heron: " When no marauder disturbs them
they find means to torment one another, chasing and
fighting with loud cries. They have a peculiar game of
climbing, during which they sometimes get into the
most ridiculous situations and scream constantly. For
example, while a female is busy appropriating a twig or
some such matter from a neighbouring nest, it occurs to
the male to pick at the feet of a bird standing above
him. The offended one spreads his wings threatening-
ly, opens his beak, and tries to retaliate, but is so closely
pressed by the aggressor that he retreats until the end
of the limb is reached or the courage of despair inspires
the victim. The amusing feature of it lies in the con-
trast between the extravagantly threatening aspect of
the aggrieved bird and his trifling efforts at defence.
The wide-open beak, the constantly varying cries, ^ Koau!
krau! krau! ^ etc., the flaming eyes, red and flashing with
rage, the wings raised so threateningly, the head alter-
nately drawn back and protruded, the extraordinary

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 151

contortions of the whole body, the erection of the head
and neck feathers — all this leads one to expect a life-
and-death struggle, and behold! they scarcely do more
than touch each other with the tips of their wings, very
rarely with the beak. They rage and storm like
Homeric gods, but with no result/^

According to Darwin, a competent observer goes so
far as to say of the Tetrao umbellus : " The contest of the
males was only a pretence arranged to display them-
selves advantageously before the admiring females col-
lected near, for I have never been able to discover a
mutilated hero, and seldom one with more than a
feather turned/^ * Brehm and ^N'aumann f both contrib-
ute to the following description of the remarkable be-
haviour of the willow wren, sometimes called the fight-
ing wren, which before the pairing is a particularly
peaceable bird: "But this quality disappears entirely
as soon as the pairing time arrives; it is now that
they deserve their second name, for the males fight con-
tinually and with no apparent cause X — if not over the
female, over a fly, a worm, a beetle, a place to perch,
anything or nothing. It is just the same whether fe-
males are present or not, whether they enjoy absolute
freedom or are in captivity, whether they have been
taken a few hours ago or have lived in a cage for years.
In short, they fight at all times and under all circum-
stances. When free, they collect at an appointed spot;
usually a moist elevation covered with short grass and
about two metres in diameter is chosen for the arena,
and is resorted to several times daily by a certain num-

* Descent of Man, ii. p. 48.
f Nauraann, yii, p. 535.

X Among students, to be called a dunce, to be jostled, or even
gazed at, is cause enough.
12

152 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

ber of males. . . . The first arrival looks anxiously about
for a second, but when he comes, should he prove not
exactly fit, a third and fourth are awaited, and then the
battle opens. Each having found his antagonist, they
fall to, fly at each other, and fight vigorously till
they are tired, when each returns to his place to rest
and collect his strength for the next round. This goes
on till they are exhausted and retire from the field, to
return soon, however, in most cases. More than two
never fight together, but if a good many are on the
ground at once, as often happens, they fight in pairs,
and cross one another in such marvellous leaps and
bounds that a spectator at a little distance would think
the birds were possessed of an evil spirit, or else gone
crazy.

" When two of these birds come upon a grain at the
same time, they both stand still at first, trembling with
rage, then stooping so that the hind part of the body
is higher than the head, and rufiiing up their feathers,
they dart at each other, dealing sharp blows. . . .
Sometimes a female comes to the battle ground and
takes a place with the fighting males, yet she does not
long mix in the strife, but soon goes away. It may
happen that a male accompanies her and stays with
her, but two males never leave together or chase one
another on the wing. The battle is fought out on the
ground, and then peace is established."

5. Constructive Arts.

It is true that very few of the phenomena connected
with building by animals have anything to do with the
psychology of play, but before taking any further steps
it is necessary to inquire into the part played by in-

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 153

stinct in the exercise of constructive skill by the higher
animals, and especially by birds.

Wallace, in his Philosophy of Birds' Nests, has tried
to prove that inherited instinct has very little to do with
it. The material, he says, depends on circumstances,
and the form partly on natural impulse, but chiefly on
imitation. The young bird lives in the nest for days
and weeks and learns to know its every detail. Dur-
ing the time he is learning to fly he studies the out-
side, and naturally keeps a memory picture of the
parental home against his own time of need, when he
imitates it. The manner of building which has become
tradition through imitation, among savage tribes, is thus
seen also among the higher animals.

Worthy of respectful consideration as these opin-
ions undoubtedly are, it is extremely probable, to say
the least, that Wallace has gone too far. Though here
and there imitation may play a more or less important
part in this work, it would be hard to dispense with
the idea that hereditary impulse is, as a rule, responsi-
ble for the constructive skill of animals. The making
of a chrysalis by the moth is so unquestionably instinc-
tive that no one will deny it, and such facts among the
lower orders naturally lead us to consider the case of
higher animals analogous. It should be borne in mind,
too, that young birds of the kinds that nest but once
can not in this way learn the manner of constructing a
nest, since the finished one shows little of the process.
Weir wrote to Darwin in 1868: " The more I reflect on
Mr. Wallace's theory that birds learn to make their
nests because they have been themselves reared in one,
the less inclined do I feel to agree with him. ... It
is usual with many canary fanciers to take out the nest
constructed by the parent birds and to put a felt nest

154 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

in its place, and when the young are hatched and old
enough to be handled, to place a second clean nest, also
of felt, in the box, removing the other, and this is done
to avoid acari. But I never knew that canaries so reared
failed to make a nest when the breeding time arrived.
I have, on the other hand, marvelled to see how like
a wild bird's their nests were constructed/' *

It is, of course, difficult to determine how much is
due to instinct and how much to intelligence, for no
one claims that the building of higher animals is purely
instinctive. Take, for example, Xaumann's beautiful
description of the skilfuU}^ made nests of the golden
oriole, so like an inverted nightcap : " One of them
(usually the male) comes flying with a long thread or
grass blade in his bill and tries to fasten the end of it
to a bough, perhaps with the help of his spittle, while
the female catches the loose end and ffies with it two or
three times around the bough and fastens it in the same
way to a forked limb opposite." f

This can not be all instinct; it is a case where
inherited instinct and individual experience work to-
gether. The Miillers have expressed their belief that,
though old birds usually build better than their young
when there is any difference at all, still the instinct for
building is, after all, a gift of Nature. J

" The ravenous screeching young owls do not think
of making studies in architecture. ... If the parents
have a second brood, the young of the first never come
near them, nor does it enter their heads to take lessons
in building.*

* Romanes, Mental Evolution in Animals, p. 226.

f Naturgeschiohte der Vogel Deutschlands, ii, p. 181.
t A. and K. Mliller, Thiere der Heimath, 1, p. 39.

* Ibid., i, p. 125.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 155

"As a matter of fact, no naturalist has yet been
able to prove that old birds instruct their young in
nest-building. It would be impossible for those that
nest but once, as the young can not be present when the
parents build; yet the next spring, when they are only
a year old, they go about the construction of their own
nest with as much assurance as if they had been in the
business a long time." *

I cite Xaumann next, who plainly indicates the two-
fold nature of the phenomenon: " We may well won-
der at the mysterious instinct that enables young birds
to build at their first attempt nests as perfect as those
of their parents, and similar to them in material, posi-
tion, and form; but it can not be denied that their art
can be brought to even greater perfection by means of
practice." f

In inquiring now as to the connection between these
arts and the psychology of play, it becomes apparent
that building in general is not playful. The earthworks
of beavers, foxes, badgers, fish-otters, rabbits, etc., the
leafy arbours of many kinds of apes, the nests of the
perch, hedgehog, squirrel, field mouse, and bird serve
a purpose that is directly useful. But since all art has
at least some likeness to play, it follows that building
of this kind is not properly called art, any more than
the rude shelters of our primeval ancestors can be called
products of architecture. Only in special cases, then, can
we speak of playful building. Darwin sees such a case in
the well-known fact that caged birds often build nests
for amusement, when they have no occasion to use

* A. and K. INriiller, Wohnuncren. Leben und Eigenthiimlich-
keiten der hohoren ThiVnvelt. 18P.0. p. 216.

f Naturgescliichte der Vogel Deutschlands, i, p. 97.

15G THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

them.* The weaver bird offers the most familiar exam-
ple. Cams, too, speaks of the plaiting " which many
birds work at if prevented from building nests for them-
selves. It is especially interesting to watch the Ploceus
sanguinirostrisy now so common in Europe, when it can
not build its peculiar purse-shaped nest, how it makes
use of every available scrap of thread or straw in inter-
weaving and adorning the bars of its cage. Surely this
bird evinces a certain intelligence, which is not of the
lowest order, as any one must be convinced who watches
it at work for any length of time — ^how it holds a
thread in its claw, seizes it with the beak, pushes it
through the grating, ties a good knot, and proceeds to
weave it in and out." f

This might be regarded as a kind of play, depending,
however, upon the abnormal conditions of the bird's life.
But for its artificial milieu it would build a nest, and
since instinct forces it to build something, its activity
assumes a playful character, owing to circumstances im-
posed by man. The attempts of some male birds to build
nests on their own account, before they have assumed
the responsibility of wedlock, may, however, be regarded
as purely playful. The Miillers tell us that the wren
does this, sometimes making two or three nests imper-
fectly alone, before he unites with the female in build-
ing the one on which she sits. " This haste to build,''
says the observer, " is nothing but happy sportiveness
on the part of the little creature bewitched by love."
It is probably due to the fact that the awakening of sex-
ual passion arouses all the instincts connected with it
to activity. Many birds pick on the ground during their

* Descent of Man, ii, p. 52 f.

t C. G. Carus, Vergleichende Psychologie, 18C6, p. 213.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 157

courtship, as if trying to take something up, others will
throw little stones behind them, and still others carry
about on their beaks a small feather of the adored one.
The action of the wren described above is only one
step further in the same direction, and we find its cul-
mination in the wonderful pleasure-house of the bower
bird. Another manifestation of it is found in the fact
that during the time of their courtship many female
birds allow themselves to be fed by the male, just as the
young are later on.

But more important for our purpose are the strange
methods of building ornamentation employed by some
animals. If no other meaning can be discovered for
them, they may very properly be regarded as playful.
I know of only two instances in mammals, and the first
of these is imperfectly vouched for and dubious. Dar-
win says that the viscacha, a South American rodent,
has the remarkable habit of collecting at the mouth of
its burrow every portable object within its reach, so
that heaps of stones, bones, thistle stalks, lumps of earth,
dry dung, etc., are found near their holes. It is even
related of a traveller who lost his watch in the region
that he recovered it by searching among the viscacha
mounds along the way.*

Hudson corroborates these reports, and finds a use
for the habit : " For as the viscachas are continually
deepening and widening their burrows, the earth thrown
out soon covers these materials, and so assists in raising
the mounds," which protect their dwellings from over-
flow, f He further remarks that these animals always
build in an open plain, on even, close-shaven turf, where

* Dfirwin, Journey aronnrl the World.
f The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 304

158 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

an approaching enemy can easily be descried. This in-
stinct for clearing the ground Hudson considers sufficient
to explain the collection of objects lying about. If Hud-
son is right, as seems probable, there is, of course, noth-
ing playful about it. Darwin, on the contrary, thought
this habit of the viscachas analogous to that of certain
birds which I will now describe. The Australian atlas
bird {Calodera maculata) builds an intricately woven
structure of twigs to play in, and collects near it shells,
bones, and feathers, especially those brightly coloured.
Mr. Gould says that when the natives lose any small,
hard objects they at once search these places, and he
knew of a pipe that was recovered in this way.*

If Darwin regarded these as the only examples of
the kind, he must have overlooked some familiar in-
stances. One at least relating to mammals is cited
by James from Lindsay's Mind in Lower Animals.
Keferring to a nest of the Californian wood rat, which
he discovered in an unoccupied house: "I found the
outside to be composed entirely of spikes, all laid with
symmetry, so as to present the points of the nails out-
ward. In the centre of this mass was the nest, com-
posed of finely divided fibres of hemp packing. In-
terlaced with the spikes were the following: About two
dozen knives, forks, and spoons; all the butcher's knives
— three in number — a large carving knife, fork, and
steel; several large plugs of tobacco, ... an old purse,
containing some silver, matches, and tobacco; nearly
all the small tools from the tool closets, with several
large augers, ... all of which must have been trans-
ported some distance, as they were originally stored in
distant parts of the house. . . . The outside casing of

* Darwin, loc. cit.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 159

a silver watch was disposed of in one part of the pile,
the glass of the same watch in another, and the works
in still another/^ *

The other examples are of birds. The so-called
thieving of crows and ravens shows their characteristic
bent in its simplest form, for they all delight to carry
small, bright objects to their nests. Nanmann certifies
to it of the pond raven, crow, hooded raven, curlew,
jackdaw, and magpie, f The bastard nightingale also
likes to trim the outside of its nest with bark, feathers,
shavings, and scraps of paper. J The Miillers describe
a wren's nest that was lined with bright yellow chicken
feathers.* Romanes says that there are " many spe-
cies of birds that habitually adorn their nests with
gaily coloured feathers, wool, cotton, or other gaudy
material. ... In many cases a marked preference is
shown for particular objects, as, for instance, in tlie
case of the Syrian nuthatch, which chooses the irides-
cent wings of insects, or that of the great crested fly-
catcher, which similarly chooses the cast-off skins of
snakes. But no doubt the most remarkable of these
cases is that of the Baya bird of Asia, which, after hav-
ing completed its bottle-shaped and chambered nest,
studs it over with small lumps of clay, both inside and
out, upon which the cock bird sticks fireflies, appar-
ently for the sole purpose of securing a brilliantly dec-
orative effect. Other birds, such as the hammer-head
of Africa, adorn the surroundings of their nests, which
are built upon the ground, with shells, bones, pieces
of broken glass and earthenware, or any objects of a

* James, The Principles of Psycholofjy, ii. p. 424.

f Naturfreschichte der Vofrel Dentschlands, ii, p. 50.
X A. and K. Mliller, Thiere der Heimath, i, p. 56.

# Ibid., i, p. 61.

160 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS,

bright and conspicuous character which they may hap-
pen to find/' *

Still more remarkable is the case of the bower bird,
which does not, indeed, adorn its nest, but builds a play-
house, in the shape of a tunnel on the ground, entirely
for the purposes of courtship, and decorates it in every
possible way. Both sexes w^ork in its construction, but
the male is the director.

So strong is this instinct that it is practised under
confinement, and Mr. Strange has described the habits
of some satin bower birds which he kept in an aviary
in New South Wales: "At times the male will chase
the female all over the aviary, then go to the bower,
pick up a gay feather or a large leaf, utter a curious
kind of note, set all his feathers erect, run round the
bower, and become so excited that his eyes appear
ready to start from his head; he continues opening first
one wing and then the other, uttering a low, whistling
note, and, like the domestic cock, seems to be picking
up something from the ground, until at last the female
goes quietly toward him." Captain Stokes has described
the habits and " playhouses " of another species — the
great bower bird — which was seen " amusing itself by
flying backward and forward, taking a shell alternately
from each side, and carrying it in its mouth through the
archway. These curious structures, formed solely as
halls of assemblage, where both sexes amuse them-
selves and pay their court, must cost the birds much
labour. The bower, for instance, of the fawn-breasted
species is nearly four feet in length, eighteen inches in
height, and is raised on a thick platform of sticks/' f

* Romanes, Darwin and after Darwin, i, p. 380.
f Cf. Darwin, Descent of Man, vol. ii, p. 77.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 161

Moreover, these bowers are elaborately decorated, and
the manner of decoration differs in the three varieties
of birds. " The satin bower bird collects gaily coloured
articles, such as the blue tail feathers of parrakeets,
bleached bones, and shells, which it sticks between the
twigs or arranges at the entrance. Mr. Gould found in
one bower a neatly worked stone tomahawk and a slip
of blue cotton, evidently procured from a native en-
campment. These objects are continually rearranged
and carried about by the birds while at play. The
bower of the spotted bower bird ' is beautifully lined
with tall grasses, so disposed that the heads nearly meet,
and the decorations are very profuse.' Eound stones
are used to keep the grass stems in their proper places
and to make divergent paths leading to the bower. The
stones and shells are often brought from a great dis-
tance. The regent bird, as described by Mr. Ramsay,
ornamented its short bower with bleached land shells
belonging to five or six species and with berries of vari-
ous colours — blue, red, and black — which give it when
fresh a very pretty appearance. Besides these there
were several newly picked leaves and young shoots of
a pinkish colour, the whole showing a decided taste for
the beautiful. Well may Mr. Gould say, ^ These highly
decorated halls of assembly must be regarded as the
most wonderful instances of bird architecture yet dis-
covered,' and the taste, as we see of several species, cer-
tainly differs." *

In reviewing these strange practices of birds found
in such various parts of the earth, we find that, though
here and there an explanation like that of Hudson for
the viscachas may be hazarded, in the main no better

* Descent of Man, vol. ii, p. 124.

162 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

ground exists for them than the fact that the birds take
pleasure in possessing objects that are gaily coloured
or bright. Our next question, then, is, Whence arises
this delight in bright and gaily coloured things?
Since Darwin's time it is the custom to attribute every-
thing of this kind to a direct aesthetic enjoyment of the
beautiful. But that is an unsatisfactory explanation,
originating in a misconception of the essentials of aes-
thetics. At the most, such satisfaction as these birds
feel can only be regarded as a stimulus to sensuous
pleasure, which, strictly speaking, is not aesthetic en-
joyment at all. For the full perception of beauty, the
sensuous pleasure arises first when, through the function
which I have called " inner imitation,'' the sensuously
pleasing object takes on spiritual embodiment. It is
highly improbable that a psychological operation such
as this, which is rarely called forth even in men in
its full strength, should be developed in animals.
What they Teally feel is the pleasure of the senses pro-
duced by physical well-being without reference to aes-
thetics, such as may be produced in ourselves by the con-
templation of a clear sky, pure air, and green fields.
This sensuous delight in what is bright and gay is an
important antecedent to esthetic pleasure because it
assures a lively perception of the object, but it should
not be mistaken for aesthetic pleasure itself.

Further, we may well suspect that this delight in
striking colours and forms is not unconnected with the
sexual life. It is well known that Darwin teaches that
these characteristics in male birds largely control sexual
selection. Later I shall discuss the question whether
we can rightly refer the origin of such phenomena to
sexual selection, even though its later influence be
granted. There can be no doubt that animals are ex-

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 163

cited in this way by the display of what might be called
their wedding finery, but this feeling may very well be
extended by association to other and unusual things,
all of which the birds are attracted to because of their
tendency to produce sexual excitement.* The follow-
ing anecdote, given to Eomanes by a lady, illustrates
this:

" A white fantail pigeon lived with his family in a
pigeon house in our stable yard. He and his wife had
been brought originally from Sussex, and had lived,
respected and admired, to see their children of the third
generation, when he suddenly became the victim of
the infatuation I am about to describe.

" No eccentricity whatever was remarked in his con-
duct until one day I chanced to pick up somewhere in
the garden a ginger-beer bottle of the ordinary brown-
stone description. I flung it into the yard, where it
fell immediately below the pigeon house. That instant
down flew 'pater familias, and to my no small astonish-
ment commenced a series of genuflections, evidently
doing homage to the bottle. He strutted round and
round it, bowing and scraping and cooing and per-
forming the most ludicrous antics I ever beheld on the
part of an enamoured pigeon. . . . Nor did he cease
these performances until we removed the bottle, and,
which proved that this singular aberration of instinct
had become a fixed delusion, whenever the bottle was
thrown or placed in the yard — no matter whether it
lay horizontally or was placed upright — the same ridic-
ulous scene was enacted; at that moment the pigeon
came flying down with quite as great alacrity as when

* I find a similar idea advanced in Lloyd Morgan's Animal
Life and Intelligence, p. 408.

1(54 THE PLAY OF AXIMALS.

his peas were thrown out for dinner, to continue his
antics as long as the bottle remained there. Some-
times this would go on for hours, the other members
of the family treating his movements with the most
contemptuous indifference and taking no notice what-
ever of the bottle. At last it became the regular amuse-
ment with which we entertained our visitors, to see
this erratic pigeon making love to the interesting ob-
ject of his affections, and it was an entertainment which
never failed, throughout that summer at least. Be-
fore next summer came he was no more." *

Eomanes agrees with the lady who wrote the de-
scription in regarding this as a pathological case, but,
even if that is correct, still the actions of this pigeon
throw some light on the question we have been consid-
ering. In order to estimate their real relation to play
we must return to our first division, namely, experi-
mentation. Since seizing, holding, and carrying things
about form one manifestation of experimentation, it is
natural that an unusual object should excite the atten-
tion and give pleasure to animals. A child, too, takes
pleasure in collecting bright objects, and the fact
that they, as well as some birds — the warbler, for in-
stance— are continually handling their treasures, carry-
ing them from place to place and rearranging them,
clearly shows the experimental character of such habits.
An instinct very closely connected with experimenta-
tion, but not yet mentioned, is involved here, for where
we find pleasure in power, pleasure in ownership is not
far off. James calls this the instinct of appropriation or
acquisitiveness. " The beginnings of acquisitiveness,"
says he, " are seen in the impulse which very young

* Romanes, Mental Evolution in Animals, p. 173.

THE PLAY OP ANIMALS. 165

children display to snatch at or beg for any object
which pleases their attention/^ * I regard the instinct
whose mandate in the struggle for life is, " Keep what
you can get/' as very important. Men and animals
must learn not only to acquire, but also to defend and
protect their property with tenacious energy. Plow
purely instinctive this is, is shown by the tame canary
that will peck angrily at the hand of even its beloved
owner, that has just given it the bit of salad or apple
which it now defends.

But there is a playful side to it as well, as witness
the stubbornness with which a dog at play will cling
to the stick in opposition to his master. As James re-
marks, the zeal for collecting is the most common form
of it among ourselves. " Boys will collect anything
that they see another boy collect, from pieces of chalk
and peach-pits up to books and photographs. Out of
a hundred students whom I questioned, only four or
five had never collected anything." f This passion is
highly developed among the mentally deranged. Many
patients in lunatic asylums have a mania for picking
out and treasuring all the pins they can find. Others
collect scraps of thread, buttons, rags, etc., and are
happy in possessing them.J: The thieving of jackdaws
and magpies is something like this.

Finally, this observation is to be noted. In all the

cases we have considered the desire to experiment with

or to get possession of objects has been directed to such

. things as were bright or gaily coloured. Now, if we

find in the preference for such things an antecedent

* The Principles of Psychology, ii, p. 422.
t Ibid., ii, p. 423.

i Ibid., ii, p. 424. Kleptomania, too, belongs to the pathology
of this instinct.

166 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

to aesthetic enjoyment, surely the same instinct di-
rected toward building can be regarded as an antece-
dent to aesthetic production. I find three principles
influential in the production of human art: First,
self-exhihition * (Selbstdarstellung); second, imitation;
third, ornamentation. Now one of these and now an-
other seems to be more important, but it always proves
on examination that they are all essential. (I shall
have more to say on this point in the last chapter.)
The examples I have cited emphasize the principle of
ornamentation chiefly, but the other two were present
also. The habits of the warbler, for instance, suggest
that inherited instinct is not working alone, but is as-
sisted by tradition, for the younger birds seem to imitate
what they see their elders do. So it appears that imi-
tation has a part in the formation of any habit where
the young prefer, as their model, those of the older ones
who have distinguished themselves in the art in ques-
tion.

Something akin to self-exhibifion is discernible too.
That feeling which is so plainly shown in the sportive
love-making of the bird probably has something to do
with the fanciful trimming of his nest. Just as we
extend our ego to the ends of our canes and to the top
of our high hats, as Lotze says. Just as we are vain of
well-made clothes, of a fine establishment, of the orna-
mental fagade of our house, or even of the advantages
of the neighbourhood in which we live, so the bird
may feel a pride in the striking or sensuous pleasing
object, that is akin to self-exhibition.

* [An English term suggested by Baldwin (Psycholog. Review,
i, Nov., 1894, p. 620), with reference to Marshall's Pain, Pleasure,
and Esthetics, and accepted by Marshall.]

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 1G7

These thoughts are merely thrown out, not as seri-
ous statements, nor even as hypotheses, but rather as
half-playful speculation as to what may be going on in
the bird's mind, and may be taken for what they are
worth. However, it remains true that our point of
departure, namely, the delight in what is bright or gay,
is very remarkable, is a mental capability bringing the
animal that possesses it into line with primitive man
at this one point, when the development of his other
faculties lags far behind. Their case is like that of one
of those astonishing, and at the same time stupid, mathe-
matical geniuses, whose mental capacity is inferior to
that of the average man in all directions save one, while
his ability to grasp and manipulate series of numbers
is something phenomenal. But we must bear in mind
that such phenomena may after all be explained on
grounds of practical utility; and if thus explained they
have no place in the psychology of play.

6. Nursing Plays.

During the time that I spent in study preparatory
to writing this book I naturally became much interested
in human play as well, and although my classification
of animal play has not to my knowledge been influenced
by any system of human play, I confess that I am now
confronted by a problem that would not have been
likely to attract my attention if I had not seen children
at play. We all know how much of that is with dolls,
and the question for us now is whether there is anything
analogous to it in the animal world. Of course, an
animal in its natural condition can never be the possess-
or of a doll — that is, a plastic representation of an indi-
vidual of its own kind — and even if one were given him
13

1G8 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

he would not know how to play with it. Romanes
relates of the same ape that his sister so admirably de-
scribed: " 1 bought at a toyshop a very good imitation
of a monkey and brought it into the room with the real
monkey, stroking and speaking to it as if it were alive.
The monkey evidently mistook the figure for a real ani-
mal, manifesting intense curiosity, mixed with much
alarm if I made the figure approach 'him. Even when
I placed the figure on the table and left it standing
motionless the monkey was afraid to approach it." *

My St. Bernard displayed feelings of curiosity min-
gled with fear when I held an imitation white poodle
before him, and as I made the figure bark his aston-
ishment recalled Schiller's verse on the power of song:

" Amazed, and with delicious fear
He heard the minstrel's lay, and hid."

There was no sign of a wish to play with the
doll. But this does not dispose of the subject. Real
dolls are not the only thing that children play with.
Little girls often prefer some make-believe, a comb, a
fork, a stone, a bit of bread, anything they happen to
fancy they will tenderly nurse, feed, put to bed, and dis-
cipline. And when we reflect that a dog treats a scrap
of wood as his prey, we can not regard as a priori out
of the question for the animal's fostering instinct to fix
on an object of the same kind. But while I admit
this as an a 'priori possibility, I confess that I am un-
able to find an a 'posteriori experimental proof. The
only cases that would serve in this connection that have
come under my observation are in the report of the
Loango Expedition. There Pechuel-Loesche says: " It

* Animal Intelligence, p. 495.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 169

was something entirely new to me to see the monkeys
take lifeless objects for playthings, and, like children,
carefully put them to bed in their own sleeping boxes, as
well as care for them during the day. Isabella devoted
herself for a long time to a little canister, and Pavy
to a little crooked stick of wood which in his wild capers
he often hurled into the air. Once it flew too far and
was appropriated by Jack, and thereupon deadly enmity
ensued. As their chains were not long enough for them
to reach one another, there was nothing for them to do
but get as near together as possible and make horrible
faces while they scolded. Their mutual hatred contin-
ued until I gave Pavy back his stick. Later he took to
petting a musket ball, while Jack conceived a passion
for a thermometer. As soon as he was free and not
watched, he hurried to it and carried it off. He evi-
dently delighted in the shining glass, but handled it so
carefully that the instrument was never injured, even
when he took it up in trees and on the roof and had to
be coaxed down." *

It is questionable whether there is any analogy to
play with dolls in such actions. At most, the putting
things to bed and the care taken of the thermometer
are all that could be considered so; but so long as
better examples are wanting, these carry very little con-
viction.

But there is another and more important phase of
the subject. ^Mien we see little girls playing foster
mother to their younger brothers and sisters, and even
to grown ones, and when we see, too, how lonely women
lavish maternal care on lapdogs, which is really play-
ing, we are not surprised at something of the same kind

* Loango Expedition, iii, p. 246.

170 THE PLAY OF AMMALS.

among animals. Among the innumerable examples of
the adoption of foster children and of animal friends,
there are many that suggest play. I think, however,
that those cases should be excepted where the mother,
being robbed of her own young, has the young of some
other animal thrust upon her by some experimenter —
young which she regards with surprise but without a
clear understanding of the deception.

We can as little speak of play in such a case as in
that of a hen that tries to hatch marble eggs that have
been placed under her. But there are still many cases
that are like human play, and I will cite several such
examples. The fact that the animal adopted is often
maltreated and even in danger of its life does not argue
against the playful intention. We see little girls fre-
quently become very careless with their tenderly nur-
tured doll babies; we see them in the midst of maternal
cares for an eatable toy make nothing of biting its head
off; and we see the instinct of experimentation and
destruction many times indulged even at the peril of
their tame pets or little brother or sister, in spite of all
the love for them.

Herr E. Duncker, of Berlin, observed, according
to Buchner's report, a dog on a farm in Pyrmont, whose
duty it was to watch the stock, and especially the poul-
try. He used to hunt up hidden eggs and bring them
to the kitchen.* " One day he placed an egg on the
sofa in the kitchen instead of on the stone floor, as usual.
The little chick imprisoned in it was trying to break
the shell, and after the egg was placed in a wadded

* L. Biichner, Liebe und Liebesleben in der Thierwelt, p. 185.
Most of the observations cited here are from this book, which, it
must be admitted, does not seem to be always of unimpeachable
reliability.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 171

basket the dog helped it out with his tongue and con-
stituted himself its nurse. He let the chicken drink
from the end of his tongue dipped in water, placed
the basket in the sun, and petted and tended the little
creature with unwearying care. When it grew up and
was badly used by the other fowls he played protector,
and the hen would fly on his back and appear to caress
him.^^

Herr Wilibald Wulff relates that on a visit to the
family of a friend in Schleswig he came upon a terrier
lying in a basket holding two kittens with his fore paws,
while two more clambered on his back. The lady of
the house said, in answer to his questions, that he did
this many times in a day — so often, indeed, that the
old cat had deserted her 5^oung. He was far more care-
ful of them than the mother herself, and would not
allow any one to disturb the little ones. Dr. Matthes
brought home a very young and helpless puppy, and
noticed the next day that it had already been taken
in charge by an old male dog. He lay down by the
whining puppy, licked it, and growled at any one who
came near. The following is related of a shepherd dog
by Herr Heinrich Kichter: " This remarkable and valu-
able dog had the habit that is common among good shep-
herd dogs of biting lightly the hind leg, just below the
hock, of straying sheep. But he omitted to do this to
one of the sheep, and only barked. Even at the com-
mand of the shepherd he refused to bite the sheep
and only barked the more and licked it so that it be-
came very bold, and allowed itself more freedom than
ever. But woe to any other sheep who was emboldened
by its example! He bit them all the more and punished
them severely, as if to make up for his laxity in the
other case. It was at last necessary to take away the

172 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

favourite in order to prevent trouble, but even this was
only a temporary remedy, for the dog turned his affec-
tion toward another sheep and acted as before." The
owner of a truck farm, says the Eevue d' Anthropologic,
noticed that a basket which he had filled with carrots
was unaccountably empty. The gardener, when ques-
tioned, knew nothing about it, and proposed hiding
behind a lattice to watch for the thief. They did so,
after refilling the basket. Soon a sound put them on
their guard, and they saw the house dog take a carrot
in his mouth and slink off toward the stable. Dogs
do not eat raw carrots, so our watchers followed the
rogue and discovered that he was taking the carrots
to a horse in whose stall he was in the habit of sleeping.
Wagging his tail, he presented his prize, and the horse
naturally needed little urging to accept it. The angry
gardener reached for a stick with which to punish the
too zealous friend, but his master restrained him, and
the scene was repeated until the supply of carrots was
exhausted. This horse was evidently the dog's chosen
favourite, for he scarcely noticed the other one that
lived in the same stall, not to speak of giving him car-
rots. Fraulein Fanny Bezold, of Heidingsfeld, had a
shaggy terrier named " Schnauz " that one day brought
home a rabbit that he had caught at a farm about half
a mile distant, and devoted himself to it. He played
with his pet and defended it from the attacks of other
animals and watched it anxiously when the children
of the neighbourhood came in to see it. Herr Otmar
Wild, in Zittau, writes to Biichner about the friendship
between his setter one year old and a pullet. They
sleep side by side, or the hen on the dog's back. He ex-
presses his tenderness by licking his little friend, and she
shows her appreciation of it by picking about in his hair.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 173

Many similar instances are recorded, tending to
show that while this instinct is strongest in the female,
it is not wanting in male animals, and that even among
the fiercest animals the male assists in caring for and
rearing the young.

Eecorded examples are naturally most abundant
among domestic animals. Mr. Oswald Fitch writes of
a house cat: " It was observed to take some fish bones
from the house to the garden and, being followed, was
seen to have placed them in front of a miserably thin
and evidently hungry stranger cat, who was devouring
them; not satisfied with that, our cat returned, pro-
cured a fresh supply, and repeated its charitable offer,
which was apparently as thankfully accepted. This act
of benevolence over, our cat returned to its accustomed
dining place, the scullery, and ate its own dinner off
the remainder of the bones.^' *

If the playful character of this action seems doubt-
ful, it is certainly present in Bticllner^s narrative which
follows: At the mill near Hildburghausen there was a
cat that rejoiced in the name of '' Lies." She extended
her maternal care not only to little chickens, but to
young ducks and other birds as well. Once, immediately
before the birth of four kittens, she brought six chicks,
just hatched, to the basket prepared for her. She had
some trouble in keeping the restless brood together,
especially when her kittens came — in three days — but
she never relaxed her care for the foster children. On
the contrary, she soon brought to the nest three young
ducks and a little red wagtail which she took from a
nest near by. Her loving care was bestowed impar-

* Xature. April 9, 1883. See Romanes, Mental Evolution in
Animals, p. 345.

174 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

tially on the motley crowd of nurslings, and she good-
naturedly allowed the little chicks to peck at her nose
and eyes. When they grew larger and ran about, they
gave their foster mother endless trouble to bring them
back and keep them safe, and by their constant peck-
ing they made her neck quite bare. Fraulein Johanna
Baltz, of Arnsberg, saw a large cat in the house of a
friend acting as the protector of five little chickens,
whose mother had been lost. The cat warmed and pro-
tected the tiny creatures when she first saw them, and it
was a beautiful picture to see the cunning little heads, with
their bright eyes peering out from under the gray fur.
Brehm has a great deal to say about this kind of
play among monkeys. An orang-utang that Cuvier
used to watch in Paris won the affection of two little
kittens, which he often held under his arm or set on
his head, although their sharp clinging claws must have
hurt him. Once he examined their paws and tried to
pull out the claws with his fingers. He did not suc-
ceed in this, but preferred to bear the pain rather than
give up playing with his pets. A baboon named
"■ Perro,^^ that belonged to L. Brehm, brother of the
author of Thierleben, showed a strong partiality for
young animals of all sorts. " When we were going to
Alexandria we had him chained to the baggage wagon,
giving him a long enough leash to do anything he
wanted, short of running away. As we entered the
city Perro spied a bitch lying in her kennel near the
street and peacefully suckling four beautiful pups. To
spring from the wagon and snatch one of the sucklings
from its mother was the work of a moment, but regain-
ing his place was another matter. The dog, enraged by
the monkey's audacity, flew at him madly, and Perro
had to exert all his strength to withstand her attack.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 175

The wagon moved steadily onAvard, and he had none too
much time to clamber in it when she sprang upon him.
Holding the pupjDy between his upper arm and breast,
and seizing the chain which impeded him with the same
hand, he ran on his hind legs and defended himself
bravely with one arm. His courageous defence won the
admiration of the Arabs to such a degree that no one
attempted to take the stolen puppy from him, and they
finally drove the mother away. Unmolested, he brought
the puppy with him to our stopping place, fondled it,
nursed it, and cared for it tenderly, leaped over walls
and rafters with the poor little creature, which seemed
to have no taste for such exercises, left it in perilous
places, and gave it privileges which might have been
appreciated by young monkeys but were not agreeable
to a dog. He was very fond of the little thing, but
that did not hinder his eating all the food we brought it,
actually holding it back while he robbed his innocent
ward. I took the puppy away from him and sent it
back to its mother that same evening.'' Another bab-
oon that Brehm had behaved in the same way. " Atile
loved pets of all kinds. Hassan, a long-tailed monkey,
was the darling of her heart, so long as there was no
question of eating. It seemed perfectly natural to her
and no cause for gratitude that Hassan should share
everything with her. She required slavish obedience
of him, struck him on the mouth and emptied his plate
without hesitation if he dared to think of enjoying any-
thing alone. Her large heart was not satisfied with one
pet, her love was all-embracing. She stole puppies and
kittens whenever opportunity offered, and kept them
for a long time. And she knew well how to render
them harmless, for if they scratched her she would
bite off their sharp claws."

176 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

" An interesting quality of onr tame monkey," says
Pechuel-Loesche, " is the way he has of choosing a
particular animal, or even an inanimate thing, as the
special object of his care. Strange friendships result
from it. It is a familiar fact that apes often adopt
the children of others of their own kind, care for them
tenderly, and protect them to the last extremity. When
our shepherd dog ' Trine ' came home with her little
ones, tormented by fleas, we placed them in the mon-
key house, Avhere they were joyfully received and
thoroughly cleansed, while the old dog looked on con-
tentedly from outside. But a great commotion was
raised when we attempted to take away the new pets,
the monkeys evidently expecting to keep them. The
good-natured ape Mohr formed a triple alliance with
the gorilla and the ram Mfuka. Jack, the baboon,
had a little pig for his friend, and often attempted to
ride on its back. Later, in place of the cheerful pig,
he had a half-grown dog for his chum, and they played
together in the drollest manner. The morose Isabella
chose a gray parrot for her pet, but the friendship was
broken from the day she tried to pull out the parrot's
beautiful tail feathers."

We will conclude with some examples from birds.
" A friend of mine," says AVood, " has a gray parrot
that is the tenderest and most devoted of foster mothers
to any helpless little creatures. In the garden were a
number of rosebushes surrounded by a wire fence thick-
ly covered with vines. A pair of finches nested here,
and were fed regularly by the people in the house, who
were kindly disposed to all animals. Polly noticed
these frequent visits to the rose garden, and the food
scattered there, and determined to follow so good an
example. Watching his chance, he escaped from the

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 177

cage, imitated the call of the old finches, and carried
to one after another of the young birds a bill full of
his own food. But his manner was a little too brusque
to suit the old birds, and they flew away in terror from
the great gray stranger. Polly thus saw to his satisfac-
tion the little ones orphaned and left entirely to his pro-
tecting care. From that time he refused to return to
his cage, staying night and day with the foster children,
and feeding them carefully till they were grown up.
The little creatures would fly about and perch on his
head and neck, and Polly would move very carefully and
seriously with his burden.'' The naturalist Pietruvsky
had a pond raven that always insisted on having com-
pany after a magpie was once accidentally placed in his
cage. This companionship must have given him pleas-
ure, for the next winter he chased any of the birds that
came near when he was out of his cage. Tiring of the
sport, he would catch a magpie and hold it in his claws,
calling out until his attendant appeared, to put it in the
cage. If the man dared to free the bird, the raven
would keep on chasing magpies until he had his way;
that accomplished, he would go into the cage of his own
accord and there torment his beloved magpie, very
much as monkeys tease their pets." *

Some birds that are reared with the first brood
assist their parents in bringing up the second. '' A
family of swallows did this. Toussenel saw the first
brood when they had hardly outgrown the nest them-
selves, lend a helping hand in feeding their little broth-
ers and sisters." f

Altum assures us that the second brood of canary

* Biichner, Liebe und Liebesleben in der Thieifwelt, p. 259.
t Ibid., p. 124.

178 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

birds is often fed by the first, and he has seen young
kildees still in their first feathers bringing food to
young cuckoos.*

If we now glance backward over the examples cited,
it will be seen that the majority of them refer to ab-
normal conditions, like those in which the weaver bird
displayed its skill. Most of the animals concerned had
lost their own young and were trying to find an outlet
for the fostering instincts already cited, and so a kind
of make-believe was substituted for the natural expres-
sion of it, hence the origin of play. This is not quite
the case when the animal adds strangers to its flour-
ishing family, but it may be questioned even then
whether the strange habit did not originate on some
occasion when the animal could not exert its normal
function. Yet I suppose those who regard the petting
of dogs by lonely women as play may call this so too.

Play characteristics are, however, unmistakably pres-
ent when experimentation and the desire for ownership
are combined with the fostering instinct, and also when
half-grown birds assist in caring for the younger ones.
This latter seems to me the veritable play of young
creatures, in which, however, imitation is perhaps as
much involved as the nurturing instinct. It is certain-
ly so in human play of this kind.f

7. Imitative Play.

I have already stated, in the previous chapter, that
I subscribe to the views of those who, like Scheitlin,
Schneider, Strieker, Wundt, and James, regard the imi-

* B. Altum, Der Vogel und sein Leben, p. 188.
f Perhaps the habit of many male birds of feeding: their be-
trothed should also be reckoned among the indubitable plays.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 179

tative impulse as instinctive, and now I must return to
this vexed question. In order to get a clear view of
the opposite theory, according to which imitation is
of individual (not hereditary) origin, it is best to refer
at once to the work which more than any other has in-
fluenced modern association psychology — James Mill's
Analysis of the Phenomena of the Human Mind. So
far as I can see there is nothing essential in later eluci-
dations that is not contained in Chapter XXIV of this
book. Mill proceeds from the assumption that the
idea of a movement produces the impulse to perform
the movement itself. The motion of swallowing fur-
nishes a good example, for " if a friend assures you
that you can not refrain for the space of a minute from
this act, and you are tempted to try, you are almost
sure to fail." Why is this true? Because directing
the attention to the act of swallowing so strongly sug-
gests the muscular feeling attending the act, that swal-
lowing itself follows of its own accord. The same
result follows when an idea of motion is suggested by
the sight of it performed by another. For instance,
there are certain feelings which we hardly notice ac-
companying gaping, and when we see another person
gaping, we usually gape too; the act is so firmly asso-
ciated with the accompanying feeling that the sight
of the action arouses the feeling, which in turn calls
for the act in ourselves. This explanation is expected
to cover all phenomena included in the general name
of imitation. It will be seen that the awakening of
imitative impulse is here dependent on antecedent asso-
ciation. But for this it is necessary, as a rule, that the
act in question shall have been repeated frequently,
and thus, according to this theory, we would imitate
only such motions as are already familiar. Were the

180 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

associative connection between the " antecedent state
of feeling " and the act itself firmly established by fre-
quent repetition, the force of imitation would not be
operative.

Against this definition the just and obvious objec-
tion is that imitation preferably selects what is new
and unusual for its model, as the phenomena of fashion
illustrate daily. When we see two people greet one
another in the manner that we are accustomed to, we
are not impelled to imitate them, though the associa-
tive connection is perfect. But if a leader of fashion
displays a new way of lifting his hat, there are hundreds
who can not resist the temptation to hold their hats, too,
like warming pans, before them, or doing whatever the
new mode demands. Further, this theory would make
imitation a much stronger impulse in adults, whose
associations are established, than in children, while the
contrary is the fact. Nor does it explain any better
the powerful influence of imitation in teaching the
child new and unpractised movements of the limbs and
vocal organs. Thus, when James Mill says — " All men
have a greater or less propensity for imitation. This
propensit}^ is very strong in most children, and to it is
due in large measure the rapidity with which they ac-
quire many things, for example, the propensity to imi-
tate sounds helps them to learn to talk quickly. . . .
Children learn to stammer and to squint by imitating
their companions, and we all know how common it is for
young people to adopt the manners and expression of
those with whom they associate " — he seems to me to
prove by his own illustration that the exercise of imi-
tative impulse does not use tracts learned by association,
but rather inborn ones; in other words, that it is not
acquired but inherited ; it is an instinct. This is Her-

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. Igl

bert Spencer's view as it is set forth in the chapter
on " Sociality and Sympathy '' of his Principles of Psy-
chology. He begins, it is true, with a purely associative
principle in seeking to show how all the members of a
herd of cattle often take to flight simultaneously, and
how through the frequent repetition of this a strong
association is gradually established between the signs of
fright in another and the consciousness of fear, so that
•finally when only one animal perceives the danger, his
fright is communicated to all the others. From this he
goes on: "Evidently the process thus imitated must,
by inheritance of the effects of habit, furthered by sur-
vival of the fittest, render organic a quick and com-
plete sympathy of this simple kind. Eventually a mere
hearing of the sound of alarm peculiar to the species
will by itself arouse the emotion of alarm. For the
meaning of this sound becomes knowTi, not only in the
way pointed out, but in another way. Each is con-
scious of the sound made by itself when in fear, and the
hearing of a like sound, tending to recall the sound made
by itself, tends to arouse the accompanying feeling.
Hence the panics so conspicuous among gregarious crea-
tures. Motions alone often suffice. A fiock of birds,
toward which a man approaches, will quietly watch for
a while, but when one files, those near it, excited by its
movement of escape, fiy also, and in a moment the rest
are in the air. The same happens with sheep. Long
they stand stupidly gazing, but when one runs all run"!
and so strong is the sympathetic tendency among them'
that they will usually go through the same movement at
the same spot, leaping when there is nothing to leap
over." *

* Herbert Spencer, The Principles of Psycholorry. p. 505. Aiidii-
bon's description of the flight of passenger pigeons forms a paraUel

182 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

I agree with Spencer in considering the imitative
impulse hereditary, but must demur from his assump-
tion of the inheritance of acquired characters, and
take instead the principle of survival of the fittest, or
selection, as the proper ground for a definition. In
order to establish this connection, however, it must first
be proved that imitation is useful, as I tried to do when
I took the ground that it is an instinct which works di-
rectly toward the development of intelligence, since its
tendency is to render many other instincts to a certain
degree superfluous, and so encourage independence in
the individual. This view is borne out by the fact
that imitation is strongest in the more intelligent ani-
mals, such as highly developed birds and monkeys,
and that man may be called the imitative animal par
excellence.

Before I proceed to give instances of imitative play,
it is necessary to point out briefly that this instinct
is not by any means peculiar to gregarious animals, as
seems to be the common impression. It is more or
less operative in all the higher animals, especially Avhile
they are young. The family as Avell as the herd offers
opportunity for its exercise, and we flnd examples of

to this observation of sheep : " It is impossible to describe the
beauty of their aerial flight when a falcon attempts to snatch one
from the flock. Startled, they fall back in a close mass, and then
flow out like a living- stream, pushing on with waving motion and
in sharp angles, fall abruptly to the ground, and then mount
straight upward in a column toward the sky, where they form
a coiling line like a huge serpent. ... It is remarkable how one
flock after another will follow the same path. If, for instance, a
bird of prey has disturbed one flock at a certain place, and they
in consequence describe such angles, curves, and wavy lines, the
next flock will do the same when ir comes to that spot, as if it,
too, had to escape from the fearful grasp of its enemy."

THE PLAY OF AXIMALS. 1S3

it among many animals that do not live in companies,
as the instances which follow will show.

But when, it will be asked, can imitation be called
play? Eemembering our definition of play as instinc-
tive activity exerted for purposes of practice or exercise,
and without serious intent, it is easy to discriminate
between imitation that is playful and imitation that is
earnest. When a crow flies away with a warning cry,
and the whole flock follows him, play has nothing to
do with it. And the same is true of the beautiful in-
stance given in Nature, September 12, 1889: ''Two
cats were on a roof, from which it was necessary to
jump. Tom made the spring, but Tabby's courage
failed and she drew back with a cry of distress, where-
upon Tom leaped back, and, giving a cheerful mew as
much as to say, ' See how easy it is,' jumped across
again, followed this time by Tabby." But imitation
appears in the character of play when young animals
imitate the movements of their parents or other ani-
mals with no apparent aim but practice, when parrots
reproduce every possible noise and tone, when monkeys
copy their masters, and when animals have large gath-
erings for the purpose of competing with one another.
Sully holds * that the imitative impulse is brought out
only by such movements as are connected with " pleasur-
able interest " ; but where movements of flight from ap-
proaching danger are concerned this can not invariably
be true. Playful imitation, however, must always be
connected with " pleasurable interest," and indeed it
seems probable that such feelings of pleasure rest on the
basis common to all play, which a searching examina-
tion will discover to be experimentation in this case, as

* The Human Mind, ii, p. 219.
14

184: THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

well as in the others that we have considered. The de-
light in being able to say " I can," which we found in
simple experimentation, becomes the joy of " I can too "
in playful imitation, and under faA^ourable conditions
goes on to the pleasure of " I can do better " in rivalry.

Since playful imitation is often stigmatized as mim-
icry (N'achaffen), it seems peculiarly appropriate to be-
gin with an example from the monkeys (Affen). The
ancients were familiar with the imitativeness of mon-
keys, as their designations of them prove — the Greek
fjAfiw being one who imitates, and the Latin simius
sounding much like similis.

The Egyptian word for monkey, though signifying
rather the baboon in particular — an, anin, anan — like-
wise signifies imitator.* During the later Greek and
Eoman Empires monkeys were favourite pets because
of their drollery. Their natural propensity was culti-
vated by teaching them all sorts of tricks, such as dan-
cing, riding, driving a coach, playing the flute and the
lyre, ^lian relates that monkeys had been known to
scald little children in mistaken imitation of the nurse.
According to Philostratus, who, it must be admitted,
is not always trustworthy, the Indians employed mon-
keys in harvesting pepper. " They collected a small
quantity of the fruit in a place prepared for it under
a tree or at the foot of a hill, and then tossed it away
as if worthless. The monkeys who attentively watched
this proceeding came back at nightfall and, obeying
their imitative impulse, made collections as the men
had and left them. Next morning the Indians came
and carried away the pepper thus harvested for them." f

* 0. Keller, Thiere des classischen Alterthums, 1887, pp. 5, ?,23.
t Ibid., p. 4.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 185

The probability of this story is indeed not enhanced
when we learn that the method of catching the monkeys
familiar to readers of Speckter's story book, namely,
that of drawing on boots in their presence and then
leaving the boots as a trap, was known to the ancients;
but all such tales go to prove how impressive the mon-
key's imitativeness is. Modern accounts, too, are chiefly
taken up with mimicry of human actions. Fr. Ellen-
dorf relates a good example of curiosity, imitation, and
experimentation combined in the person of a little
black ape with a white head that he brought from Costa
Eica. " On the first day that I let him run about in
the sitting room, he sat before me on the table and
eagerly examined everything there. Pretty soon he
came upon a little matchbox and soon had it open and
the contents scattered about on the table. I took a
match, rubbed it on the box cover and held it near
him. Full of astonishment, he rolled his little eyes
and gazed at the clear flame. I struck a second and a
third and held them out to him. At last he stretched
out his paw, hesitatingly took the match, held it be-
fore his face, and watched the flame admiringly.
Suddenly it touched his finger and he instantly threw
the match away. I closed the box and placed it before
me. From his hasty manner I thought he would open
it at once, but he did not. He went near it, looked
and smelt all about it without taking hold of it, then
he came to me, making a low pleading sound and cling-
ing to me, as if he were full of wonder and wanted to
ask what this could be. Then he returned to the box,
handled it all over and tried to open it, but could not
do it alone, and came back to me with the same plead-
ing tone. I struck another match on the cover and
s:ave it to him when it was burned out. Then he took

186 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

one and rubbed it on the cover and threw it away, but
soon returned to it and, getting hold of it upside down,
rubbed the wrong end. I turned it for him, and he
struck it till it lighted. Now he was himself again,
his whole manner showed the greatest joy and complai-
sance. He grasped the matches and struck at least a
dozen.^^ *

H. Leutemann contributes this about an orang-
outang : " Most monkeys try to chew up whatever they
can get at, and seem to take pleasure only (?) in de-
stroying things, but ours, on the contrary, evidently tried
to put to its proper use whatever was given to him. To
my great surprise, he attempted to put on a pair of
gloves, and, although he could not tell right from left, it
proved that he knew what they were for. He supported
himself on a light walking cane, and when it bent under
him, made ridiculous motions to right it again.'^ f
Brehm tells of a chimpanzee: " After eating he at once
begins to clean up. He holds a stick of wood in front
of him or puts his hands in his master's slippers and
slides about the room, then takes a cloth and scrubs
the floor. Scouring, sweeping, and dusting are his
favourite occupations, and when he once gets hold of
the cloth he never wants to give it up.''

The gorilla of which J. Falkenstein has given a
detailed description was remarkable for his delicacy
in eating: "He would take up a cup or glass with the
greatest care, using both hands to carry it to his mouth,
and set it down so carefully that I do not recall having
lost a single piece of crockery through him, though
we had never tried to teach him the use of such vessels,

* Thiercharaktere. No. 3, Affen, (iartenlaubo. 1862, p. 87.
f IT. Leutemann, Ein gebildeter Orang-Utang, Gartenlaube,
1862.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 187

wishing to bring liim to Europe as nearly as possible
in his natural condition." *

Eomanes's sister has the following about the capu-
cine ape already mentioned: " To-day he broke his chain
. . . and got to the trunk where the nuts are kept, . . .
and began picking at the lock with his fingers. I then
gave him the key, and he tried for two full hours,
without ceasing, to unlock the trunk. It was a very
difficult lock to open, being slightly out of order, and
requires the lid of the trunk to be pressed down before
it would work, so I believe it was absolutely impossible
for him to open it, but he found in time the right way
to put the key in, and to turn it backward and forward,
and after every attempt he pulled the lid upward to see
if it were locked. That this was the result of observ-
ing people is obvious from the fact that after every
time he put the key into the lock and failed to open
the trunk, he passed the key round and round the out-
side of the lock several times. The explanation of this
is that my mother's sight being bad, she often misses
the lock in putting in the key; the monkey therefore
evidently seems to think that this feeling round and
round the lock with the key is in some way necessary
to success in unlocking the lock, so that, although he
could see perfectly well how to put the key in straight
himself, he went through this useless operation first." f

Similar observations were made with two dogs,
though imitation is nowhere so strong as with mon-
keys. Scheitlin describes his poodle's efforts at mim-
icry, which are in keeping with his remarkable intelli-
gence. " He watches his master constantly, always no-

* Loan^o Expedition, ii. p. 152.

f Komanes, Animal Intelligence, p. 492.

188 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

ticing what he does; always ready to serve him, he is the
right kind of eye-servant. If his master takes up a
ninepin ball, he seizes one between his paws, gnaws at
it, and is evidently annoyed that he can not take it up
too. When his master looks for geological specimens,
he hunts stones too, and digs with his paws when he
sees digging going on. The master sits at a window
admiring the view, the dog springs up on the bench
near by, lays his paws on the window sill, and gazes,
though not absorbedly, at the beauties of the scene.
He always wants to carry a stick or basket when he
sees his master or the cook carry one." *

There is probably something of playful imitation,
too, in the howling of dogs when they hear music, for
the dog which, for instance, accompanies the piano with
mournful wails is often not compelled to listen to the
music, but comes into the room voluntarily. I have
said that I am doubtful whether the howling of dogs is
always a sign of distress, and I am almost sure that it
frequently is not when they howl to music; on the con-
trary, they seem to take pleasure in it. Moreover, there
are cases on record where a rude attempt to imitate the
music is apparent, though it is very easy to be mistaken
about that. A friend of mine had, when he was a stu-
dent, a female poodle named Eolla, with which he often
gave performances for the entertainment of his friends.
When he sang in a high falsetto voice the dog accom-
panied him with howls that unmistakably adapted them-
selves to the pitch of the notes. AVhile there was, of

■^ Scheitlin. Thierseelenkunde, ii, p. 257. It will be noticed that
not everything mentioned in this instance can be attributed to
imitation. Opening doors is another instance of the same kind ;
there may be something imitative about it. but it is principally the
result of effort to get out or in by scratching or pushing.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 189

course, no such thing as following the tune, the impres-
sion was made on the hearer that the dog tried to sing
with it, and was very proud of her skill. I should hesi-
tate to relate this if others had not advanced the same
belief. Scheitlin thinks that music may be painful
to the dog, but goes on: " It may be questioned whether
he does not, in his way, accompany it.'' * Eomanes
says the same thing: " With the exception of the sing-
ing ape (Hylohates agilis) there is no evidence of any
mammal other than man having any delicate percep-
tion of pitch. I have, however, heard a terrier, which
used to accompany a song by howling, follow the pro-
longed notes of the human voice with some approxi-
mation to unison; and Dr. Huggins, who has a good
ear, tells me that his large mastiff, Kepler, used to do
the same to prolonged notes sounded from an organ.'' f
Still more positive are some of the examples given
by Alix; they really seem to border on the marvellous.
^' Pere Pardies cites the case of two dogs that had been
taught to sing, one of them taking a part with his master.
Pierquin de Gembloux also speaks of a poodle that
could run the scale in tune and sing very agreeably a
fine composition of Mozart's (My Heart it sighs at Eve,
etc.). It was called Capucin, and belonged to Habe-
neck, a theatrical director. All the scientists in Paris,
according to the same authority, went to see the dog be-
longing to Dr. Bennati, and hear it sing the scale, which
it could do perfectly. I myself know a poodle that ac-
companies his mistress very well when she plays the
scale on the piano." J Alix cites Leibnitz, too, who had
seen a dog with such a capacity for imitation that he

* Thierseelenkunde, ii, p. 254.

+ Romanes, Mental Evolution in Animals, p. 93.

X L'esprit de nos betes, p. 3G4.

190 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

could pronounce more than thirty words, making suit-
able answers to his master, and articulate clearly all the
letters of the alphabet except M, 'N, and H.

The examples cited so far do not show us imitation
in its real meaning; they are all the result of accidental
offshoots from this powerful instinct, for the actual
biological significance of imitative play is not expressed
in movements or sounds that are unconnected with the
struggle for life, but rather, to put it briefly, in playful
self-discipline of young animals in the life habits of
their kind. It is sometimes very difficult to place the
boundary between what is instinctive or hereditary and
what is acquired by imitation. Still, it can hardly be
questioned, after all that has been said, that imitative
plays are an important adjunct to heredity during the
youth of higher animals. The qualities of animals
brought up by foster parents furnish a strong experi-
mental proof of this. However the adopted animal may
be limited in his development by inherited instinct,
imitative impulse is still strong enough to bring about
some startling modifications. I have not been able to
collect many examples illustrative of this in mammals,
the class to which I have hitherto confined myself.

Darwin tells us that " two species of wolves, which
had been reared by dogs, learned to bark, as does some-
times the jackal," * and it seems quite certain that dogs
brought up by cats learn many things from their fos-
ter parents. " From one account which I have read
there is reason to believe that puppies nursed by cats
sometimes learn to lick their feet, and thus to clean
their faces; it is at least certain, as I hear from
a perfectly trustworthy friend, that some dogs behave in

* Descent of Man, p. 43.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 191

this manner." * Many such cases could be cited; in-
deed, Romanes found among Darwin^s papers a manu-
script of the late Professor Hoffmann, of Giessen, con-
taining one.f But it is also a fact that dogs which
have not been brought up with cats often have the
habit of licking their paws and rubbing them over the
face and ears, but no doubt the motions of the dogs in
the other cases were noticeably like those of a cat. Imi-
tation was more clearly displayed, however, by a King
Charles spaniel mentioned in Miss Mitford's Life and
Letters. This dog was suckled by a cat in its infancy
at the home of Dr. Routh. He grew up with the hor-
ror of rain so characteristic of cats, and would not put
his paw in a wet place; he would watch a mouse hole,
too, for hours. J: A certain Mr. Jeens also had a dog
nursed by a cat, and it played with a mouse just as a cat
does.*

Leaving such abnormal cases, I now pass on to con-
sider the natural workings of this instinct. Every time
a young animal imitates the movements of its elders
without any aim beyond the unconscious one of practice,
playful activity is indulged in. For example, I will
relate what I have seen young polar bears do. There
is a large flat stone in the bear pit, and the mother is
constantly shoving it backward and forward. On one
occasion it lay directly in her way, and she stepped over
it, and the little one that was behind her, though he
seldom cared to follow his mother about, tried to clam-
ber over it too, and accomplished it with some difficulty.
Brehm says that the only way he could get the young

* Descent of Man, p. 4'j.

f Rom.'^n'^s. Mental Evolution in Animals.

X Nature, May, 1873.

« Ibid.

192 THE PLAY OF AXIMALS.

bears of the Hamburg gardens inside the inelosure of
the bath was to run in himself, Avhereupon they all
followed at once, otherwise their interest was absorbed
by all sorts of things on the way.* This impulse to imi-
tate motion may appear before the animal is able to
distinguish between its mother and other objects, but
simply follows anything that attracts its attention by
moving — a clear proof that the impulse is hereditary.
Hudson relates of young lambs that probably develop
more slowly on account of domestication: "Its next
important instinct (after sucking) which comes into
play from the moment it can stand on its feet, impels
it to follow after any object receding from it, and, on
the other hand, to run from anything approaching
it. If the dam turns round and approaches it, even
from a very short distance, it will start back and run
from her in fear, and will not understand her voice
when she bleats to it. At the same time it will con-
fidently follow after a man, horse, dog, or any other ani-
mal moving from it. ... I have seen a lamb about
two days old start up from sleep and immediately start
off in pursuit of a puffball about as big as a man's
head, carried past it over the smooth turf by the wind,
and chase it for a distance of five hundred yards, until
the dry ball was brought to a stop by a tuft of coarse
grass. This blundering instinct is quickly laid aside
when the lamb has learned to distinguish its dam from
other objects, and its dam's voice from other sounds." f
AYe often see among dogs how, when one goes over a
ditch, his companions folloAv, and how the bark of one
excites the rest at once. Wesley Mills emphasizes the

* Bilder aus dem Thiergarten in Hamburg, 2. Unsere Earen,
Gartenlaube, 1884, p. 12.

f Hudson, The Naturalist in F^a Plata, p. 107.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 193

extraordinary importance of imitation in development.
He mentions the case of a mongrel dog that was placed
with some St. Bernards when only twenty days old, and
says: " One of the features of development greatly im-
pressed on my mind . . . was the influence of one on
another in all the lines of development. This was shown
both negatively and positively in the case of the mon-
grel. After he began to mingle with the older dogs
his progress was marvellous. He seemed in a few
days to overtake himself, so to speak, and his advance-
ment was literally by leaps and bounds.'^ * The pro-
pensity of young bears to imitate their elders is often
taken advantage of by tamers. Brehm gives an interest-
ing description by K. Miiller of the education of young
stone martens: " The mother is most attentive to the
exercising of her young, as I have had occasion to no-
tice several times. In the park a wall five metres high
is connected with the shed where a pair of martens
with four young ones are housed. At daybreak the
mother crept out cautiously, stealing like a cat some
distance along the wall and crouched there, quietly
waiting. There the father joined her, but it was some
moments before the young ones came out. When they
were all together the parents rose and in five or six
bounds covered a considerable stretch of the wall and
vanished, and I heard, though it was scarcely audible,
the sound of a spring into the garden. The little ones
followed with hurried leaps and climbed up on the
wall with the aid of a poplar tree growing near. Hard-
ly had they reached their parents when the latter sprang
away again, this time to a lilac bush, and now the young
ones followed them without hesitation. It was aston-

* Loc. cit., part ill, p. 219.

194: THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

ishing how by a hasty glance they could detect the best
route. And now began the running and leaping with
such zeal and at such a breakneck speed that the play
of cats and foxes seemed mere child's i^lay beside it.
"With every moment the pupils grew more agile, rushing
up and down trees, over roofs and walls with a rapidity
that proved how necessary it was for the birds of the
garden to be on their guard.^'

Turning now to birds, I begin where we left the
four-footed animals, for among the former imitation of
parents is much more the rule than among mammals,
and especially so with singing birds. I should like to
call attention, in this connection, to the position of
Wallace, who, though he found that the facts did not
bear him out in the attempt to refer everything to imi-
tation, has still given us some valuable reflections on its
pedagogical aspects. There are cases on record of birds
which have been reared apart from any of their species
and never learned their characteristic song perfectly,
while on the strength of other observations it seems just
as certain that instinct alone is sufficient to teach them
not only sim.ple calls, but genuine song. Eomanes's con-
clusion seems to be the right one — namely, that song
and the other general capacities of birds are instinctive,
but can never be so quickly nor so perfectly expressed
as when the parents serve as models.* That the value
of imitation is not to be despised is seen in the many
cases where young birds are brought up by some other
kind, whose song they adopt, showing that their imi-
tative impulse is stronger than the hereditary disposi-
tion to the song of their own kind. "We are again in-

* Weinlanrl, too, reached essentially the same conclusion after
years of experience (Der zoolo^ische Garten, iii, 1862).

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. I95

debted to Weinland's diary for the records of a family
of canaries. On May 14, 1861, the shells were broken.
One bird with a black head was the strongest and most
active of the brood. On June 2d little Black-head
sang for the first time, or rather he twittered while his
father sang. This is a good example of playful imi-
tation.*

In Thiiringia chaffinches are bred that have a
specially acquired song, no one knows Avhy, probably
through unconscious selection. If young ones are
reared near those having the special song, they catch
the note in their play.f

The many cases, too, where the female imperfectly
imitates the song of the male may be playful. Then
there is the well-known tendency of song birds to make
themselves heard when another is singing, when a piano
is being played, or conversation carried on. Imitation
here becomes rivalry.

But imitation is not confined to singing in young
birds. " They are like little monkeys," says Hermann
Miiller; " example always excites them. When one little
one, whose wings are feathered or not, as the case may
be, begins to flutter, all the little wings are agitated."
This observation seems to prove that it is not individual
experience alone that causes a flock of grown birds to
take flight simultaneously.]; I have already pointed out
that young chickens take twice as long to learn to walk
alone as when tliey have the maternal exanqjle before
them, and that waterfowls go into the water with their
young and swim before them. Darwin says, in his
manuscript left unpublished: "It might have been

* F. Weinland. Fine Vosrelfamilie, Der zoologische Garten, 1861.
f Nanmann, Nnturfresphichte der Vogel Deutschlands, iv, p. 27.
:}: Buchncr, Aus dem Geistesleben der Thiere, p. 30.

196 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

thought that the manner in which fowls drink, by filling
their beaks, lifting np their heads, and allowing the
water to run down by its gravity, would have been spe-
cially taught by instinct; but this is not so, for I was
most positively assured that the chickens of a brood
reared by themselves generally required their beaks to be
pressed into a trough, but if there were older chick-
ens present, who had learned to drink, the younger
ones imitated their movements, and thus acquired the
art."*

It is probable that the imitative impulse comes into
play in similar fashion many times in an animal's life,
when we are entirely unable to prove its presence or
influence.

The imitation by birds of the songs of other species
is very common. It would be an endless task to cite
even a portion of such descriptions as are found, for ex-
ample, in the works of Xaumann, Beckstein, Kuss, the
two Brehms, the Miillers, etc. I therefore confine my-
self to a choice among examples where the imitative
impulse appears in greatest perfection, where not only
bird voices but those of men, as well as sounds like the
creaking of doors or a mill wheel, playing on pipes, and
spoken words are faithfully copied. It should be noted
that this strange habit is not peculiar to birds which lack
a song of their own,f such as parrots and the crow fam-
ily, but appears in good singers as well. The wild
canary, which has a great talent for mimicking other

* Romanes, Mental Evolution in Animals, p. 229. [Lloyd Mor-
p-an's more recent experiments (Habit and Instinct) confirm this
but go to show that after the wettins: of the beak the young bird
throws up the head and swallows instinctively.]

•f As Romanes seems to think, Mental Evolution in Animals,

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 19 7

birds^* when tamed can be tanght to speak; and the
American mocking bird, which Dr. Golz, of BerUn,
a most competent judge, gives the precedence over all
species of nightingales,! imitates everything conceiv-
able, even to the creaking of a rusty hinge.:]: I think
this is easy to explain: the singers have had their pow-
ers improved by practice in learning their complicated
songs, and parrots and crows are endowed with unusual
ability for speech, for which imitation is particularly
essential. According to Karl Russ, these birds manifest
a certain degree of comprehension of the meaning of
words uttered by them, while other talking birds babble
meaninglessly, or warble the words in song. I take a
canary for our first example. Karl Euss says: " On the
23d of April, 1883, I called on the vrife of Commissioner
Graber in Berlin to see and hear her little feathered
talker. The lady received me with the warning that I
had probably come in vain, for the bird did not seem
inclined to talk that day. She told me that she had had
him for about three years, and believed him to be quite
young. From being a fine singer he suddenly stopped,
probably as a result of moulting, and as his silence
continued for some time she frequently said to him,
* Sing doch, sing doch, mein Matzchen, wie singst du?
widewidewitt! ' ^You can imagine my amazement,'
she continued, * when the canary pronounced for the
first time the words I had thus quite accidentally said

* Karl Russ, Handbuch fiir Vugelliebhaber, Zuchter, und
Handler, ii. p. 1-30.

t Ibid., i, p. 284.

X [This the present editor can confirm in the g-reatest variety
of detail. He has heard two of these birds toofether imitatins:: the
"clippinfi:" of a gardener's trimming-shears, as if competing with
each other.]

198 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

to him. I hardly trusted my senses and could not un-
derstand it at first/ When the lady had told me this,
she turned to the canary and repeated the same words.
He began to twitter, and in the midst of his song we
heard ^ Widewidewitt ! wie singst du, mein Matzchen?
singe, singe Matzchen, widewidewitt ! ^ Again and
again he repeated it, and the words became clearer and
plainer. The bird did not articulate the words in
human tones, but wove them into his song. The sound
was always harmonious, and from the first one could
understand the words, but they became more distinct
as one listened.^' * Euss quotes the report of Mr.
S. Leigh Lotheby, in the Proceedings of the Zoological
Society of London for 1858. A canary bird was brought
lip by hand and his first song was very different from
the characteristic one of his kind.f He was constantly
talked to, and one day when he was about three months
old he astonished his mistress by pronouncing after
her the caressing words that she used to him, " Kissie,
kissie," and then produced the smacking sound of
a kiss. From time to time the little bird learned other
words, and amused his friends by his manner of using
them for hours at a time (except when moulting) in
various combinations according to his fancy, and as
clearly as the human voice can produce them: "Dear,
sweet Fitchie, kiss Minnie, kiss me then, dear Minnie,
sweet, pretty little Fitchie, kissie, kissie, kissie, dear
Fitchie, Fitchie, wee, gee, gee, gee Fitchie, Fitchie.''
The habitual song of this bird was more like that of a
nightingale, and the sound of a dog whistle used
in the house was often heard in it. He also whis-

* Karl Russ, Allcrlei sprechendes geliedertes Yolk, 1889, p. 169.
t Another proof of the great importance of imitation.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 199

tied very clearly the first strain of " God save the
Queen." *

The European bullfinch, whose natural song the
Thuringians call " rolling a wheelbarrow," though it
has great variety, readily learns to whistle songs. The
elder Brehm says of it: "I have heard the red linnet
and the black thrush whistle many tunes not badly,
but no other bird attains a purity, softness, and rich-
ness of tone equal to the bullfinch. It is incredible
how far he can be trained. He often learns the melody
of whole songs and produces them Avith such a flutelike
tone that one never tires of hearing him." Herr Theo-
dor Franck, of Berlin, writes that his bullfinch was quite
a skilful whistler. " But the accomplishment that en-
deared him to us is his having learned to repeat the
words that my wife and I address to him as he hangs
in our chamber. * Little man, are you there ? ^ or * Cour-
age, Mannikin, courage.^ The red linnet has a wonder-
ful facility in imitating the songs of strange birds, as
well as real melodies and discords. The crested lark
sometimes learns as many as four different tunes, and
mimics birds and animals as well.

Count Gourcy writes to the elder Brehm of the
bimting of southern Europe: "Its call resembles, in
all but one deep tone, the decoy cry of the crested
lark. Its song is magnificent, and really extraordinary
for its variety. It possesses the rare power of chang-
ing the quality of its voice at will, producing now high,
shrill notes and then tones so clear as to astonish the
hearer. Usually some strains of the nightingale's song
follow the first call, then comes the long-drawn, deep
cry of the blackbird, in which the familiar ' Tack, tack '

* Riiss, loc. cif , p. 174.
15

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

is sounded very beautifully. After this follow strains
that sometimes include the whole song of the chimney
swallow, song thrush, quail, woodlark, linnet, field lark,
and crested lark, the finch and sparrow, the laughter
of woodpeckers, and shrieking of herons, all of which
are produced in the natural tone/^

" The paradise bird," says Alix, " has equally with
the group of singing birds excellent imitative powers.
I had one, writes Blythe, that mimicked the kittacincla
macrowra so well that no one could distinguish their
songs. I also owned another having the same power.
There is no sound that it can not imitate. It crows so
perfectly that cocks answer it, and it barks and mews
quite as well, bleats like a goat or sheep, howls plain-
tively like a beaten cur, croaks like a crow, and sings
the song of many birds." * The American mocking
bird, which has been referred to as a splendid singer,
has also a remarkable talent for mimicry. " In its
native woods," says Brehm, " it mocks the wild birds;
near human dwellings, it weaves into its song all sorts
of sounds heard there. Crowing, cackling, quacking,
mewing, barking, creaking of doors and weathervanes,
the hum of a saw and rattle of a mill — all these and a
hundred other noises are reproduced with the utmost
faithfulness." f European thrushes, too, have, Brehm
says, a strong propensity to imitation, though they con-
fine it more to their own kind. Yet the blackbird
" mimics birds of strange species and sometimes be-
comes a veritable mocking bird."| According to

* F. Alix, L'esprit de nos betes, p. 802.

f See, too, Hudson's beautiful description of Patagonian mock-
ing birds. The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 276.

\ Romanes says that both the blackbird and the crow have been
known to mimic a cock. Mental Evolution m Animals, p. 242.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 201

Brehm, too, the stone thrush and blackbird are talking
birds as well, though Euss questions this. Beckstein
has shown by experiment that the stone thrush can
be taught to whistle melodies. The natural song of the
starling consists in complicated ''' fluting, piping, twit-
tering, and chuckling sounds.^^ * But they copy the
songs of other birds, cock crows, hen cackles, door creak-
ing, etc., and have been known to attempt human
speech. The older writers have no doubt exaggerated
this capacity, but the following testimony will show
how far the starling can be educated. K. Dittman
writes of the learned starling owned by the master
shoemaker G. Dom: " The bird learned with surpris-
ing ease to whistle the ^ Call of the Fire Brigade ^ and
other tunes. His name was Hans, and his master would
call out often during a lesson, ^ Careful, Hans, careful ';
he quickly learned this and pronounced the words with
perfect ease, proving his ability to talk as well as catch
a tune. It was very comical to see him stand among
the cobblers and call out, ^ Hurrah for Bismarck! ' or
cry ' Pickpocket ! ' when any one came in the door."
Another starling could say all the following: "Have
you heard the news? My, but it's good! Good morn-
ing; are you up already? What do you know that's
nice? How is the Kaiser getting on? And what's the
matter with Bismarck? God bless you! Are you there?
Take a seat; are you a fool? Yes, yes! " \ But the
Asiatic magpie is the most talented of all the starlings,
and claims among its connections some of the very finest
singers. J;

Passing by many other imitative birds, I turn now to

* Russ, Allerlei sprechendes gefiedertes Volk, p. 138.
+ Ibid., p. 145. X Ibid., p. 160.

202 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

the ravens. Dickens's description of one in the preface
to Barnaby Eudge is too familiar to need quoting for
EngHsh and American readers.

Naumann's remark that ravens are more easily
taught to speak than parrots is probably an exagger-
ation,* but it is undeniable that imitativeness has
reached an extraordinary development in these birds.
Chr. L. Brehm says of one: " His talent for mimicking
every sound with his voice is remarkable. He laughs
like the children, coos like the pigeons, barks like a dog,
and talks like a man. His reproduction of certain tones
is so deceptive that some of my friends, hearing him
for the first time, could not be convinced that such
sounds actually proceeded from a bird. * James, come
here,^ ' Eudolph, come in,' ^ Don't you hear me, Chris-
tine?' and much more, he articulated perfectly and
voluntarily, not because it was required of him. He
picked up all these words, for no one ever took the
least pains with him, but he could be heard trying new
words every day, of those that he constantly heard
around him." f The Miillers, too, mention similar in-
stances.];

But of all birds, parrots are the ones that manifest
playful imitation most strongly. Their powers were
well known as far back as the Eomans, for Cato thun-
ders against the luxuriousness of the jeunesse doree of
his time for flaunting in the streets with parrots on their
thumbs; and courtiers under the emperors taught the
birds the formula of greeting and gratulation to the

* Nature^eschiohte der Vosfel Deutschlands, ii, p. 47.
f Beitra2:e zur VoGrelknnrlo. ii, p. 80.

X A. and K. Mliller. Wohnunfren. Leben und Eigenthiiralich-
keiten in der hoheren Thierwelt, p. 364.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 203

Ccesar. Kristan von Hamle, one of the lesser Thiirin-
gian minnesingers, expressed the wish in 1225:

" Oh, that the green grass too could speak
As doth the parrot in his cage ! "

And Celius tells iis that the parrot belonging to Car-
dinal Ascanius could recite the twelve articles of faith.*

This highly developed impulse of imitation in the
parrot is probably due to the unusual intricacy of their
native language. Marshall says: '^ One must hear them
when they do not know that they are observed, and
when a pair chat together, to appreciate their fulness of
tone and the variety of meaning they can convey in
one of their long conversations/^ f To learn speech so
complicated as this requires imitative power, and in this
case it seems especially developed in the imitation of
sounds. X

In selecting some examples to insert here I regret
being obliged to omit a very remarkable one related by
Brehm. In his battle for individual reason against
instinct he became strangely credulous, and all his ex-
amples bearing on that topic are under the shadow
of that imputation. The following collection, how-
ever, is vouched for as unimpeachable by Karl Russ, in
his Feathered World. Of the wonderful gray parrot
belonging to Director Kastner in Vienna it is said:
" For a while after coming to us he spoke only when
alone in the room, but soon took to chattering without
noticing his surroundings, joining heartily in a laugh,

* W. Marshall, Die Papageien, Leipsic, 1889, p. 3.

t Ibid,, p. 42.

X It is worthy of note that I have not been able to find a single
instance of imitation of the speech of other beings, either man or
animal, by a monkey; and yet many kinds have a well-developed
language of their own.

204 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

too, on occasion. On hearing a low whistle, he said,
'Karo, where is Karo?' and himself whistled for the
dog. He could whistle with rare skill a great variety
of melodies, and reproduce any air perfectly. As soon
as the dinner bell rang he called the waitress louder and
louder until she appeared. If a knock came at the
door, he said ' Come in,' but was never deceived by any
one in the room. If he saw preparation made for un-
corking a bottle, he made the noise long before the
cork was out. He talked to himself in soft, gentle
tones, " You good, good Jacky,' etc., but would call out
in a strong masculine voice, ' Turn out, guard ! ' etc.,
and make the roll of a drum. He could count, and
if he made a mistake or mispronounced a word he would
go back and try it again till it was all right. When
the green parrot standing near him screamed, he first
tried to quiet her with a reproving ' Pst ! ' but if that
did not avail he called out in a loud voice, ^ Hush, hush,
you! ' He loved to talk to himself late in the evening,
and regularly closed his monologue with the words,
' Good night, good night, Jacky.' " *

Herr Ch. Schwendt says of his gray parrot: "My
parrot is a living proof that one should never despair
of teaching these birds to speak. I had to wait eight
months before he brought out the word ^ Jacob,' but
the ice once broken, I was richly rewarded for my pa-
tience; he learned something new almost every day,
and now after four years he knows more than I can tell.
There is hardly any expression commonly used in the
family that he has not learned to repeat, and how well
he knows how to apply them! He speaks of everybody
in the house and all the animals by name, whistles to the

* K. Russ, Die sprechenden Papageien, 1887, p. 28.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 205

dogs and orders them about, coaxes the cats or scolds
them. He has the names of all the other birds at his
tongue's end, and answers with the right one at the
sound of their voices, never confusing them. He can
alter his voice from the tenderest caressing tone to a
gruff command, ' Present arms! ' or the like, all in tones
astonishingly human and with clear pronunciation.
He recites verses and praises himself when he has not
made any mistakes ; but if he does, he says, ^ That's not
it, stupid ! ' He uses every greeting at the right time of
day, and can apply everything he knows with propri-
ety. He can count correctly up to eight." * Such ex-
amples shows that with parrots something more than
mere blind imitation is involved, since such highly en-
dowed specimens as this one can make the proper con-
nection between the acoustic symbol and its mental im-
port, but great caution must be exercised to avoid exag-
gerated interpretations of their performances. The gray
parrot of the African traveller Soyaux showed a greater
ability to learn : " An old bird w^hen caught, he
never was thoroughly tamed, but was greatly admired
on account of his size. He talked very little, only rarely
pronouncing the word ^ kusu,' which is the native desig-
nation for parrots, but his great forte was whistling, in
which I have never seen him excelled. Not that he
"was so specially skilful in whistling whole songs, but
the modulation was wonderful — as strong, full, and
clear as a bell, like high organ notes. He would roll
up and down the scale, skipping a note and sounding
it after the succeeding one. His memory of ^African
bird notes was remarkable, and he imitated perfectly
the call of plovers, cranes, etc." \

* K. Russ, Die sprechenden Papageien, p. 29. f Ibid., p. 31.

206 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

Cockatoos, ring parrots, and some other varieties
also learn to speak readily, the latter having been
known to acquire as many as a hundred words in vari-
ous languages, and articulate them perfectly. The
cockatoo is a very sociable bird, and indulges in much
gesticulation and genuflection wdiile speaking. " Nod-
ding the head and making the drollest bows that shake
his bright crest, he turns and clambers about and laughs
with real appreciation of the joke when he mimics the
movements, words, or cries of another."*

In concluding this series of examples I wish to in-
clude a few illustrating more directly the social aspect
of imitation. I remember that Spencer says it is
^' sympathy " that induces a whole flock of birds to
rise when one flies off, and I think that such effects of
imitation on masses may at times be playful as w^ell.
The following interesting remark of James's will serve
to illustrate what I mean: " There is another sort of
human play, into which higher aesthetic feelings enter.
I refer to the love of festivities, ceremonies, and or-
deals, etc., which seems to be universal in our species.
The lowest savages have their dances more or less for-
mally conducted. The various religions have their sol-
emn rites and exercises, and civic and military powers
symbolize their grandeur by processions and celebrations
of divers sorts. We have our operas and parties and
masquerades. An element common to all these cere-
monial games, as they are called, is the excitement of
concerted action, as one of an organized crowd. The
same acts, performed with a crowd, seem to mean vastly
more than when performed alone. A walk with the
people on a holiday afternoon, an excursion to drink

* K. Russ, Die sprechendcii Papageien, p. 117.

THE PLAY OP ANIMALS. 207

beer or coffee at a popular ^ resort/ or an ordinary ball-
room, are examples of this. Not only are we amused at
seeing so many strangers, but there is a distinct stimu-
lation at feeling our share in their collective life. The
perception of them is the stimulus, and our reaction
upon it is our tendency to join them and do what they
are doing, and our unwillingness to be the first to leave
off and go home alone." *

From the last words it is evident that such mass
plays are based on imitation, and that social influences
of the greatest importance belong to them. G. Tarde
regards it as tlie fundamental principle of all society.
There are, he says, in his daring way of drawing analo-
gies, three great laws of repetition: undulation in phys-
ics, the nutritive-generative principle in physiology, and
imitation in psychology. Imitation makes society:
" la societe c'est Vimitation." f

Since, then, imitation has so much to do with the
social life of men and animals, we are not surprised to
find it prominent in their sports. Herds and flocks
unite in various games, vocal practice, and even in try-
ing the arts of courtship and combat, when the playful

* W. James, The Principles of Psyeholop^y, ii. p. 428.

f Gr. Tarde, Qu'est-oe qu'une societe? Revue philosophiqne,
xviii (1884). See the article on Imitation by J. Mark Baldwin
(Mind, 1894), who regards the change produced by expansion and
contraction in protoplasm as the first manifestation of organic
reactions of the imitative or "circular" type which therefore ])e-
conies a central phenomenon of life. Professor Baldwin has now
developed his psychological theory of imitation in his work. Mental
Development in the Child and the Race, to which I have already
frequently referred. And in his later work (1897), Social and
Ethical Interpretations in ^Mental Development, he shows that the
sense of self upon which social organization rests is developed only
by imitation.

208 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

act of one animal spreads through the whole company
like a sudden contagion. Very often, and especially
in the courtship plays, what is at first taken up in a
mere spirit of imitation becomes the sharpest rivalry.

It is difficult to speak w^ith assurance in this matter,
of the larger mammals especially, but I have no doubt
whatever that the mad rushing of great herds of wild
horses, deer, and goats that is so common on the plains
is as often the result of a general desire to play as of
apprehended danger. When one cow in a herd leaps
down the slope where they are grazing, a large part of
the herd will often follow with sportive bounds and
mock fighting. Even a drove of pigs will show play-
ful movements that are infectious; the wild gambols
of seals and dolphins have already been instanced.
Hudson saw a very beautiful game played by a number
of weasels. " They were of the common larger kind
of w^easel {Galidis tarbara), about the size of cats, and
engaged in a performance that suggested dancing,
which so absorbed their attention that they did not no-
tice me when I came within four or five metres of
them to see what they were doing. It proved to be a
chase on a deserted viscacha mound; they all, about
a dozen in number, ran swiftly across. Jumping over
the holes, turned at the end of the mound and came
flying back without ever colliding with one another,
though they were apparently beside themselves with ex-
citement, and their paths crossed at every possible angle.
It was all done so quickly and with such constant
changing of direction that I found it impossible to fol-
low a single animal with my eye, however hard I
tried.^^ *

* The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 384.

THE PLAY OF AXBIALS. 209

If tlie destructive impulse that seizes children in
the presence of beetles and frogs, or even larger animals,
such as cats, has anything playful about it, an example
that Hudson relates in his chapter on " Some Strange
Instincts of Cattle" may not be out of place here.
This execution, as it were, of sick or wounded compan-
ions is also common among birds and carnivorous ani-
mals that live in companies. When a rat is wounded,
his comrades slay him; indeed, Azara says that pinch-
ing the tail of a captive rat until he squeals is enough
to make his companions fall upon him and bite him to
death.* Hudson, speaking of his childish memories,
says: " It was on a summer's evening and I was out by
myself at some distance from the house, playing about
the high exposed roots of some old trees; on the other
side of the trees the cattle, just returned from pasture,
were gathered on the bare, level ground. Hearing a
great commotion among them, I climbed on one of the
high exposed roots and, looking over, saw a cow on the
ground, apparently unable to rise, moaning and bellow-
ing in a distressed way, while a number of her compan-
ions were crowding round and goring her.'' f To the
same category belongs Dr. Edmonson's somewhat fan-
tastic description of an execution by crows. "In the
northern parts of Scotland and in the Faroe Islands
extraordinary meetings of crows are occasionally known
to occur. They collect in great numbers as if they had
been summoned for the occasion; a few of the flock sit
with drooping heads and others seem as grave as judges,
while others, again, are exceedingly active and noisy;
in the course of about one hour they disperse, and it is
not uncommon after they have flown away to find one

* The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 3413. f Ibid., p. 339.

210 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

or two left dead on the spot." * Hudson explains
such instances of frantic murder as the first two as
caused by the impulse to relieve tortured comrades —
the enraged animals make for the enemy that has caused
their distress, and in a kind of madness fall upon his
victim, to whose rescue they have come. This does
not seem plausible to me. Darwin and Eomanes are
of the opinion that it is a special instinct, useful to the
species; but this also seems to me to be an inadequate
explanation, for it does not tell us why it is not enough
for the herd simply to abandon such unfortunates to
their fate. The truth of the matter is, I think, that
we have here no special instinct, but another form of
the old impulse for fighting and destroying that is al-
ways ready to break out. " In the misfortune of our
best friends there is always something pleasurable,''
say La Eochefoucauld and Kant. The sight of a crip-
ple or an intoxicated person often arouses in children
and savages a wild desire to worry and torment, and
just so the inherited impulse to injure and destroy
finds expression in the animal and is communicated
by means of the powerful principle of imitation,
through a whole herd, before quite peaceable. Actual
play it can not be said to be, and therefore I shall not
spend any more time over the question, though, in a
certain sense, it resembles play.

We do find genuine play in the vocal practice that
so many mammals constantly indulge in. ±V zoological
garden where several lions are kept is a good place to
observe this. I have often listened while a young lion
lifted up his voice, at first with a peculiar gurgling
sound, then in thundering roars in which others joined

* Romanes, Animal Intelhgence, p. 324.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 211

in a frightful concert that made the whole house trem-
ble. Brehm says: " Lions in the wilderness, too, de-
light in this; as soon as one lifts up his mighty voice
all others within hearing join him, making magnificent
music in the primeval forest/^ Most remarkable are
the concerts of howling apes, whose din fills the South
American wilderness; with them, too, a solitary voice
is heard at first which incites the rest to accompany
the leader. I believe this is a phenomenon of courtship,
like the nocturnal wailings of cats.

Imitation seems to be even more provocative of con-
certs among the birds. I included under experimenta-
tion descriptions of the chakar, of the familiar cries
and gabbling of geese, ducks, and crows, and of the
myriad-voiced concerts of our woodland singers which
mutually incite one another. I cite a description of
Hudson's which might apply to many birds that de-
light our eyes by their evolutions in flight. " In clear
weather they often rise to a great height and float for
hours in the same neighbourhood — a beautiful cloud of
birds that does not change its form, . . . but in this
apparent vagueness there is perfect order, and among
all those hundreds of swiftly gliding forms each knoAvs
its place so well that no two ever touch; . . . there is
such wonderful precision in the endless curves made
by each single bird that an observer can lie on his back
for an hour watching this mysterious cloud dance in
the open without tiring."

The black-headed ibis of Patagonia, which is almost
as large as a turkey, carries on a strange wild game
in the evening. A whole flock seems to be suddenly
crazed; sometimes they fly up into the air with startling
suddenness, move about in a most erratic way, and as
they near the ground start up again and so repeat the

212 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

game, while the air for kilometres around vibrates with
their harsh, metallic cries. Most ducks confine their
pla}^ to mock battles on the water, but the beautiful
whistling duck of La Plata conducts them on the wing
as well. From ten to twenty of them rise in the air until
they appear like a tiny speck, or entirely disappear.
At this great height they often remain for hours in one
place, slowly separating and coming together again,
while the high, clear whistle of the male blends admira-
bly with the female's deeper, measured note, and when
they approach they strike one another so powerfully with
their wings that the sound, which is like hand-clapping,
remains audible when the birds are out of sight. The
most beautiful member of the quail family found in La
Plata is the ypecaha — a fine, strong bird about the size
of a hen. A number of them choose a rendezvous near
the water. One raises a loud cry three times from the
reeds near this spot, and the invitation is quickly re-
sponded to by the other birds, who hasten thither from
every direction till ten or twenty are collected. Then
the performance, which consists in a frightful concert
of screams, begins in tones that are strongly suggestive
of the human voice when it expresses extreme terror
or agonizing pain. A long, penetrating cry of aston-
ishing force and violence follows the deeper tones as
though the creature would exhaust all its strength in
this alarm. Sometimes this double call is repeated and
is accompanied by other sounds that resemble half-
smothered groans, and all the while the birds run about
as if possessed, their wings outstretched, their beaks
wide open and held up. After two or three minutes
the company quietly breaks up.

Jacanas, strange birds with peculiar cockscomblike
head decorations, spurs on their wings, and long, thin

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 213

claws, give a kind of exhibition which apparently serves
the purpose of displaying their wing decorations, which
are concealed, under ordinary circumstances. From
twelve to fifteen of them come together at the signal,
form in a close mass, and, while producing short, quick-
ly repeated notes, unfurl their wings like a standard of
banners. Some hold them upright and rigid, others
keep them half open with quick vibration, and still
others wave them with slow, regular motion back and
forth.*

In all these examples, which might easily be mul-
tiplied, courtship is evidently the unconscious basis, as
any unbiased mind must be convinced by a glance at
the following chapter. When the contagious influence
of imitation becomes a factor in mass games, they are
easily converted into veritable orgies. I think we en-
counter here among the birds the same principles that
govern ethnology and the history of human civilization.
Their plays correspond with our general dance that is
so closely connected with sexual excitement, and the
examples given above may be likened to Middendorf s
description of a dance of savages. " The dance soon
became boisterous, the movements mere leaps and hops,
the faces inflamed, the cries more and more ecstatic
as each tried to exceed the others. The fur coats and
breeches were thrown ofl;, and they all seemed to be
seized with a frenzy. Some, indeed, made an effort
to withstand it, but soon their heads took the motion,
now right, now left, till suddenly the onlookers leaped
among the dancers as if they had broken some con-
trolling bonds, and widened the circle.^' f

* See The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 265.

f 0. Stoll, Suggestion und Hypnotisraus in der Volkerpsvcho-
logie, Leipzig, 1804, p. 24.

•214 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

The principal difference is that the motions of the
human dancer less clearly betray the courting instinct,
though it is none the less there, however latent, and we
may learn much from the courtship of birds that is ap-
plicable to man as well.

8. Curiosity.

Curiosity is the only purely intellectual form of
playfulness that I have encountered in the animal
world. It is apparently a special form of experimen-
tation, and its psychologic accompaniment is attention,
w^hich indeed is a requisite to the exercise of most of
the important instincts. Leroy has said that three
things demand the animal's attention: the cravings of
hunger, those of desire, and the necessity of avoiding
danger,* and Eibot, too, assigns the same reasons for
its importance.! This important faculty finds a play-
ful expression in curiosity, which may be called sportive
apperception. This function, that forms an essential
element in the activity of all the principal instincts,
especially those of feeding and flight, oversteps its utili-
tarian character in curiosity and becomes play. The
necessity for mental exercise is the primary reason for
this kind of playfulness, added to the increase of knowl-
edge. As James expresses it, it aids in the preservation
of the species, " inasmuch as the new object may al-
ways be advantageous.'^ X

* Lettres philosophique sur I'intelligence et la perfectibilite des
animaux. p. 71.

f Th. Ribot, Psycholofjie de Tattention, p. 44. I think Ribot is
right in emphasizing hunger and fear more than desire.

X W.James, Principles of Psychology, ii, p. 429. I have already
pointed out that all play employs the attention, and, indeed, all
the mental powers. Sikorski bhows that attention is developed in

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 215

N'ext to the child, the monkey is the most curious of
animals. I repeat the anecdote often cited from Dar-
win as the best example we have : " Brehm gives a
curious account of the instinctive dread which his mon-
keys exhibited toward snakes, but their curiosity was so
great that they could not desist from occasionally sati-
ating their horror in the most human fashion — by lifting
up the lid of the box in which the snakes were kept.
I was so much surprised at his account that I took a
stuffed and coiled-up snake into the monkey house at
the Zoological Gardens, and the excitement thus caused
was one of the most curious spectacles which I ever
beheld. Three species of the Cercopithecus were the
most alarmed; they dashed about their cages and ut-
tered sharp signal cries of danger which were under-
stood by the other monkeys. ... I then placed the
stuffed specimen on the ground in one of the larger com-
partments. After a time all the monkeys collected
round it in a large circle, and, staring intently, pre-
sented a most ludicrous appearance. ... I then placed
a live snake in a paper bag, with the mouth loosely
closed, in one of the larger compartments. Then I
witnessed what Brehm has described, for monkey after
monkey, with head raised high and turned on one side,
could not resist taking momentary peeps into the up-
right bag at the dreadful object lying quiet at the bot-
tom." *

That dogs, too, are curious is a familiar fact. A
strange dog attracts immediate attention, and a favourite
curb excites as much interest as a lonely tourist bestows
on the register of his inn. Curiosity adds to the watch-
children by play (Revue philosophique, April, 1885). But, in curi-
osity, attention itself becomes play.

* Descent of Man. vol. i, p. 41.
16

216 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

dog's value by inciting liim to investigate every sound.
Scheitlin, overlooking the monkey, calls dogs the most
curious of animals next to goats, and, strange to say,
nightingales.* The curiosity of a dog is very ludicrous
when a beetle runs before him; evidently he is a little
afraid of the tiny creature, but he can not rest until
he has smelled it all over. A dog that Eomanes tells
of behaved in the same way with a soap bubble rolling
on the carpet. He was highly interested, but could not
make up his mind whether or not the thing was living,
but after some hesitation he overcame his misgivings,
approached cautiously, and touched the soap bubble
with his paw. " The bubble, of course, burst at once,
and I never saw astonishment more unmistakably ex-
pressed.'^ f

Eimer gives an instance of the curiosity of cows:
'^ As soon as I had my easel and sketchbook arranged
the cows grazing about drew nearer and nearer, and
stood in a circle around me, motionless and with necks
outstretched, gazing at my paper as if to see what was
going on. Finally, they came so near as to be annoying,
and I was forced to drive them away with my stick.
But again and again they renewed their attempt to
penetrate the secret." %

Anschiitz has portrayed the curiosity of horses in
a very successful instantaneous photograph. As the
photographer kneels on the ground busied with his
camera, a number of loose horses surround him, press-
ing close and stretching their long necks inquiringly to-
ward the strange objects. Scheitlin says of goats: "No

* Thierseelenkimde, ii, p. 342.

+ Romanes, ^Fental Evolution in Animals, p. 157.

X G. H. Th. Eimer, Die Entstehung der Arten, 1888, i, p. 258.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 217

single animal has more curiosity, unless it be the poodle.
When a flock of goats is driven through a village, one
and another will go into the houses, even into the rooms,
and look about without concerning himself as to where
the others are gone. He climbs over whatever he can,
from mere curiosity, and sometimes goes to the second
or third story of a house." * And the chamois is just
as bad ; they can be captured as can gazelles, by the dis-
play of a new or strange object, which so excites their
curiosity that they forget the danger. Lloyd Morgan
reports of his cat : " My cat was asleep on a chair and
my little son began blowing a toy horn. The cat, with-
out moving, mewed uneasily. I told my boy to con-
tinue blowing. The cat grew more uneasy, and at last
got up^ stretched herself, and turned toward the source
of the discomfort. She stood looking at my boy for a
minute as he blew. Then, curling herself up, went to
sleep again, and no amount of blowing disturbed her
further." f The animal had evidently accepted this
new impression, and was satisfied to add it to her store
of ideas.

A Fraulein Delaistre had a tame weasel, of which
she says, among other things: "A notable quality of
this animal is its curiosity. If I open a trunk or a
drawer or look at a paper he must come and look
too." X

The raccoon, too, is " curious to the last degree,"
says Weinland; of the one that has been described
playing with a badger Beckmann writes: " One day he
was too severe with the badger, which went off growl-

* Thierseelenkunde, ii, p. 207.

f Animal Life and Intelligence, p. 339.

X H. O. Lenz, Gemeinniitzige Naturgcschichte, 1851, i, p. 164.

218 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

ing and rolled into his hole. After a time he put his
head out on account of the heat and went to sleep thus
intrenched. The mischievous ^coon saw that he could
not expect much attention from his friend under these
circumstances, and was about to set out for home when
the badger suddenly awoke and stretched his narrow
red mouth wide open. This so surprised our hero that
he turned back to examine the rows of white teeth
from every point of view. The badger continued im-
movable in the same position, and this excited the rac-
coon's curiosity to the highest pitch; at last he ven-
tured to reach out and tap the badger's nose with his
paw. In vain, there was no change. This behaviour
of his comrade was inexplicable, his impatience in-
creased with every moment, he must solve the riddle
at any cost. He wandered restlessly about for a while,
apparently undecided how best to pursue the investiga-
tion; but reaching a decision at last, he thrust his
pointed snout deep in the badger's open jaws. The
rest is not difficult to imagine. The jaws closed, the
raccoon, caught in the trap, squirmed and floundered
like a captive rat. After mighty scuffling and tugging
he at length succeeded in tearing his bleeding snout
from the cruel teeth of the badger and fled precipitately.
This lesson lasted a long time, and after it whenever
he went near the badger's kennel he involuntarily put
his paw over his nose."

Mice and other rodents are curious,* and so are all
kinds of seals. J. E. Tennent describes a hunt with
tame buffaloes in Ceylon. If they are turned loose at
night with lights fastened to their backs and bells hung

* See Hudson on the viscacha. The Naturalist in La Plata,
p. 298.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 219

around their necks all sorts of wild animals, attracted
by curiosity, come to look at them and are cap-
tured.*

That curiosity is a play closely connected with some
of the primary instincts, such as flight and feeding,
seems probable from the fact that it is found in some
of the lower orders. Indeed, there are many facts in
support of this view. Eimer tells us that the boys of
Capri take advantage of the curiosity of lizards to catch
these elusive creatures. " They make a slipknot in the
pliable end of a long, slender straw and, lying down,
hold the straw in front of a crevice where the lizard
has just disappeared. Curiosity so torments the little
creature that it comes nearer and nearer to examine
the knot, until the boy seizes his chance to slip it over
the head and secure his prize. To excite their curiosity
the boys sometimes make their noose of coloured mem-
brane and wet the knot." f ^- James says of young
crocodiles that swarmed around him curiously, that they
fled terrified at the slightest movement, but came back
again directly.;};

Romanes, speaking of fish, says: "Curiosity is
shown by the readiness, or even eagerness, with which
fish will approach to examine any unfamiliar object.
So much is that the case that fishermen, like hunters,
sometimes trade upon this faculty:

' And the fisher, with his lamp
And spear, about the low rocks damp
Crept, and struck the fish which came
To worship the delusive flame.' "*

* J. E. Tennent, Natural History of Ceylon, p. oG.
f Eimer, Die Entstehung der Arten, i, p. 258.
X W. James, Principles of Psychology, ii, p. 429.
« Romanes, Animal Intelligence, p. 247.

220 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

It is a familiar fact that birds and fish and flying
insects, as well as many mammals, are attracted by fire.
J. S. Gardener noticed, while looking at an island
waterfall, that one moth after another hurled itself into
the cataract, probably attracted by the glittering water,
as others are by flame.* The opinion of Eomanes,
that this is due to curiosity,! will hardly be contro-
verted.

Turning now to birds, we may characterize them
en masse as curious, so much so, indeed, that many of
them fall victims to their curiosity, for all over the
world hunters lure them by means of unfamiliar ob-
jects, which they approach to investigate. On islands
uninhabited by man they will come up to the first
human being they see without fear, the better to ob-
serve him. The crow family in particular possess this
quality in excess; if a cane handle or almost anything
is held near a caged raven he will come near it and
examine it carefully from every possible point of view.
Their efforts to get possession of and hide every-
thing that comes in their way are further manifesta-
tions of curiosity. Parrots, too, behave in a similar
way. Haast says that the curiosity of the keanestor im-
pels them to examine everything that comes in their
way. On one of his expeditions in the mountains he
had with great difficulty collected a bundle of rare
Alpine plants and laid them for a moment on a project-
ing rock. During his short absence a keanestor ex-
amined the collection and manifested his interest in
botanical studies by pushing the whole bundle off the
rock, never to be recovered. With ravens, as well as

* Nature, vol. xxv, p. 436.

f Mental Evolution in Animals, p. 279.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 221

parrots, mental experimentation is connected with, tlie
physical, especially where the destructive instinct is
concerned. Paske gives in the Feathered World (1881)
an interesting description of a raven that he brought
up. It delighted to fly into strange windows and do
all sorts of mischief. He once entered, in this way, a
room in the opposite house, found a collection of curios
that had been left out of their case, and destroyed most
of them. He showed his interest in the boys' ball
games by stealing and hiding the ball. The following
performance of his might have inspired Dickens to a
special chapter in Barnaby Eudge: " One day he en-
tered, through the window, a room where a military trial
was being conducted, perching on the desk littered with
writing materials and important papers, and refusing
to be dislodged. He threatened with his bill every one
who approached him, until I was sent for and carried
him off."

If any strange object is held in a canary's cage he
w^ill examine it with great interest, turning his head
first to one side and then the other, and it is most amus-
ing to see the little creature crane his neck to look
down at something under his cage, while he keeps up
a succession of questioning peeps. Key had a
Carolina parrot which was so tame that he allowed it
to fly about at will, much to the wonder and excite-
ment of the domestic birds when this foreigner ap-
peared among them. A sparrow was " so fascinated by
the gay stranger that he followed the parrot about
for a long time, sitting near it and gazing till the
parrot returned to the window, without appearing
to notice that I stood with a friend at the open case-
ment."

The starling, the robin, the nightingale, the sis-

222 THE PLAT OF ANIMALS.

kin, and many other birds have a great deal of curi-
osity.*

Last, I may mention the vulture, which is noticeable
for this quality when young and will come near any one
who displays a new and attractive object. Brehm's
brother, in Spain, placed an owl in the vultures' cage,
and describes the curiosity with which the occupants
examined the newcomer. One young vulture ap-
proached the bird of night as it sat sulking in a corner,
looked him over and began an examination of his
feathers, an impertinence to which the owl responded
with a sharp blow from his claw.

In most of these examples the animal is represented
as seeing a new object and trying to find out what sort
of thing it is — curiosity is expressed by approaching it,
looking it over, tasting, etc. All this leads us again
to the question whether animals may not have a kind of
aesthetic perception. The case is quite different with
these successive impressions from that of the coloured
feathers and stones which they collect, for it is an estab-
lished fact, as has been said, that among animals motion
is more provocative of attention than anything else.
Further, it is evident that imitative impulse is more
easily awakened by movement than by any attribute
of a body at rest. Accordingly, if that " inner imi-
tation " that characterizes aesthetic perception can ap-
pear anywhere in animal life it may be looked for as a
consequence of the observation of the motions of other
animals, preferably individuals of the same species.
Under the heading of imitative play it was shown that
such movements do produce external imitation; so it

* Naturgeschichte der Vogel Deutschlands, iv, p. 16 ; ii, pp.
197, 203.

THE PLAY OP ANIMALS. 223

would appear that the animal, though aware of the
stimulation to external imitation from optical and acous-
tic impressions, is able to hold it in check so that an
internal excitation alone is produced by the imitative
impulse, whose reflex in consciousness consists of feel-
ings of imitation." In order to illustrate my concep-
tion of the origin of such aesthetic feeling I venture to
cite a progressive series of examples from human life.
A boy on the streets sees some other boys chasing a
comrade in play; he looks on for a few seconds, his
interest constantly increasing, until he joins the pur-
suers These few seconds of observation I regard as the
primary form of esthetic perception directed toward
the movements that incite his impulse of imitation,
for there is an inner imitation as an antecedent or
point of departure for the outer. A boy takes part m
a game involving complicated movements. He is taken
prisoner by the opposing party and must stand m a base
until one of his own side frees him. ^Esthetic percep-
tion is manifest in the absorbed attention with which
he enters into all the movements of his companions,
for while his impulse to external imitation is so far
arrested by the laws of the game that it can not attain
its object at once, this result follows as soon as the boy
is at liberty to move from the base.— Suppose some
witnesses of a race. Here the impulse to active imita-
tion does not tend to external discharge. No one tries
to leave his seat, but contents himself with expressing
the feelings produced by internal imitation of the vary-
ing operations. Here we have the simplest and most
primary form of pure esthetic perception.— We are sit-
ting in the theatre, the simulated actions and tones ot
voice are only the means of appealing to our sympathy
and placing us mentally in touch with what is being

224 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

played on the stage, and yet our facial expression cor-
responds in a certain degree with that of the actor. — Or
suppose we are merely listening to a recital, we still
feel all the sympathetic passion that words can pro-
duce. Indeed, the mere reading of a narrative is suffi-
cient to produce that internal effect of imitation which
consists in aesthetic pleasure. Don Quixote shows us
how strong this impulse may be when he tries to realize
the ideal which he has formed by reading. It is illus-
trated, too, by boys who read of a seaman's life till they
can not be restrained from adopting his calling with
all its hardships and dangers; by the suicides that have
resulted from reading The Sorrows of Werther; and by
the mystical religious life of saints, and the stigmata
produced by auto-suggestion in many ecstatic fanatics.
All these are externalized effects of aesthetic emotion.

A glance over these illustrations shows at once that
those effects depending on the power of speech can not,
of course, be attributed to animals, but that the cases
of the boys at play are probably equally well applicable
to them. All consciously imitative play must be pre-
ceded by that primary form of agsthetic perception
which we have called ^' inner imitation," as, for ex-
ample, when the monkey mimics his master, or when
the starling, with head on one side, listens attentively
to an air whistled in his presence. But, on the other
hand, there are plenty of examples of attentive watching
and listening without any external imitation. Most
conspicuous in this class is the hearkening of the female
bird to the song of the male. It can not be questioned
that she experiences an internal sympathy with his ex-
citement, for sometimes this feeling is so strong as to
require some kind of outward expression, and she joins,
though imperfectly, in the song of the male, and

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 225

sometimes even takes part in his battles. A description
already quoted says: *' Sometimes a female is found on
the arena taking up a position like that of the males
and running about with them; but she does not long
mingle in the strife, and soon runs away." No clearer
proof could be desired that the female feels a secret
sympathy in the love-plays carried on before her, for
in such a case it evidently clamours for expression
until the impulse to join in the song or dance is irresist-
ible, as in the orgies described by Middendorf. Many
birds arrange a regular stage or arena. Hudson says:
" There are human dances in which only one person
performs at a time, the rest of the company looking
on, and some birds in widely separated genera have
dances of this kind. A striking example is the rupicola,
or cock-of-the-rock, of tropical South America. A
mossy level spot of earth surrounded by bushes is se-
lected for a dancing place, and kept well cleared of
sticks and stones; round this area the birds assemble,
when a cockbird, with vivid orange-scarlet crest and
plumage, steps into it, and with spreading wings and
tail begins a series of movements as if dancing a minuet;
finally, carried away with excitement, he leaps and
gyrates in the most astonishing manner, until, becom-
ing exhausted, he retires, and another bird takes his
place." *

There are examples on record, too, that seem to in-
dicate that some of the higher animals observe the
movements of others than their own kind with a sort
of aesthetic perception. The most familiar of these is
that of a dog looking out of a window. Schopenhauer
considered this critical watching of passersby that can

* The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 261.

226 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

have no other intent than that of taking note of the va-
rious figures on the street as the most human quality dis-
played by animals. It is certainly comical to see a big
dog with his forepaws on the window-sill gazing, for it
may be half an hour, just as a man would do, with
thoughtful, wrinkled brow, into the street.

But other animals, too, do the same sort of thing.
A forester in Wiirtemberg had a tame doe, of which,
among other things, he relates the following: " She
likes to stand on the window-sill and watch what is
passing outside.'^ *

Among monkeys the Cerocehus alhigena, a rather
large black xA^frican ape, may be instanced. Pechuel-
Loesche has described it in detail: " But he was drollest
when some new problem exercised his busy brain, as
w^hen w^e used the astronomical instruments before him
or carried on some unusual operation. He would sit
on the ground or a trunk or barrel in the attitude of a
deeply reflecting man, one hand holding his chin up
and a finger pressed on his lips, while he followed our
every movement, softly humming or grunting, and oc-
casionally indulging in one of the philippics already
described.^^ (This species has a very loud characteris-
tic roar.)'t A. Glinzel contributes this about a tame
magpie: "At the time of the morning recess he re-
paired to the playground of the school children, gener-
ally that of the boys, to watch their romps. At these
times he expressed his satisfaction by jumping about
and snapping his beak." \

The following story is told of a goose: " Some years

* Diezels, Niederjagd, p. 145.
\ Loango Expedition, iii. p. 248.

X Die gefiederte Welt, 1887. See K. Russ, Allerlei sprechendes
gefiedertes Volk, p. 74.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 227

ago a goose excited considerable attention in a small
town by its strange actions. Whenever the parish clerk
came from the market with his great bell, as was the cus-
tom, to make a proclamation, a black and white goose
left the flocks assembled at the brook and waddled has-
tily toward the circle of listening peasants. There she
stood immovable all through the ceremony, with head
outstretched as though she would parody the attentive
attitude of the other auditors, until the bell was taken
up. At this moment she set out to follow the officer
to the next street, where she again took the listening
attitude, and in this way accompanied the man all
over the widespread town, only seeking her companions
at the brook when he returned to his office. This habit
was kept up for many months." * The famous parrot
belonging to Director Kastner, in Vienna, always no-
ticed when a bottle was about to be uncorked, and imi-
tated the pop before it came, showing absorbed attention
and anticipation.!

Two points of psychological interest are still to be
noted. When I spoke of aesthetic attention, I did not
mean to imply that aesthetic pleasure consists in con-
scious acts of attention, the word being used in the
ordinary sense. If, for example, the female bird wit-
nessing the performance of the males once attained to
apperception, no doubt the imitative impulse would be
roused just as wdth ourselves, without the conscious
effort of attention. The question whether there may
not be a constant unconscious anticipation may be an-
swered affirmatively on various grounds, but this is not
the place to explain them. Secondly, it may be re-

* Der zonloeiische Garten, vii. p. 238.

f K. Russ. Die sprechenden Papageien, 1887, p. 29.

228 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

marked that while the foregoing examples, of whose
aesthetic character I have no doubt whatever, should be
looked upon as only elementary expressions of aesthetic
pleasure, they yet serve to show that the sphere of aes-
thetics is infinitely wider than that of the beautiful.

CHAPTEE lY.

THE PLAY OF axi:mals (continued).

Love Plays.

The treatment of this class of plays in a separate
chapter is justified not only on the ground of its impor-
tance to animal psychology, but also for two reasons
inherent in its nature. The first of these reasons is that
it embraces the vexed question of sexual selection, and
the second reason is that this kind of play differs from
all that we have previously considered in being, strictly
speaking, not mere practice preparatory to the exercise
of an instinct, but rather its actual working. Yet it is
universally spoken of as plaj^ and consequently our first
question is. How far is this designation correct?

In considering it we are at once brought face to
face with the problem of sexual selection, for Darwin
regards all phenomena connected with love play as the
direct result of the operations of this, his second great
principle of evolution. Sexual selection, then, involves
two distinct phenomena: on the one hand the conflict
between m^ales for the possession of a female, and on
the other hand the preference of the latter for certain
qualities or capacities in the former. Each of these
phenomena is supposed to produce its own effect in the
modification of characters. The first, being only a

229

230 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

special case of natural selection, is challenged by no
one. The selective principle involved in the second is
not the mechanical law of survival of the fittest, but
rather the will of a living, feeling being capable of mak-
ing a choice, and is much like that employed in arti-
ficial breeding. Spencer has spoken of natural selec-
tion as a " survival of the fittest,'^ and a fitting designa-
tion of this theory of sexual selection would be " a mul-
tiplication of the most pleasing."

Let us take an example. The male cicada has
on one wing a vein set with fine teeth, on which he
fiddles with the other wing. Only males can produce
this music. " The ancient Greeks knew this, for Anac-
reon congratulated the cicadas, in a poem that has come
down to us, because they had dumb wives.'' " Here is
the key to the riddle. The origin of the musical appa-
ratus is easily explained by means of the male's rivalry.
If we assume that the females enjoy the music — and it
has been proved that they do — then we see why and
how a singing instrument was gradually developed
from the male's wings and has been improved to its
present perfection, for the female would always pre-
fer the male that sang best. Thus the superior musical
apparatus of the father would be inherited by his sons,
and so on. In this way there must necessarily be much
progress in the developrfient of this function in the
course of several generations, the preference of better
singers constantly tending to improve the singing ap-
paratus until it can be improved no further." * In the
same way the musical performances of birds, the arts
of flying and dancing, the strange and beautiful colours

* A. Wei^:in<ann. Gednnken iiber Musik bei Thieren und beim
Merxschen, Deutsche Rundschau, Ixi (1880), p. 51.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 231

and forms, are all to be considered as " wedding gar-
ments/^ so to speak.

But many voices worthy of attention have been
raised against this theory of a choice of the most pleas-
ing by the female. \Yallace takes the lead in this oppo-
sition, and many scientists agree with him either wholly
or in part. I may mention Tylor,* Spencer, f TTal-
laschek4 Hudson,* Lloyd Morgan. ||

Wallace has expressed his view in various of his
works, the most important being the Natural Selection
and the Darwinism, that Darwin's assumption of a kind
of sesthetic taste in the female governing her choice is
as far from the truth as is the assumption that the bee
is a good mathematician. But more than that, he main-
tains that it is by no means certain that the female
makes any choice at all. " Any one who reads these
most interesting chapters (in Darwin's Descent of Man)
will admit that the fact of the display is demonstrated,
and it may also be admitted as highly probable that the
female is pleased or excited by the display. But it by
no means follows that slight diiferences in the shape,
pattern, or colours of the ornamental plumes are what
lead a female to give the preference to one male over
another; still less that all the females of a species, or the
great majority of them, over a wide area of country
and for many successive generations, prefer exactly the
same modifications of colour or ornament."'''

* Alfred Tylor, Coloration of Plants and Animals, London,
1886.

t The Origin of Music, Mind, xv (1890).
t On the Origin of Music, Mind, xvi (1891).

* The Naturalist in La Plata, chap. xix.

H Lloyd Morgan, Animal Life and Intelligence, p. 407.
^ A. R. Wallace, Darwinism, p. 285.
17

232 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

But we ask, What then is the cause of these phe-
nomena, if there is no choice by the female? How do
the beautiful colours and characteristic forms of male
birds arise? "Wallace answers these questions as fol-
lows: In the first place, it is not at all strange that ani-
mals should have colour. In all Nature colour is the
rule, black and white are exceptions.* " The presence of
some colour, or even of many brilliant colours, in ani-
mals and plants would require no other explanation
than does that of the sky or the ocean, of the ruby or
the emerald — that is, it would require a purely physical
explanation only.^' f The kind of colours, however, is
principally determined by natural selection. Colouring
for offence and defence is very important in the animal
world, a principle which was clearly recognised before
the time of this misleading idea of sexual selection.
Other peculiarities, such as broad white bands and white
or coloured spots, J serve as distinguishing marks to
those that live in companies.*

These marks are important not only in times of
danger, when they make it easier for the young to fol-
low the old ones, but they also form a kind of bond
for the social life, and in addition to that probably serve
a useful purpose in hindering the cross-breeding of
closely related species. The symmetrical marking which
renders the individual recognisable from either side
seems to be for this purpose, as we conclude from the
facility with which it is lost in domestication. To the
same origin may be attributed the characteristic call

* Nat. Selection and Trop. Nature, 1891, p. 859.
•f Darwinism, p. 189.

X Many such marks are only visible while the animal is in mo-
tion, bemuse they would expose it to danger when at rest (ibid,).

* Like the tribal marks of savaores.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 233

of the male and the f emale^s answering cry. " These are
evidently a valuable addition to the means of recogni-
tion of the two sexes, and are a further indication that
the pairing season has arrived; and the production, in-
tensification, and differentiation of these sounds and
odours are clearly within the power of natural selection.
The same remark will apply to the peculiar calls of
birds, and even to the singing of the males. These
may well have originated merely as a means of recogni-
tion between the two sexes of a species and as an invi-
tation from the male to the female bird. When the
individuals of a species are widely scattered, such a call
must be of great importance in enabling pairing to take
place as early as possible, and thus the clearness, loud-
ness, and individuality of the song becomes a useful
character, and therefore the subject of natural selec-
tion." * Thus sexual selection would be absorbed in
natural selection, and Wallace advances two principles to
assist in the absorption. Many characteristic markings
and decorative colourings are, according to A. Tylor,
closely connected with anatomical structure. Since the
clearest colours show where the most important nerves
run, their intersections form all sorts of figures. And
" as the nerves everywhere follow the muscles, and these
are attached to the various bones, we see how it happens
that the tracts in which distinct developments of colour
appear should so often be marked out by the chief di-
visions of the bony structure in vertebrates, and by the
segments in the annulosa." t

* Darwinism, p. 284. We see here how Wallace came to change
his mind about instinct.

f Ibid., p. 290. Tylor, for instance, finds in the zebra's stripes
a picture of the spine and ribs. But why, then, is the symmetry
so soon lost in domestication?

234 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

If, then, colouring is connected with nerve distri-
bution it must be largely dependent on good health,
and brilliant colour becomes an indication of robust
health. This is true also of other kinds of external or-
namentation, especially of the size of the tail. The per-
fect adaptation of animals to their environment pro-
duces in them a superabundance of vigour which con-
tributes to the size and brilliance of plumage that
we admire in such birds as the pheasant, parrot, hum-
ming bird, etc. To the question why this is the case
with males alone it may be answered that the female
has the greater need of protection. This view is sup-
ported by the fact that in general, female birds of those
species that have well-protected nests are as brightly
coloured as the males.

Wallace applies this principle to skill in flight and
dancing as well as to ornamentation, the same prin-
ciple of superabundant energy which we found in the
Schiller-Spencer theory of play. " The display of these
plumes will result from the same causes which led to
their production. Just in proportion as the feathers
themselves increased in length and abundance, the skin
muscles which serve to elevate them would increase also;
and the nervous development, as well as the supply of
blood to these being at a maximum, the erection of the
plumes would become a habit at all periods of nerv-
ous or sexual excitement." ..." During excitement
and when the organism develops superabundant energy,
many animals find it pleasurable to exercise their vari-
ous muscles, often in fantastic ways, as seen in the gam-
bols of kittens, lambs, and other young animals. But
at the time of pairing male birds are in a state of tlie
most perfect development, and possess an enormous
store of vitality; and under the excitement of the sexual

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 235

passion they perform strange antics or rapid flights, as
much probably from the internal impulse to motion
and exertion as with any desire to please their mates/' *

The act of singing, too, which was originally a means
of recognition, " is evidently a pleasurable one, and it
probably serves as an outlet for superabundant nerv-
ous energy and excitement, just as dancing, singing,
and field sports do with us." f

These are the essentials of Wallace's theory. Se-
lection through the female is excluded; at the most he
thinks we may say that she prefers the " most vigour-
ous, defiant, and mettlesome male," and so indirectly
favours the ornamentation which results from abundant
energy.

In this presentation of Wallace's theory I have
maintained a careful distinction which is not made
clear in his own works, but without which it is difficult,
in my opinion, to understand thoroughly the meaning of
his ideas. I mean the distinction between the biological
principles that would refer our problem to the familiar
operations of natural selection, and such physiological
theories as those of Tylor and Spencer. The former
are of the greatest value, and will lead, I believe, to im-
portant modifications of the Darwinian system, while
in the latter there is no inherent vitality, though Wal-
lace seems to lay great stress on them.

Turning now to the secondary aspect of this theory,
we set out from the fact that the characteristic marks
and appendages of animals are closely connected with
their anatomical structure, just as, in a common disease,
an eruption occurs on the forehead which corresponds
exactly to the distribution of the ophthalmic division of

* Ibid., pp. 294 and 287. t Ibid., p. 284.

236 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

the fifth cranial nerve. Supposing this to be a fact,
still nothing has been said that is prejudicial to the
theory of sexual selection — it must necessarily have
some sort of physiological basis. However, I for one
can not quite conceive how such developments as, for
instance, a peacock's tail, can be derived from begin-
nings so insignificant, simply by a superabundance of
energy. This is very delicate ground, for the hypotlie-
sis of surplus energy continuing through thousands of
generations seems to me to accord little with the laws of
natural selection, which are like the old laAvs of reward:
they give with niggardly hand what is essential for the
preservation of the species and no more.*

However, Wallace thinks that such extraordinary
developments occur only when the species has acquired
an assured position in life — in fact, " perfect success in
the struggle for existence. . . . The enormously length-
ened plumes of the bird of paradise and of the peacock
are rather injurious than beneficial in the bird's ordi-
nary life. The fact that they have been developed
to so great an extent in a few species is an indication
of such perfect adaptation to the conditions of exist-
ence, that there is in the adult male at all events a
surplus of strength, vitality, and growth power, wdiich
is able to expend itself in this way without injury.^^ f

But it is a well-known fact and a legitimate deduc-
tion from the principle of selection that such perfect
adaptation to surrounding conditions produces a fixed
type and precludes further development, just in propor-
tion to its perfection. Thus, even if we suppose that

* The occasional surplus of energy arising from alternate waste
and reintegration is. of course, quite another thing,
f Ibid., pp. 292, 293.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 237

the ancestors of the peacocks, from the time when they
attained a certain assurance of existence, were constant-
ly in possession of surplus energy that favoured the
production of strong (and useless) feathers, it is yet in-
explicable how a still further development was attained,
such as Wallace indicates. That such hindrances should
arise before adaptation is out of the question, and it
seems hardly possible after it, without the aid of sexual
selection, for we see that success attained in the strug-
gle for life prevents Nature from further directing
the growing energies. The contest of males in which
the strongest have the advantage would then come
prominent forward as the only possible explanation.
Wallace, however, has but cursorily referred to this
principle and rightly, as I believe, for it is diffi-
cult to see how selection acting through the contests
of courtship could directly favor the development
of such peculiarities, since we can hardly suppose
that surplus energy would find its only expression in
them.

Perhaps Wallace recognised this difficulty when he
wTote, " As all the evidence goes to show that, so far
as female birds exercise any choice, it is of the ^ most
vigorous, defiant, and mettlesome ' males, this form of
sexual selection will act in the same direction (as natu-
ral selection), and help to carry on the process of plume
development to its culmination." *

With these words, however hypothetical their form,
Wallace overturns his whole argument, for if it is once
admitted that the female chooses the strongest male,
the chief point of the Darwinian theory is conceded.
Whether her preference is for strength and courage

* Ibid., p. 293.

238 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

or for beauty is of little consequence; the important
tiling is that a choice is made.

Wallace's further deductions from the arts of dan-
cing, flying, and singing will not detain us long. It is
pretty well established that bird songs are inherited, gen-
erally speaking, and it seems quite as certain, if not more
so, that characteristic dances and skill in flight have the
same origin. Hudson says : " But every species or
group of species has its own inherited form or style of
performance ; and however rude or irregular this may be,
. . . that is the form in which the feeling will always
be expressed.'' *

If this is true, mere surplus energy in the individual
can not explain it. Of course the Lamarckian theory
has no trouble with it. Its advocates can say with
Hudson, " If all men had agreed at some period of
race history to express the joyful excitement which now
has such varied manifestation, by dancing a minuet,
and if this dance had finally become instinctive, men
would be in the same case that animals are in now.'''t
But Wallace is very sceptical about the inheritance of
acquired characters, and takes special pains to refer
instinct finally to natural selection.^ AVhoever agrees
with him in this must cast aside his Spencerian theory
of courtship, for it stands or falls with the Lamarckian
principle. Once grant that there is no inheritance of
individually acquired habits, and that choice by the
female is not influential, then these phenomena, which
are of too great importance to the species to be dismissed
as a mere discharge of surplus energy, however favour-

* The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 281.

f This example is well calculated to show how improbable the
inheritance of acquired characters is.
X Darwinism, p. 441.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 239

able that condition may be for tliem, must be referred
at once to natural selection.*

The case is quite different, as I have remarked, with
the first element of Wallace's theory. Here the gifted
author advances his original ideas and reaches conclu-
sions which are calculated, in my opinion, to seriously
modify the Darwinian theory of sexual selection. Tak-
ing, as an example, the parrot which is commonly of a
green ground colour with stripes of yellow, red, and
blue, Wallace would say that through adaptation to
life in the woods the green colour serves as a defence,
while the stripes are distinguishing marks for purposes
of recognition, and we have brilliant plumage explained
satisfactorily without any reference to sexual selection,
which can not, then, have the range that Darwin at-
tributes to it in accounting for the colouring and other
ornamentation of animals.

Quite as convincing, too, is the argument against
the exercise of gesthetic judgment, comparison, and se-
lection in pairing. I am even inclined to go further
than Wallace and exclude the conscious choice of even
the strongest and bravest, which he seems disposed to
admit, but I do not on that account imagine that the
Darwinian hypothesis is refuted.

Going on to consider bird-songs, Wallace says:
" The peculiar calls of birds, and even tlie singing of
the males, may very well have originated merely as a

* [It is precisely at such critical junctures as this that the prin-
ciple of Organic Selection (see above, p. 64, and the Appendix) is
needed to relieve the strain on natural selection. If there be any
preferential mating — even the little conscious choice admitted by
Wallace, or the more physiological sort suggested by Groos — it
would set the direction in which natural selection would accumu-
late variations. — J. M. B.]

24:0 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

means of recognition between the two sexes of a species,
and as an invitation from the male to the female bird."
These acoustic signals become very important when the
members of a species live far apart, and are of especial
service to migratory birds whose males first arrive
at the destination and call to their mates to follow.
The male that is distinguished for the " clearness, loud-
ness, and individuality '' of his song would succeed first
in accomplishing this, and has thus an advantage that
may be decisive in the struggle for life. But in that
case the clearness, loudness, and individuality of his
song would be a sufficient object for the operation of
natural selection.* A close examination of these cita-
tions shows, I think, that while they modify the Dar-
winian theory very considerably, they do not exclude it.
It would, indeed, be absurd to affirm that all bird-
songs originate in a conscious esthetic and critical act
of judgment on the part of the female. A conscious
choice either of the most beautiful or the loudest singer
is certainly not the rule, and probably never occurs at
all. But is it not still a choice, though unconscious,
when the female turns to the singer whose voice,
whether from strength or modulation, proves most at-
tractive? Even if the song is primarily a means of
recognition or an invitation from the male, still the
psychological effect must be that the female follows the
songster that excites her most, and so exerts a kind of
unconscious selection.

But this is essentially the Darwinian idea, since,
though there is indeed no conscious aesthetic selection,

* On this point I a^ree with E. von Hartmann's penetrating
criticism of the Darwinian theory. See especially his Philosophie
des Unbewussten, iii, p. 435.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 241

a kind of unconscious choosing does take place which is
in a pecuHar sense sexual selection, for the female is un-
doubtedly more easily won by the male that most
strongly excites her sexual instinct. That such a selec-
tion as this is difficult or even incapable of proof from
its very nature is no argument against its existence.

Wallace says, indeed, that all the things a young
man may do to make himself acceptable in the eyes of
his beloved, while they do perhaps please her, have no
influence in inducing her to accede to his wishes.* But
is this a fact? A conscious influence would scarcely
be allowed to them, but will not a fine figure, good
address, noble carriage, and even tasteful dress prove
a powerful spur to unconscious choice? Will not the
soldier in his handsome uniform be more acceptable
than the same man in his working blouse? Has not
the actor or the singer who has distinguished himself
a better reception than a man quite his equal, but en-
gaged in a commonplace business?

And now, putting aside everything that distin-
guishes man from the other animals, all our apprecia-
tion of intelligence and culture, all higher aesthetic
influences, all considerations of a practical and mate-
rial nature — conceive such a human race and suppose a
condition of absolute free love with every spiritual
ground for preference removed — must we not suppose
that such (impossible) human beings left to the mere
processes of evolution would become stronger and more
beautiful in the course of a hundred or more genera-
tions?

I can not, then, admit that sexual selection is entire-
ly subverted by Wallace's conclusions. If we accept his

* Darwinism, p. 286.

242 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

theory of bird-song, an involuntary selection based on
the strongest sexual excitement takes the place of a
choice of the most pleasing, and we may assume the like
in regard to the other arts of courtship. Having con-
ceded so much, we must also admit that the excitement
may be augmented by the display of unusual colours
and forms, making sexual selection influential upon these
as well, but that it was prepared for by the factors intro-
duced by Wallace, in a much more extended way than
was understood by Darwin.

The Darwinian principle thus improved seems to me
to be the only one in existence that has the least value as
a working hypothesis. It can not, of course, be said
to be as well established as is the principle of natural
selection, but it is materially strengthened by the sub-
stitution of involuntary yielding to the strongest im-
l^ulse for conscious aesthetic choice on the part of the
female.* If must be borne in mind, however, that such
selection does not, as a rule, imply a direct rejection
of less favoured suitors, but owes its chief effectiveness
to the advantage it offers the favoured male in securing
the earlier birth of his children.

As we are now on hypothetical ground, the follow-
ing note may not be out of place in conclusion. Pro-
fessor Ziegler, of Freiburg, says, in the covirse of a pri-
vate communication, " Among all animals a highly
excited condition of the nervous system is necessary for
the act of pairing, and consequently we find an exciting
playful prelude very generally indulged in." The germ
of a still more far-reaching modification of the theory
of sexual selection seems to me to be contained in this

* This idea has been more fully carried out by Von Hartmann
{loc. cit.).

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 243

indisputable fact. In the first place, it is certain that
in general before any important motor discharge there
is apt to be a preparatory and gradually increasing
excitement. A period of rapidly increasing irritation
which causes various reflex movements generally pre-
cedes a \^Tathful onslaught, as angry dogs illustrate no
less than Homeric heroes. While we find this introduc-
tory stage, which is easy of explanation physiologically,
reduced to a minimum in the instinct for fiight and in
the spring upon prey, it appears to be at the other ex-
treme in the courtship of many animals, for we find
a long-continued preliminary excitation necessary, which
presents strange peculiarities. This fact seems to me to
suggest very strongly the probability that in order to
preserve the species the discharge of the sexual func-
tion must be rendered difficult, since the impulse to it
is so powerful that without some such arrest it might
easily become prejudicial to that end. This same
strength of impulse is itself necessary to the preserva-
tion of the species ; but, on the other hand, dams must be
opposed to the impetuous stream, lest the impulse ex-
pend itself before it is made effectual, or the mothers
of the race be robbed of their strength, to the detriment
of their offspring.

If this be granted, all the rest follows easily enough.
The most important factor in maintaining this necessary
check is the co3'ness of the female; coquetry is the con-
flict between natural impulse and co}Tiess, and the male's
part is to overcome the latter. This is accomplished most
easily by pursuit, and at last by what appears sometimes
as violence, but probably is not really such, but only a
necessary stage in the attainment of the requisite pitch of
excitation. There are other means as well ; for instance,
scent in manv animals, that is useful as a means of rec-

244 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

ognition, is a powerful agent here; contact, too, plays
its part with most animals,* as well as the regular love
plays, such as dancing, flying, and singing.

And since with these is connected the display of
brilliant colours and striking forms, the intensifying
of performances that were perhaps originally intended
to serve other purposes may help to overcome the female's
reluctance.

In all this we have attempted to indicate the out-
lines of a view which would so transform the original
Darwinian principle that if fully carried out we should
have to consider it a new theory. Sexual selection
would then become a special case of natural selection. If
the point of departure for this idea be granted — namel}^,
that the excited condition necessary for pairing, and also
a certain difficulty in its execution, are both useful for
the preservation of the species — we find the whole series
of phenomena related to the subject so much more simply
and satisfactorily explained that no one, it seems to me,
can hesitate to decide in favour of the hypothesis. In-
stead of a conscious or unconscious choice, of which
we know nothing certain, we have the need of overcom-
ing instinctive coyness in the female, a fact familiar
enough, but hitherto not sufficiently accounted for.
Then the question is no longer which among many
males will be chosen by the female, but which one has
the qualities that can overcome the reluctance of the fe-
male whom he woos. How^ great a difference this is will
appear from the fact that in the well-founded opinion
of the ^liillers the choice itself, the betrothal of the
birds, as it were, takes place before the breeding time.
"Long before the springtime, with all its enticements

* Cf. Espinas, Les Societes animales.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 245

to love, the young birds have chosen their mates, unseen
by any but the closest observers. It is a common mis-
take to suppose that the marriage bond is first assumed
in spring. Rather to this time belongs the male's first
solicitations for his mate's consent to sexual union, and
this has been falsely called pairing." * If this opin-
ion, so emphatically expressed, is correct, the explanation
of the phenomena of courtship by means of conscious or
unconscious choice is irretrievably damaged. Our view,
on the contrary, would be in perfect accord with it,
whether there had been a previous choice or none at all.
Eeproduction would be assured to the male who pos-
sessed the qualities and capacities necessary to conquer
the instinctive reluctance of the mate.

This explains, too, why the dallying of birds that
have lived in wedlock for a long time is repeated year
after year, and indeed much oftener, although there can
certainly be no further selection by the female, f And,
finally, our hypothesis applies equally well to plays
by masses and whole flocks together, and to those cases
where the female takes part in the flying and singing,
which present great difficulty to the Darwinian theory,
and yet it does not preclude the possibility of a con-
scious or unconscious choice in Darwin's sense.

Before going on to the second part of our subject,
I wish to notice the common objection that what we call
the arts of courtship are frequently practised at other
times.

This objection is expressed most clearly by Spencer,

* A. and K. Miiller, Thiere der Heimath, i, p. 4.

t The zooloijist H. E. Zie^ler says, in a notice of this book :
" This circumstance favours the author's view, for there could
hardly be sexual selection in such cases, but rather excitation
only."

246 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

Wallace^ and Hudson. One of the passages already
cited from Wallace will serve as an example. He says
that when there is a surplus of energy the animal in-
dulges in all sorts of strange motions and vocal exer-
cises. This happens^ it is true, most commonly at the
mating time, when the animal is in full possession of all
his powers, but may occur at any time w^hen there is
superabundant vigour.

I have already pointed out that such a conception
of hereditary instinct must to have any value be sup-
ported by the theory of the inheritance of acquired hab-
its. Even Darwin, who concedes the Lamarckian princi-
ple, has expressed himself in opposition to the view that
such phenomena may be regarded as expressing a gen-
eral state of exhilaration, with only a secondary appli-
cation to courtship.* He quotes from an article f and
from letters of Joh. von Fischer that a young man-
dril, when he saw himself for the first time in a mirror,
turned round after a while with his red back toward
the glass, just as many apes do when they see strangers
looking at them. (Brehm quotes an ancient descrip-
tion of a mandril by Gesner: " This animal was brought
to Augsburg with great wonder and exhibited there.
On his feet he had fingers like a man's, and when any
one looked at him he turned his back.") Other cases
are recorded where the animal apparently desired to
display what he considered his greatest beauties and
attractions, just as these monkeys show to the observer
their most highly coloured parts.

How shall we account for these facts? Can they
be the effects of ordinary reflexes answering to any

* Xnture. Xovembpr. 1876.

I Der zoologische Garten, April, 1876.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 247

excitation? That is not likely with movements so
significant. Or shall we say with Fischer that the rea-
son monkeys enjoy being stroked or scratched on bare
spots is because such sensations are associated with the
friendly ofiices of comrades in removing thorns, etc.,
and from this their modes of greeting have developed?
Is it not a thousand times more natural to suppose that
such instincts are primarily for the purpose of sexual
excitation, though they are sometimes connected with
other stimuli? I do not think that any one can seri-
ously doubt where the greater probability lies.

These remarks also apply to dancing, evolutions in
flight, contortions of the body, erection of feathers,
making strange noises, as well as the calling and sing-
ing of amorous animals. In all these we see instinctive
acts performed for the purpose of arousing excitement,
usually in both sexes. As the ape exhibits such actions
most unmistakably, I have cited his case to avoid the
possibility of misconstruction, for none can deny their
connection with the sexual life, or attribute them to
any ordinary excitement.

In order to arrive at a satisfactory position, however,
on this question, we must occupy middle ground be-
tween the contestants. We must admit that in most
cases the actual basis for the arts of courtship is to be
found in general excitement reflexes, or even in those
of quite a different origin. This basis consists partly
in such reflex motions as result from any strong excita-
tion, such as restless fluttering, running about, skipping,
and trembling, and further in the reflexes that are com-
monly awakened in the face of an enemy, such as in-
flation, erection of hair or feathers, lifting the voice,
etc. These are obviously the material from which ISTa-
ture has derived the peculiar arts of courtship in all
18

248 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

their variety, and these arts, as we have seen, are then
extended to occasions which have no sexual meaning.

Bnt what is onr justification for calling this play?
If the adult bird practises his skill in flight and song
out of season and simply from good spirits, that indeed
is play, and the gambols and dallyings of young im-
mature animals are as much play as their romping is.

But, apart from these, it is common to speak of the
arts of actual courtship in the same way, and this fact
requires some explanation, though I confess I can not
find one that is entirely adequate. The fact seems to
be simply that the evolutions of birds on the wing,
their songs and dances, and their naive display of what
adornments they possess, impress us as playful, and we
have fallen into the habit of speaking about all animals
in the same way. But who knows that a mistaken
analogy has not led us far astray? When a skater sees
his beloved on the ice he displays all his skill before
her, and a good dancer does the same at a ball; a man in
love actually w^alks straighter and dresses better, and the
power of song has its uses, too, in human courtship.
When all this happens, we say the man is playing a
part, is trying to appear stronger, more skilful, better
looking, more sympathetic, etc., than he really is, and
even if all the conditions of our definition of play are
not fulfilled we must consider his conduct in that light.
But are we justified in extending the analogy to the
animal world on such grounds as these? Certainly
not, for apart from uncertainty of any far-reaching
correspondence between human and animal life in their
higher aspects, such a proceeding would involve the
fallacy of comparing phenomena that are not even
externally alike. To make them so, the amorous gen-
tleman should lift his voice at the sight of his lady.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 249

should indulge in all sorts of capers and dances, and in-
stead of the fingering of his beard merely it should rise
on end of itself, etc. Since these things do not transpire,
we are precluded from drawing any conclusion from
human analogy as to the psychological significance of
animal courtship.

In fact, there seems even to be a direct contrast. The
youth desirous of showing off his good looks or skill in
any art acts voluntarily, he consciously plays a part when
that is necessary to his purpose. The animal, on the
contrary, acts reflexly, following a blind propensity. His
condition of excitation calls into activity certain motor
tracks, and the animal obeys the impulse, unconscious
that he is making a display of his attractions.

I have exaggerated this contrast purposely, to prove
that such a crude dualistic conception of courtship as ex-
hibited by men and animals is too much like the Carte-
sian view. But this statement of it requires modification,
for, on the one hand, the young man playing the agree-
able is not so entirely governed by reason as might ap-
pear, for blind propensity has as much to do with his
actions as reflective choice has, and, on the other hand,
the higher animals, and especially birds, exhibit such a
degree of intelligence that I consider it nearer the
truth to affirm than to deny a consciousness of self-
exhibition in their displays of beauty and dexterity.
There is, of course, between affirmation and denial the
safe but fruitless position of the sceptic with his doubt-
ing shrug, but I think it is more honest to meet the
question squarely and lay before the reader sufficient ex-
amples to justify an intelligent judgment upon the char-
acteristics of a playful act.

The difficulty of definition is greater here than with
other classes of play, for the reason that it is neces-

250 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

sary to get at the psychic or inner features of the phe-
nomenon. We established as a fundamental principle
of our inquiry the fact that play is, to state it briefly,
not exercise of, but practice preparatory to, instinctive
activity. When, as in the case of young animals, the
practice is obviously preparatory,* there is no occasion
to speculate on the probable psychic accompaniments in
order to establish its playful character. But here we
are confronted with acts that are performed at the time
for the actual exercise of the instinct, and consequently
in their external manifestation appear as serious means
to a real end. In such cases, therefore, only the psychic
significance which I before put aside as a secondary con-
sideration can decide as to the genuine playfulness of an
act.

The bird performing his fantastic evolutions of
flight and dancing before the object of his affections
is not playing, so long as he only discharges the motor
functions prescribed by heredity. Sexual excitement
would produce the reactions necessary for courtship
without anything taking place in the creature's mind
other than takes place there when he involuntarily
flies away at tlie sight of an enemy. All the compli-
cated acts of courtship would then be nothing more
than physiological results of excitation, a direct exer-
cise of instinct for serious ends, not in any sense play.
Familiar facts show that this may often be the case.
It frequently happens that excitation unconnected with
sex — such, for instance, as that produced by the sight
of a foe — calls forth the manifestations usually asso-
ciated with courtship, and not only those that might

* [The author's antithesis between Ansiihun^ (exercise), on the
one hand, and Einiibunj]: (practice) with Yorijbnna: (preparation), on
the other hand, can not be fully rendered by single English words.]

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 251

be calculated to inspire fear, such as erection of the
feathers, etc., but even exhibitions of flight and sing-
ing. Canaries commonly trill shrilly while fighting,
and Brelim says that the lapwing, which is very irrita-
ble during the nesting period, becomes wildly excited,
sounds his mating call, and tumbles about in the air
at the a|)proach of a man or an animal. Since, then,
the excitement of anger can produce these effects re-
flexly, it is probable that that of courtship may fre-
quently act in the same way; indeed, among the lower
orders this is probably the rule.

On the other hand, w^e are forced to remember that
the acts of the higher animals are generally accom-
panied by quite complicated psychic processes. Tak-
ing birds again as our example, it must be conceded
that an enlightened animal psychologist is obliged to
attribute to them a highly developed intellectual and
emotional life. " Adequately to treat of the intelli-
gence of birds/' says Eomanes, " a separate volume
would be required.'' * And we know from many in-
dependent observations that are mutually confirmatory
to a remarkable degree that this statement is not exag-
gerated. Pigeons recognise a voice after many months'
absence, and a bullfinch belonging to one of the Miillers
did so after nearly a year.f Tame storks answer to a
familiar name.]: It is well known that birds dream,
and parrots sometimes talk in their sleep; the emotions
of love and sympathy are very active; the conjugal
fidelity of many species speaks for the finer feelings,
the wedded pair evincing the deepest grief on being

* Animal Intelligence, p. 266.

f A. and K. Muller, Thiere der Heimath, i, p. 114.

X Xauniann, ix, p. 256.

252 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

separated and the greatest jo}- on reunion; crows, in
spite of their shyness of a gun, hover about a com-
rade that has been shot instead of taking flight; par-
rots and storks revenge an injury after a long inter-
val and rejoice diabolically over the success of a piece
of mischief. The behaviour of peacocks and turkeys
points to the conclusion that birds can be vain, but
might be thought insufficient to prove it if it were not
for the pride of talking birds over their accomplish-
ments; Darwin has conclusively proved that they take
pleasure in beautiful colours and musical sounds; many
birds drop shell-covered prey from a height in order to
break the shell; the teachableness of canaries, finches,*
and other birds is astonishing ; they learn the most diffi-
cult compositions; crows have been known to conduct
trials, where by common consent some unpopular mem-
bers of the community were condemned and executed;
swallows, in whose nest a sparrow has established itself,
wall up the entrance so that the intruder perishes.

This list might be extended indefinitely, but these
few examples, which I have purposely chosen as some
of the most remarkable among well-authenticated cases,
clearly indicate mental endowments of a high order in
the birds concerned.

This being established, it must be admitted that the
ardent male who performs his fl3'ings and dancings again
and again before his mate and invariably succeeds by
such methods in overcoming her reluctance, may wtII
be quite conscious of what he is doing. That satisfac-
tion in his ability to talk, which the parrot shows so
plainly, and which appears so early in the child, is
probably akin to the feeling which swells the breast

* See Naumann, v, p. 137.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 253

of a bird when he conducts his courtship successfully.
And thus it may come about that the actual exercise
of instinct for a real end may, to a certain degree, have
the psychological aspect of mere play. Just as strong
men sometimes undertake severe physical labour and
derive pleasure from it — that pleasure in power which
imparts a playful character to the most serious work —
so we may suppose the wooing bird enjoys his own agil-
ity and skill, nor can we deny to him the satisfaction
that makes their exercise a play.

Thus the dance of courtship may be considered
psychologically as having the character of a movement
play, though it is not actually play in itself considered.
Further, it seems to follow, from the admission that the
female enjoys witnessing such blandishments, that the
male must be conscious of giving her that pleasure —
that is, is conscious that he is making a display — and
in this, too, the act which is a serious exercise of instinct
takes on the psychological aspect of play. Thus the
crude dualistic contrasting of human and animal court-
ships is shown to be unwarranted.

Taking a general view of love plays, I distinguish
five separate classes, as follows:

1. Love plays among young animals.

2. Courtship by means of the arts of movement.

3. Courtship by means of the display of unusual or
beautiful colours and forms.

4. Courtship by means of noises and tones.

5. Coquetry in the female.

1. Love Plays among Young Animals.

Among animals that have a period of youth the
sexual instinct usually finds expression in some sort of
play long before maturity. This is especially notice-

254: THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

able in mammals, some of which even in infancy make
efforts to produce the movements necessary for pairing,
a fact which can only be explained as practice for later
life. Such phenomena are common among young dogs
and apes, and Dr. Seitz, in Frankfort, noticed them in
an antelope only six weeks old. While there are cases,
especially among monkeys, where there is so much
excitement as to render the playful character doubt-
ful, still, as a rule, it is attributed to youthful sportive-
ness. According to Dr. Seitz, it sometimes happens in
these games that the sexes change their parts, the male
coqueting and the female pursuing. Chr. L. Brehm
has noticed this, too, in the case of the golden-crested
wren.

Much detailed material has been collected by or-
nithologists to show that songs, dancing, and flying evo-
lutions are extensively practised by young birds in
their first autumn, too early to serve the purposes of
reproduction. This is genuine play, practice for in-
stinctive activity quite as much as are the chasing and
fighting of young animals. " The song of birds," says
the elder Brehm, " appears to be the expression of
love, for it begins with many shortly before pairing
and ceases altogether after it, and with those that sing
all through the summer, as the field lark does, the pair-
ing season lasts as long. Caged birds are no exception
to this, for most of them lose their natural or hereditary
song or never acquire it, as, for instance, the wood lark,
the red linnet, and many others.

" Awakening love impels some birds in captivity to
sing as usual, and they also breed in that state, but the
majority lose their power to do the latter and sing only
as the effect of rich food and ennui. But the most
noteworthy thing about the whole subject is that their

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 255

love is awakened long before breeding time, usually in
the first autumn of their lives. This fact has not been
announced before, and should be supported by weighty
proof, therefore I will now proceed to name the birds
whose young I have myself heard singing in the au-
tumn. . . . Young magpies (Corvus pica) produce in
September, often in August and October as well, the long
metallic notes that characterize them in spring, just be-
fore pairing. ... I have often heard the Picus viridi-
canas piping in September as beautifully as in April, and
indeed the Picus major sometimes hums in the autumn,
picking absently meanwhile among the dry branches
just as he does in spring. The crossbill and some wood-
peckers sing before they have shed their first feathers.
Young house and field sparrows not only chatter and
chirp, but swell up their throats and peck at one an-
other just as they will do at the pairing time next spring.
Eed linnets begin their song while still in their baby
clothes, learn it perfectly while moulting, and even in
winter, if the weather is mild, join in singing with
their elders. The wood lark sings as soon as his first
moulting is past, not only while at rest, but mounting
aloft as in spring, fioating about as he sings. All the
titmouse family sing, the swamp titmouse producing
exactly the note that accompanies breeding, and in Oc-
tober, 1821, I saw one approach his mate with all the
manifestations that precede pairing in the spring, while
she dropped her wings and spread her tail." Brehm
goes on to mention similar songs and actions on the
part of starlings, water wagtails, willow wrens, black-
and heath-cocks, and a great variety of other birds, and
says in conclusion: "The fact that pairing does not
follow these demonstrations proves their dissimilarity
to those of domestic fowls. The young cock is phys-

256 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

ically developed very early and ready for pairing in
the first autumn of his life, but, with the exception of
the crossbill, this is not the case with the birds that have
been mentioned. The awakening of love seems to fill
these little creatures only with a beautiful tenderness,
which inspires them to express their joy in song and
other demonstrations.* Hudson tells us that many spe-
cies of American woodpeckers engage in a kind of duet
which is practised in their earliest youth. " On meet-
ing, the male and female, standing close together
and facing each other, utter their clear, ringing con-
cert, one emitting loud, single, measured notes, while
the notes of its fellow are rapid rhythmical triplets;
their voices have a joyous character, and seem to ac-
cord, thus producing a kind of harmony. This manner
of singing is perhaps most perfect in the oven bird
(Furnarius), and it is very curious that the j^oung
birds, when only partly fledged, are constantly heard in
the nest or oven apparently practising these duets in the
intervals when the parents are absent; single, measured
notes, triplets, and long, concluding trills are all re-
peated with wonderful fidelity, although these notes
are in character utterly unlike the hunger cry, which
is like that of other fledglings." f

It would seem, then, to be firmly established, among
birds at least, that the arts of courtship are practised
as youthful sport before the time for reproduction. In
choosing the examples cited from Brehm I have inten-
tionally included some that refer to flying and dancing
motions, as well as to singing.

* Brehm. Beitraofe znr Vocrelkunrlo, ii, pp. 747-756.
t The NaturaUst in La Plata, p. 256.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. £57

2. Courtship by means of the Arts of Movement.

Beginning with mammals, some of the examples
cited of fighting dogs belong here as properly. The
amorous dog, too, in contrast to the feline tribe, which
does not seem to have any special courtship movements,
indulges in what might almost be called a dance. The
motions are like those with which he approaches an
enemy, especially the stiff-legged gait, the rigid tail,
and the erect carriage of his head. The fact that a
vain dog will behave in the same way when allowed to
carry a cane proves the consciousness of self-exhibi-
tion.*

The stone marten proudly lifts his head at the ap-
proach of a female, his tail is curved, the limbs stiffened,
the hair rises on his back, and his whole aspect suggests
the utmost vigour, f

The fish otter tumbles and splashes around his
chosen one in an extraordinary manner, during which
performance his eel-like tail is in constant motion and
the sinuous body is as often above as beneath the sur-
face of the water. :[ The buck delights to follow a doe
about until their breeding time in July or August, and,
according to Diezel, the same thing is repeated in l^o-
vember, but this time without result.* The following
interesting description of the action of some antelopes
is by Schweinfurth: "About five hundred paces from
the road we saw a group of sporting antelopes. Their
manner of playing suggested a marching procession

* I have noticed, too, that at such times a fox terrier whirls
around with rapid springs.

+ Miiller, Thiere der Heimath, i, p. 368.

X Ihid., p. 380, and Wohnungen, Leben und Eigenthumlichkeit-
en in der hoheren Thierwelt, p. 204.

* Diezel's Niederjagd, p. 142.

258 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

with an invisible leader. They followed one another
in pairs, forming circles in the shaded wood as if they
were in an arena. Other groups of three or four stood
by as spectators, or from time to time joined the circle.
This went on until my dog disturbed and scattered the
assemblage, but I had plenty of time to observe what
I have attempted to describe. I believe that it was the
breeding time of the animals, and for that reason they
were oblivious of the approach of danger." Brehm
says of the water rat: " Both sexes indulge in long-
continued gambolling before they pair. The male be-
haves very strangely. He turns so rapidly as to make a
whirlpool in the water. His mate looks on with appar-
ent indifference, but must secretly enjoy his exhibition,
for usually when it is finished she receives him with
favour." The whale in love " turns over on his back,
stands on his head, lashing the waves with his tail,
leaps up with his giant bride sportively above the water
and performs other antics."

Observations on birds are exceedingly copious in
this connection. Two kinds of motion can be distin-
guished among them, which though sometimes found in
combination are quite unlike. I mean flying evolutions
and dancing motions. Taking flight first, we have
Brehm^s description of the blue-throated warbler: " In
sunny weather it tumbles about in the air and performs
the strangest evolutions, plunging headlong downward
it often turns a complete somersault, as Naumann *
says. Then mounting slowly upward once more he
flies like a dove, with quick movements of the wings
and apparently with no object in view." Azara, de-
scribing a small finch which he aptly named Oscilador,

* Naturgeschichte der Vogel Deutschlands, ii, p. 164.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 259

says that early and late in the day it mounts up ver-
tically to a moderate height, then flies off to a distance
of twenty yards, describing a perfect curve in its pas-
sage; turning, it flies back over the imaginary line it
has traced, and so on, repeatedly, appearing like a pen-
dulum swung in space by an invisible thread." * Audu-
bon thus vividly portrays the American night hawk:
" Their manner of flying is a good deal modified at
the love season. The male employs the most wonderful
evolutions to give expression to his feelings, conduct-
ing them with the greatest rapidity and agility in sight
of his chosen mate, or to put to rout a rival. He often
rises to a height of a hundred metres and more, and
his cries become louder and more frequent as he mounts,
then he plunges downward with a slanting direction,
with wings half open, and so rapidly that it seems in-
evitable that he should be dashed in pieces on the
ground. But at the right moment, sometimes when
only a few inches from it, he spreads his wings and tail
and turning soars upward once more.^' The same au-
thority describes the mocking bird as fluttering about
his mate and regularly dancing through the air. The
whitethroat leaves his perch in a tree top while singing,
rises ten to twenty yards and lets himself fall, still sing-
ing, either fluttering in a slanting direction or, with
folded wings, almost perpendicularly.

The reed bird, while his mate is sitting on the nest,
flies up in the air diagonally and floats with his wings
held so that they nearly touch over him. The wood lark
mounts in the same way, constantly singing, and after
describing one or more circles falls or plunges down
and slowly returns to the tree from which he set out.

* The Xaturalist in La Plata, p. 2G3.

260 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

The siskin, crossbill, many kinds of pigeons, the lap-
wing, golden plover, and various other birds behave in a
similar way at their breeding time. I close this part
of the subject with Naumann's description of the snipe.
In the pairing time " the male flashes like lightning
from his place in the marsh, first on a slant and then
winding upward in a great spiral to the sky. He
goes so high that even on bright days only the strongest
eyes can follow him. At this great height he floats
about in circles and then shoots down perpendicularly
to the ground with wings widespread and motion-
less." *

The marked similarity in the evolutions of such
various birds must have attracted the attention of any
reader of this collection of examples, which might be
enlarged indefinitely by the addition of numberless oth-
ers of a like character. Especially noticeable is the prac-
tice of that bold flight upward and then the rapid or slow
return; it is peculiar and yet so common that its expla-
nation seems a riddle difficult to solve. May there not
be something in the fact that such a movement shows the
under side of the bird's body to his mate? The kite,
however, is said to take her with him on his flight, and
in that case shows more of the upper part of his body.
Yet once granted the operation of the instinct, and we
may easily assume that the bird's gliding downward
through the air is a delightful movement play Avhich
must be about as much like our coasting on snow as
travelling on rubber tires is like the jolting of a dray
wagon.

Among storks and preying birds the female gen-
erally participates in these flights. "It is a noble

* Nauraann, loc. cit., viii, p. 327.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 261

sight/' says N"aumann,* " and has a quality of stateli-
ness when a pair of storks in fine weather and at the
beginning of their pairing time, for then they seem to en-
joy it most, circle up in the air higher and ever higher,
and at the top of the gigantic spiral disappear in the
clouds/' Whole flocks of cranes make these circles to-
gether, when the weather is fine and they are not hur-
ried. Falcons and ravens rise in pairs to a great height
and describe noble curves. Crown Prince Kudolf, of
Austria, thus describes the kite: "In the spring, at
pairing time, some idea of their powers of flight can be
formed. Exhilarated by the knowledge of their love,
the pair mount high in the air and move in circles.
Suddenly one or the other drops, with wings relaxed,
almost to the water, skims along rapidly in broken lines
for a short distance, then turns and hastens upward once
more, shakes like the kestrel, and performs some won-
derful evolutions." Naumann says, referring to the
buzzard: "It is a treat to watch their gambols above
their nest in fine weather, how the pair slowly circle
upward without moving their wings, the male gradually
outstripping his mate. He then lets himself descend
from a great height with a peculiar vibratory motion
of the wings, repeating this performance over and over
for perhaps a quarter of an hour."

The other kind of movement play common among
wooing birds is the dance performed either on the
ground or among the branches of trees. If skill in
flight serves to display the male's beauty and agility to
his mate, dancing is better calculated to call attention
to and emphasize brilliant colours and advantages of
fio:ure.

* Nauraann, ix, pp. 250, 361.

2G2 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

I will cite only a few cases, selecting those in which
the motions seem to me of an unmistakably exciting
nature.*

First I may notice the crane, which is one of the
most intelligent of birds, for in its actions we can see
clearly ]iow genuine courtship may become playful.

To corroborate my statement about the intelligence
of cranes I give this description : " Herr von Seiffertitz
had a crane that he captured when young and downy.
He was allowed the freedom of the premises, and wdien
he was a year old followed his master for long walks,
separated quarrelling animals, went to pasture with the
herds, drove in young cattle that strayed, turned away
beggars, and quieted restive horses. When he was hun-
gry he went to the window and called, and if his water
was not fresh he threw it out and called for more. He
had a special liking for the bull, visited him in his stall,
kept flies off him, answered when he low^ed, and accompa-
nied him to the meadow, dancing about him at a pru-
dent distance, and stopping now and then to make
ridiculous bows. If his master scolded him, the crane
stood in the most dejected attitude, with his head
bovv-ed down to the ground." f That an animal of such
intelligence should dance purely to amuse himself is
not at all surprising. Brehm says: "The crane de-
lights, when in the mood for it, in vigorous leaps, excited

* A third kind of movement play wouki be the skilled swim-
ming? of aquatic birds, but of this I know but one example in
literature. Female wild ducks, just before pairing, swim around
their mates, nodding their heads and quacking loudly (Naumann,
Naturgeschichte der Vogel Deutschlands, xi, p. 600). I have also
seen a pair of swans sporting. Tliey would dip their heads deep
down in the water together, and whpn thov drew them up the neck
of one would often be Iving across that of the other.

f Lenz, Gemeinniitzige Xaturgeschichte, ii, p. 312.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 263

gesturing, and strange positions. He twists his neck,
spreads his wings, and regularly dances; sometimes he
stoops repeatedly in rapid succession, spreads his wings,
and runs swiftly back and forth, expressing in every
possible way unbounded joyousness, but through it all
he is always graceful, always beautiful." * " The pea-
cock crane stands on a sand bank and begins to dance
at the slightest provocation, sometimes nothing more
than the fact that he has stepped on a hillock. The
dancer often springs as high as a metre from the ground,
spreads his wings and sets his feet down mincingly.
I do not know whether both sexes dance, but am in-
clined to think that it is only the male." Tame birds
of this kind welcome their friends in a similar way.f

" Visitors to zoological gardens have probably no-
ticed that the cranes begin to dance when the music
strikes up." The one described above danced around
his favourite bull. Another made the most ludicrous
bounds before a mirror.J; We can hardly doubt that
the various movements described were originally con-
nected with courtship, for they are such as characterize
that period in the whole world of birds, but they have
apparently become to the crane the expression of general
well-being. And since he is so intelligent we may
well suppose that he takes pleasure in going through
them — that is, that he is playing.

The ostrich struts before his mate with wings un-
furled and lowered, sometimes runs very fast, making

* See XauTTiann, ix, p. 362, who also regards these movements
as courtship phenomena: so we have here a very clear illustration
of their production by association without that sexual excitement
which at first must have occasioned them.

f Xaumann g:ives a similar description of the stork, ix, p. 25G.

t Scheitlin, Thierseelenkunde, ii, p. 76.
19

264 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

three or four sharp turns with iniraitable skill, then
checks his pace and marches proudly back again, to
repeat the sport.

According to Liebe's description of the lapwing,
he does not go directly to the female after his exhibi-
tion of flying, but makes eyes at her in the funniest way,
skipping now to the right, now to the left, and making
deep bows with his head held on one side. " At this
she will rise and stir about a little and begin a soft
twittering which seems to delight her mate, who gives
expression to his warmth of feeling by running a few
steps nearer and standing while he throws a grass blade
or bit of stone behind him, which seems to be the sig-
nal for beginning the game anew." Brehm says that
the sportive heathcock "holds his tail upright and
fan-shaped, his head and neck, on which the feathers
are erected, outstretched, and drags his wings. He leaps
from side to side, sometimes circles, and finally plunges
his bill deep in the ground. The condor spreads his
wings, bends his neck stifliy, and turns slowly with little
tripping steps and trembling wings. " In North Amer-
ica," says Darwin, " large numbers of a grouse, the
Tetrao phasiaiiellus, meet every morning during the
breeding season on a selected level spot, and here they
run round and round in a circle of about twenty feet
in diameter, so that the ground is worn quite bare, like
a fairy ring. In these partridge dances, as they are
called by the hunters, the birds assume the strangest
attitudes and run round, some to the left and some to
the right." *

I believe I am right in assuming that such dancing
motions are not only the means of displaying the colours

* Descent of Man, ii, p. 74.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 265

of the bird's plumage, but, independently of that, pro-
duce excitation. If a human example is allowable, the
effect of throwing one hip forward is suggestive of
what I mean.* That the Greeks understood this is
proved by the " line of Praxiteles,'' which gave to Greek
sculpture a certain sensuous charm while preserving its
chaste severity.

I pass by the lower animals, though an example
given above from fishes seems to indicate that they, too,
are playful during courtship. On the whole it seems
probable, as I said above, that most of the "courtship
arts'' were simply excitation reflexes. Since they are
influential in stimulating the female, they were favoured
by natural selection and rendered constantly more pow-
erful and complicated, until they became full instincts.
This is true even in such exceptional cases as those of the
butterfly and the spider. It is only to animals with a
high degree of intellectual development that we can even
hypothetically attribute pleasure in their movements for
themselves, the wish to accomplish something, or the
desire to make a display, in addition to the habitual re-
flexes of courtship, so that in the midst of the real exer-
cise of instinct the voice of play would rise as a psychic
overtone ; or, as James would say, would form a psychic
fringe. Such genuine play as that of youth it can not be.

3. Courtship ly means of the Display of Unusual or
Beautiful Forms and Colours.

After what has gone before, it is sufficient to say
here that in this case, too, the display is playful only

* Zola furnishes vouchers for this. See especially Nana's ap-
pearance in the theatre. There may be some sugrjestion of this in
the pleasure of the waltz.

266 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

when the animal making it is intelligent enongh to be
conscious of self-exhibition. " With mammals/' says
Darwin, " the male appears to win the female more
through the laws of battle than through the display
of his charms," * but he adds a long list of sexual stim-
uli. Nowhere, however, do I recall a description by
him or another where a mammal attempted to draw
attention to his excited condition by movements, with
the single exception of monkeys. Indeed, Darwin says
that proof is wanting that the males of mammals make
any effort to display their charms to the female, f

But perhaps the actions described in the section on
courtship arts, such as the dog's erect carriage, his wav-
ing tail and stiff legs, are partly to show his physical
advantages, and we read how the stone marten raised
his hair, and the fish otter played with his eel-like tail.
I have often noticed, too, that dogs who wish to be es-
pecially friendly have a way of turning their back to
the stranger, which is like the habit of the apes, for the
dog often has striking tufts of hair on his hind parts.

We now take up birds again. All the different mo-
tions that Ave have seen described are useful to the bird
in displaying his form and colouring. When the reed
warbler takes his downward plunge in the air his feath-
ers are inflated till he looks like a ball. The beauti-
ful Madagascar weaver bird flutters like a bat, with
trembling wings, about the modest gray female. Xau-
mann says of the blue titmouse: "Hopping busily
about in the bushes, swaying on slender sprays, etc., the
male dallies with his mate, and at last floats from one
tree top to another, sometimes forty feet away, where the

* Descent of Man, chap. xvii.
f Loc. cit.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 267

widespread wings are not folded and all his feathers are
so ruffled up that he looks much larger and is hardly rec-
ognisable. But he can not sustain a horizontal flight,
and each time sinks perceptibly lower. This kind of
floating is not usual with the titmouse, and therefore the
more remarkable." *

The hoopoe spreads his fine head decoration in
flying as a fan is opened and shut. The striped snipe
inflates his feathers and flies slowly with languid strokes,
looking much more like an owl than one of his own kind.

The tumbling about in the air common with so
many birds, as well as the upward flight and quick de-
scent, also serves to show off their colouring. Dance
motions are, however, best of all calculated to display
their charms advantageously, and the vanity displayed
by many birds during these performances strengthens
the probability of self-consciousness. Indeed, when we
reflect how early a child shows an appreciation of any
expression of admiration, how vain the dog is of his
tricks, and the parrot of talking, this supposition does
not seem unwarranted. The vanity of peacocks is pro-
verbial. " He evidently wishes for a spectator of some
kind," says Darwin, "and, as I have often seen, will
show off his finery before poultry, or even pigs."

Gesner remarked, long ago, in his Historia Anima-
lium, that the peacock admired its own beautiful plumage
and at once displays his glowing feathers when any one
admires them and calls them beautiful. Bennett says
the bird of paradise looks knowing and dances about
when a visitor approaches his cage. He will not en-
dure the least spot on his feathers, and often spreads
his wings and tail to gaze upon his finery. "Espe-

* Naturgeschichte der Vogel Deutschlands, iv, p. 68.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

cially in the morning does lie try to display all his
glory. He busies himself in arranging his plumage.
The beautiful side feathers are spread out and drawn
softly through his bill, the short feathers disposed to
the best possible advantage and shaken lightly, then
he raises the splendid long plumes that float like down
over his back and spreads them as much as possible.
All this accomplished, he runs back and forth with
quick bounds, vanity and delight in his own beauty ex-
pressed in his every movement. He examines himself
from above and below, and gives vent to his satisfaction
in loud cries, that are, alas! only harsh noises. After
each exhibition it seems to be necessary to rearrange
his feathers, but this labour never tires him, and he
spreads them again and again, as a vain woman would
do."

Let us now notice some birds during courtship
itself.

The male Bupicola crocea, says Darwin, is one of the
most beautiful birds in the world, of a splendid orange
colour, and with finely shaped and marked feathers.
The female is a greenish brown with red shading, and
has a very small comb. Sir E. Schomburgh has de-
scribed the wooing of these birds. He happened upon
a rendezvous where ten males and two females were
present. A space of about four or five metres in di-
ameter was cleared as if by human hands, and every
blade of grass removed. One male danced to the evi-
dent delight of the others; he stretched his wings,
raised his head, and spread his tail like a fan, strutting
proudly till he was tired and then was relieved by an-
other.

Sometimes a dozen or more birds of paradise collect
in full feather, where they hold a " dance meeting," as

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 269

the natives call it. They flutter about, spread their
wings, erect their splendid plumes, vibrating them till,
as Wallace remarks, the whole tree top seems made of
waving feathers.

Pheasants not only spread and erect their fine crests
at such times, but they turn sideways toward the female
on whichever side she happens to be standing, and in-
cline the beautiful outspread tail in the same direction.
When a peacock wishes to make a display he stands
opposite the female, spreads his tail and raises it per-
pendicularly, at the same time showing to advantage
his beautiful neck and breast. Those, however, that
have dark breasts and eye marks all over the body
display their tails a little diagonally and stand in such
a position that the eye marks are clearly seen by the
female. In whatever direction she turns the outspread
wings and tail held diagonally always confront her.

It seems undeniable that there is in this kind of
courtship a conscious display of personal charms, and
therefore play.*

Following Darwin^s account, we now turn to birds
of more sober plumage. The bullfinch approaches his
mate from the front, inflating the brilliant red feathers
on his breast so that they are much more conspicuous
than usual, and twisting his black tail in a comical
manner. The common linnet inflates its rose-coloured
breast and spreads its brown wings and tail, showing
the white border to the best advantage.f The gold-
finch behaves difl:erently from other finches. His wings

* Darwin, Descent of Man, ii, pp. 82-94 ; see also, on p. 98. the
strangle behaviour of the Argus pheasant (described by T. W.
Wood).

•f- Darwin, however, cautions us ajrainst supposing that spread-
ing the wings is solely for the purpose of displaying the colouring.

270 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

are fine; black shoulders with dark pointed quills picked
out with white and gold. "Weir confirms Darwin's state-
ment that no other British finch turns from side to
side as he does in courtship, not even the close-related
siskin, for it would not enhance his beauty. The com-
mon pigeon has iridescent breast feathers, and there
fore inflates them, but the Australian pigeon (Ocyphaps
lophotes), that has handsome bronze wings, acts quite
differently. Standing before the female he sinks his
head almost to the ground, raises his widespread tail,
and half opens his wings, then he lets his body rise and
fall with a slow motion that causes the glittering feath-
ers to shine brilliantly in the sunshine.*

Karl Miiller tells us that the red wagtail prostrates
himself at the feet of his bride, flapping his wings and
dragging the outspread fan of his tail on the ground.
The crossbill perches on the highest limb of the tallest
tree, singing lustily and whirling about incessantly the
while. The snipe ardently draws near his mate with
inflated feathers, lowered wings, and tail raised and
spread. When the cuckoo feels the stirrings of love
he " inflates his throat feathers, hangs his wings, moves
his partly spread tail up and down, turns from side
to side and bows to his lady as often as he cries
^ Cuckoo.' " t The orange bird pursues his mate in ap-
parent wrath and then bows and scrapes before her.
Brehm describes the pairing of golden-crested wrens
very beautifully: " The male inflates his crest until it
forms a splendid crown, in which the black stripes ex-
tend far down the side of his head without concealing
the white eye marks and displaying the flame-coloured
parting most advantageously." J

* Descent of jMan, Joe. cif. f Naumann. v. p. 216.

X Chr. L. Brehm, Beitrage zur Vogelkunde, ii, p. 138.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 271

Even if one fully agrees with Mr. Wallace that sex-
ual selection does not actually create the beauty of
bird plumage, it is hardly possible in the face of facts
like these to deny that at least those developments of
colour and other ornamentation which transcend the
uses of concealment and warning must have some con-
nection with the sexual life. The substitution of uncon-
scious for conscious choice makes this connection clearer,
but the acceptance of the theory herein previously devel-
oped— namely, that of the importance to race life of
feminine coyness and the necessity on the part of males
to overcome it by such means — does away with all choice,
and relegates the whole subject to the sphere of natural
selection.

4. Courtsliip hy means of Noises and Tones.

Here, too, the view set forth in the last section is
applicable. The ordinary sounds emitted by the excited
male probably have the same effect as the husky voice and
laboured breathing of civilized man.* They furnish ma-
terial for the working of selection in the production of
courtship arts which are later used also for other pur-
poses. Among the higher animals imitation often plays
a part as important as that of selection — indeed, it some-
times supplants the latter in cases where hereditary
courtship arts are rudimentary only, each individual ac-
quiring the finer points by imitation. We may suppose,
for example, that many 3^oung birds learn from their eld-
ers that they must fight for a mate, and in turn teach it
to the next generation. By this method an art would
be acquired founded on an instinctive basis, but not in-

* The writers of a certain class of modern novels excel in the
portrayal of snch phenomena.

272 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

herited by the individual — similar, cwn grano sails, to
the fine arts of savages. For by outgrowing instinct
they reach, through teaching and imitation, a certain
degree of development to which they remain constant so
long as the conditions remain constant, but would at
once fall back to the level of hereditary instinct were the
individuals to lose their model. The more important the
part play by imitation, the more probability of a playful
expression of the activity in question.*

I again pass over the lower orders, although they
offer much that is of the greatest interest. There is
very little that deserves to be called vocal art in the
courtship of mammals; most of them confine their
acoustic demonstrations to a passionate howl, roar,
shriek, or growl, or to the simple call. The perform-
ance of howling apes, however, is a notable exception,
for they collect in companies and frequently give con-
certs that last for hours. Hensel says: "In summer,
when the beams of the morning sun have dispelled the
night mists, the howling apes leave the shelter of the
thickly leaved trees to which they have clung all night.
After satisfying their hunger they have time before the
heat of the day to indulge in social pleasures which, as
befits animals so serious, are free from the unseemliness
that characterizes those of many of their relations.
They now repair to the shelter of some gigantic mon-
arch of the forest whose limbs offer facilities for walk-
ing exercises. The head of the family appropriates one

* See Weismann in the Deutschen Unndschau, October, 1889,
p. 63 : "A young finch, brought up alone, sings untaught the note
of his kind, but never so well as those that have had the advantage
of parental example. He, too, is governed by a tradition; the
essentials only of the finch's song are inherent in his organism, are
born in him."

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 273

of these branches and advances along it seriously, with
elevated tail, while the others group themselves about
him. Soon he gives forth soft single notes, as the lion
likes to do when he tests the capacity of his lungs.
This sound, which seems to be made by drawing the
breath in and out, becomes deeper and in more rapid
succession as the excitement of the singer increases.
At last, when the highest pitch is reached, the inter-
vals cease and the sound becomes a continuous roar,
and at this point all the others, male and female, join
in, and for fully ten seconds at a time the awful chorus
sounds through the quiet forest. At its close the leader
begins again with the detached sounds.^^ How can we
explain this strange concert? This description gives
the impression that it is merely a social game, but how
did the animal acquire the instrument on which he
plays, the throat thickened as with a goitre? A. von
Humboldt says: " The small American monkey chirps
like a sparrow, having simply an ordinary hyoid bone,
but that of the great ape is a large bony drum. The
upper part of the larynx has six compartments, in which
the voice is formed. Two of these compartments are
nest-shaped and very like the lower lar3mx of birds.
The doleful howl of the ape is caused by the air stream-
ing through this great drum, and when we see how
large an instrument it is we are no longer surprised at
the strength and range of this animal's voice, or that
it gives him the name he bears." Such a structure as
this must serve some useful purpose, and the idea of
courtship suggests itself as the probable use, in the first
instance, since it outweighs all other causes for excite-
ment. Then its exercise may have come by association
to be purely playful.

Scheitlin says of the cat: " Their pairing time is

274 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

interesting. The male is coy, the females who visit him
sit around him while he growls in a deep hase. The
others sing tenor, alto, soprano, and every possible part
as the chorus mounts, constantly growing wilder. They
shake their fists in one another^s faces, and will not let
even him whom they have come to visit approach them.
On clear moonlight nights they make more noise than
the wildest urchins." This certainly seems something
more than mere sportiveness, and must unquestionably
be set down as connected with courtship. Darwin re-
gards the cry of the howling ape in the same light, and
in addition has this to say about the Hylobates agilis:
" This gibbon has an extremely loud but musical voice.
Mr. Waterhouse states : ^ It appeared to me that in
ascending and descending the scale, the intervals were
always exactly half tones, and I am sure that the high-
est note was the exact octave to the lowest. The qual-
ity of the notes is very musical, and I do not doubt
that a good violinist would be able to give a correct
idea of the gibbon's composition, excepting as regards
its loudness.' * This gibbon is not the only spe-
cies in the genus which sings, for my son, Francis Dar-
win, attentively listened in the zoological gardens to a
Hylohates leuciscus which sang a cadence of three
notes in true musical intervals and with clear musical
tones. It is a more surprising fact that certain rodents
utter musical sounds. Singing mice have often been
mentioned and exhibited, but imposture has commonly
been suspected. \Ve have, however, at last a clear ac-
count by a well-known observer, the Rev. S. Lockwood,
of the musical powers of an American species, the Hes-
peromys cognatus, belonging to a genus distinct from

* Darwin adds that Owen confirmed this observation.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 275

that of the English mouse. This little animal was kept
in confinement, and the performance was repeatedly
heard. In one of the two chief songs ^ the last bar would
frequently be prolonged to two or three, and she would
sometimes change from C sharp and D to C natural and
D, then warble on these two notes a while and wind up
with a quick chirp on C sharp and D. The distinction
between the semitones was very marked and easily ap-
preciable to a good ear.' '' *

Coming again to birds we first note their charac-
teristic song. Brehm and Lenz tell us of finches:
" Their song is called a strophe because it consists of one
or two rhythmic measures, given with great persistence
and sometimes with rapidity. To this the finch owes
its popularity among fanciers, who distinguish a great
number of such strophes and give them each a name
until their study has become quite a science, involved in
much mystery to the uninitiated; for while there is
little difference between them to the unpractised ear,
these people distinguish twenty or more distinct strophes.
According to Lenz, one kind of snipe has nineteen
strophes when he is free. The syllables of a good double
strophe are as follows: Zizozozizizizizizizizirreuzipiah
tototototototozissskutziah. The nightingale's song con-
tains from twenty to twenty-four distinct strophes, and
according to Xaumann's fine description, " is character-
ized by a fulness of tone, a harmony and variety that are
found in the song of no other bird, so that she is rightly
called the queen of songsters. With indescribable deli-
cacy, soft flutelike notes alternate with trembling ones,
melting tones with those that are joyful, and melancholy
strains with ecstatic outbursts. If a soft note begins

* Cf. Darwin, Descent of Man, ii, p. 263.

276 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

the song, gaining in strength to the climax and then
dying away at the end, the next strophe will be a series
of notes given with hearty relish, and the third a melan-
choly strain melting, with purest flute notes, into a
gayer one. Pauses between the strophes heighten the
effect of these enchanting melodies; they and the
measured tempo must be noted, fully to comprehend
their beauty. We are amazed at first at the num-
ber and variety of these bewitching tones, then at their
fulness and power coming from a creature so small.
It seems almost a miracle that there can be such
strength in the muscles of its tiny throat." * Beck-
stein has attempted to write the syllables of its strophes
thus : f

Tiuu-tiuu-tiuu-tiuu,

Spe, tiuu, squa,

Tio, tio, tio, tio, tio, tio, tio, tix,

Qutio qutio qutio qutio,

Zquo zquo zquo zquo,

Tsii, tsii, tsii, tsii, tsii, tsli, tsii, tsli, tsii, tsi.

Quoror, tiu, zqua, pipiqui,

Zozozozozozozozozozozozo Zirrhading !

Tsisisi tsisisisisisisisi,

Zorre, zorre, zorre, zorre hi;

Tzatn, tzatn, tzatn, tzatn, tzatn, tzatn, tzatn, zi,

Dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo,

Quio tr rrrrrrrr itz

Lii lii lii, ly, ly, ly, li li li,

Quio, didl li lulyli.

Ha glirr, giirr, quipio!

Qui, qui, qui, qui, qi qi qi qi, gi gi gi gi ;

* Xaumann, ii, p. 381.

f J. M. Bechstein, Naturgeschichte der Stubenvogel, p. 321.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 277

GoUgollgoUgoll gia hahadoi,

Quigi horr ha diadiadillsi !

Hezezezezezezezezezezezezezezezezeze quarrhozehoi ;

Quia, quia, quia, quia, quia, quia, quia, quia ti:

Qi qi qi jo jo jo jojojojo qi—

Lii ly li le la la 15 lo didl jo quia

Higaigaigaigaigaigaigai gai gaigai,

Quior ziozio pi.*

Thrushes, unlike most birds, sit still when they sing,
and the songs, too, have a soothing quality. They
choose the summit of tall trees for their perch, as if to
avoid interruption. -f-

The song of the blackbird that perches, on fine
evenings, on the topmost gable of a roof or the very
highest branch of a tree and lifts his deep and yet clear
and joyous voice is perhaps the most aesthetically effect-
ive of all. Audubon says of the cardinal bird: "His
song is at first loud and clear and suggestive of the best
tones of a flageolet, but it sinks lower and lower until
it dies away entirely. During his love time this noble
singer produces his notes with more force, and seems
conscious of his strength; he swells his breast, spreads

* Nauraann found quite a different song common in his neigh-
bourhood, and, indeed, the nightingale's song varies very much,
which goes to prove that in so highly developed an art tradition
and imitation play an i^nportant part. But individual differences,
too, are found in their songs and those of the thrush and other
birds. For older imitations of the nightingale, see 0. Keller's
Thiere des classischen Alterthums, p. 317.

f [So also does the American mocking-bird, often choosing the
tip of a lightning-rod. As the song proceeds the notes come faster
and faster, until the bird is lifted off the perch, thrown fluttering
straight up in the air, sometimes to a height of three or four feet,
and falls again by somersaults to the perch, never stopping the
song. — J. Mark Baldwin.]

278 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

his scarlet tail, flaps his wings, and turns from side to
side as if he would express his joy in the possession of
such a voice. Again and again the song is repeated,
the bird only pausing to get breath." Brehm relates
of the whistling and the scarlet shrike : " The most
remarkable thing about these birds is undoubtedly the
use they make of their song, which is, properly speak-
ing, not a song at all, being but a single strain, sonorous
as few often repeated notes are, and common to the
two sexes. The call of the former consists of three,
rarely two, distinct sounds, pure as a bell and all with-
in the octave, beginning with a moderately high note,
followed by a deeper one, and concluding with one still
higher. These, like the piping of the scarlet shrike,
are peculiar to the male bird, but his mate answers
at once with an unmusical cackle or chick which is
difficult to imitate or describe. The female scarlet
shrike only begins her cackle when her mate has fin-
ished his call, but the whistling shrike usually joins
him on the second note, but both show a surprisingly
quick ear, and never keep him waiting. Sometimes she
cackles three or four or even six times before the male
joins in, but when he does so the whole performance
begins over and proceeds in regular form. Several ex-
periments have proved to me that the two sexes always
act together. I have killed now a male and now a fe-
male to make sure. "WTien either falls and is, of course,
silenced, the other anxiously repeats the call several
times." The Prince von Wied says: "The bell bird,
both by reason of its splendid white plumage and its
clear, loud voice, is one of the attractions of a Brazilian
forest, and is usually noticed at once by a stranger.
His cry resembles the tone of a very clear bell, sounded
once and then withheld for a long interval, or at times

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 279

repeated rapidly, in which case it is like a blacksmith's
strokes on the anvil." *

Brehm carefully observed one of these bell birds in
captivity, and describes minutely its wildly excited con-
dition, which becomes more and more intense as the
cries are repeated: " That he sometimes even seals these
love transports with his death is proved to me by the
fact that the bell bird which I was watching fell dead
from his perch with his last cry." One can hardly
say in this case that the birds sing from mere exuberant
spirits. Other birds show similar ecstasies, notably the
black and heath cocks. The voice of the former is
exceedingly high and is indescribable in words; their
cry is well known to hunters and is commonly heard
in the spring. About sundown this bird perches on a
tree, preferably an old beech or fir, that he will return to
year after year if not disturbed. At the time when the
red beech leaves he sings with only short intermissions
from the first gleam of dawn till after sundown. He
takes his post on a bare, sturdy limb, inflates his long
neck feathers, makes a wheel of his tail, drops his wings,
erects his plumage, trips on his toes, and rolls his eyes
comically. At the same time he gives forth notes that are
at first slow and detached, then quicker and more con-
nected, until at last a distinct beat can be distinguished
among the accompanying notes, ending in a long-drawn
cry, during which the bird rolls his eyes in ecstasy." f

* This bird has a bill of the most peculiar construction. It has
a flaccid bag hanging below it that is inflated during courtship
sometimes to a length of three inches, and a perpendicular posi-
tion. It would be difficult to explain the purpose of this append-
age if one did not admit its connection with the sexual life. Ro-
manes gives a description in his Darwin and after Darwin.

f F. von Tschudi, Das Thierleben der Alpenwelt, p. 174.
20

280 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

I need not multiply these examples. Enough has
been said to show that birds invariably sing during
their mating time, but not exclusively then. The
blackcock, starling, and robin also sing out of this
season, as well as the water ouzel, which Tschudi has
so beautifully described, while the wren, red linnet, and
goldfinch can be heard all winter; the white-throat, too,
sings all the year round. Indeed, it may be that the
breeding time of some birds is variable, as seems to be
the case with the water ouzel, which, Tschudi says, "does
not confine itself to any particular month; the young
just hatched may be seen even in January." Besides,
birds sing not only before pairing but all through the
breeding time; in numberless cases the male pours out
his sweetest song while his mate is on the nest. This
is obviously play, rather than courtship. The duets *
that they sometimes produce together are probably the
effect of heredity; while in other cases the male song is
taken up by imitation on the part of the female. Hud-
son says that a singing female usually has plumage the
same as her mate.f Finally, there are rare cases where
the male sings better at other times than during his
courtship. Spencer, in his article " On the Origin of
Music," says this is true of the thrush. | And Hudson
says of a small yellow finch found in La Plata that in
August, when the trees are blooming, a flock of these
birds will appear in a plantation, perching on the boughs
and beginning a concert in chorus, " producing a great

* Examples in Darwin's Descent of Man. chap. xii.

f The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 283.

X Mind, XV (ISnO). p. 452, Spencer sees in this fact a contra-
diction of Darwin's theory. I do not understand why, since it is
so probable that vocal reflexes in ,2:eneral are transmitted by hered-
ity, and so may always be called forth by other excitation.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 281

volume of sound as of a high wind when heard at a dis-
tance," and this takes place daily for hours at a time.
But during his courtship the male has but " a feeble,
sketchy music,'' regaining his skill only after the nest
is built. This is a more valuable example than Spen-
cer's, for he observed only a single bird that may have
been sick at the time for pairing, while Hudson's obser-
vation refers to a whole species. Yet the phenomenon
is too rare to have any weight against the overwhelming
mass of evidence for the view that song in general
belongs to courtship. It is wiser to seek some special
explanation of these irregular cases, and also to bear in
mind that " better " and " worse " are relative terms.
A song broken by the restless motions of an excited
bird may seem not so good to the listener as the same
strain produced when the singer is quiet and his notes
are therefore louder and more continuous. There is
also a possibility that song is sometimes supplanted by
the disproportionate evolution of other courtship arts —
the finch spoken of by Hudson has unusual powers of
flight and skill in dancing. However, I do not profess
to find an adequate answer in these suppositions to this
undeniable difficulty.

Those instances in which the bird expresses his ex-
citement by means of a kind of instrumental music,
instead of doing it vocally, are also very remarkable.
Darwin has a long series of such examples. Peacocks
rattle the quills of their tails, and birds of paradise do
the same thing, during their courtship. Woodpeckers
call the females by striking the bill very rapidly on dry
wood, making in this way a sort of drumming sound.
Turkeycocks scrape their wings on the ground. Many
birds make a kind of whirring sound in flight; a familiar
instance is the '^ beating " of army snipes as they mount

282 THE PLAY OF AXIMALS.

rapidly aloft in the eYening. It is eyidently a call to
the female, who answers from the earth with a " dick-
kiih " or " kiip ti kiipp ti kiipp/"' *

Xaumann thought the flapping of storks connected
with courtship, but as I do not consider these mani-
festations playful I abstain from further citations, ex-
cept in the case of the bittern, which may be said to
practise his art playfully if the following description is
to be trusted. Brehm says: " The peculiar pairing call
of the male bittern is like the lowing of oxen, and on
still nights may be heard at a distance of two or three
kilometres. It is composed of a prelude and a principal
tone, and sounds something like ^Uepnimb't ^^ ^
distance. It is said that on coming near the birds a
sound like beating on water with sticks is heard. . . .
The male keeps it up almost constantly; beginning at
twilight he is most Tociferous before midnight, and
ceases at da^Ti, only to start up again, however, between
seven and nine o'clock. The observations of Count
Wodzicki have confirmed the account of the older
writers. He says : ' The performer stands on both feet
with his biU in the water when giving vent to this
extraordinar}^ sound, which causes the water to spurt up
all around. First I heard Xaumann's * 17e ' and then the
bird raised his head and looked behind him, but quick-
ly plunging it in again he produced such a roar that I
was startled. I am convinced that these tones which

* Diezel's Niederjagd, p. 664. Here, too, is to be found a histon^
of the controversy over the oricrin of this sound, but unfortunately
Darwin's remarks on similar phenomena are not noticed.

f Although he often attempted it. Xaumann never got a sight
of the bittern. "We may assume that his " Uepnimb " is only a rough
approximation of the sound, which is not transcribnble. " It is a
sound," say the Miillers. " that blends the deepest lowing of cattle
with water splashing and something like sighs."

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 283

are loudest at their beginning are produced when the
bird has his throat full of water and expels it with
great force. The music went on, but he did not throw
his head back again, nor did I hear the loud note any
more. It seems to express the highest pitch of excite-
ment, and having given vent to it he is relieved. After
an interval he cautiously raised his bill from the water
and peered around, for it seems that he can not tear
himself away from his charmer.^ * The bittern stands
in an open space, where the female can see him during
his performance. The splash is caused by his striking
the water several times with his bill before plunging
it in; other water sounds are produced by the falling
drops, and the last one by the emission of what remains
in his bill. A male disturbed by Wodzicki flew off and
spurted out a considerable stream that had collected in
this way.^'

5, Coquetry in the Female.

I have attempted, in the theoretical part of this
chapter, to show that the instinctive coyness of females
is the most efficient means of preventing the too early
and too frequent yielding to sexual impulse. A high
degree of excitement is necessary for both, but the fe-
male has an instinctive impulse to prevent the male's
approach, which can only be overcome by persistent
pursuit and the exercise of all his arts. This coyness
often seems like fear, and sometimes even like anger,
as in the case of spiders and preying animals, but some-
times there is no fear at all, the animal even inviting
the male's approach until he shows some eagerness, then

* The happy female keeps near her mate, in a crouching: posi-
tion and with erected crei^t and half-shut eves, as if bewitched by
his boisterous wooing (Miiller, Thiere der Heimath, ii, p. 4C9).

284 THE PLAY OF AXIMALS.

her coquetry manifests itself in alternate calling and
fleeing. It is not essentially playful, for it is a struggle
between opposing instincts and has a serious object,
but we can easily see how it becomes play when uncon-
nected with the strong emotions of fear or anger — that
is, Avhen it is a sort of kittenishness. Then the flight
and resistance of the female, though they are not play
pure and simple, take on something of the character of a
game and temper the rough force of instinct.

As adequate descriptions of such playful coquetry
are rare, I have only a few examples from the higher
animals. The Mlillers describe as follows the gambols
of a pair of squirrels: " The male comes near and flees,
grunts and whispers, runs and leaps, approaches his
mate and leans against her; she turns away and lures
him on, appears indifferent and then tries to please him,
changes from momentary anger to frisky good humour;
the bounds and chase go on so rapidly that one can
scarcely follow their turns, and finds himself charmed
by the sight of this artless sportiveness, as graceful as it
is beautiful.^' * " Another exquisite game may be seen in
April and May, when the pairing watershrews carry
on their teasing chase. The fleeing female pretends
to hide, crouching in mole holes and under stones,
roots, and rubbish while her mate looks for her. Qv
she skips out, throws herself in the water, runs across
on the bottom and clambers to a new place on the other
side of the brook; but he soon spies her and follows in
her footsteps. So the game goes on, with only rest
time enough for them to eat in." f

The doe, in her breeding time, calls to the buck in
clear tones that bring him to her side at once, then she.

* Thiere der Ileiraath, vol. i, p. 196. f Ibid., p. 280.

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. 285

^' half in coyness, half in mischief, takes to flight at his
eager approach, makes toward an open space, and runs
in a circle. The buck naturally follows, and the chase
grows hot and as exciting as a race of horses on a track.
To the frequent high calls of the fleeing doe are added
the deep, short cries of the panting buck; but suddenly
the roguish doe disappears like a nymph into the
thicket near at hand, and the bafiled buck stands with
head erect and ears thrown forward; then we see his
head lowered as he catches the scent, and he too van-
ishes in the wood.^' *

It is a familiar fact that female birds must be long
courted and pursued before they yield. L. Biichner has
collected some examples proving this.f Mantegazza
says : " Coquetry is not the exclusive prerogative of the
human female. Xo woman ever born could surpass the
abominable ( !) refinement of cruelty displayed by a
female canary in her pretended resistance to her mate's
advances. All the countless devices of the feminine
world to hide a Yes under a No are as nothing compared
with the consummate coquetry, the deceptive flights, the
bitings, and thousand wiles of female animals.''

However mistaken the conclusions here drawn from
this antagonism of sexual impulse and coyness, the fact
undoubtedly remains that coquetry is exceedingly wide-
spread among birds. Thus the female cuckoo answers
the call of her mate with an alluring laugh that ex-
cites him to the utmost, but it is long before she gives
herself up to him. A mad chase through tree tops en-
sues, during which she constantly incites him with that
mocking call, till the poor fellow is fairly driven crazy.

* Thiere dor TToimnth. vol. i, p. 429,

f Liebe und Liebesleben in der Thierwelt, pp. 39 f.

286 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

The female kingfisher often torments her devoted
lover for half a day, coming and calling him, and then
taking to flight. But she never lets him out of her sight
the while, looking back as she flies and measuring her
speed, and wheeling back when he suddenly gives up the
pursuit. The bower bird leads her mate a chase up and
down their skilfully built pleasure house, and many
other birds behave in a similar way. The male must
exercise all the arts that have been described in these
pages and more before her reluctance is overcome. She
leads him on from limb to limb, from tree to tree, eon-'
stantly eluding his eager pursuit until it seems that the
tantalizing change from allurement to resistance must
include an element of a mischievous playfulness.

^<1

V

CHAPTER V.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF AXIMAL PLAY.

Although the mental accompaniments of play
have often been referred to in the preceding chapters,
that mention was but cursory, and it is necessary, in
summing up, to consider them more fully. First, then,
let us recall the position reached in the first two chap-
ters, where the play of young animals formed our prin-
cipal problem. ^Ye there said that if this should be ex-
plained satisfactoril}', then adult play would not offer
any great difficulty, an assumption warranted by the fact
(treated of in the third chapter) that all genuine play is
at first youthful play. Even love play, which as we have
found can hardly be said to be genuine play, appears in
early youth, and when the word play is applied to the
acts of grown animals at all it is chiefly with reference
to those that are experimental — namely, to games of mo-
tion, which are really child's play furnishing practice for
the later exercise of important instincts.

For adult animals which are already practised in
their plays, the Schiller- Spencer theory of surplus
energy may apply, though experience of the pleasurable-
ness of play gained in youth is of great importance too.
But in youthful play the biological significance of the
phenomenon — namely, that it relieves the brain from
the finely elaborated hereditary tracts and so furthers

287

288 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

intellectual development — becomes much more promi-
nent than the merely physiological. Indeed, we found it
probable that surplus physical energy is not even a con-
ditio sine qua non, for in youth the instinct for playful
activity is urgent even when there is no surplus of
energy. In following out this idea the psychological as-
pect of the question was touched upon only incidentally,
and we found the essential point in the definition of play
to be its quality of practice or preparation, either with or
without higher intellectual accompaniments, in distinc-
tion from the serious exercise of instinct. This is a
great advance in so far, but then we often do not know
whether even a child is conscious that it is only playing.
So it is time to inquire in what the mental accompani-
ments of play consist, when they are present, and it is
apparent from the nature of the question that its answer
must be sought in the emotional life.

The feeling of pleasure that results from the satis-
faction of instinct is the primary psychic accompani-
ment of play. There are, indeed, instincts whose exer-
cise is connected with decidedly disagreeable feelings;
but instinctive activity as such is usually pleasurable,
when psychic accompaniments are present at all. If we
accept A. Lehmann's definition of pleasure as a state of
temporary harmony between psychic and physical life
conditions,* we may be sure of its presence in most in-
stinctive activity not marred by the emotions of anger or
fear which are sometimes prominent. Since these hin-
drances are not operative in play, and since also the
power of instinct is here exceptionally strong, f we may

* A. Lehmann, Die Hauptgesetze des menschlichen Gefiihlsle-
ben, 1892, p. 150.

f P. Souriau (Le plaisir du mouveraent. Revue Seientifiqne,
xvii, p. 365) says the need of movement is especially great in tho

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 2S9

safely assume that strong feelings of pleasure accom-
pany it.

And, further, energetic action is in itself a source
of pleasure. Experiments made with the d3^namometer,
sphygmograph, pneumatograph, and plethysmograph
show that pleasure is accompanied by strengthened mus-
cular activit}', quickened pulse-beat and respiration, and
increased peripheral circulation. It is not strange, then,
that the energetic activity of play with its analogous
physical effects is connected with feelings of pleasure.
P. Souriau sa3's : *"' \Ylien we indulge in exercise that re-
quires the expenditure of much energy all our functions
are quickened, the heart beats more rapidly, respiration
is increased in frequency and in depth, and we experi-
ence a feeling of general well-being. We are more alive
and glad that we are.^^ * Very rapid and lively emotions
produce " a sort of intoxication and giddiness that are
most delightful." Besides these external effects of
pleasurable feelings they are accompanied internally by
a heightened excitation of the sensor and motor cen-
tres of the cerebrum, much like that produced by con-
centrated attention — a fact which points to the probable
explanation of the physiological side of pleasure by
means of the only purely intellectual play of animals,
curiosity.

The unconscious connection of emotional accom-
paniments with intellectual activity is shown still more
clearly in that joy in ability or power which has con-
fronted us as the most important psychic feature of
play throughout this whole treatise.

yoiinj? animal, "because he has to trv all the movements which it
is npcps«ary for him to make in later life."
* Ibid.

290 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

This feeling is first a conscious presentation to our-
selves of our personality as it is emphasized by play — a
psychological fact which Souriau states in the words
" We are more alive, and glad that we are." But it is
more than this, it is also delight in the control we have
over our bodies and over external objects. Experi-
mentation in its simple as well as its more complicated
forms is, apart from its effect on physical development,
educative in that it helps in the formation of causal
associations. Knowledge of these is arrived at first by
means of voluntary movements, and afterward extended
in various directions,* and playful experimentation is a
valuable incentive to such movements. The young bear
that plays in the water, the dog that tears a paper into
scraps, the ape that delights in producing new and un-
couth sounds, the sparrow that exercises its voice, the
parrot that smashes his feeding trough, all experience
the pleasure in energetic activity, which is, at the same
time, joy in being able to accomplish something.

But what is this feeling of joy, in its last analysis?
It is joy in success, in victory. Nietzsche has opposed
the " struggle for power " to Darwin's " struggle for
existence," and however contradictory it may seem to
identify the survival of the fittest, which is usually no
struggle at all, with a struggle for power, it is certain
that striving for supremacy is instinctive with all intelli-
gent animals.

The first object to be mastered is the creature's own
body, and this is accomplished by means of experimen-
tal and movement plays. This achieved, the animal's
spirit of conquest is directed toward inanimate objects,
and very easily degenerates into destructiveness. But he

* See Sully, The Human Mind, vol. i, pp. 264, 444 ; vol. ii, p. 224.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 291

aspires still higher, and attacks other animals in playful
chase and mock combats; the fleeing animal will play-
fully escape from his pursuer. In the other forms of
play — building, nursing, and curiosity — the impulses of
ownership and subjugation manifest themselves in vari-
ous ways. Imitative play is full of rivalry, and it is a
powerful motive in courtship. It is a satisfaction that
can not be attained without effort, and is increased in
proportion to the difficulty of overcoming opposition,
without which there would be no consciousness of
strength. This is just as true in simple muscular co-
ordination as in the solution of the problems of a game of
chess.

In short, we see in this joy in conquest a " cor-
relative to success in the struggle for existence,^' *
whether it concerns rivalry among comrades, victory
over an enemy, the proof of one's capabilities, or the
subduing of an external object.

In view of all this, it seems a very mistaken pro-
ceeding to characterize play as aimless activity, car-
ried on simply for its own sake. Energetic exertion
may be provocative of pleasure, as we have seen, but it
is by no means the only source of the pleasure pro-
duced by play. " Disinterested play ! " exclaims Sou-
riau in the passage already cited from — " to talk about
such a thing is to expose our ignorance. Players are
always interested in the result of their efforts.'' It may
be an insignificant aim that inspires us, but there is
always some goal that we are striving for, an " end to
attain," whose value our imagination usually enhances.
" Tell me, if you will, that I am voluntarily deceiving
myself ; tell me even that I am making myself the dupe

* Spencer, Principles of Psychology, vol. i, p. 534.

292 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

of a conscious illusion. It is true, all the same, that
activity for its own sake is not enough for me, and I am
not interested in a game unless it excites my amour
pro pre. I must have a difficulty to overcome, a rival to
surpass, or at least be able to make progress/^ * Grosse
says the same thing : " Play stands as a connecting link
between practical and aesthetic attainment. It is distin-
guished from art by the fact that it strives constantly for
the attainment of some external aim, and from work in
that its satisfaction arises not from the value of its re-
sults, but from the achievement itself." The relation of
the three can be illustrated by calling work a line, play
a spiral, and art a circle." f

While these passages are conclusive as to the fact
that play should never be characterized as aimless ac-
tivity, Grosse's utterance might very easily give rise to
false generalizations. In my opinion, adequate psy-
chological definitions of work, play, and art are not
to be produced with such " neatness and despatch " as
Grosse attempts.

Play is easy enough to define objectively, as prac-
tice in distinction from the exercise of important in-
stincts. But in regard to its psychological accompani-
ments in the playing subject the case is different. Here
we must suppose a progressive development from mere
satisfaction of instinctive impulse (where the act is per-
formed neither for its own sake nor for the sake of an
<3xternal aim, but simply in obedience to hereditary pro-
pensity) through what is subjectively considered akin to
work, up to make-believe activity with an external aim as
its second stage. Finally, as the outward aim gives way

* Of. K. Lansre's Bewusste Selbsttauschimg.

I E. Grosse, Die Anfange der Kunst, 1894, p. 47.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 293

before the pleasure-giving quality of the act itself, the
transition to art takes place. At this point the out-
ward aim has but a very slight significance, though never
vanishing entirely ; for it can not be denied that in artis-
tic execution it regains very considerable importance in
an altered form.

Let us take an example that follows all these devel-
opmental stages. If a very young puppy is tapped on
the nose with the finger, he snaps at it. This is a play-
ful expression of the fighting instinct, where the pro-
pensity to obey hereditary impulse is the sole cause
for the act, since neither feeling nor an idealized ex-
ternal aim can be alleged as such; it is clearly a reac-
tion to stimulation without higher psychic accom-
paniments. Going a step further, we will suppose a
young dog that chases his brother for the first time and
seizes him by the throat. Here the most probable sup-
position is that subjectively there is no difference be-
tween practical activity and this kind of play. The
dog has the serious purpose to take the skin in his teeth,
to throw his comrade and hold him fast on the ground.
It is altogether improbable that he is making believe
at first. Here, then, play appears psychologically as
quite serious activity, and a little attention to the sub-
ject will show that this is a very common condition
among human beings.* In the third stage the dogs
are grown larger and can bite effectively if they choose;
nevertheless, they seldom hurt one another in their
tussles. A consciousness of make-believe is rising gradu-
ally, and to the force of instinct is being added the
recollection of the pleasure-giving qualities of play.

* For instance, a little girl two or three years old will seriously
trv to feed her doll with soup, or beat it severely. And how many
billiard or chess players take defeat seriously I

294 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

Only in this way can we exjDlain the animal's restrain-
ing his fighting propensities, beyond a certain limit,
though the external aim, the subjugation of his oppo-
nent, remains and tries hard to break through these
restraints. Xow, the full-growTi dog romps with his
master and the make-believe is fully developed and
conscious, for his bite is intentionally only a mumbling,
his growl pure hypocrisy. The animal, playing a part
as an actor, comes very near to art; henceforth he
plays for play's sake with very little external aim,
though his disposition to use his strength in earnest
as the play grows more exciting, witnesses to the fact
that it has not entirely vanished. x\t this point of the
illustration we go to man for our instance.

Suppose instead of the dogs two boys wrestling ; here,
too, we find the earnest aim to overcome an opponent,
and at the same time consciousness that the pleasur-
able quality of the game can only be preserved by con-
fining the struggle to certain limits and keeping up the
pretence. Going on to a wrestling match before spec-
tators the case is much the same, for the likeness to
real fighting gained in one way is lost in another, since
the most reckless wrestlers are held in check by external
restrictions, called " rules of the game." Going on fur-
ther, we make a great advance if we allow the contestants
to arrange it all in advance : " You take a good grip and
throw me, but I make a sudden move and get the upper
hand,'' and so on. This, then, becomes pure make-be-
lieve, since both wrestlers are pla3ing a part; but we
shall find that, just as with the dogs romping with their
master, the real aim of conquering an opponent will
get the better of these restrictions if a particularly skil-
ful move calls forth loud applause. But to go on with
the illustration. Supposing the game carried out ac-

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF AKIMAL PLAY. 295

cording to agreement^ is all outward aim done away
with? By no means. It reappears in a modified
form, in the desire to impress the hearers or specta-
tors, and is at bottom our familiar pleasure in power,
delight in being able to extend the sphere of our abil-
ity, a motive which should never be underestimated.
Even the artist does not create for the mere pleasure
of it; he too feels the force of this motive, though a
higher external aim to him is the hope of influencing
other minds by means of his creations, which, through
the power of suggestion, give him a spiritual supremacy
over his fellow-creatures. This suggestive effect is his
real aim, for while it is true in a sense that the artist
should not regard applause by the multitude, but listen
rather to the voice in his own breast, it is yet non-
sense to say that a great artist has no thought of the
effect on others.* \Yh.at is nobler or more kingly
than to rule by natural right? Spiritual supremacy
is the aim of the highest art, and there is no real genius
without the desire for it.

So we find in this pleasure in the possession of
power the psychological foundation for all play which

* Grosse is mnch too clear a thinker not to recognise this. In
his " scaffolding " of definitions he has this sentence : "Esthetic
effort is not a means to an end outside of itself, but is its own end "
(p. 46). But soon after he says : " The artist works not for himself
alone, but for others; and if it is too much to say that he creates
solely with a view to influencing others, it is yet true that the form
and trend of his effort are determined essentially by his conception
of the public whom he addresses. A work of art always reveals as
much of the public as of the artist, and Mill was guilty of a serious
mistake when he said that the characteristic quality of poetry is
that 'the poet never thinks of a hearer.' On the contrary, the
poet would probably never give expression to his thoughts if there
were no hearers " (p. 47).
21

296 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

has higher intellectual accompaniments. But it should
be remarked that the pleasure is greater when the
action involves movements that are agreeable to the
senses. Souriau finds an important source of pleasure
in movements that overcome resistance. In many move-
ment plays the earth's attraction is the opponent we
seek to conquer. The rapid horizontal movement, the
leap, the forward motion of a swing, are a mock victory
over the force of gravitation. This is a most pregnant
idea, and doubtless true essentially, though there is a
difficulty in the fact that the backward motion of the
swing, the leap into water, and the lightning speed of
coasting and skating, all of which depend on the un-
trammelled action of gravitation, are just as pleasurable.
The downward flight of birds, so often referred to in
this book, belongs to the same category. Still, this
does not disprove Souriau's idea, for, while weight is
not actually overcome in these exercises, there is freedom
from all the unpleasant effects of weight, such as fric-
tion, jarring, etc. All gliding, slipping, rocking, and
floating motions give us a peculiar and agreeable feel-
ing of freedom, whether they are contrary to gravi-
tation or not. We are freed from all the little jars
and rubs that usually accompany our motions, and are
primarily the effect of weight; hence these gliding mo-
tions are particularly agreeable to the senses and tend
greatly to increase the pleasurableness of play. The
same is true of agreeable sounds and colours when they
have place in a game.

If pleasure in the possession of power appears as
the most important psychological foundation of play,
its highest intellectual expression, its idealization, as it
were, proves to be the assuming of a role or mock ac-
tivity in any form. Objectively all play is of this char-

THE PSYCHOLOGY OP ANIMAL PLAY. 297

acter, since it employs an instinct when its actual aim
is wanting, but subjectively play is not always sham
occupation. It is safer, as we have seen, to assume that
the primary forms have none of this. Only when the
chase and fighting plays have been so frequently re-
peated that the animal recognises their pleasurable
quality, can we assume that even an intelligent creature
begins consciously to play a part. We may be quite
sure of it, however, when he uses his weapons guardedly
and shows signs of friendship to his opponent, or when
he tosses a bit of wood in the air and catches it again.
As regards other kinds of play w^e are only justified
in thinking it probable that such a consciousness of
shamming is present; that monkeys, for instance, la-
bour under a kind of mock excitement when they in-
dulge their destructive impulses, and that the bird
tumbling about in the air has some object when he
seems on the point of falling helpless to the earth; that
the parrot that knocks on his cage and cries, " Come
in! '' is consciously making believe; that the wooing bird
really plays the agreeable, and that his mate coquettes
intentionally, etc.

But in case the making believe can not always be
established, it is useful to remember that actual decep-
tion is not rare among the higher animals. Any one
who has had much to do with dogs will not doubt
for a moment that this is true. I once saw one drop
a piece of bread that he would not eat, on the ground
and lie down on it, then with an air of great innocence
pretend to be looking for it. The Mlillers tell of a
pointer that shammed sleep after he had licked all the
clabber out of a bowl.* Levaillant suspected his mon-

* Thiere der Heimath, vol. i. p. 122. A\\x. LVsprit de nos betes,
tells of a hunting dog that deceived his master by pointing at

298 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

key, " Kees/' of stealing eggs. " So I hid myself one
day to watch, Avhen the cackling of the hens proved that
they had laid. Kees was sitting on a cart, but as
soon as he heard the first cackle he jumped down to
get the egg. When he saw me he stood still at once
and affected an attitude of great indifference, swayed
on his hind legs for a while, and tried to look very
artless. In short, he used every means to put me off
the track and conceal his intentions.'^ * Tame ele-
phants evince remarkable talents in this direction,
Avhich are utilized in capturing others. Sir E. Ten-
nent describes a female elephant who excelled in this
game. " She was a most accomplished decoy, and
evinced the utmost relish for the sport. Having en-
tered the corral noiselessly, carrying a mahout on her
shoulders with the headman of the noosers seated be-
hind him, she moved slowly along Avith a sly com-
posure and an assumed air of easy indifference; saunter-
ing leisurely in the direction of the captives, and halt-
ing now and then to pluck a bunch of grass or a few
leaves as she passed,'' etc.f When a pair of wolves
fall upon a flock the female often draws the attention
of the dogs to herself and lets them chase her while the
male seizes the prey.]: Iv. Russ says after describing
the diseases of parrots: " Some of the cleverest and
best-talking birds will sham sickness in a manner
that seems incredible. Careful scientific observation,

iinajrinary game if he wished to take a direction different from the
one followed by the guide.

* H. 0. Lenz, Gemeinniitzige Naturgeschichte, vol. i. p. 50.

f E. Tennent, Natural History of Ceylon, pp. 181-194. See
Romanes, Animal Tntplligence. p. 402.

t Leroy. Lettres philopophique sur Tintelligence et la perfecti-
bilito des animaux, p. 24.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 299

however, has convinced me of the fact. The bird
shows every symptom of disease and lies on the side or
stomach, breathing heavily, xill this while his master
or some one else is in the room, but as soon as he finds
himself alone or has reason to think so he appears
quite normal and no longer ill. I believe that the ex-
planation of this is that the spoiled pet has noticed that
illness excites sympathy, and tender, pitying tones are
pleasant to him. Perhaps a slight indisposition or a
little pain caused the first complaint, and he has kept
it up for the sake of being petted. To cure this unfor-
tunate habit of deception it is only necessary to be a
little hard-hearted and not take any notice of the pre-
tended suffering, keeping him as cheerful and busy as
possible."*

\Yhen we see deception used so effectively to serve
practical ends, examples of which are very common,
as every student of psychology can testify, it can hardly
be doubted that there is in all probability more con-
sciousness of shamming in j^lay than we have any means
of demonstrating.

But such a consciousness bears the closest relation
to artistic invention, as the following passage from Kon-
rad Lange will show: "If, then, aesthetic performance
of children, as well as of primitive peoples, can be
proved to have its origin in the play impulse, the next
question is whether the same thing is true among ani-
mals, and many observations point to an affirmative an-
swer. I will not dilate on this point, only mentioning in
passing that many zoologists believe that certain plays
of animals have the character of illusions. Dogs play-
ing with a bone, treat it like prey; cats will do the

♦ K. Russ, Die sprechondpn P.ipageien, p. 896.

300 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

same with a pebble or ball of yarn. Dogs that are vio-
lently excited at the opening of an umbrella or the
sight of an empty mouse-trap must experience emo-
tions similar to those of the child at play with his doll
or a man at a theatre or admiring a work of plastic art.
It is impossible to be certain how far the stimulus to
such play is purely sensuous and how much conscious-
ness of illusion is present. But it seems to be the gen-
eral opinion of scholars that there is less of uncon-
scious reflex movement in it than in a recognised illu-
sion play. To establish this would be to gain a very
important argument for the significance of conscious
illusion in the enjoyment of art; for it is clear that
a developmental force that was operative before the evo-
lution of man has a greater claim to be considered the
central cause of the gratification that art gives than any
number of forces that are not common to the lower
animals, however large their part in such gratification
may be." *

But before going on we must inquire more particu-
larly what plays this conscious self-deception appears
in. Lange, in his fine work Die kiinstlerische Erzie-
hung, here distinguishes four classes of pla3^s among chil-
dren— movement plays, sense plays, artistic plays, and
rational plays. Artistic play is the only one in which
conscious self-deception appears, and there it forms an
analogue to artistic creation and aesthetic enjoyment.

The artistic plays of children are principally dra-
matic, the child personating its parents or others; even
lifeless objects may take part: the table will do for a
house, while the footstool is a dog, and so on. Other
forms, such as the epic play, where stories or pictures

* K. Lange, an artifle in Die Aula, 1895, p. 89.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 30I

are acted out, are outside the sphere of the animal psy-
chologist, but he is interested in those directly connected
with the imitative arts. Since Lange, both here and
in a later article, has found conscious self-deception also
in the other arts,* I think it is admissible to include it
among the other plays, always with the proviso that con-
sciousness of the sham character of the act is not neces-
sarily present, but may be. The feature common to all
animal play is that instinct is manifested without seri-
ous occasion. Now, when the animal knows that there
is no serious occasion, and yet goes on playing, we
have conscious self-deception. It seems to me that this
is the case with most of the play of animals, though
not with equal certainty; perhaps least of all in imita-
tive play. If we take the dog's play with a stick, for
instance, as an example of conscious mock activity, we
see that there is no imitation in it, because it is done
without a model, f

Glancing over the various kinds of play, can we
say that the animal pretends to follow a serious aim
when he merely experiments, as when he runs about
in a movement play, or springs after a block of wood as
if it were prey, or scuffles with his comrade, or amuses
himself with building, or treats a young animal of some
other kind like a doll, or playfully imitates another, or
displays curiosity, or practises his courtship arts? Xow,
it is evident that the probability of conscious make-
believe is a variable quantity in these cases. It seems
to be quite certain in the frequently repeated hunting
and fighting games, less so in experimentation, move-

* Tbid., p. 21.

f [Tt is in connection with this question that I have made the
sn^e:estion {Science, February 26, 1897) stated above in niv preface,
p. X. — J. Mark Baldwin.]

302 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

ment plays and courtship, and least so in building,
curiosity, and imitative play. What makes this differ-
ence? Probably the fact that in many plays there
is not only sham activity, but also a sham object as
well, which, we assume, the intelligent animal recog-
nises as such, while in other cases this is wanting. If
we could be certain that apes treat lifeless objects as
dolls, this act would be in the foremost rank of illusion
plays; if other animals would choose a fixed object as
the goal of their races, this too would be most impor-
tant. But we can not be sure of these things, for
speech is wanting to these creatures. The child that
puts on his father's hat and says, " Now I am papa,"
proves that his is not mere instinctive imitation, and
that he is conscious of the make-believe, while the mon-
key that imitates his master has no way of assuring
us of the character of his actions. Still less can we
ascertain whether the play of masses of animals, which
we regard as imitative, is characterized by that absorp-
tion of the individual by the mass that is so essential to
such play among men.

Be that as it may, there is the strongest probability
that the playing animal has this conscious self-decep-
tion. The origin of artistic fantasy or playful illusion
is thus anchored in the firm ground of organic evolu-
tion. Play is needed for the higher development of
intelligence; at first merely objective, it becomes, by
means of this development, subjective as well, for the
fact that the animal, though recognising that his action
is only a pretence, repeats it, raises it to the sphere of
conscious self-illusion, pleasure in making believe —
that is, to the threshold of artistic production. Only to
the threshold, however, for to such production belongs
the aim of affecting others by the pretence, and pure

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 303

play has none of this aim. Only love play shows some-
thing of it, and in this respect it is nearest to art.

Coming now to inquire into the psychology of the
subject yet more closely, we Avill consider two important
points: 1. Divided consciousness in make-believe. 2.
The feeling of freedom in make-believe. They are
closely connected.

1. Divided Consciousness in Malce-helieve.

A close examination of this conscious self-illusion,
which is the highest psychic phenomenon of play, shows
that it is a very peculiar condition of mind. I have de-
scribed it briefly in my work on aesthetics: " I know
quite well that the waterfall whose motion I am watch-
ing does not feel any of the fury that it seems to show,
and yet I remain a captive to the thought that this is
so. I see through the illusion, and still give myself
up to it." * Something of the same idea, too, is con-
tained in Schiller's words: " It is self-evident that we
are here speaking only of aesthetic appearance (Schein)
which we distinguish from reality — and yet not logically
so, as when one thing is mistaken for another. We like
it because it is show, and not because we mistake it for
anything else. In other words, we play with it, and this
contrasts it with real deception." f

It appears, then, that play, when it rises to con-
scious self-deception, produces a strange and peculiar

* Einleitung in die Aesthetik. p. 191.

f Ueber die aesthetische Erziehung des Menpchen, twenty-sixth
letter. See also Kant's weighty utterance : " Xatnre is beautiful
when it appears as art; and art can only be called beautiful when
we recognise it as art while it yet appears to us as Nature." (Cri-
tique of Judgment, § 45). K. Lange has recently revived this con-
ception of Kant's.

304 TEE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

division of our consciousness. The child is wholly ab-
sorbed in his play, and yet under all the ebb and flow
of thought and feeling, like still water under wind-
sw^ept waves, he has the knowledge that it is only a pre-
tence, after all. Behind the sham I, that takes part in
the game, stands the unchanging I of real life, which
regards the sham I with quiet superiority.*

If now we ask how this phenomenon is related to
the other condition of mind known to us, we find that
it occupies a position between the ordinary waking
state of consciousness and the abnormal conditions of
hypnosis and hysteria, which is rather daringly called
double personality, t

Many things, it is true, in our waking life suggest
a divided consciousness, but the cleft is not so deep
as in the abnormal condition. I am not now speaking
of the alternation of two psychic existences — that phe-
nomenon is perhaps best illustrated in the everyday life
of many heads of families who are unsupportable ty-
rants at home, while at the club they are the very
types of a " jolly old boy '' — but I refer rather to simul-
taneously existing divisions of consciousness, examples of
which are not uncommon with us. We may state the
case somewhat in this way: It is a formulated scientific
fact that a certain economy governs our consciousness.
It takes note of but a limited number of the countless
physiological stimuli that continually set our brains

* See E. yon Hartmann, Aesthetik, vol, ii, p. 59.

f Pierre Janet, L'autoraatisme psychologique, 1894, p. 132.
Max Dessoir, Das Doppel-Tch. 1890. Kant referred to this idea
as far back as 1838 in his Traumen eines Geistersehers. Land-
mann's criticism on The Plurality of Psychic Personalities in One
Individual contains much of importance, but his work labours un-
der too sharp a distinction of " cortical " from " subcortical " as
used by Meynert.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF AXIMAL PLAY. 305

into activity. We know, further, that human con-
sciousness does not reveal all its store at once, for the
mental field of vision is like the optical, in that a part
of our store of knowledge is pre-eminent, while all the
rest is grouped about the mental view-point (Wundt).
I have called this the " monarchical character of con-
sciousness/' * But it seems in general, if not always,
that the psychic fringe outside of the mental view-
point has a certain independence. If we figure the
former as a peak, the latter will form neighbouring
hills. But how do they arise? In normal cases they
are formed from the debris of former intellectual opera-
tions, which may have been insignificant as psychic
phenomena, but are important by reason of their close
connection with habits that have become reflex from
constant repetition. Thus, when our consciousness be-
comes full of ideas that are only loosely connected with
our habitual I,f it too becomes a neighbouring peak,;|;
and so a simple and normal division of consciousness is
effected. Condillac recognised this fact and expressed
it with the greatest clearness. He says: " "WTien a ge-
ometer is intensely occupied with the solution of a prob-
lem, external objects continue to act on his senses and
the habitual I responds to their impressions. It walks
him about Paris, avoiding obstacles while the reflective
I is entirely absorbed in the solution.^' *

* Einleitung in die Aesthetik, p. 3.

+ I use the terms " habitual I," " real I," and " apparent I "
without the intention of implying actual plurality of personality.

X Herein appears also the biological utility of the normal di-
vision of consciousness, namely, in that higher intellectual devel-
opment would be impossible without relative independence of the
habitual I,

* E. Alix, L'esprit de nos betes, p. 587.

506 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

In order to make the relation between these two
Ts, in normal cases, clearer, I cite two commonplace ex-
amples from Dessoir: " A friend calls and tells me
something that necessitates my going out with him.
While he relates the most interesting occurrences I am
getting ready to go. I put on a fresh collar, turn my
cuffs, fasten the buttons, pull on my coat, get the door
key, and even glance in the mirror. All this time my
attention is occupied with my friend's narrative, as re-
peated questions prove. Once in the street, it suddenly
occurs to me that I have forgotten the key. I hurry
back, look in every nook and corner, and at last feel in
my pocket, where, of course, I find it. As I join my
friend, he says: ^ If you had told me what you wanted,
I could have told you that I saw you take the key out
of a drawer and put it in your pocket. How can any
one be so absent-minded?'^^ Still more remarkable
are the apparently rational automatic movements that
we perform mechanically, though they tend to accom-
plish results that we later acknowledge as our uncon-
scious purpose. An official, for example, sets out in
the morning and walks a long distance without once
having the idea of his destination enter his mind. But
as soon as an acquaintance meets him and inquires why
he is out so early, he replies without reflection that he
must be at the office.^'*

Let us now take a simple example from the sphere
of hypnotic research. " In the sitting of April 30,
1888," says Dessoir, " the first experiment was made

with our principal subject, Herr D . He received

the post-hypnotic suggestion that he should resume the
condition as soon as I had clapped my hands seven-

* M. Dessoir, Das Doppel-Tch, p. ?>.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 307

teen times. When he awoke. Dr. Moll engaged him in
lively conversation, while I clapped my hands softly,
and at irregular intervals, fifteen times. Being asked
then whether he had heard my hands striking together,

D denied it, and, besides, asserted that he did not

know what he was to do after the seventeenth clap;
but as soon as it sounded he automatically obeyed the

order.^^ To this is added: " As D had declared

that he did not know of the clapping, we put a pencil
in his hand with the remark that the hand would write
how many times I had clapped. D laughed in-
credulously, Avent on with his conversation, and did
not notice that the pencil wrote ^ 15 ^ with slow strokes
— indeed, he would not admit afterward that he had
done it." *

I follow up this simple instance with a very re-
markable one. Pierre Janet made the following ex-
periment with his subject Lucie: During the hypnosis
he laid five sheets of white paper on her knee, two of
them being marked with a cross. These two he told
her she could not see when she awoke. On awaking,
she was surprised to see the papers on her lap, and
Janet told her to give the sheets to him. She took up
those not marked, and declared when asked that there
were no more. The marks must have been noted by
her " subliminal consciousness " while not suspected by
the ordinary one. Janet proceeds: " This supposition
was strengthened by complicating the experiment as
follows: I put the subject to sleep once more, and
placed twenty small slips, all numbered, on her knee.
Then I said to her, ' You can not see the papers marked
with multiples of three.^ AMien awakened, she showed

* M. Dessoir, Das Doppel-Ich, pp. 18, 22.

308 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

the same forgetfulness and the same surprise at finding
the papers. I asked her to give them to me one by
one; she handed me fourteen, leaving six untouched;
these six bore the multiples of three. I am convinced
that she did not see them." * In the first of these ex-
amples, those taken from everyday life, the division of
consciousness is unimportant. When I converse on an
interesting theme and at the same time dress myself,
brush my hair, wash myself, take a key from the
basket, etc., without being able to remember it after-
ward, it is not at all improbable that my consciousness
wandered many times during the talk to the habitual
acts. In the hypnotic cases we can not suppose any
such glancing off of waking consciousness; there is a
deep gorge between the principal and the neighbour-
ing peaks. There are in the same brain two related
but independent dynamic complexes.

How is it, then, with conscious self -illusion? Here
self-forgetfulness, the losing sight of the habitual I, is,
as a rule, more pronounced than in the earlier in-
stance. The child goes about his play very differently
from a man engaging in conversation, and many ob-
servers testify that playing animals often become blind
and deaf to approaching danger, so great is their ab-
sorption. But, on the other hand, conscious connec-
tion with real life is not so completely broken as in
the negative or positive hallucinations of hypnotism,
for the sham occupation does not at any time become
so absorbing that it can not be changed at will to the
reality. Thus it is that division of consciousness as it
appears in play forms the medium between the two
groups of phenomena which we have considered. Play-

* Pierre Janet, LVaitomatisme psjchologiquc, p. 277.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 309

ful activity is perhaps more like that resulting from
certain dreams. Only a part of the content of many
dreams has any relation to the personal consciousness
of the dreamer, while the rest appears as something
apart, not belonging to him.* For example, Yon
Steinen dreamed while he was living among the naked
tribes of central Brazil that he appeared in European
society where all the guests were without clothes. He
was rather surprised, but was easily satisfied when
somebody told him, " Everybody does it." f Here is a
dialogue between the dream I and the waking con-
sciousness which criticises the dream phenomena; the
two spheres are so widely separated that they appear
as I and you. But dreams that do not allow this are
still more like conscious self-deception. We often
dream, for example, that we must prepare for some ex-
amination that we have already passed, but the waking
consciousness quickly interferes with the information
that we stood it long ago. J If we could show that the
dream pictures were not enforced upon our waking con-
sciousness, and that it saw through their shamming and

* See H. Siebeck. Das Tranmlehon der Seele. p. 38.

t K. von der Steinen, Unter den Naturvolker Centralbrasiliens,
p. 64.

X Binet and Fere show that in hypnosis, too, the waking con-
sciousness often rises to the surface. " Every one coukl probably
make some experiments with this dual consciousness by studvin^
his own dreams. Here we see again the relationship between nor-
mal sleep and the hypnotic sleep. In general the dreamer is like
a somnambulist under a suggested hallucination : he apprehends
nothing with certainty; he allows the most palpable absurdities to
be perpetrated before his very eyes. But sometimes a remnant of
his common sense awakes, and he cries in the midst of the bur-
lesque : ' But this is an impossibility ; it must be a dream.' " (Binet
and Fere, Le magnetisme animal, p. 107.)

310 THE PLAY OF AXDIALS.

enjoyed the deception, we should be very near the psy-
chological conditions of conscious play.

If, then, in conscious make-believe, in the young
dog, for example, that begs his mistress to reach out
her foot and then falls upon it with every sign of rage,
but never really biting it, the connection between the
pretended I and the real I underlying it is preserved in
spite of the division of consciousness, the important ques-
tion to us is concerning the nature of this connection.
We might suppose it to be a kind of oscillation from one
sphere to the other. Using a commonplace but excel-
lent illustration, it would be like the circus rider who
stands with legs wide apart on two galloping horses and
throws his balance from one to the other. Lange has ex-
pressed the same idea in regard, primarily, to artistic en-
joyment, but so as to include play-illusion also; in his
book on Kiinstlerische Erziehung he speaks of the " oscil-
lation between appearance and reality,'^ and regards it as
the very essence of agsthetic enjoyment. In a passage on
conscious self-deception he goes still further: " Artistic
erijoyment thus appears as a variable floating condition,
a free and conscious movement between appearance
and reality, between the serious and the playful, and
since these feelings can never coincide, but must al-
Avays be at variance, we may adopt the figure of a pen-
dulum. The subject knows quite well, on the one
hand, that the ideas and feeling occupying him are
only make-believe, 3'et, on the other hand, he continues to
act as if they were serious and real. It is this con-
tinued play of emotion, this alternation of appearance
and reality, or reason and emotion, if you like, that
constitutes the essence of aesthetic enjoyment.^' *

* Die bewusste Selbsttauschung, p. 22.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 311

I am fully convinced of the truth of the central
proposition of this luminous passage, the more since
I have come to a similar conclusion in investigating the
relation of the sublime to the comic* But a close
examination proves it to be doubtful whether this oscil-
lation between a condition of self-deception and the
consciousness of it should be regarded as always a qual-
ity of play. Lange seems to me to go too far in mak-
ing it essential to esthetic and play enjoyment of all
kinds. Self-observation reveals a high degree of satisfac-
tion in long-continued play, during which the real I, as
Hartmann justly says, remains quietly in the back-
ground and does not assert itself. I do not believe that
boys romping together often realize the unreality of
their contests while the game is going on ; and if we are
witnessing the prison scene in Faust our intense enjoy-
ment may last through it all, and our real ego be en-
tirely lost sight of. Only when the curtain falls do we
return with a long breath to reality and "come to.''
Our return to waking consciousness is accomplished
more by a sudden leap than by oscillation, and the
higher our enjoyment the more rarely do we make
the leap.

It will be seen that Lange's proposition is supported
less by observation than by logic; he tries to prove his
theory of oscillation by the unthinkableness of the re-
verse. " Since the feeling for reality, on the one hand,
and for the apparent can never coincide," he thinks this
motion must be regular, but in view of what we know
of divided consciousness this seems to me improbable.
The examples cited above show that two entirely differ-

* (iron<^, Einleitung in die Aesthetik, pp. 337 f, 404. So also
Kant, Critique of Judgment.

312 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

ent psychic processes may run parallel, that there may be
a separate subliminal consciousness acting with entire
independence. When, for instance, the seventeen hand-
claps were registered obediently to post-hypnotic sug-
gestion, the waking consciousness took no note of the
count. However, there often seems to be a kind of
unconscious connection, like a subterranean wire lead-
ing from the subliminal to the waking consciousness,
that can not be accounted for by the ordinary change
from one state to the other. Even in the deepest ab-
sorption, when for a long time there is no recollec-
tion of the real ego, we do not substitute appearances
for reality. A simple hypnotic experiment of MolFs
will illustrate the fact of such a connection: "I told

X in the hypnotic state that when he awoke he

should lay an umbrella on the floor. When he did
awake I told him to do what he chose, and at the same
time I gave him a folded paper, on which I had written
what he would do. He carried out the suggestion,
and was amazed when he read the paper. He declared
that he thought he was doing something this time that
had not been suggested.^^ * In a case like this the idea
of the act must come over from the subliminal con-
sciousness without the subject^s suspecting whence it
comes. Emotions, too, may be conveyed in the same
way. The subject laughs on awaking, as has been
suggested during hypnosis, without knowing that he
is obeying a command, and finds some other reason
for it.t

* A. Moll, Der Hypnotismus, p. 128.

f That this is not always so is proved by those occasions when
the subject bursts out laughinfj. but afterward knows nothing
about it ; the feeling is not transferred to the major consciousness.
Ibid., p. 120.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 313

Still more remarkable are Binet's observations of
hysteria with partial angesthesia.* For example, the
right hand is wholly without sensation, but only so for
the waking consciousness, for it grasps a pencil without
the patient^s seeing or knowing it, finishes a sentence,
and even corrects an error intentionally made by the
experimenter. There must, then, be a consciousness
for which the hand is not anaesthetic.

Many of Binet's experiments indicate that here, too,
an unconscious connection exists between the two states
of consciousness; hysterical patients may nave visual
images corresponding to impressions made on the sub-
liminal consciousness. " If, for example, some familiar
object, like a knife, is brought into contact with a
hand without sensation, the person knows nothing
about the form of the knife, about pain inflicted, etc.,
but all these latent sensations produce their optical coun-
terpart in the sphere of the first consciousness — namely,
the visual image of a knife." 'f

We can attain our object sooner by turning now to
E. von Hartmann's Aesthetics. I have already referred
to his doctrine that the make-believe ego derives aesthetic
satisfaction from pretence, while the real ego stands
quietly in the background. But besides these apparent
feelings we have also real feelings, while we enjoy aes-
thetic pleasure — namely, our real delight in the appar-
ent, it This real pleasure that belongs, as such, to the
obscured real ego, now comes over into the sphere of the

* Binet, Alterations of Personality.

+ M. Dessoir, Das Doppel-Ich, p. 11.

J Von Hartniann, Aesthetik, vol. ii, p. 64. The distinction be-
tween make-believe and real feelings is well illustrated by our en-
joyment of tragedy, where an unpleasant sham feeling gives real
pleasure — namely, aesthetic satisfaction.

3U THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

play ego. " So it comes about that the happiness pro-
duced by aesthetic enjoyment appears as something ob-
jective, belonging to the play-scene, and not as a condi-
tion of the beholder's soul. It is like a great ocean of
bliss on which he floats and moves about at will, having
no further influence than to stir it a little, just as a
bather gives himself up to passive enjoyment in the en-
compassing element." *

This appears best in the contemplation of supreme
beauty which produces aesthetic pleasure depending on
sensuous pleasure. Here sensuous pleasure, an emo-
tion belonging to the real ego and susceptible of physi-
ological explanation, has come, by means of an uncon-
scious connection, into the sphere of make-believe, and
lent to the object that divine effulgence which is an
attribute of absolute beauty, f

We see, then, that there are many ways and occa-
sions for the use of this unconscious connection be-
tween the two states of consciousness, and we must
suppose that even in the most absorbing play a constant
influence is mutually exerted between them. But what
is the character of this influence? It would, of course,
be easiest to say that, though the real ego is hidden, it
manages to convey its own idea, " This thing is not
real," into the sphere of the play-ego. But Lange's
objection answers this; he says that while it is possible
for a fraud and faith in it to exist side by side in two
separate consciousnesses, it is inconceivable that they
could be present simultaneously in one and the same
sphere. He is right, and if we observe ourselves care-
fully we will find that it is as far from the truth as

* Von Hartmann. Aesthetik, vol. ii. p. 67.

f Cf. Groos, Einleitung in die Aesthetik. pp. 254 f.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 315

is the theory of regular oscillation. Neither in intense
artistic enjoyment nor in genuine play does the con-
scious thought, " This is only a sham," present itself
to us. When I said above, in agreement with many
others, " I see through the deception, and yet give my-
self up to it," the actual working of consciousness was,
by the bluntness of logical expression, very imperfectly
described. For when self-observation assures me that I
have given myself up to the illusion, and yet there was no
alternation with reality, the logical conclusion arrived
at afterward must be that I consciously saw through
the sham while I was enjoying it.

The influence proceeding from the real ego is, then,
something quite different from this. The fact that in
play the apparent does not alternate with the real does
not prove that we have a conscious knowledge of the
pretence. The solution of the problem seems to me to
lie in the simple fact that consciousness of the apparent
is from the outset, and, in spite of all similarity, quite
different from consciousness of the real; and I find
the final ground for this difference in nothing less than
the fact that we recognise ourselves as the cause of the
pretence.* This brings us again to the idea of joy in
being a cause ; the real I feels itself to be the originator
of the make-believe images and emotions which it calls
forth voluntarily, and this feeling of being a cause glides
over unconsciously to the world of illusion and gives to
it a quality not possessed by reality. Eeality oppresses

* In my Einleitung in die Aesthetik (p. 82) I have emphasized
this, and have encountered the criticism of having expressed opin-
ions concerning the essence of the soul that are not susceptible of
proof. Here we are only concerned with the fact that we un-
doubtedly feel ourselves to be the cause ; whether we really are
so is indifferent for the purposes of a psychology of play.

316 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

us with a sense of helplessness, while in the world of illu-
sion we feel free and independent. There is no need
to say, " This is not real/^ for every idea and feeling
that forms part of the illusion bears the stamp ipse
feci, and can not be confused with reality. Only when
the consciousness of being a cause leaves the obscured
real ego does such confusion take place, and then the
mind's condition ceases to be playful and becomes
pathological.

Let us take an instance of the dangerous trifling with
the emotional nature, so common in our day, when a
nervous and excitable person arouses his emotions with-
out any real cause. Marie Baschkirtzew writes at the
age of thirteen years: " Can it be true? I find every-
thing good and beautiful, even tears and pain. I love
to weep, I love to despair, I love to be sad. I love life
in spite of all, I wish to live. I must be happy, and am
happy to be miserable. My body weeps and cries, but
something in me that is above me enjoys it all." Can
we suppose that the unhappy young girl had the clear
idea amid her storm of emotion, " These feelings
have no real cause," and that she created from this
knowledge this strange ecstasy of pain? Is it not
much more probable that this feeling was wanting dur-
ing the rush of emotion, and that what produced the
ecstasy was the feeling of pleasure in being a cause
that came over from the real I, the feeling that all this
agitation was not contrary to her will but produced by
herself; in other words, the feeling of being active and
not passive, the feeling of having produced a sublimated
kind of reality through her own psychic activity?
Only afterward comes the logical formulation, " My sor-
rows, my joys, and my cares have no existence" — an
id^a that is not present in the first gush of feeling, and

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 317

if it were, would only increase the pain instead of chang-
ing it into a subject for rejoicing.

I believe, therefore, that in genuine absorbing play
the oscillation from appearance to reality is an unneces-
sary as well as an improbable hypothesis. The idea un-
recognised by consciousness gliding over from the real
ego, that the whole world of appearance depends on our-
selves, that we create it from material within us,* is
sufficient to prevent our mistaking the make-believe for
reality, without, however, making it necessary for us
clearly to hold the difference in mind.f This conclu-
sion brings us to a second point, which we may now con-
sider, finding in it a more definite answer to the question.

2. The Feeling of Freedom in Make-helieve.

Connecting the idea of freedom with that of make-
believe brings us back to Schiller. There are two kinds
of temperament belonging to genius. The one strives
for what is attainable, the other for what is not.
Schiller says: "The one is noble by reason of attain-
ment, the other in proportion as he approaches infinite
greatness." He himself belongs to the second class ; he
with Michelangelo and Beethoven are types of the eter-
nally striving and struggling genius straining for the
unattainable, in whom the artist's gift is nourished by

» This is why we are proud of the capacity for such creation.
It is a kind of joy in being able.

+ In support of this position I appeal again to the tragic drama.
When feelings produced by inner imitation, and voluntarily called
forth, become so painful as to counterbalance the pleasure derived
from esthetic satisfaction, we call in the help of our knowledge of
its unreality to dampen the ardour of our emotions. But so long
as we are in full a-sthetic enjoyment we do not think of this until
the play is over, though it is responsible for half our pleasure.

318 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

" gleams from the lamp of life itself." Schiller's youth-
ful philosophy disclosed this principle of his nature.
Above the actual worlds with its suffering, above " this
dream of warring frogs and mice," this life of frivolity, a
lofty spiritual world rises in glorious perfection, to
which he ascribes the fulfilment of every ideal of love,
friendship, joy, and freedom. But this beautiful world,
already threatened by Voltaire, vanished before the
chill breath of the destroyer of ideals — Kant. Schiller
expressed his pain in the loss of the ideal in his Gods of
Greece. That noble blooming time of Nature represents
to him the flowering of his own youthful idealism; and
when he bewails " all the fair blossoms falling before the
blasts of winter," much that is personal is hidden in the
words.

The ideal is only a dream, a beautiful chimera, but
need not, therefore, be lost to us, for we may still enjoy
the ideal in play; and with this conception, the poet
rises to new flights which open the classic period of his
creation.

It is necessary to apprehend this fact clearly in or-
der to understand the great ethical power of Schiller's
-Esthetics, which is for him not merely a new intellec-
tual discipline, but, above all, a new victory of ethical
personality. Being denied metaphysical ideals, he di-
rects his whole ethical force to the realm of beauty,
and feels that in virtue of his art he is a priest of hu-
manity, whose honour is intrusted to his care. In beau-
tiful unreality he finds again all that he dreamed in
youth, harmony of feeling and impulse, happiness, free-
dom, and the highest perfection of mankind. His meta-
physical idealism comes back to him in the form of
aesthetic idealism.

Inquiring more closely into the nature of this aes-

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 319

thetic idealism, we find that it culminates in the feeling
of freedom; when indulging in it a man is free — that
is to say, he is wholly human only when he plays, for
there is no real freedom in the sphere of experience.
In real life the man is a plaything of opposing forces.
On the animal side of his nature, the sensuous, he is
restrained by Nature's laws, while reason forces him
to obey imperious moral mandates, and a perfect recon-
ciliation of these forces is impossible. " Between pleas-
ure of the senses and peace of mind man has but a
sorry choice.^' Only in playing and indulging in beau-
tiful dreams can a man find relief from this contention.
Schiller expressed this conviction when he was in
Mannheim, as far back as 1784. " Our nature,'' he
says, " alike incapable of remaining in the condition of
animals and of keeping up the higher life of reason,
requires a middle state, where the opposite ends may
unite, the harsh tension be reduced to mild harmonj^
and the transition from one condition to the other be
facilitated. The sesthetic sense, or feeling for beauty,
is the only thing that can fill this want." And what
is the governing idea in this middle state? "This: to
be a complete man." * By reducing in his play the harsh
tension to mild harmony he relieves himself of the
double law of Nature and Eeason, raises himself to a
state of freedom, and so first attains his full humanity.
The result achieved in play is " the symbol of his true
vocation." f

Schiller says: "The sensuous impulse must be ex-
pressed, must attain its object; the form impulse ex-
presses itself and produces its object; but the play im-

* Schiller, Die Schambuhne als eine Moralische Anstalt be-
trachtet.

t Aesth. Erziehung, fourteenth letter.

320 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

pulse strives to receive as if itself had produced tlie
object, and to give forth what sense is labouring to ab-
sorb. The sensuous impulse excludes from its subject
all self-activity and freedom; the form impulse ex-
cludes all dependence and passivity. But the exclusion
of freedom is physical necessity, and the exclusion of
passivity is moral necessity. Both impulses constrain
the soul, one by natural laws, the other by moral laws.
The play impulse, then, uniting them, affects the mind
both morally and physically, lifts it above both acci-
dent and necessity, and sets man free, physically and
morally.'' * " The term ' play impulse ' is justified by
the usages of language, which signifies by the word play
(Spiel) all that is neither contingent subjectively or ob-
jectively, nor yet either internally or externally com-
pelled. Thus the mind, by beholding the beautiful,
is placed in a happy mean between law and necessity,
and relieved from the oppression of either, because it
is divided between the two." f

Passing over Schiller's hair-splitting method of es-
tablishing the equilibrium between the two opposing
impulses — which he suspended like two equal weights
in a balance, being still controlled by the old theory of
faculties — and without elaborating these ancient ideas,
we will rather attempt to translate them into modern
ps3Thological language. First, then, Schiller is perfect-
ly right in designating the feeling of freedom as the
highest and most important factor in the satisfaction de-
rived from play, and further in finding it closely re-
lated to the feeling of necessity. We feel free although
we are compelled; this is indeed the very essence of

* Aesth. Erziehuner. fourteenth letter.
f Ibid., fifteenth letter.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 321

play. We are compelled, for sham occupation is re-
lated to the hypnotic condition in that it treats mere
appearance as if it were reality. The make-believe I fol-
lows all the turns of playful activity, yielding obedient
service to the intellectual and emotional stimuli which
they evolve, and yet this compulsion is not like that
which oppresses us in actual experience, for the fact
is always present to our consciousness that we are the
creators of this world of appearances. "The reality
of things," says Schiller, " is inherent in them, the ap-
pearance of things is man's affair, and the state of
mind that is nourished by appearance takes more pleas-
ure in its own activity than in anything that it re-
ceives." * We are compelled, because we are under the
power of an illusion, and we are free because we produce
the illusion voluntarily. Indeed, it may safely be said
that we never feel so free as when we are playing.

Apart from all transcendental considerations, free ac-
tivity, regarded from a psychological standpoint, depends
on our ability to do just what we wish to do, and on
no other ground; this is the positive side, and the nega-
tive side is that we have the conviction that we can ab-
stain from the act at any moment that pleases us. The
popular idea is correct in calling a man free when he
does and leaves undone what he chooses, for the feeling
of being at liberty consists in regarding ourselves as
the arbiters of our own destiny. Whatever error the
theoretical metaphysician may think it necessary to
combat in this statement, it remains a psychological
fact that we do have such a feeling, and that it is of
incalculable practical significance. Let us see in what
it consists. We feel ourselves to be absolute causes —

* Aesth. Erziehung, twenty-sixth letter.

322 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

that is to say, we feel ourselves to be governed entirely
by ourselves, by our present will. Xo " not I "" seems
to us to influence either our present object or the idea
of our former or future experience; we seem to be di-
vided from the all-powerful causal nexus pervading the
ages, and to be at liberty to fulfil our present desires
unencumbered by circumstances or consequences. We
seem, as Kant expresses it, to begin a causal series " self-
originated and elemental.'^ *

The feeling of freedom is undoubtedly heightened
by our conviction that we can desist from an act at
any moment. " I am still free " is the same as " I can
yet turn back." Here, also, freedom is identical with
being an absolute cause, for if I were able only to set an
act on foot, but not go on with it, my freedom would
vanish as soon as my causality ceased. So the struggle
for liberty turns out to be the highest psychic accom-
paniment of the struggle for life. The instinctive pro-
pensity of all living creatures to preserve their inde-
pendence, to shake off every attempt on individual
liberty, culminates in the effort after intellectual lib-
erty. The joy of freedom is the sublimest flight of
that pleasure in being a cause, which has occupied so
much of our attention.

But where can the feeling of freedom be purer or
more intense than in conscious self-illusion in the
realm of play? In real life we are always in servitude
to objects and under the double weight of past and
future. These objects, intelligent and otherwise, for
the most part oppose our wills or assume authority
over us. Care for the future torments us and robs us

* Critique of Pure Reason (p. 435 of Kehrbach's German
edition).

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 323

of our freedom of action. The past, which no more be-
longs to our living ego, is riveted to us with iron bolts
so that we can not escape from it. And where in real
life is the feeling that we always might turn back —
might step out of the causal series? Perhaps our resolu-
tion seems to be free, but as soon as stern realities beset
us we fall again under the resistless causal nexus of the
universe, and no power on earth can send back the
arrow that is loosed from the bowstring. We may well
suppose that it was under bitter experience of the inevi-
tableness of necessity that Schiller described Wallen-
stein's condition with such force of genius. Perhaps the
power of the " not I '' over the " I " has never been more
tragically set forth than in that great monologue, where
we see the unlucky stars depriving the hero of his
freedom :

" Is it possible ?
Is't so ? I can no longer what I u'ould 9
No longer draw back at my liking, I
Must do the deed because I thought of it?

I but amused myself with thinking of it.
The free will tempted me, the power to do
Or not to do it. — Was it criminal
To make the fancy minister to hope ?

Was not the will kept free ? Beheld I not

The road of duty close beside me — but

One little step and once more I was in it !

Where am I ? Whither have I been transported f

No road, no track behind me, but a wall

Impenetrable, insupportable.

Rises obedient to the spells 1 muttered

And meant not — my own doings tower behind me.

Stern is the on-look of Necessity.

Not without shudder may a human hand

Grasp the mysterious urn of destiny.

324 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

My deed was mine, remaining in my bosom :
Once suffered to escape from its safe corner
Within the heart, its nursery and birthplace,
Sent forth into the Foreign, it belongs
Forever to those sly, malicious powers
Whom never art of man conciliated." *

" Stern is the on-look of necessity," says Wallenstein,
and " Life itself is stern/' cries Schiller in the pro-
logue to the same drama. But — " art is brighter and
more cheerful." The effect of play is brightness and
freedom — so much so that we may say, in real life there
is freedom only so long as serious activity is not yet
begun — that is, while the man still plays with con-
flicting motives. What do the advocates of indetermi-
nism mean by freedom? It is to them the ability to
choose among various motives; but this choice is noth-
ing but a play in which the man represents to himself
now this, now that motive as realized; it is a conscious
self -illusion. And only when he has indulged in it
does he feel, after the decision is made, that he has
acted freely. Wallenstein's monologue has a special
interest in this connection; for, since he found pleasure
in amusing himself with the mere thought of royalty
and delighted in the illusion, it is clear that for him
the feeling of freedom consisted in this play of motives.
The word for play in most languages signifies only a
pleasurable condition, but the old German word Spi-
lan means a light floating movement f — that is to say,
free activity — giving to the modern word Spielen a
primary significance which bears out our analysis.
Freed from the causal nexus of the world's events, play

* From Coleridge's English version of The Death of Wallen-
stein.

f M. Lazarus, Ueber die Reize des Spiels, Berlin, 1883, p. 19.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 325

is a world to itself, into which we enter voluntarily
and come out when we will. There we seem freed
from necessity because in conscious self -illusion we feel
ourself to be an absolute cause.

We are now approaching the end of our inquiry. The
joy in being a cause having culminated in the highest
and most refined of pleasurable feelings — namely, in that
of liberty — we find here the deep significance of that di-
vision of consciousness which occupied us in the last
section. The difficulty of explaining it consists in the
fact that in play we take appearance for reality, and
still do not confuse it with the actual. In many cases
the leaping over of our consciousness to the real I is
conceivable, but in the most intense enjoyment this
off-shooting of consciousness does not take place, and we
must suppose an unconscious connection between the real
and play egos that obviates the necessity for this alterna-
tion. We have found such a connection in the feeling
of being a cause without going into the nature of these
psychic adjuncts of make-believe. This is now the place
for such an inquiry.

I have throughout this whole treatise spoken not of
the idea but of the feeling of being a cause. A conscious
idea that we ourselves produce the appearnce is as little
supposable during intense enjoyment as the idea, " This
is only a pretence." What glides over from the real I,
and is recognisable by self-observation, is only the feel-
ing of pleasure arising from the consciousness of being a
cause and culminating in the feeling of freedom. There
are, empirically speaking, no pure feelings that can be
distinguished from ideas as such, no abstract pleasure or
pain.* Feeling is always, in its finer manifestations, the

* Cf. Lehmann, Hauptgesetze des Gefiililslebens, p. 16.

326 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

product of intellectuality, but the intellectual elements
are latent and are manifested only in the shading that
they impart to the emotions. So is it in the case we
are considering. The consciousness of the obscured
real ego that has produced * the whole illusion, and so
created a free world of appearance above the causal
nexus of reality, does not appear conspicuously in the
feeling of freedom that oversteps the bounds of the
apparent world, but does impart to it a character that
distinguishes it from all other pleasurable feelings.
This characteristic seems to me to form the barrier that
prevents our confusing the make-believe with the real.

The artist always employs some means to prevent
such confusion — the frame, for example, in painting
and the pedestal for a statue. Theodor Alt f includes
all such means under the general name of " negative
effects," while Conrad Lange calls them " illusion-de-
stroying effects." X In play the feeling of freedom sub-
jectively performs the office of these objective means.
It gives the whole world of appearance a special col-
ouring, distinguishing it from everything that is real,
and rendering it impossible that even in our utmost
absorption we should ever confuse the make-believe with
the real. As in assthetic enjoyment, the real pleasure
in beholding — which is, after all, only a special case of
our general principle — steps over into the apparent

* Th. Ziegler says of the feeling of freedom : " But what is the
nature of this feehng? Only 'that all my actions proceed from
myself, that I am the cause of them ' ; it is closely related to the
feeling of power, one side of it, so to speak, isolated, strength-
ened, and generalized, and belonging to the whole ego ; just as in
the feeling of dependence, on the contrary, the essential thing is
subjection of the ego as a whole," (Das Gefuhl, p. 293,)

f Alt, System der Kunst, p. 23.

X Die bewusste Selbsttauschung, p, 20.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ANIMAL PLAY. 327

world and changes it into a better and higher one, so
in conscious play the whole sham occupation is trans-
formed by the feeling of freedom into something
higher, freer, finer, and more luminous, which we can not
confuse with the realities of life. The feeling of
freedom, then, is the subjective analogue to the objective
" destroyers of illusion.'^ Life is earnest, art is playful.

I wish to append to this concluding chapter a brief
note. Should a question be raised as to the nature of
the artistic production whose germ is present in the
animals, the following may serve as an answer: First,
there is the commonest of all kinds of play, experi-
mentation, which, with its accompanying joy in the
possession of power, may be regarded as the principal
source of all kinds of art. We have also found, in the
excitement created by musical sounds, an approach to
human art. We recall the monkey that took great
pleasure in striking on hollow objects. From experi-
mentation in general three specialized forms of play
arise, analogous to the human arts, and their differ-
entiation leads us to the three most important prin-
ciples of the latter. They are courtship, imitation, and
the constructive arts, and the three principles involved
are those of self-exhibition, imitation, and decoration.
These principles are expressed in art as the personal,
the true, and the beautiful. There is no form of art
in which they are not present together, though one
usually dominates, while the others are subsidiary.
This is evident even in the animal world. Th-e bird
that adorns his nest imitates the example of others, and
expresses his personality in the work. The bird that
mimics another often effects an improvement in his own

song, and indulges in self -exhibition ; and the bird that
23

328

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

displays his skill to admiring females does not fail to
employ the principles of imitation and decoration. So
we find in animals, and especially in birds who, though so
distantly related to us, seem by reason of their upright
carriage more near, a certain analogy to our own system
of arts; indeed, in the simplest phenomena displayed in
the animal world we recognise an important suggestion
as to the solution of the vexed question of the proper
natural division of human arts. The recognition of the
three fundamental principles, which are, however, held
together to the single one of experimentation, seems to
me a gain, as opposed to the one-sidedness of many in-
vestigators. This relationship points directly to the fact
that all forces efficacious in artistic production are refer-
able to the central idea of play, and therefore to an in-
stinctive foundation. The following table will make this
clear :

PLAY.

Experimentation.
(Joy in being able.)

(Pretence : conscious self-deception.)

Self-exhibition.

Imitation.

Decoration.

The personal.

The true.

The beautiful.

With ( Courtship
animals. \ arts.

f Dance with
1 excitement.
With ] Music.

man. "] Lyric poetry.

Imitative arts.

Imitative dance.

Pantomime.

Sculpture.

Painting.

Epic poetry.

Drama.

Building arts.

Ornamentation.
Architecture.

EDITOR'S APPENDIX
ON ORGANIC SELECTION *

In certain recent publications f an hypothesis has
been presented which seems in some degree to mediate
between the two current theories of heredity. The point
of view taken in these publications is briefly this: Assum-
ing the operation of natural selection as currently held,
and assuming also that individual organisms through
adaptation acquire modifications or new characters, then
the latter will exercise a directive influence on the for-
mer quite independently of any direct inheritance of ac-
quired characters. For organisms which survive through

* See pp. 64, 65, above. This appendix reproduces a com-
munication made to Science (April 23, 1897) and Nature (April 15,
1897), slightly revised.

f H. F. Osborn, Proceedings of the New York Academy of Sci-
ence, meeting of March 9 and April 13, 1896, reported in Science,
April 3 and November 27, 1896 ; also American Naturalist, No-
vember, 1897. C. Lloyd Morgan, Habit and Instinct, October,
1896, pp. 307 ff., also printed in Science, November 20, 1896.
J. Mark Baldwin, discussion before the New York Academy of
Science, meeting of January 31st, reported in full in Science,
March 20, 1896, also American Naturalist, June and July, 1896 ;
also see other references given above, p. 64. The following brief
statement was prepared in consultation with Principal Morgan
and Professor Osborn.

329

330 THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

adaptive modification will hand on to the next genera-
tion any " coincident variations '^ (i. e., congenital varia-
tions in the same direction as adaptive modifications)
which they may chance to have, and also allow fur-
ther variations in the same direction. In any given
series of generations, the individuals of which survive
through their susceptibility to modification, there will be
a gradual and cumulative development of coincident
variations under the action of natural selection. The
adaptive modification acts, in short, as a screen to per-
petuate and develop congenital variations and correlated
groups of these. Time is thus given to the species to
develop by coincident variation characters indistinguish-
able from those which were due to acquired modification,
and the evolution of the race will proceed in the lines
marked out by private and individual adaptations. It
will appear as if the modifications were directly inher-
ited, whereas in reality they have acted as the fostering
nurses of congenital variations.

It follows also that the likelihood of the occurrence
of coincident variations will be greatly increased with
each generation, under this " screening " influence of
modification; for the mean of the congenital variations
will be shifted in the direction of the adaptive modifica-
tion, seeing that under the operation of natural selec-
tion upon each preceding generation variations which
are not coincident tend to be eliminated.*

Furthermore, it has recently been shown that, inde-
pendently of physicial heredity, there is among the ani-
mals a process by which there is secured a continuity
of social environment, so that those organisms which are

* This aspect of the subject has been especially eraphasizerl in
my own exposition, American Naturalist, June, 1896, pp. 147 ff.

EDITOR'S APPENDIX ON ORGANIC SELECTION. 331

born into a social community, such as the animal family,
accommodate themselves to the ways and habits of that
community. Prof. Lloyd Morgan,* following Weis-
mann and Hudson, has employed the term " tradition '^
for the handing on of that which has been acquired by
preceding generations ; and I have used the phrase " so-
cial heredity " for the accommodation of the individuals
of each generation to the social environment, whereby
the continuity of tradition is secured, f

It appears desirable that some definite scheme of
terminology should be suggested to facilitate the discus-
sion of these problems of organic and mental evolution;
and I therefore venture to submit the following:

1. Variation: to be restricted to " blastogenic " or
congenital variation.

2. Accommodation: functional adaptation of the in-
dividual organism to its environment. This term is
widely used in this sense by psychologists, and in an
analogous sense by physiologists. J

3. Modification (Lloyd Morgan) : change of struc-
ture or function due to accommodation. To supercede
" ontogenic variations " (Osborn) — i. e., changes arising
from all causes during ontogeny.

4. Coincident Variations (Lloyd Morgan) : varia-
tions which coincide with or are similar in direction to
modifications.

* Introduction to Comparative Psychology, pp. 170, 210; Habit
and Instinct, pp. 183, 342.

f j\[ental Development in the Child and the Race, first edition,
January, 1895, p. 364; Science, August 23, 1895; more fully
treated in Social and Ethical Interpretations. 1897, chap. ii.

X It may be thought that "individual adaptation" suffices for
this ; but that phrase does not mark well the distinction between
" accommodation " and " modification." Adaptation is used cur-
rently in a loose general sense.

332 THE PLAY OF AXIMALS.

5. Organic Selection (Baldwin) : the perpetuation
and development of (congenital) coincident variations
in consequence of accommodation.

6. Orthoplasy (Baldwin) : the directive or determin-
ing influence of organic selection in evolution.*

7. Ortho plastic Influences (Baldwin) : all agencies
of accommodation (e. g., organic plasticity, imitation,
intelligence, etc.), considered as directing the course of
evolution through organic selection.

8. Tradition (Lloyd Morgan) : the handing on from
generation to generation (independently of physical he-
redity) of acquired habits.

9. Social Heredity (Baldwin) : the process by which
the individuals of each generation acquire the matter of
tradition and grow into the habits and usages of their

kind.f

J. Mark Baldwin.

* Eimer's " orthogenesis " might be adopted were it possible to
free it from association with his hypotheses of " orthogenic " or
'determinate" variation, and use-inheritance. The view which I
wish to characterize is in some degree a substitute for these hy-
potheses.

f For further justification of the terms " Social Heredity " and
"Organic Selection," I may refer to the American Naturalist,
July, 1896, pp. 552 ff.

INDEX

Acquisitiveness, 165.

Adaptation of sense organs, 211.

Addison, on instinct, 27.

-^lian, imitation in monkeys, 184.

Esthetic pleasure, 162, 223, 231.

Alix, on the origin of reflexes, 65 ;
instinct and intelligence, 69 ; play
of animals, 83 ; experimentation
by a dog, 91 ; coasting by a dog,
115 ; climbing by a gibbon, 119 ;
chasing by a dog, 125 ; a musical
dog, 189 ; Drongo paradisier, 200 ;
deception in a dog, 297, 305.

Allen, Grant, on Schiller, 3.

Alt, 326.

Altum, 24.

Animal friendship, 171.

Anschutz, curiosity of horses, 217.

Ants, chasing plays, 130 ; fighting
plays, 140.

Ant-eater, 137.

Antelope, courtship play of, 254.

Apparent I or play ego, 305 fl".

Apperception, 214, 227.

Aquatic birds, teaching, 106 ; court- j
ship, 262.

Attention, 214, 227.

Audubon, carrier pigeons, 181 ; love
plays of night hawk and mocking
bird, 259 ; song of the cardinal,
277.

Autenrieth, on caterpillars, 41.

Azara, execution by rats, 209; the
oscilador, 258.

Badger, 106, 107, 113, 122, 138.

Bain, on instinct, 32 ; on the move-
ments of a newborn lamb, 33,
78.

Baldamus, on the night heron, 150.

Baldenstein, on vultures, 96. 148.

Baldwin, J. Mark, Editor's Preface ;
on walking reflex, 44 ; on the in-
heritance of acquired characters,
56, 64 ; on heredity and instinct,
61 ; instinct and intelligence, 71, 75,
78; self-exhibition, 166; observa-
tion of mocking birds,197, 277; im-
itation, 207 ; organic selection, 239,
xlppendix ; make-believe, 301.

Baltz, nursing play among cats, 174.

Barrington, bird song not inherited,
72.

Baschkirtzew, divided conscious-
ness, 316.

Bastard nightingale, 159.

Bates, fighting plays of ants, 141.

Bateson, on selection, 64.

Baya-bird, 150.

Bear, experimentation, 87 ; move-
ment play, 113; tussling, 142;
imitation, 191.

Bearded titmouse, 110.

Beauty, animals' feeling for it, 162,
168, 230, 240 ; divided conscious-
ness in sense of, 319; relation to
decoration, 327.

Beckmann, on raccoons, 89, 137, 143 ;
chasing play of a badger, 129.

334

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

Beckstein, imitation in birds, 201 ;
song of nightingale, 276.

Bell bird, 252, 260.

Beneke, on the surplus - energy-
theory, 2; habits of macropods,
102.

Bennati, musical dog, 189.

Bennett, the ape's skill in climbing,
118 ; propensity for teasing, 137 ;
on the duckbill, 142.

Bezold, nursing play of dogs, 172.

Binet, on instinct in learning to
walk, 43 ; divided consciousness
in dreams, 309 ; experiments with
hysteria, 313.

Bittern, pairing call, 282.

Brehm, A. E., on instinct, 28, 34
destructiveness of cockatoos, 95
experimentation by puma, 86
movement plays of stickleback,
100 ; teaching the young, 106 ; on
the marten, 111 ; sliding of cham-
ois, 114 ; cats' play with victims,
122; chase plays of cougar, 120;
weasel, 121; cat, 131; dog, 132;
ocelot, 134 ; tussling of monkeys,
137 ; of ibis, 139 ; of hyena, 142 ;
of curly bear, 147 ; fighting of
buzzards, 148 ; imitative play,
186, 200; voice practice of lions,
210 ; curiosity of monkeys, 215 ;
of keanastor, 220 ; love plays, 215,
258, 263 ; song of finches, 275 ; of
scarlet shrike, 277; pairing call
of bittern, 282.

Brehm, Charles L., flight of falcons,
105 ; fighting plays of birds, 129,
145; imitation, 196, 202; intelli-
gence of birds. 251, 254; love
plays of birds, 256, 267, 279, 280.

Brehm, L., experimentation by
bears, 87 ; by vultures, 95 ; nurs-
ing plays of monkeys, 194; curi-
osity of vultures, 222.

Brooks on the inheritance of ac-
quired characters, 56.

Brunetiere, on positivism, 31.

Buchner, on instinct, 32, 34, 37, 106;
fighting plays of ants, 140 ; nurs-
ing plays, 170 ; coquetry of bii'ds,
285.

Bulengerus, on play as recreation,
16 ; play of fishes, 100.

Bulfinch, imitation, 199 ; experi-
mentation, 187 ; display of plum-
age, 269 ; song of the female, 280.

Butterfiy courtship, 265.

Calf, fighting play of, 144.

Canary, experimentation, 86 ; flight,
103 ; swinging, 110 ; learning to
sing, 190 ; imitation, 195 ; talking,
197 ; curiosity, 223 ; intelligence,
252 ; song of female, 280 ; co-
quetry, 285.

Capucin ape, experimentation, 92.

Cardinal, song, 277.

Carolina parrot, destructiveness, 95.

Carrier pigeon, imitation, 181.

Cartesius. See Descartes.

Carus, on instinct, 30 ; weaving by
birds, 156 ; vanity of birds, 267.

Cat, play with mock prey, 19, 21,
130 ; experimentation, 87, 97 ;
movement play, 114 ; play with
mice, 121 ; tussling, 141 ; nursing
play, 173; imitation, 183; mass
play, 208 ; curiosity, 215 ; con-
certs, 273.

Cato, on parrots in Kome, 202.

Celius, speech in parrots, 203.

Cerocebus albigena, aesthetic per-
ception, 226.

Chamois, 114, 144, 217.

Chauna chavarria, voice practice,
98, 211 ; flight, 108.

Chickens, learning to walk, 107 ;
imitation, 195.

Chimpanzee, experimentation, 92;
delight in noise, 96 ; imitation, 186.

Cockatoo, destructiveness, 95 ; imi-
tation, 206.

INDEX.

535

Comte, the law of three stages, 30.
Condillac, on divided consciousnes^s,

305.
Condor, flight, 108.
Consciousness, in instinct, 65; di-
vision of, 303 ; limits of, 305.
Constructive arts, 152.
Coquetry, 244, 283.
Courtship, 97, 99, 106, 130, 135, 145,

211.
Cows, fighting play, 144 ; mass

play, 208; an execution, 209;

curiosity, 216.
Coyness, 243, 283.
Crane, flight, 108; courtship play,

261 ; intelligence, 262 ; dancing,

263.
Crested fly-catcher, nest-buildins,

159.
Crested lark, imitation, 199.
Crocodile, curiosity, 220.
Crossbill, flight, 216.
Crow, thieving, 159 ; imitation, 183 ;

execution, 209, 211.
Cuckoo, love play, 270; coquetry,

219.
Curiosity, 185, 214.

Dancing, 268.

Darwin, Charles, on instinct, 25, 46,
67 ; inheritance of acquired char-
acters, 44, 59 ; instinct aud intelli-
gence, 67; play of adults, 81;
flight of condor, 109 ; play with
prey, 121, 123; chasing play of
monkeys, 134; fighting plays of
Tetrao umbellus, 146 ; weaver
bird, 156; viscacha, 158; bower
bird, 161 ; feeling for beauty
among animals, 239 ; sexual se-
lection, 231, 246; imitation by
wolves and dogs, 190; chickens
learning to drink, 195 ; execution
by animals, 210 ; curiosity of
monkeys, 215; dancing of the
Tetrao phasianellus, 264; court-

ship of mammals, 266 ; vanity of
peacocks, 267; Kupicola crocea,
268 ; display of plumage by va-
rious birds, 269, 270; musical
monkeys and mice, 274: bird
song out of pairing season, 2S0;
song of females, 280, 281.

Darwin, Francis, Hylobates leu-
ciscus, 273.

Decoration, 162, 327.

Deer-hunting, play, 128.

Delaistre, curiosity of weasels, 217,

Descartes, animals as automata, 26.

Dessoir, double personality, 306,
307 ; Binet's experiment, 313.

Destructive impulse, 91, 200, 220,

Dickens, on ravens, 95, 202.

Diezel, love plays of does, 257 ;
army snipes, 2S2.

Dittman, imitation by a starling,
201.

Doe, aesthetic perception, 227 ;
courtship, 257.

Dogs, tussling, 19, 141, 146, 148;
play with lifeless prey, 19, 132,
165; experimentation, 85, 91, 97;
voice practice, 97 ; coasting, 115 ;
movement plays, 116; play with
beetle, 123; hunting plays, 118;
deception, 119, 301 ; an artistic
dog, 165; nursing play, 170; imi-
tation, 181, 188, 191; curiosity,
215; pairing plays, 254; court-
ship, 257, 267 : conscious self-de-
ception in fighting play, 300.

Doll, 169.

Dolphin, movement play. Ill ; teas-
ing, 138,

Donkey, movement play, 113 ; fight-
ing play, 144.

Double personality, 313, 314.

Dream, relation to play, 309.

Drongo paradisier, imitation, 200.

Duckbill, tussling, 142.

Ducks, learning to swim, 106 ; mass
plays, 211.

336

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

Duncker, nursing play of dogs, 170.
Duvaucel, climbing of apes, 118.
Dyer, on inheritance of acquired
characters, 56.

Eagle, 260.

Edmonson, execution by crows, 209.

Eimer, on instinct, 48 ; Weisraann,

51 ; curiosity of cows, 217 ; of

lizards, 219.
Elephant, 298.
Ellendorf, on apes, 185.
Encyclopaedia Britannica, 27.
Espinas, courtship, 244.
Execution by animals, 209.
Experimentation, 76, 85, 180, 211,

290, 328.

Falcon, 261.

Falkenstein, on the gorilla, 87, 97,

114, 180.
Fawn, 128.

Fere, divided consciousness, 309.
Fighting plays, 135.
Finch, 280.
Firefly, 100.

Fischer, on the mandril, 247.
Fish, 100, 102, 219, 265.
Fish otter, 87.

Fitch, on nursing plays of cats, 173.
Flight of birds, 105, 259, 266.
Fltigel, on Wasmann, 29, 56.
Flying fish, 101.
Forel, on ants, 56, 58, 139.
Foveau de Courmelles, on instinct,

47.
Fox, 112, 123, 128.
Franck, 199.
Furnarius, duet, 256.

Galton, on inheritance of acquired

characters, 55 ; on selection, 64.
Gardener, 220.
Gazelle, 113, 208, 217.
Gellert, 27.
Genius, 295, 317.

Gesner, play of cats, 132; of man-
dril, 246 ; vanity of the peacock,
267.

Gibbon, 118, 274.

Girtanner, on the vulture, 96.

Gnu, 138.

Goat, 108, 128, 144, 208, 215.

Goose, 106, 211, 226.

Golden pheasant, 269.

Golden plover, 26.

Golden-crested wren, 129, 270.

Golz, on mocking birds, 197.

Gorilla, 87, 97, 119, 186.

Gould, on the bower bird, 161.

Grischow, on martens. 128.

Gross, 303, 305, 311, 314.

Grosse, play and art, 292, 295.

Gunzel, the magpie, 129, 226.

Guts Muths, play as recreation, 15,
16, 23.

Haas, on antelopes, 128,

Haast, on the keanestor, 220.

Habit. 46.

Habitual 1, 118.

Haeckel, 51.

Hammerhead, 159.

Hare, 96, 113.

Hartmann, on instinct, 8, 30, 40, 66,
70, 74 ; unconscious sexual selec-
tion, 240; apparent I, 304; di-
vided consciousness, 311, 314, 319.

Hensel, concert of howling apes, 272.

Hertwig, on Weismann, 51.

His, on the inheritance of acquired
characters, 56.

Hoffmann, imitation by a dog, 191.

Hooded raven, 147.

Horse, 113, 125, 138.

Howling ape, 97, 211, 272, 276.

Huber, on ants, 58, 130, 140.

Hudson, on play, 10, 11, 238 ;
on sheep, 33 ; the parra jacana,
43: the chauna chavarria, 108,
211,219; the firefly, 160; dance
of spur- winged lapwing, 109;

INDEX.

plays of lions, 120, 129; of vis-
cacha, 157 ; of lambs, 192 ; of
mocking bird, 200; of weasels,
207, 209 ; of various birds, 212 ; of
cows, 209 ; of Rupicola erocea, 225 ;
on sexual selection, 231, 238, 246 ;
duet by woodpeckers, 256 ; on
plumage of female birds, 281.

Huggins, a musical dog, 189.

Humboldt, flying flsh, 101 ; play of
jaguar, 123 ; of toucan, 139 ; vocal
organs of howling ape, 273.

Hume on instinct, 40.

Hunting plays, 120.

Hyena, 142.

Hypnotism, 304.

Hysteria, 304, 312.

Ibis, 139, 211.

Illusions, 124, 130, 299.

Imitation, 8, 14, 72, 74, 273, 281 ; by
gregarious animals, 76, 181 ; in
nest-building, 153; in art, 167,
328; constructive, 167, 180; so-
cial I, 207 ; inner, 162.

Imitative play, 178, 223, 302.

Inheritance of acquired characters,
45, 49, 54, 57, 71, 182, 227.

Insect, 100, 130, 140, 220.

Instinct, 13, 24, 47, 62, 67, 70, 152,
161, 177, 243, 249, 289.

Intelligence of animals. 26 ; of birds,
251 ; relation to instinct, 50, 69 ;
advancement through play, 72;
through imitation, 74.

Jacana, 212.

Jackdaw, 148, 159.

Jaguar, 123, 144.

James, play as instinct, 8, 43 ; inher-
itance of acquired characters, 56 ;
instinct and intelligence, 69 ; imi-
tation, 78, 178, 207; acquisitive-
ness, 164; curiosity, 214, 219; at-
tention, 124.

Janet, on double personality, 307,
314.

Jean Paul, surplus energy, 2 ; ex-
perimentation, 85.
Jeens, imitation in a dog, 191.

Kant, on artificial selection, 46 ;
likeness to Weismann, 54 ; natu-
ral and artistic pleasure, 303;
double personality, 304 ; influ-
ence of Schiller, 318; on free-
dom, 322.

Kastner, on parrots, 203, 227.

Keanastor, 220.

Keiraplasm, 53.

Keller, on monkeys, 184; on the
song of nightingales, 277.

Kirchner, on instinct, 32; intelli-
gence of birds, 252.

Kite, 260.

Kleptomania, 165.

Krauss, 104.

Kristan von Hamle, on parrots, 203.

Kropotkine, on cats, 126.

Kussmaul. on Keimarus, 38.

Lamarckian theory, 45, 46, 50, 57.
Landmann, on double personality,

304.
Lange, conscious self-deception,

292, 300; nature and art, 310;

pendulum, 311 ; illusion, 326.
Lapwing, 109, 260, 264.
Lazarus, 16, 20, 324.
Lehmann, 288, 325.
Leibnitz, imitation in a dog, 189.
Lenz, on goats, 113; martens, 122;

foxes, 123 ; rodents, 217 ; cranes,

262 ; finches, 275.
Leopard, 141.
Leroy, 26, 50, 214, 298.
Lessing, 88.
Leutemann, 186.
Levaillant, 297.
Lewes, 48.

Linden, on cockatoos, 95, 139.
Lindsay, on the water rat, 158.
Lion, 97, 141, 210.

338

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

Loango expedition, Y8. (See Fal-

KENSTEIN andPECHUKL-LoESCHE.)

Lockwood, ou singing mice, 274.
Lotze, 166.
Lubboclc, on ants, 58.

MacCook, on ants, 140.

Madagascar weaver bird, 266.

Magpie, 129, 159, 226, 255.

Make-believe, 131, 145, 151, 294, 299.

Mandril, 246.

Mantegazza, on coquetry, 285.

Marshall, on parrots, 203 ; on wood-
peckers, 281.

Marten, 111, 122, 128.

Alass plays, 206, 245.

Matthew, nursing play of dogs, 171.

Meier, animal psychology, 38.

Metaphysics, 29.

Meynert, on the inheritance of ac-
quired characters, 56, 60.

Migratory birds, 107.

Mill, James, on imitation, 295.

Millendorf, savage dancing, 213,
225.

Mills, Wesley, animal intelligence,
42, 86.

Mocking bird, 197, 200, 259.

Mole, hypnotism, 312.

Monkey, 92, 96, 134, 168, 185, 246.

Morgan, Lloyd, on instinct, 21, 47,
64, 72, 86 ; on heredity, 56 ; criti-
cism of James, 69 ; on swallow-
ing instinct, 196 ; curiosity of a
cat, 215 ; on sexual selection, 231.

Mouse, 217, 274.

Movement plays, 99.

Miiller, A. and K., on instinct, 40,
70 ; play, 8 ; of dogs, 96 ; of spar-
rows, 104 ; of migratory birds, 106 ;
of martens, 111; of wild buck,
113; of weasel, 123: of fox and
squirrel, 123; of cats, 130; of
badger, 142; of deer, 144; on
nest-building, 155; by wrens,
156, 159 ; by bastard nightingale,

159 ; by raven, 202 ; on the pair-
ing of birds, 245 ; their intelli-
gence, 251 ; love plays of mar-
tens, 257 ; of fish otters, 257 ; ot
red wagtails, 270 ; of the bit-
tern, 284 ; of squirrels and water
shrews and deer, 284; deception
of a bird dog, 297.

Muller, H., on young birds, 87, 103,
106, 195.

Music, 95, 189, 274.

Naumann, migration, 42; plays of
various birds, 108, 129, 142, 145,
148, 151, 154, 196 ; imitation, 199,
202 ; curiosity, 221, 251, 262-280 ;
drumming by woodpeckers, 281 ;
flapping of storks, 282 ; roar of
the bittern, 282.

Neo-Darwinism, 50, 55.

Neo-Lamarckism, 55.

Nietzsche, 290.

Night falcon, 259.

Night heron, 150.

Nightingale, 102, 221, 275.

Noll, 100.

Nordlinger, on the weasel, 126.

Nursing plays, 172.

Nuthatch, 145.

Ocelot, 134, 142.

Ocyphaps lophotes, 270.

Orange bird, 270.

Orang-outang, 93, 117, 174, 186.

Oscilador, 258.

Ostrich, 263.

Owen, on a musical gibbon, 274.

Panmixia, 59, 71.
Panther, 86.
Paradise birds, 268, 281.
Pardies, musical dog, 189.
Parra jacana, 43, 212.
Parrot, 110, 169, 202, 220, 297.
Partridge, 145.
Paske, on ravens, 221.

INDEX.

339

Peacock, 252, 269, 281.

Pechuel-Locsche, on apes, 76, 92,
119, 163, -226 ; on a ratn, 147.

Pereira, animals as automata, 26.

Philostratus, on apes, 184.

Pierquin de Gembloux, a musical
dog, 189.

Pietruvsky, on the raven, 177. ,

Plato, 79.

Play of animals, 1, 8, 13, 23, 49, 72,
287 ; social, 74, 99, 178, 294, 325.

Polar bear, 87, 90, 142, 191.

Pouchet, 69.

Praxiteles, 265.

Preyer, instinct, 43, 48; make-be-
lieve, 79 ; experimentation, 85,
88 ; cruelty, 135.

Puma, 86, 125, 134, 141.

Eaccoon, 90, 137, 143, 217.

Raffles, on the leopard, 122.

Eat, execution, 209.

Eed wagtail, 270.

Eedstart, 129.

Eeedbird, 256, 266.

Eeimarus, on instinct, 25, 29, 38.

Eengger, on monkeys, 97, 118, 137.

Eey, parrots, 95 : sparrows, 221.

Eibot, on instinct, 25, 48 ; on Weis-
mann, 51 ; attention, 214.

Eivalry, 140, 184, 195.

Eobin, 221.

Eomanes, G. J., instinct, 27, 42, 47,
52, 60, 71 ; on play of lishes, 101 ;
of dogs, 117; of various birds,
159; a crazed pigeon, 163; mon-
key with doll, 189 ; bird-song,
196, 200; execution, 210; curi-
osity of dogs, 216 ; of fish, 219 :
of insects, 220 ; intelligence of
birds, 251 ; the bell bird, 279.

Eomanes, Miss, experiments with
apes, 92, 187.

Eouth, on dogs, 191.

Eupicola crocea, 268.

Euss, speech of canaries, 197 ; other

birds, 198, 201, 203, 206; love
plays, 266 ; deception of a parrot,
29y.

Satin bower bird, 160.

Savage, on chimpanzee, 96.

Saville Kent, dolphins, 138.

Scarlet shrike, 278.

Schaeflfer, 136.

Schaller, on play, 15, 18.

Scheitlin, panther, 86; elephant,
91 ; hares, 96 ; cranes, 108 ; kit-
tens, 122; chasing play of horses,
125, 138; of stork, 128; of Alpine
cows, 144 ; dogs, 187 ; curiosity
of dogs, 216; of goats, 215; of
nightingales, 217 ; of siskins, 222 ;
dancing of a crane, 263 ; cat con-
cert, 274.

Schelling, on instinct, 30.

Schiller, surplus energy, 1, 22, 234,
287 ; teleology, 45, 88 ; play of
insects, 100; art and play, 303;
beauty, 317, 319; freedom, 323.

Schlegel, on the leopard, 112.

Schneider, instinct, 14, 48, 56, 65;
aim, 67 ; imitation, 77 ; attention,
130.

Schomburgk, 268.

Schopenhauer, 225.

Schu berth, on instinct, 30.

Schweinfurth, courtship of deer,
257.

Schwendt, on parrots, 204.

Seals, 110, 128, 144, 208.

Seiifertitz, on cranes, 262.

Seitz, play of antelopes, 7, 254;
movement plays, 113; play with
prey, 122, 124.

Selection, 45, 230, 244 ; negative I,
eflfect on play, 76 ; sexual, 230 ; or-
ganic, 64, 239, Appendix.

Self-deception, conscious, 294, 301.

Self-exhibition, 253, 327.

Siebeck, dreaming, 309.

Sigismund, experimentation, 85.

340

THE PLAY OF ANIMALS.

Singing mouse, 274.

Singing thrush, 108.

Siskin, 86, 110, 221, 260.

Smitt, orang-outang, 117.

Snipe, 260, 270, 275, 281.'

Sotheby, on talJiing canaries, 198.

Souriau, play as instinct, 13 ; as
practice, 22 ; movements of young
animals, 288, 296 ; pleasure in
activity, 290; end of play, 289.

Spalding, instinct in chickens,
swallows, and cats, 42; sparrow,
81, 104, 139, 221, 255.

Speckter, 185.

Speech, 197.

Spencer, play, 1, 5, 13, 21, 234, 287 ;
survival of the fittest, 45, 231 ; in-
heritance of acquired characters,
51, 60 ; on instinct, 62, 66 ; imita-
tion, 78, 181, 206 ; sexual selection,
231 ; love plays, 245, 280 ; freedom,
291.

Spengel, 56.

Spider, 265.

Squirrel, 284.

Starling, 145, 201.

Steinen, 309.

Steinthal, 15.

Stiebeling, 107.

Stork, 104, 128, 261, 282.

Strange, 1 60.

Strieker, imitation, 78, 178.

Suggestion, 213 ; hypnotic, 304,312.

Sully, on Schiller, 3 ; Weismann,
51 ; imitation, 78 ; causality, 290.

Swammerdam, water snail, 39.

Symmetry of coloring, 232, 235.

Tape, on geese, 106.

Tapir, 113.

Tarde, imitation, 207.

Tennent, curiosity, 219 ; elephants,

298.
Tetrao phasianellus, 264.
Tetrao umbellus, 151.
Thistio iiuch, 110, 272, 280.

Thrush, 200, 277, 280.
Tiger, 141.
Titmouse, 110.
Toucan, 139.

Toussenel, swallows, 177.
Tschudi, 112, 215, 279, 280.
Turkey cock, 286.
Tylor, on selection, 231.

Van Bemmelen, on inheritance of

acquired characters, 56.
Vanity, 248, 253.
Virchow, 56.
Viscacha. 157, 218.
Vogt, on instinct, 35.
Voice practice, 97.
Vosmaern, 93.
Vulture, 96, 148, 220.

Wallace, on instinct, 33, 56, 64 ; on
birds, 33, 72, 194 ; selection, 232,
238, 241 ; love plays, 235, 271.

Wallaschek, 3; imitation, 5, 12;
selection, 231.

Walter, 129.

Waltz, 265.

Ward, 55.

Wasmann, on instinct, 29 ; ants,
58.

Water ouzel, 280.

Water rat, 258.

Water shrew, 284.

Waterhouse, 274.

Weasel, 103, 106. 218.

Weaver bird, 156.

Wcinland, 43; on birds, 102, 193,
195 ; raccoon, 217.

Weir, on birds, 153, 272.

Weismann, 31, 71 ; selection, 46,
50, 230 ; ants, 57 ; birds, 272.

Whistling shrike, 278.

Whitethroat, 108.

Wied, Prince von, 278.

Willow wren, 151.

Wilser, 48, 51.

Wodzicky, the bittern, 282.

INDEX.

341

Wolf, 126, 142, 190.
Wood, on parrots, 169.
Wood lark, 259.
Wren, 156, 280.
Wulff, 171.

Wundt, 7, 130; instinct, 41, 48,
71; reflexes, 64; imitation,

178;
305.

52,
77,
focus of consciousness.

Ypecaha, mass plays, 212.

Ziegler, H. E., instinct, 61, 63 ; he-
redity, 60, 242.

Ziegler, Th., play, 10 ; on Wundt,
ISO ; freedom, 326.

Ziehen, heredity, 56 ; instinct,
66.

Zola, heredity, 265.

THE END.

(98;