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Cornell University Library 
HM106 .M82 

The universal kinship. 


3 1924 030 242 584 

Cornell University 

The original of tliis book is in 
tine Cornell University Library. 

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the United States on the use of the text. 


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' A Sacred Kinship I would not forego 
Binds me to all that breathes.' 









The Universal Kinship means the kinship of all 
the inhabitants of the planet Earth. Whether 
they came into existence among the waters or 
among desert sands, in a hole in the earth, in the 
hollow of a tree, or in a palace ; whether they 
build nests or empires ; whether they swim, fly, 
crawl, or ambulate ; and whether they realise it 
or not, they are all related, physically, mentally, 
morally — this is the thesis of this book. But 
since man is the most gifted and influential of 
animals, and since his relationship with other 
animals is more important and more reluctantly 
recognised than any other, the chief purpose of 
these pages is' to prove and interpret the kinship 
of the human species with the other species of 

The thesis of this book comes pretty squarely 
in conflict with widely-practised and highly-prized 
sins. It will therefore be generally criticised 
where it is not passed by in silence. Men as a 
rule do not care to improve. Although they have 



but one life to live, they are satisfied to live the 
thing out as they have started on it. 

Enthusiasm, which in an enlightened or ideal 
race would be devoted to self-improvement, is used 
by men in weaving excuses for their own inertia 
or in singing of the infirmities of others. 

But there is a Future. And the creeds and ideals 
men bow down to to-day will in time to come 
pass away, and new creeds and ideals will claim 
their allegiance. Shrines change as the genera- 
tions come and go, and out of the decomposition 
of the old comes the new. The time will come 
when the sentiments of these pages will not be 
hailed by two or three, and ridiculed or ignored 
by the rest ; they will represent Public Opinion and 


Chicago, 1905. 




I. MAN AN ANIMAL ----- 3 


III. MAN A MAMMAL - - - - - 12 

IV. MAN A PRIMATE - - - • - 14 
V. RECAPITULATION - - - - - 26 






XL CONCLUSION - - - - - 97 






MIND COMPARED - . - . 196 

V. CONCLUSION - - - - - 232 








V. MODERN ETHICS ----- 267 

HUMAN BEINGS - . - - 272 
XII. CONCLUSION - - . . . 324 



I. MAN AN ANIMAL ----- 3 


III. MAN A MAMMAL - - - - - 12 

IV. MAN A PRIMATE - - - - - 14 

V. RECAPITULATION - - - - - 26 






XI. CONCLUSION - - - - - 97 

' Like the Roman emperors, who, intoxicated by their 
power, at length regarded themselves as demigods, so the 
ruler of the earth believes that the animals subjected to his 
will have nothing in common with his own nature. Man is 
not content to be the king of animals. He insists on having 
it that an impassable gulf separates him from his subjects. 
The affinity of the ape disturbs and humbles him. And, 
turning his back upon the earth, he flies, with his threatened 
majesty, into the cloudy sphere of a special " human 
kingdom." But Anatomy, like those slaves who followed 
the conqueror's car crying, " Thou art a man," disturbs him 
in his self-admiration, and reminds him of those plain and 
tangible realities which unite him with the animal world.' — 



I. Man an Animal. 

It was in the zoology class at college. We had 
made all the long journey from amoeba to coral, 
from coral to worm, from worm to mollusk, from 
moUusk to fish, from fish to reptile, and from 
reptile to mammal — and there, in the closing pages 
of faithfril old Packard, we found it. ' A mammal 
of the order of primates,' the book said, with that 
unconcern characteristic of the deliverances of 
science. I was almost saddened. It was the 
first intimation I had ever received of that trite 
but neglected truth that man is an animal. 

But the intimation was so weak, and I was at 
that time so unconscious, that it was not till years 
later that I began, through reflection, actually to 
realise the truth here first caught sight of. During 
these years I knew that man was not a mineral 
nor a plant — that, indeed, he belonged to the 

3 1—2 


animal kingdom. But, like most men still, I 
continued to think of him as being altogether 
different from other animals. I thought of man 
and the animals, not of man and the other animals. 
Man was somehow sui generis. He had had, I 
believed, a unique and miraculous origin ; for I 
had not yet learned of organic evolution. The 
pre-Darwinian belief that I had come down from 
the skies, and that non-human creatures of all 
kinds had been brought into existence as adjuncts 
of the distinguished species to which I belonged, 
occupied prominent place in my thinking. Non- 
human races, so I had been taught, had in them- 
selves no reason for existence. They were acces- 
sories. A chasm, too wide for any bridge ever to 
span, yawned between the human and all other 
species. Man was celestial, a blue-blood barely 
escaping divinity. All other beings were little 
higher than clods. So faithfully and mechanically 
did I reflect the bias in which I had grown up. 

But man is an animal. It was away out there 
on the prairies, among the green corn rows, one 
beautiful June morning — a long time ago it seems 
to me now — that this revelation really came to 
me. And I repeat it here, as it has grown to 
seem to me, for the sake of a world which is so 
wise in many things, but so darkened and way- 
ward regarding this one thing. However averse 
to accepting it we may be on account of favourite 
traditions, man is an animal in the most literal 
and materialistic meaning of the word. Man has 
not a spark of so-called ' divinity ' about him. In 


important respects he is the most highly evolved 
of animals ; but in origin, disposition, and form he 
is no more ' divine ' than the dog who laps his 
sores, the terrapin who waddles over the earth in 
a carapace, or the unfastidious worm who dines 
on the dust of his feet. Man is not the pedestalled 
individual pictured by his imagination — a being 
glittering with prerogatives, and towering apart 
from and above all other beings. He is a pain- 
shunning, pleasure-seeking, death-dreading organ- 
ism, differing in particulars, but not in kind, from 
the pain-shunning, pleasure-seeking, death-dread- 
ing organisms below and around him. Man is 
neither a rock, a vegetable, nor a deity. He 
belongs to the same class of existences, and has 
been brought into existence by the same evolu- 
tional processes, as the horse, the toad that hops 
in his garden, the firefly that lights its twilight 
torch, and the bivalve that reluctantly feeds him. 

Man's body is composed fundamentally of the 
same materials as the bodies of all other animals. 
The bodies of all animals are composed of clay. 
They are formed of the same elements as those 
that murmur in the waters, gallop in the winds, 
and constitute the substance of the insensate rocks 
and soils. More than two-thirds of the weight of 
the human body is made up of oxygen alone, a 
gas which forms one-fifth of the weight of the air, 
more than eight-ninths of that of the sea, and 
forty-seven per cent, of the superficial solids of 
the earth. 

Man's body is composed of cells. So are the 


bodies of all other animals. And the cells in 
the body of a human being are not essentially 
different in composition or structure from the cells 
in the body of the sponge. All cells are composed 
primarily of protoplasm, a compound of carbon, 
hydrogen, nitrogen, and oxygen. Like all other 
animals, man is incapable of producing a particle 
of the essential substance of which his body is 
made. No animal can produce protoplasm. This 
is a power of the plant, and the plant only. All 
that any animal can do is to burn the compounds 
formed in the sun-lit laboratories of the vegetable 
world. The human skeleton, like the skeletons of 
nearly all other animals, is composed chiefly of 
ime — lime being, in the sea, where life spent so 
many of its earlier centuries, the most available 
material for parts whose purpose it is to furnish 
shape and durability to the organism. Man grows 
from an egg. So do all creatures of clay. Every 
animal commences at the same place — in a single, 
lowly, almost homogeneous cell. A dog, a frog, 
a philosopher, and a worm cannot for a long 
time after their embryonic commencement be 
distinguished from each other. Like the oyster, 
the ox, the insect, and the fish, like all that live, 
move, and breathe, man is mortal. He increases 
in size and complexity through an allotted period 
of time; then, like all his kindred, wilts back into 
the indistinguishable flux from which he came. 
Man inhales oxygen and exhales carbon dioxide. 
So does every animal that breathes, whether it 
breathe by lungs, gills, skin, or ectosarc, and 


whether it breathe the sunless ooze of the sea 
floor or the ethereal blue of the sky. Animals 
inhale oxygen because they eat carbon and 
hydrogen. The energy of all animals is produced 
mainly by the union of oxygen with the elements 
of carbon and hydrogen in the tissues of animal 
bodies, the plentiful and ardent oxygen being the 
most available supporter of the combustion of 
these two elements. 

Man is, then, an animal, more highly evolved 
than the most of his fellow-beings, but positively 
of the same clay, and of the same fundamental 
make-up, with the same eagerness to exceed and 
the same destiny, as his less pompous kindred 
who float and frolic and pass away in the seas and 
atmospheres, and creep over the land-patches of a 
common clod. 

II. Man a Vertebrate. 

Man is a vertebrate animal.* He has (anatomi- 
cally at least) a backbone. He belongs to that 
substantial class of organisms possessing an 
articulating internal skeleton — the family of the 
fishes, amphibians, reptiles, birds, and mammals. 
Most animals have some sort of skeleton, some 
sort of calcareous contrivance, whose business it 
is to give form and protection to the softer parts 
of the organism. Some animals, as the star- 
fishes, have plates of lime scattered throughout 
the surface parts of the body ; others, as the corals 

* See ' Classes of Animals,' p. 330. 


and sponges, secrete plant-like frames, upon and 
among the branches of which the organisms 
reside ; and still others, as the clams, crustaceans, 
and insects, have skeletons consisting of a shell 
or sheath on the outside of, and more or less 
surrounding, the softer substances of the body. 
The limbs of insects are tiny tubes on the inside 
of which are the miniature muscles with which 
they perform their marvels of locomotion. The 
skeleton of vertebrates, consisting of levers, beams, 
columns, and arches, all skilfully joined together 
and sunk deep within the muscular tissue, forms a 
conspicuous contrast to the rudimentary frames of 
other animals. The vertebrate skeleton consists 
of a hollow axis, divided into segments and ex- 
tending along the dorsal region of the body, from 
the ventral side of which articulate, by means of 
awkwardly-constructed girdles, an anterior and a 
posterior pair of limbs. This dorsal axis ends in 
front in a peculiar bulbous arrangement called the 
head, which contains, among other valuables, the 
brain and buccal cavern. The thoracic segments 
of the backbone send off pairs of flat bones, which, 
arching ventrally, form the chest for the protection 
of the heart and other vitals. The limbs (except 
in fishes) consist each of a single long bone, 
succeeded by two long bones, followed by two 
transverse rows of short, irregular wrist or ankle 
bones, ending normally in five branching series of 
bones called digits. This is essentially the skeleton 
of all fishes, amphibians, reptiles, birds, and 
mammals. In short, it is the universal vertebrate 


type of frame. There are minor modifications to 
suit the various kinds of environment, adaptations 
to the necessities of aquatic, terrestrial, and aerial 
locomotion and life, some parts being specialised, 
others atrophied, and still others omitted, but 
there is never anywhere, from iishes to philoso- 
phers, any fundamental departure from the estab- 
lished vertebrate type of skeleton.* The pectoral 
fins of fishes correspond to the fore-limbs of frogs 
and reptiles, the wings of birds, and the arms of 
men. The pelvic fins of fishes are homologous 
with the hind-limbs of frogs, reptiles, and quad- 
rupeds, and the legs of birds, apes, and men. 
The foot of the dog and crocodile, the hand of the 
orang, and the flipper of the dolphin and seal, all 
have the same general structure as the hand of 
man ; and the wings of the bat and bird, the fore- 
limbs of the lizard and elephant, and the comical 
shovels of the mole and ornithorhynchus, notwith- 
standing the great differences in their external 
appearance and use, contain essentially the same 
bones and the same arrangement of the bones as 
do the arms of men and women. The human 
body has two primary cavities in it. So have the 
bodies of all vertebrates : a neural cavity con- 
taining the brain and spinal cord, and a visceral 
cavity containing the heart, liver, lungs, and 
alimentary canal. Invertebrates have only one 

* Snakes are limbless, and hind-limbs are lacking in 
whales and other degenerates ; but rudimentary limbs are 
found in the embryonic stages of these animals. Frogs, it 
may be said also, have no ribs. 


body cavity — the one corresponding to the visceral 
cavity of vertebrates — and the main nerve trunk, 
instead of extending along the back, as among 
vertebrates, is in invertebrates located ventrally. 
Vertebrates are the only animals on the earth that 
have a highly developed circulatory system, a 
system entirely shut off from the other systems, 
and containing a heart, arteries, veins, and 
capillaries. In all invertebrates the digestive and 
circulatory systems remain to a greater or less 
extent connected, the blood and food mingling 
more or less in the general cavity of the body. 
Worms and insects have pulsating tubes instead of 
heart and arteries. Crustaceans have hearts with 
one chamber, and mollusks have two or three cham- 
bered hearts, but the blood, instead of returning 
to the heart after its journey through the arteries, 
passes into the body cavity. In man and other 
vertebrates the circulating current is confined 
strictly to the bloodvessels, no particle of it ever 
escaping into the general body cavity. The heart 
of vertebrates is distinguished from that of inver- 
tebrates by being located ventrally. The heart of 
invertebrates is in the back. The blood of verte- 
brates differs from that of invertebrates in contain- 
ing both red and white corpuscles. Invertebrates 
have white corpuscles only. Worms have yellow, 
red, or bright green blood. The blood of crusta- 
ceans is bluish, that of mollusks is white, and that 
of insects dusky or brown. The blood of all 
vertebrates, excepting amphioxus, is red. All 
backboned beings, whether they dwell in seas or 


cities, and whether they build nests or empires, 
have two eyes, two ears, nose and mouth, all 
located in the head, and always occupying the 
same relative position to each other. Inverte- 
brates may have their brains in their abdomen, as 
do the mites ; hear with their legs or antennas, as 
many insects do ; see with their tunics, like the 
scallops ; and breathe with their skin, as do the 
worms. The crayfish hears with its ' feelers,' the 
cricket and katydid with their fore-legs, the grass- 
hopper with its abdomen, the clam with its ' foot,' 
and mysis and other low crustaceans have their 
auditory organs on their tails. 

Man is, then, like the fishes, frogs, reptiles, birds, 
and quadrupeds, a vertebrate animal. Excepting 
in his infancy, when he is a quadruped going on 
all fours, he uses his posterior limbs only for 
locomotion, and his anterior for prehension and 
the like. His spinal axis is erect instead of hori- 
zontal, and his tail is atrophied. But he possesses 
all of the unmistakable qualities of the vertebrate 
type of structure — a two-chambered body cavity, a 
highly developed and dorsally located nerve trunk, 
vertebrate vitals, a closed circulatory system, a 
ventral heart, red blood, a head containing sense 
organs and brain, and a well-ordered internal 
skeleton, consisting of a vertebral column with 
skull and ribs and two pairs of limbs, the limbs 
consisting each of one long bone, two long bones, 
two transverse rows of irregular bones, and five 
branches at the end. 


III. Man a Mammal. 

Man is a mammal. He belongs to the most 
brilliant and influential of the five classes of verte- 
brates—the class to which belong so many of his 
associates and victims, the class to which belong 
the horse, the dog, the deer, the ox, the sheep, the 
swine, the squirrel, the camel, the unattenuated 
elephant, and the timid-hearted hare. To this 
class belong also the lion, the tiger, the kangaroo, 
the beaver, the bear, the bat, the monkey, the 
mole, the wolf, the ornithorhynchus, and the 
whale — in short, all animals that have hair. Fishes 
and reptiles have scales ; birds have feathers ; all 
mammals are covered to a greater or less extent 
with hair. The aquatic habits of whales render 
hair of no use to them. Hence, while the unborn 
of these animals still cling to the structural tradi- 
tions of their ancestors and are covered with hair, 
the adults are almost hairless. The sartorial 
habits of human beings and the selective influ- 
ences of the sexes have had a similar effect on the 
hairy covering of the human body. Hair exists 
all over the human body surface, excepting on the 
soles of the hands and feet, but in a greatly 
dwarfed condition. It is only on the scalp and 
on the faces of males, where it is scientifically 
assisted for purposes of display, that it grows 
luxuriantly. It is by no means certain that even 
the hair on the masculine scalp will last forever. 
For if the hermetical derby and other deadly 
devices worn by men continue their devastations 


as they have in the past, we may expect to have, 
in the course of generations, men with foreheads 
reaching regularly to the occiput. Most animals 
lay eggs. Man does not. Like the dog, the 
horse, the squirrel, and the bat, man is viviparous, 
the eggs hatching within the parental body. 
Human young are born helpless, and are sus- 
tained during the period of their infancy by the 
secretions of the milk glands. So are all the sons 
and daughters of mammals. Whether they come 
into the world among the waters or among the 
desert sands, in the hollow of a tree, in a hole in 
the earth, or in a palace, the children of mammals 
are frail and pitiful, and they survive to grow and 
multiply only because they are the object of the 
loving and incessant sacrifices of a mother. 

Mammals are distinguished from all other 
animals by the possession of two kinds of skin 
glands — the sweat glands and the oil glands — and 
by the development of certain of these glands in 
the female into organs for the nourishing of the 
young. Among reptiles and birds the lower jaw 
is suspended from the skull by a bone called the 
quadrate bone. Among men and other mammals 
the lower jaw is joined directly to the skull, the 
quadrate bone becoming, in the vicissitudes of 
evolution, the hammer (malleus) of the mammalian 
ear. Man has a four-chambered heart — two reser- 
voirs which receive, and two pumps which propel, 
the scarlet waters of the body. Fishes have two- 
chambered hearts; frogs and most reptiles have 
three-chambered hearts; all mammals and birds 


have four-chambered hearts. The red corpuscles 
in the blood of fishes, frogs, reptiles, and birds, are 
discs, double-convex, nucleated, and in shape 
oval or triangular. In man and in all other 
mammals (except the archaic camel) the red 
corpuscles are double-concave, non-nucleated, and 
circular. Man has a diaphragm dividing the body 
cavity into chest and abdomen, and a shining 
white bridge of interlacing fibres, called corpus 
callosum, uniting his cerebral hemispheres. And 
man is a mammal because, like other mammals, 
he has, in addition to the qualities already men- 
tioned, these valuable and distinct characteristics. 

IV. Man a Primate. 

Man is a primate. There are four divisions in 
the order of primates — lemurs, monkeys, apes, 
and men. But the most interesting and important 
of these, according to man, is man. Man is a 
primate because, like other primates, he has arms 
and hands instead of fore-legs. And these are 
important characteristics. It was a splendid 
moment when the tendencies of evolution, 
pondering the possibilities of structural improve- 
ment, decided to rear the vertebrate upon its 
hind-limbs, and convert its anterior appendages 
into instruments of manipulation. So long as 
living creatures were able simply to move through 
the airs and waters of the earth and over the 
surface of the solids, they were powerless to 
modify the universe about them very much. But 
the moment beings were developed with parts of 


their bodies fitted to take hold of and move and 
fashion and compel the universe around them, 
that moment the life process was endowed with 
the power of miracles. With the invention of 
hands and arms commenced seriously that long 
campaign against the tendencies of inanimate 
nature which finds its most marvellous achieve- 
ments in the sustained and triumphant operations 
of human industry. None of the primates except- 
ing man use their hind-limbs as a sole means of 
changing their place in the universe, but in all of 
them the fore-limbs are regularly used as organs 
of manipulation. Man is a primate because his 
fingers and toes, like those of other primates 
(except the tiny marmosets of Brazil), end in 
nails. Man has neither claws to burrow into the 
earth, talons with which to hold and rend his 
victims, nor hoofs to put thunder into his move- 
ments. The human stomach, like that of all the 
other primates, is a bagpipe. The stomach of the 
carnivora is usually a simple sack, while rodents 
have, as a rule, two stomachs, and ruminants 
four. Man is a primate because his milk glands 
are located on the breast and are two in number. 
The mammary glands vary in number in the 
different orders of mammals, from two in the 
horse and whale to twenty-two in some insec- 
tivora. Most ruminating animals have four, swine 
ten, and carnivora generally six or eight. These 
glands may be located in the region of the groin, 
as in the horse and whale ; between the fore- 
limbs, as in the elephant and bat ; or arranged in 


pairs extending from the fore to the hind limbs, 
as in the carnivora and swine. In man and all 
other primates (except lemurs) the mammary 
glands are pectoral and two in number. All 
primates, including man, have also a disc-shaped 
placenta. The placenta is the organ of nutrition 
in mammalian embryos. It is found in all young- 
bearing animals above the marsupials, and con- 
sists of a mass of glands between the embryo and 
the parental body. In some animals it entirely 
surrounds and encloses the embryo ; in others it 
assumes the form of a girdle ; and in still others 
it is bell-shaped. The primates are the only 
animals in which this peculiar organ is in the 
shape of a simple disc* 

The nearest relatives by blood man has in this 
world are the exceedingly man-like apes — the 
tailless anthropoids — the gorillas and chimpanzees 
of Africa, and the orangs and gibbons of southern 
and insular Asia. The fact that man is an actual 
relative and descendant of the ape is one of the 
most disagreeable of the many distasteful truths 
which the human mind in its evolution has come 
upon. To a vanity puffed, as is that of human 
beings, to the splitting, the consanguinity of gorilla 
and gentleman seems horrible. Man prefers 
to have arrived on the earth by way of a ladder 
let down by his imagination from the celestial 
concave. Within his own memory man has been 

* The bat and a few other animals have a disc-like 
placenta, but it develops into the disc shape by a different 
route from what it does in the primates. 


guilty of many foolish and disgraceful things. 
But this attempt by him to repudiate his ancestors 
by surreptitiously fabricating for himself an origin 
different from, and more glorious than, the rest is 
one of the most absurd and scandalous in the 
whole list. It is a shallow logic — the logic of 
those who, without worth of their own, try to 
shine with a false and stolen lustre. No more 
masterly rebuke was ever administered to those in 
the habit of sneering at the truth in this matter 
than the caustic reply of Huxley to the taunt of 
the fat-witted Bishop — that he would rather be 
the descendant of a respectable ape than the 
descendant of one who not only closed his eyes 
to the facts around him, but used his official 
position to persuade others to do likewise. Man's 
reluctance to take his anatomical place beside his 
simian kinspeople has been exceeded only by his 
selfish and high-handed determination to exclude 
all other terrestrial beings from his heaven. 

Man is a talkative and religious ape. He is an 
ape, but with a much greater amount of enterprise 
and with a greater likelihood of being found in 
every variety of climate. Like the anthropoid, 
man has a bald face and an obsolete tail. But he 
is distinguished from his arboreal relative by his 
arrogant bearing, his skilled larynx, and especially 
by the satisfaction he experiences in the con- 
templation of the image which appears when he 
looks in a mirror. 

The man-like apes are from three to six feet tall, 
and are all of them very strong, the gorilla, who 



sometimes weighs over three hundred pounds, 
being about the bravest and most formidable un- 
armed animal on the planet. They are erect or 
semi-erect, have loud voices, plantigrade feet, and 
irritable dispositions— in all of these particulars 
being strikingly like men. The gorilla, chim- 
panzee, and gibbon are highlanders, preferring 
the uplands and mountains. The orang is a low- 
lander, living phlegmatically among the sylvan 
swamps of Sumatra and Borneo. The gorilla 
and chimpanzee are terrestrial, seldom going 
among the trees except to get food or to sleep. 
The orang and gibbon are arboreal, seldom 
coming to the ground except to drink or bathe. 
They all walk on their hind-limbs, generally in a 
stooping posture, with their knuckles or fingers 
touching the ground. But they sometimes walk 
with their arms hanging down by their sides, 
and sometimes with their hands clasped back of 
their heads to give them balance. None of them 
ever place their palms on the ground when they 
walk — that is, none of them walk on four feet. 
The anthropoid races, in the shape of their heads 
and faces and in the general form and structure 
of their bodies, and even in their habits of life, 
resemble in a remarkable manner the lowest races 
of human beings. This resemblance is recognised 
by the negro races, who call the gorilla and chim- 
panzee ' hairy men,' and believe them to be de- 
scendants of outcast members of their own species. 
There are differences in structure between man 
and the apes, just as there are differences in 


structure between the Caucasian and the Caffre, 
or even between individual Caucasians or individual 
Caffres. There are differences in structure and 
topography, often very noticeable differences, even 
among members of the same family. But in all 
of its essential characters, and extending often to 
astonishing particulars, the structure of man is 
identical with that of the anthropoid (i).* 

In external appearances the man-like races differ 
from men in having a luxuriant covering of natural 
hair. But anthropoids differ very much among 
themselves in this particular. The orang, usually 
covered with long hair, is sometimes almost hair- 
less. There are, too, races of human beings 
whose bodies are covered with a considerable 
growth of hair. The Todas (Australians) and 
Ainus (aborigines of Japan) are noted for the 
hairiness of their bodies, certain individuals among 
them being covered with a real fur, especially on 
the lower limbs (2). 

Individuals also often appear in every race with 
a remarkable development of the hair. Adrian 
and his son Fedor, exhibited years ago over 
Europe. as 'dog-men,' are examples. The father 
was completely covered with a thick growth of fine 
dirty-yellow hair two or three inches long. Long 
tufts grew out of his nostrils and ears, giving him 
a striking resemblance to a Skye terrier. Fedor, 
and also his sister, were covered with hair like the 

* Figures in parentheses ( ) at the close of borrowed ideas 
refer to book numbers in the bibliography at the close of the 

2 — 2 


father, but another son was like ordinary men. 
The man-hke races have also longer arms in pro- 
portion to the height of the body than man gene- 
rally has. But this is also true of human infants 
and negroes. The gibbon has relatively much 
longer arms than the other anthropoids. It 
differs from the chimpanzee in this respect more 
than the chimpanzee differs from man. When 
standing upright and reaching down with the 
middle finger, the gibbon can touch its foot, while 
the chimpanzee can reach only to the knee. Man 
ordinarily reaches part way down the thigh, but 
negroes have been known to have arms reaching 
to the knee-pan (3). 

The skeleton of the African races contains many 
characters recognised by osteologists as ' pithe- 
coid,' or ape-like. It is massive, the flat bones are 
thick, and the pelvis narrow. In the manlike apes 
the large toe is opposable to the other four, and 
is used by them much as the thumb is used. But 
this difference between the two races of beings is 
just what might be expected from the differences 
in their modes of life. Man has little need of this 
opposability on account of his exclusively terrestrial 
life, while to the ape it is indispensable on account 
of his arboreal environment and life. ' But there 
are,' says Haeckel, ' wild tribes of men who can 
oppose the large toe to the other four just as if it 
were a thumb, and even new-born infants of the 
most highly-developed races of men can grasp as 
easily with their hind-hands as with their fore- 
hands. Chinese boatmen row with their feet, 


and Bengal workmen weave with them. The 
negro, in whom the big toe is freely movable, 
seizes hold of the branches of trees with it when 
dimbing, just like the four-handed apes ' (4). 

Many men have lost their arms by accident 
and have learned to use their feet as hands with 
wonderful skill. Not many years ago there died 
in Europe an armless violinist who had during 
his lifetime played to cultured audiences in most 
of the capitals of the world. Some of the most 
accomplished of penmen hold their pen between 
their toes. The man-like apes live to about the 
same age as man, and all of them, like man, have 
beards. The anthropoid beard, too, like the 
human, appears at the age of sexual maturity. 
The human beard often differs in colour from the 
hair of the scalp, and whenever it does it has 
been observed to be invariably lighter — never 
darker — than the hair on the scalp. This is true 
among all races of men. The same rule and the 
same uniformity exists among anthropoids. The 
races of mankind are divided into two primary 
groups depending upon the shape of the head and 
the character of the hair : the short-headed races 
(Brachycephali), such as the Malays, Mongols, and 
Aryans, with round or oval faces, straight hair, 
and vertical profiles ; and the long-headed races 
(Dolichocephali), with woolly hair and progna- 
thous faces, such as the Papuans and African 
races. The skin of the short-headed races is 
orange or white, while the skin and hair of the 
long-headed races are glossy black. 


It is, at least, interesting that the orang and 
gibbon, who live in Asia and its islands, where 
the brachycephalic races of men supposedly arose, 
are themselves brachycephalic ; and that the 
gorilla. and chimpanzee, who live in Africa, where 
the dolichocephahc races chiefly live, are dolicho- 
cephalic. The gorilla and chimpanzee also have, 
like the men and women of Africa, black skin and 
hair; while the hair of the orang is a reddish- 
brown, and its skin sometimes yellowish-white. 
The dentition of the anthropoids and men is in 
all essentials identical. They all have two sets of 
teeth : a set of milk-teeth, twenty in number, and 
thirty-two permanent teeth, the permanents con- 
sisting of two incisors, one canine, two premolars, 
and three molars, in each half-jaw. Man has 
ordinarily twelve pairs of ribs and thirty-two 
vertebrae. So has the orang. The other anthro- 
poids have thirteen pairs of ribs. But the number 
of ribs in both human and anthropoid beings is 
not uniform, man occasionally having thirteen 
pairs, and the gorilla fourteen. Man has also the 
same number of caudal vertebrae in his rudimentary 
tail as the anthropoid has. The hands and feet 
of anthropoids, bone for bone and muscle for 
muscle, correspond with those of men, no greater 
structural differences existing than among different 
species of men. The human foot has three muscles 
not found in the human hand — a short flexor 
muscle, a short extensor muscle, and a long 
muscle extending from the fibula to the foot. 
All of these muscles are found in the anthropoid 


foot just as in the foot of man. There are also 
the sanae differences between the arrangement of 
the bones of the anthropoid wrist and ankle as 
between the wrist and ankle bones of man. What- 
ever set of anatomical particulars may be selected, 
whether it be hands, arms, feet, muscles, skull, 
viscera, ribs, or dentition, it is found that the 
anthropoid races and men are in all essentials the 
same. The differences are such as have arisen as 
a result of different modes of life, and such as 
exist between different tribes of either group of 

' The structural differences which separate man 
from the gorilla and chimpanzee,' says Huxley, in 
summing up the conclusion of his brilliant inquiry 
into ' Man's Place in Nature,' ' are not so great as 
those which separate the gorilla from the lower 

' The body of man and that of the anthropoid 
are not only peculiarly similar,' says Haeckel, 
'but they are practically one and the same in 
every important respect. The same two hundred 
bones, in the same order and structure, make up 
our inner skeleton ; the same three hundred 
muscles effect our movements ; the same hair 
clothes our skin ; the same four-chambered heart 
is the central pulsometer in our circulation ; the 
same thirty-two teeth are set in the same order in 
our jaws ; the same salivary, hepatic, and gastric 
glands compass our digestion ; the same repro- 
ductive organs insure the maintenance of our 
race ' (5). 


' Not being able,' says Owen in his paper on 
' The Characters of Mammalia,' ' to appreciate or 
conceive of the distinction between the psychical 
phenomena of a chimpanzee and of a Boschisman 
or of an Aztec with arrested brain-growth, as 
being of a nature so essential as to preclude a 
comparison between them, or as being other than 
a difference in degree, I cannot shut my eyes to 
the significance of that all-pervading similitude of 
structure — every tooth, every bone, strictly homo- 
logous — which makes the determination of the 
difference between Homo and Pithecus the anato- 
mist's difficulty.' 

' If before the appearance of man on the earth,' 
says Ward in his ' Dynamic Sociology,' ' an 
imaginary painter had visited it, and drawn a 
portrait embodying the thorax of the gibbon, the 
hands and feet of the gorilla, the form and skull 
of the chimpanzee, the brain development of the 
orang, and the countenance of Semnopithecus, giving 
to the whole the average stature of all of these apes, 
the result would have been a being not far removed 
from our conception of the primitive man, and not 
widely different from the actual condition of 
certain low tribes of savages. The brain develop- 
ment would perhaps be too low for the average 
of any existing tribe, and would correspond better 
with that of certain microcephalous idiots and 
cretins, of which the human race furnishes many 

And it is not true, as is commonly supposed, 
that, after all other resemblances between the 


human and anthropoid structures have been made 
out, there still exists somewhere some undistin- 
guishable difference in the organic structure of their 
brains. All differences in structure from time to 
time suspected or asserted to exist between the 
brain of man and that of the man-like apes have 
been one after another completely swept away. 
And it is now known to all neurologists that the 
human and anthropoid brains differ structurally in 
no particulars whatever, both of them containing 
the same lobes, the same ventricles and cornua, 
and the same convolutional outline. Even the 
posterior lobe, the posterior cornu, and the hippo- 
campus minor, so long triumphantly asserted to 
be characteristic features of the human brain, have 
been pitilessly identified in all anthropoids by the 
profound and terrible Huxley. There is not an 
important fold or fissure in the brain of man that 
is not found in the brain of the anthropoid. 'The 
surface of the brain of a monkey,' says Huxley, 
' exhibits a sort of skeleton map of man's, and in 
the man-like apes the details become more and 
more filled in, until it is only in minor characters 
that the chimpanzee's or the orang's brain can be 
structurally distinguished from man's ' (6) . 

The great difference physically between man 
and the anthropoids, aside from man's talented 
larynx and erect posture, lies in man's abnormal 
cranial capacity. The normal human cranium 
never contains less than 55 cubic inches of space, 
while the largest gorilla cranium contains only 
34I cubic inches. This is a difference of zo^ cubic 


inches. And 20J cubic inches of thinking matter 
is an alarming amount to be lacking in a single 
individual. But this cranial gap between gorilla 
and man is deprived of some of its significance by 
the fact that human crania sometimes measure 
114 cubic inches, making a difference between the 
smallest and largest human brains of 59 cubic 
inches. The difference between the gorilla and 
the savage -in cranial capacity is, therefore, only 
about one-third as great as the cranial chasm between 
the savage and the sage. 

V. Recapitulation. 

The anatomical gulf between men and apes does 
not exist. There are, in fact, no gulfs anywhere, 
only gradations. All chasms are completely 
covered by unmistakable affinities, in spite of the 
fact that the remains" of so many millions of 
deceased races lie hidden beneath seas or ever- 
lastingly locked in the limy bosoms of the conti- 
nents. There are closer kinships and remoter 
kinships, btit there are kinships everywhere. The 
more intimate kinships are indicated by more 
definite and detailed similarities, and the more 
general relationships by more fundamental resem- 
blances. All creatures are bound to all other 
creatures by the ties of a varying but undeniable 

Man stands unquestionably in the primate order 
of animals, because he has certain qualities of 
structure which all primates have, and which all 
other animals have not : hands and arms and 


nails, a bagpipe stomach, great subordination of 
the cerebellum, a disc-like placenta, teeth dif- 
ferentiated into incisors, canines, and molars, and 
pectoral milk glands. 

Man is more closely akin to the anthropoid apes 
than to the other primates on account of his 
immense brain, his ape-like face, his vertical spine, 
and in being a true two-handed biped. The man- 
like apes and men have the same number and 
kinds of teeth, the same limb bones and muscles, 
like ribs and vertebrae, an atrophied tail, the same 
brain structure, and a suspicious similarity in looks 
and disposition. Men and anthropoids live about 
the same number of j-ears, both being toothless 
and wrinkled in old age. The beard, too, in both 
classes of animals appears at the same period of 
life and obeys the same law of variation in colour. 
Even the hairs on different parts of the bodies of 
men and anthropoids, as on the arms, incline at a 
like angle to the body surface. The hair on the 
upper arm and that on the forearm, in both anthro- 
poids and men, point in opposite directions — 
toward the elbow. This peculiarity is found no- 
where in the animal kingdom excepting in a few 
American monkeys. 

Man's mammalian affinities are shown in his 
diaphragm, his hair, his four-chambered heart, his 
corpus callosum, his non-nucleated blood-corpuscles, 
and his awkward incubation. 

The fishes, frogs, reptiles, birds, and non-human 
mammals are human in having two body cavities, 
segmented internal skeletons, two pairs of limbs, 


skulls and spinal columns, red blood, brains, and 
dorsal cords ; and in possessing two eyes, two ears, 
nostrils, and mouth opening out of the head. 

And finally all animals, including man, are 
related to all other animal forms by the great 
underlying facts of their origin, structure, com- 
position, and destiny. All creatures, whether they 
live in the sea, in the heavens, or in subterranean 
glooms ; whether they swim, fly, crawl, or walk ; 
whether their world is a planet or a water-drop ; 
and whether they realise it or not, commence exist- 
ence in the same way, are composed of the same 
substances, are nourished by the same matters, 
follow fundamentally the same occupations, all do 
under the circumstances the best they can, and all 
arrive ultimately at the same pitiful end. 

VI. The Meaning of Homology. 

The similarities and homologies of structure 
existing between man and other animals, and be- 
tween other animals and still others, are not acci- 
dental and causeless. They are not resemblances 
scattered arbitrarily among the multitudinous 
forms of life by the capricious levities of chance. 
That all animals commence existence as an egg 
and are all made up of cells composed of the 
same protoplasmic substance, and all inhale oxygen 
and exhale carbon dioxide, and are all seeking 
pleasure and seeking to avoid pain, are more than 
ordinary facts. They are filled with inferences. 
That vertebrate animals, differing in externals as 
widely as herring and Englishmen, are all built 


according to the same fundamental plan, with 
marrow-filled backbones and exactly two pairs of 
limbs branching in the same way, is an astonishing 
coincidence. That the wing of the bird, the fore- 
leg of the dog, the flipper of the whale, and the 
fore-limb of the toad and crocodile, have essentially 
the same bones as the human arm has is a fact 
which may be without significance to blind men, 
but to no one else. The metamorphosis of the 
firog from a fish, of the insect from a worm, and of 
a poet from a senseless cell, are transformations 
simply marvellous in meaning. And it is not 
easy, since Darwin, to understand how such lessons 
could remain long unintelligible, even to stones 
and simpletons. Not many generations have 
passed, however, since these revelations, now so 
distinct and wonderful, fell on the listless minds 
of men as ineffectually as the glories of the flower 
fall on the sightless sockets of the blind. 

It is hardly two generations since the highest 
intelligences on the earth conceived that not 
only the different varieties of men. — the black, the 
white, and the orange — but all the orders and 
genera of the animal world, and not only animals, 
but plants, had all been somehow simultaneously 
and arbitrarily brought into existence in some 
indistinct antiquity, and that they had from the 
beginning all existed with practically the same 
features and in approximately the same conditions 
as those with which and in which they are found 
to-day. The universe was conceived to be a fixed 
and stupid something, born as we see it, incapable 


of growth, and indulging in nothing but repetitions. 
There were no necessary coherencies and con- 
sanguinities, no cosmical tendencies operating 
eternally and universally. All was whimsical and 
arbitrary. It was not known that anything had 
grown or evolved. All things were believed to 
have been given beginning and assigned to their 
respective places in the universe by a potential and 
all-clever creator. The serpent was limbless 
because it had officiously allowed Eve to include 
in her dietary that which had been expressly for- 
bidden. The quadruped walked with its face 
towards the earth as a structural reminder of its 
subjection to the biped, who was supposed to be 
especially skilled in keeping his eyes rolled heaven- 
ward. The iiowers flung out their colours, not 
for the benefit of the bugs and bees, and the stars 
paraded, not because they were moved to do so by 
their own eternal urgings, but because man had 
eyes capable of being affected by them. Man was 
an erect and featherless vertebrate because his 
hypothetical maker was erect and featherless. (I 
wonder whether, if a clam should conceive a 
creator, it would have the magnanimity to make 
him an insect or a vertebrate, or anything other 
than a great big clam.) 

VII. The Earth an Evolution. 

The world now knows— at least, the scientific 
part of it knows— that these things are not true, 
that they are but the solemn fancies of honest but 
simple-minded ancients who did the best they 


could in that twilight age to explain to their 
inquiring instincts the wilderness of phenomena 
in which they found themselves. The universe is 
a process. It is not petrified, but flowing. It is 
going somewhere. Everything is changing and 
evolving, and will always continue to do so. The 
forms of life, of continents and oceans, and of 
streams and systems, which we perceive as we 
open our senses upon the world to-day, are not 
the forms that have always existed, and they are 
not the forms of the eternal future. There was a 
time, away in the inconceivable, when there was 
no life upon the earth, no solids, and no seas. 
The world was an incandescent lump, lifeless and 
alone, in the cold solitudes of the spaces. There 
was a time — there miist have been a time — when 
life appeared for the first time upon the earth, 
simple cellules without bones or blood, and without 
a suspicion of their immense and quarrelsome 
posterity. There was a time when North America 
was an island, and the Alleghany Mountains were 
the only mountains of the continent. The time 
was — in the coal-forming age — when the Missis- 
sippi Valley, from the Colorado Islands to the Alle- 
ghanies, was a vast marsh or sea, choked with 
forests of equisetum and fern, and swarming with 
gigantic reptiles now extinct. There was a time 
when palms grew in Dakota, and magnolias waved 
in the semi-tropical climate of Greenland and 
Spitzbergen. There was a time when there were 
no Rocky Mountains in existence, no Andes, no 
Alps, no Pyrenees, and no Himalayas. And that 


time, compared with the vast stretches of geo- 
logical duration, was not so very long ago, for 
these mountains are all young mountains. The 
time was when Jurassic saurians — those repulsive 
ruffians of that rude old time — represented the 
highest intelligence and civilisation of the known 
universe. There were no men and women in the 
world, not even savages, when our ape-like fore- 
fathers wandered and wondered through the awe- 
some silences of primeval wilds ; there were no 
railroads, steamboats, telegraphs, telephones, type- 
writers, harvesters, electric lights, nor sewing 
machines ; no billionaires nor bicycles, no social- 
ists nor steam-heat, no ' watered stock ' nor 
'government by injunction,' no women's clubs, 
captains of industry, labour unions, nor 'yellow 
perils ' — there was none of these things on the 
earth a hundred years ago. All things have 
evolved to be what they are — the continents, 
oceans, and atmospheres, and the plants and 
populations that live in and upon them. 

There will come a time, too, looking forward 
into the future, when what we see now will be 
seen no more. As we go backward into the past, 
the earth in all of its aspects rapidly changes ; 
the continents dwindle, the mountains melt, and 
existing races and species disappear one after 
another. The farther we penetrate into the past, 
the stranger and the more different from the 
present does everything become, until finally we 
come to a world of molten rocks and vapourised 
seas without a creeping thing upon it. As it has 


been in the past so will it be in time to come. 
The present is not everlasting. The minds that 
perceive upon this planet a thousand centuries in 
the future will perceive a very different world from 
that which the minds of this day perceive — 
different arts, animals, events, ideals, geographies, 
sciences, and civilisations. The earth seems fixed 
and changeless because we are so fleeting. We 
see it but a moment, and are gone. The tossing 
forest in the wrath of the storm is motionless 
when looked at by a ilash of lightning. The same 
tendencies that have worked past changes are at 
work to-day as tirelessly as in the past. By 
invisible chisels the mountains are being sculp- 
tured, ocean floors are lifting, and continents are 
sinking into the seas. Species, systems, and 
civilisations are changing, some crumbling and 
passing away, others rising out of the ruins of the 
departed. Mighty astronomical tendencies are 
secretly but relentlessly at work, and immense 
vicissitudes are in store for this clod of our 
nativity. The earth is doomed to be frozen to 
death. In a few million years, according to 
astronomers, the sun will have shrunken to a 
fraction of his present size, and will have become 
correspondingly reduced in heat-giving powers. 
It is estimated that in twelve or fifteen million 
years the sun, upon whose mighty dispensations 
all life and activity on the earth are absolutely 
dependent, will become so enfeebled that no form 
of life on the earth will be possible. The partially- 
cooled earth itself is giving up its internal warmth, 



and will continue to give it up until it is the same 
temperature as the surrounding abysms, which is 
the frightful negative of something like 270 centi- 
grade degrees. These are not very cheerful facts 
for those who inhabit the earth to contemplate. 
But they that seek the things that cheer must 
seek another sphere. No power can stay the 
emaciation of suns or the thievery of enveloping 
immensities. Old age is inevitable. It is far off, 
but it is as certain as human decay, and as 
mournful. In that dreadful but inevitable time 
no living being will be left in this world ; there 
will be no cities nor states nor vanities nor creep- 
ing things, no flowers, no twilights, no love, only 
a frozen sphere. The oceans that now rave 
against the rocky flanks of the continents will be 
locked in eternal immobility; the atmospheres, 
which to-day drive their fleecy flocks over the 
azure meads of heaven and float sweet sounds and 
feathered forms, will be, in that terrible time, 
turned to stone ; the radiant woods and fields, 
the home of the myriads and the green play-places 
of the shadows, will, like all that live, move, and 
breathe, have rotted into the everlasting lumber 
of the elements. There will be no Europe then, 
no pompous philosophies, no hellish rich, and no 
gods. All will have suffered indescribable refrigera- 
tion. The earth will be a fluidless, lifeless, sunless 
cinder, unimaginably dead and desolate, a decrepit 
and pitiful old ruin falling endlessly among heart- 
less immensities, the universal tomb of the 


The universe is an evolution. Change is as 
extensive as time and space. The present has 
come out of that which has been, and will enter 
into and determine that which is to be. Every- 
thing has a biography. Everything has evolved — 
everything — from the murmur on the lips of the 
speechless babe to the soul of the poet, and from 
the molecule to Jehovah. 

VIII. The Factors of Organic Evolution. 

The animal kingdom represents one of the two 
grand branches of the organic universe. It has 
been evolved — evolved in a manner as simple and 
straightforward as it is revolting. It has all been 
brought about by partiality or selection. Genera- 
tions of beings have come into existence. The 
individual members of each generation have 
differed from each other — differed in size, strength, 
speed, colour, shape, sagacity, luck, and likelihood 
of life. No two beings, not even those born from 
the same womb, are in all respects identical. 
Hardships have come. They have come from 
the inanimate universe in the form of floods, fires, 
frosts, accidents, diseases, droughts, storms, and 
the like; from other species, who were competitors 
or enemies ; and from unbrotherly members of 
the same species. Some have survived, but the 
great majority have perished. Only a fraction, 
and generally an appallingly small fraction, of 
each generation of a species have lived to maturity. 
The lobster lays 10,000 eggs in a season, yet the 
mortality is such that the number of lobsters do 



not increase from one year to another. The 
elephant is the slowest breeder of all animals, yet, 
if they should all live, the offspring of a single 
pair in 750 years would, according to Darwin, 
number nearly 19,000,000. It has been shown 
that at the normal rate of increase of English 
sparrows, if none were to die save of old age, it 
would take but twenty years for a single pair to 
give one sparrow to every square inch in the State 
of Indiana (7). A single cyclops (one of the 
humbler crustaceans) may have 5,000,000 descen- 
dants in a season. One aphis will produce 100 
young, and these young will reproduce in like 
manner for ten generations in a season, when, if 
they should all live, there would be a quintillion 
of young. A female white ant, when adult, does 
nothing but lie in a cell and lay eggs. She lays 
80,000 eggs a day regularly for several months. 
An oyster lays 2,000,000 eggs in a season, and if 
all these eggs came to maturity a few dozen 
oysters might supply the markets of the world. 
The tapeworm is said to produce the incredible 
number of 1,000,000,000 ova, and some of the 
humbler plants three times this number of spores. 
If each egg of the codfish should produce an adult, 
a single pair in twenty-five years would produce a 
mass of fish larger than the earth. Lower forms 
of life are even more prolific than the higher. 
Maupas said that certain microscopic infusorians 
which he studied multiplied so rapidly that, if 
they should continue to multiply for thirty-eight 
days, and all of them should live, any one of them 


would produce a mass of protoplasm as big as 
the sun. 

Those of each generation that have died have 
been inferior, or unfitted to the environment 
in which they found themselves. Those that 
have survived have been superior, superior in 
something — bigness, cunning, courage, virtue, 
vitality, strength, speed, littleness, or ferocity — 
something that has related them advantageously 
to surrounding conditions. The surviving remnant 
of each generation have become the progenitors 
of the next generation, and have transmitted, or 
tended to transmit, to their offspring the quahties 
of their superiority. This winnowing has gone on 
in each generation of living beings during many 
millions of years — almost ever since life com- 
menced to be on the earth. Some have continued 
themselves, and others have died childless. The 
environment of each species has been an immense 
sieve, and only the superior have gone through it. 
Different environments have emphasised different 
qualities of structure and disposition, and have 
thus given rise to permanent varieties in survival. 
These varieties, through the accumulated effects 
of many generations of selection, have diverged 
into species ; species, after a still longer series of 
selections, have evolved into genera ; genera have 
evolved into families ; families into orders ; and so 
on. In this simple, terrible manner have all the 
branches of organic beings (thanks to the horrors 
of a million ages) been brought into existence. 

Variation, therefore, which furnishes variety in 


offspring; Heredity, which tends to perpetuat 
peculiarities by causing offspring to resembl 
more or less the characters of their parents ; an( 
Environment, which determines the character c 
"^ the selections, are the three factors, and the onl; 
three factors, in organic evolution. 

IX. The Evidences of Organic Evolution. 

That the forms of life to-day found on the eartl 
have come into existence by the evolution of thi 
more complex forms from the simpler, and of thesi 
simpler forms from still simpler, through the ever 
operating law of Selection, is a necessary conclusioi 
from the following facts : 

I. The existence in the animal world of al 
grades of structures, from the humblest possibli 
protozoan, whose body consists of a single simpL 
speck, to the most powerful and complex o 
mammals. There are estimated to be something 
like a million species of animals living on thi 
earth to-day. There may be several times thi 
number. These species are linked together b; 
millions of varieties, and are so related to eacl 
other that they may be all gathered together intc 
various genera ; these genera may be grouped int< 
families, the families into orders, and the order 
into seven or eight great primary phyla. B; 
taking existing species and adding to them thi 
extinct species of the rocks, and placing them a] 
according to their structural affinities, it is pos 
sible to arrange them in the form of a tree wit! 
the various phyla, orders, families, genera, an( 


species, branching and rebranching from the main 
trunk. The existence of structures, so graduated 
as to render such an arrangement possible, is in 
itself suggestive of a common relationship and 

2. Evolution is suggested by the similarities 
and homologies of structure found throughout the 
animal kingdom. Some of these similarities and 
homologies have already been mentioned. They 
are everywhere — remoter and more fundamental, 
some of them, others closer and more detailed. 
To the untrained mind, which sees surfaces only, 
and not even surfaces well, the animal world is an 
interminable miscellany of forms. But to the 
biologist, who looks deeper and with immense 
acumen over the whole field of animal life, there 
are only seven or eight different types of structure 
in the entire animal world. These seven or eight 
types correspond with the primary classes, or 
phyla, into which animals are divided, viz., pro- 
tozoa, sponges, celenterates, echinoderms, worms, 
mollusks, arthropods, and vertebrates. However 
widely the members of each of these great groups 
may differ among themselves in colour, size, 
habits of life, and the like, the members of each 
group all resemble each other fundamentally. 
Moles differ from monkeys, bats from men, and 
birds from crocodiles and toads. They differ 
enormously. But they are all vertebrates with 
red blood, double body cavities, backbones, two 
pairs of limbs, and five fingers on each Hmb. 
When they are looked at superficially, there is 


not much similarity between a water-strider and 
a butterfly or between a stag-beetle and a gnat. 
But they are all, in reality, built according to the 
same plan. Like all other insects, they have six 
legs, a sheath-like skeleton, and bodies character- 
istically divided into head, thorax, and abdomen. 
It is the same with all other great classes of beings. 
All worms resemble each other; and so do all 
mollusks, although they may differ in particulars 
as widely as nautiluses and clams, Echinoderms 
have a radiate structure, celenterates and sponges 
are vase-like in shape, and protozoa are one-celled. 
The differences in structure among the members 
of a group consist in different modifications of a 
fundamental type. Among the vertebrates the 
fore-limb may be an arm, a leg, a wing, a shovel, a 
flipper, or a fin. But in all cases it is the same 
organ — that is, the same implement modified to 
serve different ends. Take the mouth-parts of 
insects. In the grasshopper and cricket these 
parts are fitted for grinding; in the moths and 
butterflies they are fashioned into long tubes for 
sucking the sweets of flowers; in the mosquito they 
form an elaborate apparatus for drilling and drink- 
ing; and in the mayfly the mouth-parts, though 
present, are not used at all. In all of these animals 
these parts are essentially the same, although differ- 
ing so much in their forms and purposes that the 
unscientific can scarcely be made to believe they 
are fundamentally alike. There is no fact more 
familiar to the biologist or more frequently met 
with in the fields of animal morphology than the 


fact that the same general type may be hammered 
into dozens, or hundreds, or even thousands, of 
different patterns by the incessant industry of its 
surroundings, and that the same organic part may 
be moulded into various implements serving totally 
different ends by the environmental vicissitudes 
of time and space. On the hypothesis that the 
members of each group of animals possessing 
common characteristics, whether the group be 
large or small, have sprung from a common 
ancestry, and that the differences in structure 
have arisen as a result of differences in environ- 
ment, the similarities and homologies of structure 
existing among animals are perfectly intelligible. 
But on any other supposition they are in- 

3. Evolution is suggested by the remarkable 
series of phenomena presented by embryology. 
There are at least four facts in the developmental 
history of every creature vi^hich can hardly be 
accounted for on any other supposition than that 
of organic evolution. 

First, the fact that every animal, above the 
lowest, individually passes through an evolution 
between the beginning of its existence and its 
maturity. Terrestrial beings are not born, like 
Minerva, full-grown. They grow. They evolve. 
They commence close down to the very atoms. 
And from this lowly genesis they rise, through 
a series of marvellous changes, to that high state 
of perfection and greatness from which they 
descend to dissolution. 


If we knew by actual observation as little con 
cerning the evolution of individuals as we do c 
the evolution of species — if we had always beei 
used to seeing animals, including ourselves, in ful 
bloom — had never watched the tadpole, the pupa 
and the babe pass through their wonderful meta 
morphoses on their way to maturity, it woul< 
probably be just as hard for many minds t( 
believe that animals evolve individually to h 
what they are as it is for them to believe tha 
species have grown to be what they are. In thi 
case of individuals, however, the evolution take 
place right before our eyes largely, while thi 
evolution of species goes on so slowly and stretche 
back so far into the past that it can only h 

Second, the fact that animals, no matter hov 
much they may differ from each other at maturity 
all begin existence at the same place. Ever 
animal commences its organic existence as an egj 
— as a one-celled animal — as an organism identica 
in structure with the simplest protozoan. Thi 
ova of whales ' are no larger than fern seeds. 
The eggs of the coral, the crab, the ape, and thi 
man are so precisely alike that the highest power 
of the microscope cannot distinguish betweei 

Third, the fact that the members of the sami 
great group of animals in their individual develop 
ment pass through similar stages of evolution. Thi 
' worm ' stage in the development of most insect 
and the ' fish ' stage of frogs are well known 


There are no more remarkable instances of in- 
dividual evolution in the whole range of animal 
life. The fish, the reptile, the bird, the dog, and 
the human being — all vertebrates, in short — 
cannot for some time after their embryonic com- 
mencement be distinguished from each other. 
' The feet of lizards and mammals, the wings and 
feet of birds, and the hands and feet of men,' says 
the illustrious Von Baer, as quoted by Darwin, 
' all arise from the same fundamental form ' (8). 

' It is quite in the later stages of development,' 
saj-s Huxley, ' that the human being presents 
marked differences from the ape, while the latter 
departs as much from the dog in its development 
as the man does ' (6). 

Not only frogs, but reptiles, birds, and mammals, 
including man, all have gills at a certain stage 
in their embryonic development. Nearly all the 
lower invertebrate animals are hermaphroditic — 
that is, in the body of each animal is found the 
two kinds of sex organs which in the higher 
animals exist in distinct animals. And frogs, 
birds, and other higher animals, which as adults 
are unisexual, have, as an inheritance from these 
primitive forms, hermaphroditic embryos (10). 

Fourth, the fact that the structural stages through 
which animals in embryo pass correspond in a 
wonderful manner with the permanent structures 
of those lower forms which extend serially back to 
the beginnings of life. It is the proudest boast of 
the embryologist that he is able to know the route 
through which any species has come to be what it 


is by a simple study of the individual evolution of 
its members. Each animal repeats in its individual 
evolution the evolution of its species. This re- 
capitulation is not always complete — is, in fact, 
frequently vague, sometimes circuitous, and often 
broken or abbreviated. Processes requiring origin- 
ally centuries or thousands of years to accomplish 
are here telescoped into a iew months, or even 
days. It is not strange that the process is im- 
perfect. But so firmly is the belief in the cor- 
respondence of ontogeny and phylogeny fixed in 
the minds of modern biologists that, in determining 
the classification and affinities of any particular 
animal, more reliance is placed on the facts of 
embryology than on those of adult structure. 

The first thing that an animal becomes after it 
is an egg — unless it is a one-celled animal, in 
which case it remains always an egg — is two cells ; 
these two cells become four ; these four become 
eight ; and so on, until the embryo becomes a 
many-celled ball, consisting of a single layer of 
cells surrounding a fluid interior. A dimple forms 
in the cell layer on one side of this ball, and, by 
deepening to a hollow, changes the ball into a 
double-walled sac. This is the gastnda— the per- 
manent structure of the sponges and celenterates, 
and an (almost) invariable stage in the larval deve- 
lopment of all animals above the sponges and 
celenterates. The gastrula becomes a worm (or 
an insect or a fish through the worm) by elongation 
and enlargement, and by the development of the 
endoderm, which is the inner layer of the cell wall, 


into organs of nutrition and reproduction, and by 
the development of the ectoderm, which is the outer 
cell layer, into organs of motion and sensation. 

The embryonic development of a human being 
is not different in kind from the embryonic de- 
velopment of any other animal. Every human 
being at the beginning of his organic existence 
is a protozoan, about -j-w-g inch in diameter ; at 
another stage of development he is a tiny sac- 
shaped mass of cells without blood or nerves, the 
gastrula ; at another stage he is a worm, with a 
pulsating tube instead of a heart, and without 
head, neck, spinal column, or limbs ; at another 
stage he has, as a backbone, a rod of cartilage 
extending along the back, and a faint nerve cord, 
as in amphioxus, the lowest of the vertebrates ; at 
another stage he is a fish with a two-chambered 
heart, mesonephric kidneys, and gill-slits with gill 
arteries leading to them, just as in fishes ; at 
another stage he is a reptile with a three-chambered 
heart, and voiding his excreta through a cloaca like 
other reptiles ; and finally, when he enters upon 
post-natal sins and actualities, he is a sprawling, 
squalling, unreasoning quadruped. The human 
larva from the fifth to the seventh month of 
development is covered with a thick growth of hair 
and has a true caudal appendage, like the monkey. 
At this stage the embryo has in all thirty-eight 
vertebrae, nine of which are caudal, and the great 
toe extends at right angles to the other toes, and is 
not longer than the other toes, but shorter, as in 
the ape. 


These facts are unmistakable. There is a reason 
for everything, and there is a reason for these trans- 
formations through which each generation of living 
beings journeys. The individual passes through 
them because the species to which he belongs has 
passed through them. They represent ancestral 
wanderings. As if to emphasise the kinship of all 
of life's forms and to render incontrovertible the 
fact of universal evolution, Nature compels every 
individual to commence existence at the same 
place, and to recapitulate in his individual evolu- 
tion the phylogenetic journeyings of his species. 

4. That existing forms of life have been evolved 
from other forms, and that these ancestral forms 
have been diiferent from those derived from them, 
is shown by the occasional appearance of ante- 
cedent and abandoned types of structure among 
the offspring of existing species. Occasionally a 
human child is born strangely unlike its parents, 
but bearing an unmistakable resemblance in looks 
and disposition to his great-grandfather or some 
other remote ancestor. This is atavism, that 
tendency to revert to ancestral types which is pre- 
valent among all animals. We may think of it 
figuratively as a flash of indecision when Nature 
hesitates for a moment whether to adopt a new 
form of structure or cling to the old and tried. 
Horses and mules are sometimes born with three 
toes on each foot, and zebra-like stripes on their 
legs and shoulders ; and domestic pigeons, such as 
are naturally black, red, or mottled, occasionally 
produce offspring with blue plumage and two black 


wing-bars, like the wild rock-dove, from which all 
domestic breeds have sprung. In man the cheek- 
bone and the frontal bone of the forehead consist 
normally each of a single bone. But in children 
and human embryos these bones are always double, 
as is normally the case in adults among some of 
the anthropoids and other mammals. Gills appear 
regularly in the embryos of reptiles, birds, and 
mammals, and human young are sometimes b'orn 
with gill-slits on the neck. There are times when, 
owing to inaccurate or incomplete embryological 
development, these fish-like characteristics are so 
perfect at birth as to allow liquids, on being 
swallowed, to pass out through them and trickle 
down on the outside of the neck. Many muscles 
are occasionally developed in man which are 
normal in the apes and other mammals. As 
many as seven different muscular variations have 
been found in a single human being, every one of 
which were muscles found normally in the struc- 
ture of the apes (8). 

5. Closely akin to atavism, which is the occa- 
sional persistence of ancestral types of character, 
is the regular occurrence of vestigial organs or 
structures, organs which in ancestral forms have 
definite functions, but which in existing species, 
owing to changed conditions, are rudimentary and 
useless. On the back of each ankle of the horse 
are two splints, the atrophied remains of the second 
and fourth toes. Similar vestiges of two obsolete 
toes are also found just back of the wrists and 
ankles on all the two-toed ungulates, such as the 


cow and sheep. In the body of the whale where 
hind-limbs would naturally be, there are found the 
anatomical ruins of these organs in the form of a 
few diminutive bones. The same thing is true in 
the sirenians. In the Greenland whale there are 
remnants of both femur and tibia in the region of 
the atrophied hind-limbs. The snakes are limb- 
less, but the pythons and boas have internal 
remnants of hind-limbs, and sometimes even clawed 
structures representing toes. The so-called 'glass- 
snake ' or 'joint-snake ' (which is really a limbless 
lizard) has four 'complete internal limbs. Young 
turtles, parrots, and whalebone whales have teeth, 
but the adults of these animals are toothless. 
Cows, sheep, deer, and other ruminants, never have 
as adults any upper incisors, but these teeth are 
found in the foetal stages of these animals just 
under the gums. The female frog has rudimentary 
male reproductive organs, and the male has cor- 
responding vestiges of female organs. Similar 
remnants of the reproductive structures exist in ' 
many other animals. They represent stages in 
the transition from the hermaphroditism of primi- 
tive animals to the unisexuality of the higher 
forms, the separation of the sex organs into those 
of male and female having come about through the 
decay of one set of structures in each individual. 

For reasons which it is not necessary to mention 
here, biologists believe that insects all originated 
from a common parental form, with two pairs of 
wings and six legs. Insects all retain their original 
allowance of legs, but in many species one or the 


other pair of wings has become more or less 
degenerated. In the whole order of flies the back 
pair of wings is represented by a couple of insig- 
nificant knobs. In the Strepsiptera, a sub-order of 
beetles, the front-wings are similarly reduced, 
being mere twisted filaments. Many parasites, 
such as fleas and ticks, whose mode of life renders 
organs of aerial locomotion unnecessary, are en- 
tirely wingless. The insects of small isolated 
islands are also largely without wings, the propor- 
tion of wingless species being much larger than 
among insects inhabiting continents. This is due 
to their greater liability on small land masses of 
being carried out to sea and drowned, owing to 
the feebleness and uncertainty of insect flight. 
On the island of Madeira, out of the 550 species 
found there, 220 species no longer have the power 
of flight. 

Air-breathing animals — amphibians, reptiles, 
birds, and mammals — have normally a pair of 
lungs — a right one and a left one. But in 
snakes and snake-like lizards, where the body is 
very slender and elongated, only one lung, some- 
times the right one, and sometimes the left, is fully 
developed. The right ovary is likewise aborted in 
all birds, the left one yielding all the eggs. The 
swifts and frigate birds live almost their whole 
lives long on the wing, and the legs of these birds 
have grown so short and weak and rudimentary, as 
a result of their constant life in the air, that they 
can scarcely walk. The chimney swift is said 
never to alight anywhere except on the sooty inner 



walls of the chimney where its nest is. Its foo 
consists of insects which it gathers in the air, an 
the few dead twigs used in making its nest ar 
nipped from the tree while the bird continues it 
flight. The ostriches, cassowaries, and many othe 
birds, have, on the other hand, developed their leg 
at the expense of their wings. The ostrich is sail 
to be able to outrun the horse, but it has no powe 
of flight, although it has wings and wing muscles 
and even the skin-folds covering the wings corre 
sponding to those of birds that fly. But its whol 
flying apparatus is in ruins. The rudimentar 
hind-toe of birds is a vestigial organ, and so ar^ 
the claws which appear on the thumb and firs 
finger of all young birds. So also are the rudi 
ments of eyes in cave crickets, fishes, and othe 
inhabitants of total darkness. The flounder an( 
other so-called flat fishes swim straight up, a: 
ordinary fishes do, when young. But as they grov 
they incline more and more to one side, and finalh 
swim entirely on their side, the eye on the lowe 
side migrating around, and joining the other oi 
the upper side of the head. 

About the first thing a human infant does oi 
coming into the world is to prove its arborea 
origin by grasping and spitefully clinging to every 
thing that stimulates its palms. A little peeper 
less babe an hour old can perform feats of strengtl 
with its hands and arms that many men anc 
women cannot equal. It can support the entin 
weight of its body for several seconds hanging b^ 
its hands. Dr. Robinson, an English physician 


found as a result of sixty experiments on as many 
infants, more than half of whom were less than an 
hour old, that with two exceptions every babe was 
able to hang to the finger or to a small stick, and 
sustain the whole weight of the body for at least 
ten seconds. Twelve of those just born held on 
for nearly a minute. At the age of two or three 
weeks, when this power is greatest, several suc- 
ceeded in sustaining themselves for over a minute 
and a half, two for over two minutes, and one for 
two minutes and thirty-five seconds. The young 
ape for some weeks after birth clings tenaciously 
to its mother's neck and hair, and the instinct of 
the child to cling to objects is probably a survival 
of the instinct of the young ape. I believe it 
is Wallace who relates somewhere an incident 
which illustrates the instinct of the young simian 
to cling to something. Wallace had captured 
a young ape, and was carrying it to camp, when 
the little fellow happened to get its hands on 
the naturalist's whiskers, which it mistook, evi- 
dently, for the hirsute property of its mother, 
and, driven by the powerful instinct of self-pre- 
servation, it hung on to them so desperately it 
could scarcely be pulled loose. Many mammals 
are provided with a well-developed muscular 
apparatus for the manipulation of their ears. But 
in man there does not exist the same necessity for 
auricular detection of enemies, and while these 
muscles still exist, and are capable of being used 
to a slight extent by occasional individuals, they 
are generally so emaciated as to be useless. 



Another vestigial organ in the body of man, an( 
one of significance from the standpoint of mor 
phology, is the tail. The tail is an exceedingi; 
unpopular part of the human anatomy, most mei 
and women being unwilling to admit that the] 
have such an appendage. But many a persoi 
who has hitherto dozed in ignorance on this matte: 
has learned with considerable dismay, when h( 
has for the first time looked upon the undrapec 
lineaments of the human skeleton, that mar 
actually has a tail. It consists of three or foui 
(sometimes five) small vertebras, more or les; 
fused, at the posterior end of the spinal column 
That this is really a rudimentary tail is provec 
beyond a doubt by the fact that in the embryo ii 
is highly developed, being longer than the limbs 
and is provided with a regular muscular apparatus 
for wagging it. These caudal muscles are gener- 
ally represented in grown-up people by bands o; 
fibrous tissue, but cases are known where the actual 
muscles have persisted through life (g) . 

The nictitating membrane, which in birds and 
many reptiles consists of a half-transparent curtair 
acting as a lid to sweep the eye, is in the human eye 
dwindled to a small membranous remnant, draped 
at the inner corner. The growth of hair over the 
human body surface may be regarded, in view o: 
the sartorial habits of man, as a vestigial inherit- 
ance from hairy ancestors. One of the mos1 
notorious of the vestigial organs of man is the 
vermiform appendix, a small slender sac opening 
from the large intestine near where the large 


intestine is joined by the small intestine. In some 
animals this organ is large and performs an 
important part in the process of digestion. But 
in man it is a mere rudiment, not only of no 
possible aid in digestion, but the source of frequent 
disease, and even of death. 

There are in all, according to Darwin, about 
eighty vestigial organs in the human body. But 
these organs occur everywhere throughout the 
animal kingdom. There is not an order of animals, 
nor of plants either, without them. They are neces- 
sary facts grovnng out of evolution. Organic struc- 
tures are the result of adjustment to surrounding 
conditions. The continual changes in environment 
to which all organisms are exposed necessitate 
corresponding changes in structure. And the 
vestiges found in the bodies of all animals repre- 
sent parts which in the previous existence were 
useful and necessary to a complete adjustment of 
the organism, but which, owing to a change of 
emphasis in surroundings, have become useless, 
and consequently shrunken. They are the 
obsolete or obsolescent parts of animal structure 
— parts which have been outgrown and super- 
seded—the ' silent letters ' of morphology. They 
sustain the same relation to the individual 
organism as dead or dwindling species sustain to 
a fauna. They furnish indisputable proof of the 
kinship and unity of the animal world. 

6. It is only on the supposition that the life of 
the earth has evolved step by step with the evolu- 
tion of the land masses, and that the forms of life 


from which existing forms were evolved were 
dispersed over the earth at a time when physio- 
graphic conditions were very different from what 
they are now, that it is possible to account for the 
peculiar manner in which animals are distributed 
over the earth. The cassowary is a flightless bird 
of the ostrich order inhabiting Australia and the 
islands to the north of it. This bird is found no- 
where else in the world, and each area has its own 
particular species. The same things are also true 
of the kangaroo. It is found over a similar region, 
with a different species occupying each land mass. 
Now, on the hypothesis of special creation there 
is no thinkable reason why these animals should 
be divided, as they are, into distinct species, and 
restricted to this particular region. But on the 
hypothesis of evolution it is perfectly plain. All 
of these regions at one time were united with one 
another, and were subsequently submerged in part, 
forming islands. Each group of animals, being 
isolated from every other group and subjected to 
somewhat different conditions, developed a style 
of departure from the original type of structure 
different from that of every other group in response 
to the peculiar conditions operating upon it. This 
has led, in the course of centuries of selection, to 
the formation of distinct species such as exist 

Lombock Strait, a narrow neck of water between 
Bali and Lombock Island, and Macassar Strait, 
separating Celebes from Borneo, are parts of a 
continuous passage of water which in remote times 


separated two continents — an Indo-Malayan con- 
tinent to which belonged Borneo, Sumatra, Java, 
and the Malay Peninsula; and an Austro-Malayan 
continent, now represented by Australia, Celebes, 
the Moluccas, New Guinea, Solomon's Islands, etc. 
Wallace first announced this ancient boundary, 
and it has been called ' Wallace's line.' He was 
led to infer its existence by the fact which he 
observed as he travelled about from island to 
island, that, while the faunas of these two regions 
are as wholes very different from each other, the 
faunas of the various land patches in each area 
have a wonderful similarity. Australia is a verit- 
able museum of old and obsolete forms of both 
plants and animals. Its fauna and flora are made 
up prevailingly of forms such as have on the other 
continents long been superseded by more special- 
ised species. No true mammals, excepting men 
and a few rats, lived in Australia when English- 
men first went there. The most powerful animals 
were the comparatively helpless marsupials. The 
explanation of these remarkable facts is probably 
this : The Australian continent, which formerly 
included New Guinea and other islands to the 
north, has not been connected with the other land 
masses for a very long period of time. The develop- 
ment upon the other continents of the more 
powerful mammals, especially of the ungulates 
and the carnivora, resulted in the extermination 
of the more helpless forms from most of the 
earth's surface. But Australia, protected by its 
isolation, has retained to this day its old-fashioned 


forms of life, neither land animals nor plants 
having been able to navigate the intervening 
straits. This supposition is strengthened by the 
fact that fossil remains of marsupials are to-day 
found scattered all over the world, w^hile, with 
the exception of the American opossums, living 
marsupials are found only in Australia and its 
islands. There is to-day not a single survivor of 
these once-numerous races in either Europe, Asia, 
or Africa. Similar facts of distribution are furnished 
by the lemurs — those small, monkey-like animals 
with fox faces, which are sometimes called ' half- 
apes,' since they are supposed to be the link con- 
necting the true apes with lower forms. Fossil 
lemurs are found in both America and Europe, 
but lemurs are now extinct in both continents. 
Those of America were probably exterminated by 
the carnivora, who are known to be very fond of 
monkey meat of all kinds. The European lemurs 
seem to have migrated southward into eastern 
Africa at a time when Madagascar formed a part of 
the mainland. ' There they have been isolated, 
and have developed in a fashion comparable to 
that which has occurred in the case of the 
Australian marsupials. Of fifty living species, 
thirty are confined to Madagascar, and the lemurs 
are there exceedingly numerous in individuals. 
Outside of Madagascar they only maintain a 
precarious footing in forests or on islands, and are 
usually few in number' (lo). 

If the earth were peopled by migrations from 
Ararat, it would require a good deal of intellectual 


legerdemain to show why the sloths are confined 
to South America and the monotremes to Australia 
and its islands. The reindeer of northern Europe 
and Asia, and the elk and caribou of Arctic 
America, are so much alike they must have 
descended from a common ancestry, and been 
developed into distinct species since the separation 
of North America and Eurasia. The same thing 
is probably also true of the puma and jaguar, who 
inhabit the middle latitudes of the New World, 
and the lion, tiger, and leopard, occupying like 
latitudes of the Old World. They all belong to 
the cat family, and represent divergences from 
a common feline type of structure. The camel 
does not exist normally outside of northern Africa 
and central and western Asia. And when the 
camel-like llama of South America first became 
known to zoologists, it was a problem how this 
creature could have become separated so far from 
the apparent origin of the camel family. But 
since then fossil camels have been found all over 
both North and South America. And it has even 
been suspected that perhaps America was the 
original home of the camel, and that, like the 
horse, the camel migrated to the eastern hemi- 
sphere at a time when the eastern and western 
land masses were connected. The foxes, hares, 
and other mammals of the upper Alps, also many 
Alpine plants, are like those of the Arctic regions. 
The most probable explanation of these resem- 
blances is that these Alpine species climbed up 
into these inhospitable altitudes, and were left 


stranded here on this island of cold, when their 
relatives, on the return of warmth at the close of 
the glacial period, retreated back to the ice-bound 
fastnesses around the pole. It is for a similar 
reason, probably, that the flora of the upper 
White Mountains resembles that of Labrador. 

7. One of the' strongest pieces of evidence 
bearing on evolution that is furnished by any 
department of knowledge is that furnished by 
geology. It is the evidence of the rocks. Geology 
is, among other things, a history of the earth. 
This history has been written by the earth itself 
on laminae of stone. It is from these records that 
we learn incontestably the order in which the 
forms of life have made their appearance on the 

Three-fourths of the surface of the earth is sea. 
Over the surface of the remaining fourth, except- 
ing in mountainous places, is a layer of soil, vary- 
ing from a few feet to a few hundred feet in depth. 
Beneath this coverlet of soil, extending as far 
as man has penetrated into the earth, is rock. 
Excepting in regions overflowed by lava poured 
out from beneath, or along the backbones of 
continents where the surface rocks have been 
upheaved into folds and carried away by denuda- 
tion, the rocks immediately beneath the soil, to 
a thickness often of thousands of feet, are in the 
form of layers, or sheets, arranged one above 
another. These rocks are called sedimentary 
rocks, as distinguished from the unlaminated 
rocks of the interior. They have been formed 


at the bottom of the sea, and have, hence, all 
been formed since the condensation of the oceans. 
They have been formed out of the detritus of 
continents brought down by the rivers and the 
accumulated remains of animal and vegetal forms 
which have slowly settled down through the waters. 
They are the successive cemeteries of the dead past. 
Such rocks are now forming over the floors of all 
oceans — forming just as they have formed through- 
out the long eons of geological history. Along 
the axes of ancient mountains and in deep-cut 
canyons the rock layers are exposed to a thickness 
of thousands of feet, in some cases thirty or forty 
thousand feet. Here they lie, piled up, one on 
top of another, the great, broad pages upon which 
are written the long, dark story of our planet. It 
is the mightiest and most everlasting of all annals 
— the autobiography of a world. It is possible, by 
studying these rock records, to know not only the 
kind of life that lived in each age, but a good deal 
regarding the conditions in which that life lived 
and passed away. Just as the naturalist is able, 
from a single bone of an unknown animal, to 
reconstruct the entire animal and to infer some- 
thing of its surroundings and habits of life, and as 
the archeologist, by going back to the graves of 
deceased races and digging up the dust upon 
which these races wrought, is able to tell much 
of their history and characteristics, so the geologist, 
by studying the bones of those more distant 
civilisations, the civilisations sandwiched among 
the fossiliferous rocks, is able to know, not only 


just the kind of life that lived in each age, but, by 
comparing the species of successive strata, can 
construct with astonishing fulness the genealogi- 
cal outline of the entire life process. The suc- 
cession of life forms as they appear in the rocks, 
with a sketch of their probable genealogy, is traced 
elsewhere in this chapter. It is only necessary to 
say here that the order in which the forms of life 
appear in the sedimentary strata is that of a 
gradually increasing complexity. The inverte- 
brates appear first ; then the fishes, the lowest of 
the vertebrates ; after these come the amphibians ; 
following these the reptiles ; and finally the birds 
and mammals. 

8. There is another reason for a belief in evolu- 
tion furnished by geology, but of a somewhat 
different kind from that just stated. It consists 
in the fact that there are found in the rocks series 
or grades of structures, which fit with amazing 
accuracy on to the structures of existing species. 
Now, this is precisely what, according to the 
evolutional hypothesis, is to be expected. For, if 
evolution is true, existing species represent the 
tops of things. They are the existing and visible 
parts of processes which extend indefinitely back 
into the past, and whose deceased stages may 
reasonably be expected to be found fossil in the 
earth. Considering the youth and inexperience 
of paleontology and the torn and incoherent 
character of the record, it is surprising that anat- 
omists have been able to accomplish what they 
have accomplished. In many cases — notably, 


those of man, the snail, the crocodile, and the 
horse — antecedent forms of structure have been 
found in almost unbroken gradations leading back 
to types differing immensely from their existing 
representatives. Bones and fossils of men have 
been found buried beneath the alluvium of rivers, 
under old lava-beds, and in caves, crusted over by 
the deposits of percolating waters. Many such 
fossils are found in quaternary rocks, along with 
the bones of animals still living and some extinct. 
Some of these remains indicate unmistakable 
affinities vwth the ape. The most celebrated of 
these discoveries is the fossil of an erect ape-man 
{Pithecanthropus erecttcs), iound by a Dutch Governor 
on the island of Java in 1894. This fossil, in the 
shape and size of the head and in its general struc- 
ture, strikes about as near as could be the middle 
between man and ape. That it is the fossil of an 
ambiguous form is indicated by the fact that, when 
it was examined by a company of twelve special- 
ists at Berlin soon after its discovery, three of them 
declared it to be the remains of an individual 
belonging to a low variety of man ; three others 
thought it was a large anthropoid ; while the other 
six held that it was neither man nor anthropoid, 
but a genuine connecting link between them. It 
is discussed at length by Haeckel in ' The Last 
Link,' a paper read before the International Con- 
gress of Zoology, at Cambridge, in i8g8. ' It is,' 
says the veteran biologist, 'the much -sought 
" missing link " supposed to be wanting in the 
chain of primates which stretches unbroken from 


the lowest catarhine to the most highly developed 
man.' Associated with this fossil ape-man were 
the fossils of the elephant, hyena, and hippo- 
potamus, none of which any longer exist in that 
part of the world, also the fossil remains of two 
orders of animals now extinct. The genealogy of 
the crocodile has been traced by Huxley, through 
all intermediate stages, back to the giant reptiles 
of the early Tertiary.* And the pedigree of the 
horse has been even more completely worked out 
by the indefatigable Marsh. In the museum of 
Yale University may be seen the fossil history of 
this splendid ungulate, from the time it was a 
clumsy little quadruped only 14 inches high, and 
with four or five toes on each foot, down to existing 
horses. The earliest known ancestor of the horse, 
the eohippus, lived at the beginning of the Eocene 
epoch. It had five toes, almost equal, on each 
front foot (four toes behind), and was about the 
size of a fox. The orohippus, which lived a little 
later, had four toes on each front- foot, and three 
behind. The mesohippus, found in the Miocene, 
had three toes and one rudimentary toe on each 
front-foot, and three toes behind. It was about 
the size of a sheep. The miohippus, which is 
found later, had three toes on each of its four feet, 
with the middle toe on each foot larger than the 
other two. The pliohippus, living in the Pliocene 
epoch, had one principal toe on each foot, and two 
secondary toes, the two secondary toes not reach- 
ing to the ground. It was about the size of a 

* See table of geological ages, p. 79. 


donkey. Existing horses have one toe on each 
foot — the digit corresponding to the big middle 
finger — and the ruins of two others in the form of 
spHnts on the back of each ankle. In the embryo 
of the horse these sphnts are segmented, each of 
them, into three phalanges. Fossil remains repre- 
senting all stages in the development of the horse 
have been found in the regions about the upper 
vifaters of the Missouri River. 

It is an important fact that the types of struc- 
ture forming any series grow^ more and more 
generalised as the distance from the present 
increases, and that different lines of development, 
vi^hen traced back into the past, often converge in 
types which combine the main characters of 
various existing groups. The horses, rhinoceroses, 
and tapirs, great as are the differences among 
them now, can be traced back step by step through 
fossil forms, their differences gradually becoming 
less marked, until 'the lines ultimately blend 
together, if not in one common ancestor, at all 
events into forms so closely alike in all essentials 
that no reasonable doubt can be held as to their 
common origin.' ' The four chief orders of the higher 
mammals — the primates, ungulates, carnivora, and 
rodents — seem to be separated by profound gulfs, 
when we confine our attention to the representa- 
tives of to-day. But these gulfs are completely 
closed, and the sharp distinctions of the four orders 
are entirely lost, when we go back and compare 
their extinct predecessors of the Cenozoic period, 
who lived at least three million years ago. There 


we find the great sub-class of the placentals, which 
to-day comprises more than two thousand five 
hundred species, represented by only a small 
number of insignificant pro-placentals, in which 
the characters of the four divergent orders are so 
intermingled and toned down that we cannot in 
reason do other than consider them as the pre- 
cursors of those features. The oldest primates, 
the oldest ungulates, the oldest carnivora, and the 
oldest rodents, all have the same skeletal structure 
and the same typical dentition (forty-four teeth) 
as these pro-placentals ; all are characterised by 
the small and imperfect structure of the brain, 
especially of the cortex, its chief part, and all 
have short legs and five-toed, flat-soled (planti- 
grade) feet. In many cases among these oldest 
placentals it was at first very difficult to say 
whether they should be classed with the primates, 
ungulates, carnivora, or rodents, so very closely 
and confusedly do these four groups, which diverge 
so widely afterwards, approach each other at that 
time. Their common origin from a single ances- 
tral group follows incontestably ' (5). 

g. Man is the most powerful and influential of 
animals. He rules the world — rules it with a 
sovereignty more despotic and extensive than that 
hitherto exercised by any other animal. Many 
races of beings are, and have been for centuries, 
completely dominated by him. These races, 
during their long subjection, have been changed 
and transformed by man in a wonderful manner 
through his control of their power to breed. All 


domestic animals have come from wild animals ; 
they have been derived by a process of selective 
evolution conducted by man himself. By con- 
tinually choosing as the progenitors of each 
generation those with qualities best suited to his 
whims and purposes, man has evolved races as 
diiferent from each other in appearance and struc- 
ture, and as different from the original species, as 
many groups which, in the wild state, constitute 
distinct species ; indeed, man has in some cases 
created entirely new species, both of plants and 
animals — species that breed true and are what 
biologists call ' good ' — by his own selections. 

There are something over 150 different varieties 
of the domestic pigeon. Some of these varieties — 
as many as a dozen, Mr. Darwin thinks — differ 
from each other sufficiently to be reckoned, if 
they are considered solely with reference to their 
structures, as entirely distinct species. The 
carrier, for instance, the giant of the pigeons, 
measures 17 inches from bill-tip to the end of its 
tail, and has a beak if inches long. Around each 
eye is a large dahlia-like wattle, and another large 
wattle is on the beak, giving the beak the appear- 
ance of having been thrust through the kernel of 
a walnut. The tumbler is small, squatty, and 
almost beakless. It has the preposterous habit 
of rising high in the air and then tumbling heels 
over head. The roller, one of the many varieties 
of the tumbler, descends to the ground in a series 
of back somersaults, executed so rapidly that it 
looks like a falling ball. The runt is large, weigh- 

5 . 


ing sometimes as much as the carrier. The fan- 
tail has thirty or forty feathers in its tail, while all 
other varieties have only twelve or fourteen, the 
normal number for birds. The trumpeter, so 
named on account of its peculiar coo, has an 
umbrella-like hood of feathers covering its head 
and face, and its feet are so heavily feathered that 
they look like little wings. In the correct speci- 
mens of this variety the feathers have to be clipped 
from the face before the birds can see to feed 
themselves. The pouter has the absurd habit of 
inflating its gullet to a prodigious size, and the 
Jacobin wears a gigantic ruff. The homing pigeon 
has such a strong attachment for its cote that it 
will travel hundreds of miles, sometimes as many 
as 1,400 miles, in order to reach the home from 
which it has been separated. But it is not simply 
in their colour, size, habits, and plumage, that 
pigeons vary. There are corresponding differences 
in their structures, in the number of their ribs and 
vertebrae, in the shape and size of the skull, in 
the bones of the face, in the development of the 
breast-bone, and in the length of the neck, legs, 
and bill. Pigeons also differ in the shape and size 
of their eggs, and in their dispositions and voice. 
' There is,' says Huxley in summing up his dis- 
cussion of the great variety in these birds, ' hardly 
a particular of either internal econony or external 
shape which has not by selective breeding been 
perpetuated and become the foundation of a new 
race ' (11). 
All of the 150 different varieties of domestic 


pigeons have been evolved by human selection 
during the past three or four thousand years from 
the blue rock-doves which to-day inhabit the sea- 
coast countries of Europe. 

What is true of pigeons is also true largely of 
most of the other races associated with man — of 
cats, cattle, horses, sheep, swine, goats, fowls, 
and the like. All varieties of the domestic 
chicken — the clumsy Cochin with its feather- 
duster legs, the tall and stately Spanish, the great- 
crested Minorca, the Dorking with its matchless 
comb and wattle, the almost combless Polish, the 
blue Andalusian, the gigantic Brahma, the tiny 
Bantam, the Wyandottes in all colours (black, 
white, buff, silver, and golden), the magnificent 
Plymouth Rocks, and the exceedingly pugnacious 
Game-cock — these and dozens of other varieties, 
all flightless, have come from the jungle-bird 
whose morning clarion still greets Aurora from 
the wilds of distant India. The dog is a civilised 
wolf, and the wild-boar is the progenitor of the 
oleaginous swine. The Merino and South Down 
breeds of sheep have come from the same stock in 
the last century and a half. In 1790 a lamb was 
born on the farm of Seth Wright in Massachusetts. 
It had a long body and short, bowed legs. It was 
noticed that this lamb could not follow the others 
over the fences. The owner thought it would be 
a good thing if all his sheep were like it. So he 
selected it to breed from. Some of its offspring 
were like it, and some were like the ordinary 
sheep. By continual selection of those with long 



bodies and short legs the ancon breed of sheep was 
finally produced. In 1770 in a herd of Paraguay 
cattle a hornless male calf appeared, and from 
this individual in a similar way came the stock of 
Muleys. The occasional appearance of horned 
calves and lambs among the offspring of hornless 
breeds of cattle and sheep are examples of atavism 
indicating the presence of a vestigial tendency to 
breed true to their horned ancestors. The Hereford 
cattle originated as a distinct variety about 1769 
through the careful selections of a certain English- 
man by the name of Tompkins. All domesticated 
quadrupeds, except the elephant, have come from 
wild species with erect ears, the ears acting as 
funnels to harvest the sound-waves. But there 
are few of them in which there is not one or more 
varieties with drooping ears— cats in China, horses 
in parts of Russia, sheep in Italy, cattle in India, 
and pigs, dogs, and rabbits in all long-civilised 
lands. We are so accustomed to seeing dogs and 
pigs with pendent ears that we are surprised to 
know there are varieties with erect ears. The 
goldfish is a carp, and in its native haunts in the 
waters of China it has the colour of the carp. The 
golden hue seen in the occupants of our aquaria 
has been given to this fish by the Chinese through 
the continual selection of certain kinds. The 
goldfish, almost as much as the pigeon, has been 
the sport of fanciers, and the strangest varieties 
have resulted. Some have outlandishly long fins, 
while others have no dorsal fin at all. Some are 
streaked and splotched with gold and scarlet ■ 


others are pure albinos. One of the most monstrous 
varieties has a three-lobed tail-fin, and its eye- 
balls, without sockets, are on the outside of its 
head. All of our common barnyard fowls — 
turkeys, ducks, geese, and chickens — are flight- 
less, but the varieties from which the domesticated 
forms have come all have functional wings, two of 
these varieties crossing continents in their annual 

Not only animals, but plants also, many of 
them, have been greatly changed by man in his 
efforts to adapt them to his uses as food, orna- 
mentation, and the like. On the seaside cliffs of 
Chili and Peru may still be found growing the 
wild-potato — the small, tough, bitter ancestor of 
the mammoth Burbank, Peerless, Early Rose, 
and the nearly two hundred other varieties of this 
matchless tuber found in the gardens of civilised 
man. The cabbage, kale, cauliflower, and kohl- 
rabi are all modifications of the same wild species 
{Brassica oleracea), the cauliflower being the de- 
veloped flower, kohlrabi the stalk, and kale and 
cabbage the leaves. The peach and the almond, 
Darwin thinks, have also come from a common 
ancestral drupe, the peach being the developed 
fruit, and the almond the seed. There are nearly 
goo different varieties of apples, varying in the 
most wonderful manner in size, colour, flavour, 
texture, and shape, but all of them probably 
derived from the little, sour, inedible Asiatic crab. 
The many times ' double ' roses of our gardens 
have come from the five-petalled wild-rose of the 


prairies. The cultivated varieties of viburnum 
and hydrangea have showy corymbs of infertile 
flowers only, but the wild forms from which the 
domestic varieties have been derived have only 
a single marginal row of showy infertile flowers 
surrounding a mass of inconspicuous fertile flowers. 
It has been due to their efforts to please men that 
bananas, pineapples, and oranges have got into 
the habit of neglecting to produce seeds. There 
are certain species of grapes that are seedless, 
also seedless sugar-cane, and a seedless apple has 
just been announced by horticulturists. The 
development of domesticated plants is only in its 
infancy, and it is probably impossible even for the 
most agile imagination to dream of the miracles 
the horticulturist is destined to work in the ages 
to come. There is every reason to believe that 
seedless varieties of all our common fruits will 
ultimately be produced, and that in size, flavour, 
nutrient constituents, and appearance, they will be 
developed into forms utterly different from exist- 
ing varieties. Just within the last few years the 
U.S. Department of Agriculture has developed a 
cotton-plant immune to the bacterial diseases 
of the soil, which had completely driven the 
cotton-raising industry out of large districts of the 
South. The cultivation of many of the cereals 
has gone on so long, and has proceeded so far, 
that their origin is lost in antiquity. 

Whether or not it is possible for new varieties 
and species to be evolved is a question, therefore, 
which does not need to depend for reply wholly 


upon theory. It is known to have taken place ; 
and the process by which the different varieties of 
domestic animals and plants have been evolved — 
domestic selection — is not different in principle 
from the process of natural selection, the chief 
operation by which life in general, both plant and 
animal, is assumed to have been evolved. 

10. There are other reasons for a belief in 
organic evolution, but the last one I shall mention 
is the fact that the theory of organic evolution 
harmonises with the known tendencies of the 
universe as a whole. The organic kingdoms of 
the earth — animals and plants — are as truly parts 
of the terrestrial globe as the inorganic kingdom 
is ; and as such they share in, and are actuated 
by, the same great tendency or instinct as that 
which actuates the whole. Nine-tenths of the 
substance of all animals and plants is oxygen, 
hydrogen, carbon, and nitrogen — the very elements 
which make up the entire ocean and air, and 
enter largely into the composition of the contin- 
ents. The human body, which has essentially 
the same chemical composition as the bodies of 
animals in general, is made up of four solids, five 
gases, and seven metals — in all, sixteen elements 
of the something like seventy which constitute 
the entire planet. ' In the past, man appeared to 
be a creature foreign to the earth, and placed 
upon it as a transitory inhabitant by some incom- 
prehensible power. The more perfect insight of 
the present day sees man as a being whose 
development has taken place in accordance with 


the same laws as those that have governed the 
development of the earth and its entire organisa- 
tion — a being not put upon the earth accidentally 
by an arbitrary act. but produced in harmony 
with the earth's nature, and belonging to it as do 
the flowers and the fruits to the tree which bears 
them.' Animals are not outside of, nor distinct 
from, the universe, as one might suspect who has 
listened much to the recital of tradition so long 
accepted as science. They are more or less 
detached portions of the planet earth which move 
over its surfaces and through its fluids and 
multiply, but which in their phenomena obey 
the same laws of chemistry and physics as those 
in accordance with which the rest of the uni- 
verse acts. Animals are moulds through which 
digressing matters from the soil, sea, and sky 
pass on rounds of eternal itineracy. 

Now, the earth as a planet is in process of 
evolution. Not many things are more certain 
than this. The earth has come out of fire. It 
has grown to be what it is. Its mountains, 
valleys, plains, seas, shores, islands, lakes, rivers, 
and continents — these were not always here. 
They have been evolved. Not only the earth, 
but the entire family of spheres of which the 
earth is a member — the solar system — are all 
evolving. Mr. Spencer never did anything more 
profound than when he demonstrated in his ' Law 
and Cause of Progress ' the universal migration of 
things from a condition of homogeneity toward a 
condition of greater and greater heterogeneity. 


The whole universe, or as much of it as can be 
examined by terrestrial instruments, has probably 
evolved out of the same primordial matters. The 
organic part of the earth has evolved, therefore, 
and is destined to continue to evolve, because it 
is a part of a whole whose habit or ambition it is 
to evolve. 

The evidence is overwhelming. The theory of 
organic evolution is sustained by a mass of facts 
not less authoritative and convincing than that 
which supports the Copernican theory of the 
worlds. Evolution is, in fact, a doctrine so 
apparent that it only needs to be honestly and 
intelligently looked into to be accepted unre- 
servedly. It is, indeed, more than a doctrine. It 
is a known fact. It is a necessary effect of the 
conditions known to exist among the animals and 
plants of the earth. If beings vary among them- 
selves generation after generation, if only the 
fittest of each generation survive, and if the sur- 
vivors tend to transmit to their offspring the 
qualities of their superiority (and the animals and 
plants of the earth are known to do continually 
all of these things), then it follows with mathe- 
matical certainty that evolution is going on, and 
that it will continue to go on as long as these 
conditions continue. It is inevitable. It could 
not be otherwise. We would know that evolution 
were going on among organisms where these con- 
ditions existed, even though we had never ob- 
served it. 

The boldest and most enthusiastic opponents of 


evolution have always been those with the least 
information about it. But the evidence is accu- 
mulating so rapidly, and is being drawn up in such 
unanswerable array, that, if it is not already the 
case, it will not be many years before it will be an 
intellectual reproach for anyone to discredit, or to 
be known to have discredited, this splendid and 
inspiring revelation. 

X. The Genealogy of Animals. 

Life originated in the sea, and for an immense 
period of time after it commenced it was confined 
to the place of its origin. The civilisations of the 
earth were for many millions of years exclusively 
aquatic. It has, indeed, been estimated that the 
time required by the life process in getting out of 
the water — that is, that the time consumed in 
elaborating the first species of land animals — was 
much longer than the time which has elapsed 
since then. I presume that during a large part of 
this early period it would have seemed to one 
living at that time extremely doubtful whether 
there would ever be on the earth any other kinds 
of life than the aquatic. And if those who to-day 
weave the fashionable fabrics of human philosophy, 
and who know nothing about anything outside the 
thin edge of the present, had been back there, 
they would no doubt have declared confidently, as 
they looked upon the naked continents and the 
uninhabited air and the sea teeming with its 
peculiar faunas, that life upon solids or in gases, 
life anywhere, in fact, except in the sea, where it 


had always existed, and to which alone it was 
adapted, was absolutely, and would be forever, 
impossible ; and that feathered fishes and fishes 
with the power to run and skip, and especially 
' sharks ' competent to walk on one end and jabber 
with the other, were unthinkable nonsense. Life 
originated in the sea for the same reason that the 
first of the series of so-called ' civilisations ' which 
have appeared in human history sprang from the 
alluvium of the Euphrates and the Nile, because 
the conditions for bringing life into existence were 
here the most favourable. The atmosphere was 
incompetent to perform such a task as the invent- 
ing oi protoplasm, and there was no land above the 

The first forms of life were one-celled — simple, 
jelly-like dots of almost homogeneous plasm — the 
protozoa. These primitive organisms were the 
common grandparents of all beings. From them 
evolved, through infinite travail and suffering, all 
of the orders, families, species, and varieties of 
animals that to-day live on the earth, and all 
those that have in the past lived and passed 
away. By the multiplication and specialisation 
of cells, and the formation of cell aggregates, the 
sponges, celenterates, and flat worms were de- 
veloped from the protozoa.* The connecting links 
between the one-celled and the many-celled animals 
consist of a series of colonial forms of increasing 
size and complexity, some of which may be 
found in every roadside ditch and pool, while 

* See ' Genealogy of Animals,' p. 331. 


others are extinct. The development of these 
many-celled organisms (metazoa) from one-celled 
organisms was a perfectly natural process, a 
process which takes place in the initial evolutions 
of every embryo. There is no more mystery 
about it than there is about any other act of 
association. All association is simply a matter of 
' business.' Many-celled organisms are colonies, 
or societies, of more or less closely co-operating 
one-celled organisms, and they have come into 
existence in obedience to the same laws of economy 
and advantage as have those more modern societies 
of metazoa known as nations, communities, and 
states, the organised bodies of men, ants, and 

The sponges are the lowest of the many-celled 
animals. They consist of irregular masses of 
loosely associated cells, hopelessly anchored to 
the sea-floor. They represent the social instinct 
in embryo. The cells are but slightly specialised, 
and each cell leads a more or less independent 
existence. The sponge stands at about that stage 
of social integration and intelligence represented 
by those stupendous porifera which cover conti- 
nents and constitute the ' social organisms ' of the 
civilised world. The nutritive system of sponges 
consists of countless pores opening from the sur- 
face into a common canal within, through which 
ever-waving cilia urge the alimental waters. In 
the celenterates the cells arrange themselves in 
the form of a cup with one large opening into and 
from the vase-like stomach. The unsegmented 


worms are flat and sac-like, with bilateral sym- 
metry and the power to move about, but not 
tubular, as are the true worms. They are blood- 
less, like the celenterates and sponges. 

From the flat worms developed the annelid 
worms, animals perforated by a food canal and 
possessing a body cavity filled with blood sur- 
rounding this canal. The body cavity is the space 
between the walls of the body and the alimentary 
canal, the cavity which in the higher animals 
contains the heart, liver, lungs, kidneys, etc. The 
worms and all animals above them have this 
cavity. The worms and all animals above them 
also have, as an inheritance from the flat worms, 
bodies with bilateral symmetry — that is, bodies 
with two halves similar. This peculiarity was 
probably acquired by the flat worms, and so 
fastened upon all subsequently evolved species, as 
a result of pure carelessness. It probably arose 
out of the habit of using continually, or over and 
over again, the same parts of the body as fore and 
aft. It has been facetiously said that if it had not 
been for this habit, so inadvertently acquired by 
these humble beings so long, long ago, we would 
not to-day be able to tell our right hand from our 
left. In the worm is found the beginning of 
that wonderful organ of co-ordination, the brain. 
The brain is a modification of the skin. It may 
weaken our regard for this imperial organ to know 
that it is, in its morphology, akin to nails and 
corns. But it will certainly add to our admiration 
for the infinite labours of evolution to remember 


that the magnificent thinking apparatus of modern 
philosophers was originally a small sensitive plate 
developed down in the sea a hundred million years 
ago on the dorsal wall of the mouths of primeval 

From the worms developed all of the highest 
four phyla of the animal kingdom — the echino- 
derms, the mollusks, the arthropods, and the 
chordate animals, the last of which were the 
progenitors of the illustrious vertebrates. The 
lowest of the mollusks are the snails, and from 
these humble tenants of our ponds and shores 
sprang the headless bivalves and the giant jawed 
cuttles. The mollusks were for a long time after 
their development the mailed monarchs of the 
sea, and shared with the worms the dominion of 
the primordial waters. But after the development 
of the more active arthropods, especially the 
crustaceans, the less agile worms and mollusks 
rapidly declined. Existing worms and mollusks 
are remnants of once powerful and populous 

From the worms also developed the arthropods, 
the water-breathing crustaceans and the air- 
breathing spiders and insects. The crustaceans 
came early, away back in the gray of the Silurian 
period, just about the time North America was 
born. North America lay, a naked, V-shaped 
infant, in the regions of Labrador and Canada. 
The crustaceans rapidly superseded the mollusks 
as rulers of the sea, attaining, in extreme species, 
a length of four or five feet. The spiders and 


insects came into existence toward the latter part 
of the Silurian period,* probably contemporaneous, 
or nearly so, with the appearance of land vegeta- 
tion. The spiders and insects were the aborigines 
of the land and air. They are the only races of 
living beings, except the original inhabitants of 
the sea, who ever invaded and settled an unoccu- 
pied world. The earliest land fossils so far found 
are the fossils of scorpions. But the existence of 
a sting among the structural possessions of these 
animals indicates that there were already others 
who contended with them for supremacy in the 
new world. The first insects were the masticating 
insects, insects such as cockroaches, crickets, grass- 
hoppers, dragon-flies, and beetles. They are found 
abundantly in the Devonian and Carboniferous 
rocks. The licking insects (bees) and the pricking 
insects (flies and bugs) appeared first in the 

* The following are the divisions and subdivisions of 
geological history : 

(Pleistocene period. 
Pliocene „ 

Miocene „ 

Oligocene „ 
Eocene „ 

r Cretaceous period. 
4. Mesozoic Era (Secondary) - j Jurassic „ 

vTriassic „ 

/Permian period. 
Carboniferous period. 

3. Paleozoic Era (Primary) - -! gihlrian " " 

Ordovician „ 

V Cambrian „ 

2. Proterozoic Era - - - Algonkian period. 
I. Archeozoic Era. 


Mesozoic Era, and the sipping insects (butter- 
flies) in the Cenozoic. The flower-loving insects 
(the bees and butterflies) came into the world at 
the same time as did the flowers. The wings of 
insects may be modifications of the gills used by 
insect young in respiration during their aquatic 
existence. They are, hence, very different in 
origin from the wings of birds, which are the 
modified fore-legs of reptiles. 

The most important class of animals arising out 
of the worms, on account of their distinguished 
offspring, were the hypothetical cord animals. 
The only existing species allied to these animals 
is the amphioxus, a strange, unpromising-looking 
creature, half worm and half fish, found in the 
beach sands of many seas. It has white blood and 
a tubular heart. It is without either head or 
limbs, and looks very much like a long semi- 
transparent leaf, tapering at both ends. But it 
has two unmistakable prophecies of the vertebrate 
anatomy : a cartilaginous rod, pointed at both 
ends, extending along the back, and above this, 
and parallel to it, a cord of nerve matter. These 
are the same positions occupied by the spinal 
column and spinal cord in all true vertebrates. 
That the amphioxus is a genuine relative of the 
ancestor of the vertebrates is also shown by the 
fact that these simple forms of column and cord 
possessed by amphioxus are precisely the forms 
assumed by the spinal column and spinal cord in 
the embryos of all vertebrates, including man. 

From these quasi-vertebrates developed the fishes 


— first (after the scaleless, limbless lampreys) the 
sharks with spiny scales and cartilaginous skeleton, 
and after these the lung fishes and the bony fishes, 
with flat, horny scales and skeletons of bone. 
From the beginning of the Devonian age, when 
fishes first came into prominence, till the rise of 
the great reptiles in the Triassic time, fishes were 
the dominant life of the sea. In the fishes first 
appeared jaws, a sympathetic nervous system, red 
blood, backbone, and the characteristic two pairs 
of limbs of vertebrates. 

The lung fishes (Dipneusta), a small order of 
strange salamander-like creatures which live in- 
geniously on the borderland between the liquid 
and the land, may be looked upon as physiological, 
if not morphological, links between the fishes and 
the frogs. They combine the characters of both 
fishes and frogs, and zoologists have been tempted 
to make a separate class of them, and place them 
between the two classes to which they are related. 
They are like fishes in having scales, fins, per- 
manent gills, and a fish-like shape and skeleton. 
They resemble frogs in having lungs, nostrils, an 
incipiently three-chambered heart, a pulmonary 
circulation, and frog-like skin glands. There are 
three genera with several species. One genus 
(Neoceratodus) is found in two or three small 
rivers of Queensland, Australia ; another (Protop- 
terus) lives in the Gambia and other rivers of 
Africa; and the third (Lepidosiren) inhabits the 
swamps of the Amazon region. They all breathe 
ordinarily by means of gills, like true fishes, but 



have the habit of coming frequently to the surface 
and inhahng air. The air-bladder acts as an 
incipient lung in supplementing respiration by gills. 
They all live in regions where a dry season regularly 
converts the watercourses into beds of sand and 
mud. During the season of drought these strange 
animals build for themselves a cocoon or nest of 
mud and leaves. This cocoon is lined with mucus, 
and provided with a lid through which air is 
admitted. Here they lie in this capsule through- 
out the hot southern summer, from August to 
December, breathing air by means of their lungs 
and living upon the stored-up fat of their tails, 
until the return of the wet season, when they 
again live in the rivers and breathe water in true 
piscatorial fashion. These capsules have often 
been carried to Europe, and opened 3,000 miles 
from their place of construction without harming 
the life within. 

Here, in these eccentric denizens of the southern 
world, we find the beginnings of a grand trans- 
formation — a transformation in both structure and 
function, a transformation made necessary by the 
transition from life in the water to life in the air, 
a transformation which reaches its maturity in the 
higher air-breathing vertebrates, where the simple 
air-sac of the fish becomes a pair of lobed and 
elaborately sacculated lungs, performing almost 
exclusively the function of respiration, and the 
gills change into parts of the ears and lower jaw. 

The air-bladder of ordinary fishes, which is used 
chiefly as a hydrostatic organ to enable the fish 


to rise and fall in the water, is probably the 
degenerated lung of the lung fishes. 

From the lung fishes or allied forms developed 
the amphibians, the well-known fish quadrupeds 
of our bogs and brooks. The amphibians are 
genuine connectives — living links between the life 
of the sea and the life of the land. In early life 
they are fishes, with gills and two-chambered 
hearts. In later life they are air-breathing quad- 
rupeds, with legs and lungs and three-chambered 
hearts. Here is evolution, plenty of it, and of the 
most tangible character. And it takes place right 
before the eyes. The transformation from the fish 
to the frog is, however, no more wonderful than 
the embryonic transformations of other vertebrates. 
It is simply more apparent, because it can be 
seen. The lungs of amphibians and the lower 
reptiles are simple sacks opening by a very short 
passage into the mouth. Some amphibians, as the 
axolotl of Mexican lakes, ordinarily retain their 
gills through life, but may be induced to develop 
lungs and adapt themselves to terrestrial life by 
being kept out of the water. Others, as the newts, 
which ordinarily develop lungs, may be compelled 
to retain their gills through life by being forced to 
remain uninterruptedly in the water. The black 
salamander, inhabiting droughty regions of the 
Alps, brings forth its young bearing lungs, and 
only a pair at a time. But if the young are pre- 
maturely removed from the body of the mother 
and placed in the water, they develop gills in the 
ordinary way. These are remarkable instances of 



elasticity in the presence of a varying environ- 

In the amphibians the characteristic five-toed or 
five-fingered foot, which normally forms the ex- 
tremities of the limbs of all vertebrates except 
fishes, is first met -with. It vi^as this pentadactyl 
peculiarity of the frog, inherited by men and women 
through the reptiles and mammals, that gave rise 
to the decimal system of numbers and other un- 
handy facts in human life. The decimal system 
arose out of the practice of early men performing 
their calculations on their fingers. This method 
of calculating is still used by primitive peoples all 
over the world. The sum of the digits of the two 
hands came, in the course of arithmetical evolu- 
tion, to be used as a unit, and from this simple 
beginning grew up the complicated system of tens 
found among civilised peoples. It has all come 
about as a result of amphibian initiative. Our 
very arithmetics have been predetermined by the 
anatomical peculiarities of the frog's foot. If these 
unthinking foreordainers of human affairs had had 
four or six toes on each foot instead of five, man 
would no doubt have inherited them just as cheer- 
fully as the number he did inherit, and the civilised 
world would in this case be to-day using in all of 
its mathematical activities a system of eights or 
twelves instead of a system of tens. A system 
of eights or twelves would be much superior in 
flexibility to the existing system ; for eight is 
a cube, and its half and double are squares ; 
and twelve can be divided by two, three, four, 


and six, while ten is divisible by two and five 

How helpless human beings are — in fact, how 
helpless all beings are ! How hopelessly dependent 
we are upon the past, and how impossible it is to 
be really original ! What the future will be depends 
upon what the present is, for the future will grow 
out of, and inherit, the present. What the present 
is depends upon what the past was, for the present 
has grown out of, and inherited, the past. And 
what the past was depends upon a remoter past 
from which it evolved, and so on. There is no 
end anywhere of dependence, either forward or 
backward. Every fact, from an idea to a sun, is 
a contingent link in an eternal chain. 

From the amphibians (probably from extinct 
forms, not from living) there arose the highest 
three classes of vertebrates — the true reptiles, the 
birds, and the mammals — all of whom have lungs 
and breathe air from the beginning to the end of 
their days. Gills, as organs of breathing, disappear 
forever, being changed, as has been said, into 
parts of the organs of mastication and hearing. In 
the reptiles first appear those organs which in the 
highest races overflow on occasions of tenderness 
and grief, the tear glands. These organs are, 
however, in our cold-blooded antecedents, organs 
of ocular lubrication rather than of weeping. 
There are but four small orders of existing reptiles 
— snakes, turtles, lizards, and crocodilians. These 
are the pygmean descendants of a mighty line, the 
last of a dynasty which during the greater part of 


the Mesozoic ages was represented by the most 
immense and powerful monsters that have ever 
lived upon the earth. Mesozoic civilisation was 
pre-eminently saurian. Reptiles were supreme 
everywhere — on sea and land and in the air. Their 
rulership of the world was not so bloody and 
masterful as man's, but quite as remorseless. 
Imagine an aristocracy made up of pterosaurs 
(flying reptiles), with teeth, and measuring 20 feet 
between wing - tips ; great plesiosaurs (serpent 
reptiles) and ichthyosaurs (fish reptiles), enormous 
bandits of the seas; and dinosaurs and atlanto- 
saurs, giant land lizards, 30 feet high and from 
50 to 100 feet in length. A government of demagogs 
is bad enough, as king-ridden mankind well know, 
but dragons would be worse, if possible. The 
atlantosaurs were the largest animals that have 
ever walked upon the earth. They were huge 
plant-eaters inhabiting North America. It has 
been surmised that one of these behemoths * may 
have consumed a whole tree for breakfast.' It was 
the mighty saurians of the Mesozoic time who 
brought into everlasting subordination the pisca- 
torial civilisation of the Devonian and carboniferous 

Toward the latter part of the Reptilian Age, 
and somewhere along about the time of the ap- 
pearance of hard-wood forests, came the birds, 
those beautiful and emotional beings who, in spite 
of human destructiveness, continue to fill our 
groves and gardens with the miracles of beauty 
and song. The bird is a ' glorified reptile.' How 


the ' slow, cold-blooded, scaly saurian ever became 
transformed into the quick, hot-blooded, feathered 
bird, the joy of creation,' is a considerable mys- 
tery, yet we know no reason for believing that the 
transformation did not take place. Although in 
their external appearance and mode of life birds 
and reptiles differ so widely from each other, yet, 
in their internal structure and embryology, they 
are so much alike that one of the brightest 
anatomists that has ever lived (Huxley) united 
them both into a single class under the name 
Sauropsida. It might naturally be supposed that 
the birds are descendants of the flying reptiles, 
the pterosaurs. But this may not be true. The 
pterosaurs were structurally much further removed 
from the birds than were certain extinct terrestrial 
reptiles. The fact that birds and pterosaurs both 
had wings has really nothing to do with the case. 
For the wings of reptiles, we almost know, were 
not homologous with the wings of birds. The 
bird's vnng is a feathered fore-leg ; the wing of the 
reptile was an expanded skin stretching from the 
much- elongated last finger backwards to the hind- 
leg and tail. Wings, it may be remarked in 
passing, have had at least four different and 
distinct beginnings in the animal kingdom, repre- 
sented by the bats, the birds, the reptiles, and the 
insects. This does not include the parachutes 
of the so-called flying squirrels, lemurs, lizards, 
phalangers, and fishes. 

The first birds had teeth and vertebrated tails. 
The archeopteryx, which is the earliest toothed 


bird whose remains have yet been found, was 
about the size of a crow. It had thirty-two teeth 
and twenty caudal vertebrae. Two specimens 
of it have been found in the Jurassic slates of 
Bavaria. One of these fossils is in the British 
Museum, and the other in the Museum of Berlin. 
Other toothed birds have been found fossil by 
Dr. Mudge in the cretaceous chalk of North 
America. These last had short, fan tails like 
existing birds. 

From the toothed birds developed the beaked 
birds — the keel-breasted birds (the group to which 
most existing birds belong) and the birds with 
unkeeled breasts, i.e., the ostrich-like birds. The 
ostrich-like birds are runners. They have rudi- 
mentary wings, and the keel of the breast-bone, 
which in the keel-breasted birds acts as a stay 
for the attachment of the wing muscles, is lacking. 
The ostrich-like birds are probably degenerate 
flyers, the flying apparatus having become obsolete 
through disuse. The feathers of birds are gene- 
rally supposed to be the modified scales of 

The most brilliant offspring of the reptiles were 
the mammals, animals capable of a wider distribu- 
tion over the face of the earth than the cold- 
blooded reptiles, on account of their hair and their 
warm blood. Cold-blooded animals of great size 
are able to inhabit but a small zone of the existing 
earth's surface — the torrid belt. They cannot 
house themselves during the seasons of cold, as 
men can ; nor escape to the tropics on the wings 


of the wind, as do the birds ; nor bury themselves 
in subaqueous mud, as do the frogs, snakes, 
and crustaceans. During the Mesozoic period, 
when cold - blooded reptiles of gigantic size 
flourished over a wide area of the earth's surface, 
the planet was far warmer than now. Animals, 
therefore, like the mammals (or birds), capable of 
maintaining a fixed temperature regardless of the 
thermal fluctuations of the surrounding media, 
are the only animals of large size and power 
capable of uninterrupted existence over the 
greater part of the surface of the existing earth. 
The pre-eminent life of the Cenozoic time was 
mammalian. But the decline and fall of the 
saurian power was not wholly due to the rise of 
the more dynamic mammals. It was in part due, 
no doubt, to adverse conditions of climate, and 
also to the fact that mammals and birds guard 
their eggs, and saurians do not. 

The lowest of the mammals are the monotremes, 
animals which blend in a marvellous manner the 
characteristics of birds, reptiles, and mammals. 
Only two families of these old-fashioned creatures 
are left, the echidna and the duck-bill (ornitho- 
rhynchus), both of them found on or near that 
museum of biological antiquities, Australia. They 
are covered with hair and suckle their young like 
other mammals, but they have only the rudiments 
of milk glands, and they lay eggs with large yolks 
from a cloaca, like the reptiles and birds. The 
duck-bill hides its eggs in the ground, but the 
echidna hatches its eggs in a small external 


brooding pouch, periodically developed for this 
purpose. The young of the monotremes feed on 
the oily perspiration which exudes from the body of 
the mother. The monotremes first appear in the 
fossiliferous rocks of the Triassic Age. 

From the monotreme-like mammals developed 
the marsupial mammals, animals possessing a 
purse-like pouch on the after part of the abdomen, 
in which they carry their young. The young of 
marsupials are born in an extremely immature 
state, and are carried in this pouch in order to 
complete their development. The young of the 
kangaroo, an animal as large as a man, are only 
about an inch in length when they are born. 
They are carried for nine months after their birth 
in the marsupium of the mother, firmly attached 
to the maternal nipple. The marsupials came 
into existence during the Jurassic Age, and 
during the next age, the Cretaceous, they arose 
to considerable power. During this latter age 
they were found on every continent. But they 
have been almost exterminated by their more 
powerful descendants. 

From the marsupials developed the placental 
mammals, animals so called because their young 
are developed within the parental body in associa- 
tion with a peculiar nourishing organ called the 
placenta. From the herbivorous marsupials de- 
veloped the almost toothless edentates, the rodents, 
or gnawing animals, the sirenians, the cetaceans, 
and the hoofed animals, or ungulates. The 
sirenians are fish-like animals with two flippers, 


and are often called sea-cows. They resemble 
whales in many respects, and are sometimes 
classed with them. They are plant-eaters ex- 
clusively, and are found grazing along the bottoms 
of tropical estuaries and rivers. They have tiny 
eyes, teeth fitted for grinding (not spike-like as in 
the whales), and a strong affection for their young, 
the mother, when pursued, often carrying her little 
one under her flippers. An immense sirenian, 
known as Steller's manatee, was discovered on 
the Behring Islands, along the Kamschatka coast, 
in 1741. Twenty-seven years afterwards not one 
of them was left, all having been murdered by the 
Russian sailors. The sirenians are probably de- 
generate forms of land quadrupeds, having lost 
their hind-limbs and developed the fish-like shape 
in adapting themselves to aquatic conditions. 
They appear first in the Eocene Age. 

Among the most interesting derivatives of the 
herbivorous marsupials, because the most aberrant, 
are the whales. They are true mammals — have 
warm blood, breathe the air with lungs, and suckle 
their young like other mammals. But, like the 
sirenians, they live in the surface of the waters, 
and have flippers and a fish-like tail and form. 
They differ from the sirenians, however, in being 
carnivorous, in having inguinal instead of pectoral 
milk glands, and in being structurally less like 
quadrupeds. They probably degenerated from 
land quadrupeds during the Jurassic period, and, 
owing to their longer residence in the waters, have 
become further removed from the quadrupedal 


type than the sirenians. Whales have two limbs, 
the hind-limbs having disappeared as a result of 
the pre-eminent development of the tail. The 
tails of whales and sirenians are flattened horizon- 
tally, not vertically, as in fishes. 

Out of generalised forms of hoofed animals now 
extinct developed the odd -toed and even -toed 
races of existing ungulates. The original ungu- 
lates had five hoofs on each foot, and were highly 
generalised in their structure. From these original 
five-toed forms have arisen the variously hoofed 
and variously structured tribes of existing ungu- 
lates : the five-toed elephant, the four-toed tapir 
and hippopotamus, the three-toed rhinoceros, the 
two -toed camel, sheep, swine, deer, antelope, 
giraffe, and ox, and the one-toed horse and zebra. 
The carnivorous branch of the placental animals 
came from the carnivorous branch of the mar- 
supials. From early forms of carnivorous pla- 
centals developed the ape-like lemurs and those 
generalised forms of rapacious animals from which 
arose the insect-eaters, the bats, and the true 
carnivora. The seals represent a by-development 
from the main line of the carnivora, a third defec- 
tion, and a comparatively recent one, from land 
faunas. Seals live at the meeting of the land and 
the waters rather than in or on the waters, as do 
the cetaceans and sirenians. They have retained 
their fur and their four limbs, but have almost lost 
their power of land locomotion by the conversion 
of their feet into flippers. The two front-limbs of 
seals are the only ones used as ordinary limbs are 


used. The hind-limbs in most seals stretch per- 
manently out behind, the webbed digits spreading 
out fan-shaped on either side of the stumpy tail, 
and constituting a rowing apparatus functionally 
homologous with the tail of fishes and whales. 
According to Jordan, the fur seals and the hair 
seals are descended from different families of land 
carnivora, the former probably from the bears, 
and the latter from the cats. 

The lemurs are of especial interest to human 
beings, because in them are found the first startling 
approximation in looks and structure to the 
' human form divine.' The lemurs are monkey- 
like creatures living in trees, but differ enough 
from true monkeys to be often placed in an order 
by themselves. Their milk glands are abdominal 
instead of pectoral, as in the monkeys, and the 
second digit of each hand and foot ends in a claw. 
The most of them live in Madagascar. They are 
generally nocturnal in their habits, although some 
species are diurnal. They appear first in the 
Eocene rocks, and Haeckel thinks they may have 
developed from opossum-like marsupials in the 
late Cretaceous or early Eocene Age. 

From lemurs or from some other similar sort of 
semi-apes developed the true apes — the flat-nosed 
(platyrhine) apes of the New World and the 
narrow-nosed (catarhine) apes of the Old World. 
There is considerable difference between the New 
World apes and those of the Old World. The 
differences between the two classes is, in fact, so 
striking that they are thought by some to have 


developed independently of each other from 
distinct species of semi-apes. The apes of the 
New World have flat noses, and the nostrils are 
far apart and open in front of the nose, never 
below. The Old World apes have narrow noses, 
the nostrils being close together and opening 
downwards as in man. The tail of (nearly) all 
New World apes is prehensile, being used regularly 
as a fifth limb, while among Old World apes the 
tail is never so used. The Old World apes all 
have the same number and kinds of teeth as man 
has, while the New World apes (excepting the 
Brazilian marmosets) have an additional premolar 
in each half-jaw, making thirty-six in all. The 
catarhine apes are, therefore, structurally much 
nearer to man than their platyrhine cousins. All 
tailed apes probably sprang originally from a 
single stirp of semi-apes, and spread over the 
earth at a time when the eastern and western 
land masses of the southern hemisphere were con- 
nected with each other. The earliest remains of 
apes appear in the Miocene Age. 

From the Old World tailed apes were developed 
the tailless, man-like, or anthropoid apes — the 
gorillas and chimpanzees of Africa, and the orangs 
and gibbons of Asia and the East Indies. The an- 
thropoids arose from the tailed apes by the loss of 
the tail, the thinning of the hairy covering, the 
enlargement of the fore-brain, and by structural 
adaptations to a more nearly vertical position. 
No remains of anthropoids are found earlier than 
the Pliocene Age. 


The man-like apes are the nearest living rela- 
tives of the human races. It is not probable that 
man has been derived directly from any of the exist- 
ing races of man-like apes. For no one of them in 
all particulars of its structure stands closer to him 
than the rest. The orang approaches closest to 
man in the formation of the brain, the chimpanzee 
in the shape of the spine and in certain character- 
istics of the skull, the gorilla in the development 
of the feet and in size, and the gibbon in the 
formation of the throat and teeth. The earliest 
human races probably sprang from man-like races 
of apes now extinct, who lived in southern Asia 
or in Africa during the Pliocene Age (possibly as 
early as the Miocene), and who combined in their 
structures the various man-like characters pos- 
sessed by existing anthropoids. 

The earliest races of men were speechless — the 
ape-like ' Alali ' — beings, living wholly upon the 
ground and walking upon their hind-limbs, but 
without more than the mere rudiments of lan- 
guage. The vertical position led to a much 
greater development of the posterior parts, espe- 
cially of the muscles of the back and the calves 
of the leg. The great toe, which in the ape is 
opposable, lost its opposability, or all except traces 
of it, after the abandonment of arboreal life. It 
must have been a sight fit to stir the soul of the 
most leathern, these children of the night, with 
low brows, stooping gait, and ape-like faces, armed 
with rude clubs, clothed in natural hair, and 
wandering about in droves without law, fire, or 


understanding, hiding in thickets and in the holes 
of the earth, feeding on roots and fruits, and con- 
tending doubtfully with the species around them 
for food and existence. 

From the ' Alali ' — the speechless ape-men — we 
may imagine the true men to have evolved — talk- 
ing men, men with erect posture and mature 
brain and larynx, the woolly-haired ulotrichi and 
the 'straight-haired lissotrichi. There are four 
existing species of woolly-haired men : the Papuans 
of New Guinea and Melanesia, and the Hotten- 
tots, Caffres, and Negroes of southern, equatorial, 
and north central Africa respectively. They all 
have long heads, slanting teeth, very dark skin, 
and black, bushy hair, each individual hair in 
cross-section being flat or oval in shape. In the 
straight-haired races the skin is much fairer than 
in the woolly-haired races, being seldom darker than 
brown, and each individual hair in cross-section is 
round like the cross-section of a cylinder. The 
principal species of straight-haired men are the 
sea-roving Malays of the East Indies and the 
Pacific, the round-faced Mongols of eastern and 
northern Asia, the aboriginal Americans of the 
western hemisphere, and the incomparable Aryans, 
including the ancient Greeks and Romans and the 
modern peoples of India, Persia, and Europe. 

Man is to-day the pre-eminent animal of the 
planet. The successive ascendancies of the Worm, 
the Mollusk, the Crustacean, the Fish, the Reptile, 
and the Mammal, are followed triumphantly by 
the ascendancy of the Children of the Ape. 


A large part of the life of the earth has 
remained steadfastly where it was cradled, beneath 
the waves. But more restless portions have left 
the sea and crept forth upon the land, or swarmed 
into the air. One migration, the most numerous, 
is represented by the insects. Another, the most 
enterprising, was the amphibian. After ages of 
evolution the amphibian branch divided. One 
bfanch acquired wings and sailed off into the air. 
The other divided and subdivided. One of these 
subdivisions entered the forests, climbed and 
clambered among the trees, acquired perpendicu- 
larity and hands, descended and walked upon the 
soil, invented agriculture, built cities and states, 
and imagined itself immortal. Human society is 
but the van — the hither terminus — of an evolu- 
tional process which had its beginning away back 
in the protoplasm of primeval waters. There is 
not a form that creeps beneath the sea but can 
claim kinship with the eagle. The philosopher is 
the remote posterity of the meek and lowly 

XL Conclusion. 

The resemblances, homologies, and metamor- 
phoses existing everywhere among animal forms 
are, therefore, evidence of the most logical con- 
sanguinities. It is all so perfectly plain. The 
structures of organic beings have come about as a 
result of the action and reaction of environment 
upon these structures. Every being — and not 
only every being, but every species, the whole 



organic world — has come to be what it is as a 
result of the incessant hammerings of its surround- 
ings, the hammerings not only of the present, but 
of the long-stretching past. By surroundings is 
meant, of course, the rest of the universe. Those 
animals belonging to the same stock resemble each 
other because they have been subjected to the 
same experiences, the same series of selections. 
They have lain on the same great anvil, and felt 
the down-comings of the same sledge. The simi- 
larities among animal forms in general indicate 
relationships, just as the similarities among the 
races of men indicate racial consanguinities. All 
men belong to the human species because they 
are all fundamentally alike. But there are differ- 
ences in the character of the hair, in the colour of 
the skin, in the conformation of the skull, and in 
the structure of the language, among the different 
varieties of the species, indicating striking variety 
in relationship and origin. An eminent biologist 
has said that if Negroes and Caucasians were 
snails they would be classed as entirely distinct 
species of animals. Whether, as is thought by 
some, the woolly-haired races are the descendants 
of the African anthropoids, and the straight- 
haired varieties are the posterity of the orangs 
and gibbons, we may never know positively. But 
we do know that these two great branches of 
mankind must have different genealogies, extend- 
ing to a remote antiquity, and that the varieties 
belonging to each great group sustain to each 
other the relations of a common kinship. English- 


men look like each other, act like each other, and 
speak the same language. So do Frenchmen and 
Swedes and Chinese. Every people is peculiar. 
This is not the result of accident or agreement, 
but the result of law. Mongolians do not all have 
short heads, yellow faces, slanting eyes, and promi- 
nent malars because they have agreed to have 
them, but as a result of a common pedigree. 
Similarity of structure implies commonalty of 
origin, and commonalty of origin means consan- 

And this is true whether you contemplate the 
featural resemblances of brothers and sisters of 
the same human parent, or those more funda- 
mental characteristics which distinguish species, 
orders, and sub-kingdoms. All animals are com- 
posed of protoplasm, which is a compound of 
clay, because all animals are descended from the 
same first parents, protoplasmic organisms evolved 
out of the elemental ooze. All vertebrates have 
nerve-filled backbones with two pairs of ventrally 
branching limbs, because the original ancestors of 
the vertebrates had nerve-filled backbones with 
two pairs of ventrally branching limbs. Insects 
individually evolve from worms because worms 
are their phylogenetic fathers and mothers. Man 
has hands and a vertical spine, and walks on his 
hind-limbs, not because he was fashioned in the 
image of a god, but because his ancestors lived 
among the trees. The habit of using the posterior 
limbs for locomotion, and the anterior for pre- 
hension, and the resulting perpendicular, are 



peculiarities developed by our simian ancestors 
wholly on account of the incentives to such 
structure and posture afforded by '^oreal life. 
These peculiarities would not likely have been 
acquired by quadrupeds living upon and taking 
their food from a perfectly level and treeless plain. 
If there had been no forests on the earth, there- 
fore, there would have been no incentive to the 
perpendicular, and the ' human form divine ' would 
have been inconceivably different from what it is 
to-day. And if fishes had had three serial pairs 
of Hmbs instead of two, and their posterity had 
inherited them, as they certainly would have had 
the foresight to do if they had had the opportunity, 
the highest animals on the earth to-day, the 
' paragons of creation,' would probably be two- 
handed quadrupeds (centaurs) instead of two- 
handed bipeds. And much more efficient and 
ideal individuals they would have been in every 
way than the rickety, peculiar, unsubstantial 
plantigrades who, by their talent to talk, have 
become the masters of the universe, and, by their 
imaginations, ' divine.' 

Kinship is universal. The orders, families, 
species, and races of the animal kingdom are the 
branches of a gigantic arbour. Every individual is 
a cell, every species is a tissue, and every order is 
an organ in the great surging, suffering, palpitat- 
ing process. Man is simply one portion of the 
immense enterprise. He is as veritably an animal 
as the insect that drinks its little fill from his 
veins, the ox he goads, or the wild-fox that flees 


before his bellowings. Man is not a god, nor in 
any imminent danger of becoming one. He is not 
a celestial star-babe dropped down among mundane 
matters for a time and endowed with wing possi- 
bilities and the anatomy of a deity. He is a 
mammal of the order of primates, not so lament- 
able when we think of the hyena and the serpent, 
but an exceedingly discouraging vertebrate com- 
pared with what he ought to be. He has come 
up from the worm and the quadruped. His 
relatives dwell on the prairies and in the fields, 
forests, and waves. He shares the honours and 
partakes of the infirmities of all his kindred. He 
walks on his hind-limbs like the ape ; he eats 
herbage and suckles his young like the ox ; he 
slays his fellows and fills himself with their blood 
like the crocodile and the tiger ; he grows old and 
dies, and turns to banqueting worms, like all that 
come from the elemental loins. He cannot exceed 
the winds like the hound, nor dissolve his image 
in the mid-day blue like the eagle. He has not the 
courage of the gorilla, the magnificence of the 
steed, nor the plaintive innocence of the ring-dove. 
Poor, pitiful, glory-hunting hideful ! Born into a 
universe which he creates when he comes into it, 
and clinging, like all his kindred, to a clod that 
knows him not, he drives on in the preposterous 
storm of the atoms, as helpless to fashion his fate 
as the sleet that pelts him, and lost absolutely in 
the somnambulism of his own being. 


(i) Hartmann : Anthropoid Apes ; New York, 1901, 

(2) QUATREFAGES : The Human Species ; New York, 


(3) Tylor : Anthropology; New York, 1899. 

(4) Haeckel : History of Creation, 2 vols. ; New York, 


(5) Haeckel: The Riddle of the Universe; New York, 


(6) Huxley : Man's Place in Nature ; New York, 1883. 

(7) Jordan : Footnotes of Evolution ; New York, 1898. 

(8) Darwin : Descent of Man, 2nd edit. ; London, 1874. 

(9) Drummond : Ascent of Man; New York, 1894. 

(10) Thompson: Outlines of Zoology, 3rd edit. ; Edinburgh, 


(11) Huxley : On the Origin of Species, lecture iv. 







MIND COMPARED - - - - 1 96 

V. CONCLUSION . - . . . 232 


' I SAW, deep in the eyes of the animals, the human soul 
look out upon me. 

' I saw where it was born down deep under feathers and 
fur, or condemned for awhile to roam four-footed among the 
brambles. I caught the clinging mute glance of the prisoner, 
and swore that I would be faithful. 

' Thee, my brother and sister, I see and mistake not. Do 
not be afraid. Dwelling thus and thus for awhile, fulfilling 
thy appointed time — thou too shalt come to thyself at last. 

' Thy half-warm horns and long tongue lapping round my 
wrist do not conceal thy humanity any more than the learned 
talk of the pedant conceals his — for all thou art dumb we 
have words and plenty between us. ' — EDWARD Carpenter. 



I. The Conflict of Science and Tradition. 

The doctrine that on mankind's account all other 
beings came into existence, and that non-human 
beings are mere hunks of matter devoid of all 
psychic qualities found in man, is a doctrine 
about as sagacious as the old geocentric theory 
of the universe. Conceit is a distinctly human 
emotion. No other animal has it. But it has 
been lavished upon man with a generosity suffi- 
cient to compensate for its total absence from the 
rest of the universe. Man has always overesti- 
mated himself. In whatever age or province of 
the world you look down on the human imagina- 
tion, you find it industriously digging disparities 
and establishing gulfs. Man, according to him- 
self, has had great difficulty many times in the 
history of the world in escaping the divine. Ac- 
cording to the facts, he has only in recent bio- 
logical times and after great labour and uncertainty 
abandoned his tail and his all-fours. According 
to himself, man was made ' in the image of his 
maker,' and has been endowed with powers and 



properties peculiarly his own. According to the 
facts, he has come into the world in a manner 
identical with that of all other animals, and has 
been endowed with like nature and destiny. Man 
has never manifested a warmer or more indehcate 
enthusiasm than the enthusiasm with which he 
has appreciated himself. And with the same 
ardour with which he has praised himself he has 
maligned and misrepresented others. Man has 
set himself up as the supreme judge and executive 
of the world, and he has not hesitated to award to 
himself the lion's share of everything. He has 
ransacked his fancy for adjectives with which to 
praise himself, and driven his inventive faculties 
to the verge of distraction in search of justification 
for his crimes upon those around him. Every 
individual bent on deeds of darkness first seeks in 
his own mind justification for his purposed sins. 
And it is a caustic comment on the character of 
human conviction that no enthusiastic criminal — 
from the marauder of continents to the kitchen 
pilferer— ever yet sought unsuccessfully at the 
court of his conscience for a sinful permit. It 
was an easy matter, therefore, for man — aided as 
he was by such an experienced imagination — to 
convince himself that all other animals were made 
for him, that they were made without feeling or 
intelligence, and that hence he was justified in 
using in any way he chose the conveniences so 
generously provided by an eccentric providence. 

But Darwin has lived. Beings have come into 
the world, we now know, through the operation of 


natural law. Man is not different from the rest. 
The story of Eden is a fabrication, bequeathed to 
us by our well-meaning but dimly-lighted ancestors. 
There has been no more miracle in the origin of 
the human species than in the origin of any other 
species. And there is no more miracle in the origin 
of a species than there is in the birth of a molecule 
or in the breaking of a tired wave on the beach. 
Man was not made in the image of the hypothetical 
creator of heaven and earth, but in the image of 
the ape. Man is not a fallen god, but a pro- 
moted reptile. The beings around him are not 
conveniences, but cousins. Instead of stretching 
away to the stars, man's pedigree slinks down into 
the sea. Horrible revelation ! Frightful anti- 
thesis ! Instead of celestial genesis and a ' fall ' 
— long and doleful promotion. Instead of elysian 
gardens and romance — the slime. Instead of a 
god with royal nostrils miraculously animating an 
immortal duplicate — a little lounging cellule, too 
small to be seen and too senseless to distinguish 
between midnight and noon. But the situation is 
not half so horrible as it looks to be to those who 
see only the skin of things. Is it not better, after 
all, to be the honourable outcome of a straight- 
forward evolution than the offspring of flunky- 
loving celestials ? Are the illustrious children of 
the ape less glorious than the sycophants of 
irrational theological systems ? Darwin dealt in 
his quiet way some malicious blows to human 
conceit, but he also bequeathed to a misguided 
world the elements of its ultimate redemption. 


The supposed psychical gulf between human 
and non-human beings has no more existence, 
outside the flamboyant imagination of man, than 
has the once-supposed physical gulf. It is pure 
fiction. The supposition is a relic of the rapidly 
dwindling vanity of anthropocentricism, and is 
perpetuated from age to age by human selfishness 
and conceit. It has no foundation either in 
science or in common-sense. Man strives to 
lessen his guilt by the laudation of himself and 
the disparagement and degradation of his victims. 
Like the ostrich, who, pursued by death, impro- 
vises an imaginary escape by plunging its head 
into the desert, so man, pursued by the vengeful 
correctives of his own conscience, fabricates a 
fictitious innocence by the calumniation of those 
upon whom he battens. But such excuses cannot 
much longer hold out against the rising conscious- 
ness of kinship. Psychology, like all other sciences, 
is rapidly ceasing to attend exclusively to human 
phenomena. It is lifting up its eyes and looking 
about ; it is preparing to become comparative. 
It has come to realise that the mind of man is but 
a single shoot of a something which ramifies the 
entire animal world, and that in order to under- 
stand its subject it is necessary for it to familiarise 
itself with the whole field of phenomenon. The 
soul of man did not commence to be in the savage. 
It commenced to be in the worm, whose life man 
grinds out with his heel, and in the bivalve that 
Bounders in his broth. The roots of conscious- 
ness are in the sea. Side by side with physical 


evolution has gone on psychical evolution ; side 
by side vi^ith the evolution of organs and tissues 
has gone on the evolution of intellect, sensibility, 
and will. Human nature and human mind are 
no more sui generis than are human anatomy and 
physiology. The same considerations that prove 
that man's material organism is the cumulative 
result of long evolution proclaim that human 
mind, the immaterial concomitant of the material 
organism, is also the cumulative result of long 

We might just as well recognise facts first as 
last, for they will have to be recognised some time. 
Truths are not put down by inhospitality — they 
are simply put off. The universe has a policy, a 
program. We may close our eyes to the facts 
around us, hoping in this way to compel them to 
pass away or be forgotten. But they do not pass 
away, nor will they be forgotten. They simply 
become invisible. They will live on and present 
themselves to other minds or ages or climes more 
hospitable or honest than our own. The only 
proper attitude of mind to assume toward the 
various doctrines existing among men is the 
attitude of perfect willingness to believe anything 
— anything that appeals to us as being reasonable 
and right. The great majority of men, however, 
are intellectual solids — unable to move and un- 
willing to think. They have certain beliefs to which 
they are determined to hold on, and everything that 
does not fit in with these behefs is rejected as a 
matter of course. 


Evidences of Psychical Evolution. 

hat mind has evolved, and that there is a 
;hical kinship, an actual consanguinity of 
:ngs and ideas, among all the forms of animal 
is proved incontestably by the following facts : 
, The evolution of mind is implied by the fact 
:he evolution of structures. ' I hold,' says 
nanes, in the introduction to his great vi^ork 
' Mental Evolution,' ' that, if the doctrine of 
inic evolution is accepted, it carries with it, 
L necessary corollary, the doctrine of mental 
ution.' It makes no difference what theory 
adopt regarding the essential natures of the 
sical and the psychical — whether we agree with 
materialist that mind is an attribute of matter, 
I the idealist that matter is a creation of mind, 
I the monist that mind and body are only 
rent aspects of the same central entity, or 
1 the dualist that body and soul are two distinct 

temporarily dependent existences — we must 
ny case recognise the fact, which is perceived 
ill, that there is an ever-faithful parallel he- 
rn the neural and psychical phenomena of 
y organism. And if the elements which 
r into and make up the physical structure of 

have been derived from, and determined by, 
eding forms of hfe, the elements which enter 

and make up the psychical counterpart of 
physical have also, without any doubt, been 
rited from, and determined by, ancestral life 



2. Closely allied to the foregoing reason for a 
belief in the evolution of mind is that derived from 
a comparative survey of the nervous system in 
man and other animals. In man, mind is closely 
associated with a certain tissue or system of 
tissues — nerve tissue or the nervous system. That 
mind is correlated with nerve structure, and that 
mental anatomy may be learned from a study of 
the anatomy of the nervous system, especially of 
the brain, is the basic postulate of the science of 
physiological psychology. Now, nerve cells exist 
in all animals above the sponge, and a compara- 
tively well-developed nervous system is found even 
among many of the invertebrates, as the higher 
worms, crustaceans, insects, and mollusks. The 
nervous system of invertebrates, though composed 
of the same kind of tissue, is constructed accord- 
ing to a somewhat different plan of architecture 
from that of the vertebrates. But in all of the 
great family of backboned animals the nervous 
system is built on the same general plan as in 
man, with a cerebro-spinal trunk extending from 
the head along the back and motory and sensory 
nerves ramifying to all parts of the body. There 
is also a sympathetic nervous system in all animals 
down as far as the insects. The brain, which is 
the most important part of the nervous system, and 
which has been called the 'organ of consciousness,' 
presents throughout the animal kingdom, from 
its beginning in the worms to man, a graduated 
series of increasing complication proceeding out 
of the same fundamental type. This is especially 


true of the vertebrates. Fishes, amphibians, 
reptiles, birds, and mammals, all have in their 
brains the same primary parts, the same five 
fundamental divisions, as are found in the brain 
of man. Hence, whatever may be thought about 
the mental states of invertebrates, we have the 
right, in the case of the vertebrate orders of life, 
to infer, from the general similarity of their 
nervous system to our own, that they have a 
corresponding similarity to ourselves in mental 
constitution and experience. 

3. The evolution of mind is suggested by the 
existence in the animal world of all grades of 
intelligence, from almost mindless forms to forms 
even exceeding in some respects the mental 
attainments of men. The jelly-fish and the 
philosopher are not mental aliens. They are 
linked to each other by a continuous gradation of 
intermediate intelligences. The existence of these 
grades of mental development suggest psychical 
evolution and kinship, just as the existence of like 
grades of structural development suggest physical 

4. In the mental life of animals the same 
factors of evolution exist as those by means of 
which organic structures have been brought into 
existence, and it is reasonable to suppose that the 
operation of these factors have produced in the 
mental world results analogous to those produced 
by the operation of the same factors among organic 

Men and other animals vary in their natures 


and mental faculties quite as much as they do in 
colour, size, and shape. It is commonly supposed 
that the mental and temperamental variety existing 
among individual men does not exist among indi- 
vidual birds, quadrupeds, insects, etc. But a little 
observation or reflection ought to be enough to 
convince anyone that such a supposition belongs 
to that batch of pre-Darwinian mistakes presented 
to us by an over-generous past. We are not ac- 
quainted with the inhabitants of our fields and 
barn-yards. We are almost as ignorant of the 
mental life and personality of these door-yard 
neighbours and friends of ours as we would be if 
they were the inhabitants of another continent. 
That is why our obtuse minds lump them together 
so indiscriminately — we do not know anything 
about them. We never take the trouble, or think 
it worth while, to get acquainted with them, 
much less to study and know them. We have 
grown up in the falsehood that they are altogether 
different from what we are, and that it is really 
not worth while to bother our gigantic heads 
about them, except to use them when it comes 
handy, or kick them to one side, or execute them, 
when they get in the way. Everybody else looks 
at the matter in about the same way, so we just 
let it go at that. 

There is a sameness about foreigners and other 
classes of human beings with whom we are but 
slightly, or not at all, acquainted, until we come 
to know them and can discriminate one from 
another, I remember once asking my sister, if 


her baby, which looked to me like all other 
babies I had ever seen, were mixed up with a lot 
of other babies of about the same age, whether 
she could pick hers out from all the rest, and she 
gave me an unmistakable affirmative by answering, 
* What a foolish question !' 

There is less variety among the individuals of 
non-human races than among individual men, 
just as there is less variety among individual 
savages than among the members of a civilised 
community. But there is mental diversity among 
all beings, and we only need to whittle our obser- 
vation a little to recognise the fact. You never 
hear the keeper of a menagerie or any intelligent 
associate of dogs, horses, birds, or insects say 
there is no individuality among these animals. 
Brehm, the great German naturalist, assures us 
that each individual monkey of all those he kept 
tame in Africa had its own peculiar temper and 
disposition. And this is no more than what 
everyone who knows anything about it knows to 
be true of dogs, horses, cats, cattle, birds, and 
even fishes and insects. Any intelligent dog- 
fancier or pigeon-fancier can tell you the personal 
peculiarities of every one of the fifty or a hundred 
dogs or pigeons in his charge. He has watched 
and studied them since they came into existence, 
and through this continuous association he has 
come to know them. He simply makes discrimina- 
tions that are not made by the casual or superficial 
observer. The Laplander knows and names each 
reindeer in his herd, though to a stranger they are 


all as much alike as the multitudes on an ant-hill. 
The Peckhams of Milwaukee, those indefatigable 
investigators of spiders and insects, are constantly 
telling us of the wonderful individuality possessed 
by these lowly lessees of our fields and gardens. 
In their work on ' The Habits and Instincts of the 
Solitary Wasps,' speaking of the ammophiles, these 
authors say : ' In this species, as in every one that 
we have studied, we have found a most interesting 
variation among the different individuals, not only 
in methods, but in character and intellect. While 
one was beguiled from her hunting by every sorrel 
blossom she passed, another stuck to her work 
with indefatigable perseverance. While one stung 
her caterpillars so carelessly and made her nest in 
so shiftless a way that her young could survive 
only through some lucky chance, another devoted 
herself to these duties not only with conscientious 
earnestness, but with an apparent craving after 
artistic perfection that was touching to see.' The 
variation in the mental phenomena of animals, 
including man, is partly innate, and partly the 
result of environment or education. 

Animals not only vary in their mental qualities, 
but they also inherit these variations, just as they 
do physical properties and peculiarities. Evidence 
of this is furnished by every new being that 
comes into the world. Insanity runs in fami- 
lies, and so does genius and criminality. Even 
the most trifling idiosyncrasies are often trans- 
mitted, not only by men, but also by dogs, horses, 
and other animals. Such qualities of mind as 



courage, fidelity, good and bad temper, intelligence, 
timidity, special tastes and aptitudes, are cer- 
tainly transmitted in all the higher orders of 
animal life. 

Animals are also selected, are enabled to survive 
in the struggle for life quite as much through the 
possession by them of certain mental qualities as 
on account of their physical characters. Whether 
the selections are made by nature or by man, they 
are not determined by the physical facts of size, 
strength, speed, and the like, more than by cunning, 
courage, sagacity, skill, industry, devotion, ferocity, 
tractability, and other mental properties. The 
fittest survive, and the fittest may be the most 
timid or analytic as well as the most powerful. 
No better illustration of this truth can be found 
than that furnished by man himself. Man is by 
nature a comparatively feeble animal. He is 
neither large nor powerful. Yet he has been 
selected to prosper over all other animals because 
of his ingenuity, sympathy, and art. The great 
feeling and civilisation of higher men have been 
built up by slow accretion due to the operation of 
the law of survival extending over vast measures 
of time. Creeds and instincts, governments and 
impulses, forms of thought and forms of expres- 
sion, have struggled and survived just as have 
cells and species. A struggle for existence is 
constantly going on, as Max Miiller has pointed 
out, even among the words and grammatical 
forms of every language. The better, shorter, 
easier forms are constantly gaining the ascendancy, 


and the longer and more cumbrous expressions 
grow obsolete. 

If, therefore, the higher types of mind have not 
come into existence as have the higher types of 
structure, through evolution from simpler and 
more generalised forms, it has not been due to 
the absence of the factors necessary for bringing 
about this evolution. 

5. The presumption created by the existence of 
the factors of psychic evolution is strengthened by 
the facts of artificial selection. We know mind 
can evolve, for it has done so in many cases. The 
races of domesticated animals, the races whom 
man has exploited and preyed upon during the 
past several thousand years, have, many of them, 
been completely changed in character and intelli- 
gence through human selection. Old instincts 
have been wiped out and new ones implanted. In 
many instances the psychology has been not only 
revolutionised, but remade. 

Take, for instance, the dog. The dog is a 
reformed bandit. It is a revised wolf or jackal. 
It has been completely transformed by human 
selection ; indeed, it may be said that the dog 
in the last ten or fifteen thousand years has 
made greater advances in sagacity and civilisation 
than any other animal, scarcely even excepting 
man. Man has made wonderful strides along 
purely intellectual lines, but in the improvement 
of his emotions he has not been so successful. 
The rapid development of the dog in feeling and 
intelligence has no doubt been due to the fact that 


his utility to man has always depended largely on 
his good sense and fidelity, and man has persis- 
tently emphasised these quahties in his selection. 
Fierceness and distrust — two of the most promi- 
nent traits in the psychology of the primitive dog 
— have been entirely eradicated in the higher races 
of dogs. There is not anywhere on the face of 
the earth a more trustful, affectionate, and docile 
being than this one-time cut-throat. Whether 
the dog has been derived from the wolf or from 
some wild canine race now extinct, or from several 
distinct ancestors, he must have had originally a 
fierce, distrustful, and barbaric nature, for all of 
the undomesticated members of the dog family — 
wolves, foxes, jackals, etc. — have natures of this 

There are about 175 different races of domestic 
dogs. They represent almost as great a range of 
development as do the races of men. Some of 
them are exceedingly primitive, while others are 
highly intelligent and civilised. The Eskimo dogs 
are really nothing but wolves that have been 
trained to the service of man. They look like 
wolves, and have the wolf psychology. They are 
not able to bark, like ordinary dogs ; they howl 
like wolves, and their ears stand up straight, like 
the ears of all wild Canids. Some of the more 
advanced of the canine races — like the sheep-dogs, 
pointers, and St. Bernards — are animals of great 
sympathy and sensibility. When educated, these 
dogs are almost human in their impulses and in 
their powers of discernment. In patience, vigi- 


lance, and devotion to duty, they are superior to 
many men. At a word, or even a look, from its 
master, the loyal collie will gather the sheep scat- 
tered for miles around to the place designated, 
and do it with such tact and expedition as to 
command admiration. It has been said that if it 
were not for this faithful and competent canine 
the highlands of Scotland would be almost useless 
for sheep-raising purposes, because of the greater 
expense that would be entailed if men were em- 
ployed. One collie will do the work of several 
men, and will do it better, and the generous- 
hearted creature pours out its services like water. 
It requires no compensation except table refuse 
and a straw bed. In South America sheep-dogs 
are trained to act as shepherds and assume the 
whole responsibility of tending the flock. ' It is a 
common thing,' says Darwin, ' to meet a large 
flock of sheep guarded by one or two dogs, at a 
distance of some miles from any house or man.' 
When the dogs get hungry, they come home for 
food, but immediately return to the flock on being 
fed. ' It is amusing,' remarks this writer, ' to 
observe, when approaching a flock, how the dog 
immediately advances barking, while the sheep 
all close in his rear as around the oldest ram.' 

Romanes relates an incident which well illus- 
trates the high character and intelligence of the 
dog and its wonderful devotion to a trust. ' It 
was a Scotch collie. Her master was in the habit 
of consigning sheep to her charge without super- 
vision. On this particular occasion he remained 


behind or proceeded by another road. On arriving 
at home late in the evening, he was astonished to 
learn that his faithful animal had not made her 
appearance with the drove. He immediately set 
out in search of her. But on going out into the 
streets, there she was coming with the drove, not 
one missing, and, marvellous to relate, she was 
carrying a young puppy in her mouth. She had 
been taken in travail on the hills, and how the 
poor creature had contrived to manage her drove 
in her condition is beyond human calculation, for 
her road lay through sheep all the way. Her 
master's heart smote him when he saw what she 
had suffered and effected. But she was nothing 
daunted, and after depositing her young one in a 
place of safety she again set out full speed for the 
hills, and brought another and another, till she 
brought the whole litter, one by one ; but the last 
one was dead'(i). 

What a wonderful transformation in canine 
character ! The very beings whose blood the dog 
once drank with ravenous thirst it now protects 
with courage and fidelity. And this transforma- 
tion in character is not due to education simply. 
It is innate. Young dogs brought from Tierra 
del Fuego or Australia, where the natives do not 
keep such domestic animals as sheep, pigs, and 
poultry, invariably have an incurable propensity 
for attacking these animals. 

The feeling of ownership possessed by so many 
dogs is an entirely new element in canine char- 
acter, a trait implanted wholly by human selection. 


Bold and confident on his own premises, the dog 
immediately becomes weak and apologetic when 
placed in circumstances in which he feels he has 
no rights. 

The pointers and setters have been developed 
as distinct breeds by human selection during the 
past 150 or 200 years. 

What is true of the dog is true also, to a large 
extent, of the cat, cow, horse, sheep, goat, fowl, 
and other domestic animals. Serene and peaceful 
puss is the tranquillised descendant of the wild 
cat of Egypt, one of the most untamable of all 
animals. The migratory instinct, so strong in 
wild water-fowl, is almost absent from our geese 
and ducks, as is the fighting propensity (prominent 
in the Indian jungle-bird) from most varieties of 
the domesticated chicken. There are now as 
many as a hundred different kinds of domesticated 
animals, and there is scarcely one of these animals 
that has not been profoundly changed in character 
during the period of its domestication. There are 
much greater changes in some races than in others. 
Some races have been much longer in captivity 
than others. And then, too, there is great differ- 
ence in the degree of plasticity in different races, 
the races of ancient origin being much more fixed 
in their psychology than those of more recent 
beginnings. In some races, too — as in the sheep 
— the selections made by man have been made 
primarily with reference to certain physical 
qualities, and in these cases the mental qualities 
have been only incidentally affected. In Poly- 


nesia, where it is selected for its flavour instead of 
for its fleetness or intelligence, the dog is said to 
be a very stupid animal. But in most cases of 
domestication the changes wrought by selection 
in the mental make-up of the race have been fully 
as great as the changes in body, and in some 
instances much greater. And the process by 
which these great changes in psychology have 
been effected is in principle identically the same 
as that by which mental evolution in general is 
assumed to have been brought about. 

6. The evolution of mind in the animal world 
in general is suggested by the fact that mind in 
man has evolved. The rich, luminous intellect 
of civilised man, with its art, science, law, litera- 
ture, government, and morality, has been evolved 
from the rude, raw, demon-haunted mind of the 
savage. Evidence of this evolution is furnished 
by the recorded facts of human history, by the 
antiquarian collections of our museums, and by 
a study of existing savages. 

History everywhere has come out of the night, 
out of the deep gloom of the unrecorded. But it 
has not leaped forth like lightning out of the 
darkness. It has dawned, night being succeeded 
by the amorphous shadows of legend and tradition, 
and these in turn by the attested events of true 
history. Almost every civilised people can trace 
back its genealogy to a time when it was repre- 
sented on the earth by one or more tribes of 
savage or half- savage ancestors. The Anglo- 
Saxons go back to the Angles, Saxons, and Jutes, 


three semi-savage tribes who came to England 
from the borderlands of the Baltic fourteen or 
fifteen centuries ago. The French are the de- 
scendants of the Gauls, who formed the scattered 
population of warring and superstitious tribes 
referred to by Julius Caesar in the opening lines 
of his ' Commentaries.' The blue-eyed Germans 
came from the Cimbri, the Goths, and the Vandals, 
those bold, wild hordes who charged out of the 
north to battle with the power of Rome. And all 
of the Aryan races — English, German, Italian, 
Scandinavian, Russian, Roman, Greek, and Persian 
— trace their ancestry back, by means of common 
languages and legends, to a time when they were 
wandering tribes of nomads tenting somewhere 
on the plains of transcaspian Asia. 

In all our museums there are collections of the 
relics of prehistoric peoples. These collections 
consist of objects upon which men in distant ages 
of the world have wrought — their weapons, orna- 
ments, utensils, implements, and playthings — 
which have been saved from the teeth of Time 
by their durability. The character of the minds 
which operated on these objects, which produced 
and used them, may be inferred from the character 
of the objects, just as the life and surroundings of 
an ancient animal or plant may be inferred from 
its fossil. These relics are of stone, bone, bronze, 
and iron. They are found in almost every region 
of the earth — all over Europe and its islands, in 
western and central Asia, in China and Japan, in 
Malay, Australia, and New Zealand, in the islands 


of the Pacific, and throughout the length and 
breadth of America. They antedate human history 
by thousands of years. They are the ruins of the 
Stone Age, the Bronze Age, and the Iron Age of 
mankind. In all of these remains there is evidence 
of a slow but gradual improvement as we approach 
the present. There are places on the earth where 
the evolution of human implements, from the 
rudest chipped stones to the comparatively finished 
products of historic peoples, is epitomised in the 
deposits of a few feet in depth. One of these 
occurs at Chelles, a suburb of Paris, and was 
made the subject of a paper by Professor Packard 
in the Popular Science Monthly for May, 1902. 
Here three distinct layers, containing human 
remains entirely different in character from each 
other, appear within a depth of 30 feet from the 
surface. The lowest bed, a layer of pebbles and 
sand, and probably preglacial in origin, contains 
the famous Chellean ' axes,' rude almond-shaped 
implements of chipped flint, and used by these 
ancient inhabitants by being held in the hand. 
In this bed are also found the bones of the straight- 
tusked elephant, cave-bear, big-nosed rhinoceros, 
and other species now extinct. The next bed is 
the interglacial, and contains implements entirely 
different from the one below it, among which are 
skin-scrapers and lance-points. The animal re- 
mains of this bed are also different from those 
found in the bed below, and include animals like 
the musk-ox and the reindeer, which were probably 
driven to this southern clime from more northern 


regions by the excessive cold of the time. The 
third bed, which lies just below the surface soils, 
contains polished stone axes and other remains of 
human industry cotemporaneous with the Swiss 
lake-dwellers. From the swamps and loams are 
sometimes dug up the remains of Gallo-Roman 
civilisations — Gallic coins, serpentine axes, and 
bronzes of the time of the Antonines. 

No one can fully realise the vast advance that 
has been made by the human mind until he has 
looked upon a savage — has seen the savage in his 
native haunts attacking the problems of his daily 
life, and has tasted of his philosophy and disposi- 
tion. The savage is the ancestor of all higher men. 
When we look upon the savage, we look upon the 
infancy of the human world. All of the laws, 
languages, sciences, governments, religions, and 
philosophies of civilised man, or nearly all of them 
at any rate, are the exfoliated laws, languages, 
sciences, governments, religions, and philosophies 
of savages. It is impossible to understand the 
laws of civilised societies without a knowledge of 
the laws of savage societies. The same thing is 
true of government, religion, and philosophy — 
and of human nature itself. Human nature as 
exhibited by civilised men and women — I mean 
men and women with a veneering of civility, not 
really civilised folks, for there are none of them 
on the earth — is a perpetual enigma unless it is 
illumined by restrospection, by a comparative 
study of human nature, by a study of human 
nature as seen in more and more primitive men 


and women. The mind of the savage, as com- 
pared with that of civiHsed man, is exceedingly 
primitive. The picture drawn by Gilbraith of the 
North American Sioux is a typical picture of 
savage life and character. Gilbraith lived among 
these tribes for several years, and was thoroughly 
acquainted with them. He says : 

' They are bigoted, barbarous, and exceedingly 
superstitious. They regard most of the vices as 
virtues. Theft, arson, rape, and murder are re- 
garded by them as the means of distinction. The 
young Indian is taught from childhood to regard 
killing as the highest of virtues. In their dances 
and at their feasts, the warriors recite their deeds 
of theft, pillage, and slaughter as precious things ; 
and the highest, indeed the only, ambition of the 
young brave is to secure " the feather," which is 
but the record of his having murdered, or partici- 
pated in the murder of, some human being — 
whether man, woman, «r child, it is im- 
material' (19). 

'Conscience,' says Burton, 'does not exist in 
East Africa, and " repentance " simply expresses 
regret for missed opportunities for crime. Robbery 
makes an honorable man ; and murder, the more 
atrocious the crime the better, makes the hero ' (2). 

Many things appear natural and self-evident to 
the savage which seem to us actually revolting. 
When the Fuegians are hard pressed by want, 
they kill their old women for food rather than 
their dogs, saying : ' Old women no use ; dogs 
kill otters.' 'What!' said a negro to Burton, 


' am I to starve while my sister has children 
whom she can sell ?' 

Lubbock, in his great work on ' The Origin of 
Civilisation,' cites hundreds of instances of savage 
rudeness and simplicity which seem almost in- 
credible to one accustomed all his life to types of 
human character such as are found in Europe and 
America. For instance, ' when the natives of the 
Lower Murray first saw pack-oxen, some of them 
were frightened and took them for demons with 
spears on their heads, while others thought they 
were the wives of the settlers, because they carried 
the baggage.' Speaking of the wild men in the 
interior of Borneo, this writer says : ' They live 
absolutely in a state of nature, neither cultivating 
the ground nor living in huts. They eat neither 
rice nor salt, and do not associate with each 
other, but rove about the woods like wild beasts. 
The sexes meet in the jungle. When the children 
are old enough to shift for themselves, they usually 
separate, neither one afterwards thinking of the 
other. At night they sleep under some large 
tree whose branches hang low. They fasten the 
children to the branches in a kind of swing, and 
build a fire around the tree to protect them from 
snakes and wild beasts. The poor creatures are 
looked on and treated by the other Dyaks as wild 
beasts.' Lubbock sums up his conclusions on the 
morality of savages in the following pathetic 
acknowledgment : ' I do not remember a single 
instance in which a savage is recorded as having 
shown any symptoms of remorse ; and almost the 


only case I can call to mind in which a man 
belonging to one of the lower races has accounted 
for an act by saying explicitly that it was right, 
was when Mr. Hunt asked a young Figian why 
he had killed his mother ' (3). 

A few pages further on, the same author adds, 
regarding the deplorable state of morality among 
savages : ' That there should be races of men so 
deficient in moral feeling was altogether opposed 
to the preconceived ideas with which I com- 
menced the study of savage life, and I have 
arrived at the conviction by slow degrees, and 
even with reluctance. I have, however, been 
forced to this conclusion, not only by the direct 
statements of travellers, but also by the general 
tenor of their remarks, and especially by the 
remarkable absence of repentance and remorse 
among the lowest races of men.' Among ourselves 
the words used to distinguish right and wrong are 
metaphors. Right originally meant ' straight,' and 
wrong meant 'twisted.' Language existed, there- 
fore, before morality ; for if moral ideas had 
preceded language, there would have been original 
words to stand for them. ReHgion, according to 
Lubbock, has no moral aspect or influence except 
among the more advanced races of men. 'The 
deities of savages are evil, not good ; they may be 
forced into compliance with the wishes of man ; 
they generally delight in bloody, and often require 
human, sacrifices ; they are mortal, not immortal ; 
they are to be approached by dances rather than 
by prayers ; and often approve what we call vice 


rather than what we esteem as virtue. In fact, 
the so-called religion of the lower races of man- 
kind bears somewhat the same relation to religion 
in its higher forms as astrology does to astronomy 
or alchemy to chemistry ' (3). 

Savages have few general ideas of any kind, as 
is evidenced by the almost total absence among 
them of words denoting general ideas. Many savage 
races cannot comprehend numbers greater than 
five or six, and are unable to make the simplest 
mathematical computations without using the 
fingers. The languages of savages are extremely 
rude, words being freely pieced out with panto- 
mime. Savages talk with difficulty in the dark, 
because of their great reliance on gesture in con- 
versation. The rich vocabularies of the languages 
of Europe and America have grown up step by 
step with the evolution of European and American 
mind. Every language is an evolution. The 
languages of many primitive peoples lack the verb 
to be entirely, and all nouns are proper nouns. 
Words are often little more than grunts or clucks, 
and are without the euphony and articulation found 
in the languages of the civilised. Darwin says 
that the language of the Fuegians sounds like a 
man clearing his throat. Not only every language, 
but every word, both in its form and meaning, 
is in process of evolution. Spirit, for instance, 
originally meant 'blov/ing,' understanding meant 
' getting beneath,' and development the physical act 
of 'unfolding.' Words are continually drifting 
from their original meanings under the stress of 



incessant use, as ships drag their anchors in a 
gale. Those words that are exposed to common 
use undergo the most rapid changes, while words 
sheltered from the rush of human affairs, like 
harboured ships, hold to their moorings forever. 
Let, for instance, once meant ' hinder ' ; now it 
means ' allow.' Bisect, on the other hand, a 
word of rare and technical use, has remained 
unaltered in significance for twenty centuries. 

Even our alphabet has been evolved. The 
twenty-six symbols composing it have been eroded 
into the peculiar forms in which they appear at 
present by the various peoples through whose hands 
they have come to us. The originals were picto- 
graphs such as are still found on the aged monu- 
ments of earth's earliest civilisations. The English 
got their alphabet from the Romans, who obtained 
it, along with almost everything else they had, 
from the Greeks. The Greeks received it from the 
Phenicians, and the Phenicians from the papyrus 
writers of Egypt, who in turn procured it from 
those hieroglyph chiselers who carved their curious 
literatures on the granite tombs of the Nile in the 
remotest dawn of human history. A, the first 
letter of our alphabet, is a figure which has been 
evolved, as the result of long wear and tear, from 
the picture of an eagle; B was originally the 
picture of a crane ; C represents a throne ; D a 
hand ; F an asp ; H a sieve ; K a bowl ; L a 
lioness ; M an owl ; N a water-line ; R a mouth ; 
S a garden ; T a lassoo ; X a chairback ; and Z 
a duck. 


The psychology of civihsed man, though derived 
from that of the savage, and hence resembhng it 
fundamentally, is, nevertheless, very different from 
it, both in character and in what it contains. 
The mind of the savage is rude, unresourceful, 
vicious, and childlike, while that of the civilised 
man or woman may be overflowing with wisdom 
and benignity. This gulf has not been covered 
by a stride, but by the slow operation of the 
same laws of Inheritance, Variation, and Selec- 
tion by which all progress has been brought 

7. Degeneration is a necessary part of the pro- 
cess of organic evolution. All progress, whether 
anatomical, intellectual, or social, takes place 
through selection, and selection means the pining 
and ultimate passing away of that which is left. In 
individual evolution it is organs, ideas, and traits 
of character that are eliminated, and in social 
evolution it is customs and institutions. One of 
the reasons given in the preceding chapter for 
the belief in the evolution of structures is the 
existence in man and other animals of vestigial 
organs, organs which in lower forms of life are 
useful, but which in higher forms are represented 
by useless or even injurious remnants. Similar 
remnants are found in the psychology of man and 
other animals. These vestiges of mind are not so 
easily recognised as the vestiges of structure, 
but they are everywhere. We find them in the 
antiquated instincts of man and the domestic 
animals, in the silent letters and worn-out words 



of languages, and in the emaciated remains of 
abandoned beliefs and institutions. 

The hunting and fishing instinct of civilised 
man is a vestigial instinct, normal in the savage, 
but without either sense or decency among men 
devoted to industrial pursuits. The savage hunts 
and fishes because he is hungry, never for pastime ; 
civilised men and women do so because they are 
too mechanical to assort their impulses. Civilised 
man is a mongrel, a cross between a barbarian 
and a god. His psychology is a compound of the 
jungle and the sky. In their loftier moments, 
many men are able to obscure the cruder facts of 
their origin and to put into temporary operation 
those more splendid processes of mind which 
characterise their ideals. But even the most civil- 
ised are forever haunted by the returning ghosts 
of departed propensities — propensities which grew 
up in ages of hate, which are now out-of-date, but 
which in the trying tedium of daily life come 
back and usurp the high places in human nature. 
Revenge, hate, cruelty, pugnacity, selfishness, 
vanity, and the like, are all more or less vestigial 
among men who have entered seriously on the 
life of altruism. Like the vermiform appendix 
and the human tail, these old obsolete parts of the 
human mind are destined, in the ripening of the 
ages, to waste away and disappear through disuse. 

The practice of the dog of turning round two or 
three times before lying down is in response to an 
instinct which was no doubt beneficial to it in its 
wild life, when it was wont to make its bed in the 


grasses, but which is now a pure waste of time. 
Darwin records it as a fact, that he has himself 
seen a simple-minded dog turn round twenty times 
before lying down. The sheep-killing mania, 
which sometimes comes over dogs when three or 
four of them get together and become actuated by 
the ' mob ' spirit, is a vestige of the old instinct of 
the carnivore which centuries of domestication 
have not yet quite erased. Goodness, if too 
prolonged, becomes irksome to dogs for the same 
reason that it does to men. Dogs have come 
from savages just as men have, and, while the 
civilised nature of the dog is more constitutional 
than that of civilised man, the old deposed instincts 
mount to the throne once in awhile, and the faith- 
ful collie is for the time being a wolf again. The 
instinct of domestic sheep to imitate their leader 
in leaping over obstacles is another probable 
survival of wild life. If a bar or other obstacle 
be placed where the leader of a flock of sheep is 
compelled to leap over it, and the obstacle is then 
removed, the entire band of followers will leap at 
the same place regardless of the fact that the 
obstruction is no longer there. No other animals 
do this. The instinct is probably a survival of 
wild life, when these animals, pursued by their 
enemies over chasms and precipices, were com- 
pelled to imitate in the flight those in front of 
them in order to live. Darwin thinks the donkey 
shows its aboriginal desert nature in its aversion 
for crossing the smallest stream, and its relish for 
rolling in the dust. The same aversion for every- 


thing aquatic exists also in the cameh Quails kept 
in captivity, I am told, persist in scratching at 
the pan when they are feeding, just as they would 
need to do, and were accustomed to do, among the 
leaves and grasses of the groves. The restlessness 
of cage-birds and domestic fowls at migrating 
time, the mimic dipping and sporting of ducks 
when confined to a terrestrial habitat, the grave 
marshalling of geese by the chief gander of the 
band, the ferocity of cows, ewes, and the females 
of other domestic animals during the first few 
days of motherhood, the hunting instinct of dogs 
kept as shepherds and pets, the squatting of 
young pigs when suddenly alarmed — all of these 
are vestigial instincts, functional in the wild state, 
but now useless and absurd. 

The silent letters and superannuated words and 
phrases found everywhere in literature are the 
vestigial parts of language. Every silent letter 
was originally sounded, and every obsolete word 
was at one time used. In the French word, temps, 
for instance, which means 'time,' neither the ^ 
nor the s is sounded. But in the Latin word 
tempus, from which the French word is derived, 
all of the letters are sounded. 

Man has been defined as a creature of habit. 
As he has done a thing once, or as his ancestors 
have done a thing, so he does it again. By 
precept and example he transmits to each new 
generation the customs, beliefs, and points of 
view which he has invented. Social changes take 
place with extreme moderation. The drowsy ages 


take plenty of time to get anywhere. Civilisation 
is lazy, deliberate, unimpassioned. It loafs and 
hesitates. It holds on to the past. Living civilisa- 
tions always drag behind them a trail of traditions 
from dead civilisations. Religions and philosophies 
change, and creeds and governments flow into 
strange and undreamed-of forms ; but their person- 
alities survive, their souls live on, their remnants, 
transmitted as traditions from generation to 
generation, defy the meddlings of innovators. 
Hence in every society there are forms and cere- 
monies, laws and customs, games and symbols, 
etc., which have been completely diverted from 
their original purposes, or which have become 
so reduced in importance as to be of no use. 
Spencer has shown that the forms of salutation in 
vogue among civilised societies are the vestiges of 
primitive ceremonial used to denote submission. 
The May Day festivals with which the opening 
spring is usually hailed are the much-modified 
survivals of pagan festivals in honour of plant and 
animal fecundity. Superstition and folklore are 
vestigial opinions. The gorgeous Easter egg is a 
survival of a dawn myth older than the Pyramids, 
and our Christmas dinner is a reminiscence of a 
cannibal carnival celebrating the turning back 
of the sun at the winter solstice (Brinton). In 
the English government, where democracy has 
in recent centuries made such inroads on the 
monarchy, there are numerous examples of vesti- 
gial institutions — institutions which continue to 
exist purely because they have existed in the past, 


but which were functional a few centuries ago. 
The supreme office itself is one of these. The 
King represents the petered-out tail-end of a privi- 
lege which in the time of the early Stuarts was 
almost unlimited. Similar vestiges exist in the 
United States, where the national spirit during 
the last century and a half has so completely 
wiped out colonialism. Such are the Town 
Meetings of Boston and of New Haven. The 
earliest form of human marriage was marriage by 
capture. The man stole the woman and carried her 
away by force. This form of marriage was in the 
course of evolution succeeded by marriage through 
purchase. A man anxious to become a husband 
could do so by paying to the father a stipulated 
amount of cash or cattle for his daughter. This 
second form of marriage finally evolved into mar- 
riage arranged by direct and peaceful negotiation 
between the prospective husband and wife. This 
is the form most commonly employed at the 
present time among the more advanced societies 
of men. But in the ceremonies which surround 
the nuptial event among civilised peoples survive 
vestiges of many of the facts associated with 
aboriginal marriages. A marriage in high life is 
a sort of epitome of the evolution of the institu- 
tion. The coyness and hesitancy of the woman 
in accepting the offers of her proposed spouse are 
the lineal descendants of the original reluctance 
of her savage sisters. The wedding-ring is the 
old token accepted by the woman when she 
gave her pledge of bondage. The coming of the 


groom with his aids to the marriage is a figura- 
tive marauding expedition. The honeymoon is 
the abduction. And the charivari and missile- 
throwing indulged in by friends and relatives on 
the departure of the wedded twain is a good- 
humoured counterfeit of the armed protest made 
by relatives of old when a bride-snatcher came 
among them (4). 

The vestiges found everywhere in the mental 
and social phenomena of man and other animals 
have arisen as necessary facts in the process of 
mental evolution. They are the vermiform appen- 
dices of the mind. 

8. One of the strongest reasons for a belief in 
the physical evolution of animal species is that 
furnished by individual evolution. Each individual 
animal recapitulates in a wonderful manner the 
phylogenesis of its species. Now, it is extremely 
significant that a similar parallel exists in the 
case of mental evolution. Each individual mind 
ascends through a series of mental faculties which 
epitomises in a remarkable manner the psycho- 
genesis of the animal kingdom. 

The human child is not born with a full-grown 
mind any more than with a full-grown body. It 
grows. It exfoliates. It ripens with the years. 
It begins in infancy at the zero-point, and in 
manhood or womanhood may blaze with genius 
and philanthropy. 

But the mind of the child not only unfolds : it 
unfolds in a certain order, the more complex 
parts and the more civilised emotions invariably 


appearing last. The initial powers of the new- 
born babe are those of sensation and perception. 
The babe cannot think. It has no feeling of 
fear, no affection, no sympathy, and no shame. 
It can see, and hear, and taste, and feel pain 
and satisfaction — and these are about all. Even 
these are vague and confused. In a week the 
perceptions are more sharp and vivid, more 
distinct and orderly. Memory arises. Memory 
is the power of reproducing past impressions. At 
three weeks the emotions begin to sprout. The 
first to make their appearance are fear and 
surprise. When the babe is seven weeks old the 
social affections show themselves, and the simplest 
acts of association are performed. At the age of 
twelve weeks jealousy and anger may be expected, 
together with simple exhibitions of association 
by similarity. At fourteen weeks affection and 
reason dawn. Sympathy germinates at about the 
age of five months ; pride and resentment ger- 
minate at eight months ; grief, hate, and benevo- 
lence at ten months ; and shame and remorse at 
fifteen months. 

Now, the remarkable thing about this is that 
this is the order, or very much like the order, in 
which mind in the animal kingdom as a whole 
has apparently evolved. The lower orders of 
animal life have none of the higher emotions and 
none of the more complicated processes of mind. 
There is no shame in the reptile, no dissimulation 
in the fish, no sympathy in the moUusk, and no 
memory in the sponge. Memory dawns in the 


echinoderms, or somewhere near the radiate stage 
of development, and fear and surprise in the 
worms. Pugnacity makes its appearance in the 
insects, imagination in the spiders, and jealousy 
in the fishes. Pride, emulation, and resentment 
originate in the birds ; grief and hate in the 
carnivora ; shame and remorse among dogs and 
monkeys; and superstition in the savage (i). 

It is also an important fact bearing on the 
general problem of evolution, that the civilised 
child, from about the age of one on, is a sort of 
synopsis, rude but unmistakable, of the historic 
evolution of the human race. The child is a 
savage. It has the emotions of the savage, the 
savage's conceptions of the world, and the desires, 
pastimes, and ambitions of the savage. It hates 
work, and takes delight in hunting, fishing, fight- 
ing, and loafing, like other savages. The hero of 
the child is the bully, just as the demigod of primi- 
tive man is a blood-letting Caesar or Achilles. 
The children of the civilised are savages — some 
more so than others — and if they ever become 
civilised — some do, and some do not — they do so 
through a process of rectification and selection 
similar to that through which the Aryan races 
have passed during the ages of human history. 

There is a similar evolution in the young of 
other animals, especially of the higher animals. 
Each individual begins in a perfectly mindless 
form, and grows mentally as it develops physically. 
The young puppy has a very different thinking 
and feeling apparatus from the grown-up mastiff. 


It is controlled almost exclusively by sense and 
instinct. It is devoid of common-sense, and 
divides its time impartially betvi'een play and 
sleep. It is easily frightened, and cries at every 
little thing. It has the rollicking, awkward, 
irresponsible personality of a boy of six. About 
the same thing is true of kittens, colts, calves, 
bear cubs, the whelps of wolves, and other young 
quadrupeds. A kitten will chase shadows, try to 
catch flies crawling on the other side of a window- 
pane, sit and watch in wonder the moving objects 
about it, and do many other things which it never 
thinks of doing when it has grown to be a wise 
and sophisticated puss trained in the ways of 
the world about it. Doghood, cathood, and 
horsehood, like manhood and womanhood, are 
the ripened products of long processes of growth 
and exfoliation. 

The parallel is, of course, imperfect. There are 
many abbreviations, many breaks and ambiguities, 
in the summary presented by the individual mind 
of the evolution of the race. And, in the present 
state of psychogeny, only the barest outline can be 
traced. But enough is known to render the fact 

g. If human mind has been evolved, it is logical 
to expect to find in other animals, especially in 
those more closely resembling ourselves in struc- 
ture, mind elements similar to those we find in 
ourselves.* And this is precisely what we do find. 

* This topic is more fully presented in section IV. of this 


The same great trunk impulses that animate men 
animate also those more rudimentary but not less 
real individuals below and around men. The 
great primary facts of sex, of self-preservation, of 
pleasure and pain, of life and death, of egoism and 
altruism, of motherhood, of alimentation, etc. — 
all of these are found everywhere, down almost to 
the very threshold of organic life. And they are 
the antecedents of the same great tendencies as 
those that control the lives of men. It is often 
supposed by the superficial that the facts of sex 
and alimentation, which are so prominent in other 
animals, have been relegated to a very subordinate 
place in the nature of man. But nothing could 
be much farther from the truth. It has been said 
that there are only two things that will induce the 
typical African or Australian to undergo prolonged 
labour — hunger and the sex appetite. It is probable 
that men — not only primitive men, but the most 
evolved races, including even poets and philoso- 
phers — will do more desperate and idiotic things 
and undergo more trying experiences when 
actuated by the sex impulse than from the effects 
of any other impulse in human nature. This 
impulse is especially overmastering in races like 
the Italian and Spanish, and has been mentioned 
by ethnologists as a probable factor in the deteri- 
oration of these races. The sentiments of love, 
marital affection, and family life control mankind 
more completely than any other motives. And 
next to these comes hunger. Let anyone who 
imagines that only the non-human creatures are 


carnal observe with what uniformity almost every 
function in both savage and civilised life gravitates 
toward eating and drinking. If it is a picnic, 
a convention, a national holiday, a Christmas 
celebration, a meeting of a fraternal society, a 
thanksgiving ceremony, or what not, eating is one 
of the main things, and the one exercise into 
which four-fifths of those present probably enter 
with the greatest enthusiasm. 

The human soul is the blossom, not the 
beginning, of psychic evolution. Mother - love 
compassionated infancy long before a babe came 
from the stricken loins of woman. The inhabitants 
of the earth had been seeking pleasure and seeking 
to avoid pain, and seeking ever with the same sad 
futility, long before man with his retinue of puny 
philosophies strutted upon the scene. Hate 
poisoned the cisterns of the sea and dropped its 
pollutions through the steaming spaces ages before 
there was malice among men. Altruism is older 
than the mountains, and selfishness hardened the 
living heart before the continents were lifted. 
There was wonder in the woods and in the wild 
heart of the fastnesses before there were wailings 
in synagogues and genuflections about altar piles. 
The frogs, crickets, and birds had been singing love 
a thousand generations and more when the first 
amoroso knelt in dulcet descant to a beribboned 
Venus. Human nature is not an article of divine 
manufacture, any more than is the human form. 
It came out of the breast of the bird, out of the 
soul of the quadruped. The human heart does 


not draw back from the mysterious dissolutions of 
death more earnestly than does the hare that flees 
before resounding packs or the wild-fowl that 
reddens the reeds with its flounderings. Bower- 
birds build their nestside resorts, decorate them 
with gay feathers, and surround them with grounds 
ornamented with bright stones and shells, for 
identically the same reason as human beings 
design drawing-rooms, hang them with tapestries, 
and surround them with ornamented lawns. The 
scarlet waistcoat of the robin and the flaming 
dresses of tanagers and humming-birds, which 
seem, as they flash through the forest aisles, like 
shafts of cardinal-fire, serve the same vanities and 
minister to the same instincts as the plumage of 
the dandy and the tints and gewgaws of gorgeous 
dames. Art is largely a manifestation of sex, and 
it is about as old and about as persistent as this 
venerable impulse. How did Darwin's dog know 
his master on his master's return from a five-years' 
trip around the world ? Just as the boy remembers 
where the strawberries grow and the philosopher 
recalls his facts — by that power of the brain to 
retain and to reproduce past impressions. Why 
does the thinker search his soul for new theories 
and the spaces for new stars ? For the same 
reason that the child asks questions and the 
monkey picks to pieces its toys. What is reason ? 
A habit of wise men — an expedient of ants — a 
mania the fools of all ages are free from. All 
of the activities of men, however imposing or 
peculiar, are but elaborations in one way or 


another of the humble doings of the animalcule, 
whose home is a water-drop and whose existence 
can be discovered by human senses only by the 
aid of instruments. 

10. Mind has evolved because the universe has 
evolved. Whether mind is a part of the universe, 
or all of it, or only an attribute of it, it is, in any 
case, inextricably mixed up with it. And, since the 
universe as a whole has evolved, it is improbable 
that any part of it or anything pertaining to it 
has remained impassive to the general tendency. 
There are no solids. Nothing stands. The whole 
universe is in a state of fluidity. Even the 
' eternal hills,' the ' unchanging continents,' and 
the ' everlasting stars,' are flowing, flowing ever, 
slowly but ceaselessly, from form to form. So 
is mind. Indeed, if there is anywhere in the folds 
of creation a being such as the one whom man 
has long accused of having brought the universe 
into existence, we may rest assured that even he 
is not sitting passively apart from the enormous 
enterprise which he has himself inaugurated. 

The evidence is conclusive. The evolution of 
mind is supported by a series of facts not less 
incontrovertible and convincing than that by 
which physical evolution is established. The 
data of mental evolution are not quite so definite 
and plentiful as those of physical evolution. But 
this is due to the greater intangibility of mental 
phenomena and to the backward condition of the 
psychological sciences, especially of comparative 
psychology. Mental phenomena are always more 


difficult to deal with than material phenomena, 
and hence are always more tardily attended to in 
the application of any theory. But taking every- 
thing into account, including the close connection 
between physical and psychical phenomena, it 
may be asserted that it is not more certain that 
the physical structure of man has been derived 
from sub-human forms of life than it is that the 
human mind has also been similarly derived. 

Man is the adult of long evolution. The human 
soul has ancestors and consanguinities just as the 
body has. It is just as reasonable to suppose 
that the human physiology, with its definitely 
elaborated tissues, organs, and systems, is unrelated 
to the physiology of vertebrates in general, and 
through vertebrate physiology to the physiology 
of invertebrates, as to suppose that the states 
and impulses constituting human nature and con- 
sciousness began to exist in the anthropic type of 
anatomy and are unrelated to the states and im- 
pulses of vertebrate consciousness in general, and 
through vertebrate consciousness to those remoter 
types of sentiency lying away at the threshold 
of organic life. Human psychology is a part of 
universal psychology. It has been evolved. It 
has been evolved according to the same laws of 
heredity and adaptation as have physiological 
structures. And it is just as impossible to under- 
stand human nature and psychology unaided by 
those wider prospects of universal psychology as 
it is to understand the facts of human physiology 
unaided by analogous universalisations, 



III. The Common-sense View. 

But it is not necessary to be learned in 
Darwinian science in order to know that non- 
human beings have souls. Just the ordinary 
observation of them in their daily lives about us 
— in their comings and goings and doings — is 
sufficient to convince any person of discernment 
that they are beings with joys and sorrows, desires 
and capabilities, similar to our own. No human 
being with a conscientious desire to learn the 
truth can associate intimately day after day with 
these people — associate with them as he himself 
would desire to be associated with in order to 
be interpreted, without presumption or reserve, 
in a kind, honest, straightforward, magnanimous 
manner; make them his friends and really enter 
into their inmost lives — without realising that 
they are almost unknown by human beings, that 
they are constantly and criminally misunderstood, 
and that they are in reality beings actuated by 
substantially the same impulses and terrorised by 
approximately the same experiences as we our- 
selves. They eat and sleep, seek pleasure and try 
to avoid pain, cling valorously to life, experience 
health and disease, get seasick, suffer hunger and 
thirst, co-operate with each other, build homes, 
reproduce themselves, love and provide for their 
children, feeding, defending, and educating them, 
contend against enemies, contract habits, remem- 
ber and forget, learn from experience, have friends 
and favourites and pastimes, appreciate kindness. 


commit crimes, dream dreams, cry out in distress, 
are aifected by alcohol, opium, strychnine, and 
other drugs, see, hear, smell, taste, and feel, are 
industrious, provident and cleanly, have languages, 
risk their lives for others, manifest ingenuity, 
individuality, fidelity, affection, gratitude, heroism, 
sorrow, sexuality, self-control, fear, love, hate, 
pride, suspicion, jealousy, joy, reason, resent- 
ment, selfishness, curiosity, memory, imagination, 
remorse — all of these things, and scores of others, 
the same as human beings do. 

The anthropoid races have the same emotions 
and the same ways of expressing those emotions 
as human beings have. They laugh in joy, whine 
in distress, shed tears, pout and apologise, and get 
angry when they are laughed at. They protrude 
their lips when sulky or pouting, stare with wide- 
open eyes in astonishment, and look downcast 
when melancholy or insulted. When they laugh, 
they draw back the corners of their mouth and 
expose their teeth, their eyes sparkle, their lower 
eyelids wrinkle, and they utter chuckling sounds, 
just as human beings do (5). They have strong 
sympathy for their sick and wounded, and manifest 
toward their friends, and especially toward the 
members of their own family, a devotion scarcely 
equalled among the lowest races of mankind. 
They use rude tools, such as clubs and sticks, and 
resort to cunning and deliberation to accomplish 
their ends. The orang, when pursued, will throw 
sticks at his pursuers, and when wounded, and 
the wound does not prove instantly fatal, will 

10 — 2 


sometimes press his hand upon the wound or 
apply grass and leaves to stop the flow of blood. 
The children of anthropoids wrestle with each 
other, and chase and throw each other, just as do 
the juveniles of human households. The gorilla, 
chimpanzee, and orang all build for themselves 
lodges made of broken boughs and leaves in which 
to sleep at night. These lodges, rude though they 
are, are not inferior to the habitations of many 
primitive men. The Puris, who live naked in the 
depths of the Brazilian forests, do not even have 
huts to live in, only screens made by setting up 
huge palm-leaves against a cross-pole (5). Some 
of the African tribes are said to live largely in 
caves and the crevices of rocks. This is the case 
with many primitive men. According to a writer 
in the Journal of the Anthropological Institute 
of Great Britain and Ireland (January, 1902), 
' common forms of dwelling among the wild tribes 
of the Malay Peninsula are rock-shelters (some- 
times caves, but more commonly natural recesses 
under overhanging ledges) and leaf-shelters, which 
are sometimes formed on the ground and some- 
times in the branches of trees. The simplest 
form of these leaf-shelters consists of a single 
palm-leaf planted in the ground to afford the 
wanderer some slight shelter for the night.' 

When they sleep, the anthropoids sometimes lie 
stretched out, man-like, on their backs, and some- 
times they lie on their side with their hand under 
their head for a pillow. The orang retires about 
five or six o'clock in the evening, and does not rise 


until the morning sun has dissipated the mists of 
the forest. The gorilla and chimpanzee seem to 
mate for life. The former lives, as a rule, in 
single families, each family consisting of a male 
and a female and their children. During the day 
this primitive family roams through the forests of 
equatorial Africa in search of food. They live on 
fruits and nuts and the tender shoots and leaves 
of plants. They are especially fond of sugar-cane, 
which they eat in small-boy fashion by chewing 
and discarding the juiceless pulp. Among the 
foods of the gorilla is a walnut-like nut which it 
cracks with stones. As evening comes on, the 
head of the family selects a sleeping-place for the 
night. This is usually some low tree with a 
dense growth at the top, and protected as much as 
possible by higher trees from the chilly night 
wind. Here, on a bed of broken branches and 
leaves, the mother and little ones^ go to sleep, 
while the father devotedly crouches at the foot of 
the tree, with his back against the trunk to guard 
his family from leopards and other nocturnal 
cut-throats who eat apes (7). When the weather 
is stormy, they cover themselves with broad 
pandanus leaves to keep off the rain. Koppenfels 
relates an incident of a gorilla family which makes 
one think of things he sometimes sees among men. 
The family consisted of the parents and two 
children. It was meal-time. The head of the 
family reposed majestically on the ground, while 
the wife and children hustled for fruits for him 
in a near-by tree. If they were not sufficiently 


nimble about it, or if they were so wanton as to 
take a bite themselves, the paterfamilias growled 
and gave them a cuff on the head (7). Notwith- 
standing the sensational tales of the ferocity of 
this being, the gorilla never attacks anyone at 
any time unless he is molested (7). He much 
prefers to attend to his own business. But if he 
is not allowed to do so, if he is attacked, he 
is as fearless as a machine. He approaches his 
antagonist walking upright and beating his breast 
with his fists. He presents one of the most 
terrifying of all spectacles, as, with gleaming 
eyes, hair erect, and resounding yells, he bears 
down on the object of his resentment. The 
natives fear the gorilla more than they fear any 
other animal. 

The chimpanzee in his native wilds lives in 
small tribes consisting of a few families each. 
Like the gorilla, it passes the most of its time on 
the ground, going among the trees only for food 
or sleep. It builds a sleeping-place at night in 
the trees, as in the case of the gorilla. Brehm, 
who brought up a number of chimpanzees in his 
own home as comrades and playmates of his 
children, and who studied them and associated 
with them for years, says: 'The chimpanzee is 
not only one of the cleverest of all creatures, but 
a being capable of deliberation and judgment. 
Everything he does is done consciously and 
deliberately. He looks upon all other animals, 
except man, as very inferior to himself. He 
treats children entirely different from grown-up 


people. The latter he respects; the former he 
looks upon as comrades and equals. He is not 
merely inquisitive: he is greedy for knowledge. 
He can draw conclusions, can reason from one 
thing to another, and apply the results of experi- 
ence to new circumstances. He is cunning, even 
wily, has flashes of humour, indulges in practical 
jokes, manifests moods, and is entertained in one 
company and bored in another. He is self-willed 
but not stubborn, good-natured but not wanting 
in independence. He expresses his emotions like 
a human being. In sickness he behaves like one 
in despair, distorts his face, groans, stamps, and 
tears his hair. He learns very easily whatever is 
taught him, as, for instance, to sit upright at 
table, to eat with knife and fork and spoon, to 
drink from a glass or cup, to stir the sugar in his 
tea, to use a napkin, to wear clothes, to sleep in 
a bed, and so on. Exceedingly appreciative of 
every caress, he is equally sensitive to blame and 
unkindness. He is capable of deep gratitude, and 
he expresses it by shaking hands or kissing with- 
out being asked to do so. He behaves toward 
infants with touching tenderness. The behaviour 
of a sick and suffering chimpanzee is most pathetic. 
Begging piteously, almost humanly, he looks into 
his master's face, receives every attempt to help 
him with warm thanks, and soon looks upon his 
physician as a benefactor, holding out his arm to 
him, stretching out his tongue whenever told, and 
even doing so of his own accord after a few 
visits from his physician. He swallows medicines 


readily, and even submits to surgical operations — 
in short, behaves very like a human patient in 
similar circumstances. As his end approaches, 
he becomes more gentle, and the nobler traits of 
his character stand out prominently ' (8). 

The New York Herald, in its issue of July 2, 
igoi, contained an account of the death of Charle- 
magne, a chimpanzee who died a short time before 
at Grenoble, France. This anthropoid at the 
time of his death was the most popular inhabitant 
of the town. His popularity was due to his 
good-nature and intelligence, and especially to the 
fact that a few years before his death he had saved 
a child from drowning in a well. The ape saw 
the child fall, and without a moment's hesitation 
climbed down the rope used for the buckets, seized 
the child, and climbed out again by the same rope 
by which he had descended. The people of the 
town thought so much of him that they followed 
his remains to the grave, and the municipal council 
voted to erect a bronze statue to his memory. 

A heartless hunter — maybe one of those assassins 
who fill the wilds with widows and orphans in the 
name of Science — tells of the murder of a mother 
chimpanzee and her baby in Africa. The mother 
was high up in a tree with her little one in her 
arms. She watched intently, and with signs of 
the greatest anxiety, the hunter as he moved about 
beneath, and when he took aim at her the poor 
doomed thing motioned to him with her hand 
precisely in the manner of a human being, to have 
him desist and go away. 


According to Emin Pasha, who was for a 
number of years Governor of an Egyptian pro- 
vince on the Upper Nile, and whom Stanley made 
his last expedition to ' rescue,' chimpanzees some- 
times make use of fire. He told Stanley that, 
when a tribe of chimpanzees who resided in a 
forest near his camp came at night to get fruit 
from the orchards, they always came bearing 
torches to light them on their way. ' If I had not 
seen it with my own eyes,' he declares, ' I never 
could have believed that these beings have the 
power of making fire' (g). This same authority 
relates that on one occasion a band of chimpanzees 
descended upon his camp and carried off a drum. 
The marauders went away in great glee, beating 
the drum as they retreated. He says he heard 
them several times after that, at night, beating 
their drum, in the forest. 

The monkeys are little inferior to the man-like 
races in their intelligence and in the general simi- 
larity of their feelings and instincts to those of 
men. Monkeys live in tribes, and at the head of 
each tribe is an old male chief who has won 
his place by his strength, courage, and ability. 
Monkeys have excellent memories and keen ob- 
servation, and are able to recognise their friends 
in a crowd even after long absences. They are 
proverbially imitative, have a strong desire for 
knowledge, and are exceedingly sensitive and 
sympathetic in their natures. Sympathy and 
curiosity, the two most prominent traits in simian 
psychology, are, significantly, the two most impor- 


tant facts in the psychology of man. Sympathy and 
curiosity lie at the foundation of human civilisa- 
tion, sympathy at the foundation of morals, and 
curiosity of invention and science. The monkey 
whose diary appears in the closing pages of 
Romanes' * Animal Intelligence ' was possessed of 
an almost ravenous desire to know. He spent 
hour after hour in exploration, examining with 
the indomitable patience of a scientist everything 
that came within the bounds of his little horizon. 
And when he had found out any new thing, he was 
as delighted over it as a boy who has solved a 
hard problem, repeating the experiment over and 
over until it was thoroughly familiar to him. 
Among the many things he discovered for himself 
was the use of the lever and the screw. Monkeys 
are the most affectionate of all animals excepting 
dogs and men. This affection reaches its culmina- 
tion, as among men, in the love of the mother for 
her child. The mother monkey's little one is the 
object of her constant care and affection. She 
nurses and bathes it, licks it and cleans its coat, 
and folds it in her arms and rocks it as if to lull 
it to sleep, just as human mammas do. She 
divides every bite with her little one, but does not 
hesitate to chastise it with slaps and pinches when 
it is rude. The monkey child is generally very 
obedient, obedient enough for an example to 
many a human youngster. 

' Very touching,' says Brehm, from whom many 
of the foregoing facts are gleaned, ' is the conduct 
of the mother when her baby is obviously suffer- 


ing. And if it dies she is in despair. For hours, 
and even for days, she carries the little corpse 
about with her, refuses all food, sits indifferently 
in the same spot, and often literally pines to 
death' (8). 

Orphan monkeys, according to Brehm, are often 
adopted by the tribe, and carefully looked after by 
the other monkeys, both male and female. The 
great mass of human beings, who know about as 
much about the real emotional life of monkeys 
as wooden Indians do, are inclined to pass over 
lightly all displays of feeling by these people of 
the trees. But the poet knows, and the prophet 
knows, and the world will one day understand, 
that in the gentle bosoms of these wild woodland 
mothers glow the antecedents of the same impulses 
as those that cast that blessed radiance over the 
lost paradise of our own sweet' childhood. The 
mother monkey who gathered green leaves as she 
fled from limb to limb, and frantically stuffed them 
into the wound of her dying baby in order to 
stanch the cruel rush of blood from its side, all 
the while uttering the most pitiful cries and 
casting reproachful glances at her human enemy, 
until she fell with her darling in her arms and a 
bullet in her heart, had in her simian soul just as 
genuine mother-love, and love just as sacred, as 
that which burns in the breast of woman. 

The affection of monkeys is not confined to the 
love of the mother for her child, but exists among 
the different members of the same tribe, and extends 
even to human beings, especially to those who 


make any pretensions to do to them as they would 
themselves be done by. The monkey kept by 
Romanes, already referred to, became so attached 
to his master that he went into the wildest 
demonstrations of joy whenever his master, after 
an absence, came into the room. Standing on 
his hind-legs at the full length of his chain, and 
reaching out both hands as far as he could reach, 
he screamed with all his might. His joy was so 
hysterical that it was impossible to carry on any 
kind of conversation until he had been folded in 
his master's arms, when he immediately grew 

' After I took this monkey back to the Zoological 
Gardens,' says Romanes, 'and up to the time of 
his death, he remembered me as well as the day 
he was returned. I visited the monkey-house 
about once a month, and whenever I approached 
his cage he saw me with astounding quickness — 
indeed, generally before I saw him — and ran to 
the bars, through which he thrust both hands with 
every expression of joy. When I went away he 
always followed me to the extreme end of the 
cage, and stood there watching me as long as I 
remained in sight.' 

The following account of the attachment of a 
male monkey for his murdered consort is a pitiful 
tale of human inhumanity and of simian tender- 
ness and devotion : 

' A member of a shooting-party killed a female 
monkey, and carried her body to his tent under a 
banyan-tree. The tent was soon surrounded by 


forty or fifty of the tribe, who made a great noise 
and threatened to attack the aggressor. When 
he presented his fowling-piece, the fearful effects 
of which they had just witnessed, and appeared 
perfectly to understand, they retreated. The 
leader of the troop, however, stood his ground, 
threatening and chattering furiously. At last, 
finding threats of no avail, the broken-hearted 
creature came to the door of the tent and began a 
lamentable moaning, and by the most expressive 
signs seemed to beg for the dead body of his 
beloved. It was given to him. He took it 
sorrowfully in his arms and bore it away to his 
expecting companions (10). 

The chattering of monkeys is not, as is vulgarly 
supposed, meaningless vocalisation. It is language. 
It is meaningless to human ears for the same 
reason that the chattering of Frenchmen is mean- 
ingless to Americans — because human beings are 
foreigners. The conversation of monkeys is to 
convey thought. Every species that thinks and 
feels has means for conveying its thoughts and 
feelings, and the means for this exchange, whether 
it be sounds, symbols, gestures, or grimaces, is 
language. As Wundt somewhere says : ' If 
psychologists of to-day, ignoring all that an 
animal can express through gestures and sounds, 
limit the possession of language to human beings, 
such a conclusion is scarcely less absurd than that 
of many philosophers of antiquity who regarded 
the languages of barbarous nations as animal 
cries.' Mr. Garner, who has so long and so 


sympathetically associated with monkeys, has 
been able to translate a number of their words 
and to enter into slight communication with them. 
Among the words he has been able to understand 
are the words for 'alarm,' 'good- will,' 'listen,' 
' food,' ' drink,' ' monkey,' and ' fruit.' According 
to him, the simian tongue has about eight or nine 
sounds which may be changed by modulation into 
three or four times that number, and each 
different species or kind has its own peculiar 
tongue slightly shaded into dialects. There may 
be more discriminating students than Garner, but 
few certainly who have approached their favourite 
problem with more feeling and humanity. Every 
one should read his beautiful book on ' The Speech 
of Monkeys.' ' Among the little captives of the 
simian race,' says he tenderly, in closing his 
chapter on the emotional character of these 
people, ' I have many little friends to whom I am 
attached, and whose devotion to me is as warm 
and sincere, so far as I can see, as that of any 
human being. I must confess that I cannot 
discern in what intrinsic way the love they have 
for me differs from my own for them ; nor can I 
see in what respect their love is less divine than is 
my own.' 

Dogs are distinguished for their great intelli- 
gence, the pre-eminence of the sense of smell, 
fidelity to duty, nobleness of nature, patience, 
courage, and affection. In all of these particulars 
many individual dogs are superior to whole races 
of men. Dogs are more sensitive to physical 


suffering than savages, and will cry piteously from 
slight wounds or other injuries. Dogs of high life 
have genuine feelings of dignity and self-respect, 
and are easily wounded in their sensibilities. 
Such dogs have considerable sense of propriety, 
and suffer, like sensitive children, from disappro- 
bation. Romanes had a dog that was so sensitive 
that he resented insult, and so sympathetic that 
he always fought in defence of other dogs when 
they were punished or attacked. When out 
driving with his master, this dog always caught 
hold of his master's sleeve every time the horse 
was touched with a whip (10). Romanes also 
tells of a Scotch terrier who, having grown old 
and useless, and been supplanted by a younger 
dog. Jack, became painfully jealous, and imitated 
his rival in everything that he did, even to ridicu- 
lous details, in order to retain the attentions of 
the household. When Jack was tenderly caressed, 
the old dog would watch for a time, and then 
burst out whining as if in the deepest distress (10). 
Dogs communicate their ideas to each other and 
to human beings, generally by means of sounds 
and gestures. They growl in anger, yelp in eager- 
ness, howl in despair, bark in joy or warning, bay 
in wonder, wail in bitterness and pain, whine in 
supplication, and prostrate themselves in sub- 
mission or apology. It has been said that there 
never was a man who possessed the stateliness of 
a St. Bernard, the unerring sagacity of the collie, 
or the courage and tenacity of the bulldog. The 
vainest dandy is not more delicate in his ways 


than the Italian greyhound, nor more soft and 
affectionate than the Blenheim. Many a deed of 
heroism has been done by dogs which would, if 
done by men, have been honoured by the Order of 
the Victoria Cross. The St. Bernards belonging 
to the monks on the passes between Switzerland 
and Italy are especially celebrated for their 
devotion to the business of saving human hfe. 
They often lose their own lives in their efforts 
to rescue travellers baffled and overcome by 
storm. One particularly sagacious individual, 
who lost his life in this way some 3'ears ago, wore 
a medal stating that he had been the means of 
saving twenty-two human lives. In devotion the 
dog is superior to all other animals, not even 
excepting man. ' How could one get relief from 
the endless dissimulation, falsity, and malice of 
mankind,' exclaimed Schopenhauer in one of his 
inspired moments, ' if there were no dogs into 
whose honest faces he could look without distrust?' 
A dog will follow a handful of rags wrapped 
around a homeless beggar, day after day, through 
heat and cold and storm and starvation, just as 
faithfully as he will follow the purple of a king. 
The dog who stood over the lifeless body of his 
master, grieving for recognition and starting at 
every flutter of his garments, till he himself died 
of starvation, had in his faithful breast a nobler 
heart than that which beats in the bosom of most 
men. And the devotion of Greyfriars Bobby, 
who every night for twelve years, in all kinds of 
weather, slept on his master's grave, was well 


worthy the marble tribute which to-day stands in 
Edinburgh to his memory. There has never been 
recorded in the history of the world an instance 
of more extravagant trust and devotion than that 
told of the canine companion of a certain vivi- 
sector, which licked the hand of his master while 
undergoing the crime of being cut to pieces. 
Such deeds of self-sacrifice remind one of the 
tales told of imaginary saints. But they are the 
deeds of only dogs — of beings whom half the 
world look upon with indifference and contempt, 
and whom the other half would feel, if they came 
within reach, under the strictest obligations to 

' When some proud son of man returns to earth, 
Unknown to glory but upheld by birth, 
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe. 
And storied urns record who rests below ; 
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, 
Not what he was, but what he should have been ; 
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend. 
The first to welcome, foremost to defend, 
Whose honest heart is still his master's own. 
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes, for him alone, 
Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth — 
Denied in heaven the soul he had on earth.' 

I am not one of those who regard the evidence 
for the post-mortem existence of the human soul 
as being either abundant or conclusive. But of 
one thing I am positive, and that is, that there 
are the same grounds precisely for believing in the 
immortality of the bird and the quadruped as there 
are for the belief in human immortality. And it 



is delightful to find great thinkers like Haeckel, 
great biologists and philosophers, holding the 
same conviction. Haeckel is the giant of the 
Germans, and in his brilliant book ' The Riddle 
of the Universe ' appears this rather poetical para- 
graph : ' I once knevi' an old head-forester, who, 
being left a widower and without children at an 
early age, had lived alone for more than thirty 
years in a noble forest of East Prussia. His only 
companions were one or two servants, with whom 
he exchanged merely a few necessary words, and a 
great pack of different kinds of dogs, with whom 
he lived in perfect psychic communion. Through 
many years of training this keen observer and 
friend of nature had penetrated deep into the indi- 
vidual souls of his dogs, and he was as convinced 
of their personal immortality as he was of his own. 
Some of his most intelligent dogs were, in his 
impartial estimation, at a higher stage of psychic 
development than his old stupid maid and his 
rough and wrinkled man-servant. Any unpre- 
judiced observer who will study the psychic 
phenomena of a fine dog for a year, and follow 
attentively the processes of its thought, judgment, 
and reason, will have to admit that it has just as 
valid a claim to immortality as man himself.' 

Fido was a shaggy terrier who lived years ago 
in the old home on the farm by the beautiful brook. 
He was one of the very first acquaintances the 
writer of these lines made on coming into exist- 
ence. In his earher years, before age had dimmed 
his mind and rheumatism had fastened upon him. 


he was an exceedingly agreeable and clever canine, 
active in all the affairs of the farm. He knew the 
old homestead by heart, and he took about as 
much interest in having everything go right as 
anybody — more, perhaps, even than we boys did. 
He chased the pigs out of the orchard without 
being asked to do so, and guarded the house at 
night with the vigilance of a hired watchman. He 
seemed to realise the demands of everyday situa- 
tions about as well as any of us. He could dis- 
tinguish between neighbours who were accustomed 
to come on the premises and strangers who were 
not. He always knew when company came, for 
he invariably attempted to profit by the fact. He 
had been taught early the propriety of keeping in 
the background when his tyrants were feeding, 
and ordinarily on such occasions he slept dutifully 
by the kitchen stove. But just as sure as a guest 
sat at table, Fido would turn up, and, tapping the 
visitor gently to get his attention, would sit up 
perfectly straight, with his paws pendent and a 
peculiar grin on his face, in expectation of a 
morsel. Dear old Fido ! How much he thought 
of all of us ! And how meagerly, as I know now, 
were his matchless love and services requited ! 
On Sundays sometimes the human members of 
the household would go away and stay all day, 
and Fido and the cat would be left alone to get 
along the best way they could. He knew as well 
as any of us when these days came around, and 
he dreaded them. I suppose he had learned from 
experience to associate cessation of farm work and 

II — 2 


peculiar preparations with a day alone. The long, 
lonely hours probably affected him somewhat as 
they do a human being who is compelled to stay 
alone all day with nothing to do. But what a 
welcome he gave us in the evening when we came 
back ! This was indubitable evidence of his lone- 
liness. The first familiar object we would see in 
the evening, on coming in sight of home, was 
faithful Fido, sitting out in the road on the hill 
above the house — sitting straight up in that 
peculiar way of his — watching and waiting for 
our home-coming. He knew, or seemed to know, 
the direction firom which to expect us, and was 
able to recognise us a long way off. The years 
have been many, and Fido's dust has long been 
scattered by'the gusts over the farms of north-west 
Missouri ; but now, in fancy, I can see this faithful 
creature bounding down the road in the sunset to 
meet us, as he used to do in the golden long-ago, 
leaping and smiling and wagging his tail, and 
wriggling and barking in a perfect ecstasy of 

Well, I know Fido could feel and think, that 
he loved and feared and longed and dreaded and 
dreamed and hated and grieved and sympathised 
and reasoned and rejoiced — in short, that he was 
moved by about the same passions and considera- 
tions as human beings usually are. He gave the 
same evidence of it precisely as a human being 

The dog is the oldest of human associates. 
Long before the historical period the dog was 


domesticated in Europe, Asia, and Africa. No 
race of men is too primitive to be without the dog. 
The bones of the dog are found in the middens 
of the Baltic, and rude representations of it are 
chiseled on the oldest monuments of Egypt and 
Assyria. The dog was the servant of man away 
in paleolithic times, when the mastodon was on 
earth, and man was a naked troglodyte, and 
Europe extended westward to the Azores. And 
he has been a faithful friend, a tireless ally, and 
an enthusiastic slave of a thankless and inhuman 
master ever since. 

Birds are pre-eminently emotional and artistic. 
This is shown by their fondness for singing, their 
fine dress, their pining for their dead, their dainty 
architecture, their pretty forms and manners of 
life, their joyousness, and their love for their 
young. Birds are the most beautiful and engaging 
of all terrestrial beings. Endowed with the power 
of flight, eminently active, light-hearted and free, 
attired in all the colours of the rainbow, and with 
voices of unrivalled richness and melody, birds are 
the admiration and envy of all of those that dwell 
on the earth. Birds possess naturally and in mar- 
vellous perfection that power of locomotion which 
has been so long sought for by slow-shuffling man. 
Birds are also incomparable musicians, no other 
animals, not even men, approaching them in the 
surpassing brilliancy and sweetness of their song. 
No human musician in high-sounding hall can 
equal the artless lay of the wild bird ringing melo- 
diously through the leafy colonnades of the woods. 


Like men, birds sing chiefly of love ; but they also 
sing for pastime or pleasure. Their singing is 
sweetest during the season of courtship, and attains 
its highest development in the males. Birds are 
ardent lovers. To win their brides, the males 
contend with each other, and display their charms 
of plumage and song with the wildness of human 

The song of birds is generally acquired by in- 
heritance from the species, but is sometimes bor- 
rowed by imitation from other birds, or even from 
other animals. Birds taken from their species 
when young, before they have heard their native 
song, sing generally the song of their kind, but it 
is likely to be interspersed with notes and phrases 
from the birds around them. Birds thus isolated 
have been known to adopt entirely the song of 
their surroundings. Olive Thorne Miller vouches 
for the fact that an English sparrow she once 
knew grew up in company with a canary, and 
came in time to sing the song of its more talented 
companion to perfection. It must have been a 
Shakspere of a bird, however, to have soared so 
high above the excruciating accomplishments of 
the generality of its species. 

The songs of birds can be set to music just as 
the melodies of men can. The songs of several 
birds were published in the American Naturalist a 
few years ago. And Winchell, the well-known 
English student of birds, has written a clever 
book on the ' Cries and Call-notes of Wild Birds,' 
in which he prints the calls and songs of most of 


the native birds of England. According to this 
writer, who has perhaps studied the music of birds 
more critically than anyone else, the song of the 
nightingale, when printed in the notation of 
ordinary human music, is like a piano solo. It 
is made up of a score or so of different strains, 
with trills and crescendos, and all executed in so 
inimitable a manner that it is unrecognisable when 
repeated on a musical instrument or the human 
voice. One of these strains, curiously enough, is 
identical with the song of a certain bush-warbler 
of western Canada— as if the English vocalist had 
plagiarised the song of its humbler cousin in com- 
piling its incomparable repertoire. The song of 
the mocking-bird is a magnificent medley, made 
up of the calls, trills, twitters, warbles, warnings, 
and love-songs, of a score or more of other birds. 
I have heard this bird along the Solomon and 
Arkansas valleys repeat in the most perfect manner 
the notes and songs of the pewee, purple martin, 
kingbird, flicker, blue jay, catbird, canary, crow, 
English sparrow, red-headed woodpecker, quail, 
cardinal, cuckoo, robin, red-wings, grackle, meadow- 
lark, night-hawk, whip-poor-will, besides many 
other calls and notes, perhaps of birds I did not 
know. In the case of some of these birds the 
mocker made all of the different sounds of each 
bird. The song of the mocking-bird is delivered 
at any time, day or night, and generally in a state 
of high ecstasy and excitement, the performer 
flying from tree to tree and from house-top to 
barn-top, occasionally throwing himself into the 


air in the most absurd manner, and all the time 
pouring forth such a stream of melody that one 
would think all the birds in the neighbourhood 
had suddenly come together and let loose in a 
grand festival of song. 

According to Chapman, many of the notes of 
birds are language notes rather than sounds ex- 
pressive of sentiment. Of the robin this well- 
known student of birds says : ' The song and 
call-notes of this bird, while familiar to everyone, 
are in reality understood by no one, and offer 
excellent subjects for the student of bird language. 
Its notes express interrogation, suspicion, alarm, 
and caution, and it signals to its companions to 
take wing. Indeed, few of our birds have a more 
extended vocabulary.' Winchell says that the 
common English sparrow has as many as seven 
different notes, which it uses to express the 
thoughts and feelings passing through its rather 
active but not very highly honoured head : (i) The 
common note of address of the male to the female; 
(2) a note of alarm used by both male and female 
adults, but never by the young ; (3) an emphatic 
alarm note, always uttered by sentinels when a 
hawk is near or when a man approaches with a 
gun ; (4) the note of the female when surrounded 
by several noisy and contending male rivals; 
(5) an autumn cry uttered by the iirst one of the 
company perceiving danger and flying up from 
the hedges and fields — never uttered by young, 
but by adults of both sexes ; (5) the love note of 
both male and female, used mostly by the female, 


and generally with a fluttering or shaking accom- 
paniment of her wings ; (7) a curious note some- 
times heard in London — meaning not well under- 
stood, but supposed to be a sort of chuckle or 
sign of contentment. Each one of these several 
different notes may be used to stand for various 
ideas depending on the circumstances by being 
given different emphasis and inflection, just as in 
the languages of many primitive races of men a 
small vocabulary of words is used to stand for a 
much larger number of ideas by being pronounced 
differently. In the Chinese language, for instance, 
the words are increased to three or four times the 
original number by modulation ; but the same 
thing is observed in all languages, both human 
and non-human. Verbal poverty is pieced out 
by verbal variation. We say ac'-cent or ac-cent', 
depending on whether we wish to express the idea 
of a noun or a verb. 

The memory of birds is well developed. Many 
of them remember the very grove or meadow, and 
even the very knot-hole or bush, in which they 
built their nest the season before, although in the 
meantime they have journeyed over lands and 
seas and sojourned thousands of miles away. 
Every year, for several seasons past, in late summer 
and early fall, after the nesting-time is over and 
the young ones are all grown, the purple martins 
have gathered in large numbers about the Field 
Columbian Museum, in Jackson Park, Chicago. 
They stay here for a few weeks, foraging the sur- 
rounding air for insects by day, and sleeping on 


the great dome of the Museum by night, finally- 
flying away to be seen no more in such numbers 
till next year. These birds, many of them any- 
way, must remember from one yeaS: to another 
this annual assembly here by the big waters, else 
why would they come together at this particular 
spot from all over the country ? I have no doubt 
that some of them, having sojourned here year 
after year for some time, remember well the great 
ugly building where they meet, and are more or 
less familiar with the surrounding locality from 
having searched it so often. I wonder what led 
to the establishing of the custom in the first place. 
Customs do not fall from the skies. And what 
advantage is there in the practice ? What are 
they up to as they chirp and wheel in the air, and 
flutter up the slopes and sail down again, and 
perch on the pinnacles and twitter ? Maybe it is 
a sort of Saratoga for, them, where they all come 
together ostensibly to dip their bills in the blue 
waves, but where sons swell in their new feathers, 
and sly mammas find prospects for unmarketable 

A parrot has been known to remember the voice 
of its mistress after an absence of a year and a 
half — a very remarkable feat even for the grey 
matter of a bird. A flock of geese mentioned by 
Romanes showed their knowledge of the arrival 
of market-day, which came every two weeks, by 
assembling regularly on such days, early in the 
morning, in front of the town inn where the 
market was held, to pick up the corn. They never 


came on the wrong day; and on one occasion, 
when the market was omitted on account of a 
holiday, here came the unfaihng fowls cackling 
and shouting as usual in merry anticipation of 
their fortnightly feast, but ignorant of the national 
necessities which had doomed them to be disap- 
pointed (10). 

Parrots remember and call for their absent 
friends, and mumble phrases in their dreams 
which have been taught to them. These gifted 
birds learn long poems by heart, and sing songs 
with considerable art. A parrot belonging to the 
canon of the Cathedral of Salzburg was given 
instruction regularly two hours every day for ten 
years, from 1830 to 1840. The bird became very 
proficient in speech and exceedingly intelligent. 
It took part in conversations, whistled tunes, 
and was able to sing a number of popular songs, 
among them an entire aria from Flotow's opera 
of 'Martha' (11). 

Educated birds though, like educated dogs, 
horses, cats, mice, men, and everything else, are 
very different beings from the uneducated. Culti- 
vation is a key that unlocks all sorts of miracles. 
Cats are cultivated tigers ; and the richest grains 
that ripen in the fields of men, and the loveliest 
flowers that blow, are only educated weeds. Even 
the flea may be taught to exchange leaping for 
walking, to draw a tiny wagon, to ride on the 
seat, to fire a toy cannon, and do many other 

There is one family of birds in which the 


superior size, gorgeousness, and vivacity, usual to 
the males, are found in the other sex, the females 
being the larger and more brightly coloured — the 
Phalarope family. Indeed, the members of this 
small family not only reverse the usual arrange- 
ment of the sexual characters of birds, but com- 
pletely upset many of the most cherished tradi- 
tions of the avian household. The female does the 
wooing, and takes the lead in selecting the nest 
site. And while she lays the eggs, the privilege of 
incubation she hands over magnanimously to her 
dull-coloured mate. 

Birds have a keen observation and a good deal 
of that invaluable faculty known as common- 
sense. It is wonderful how quickly they learn to 
avoid telegraph-wires when these invisible but 
deadly gossamers are first stretched across a 
country, and how unerringly they keep at safe 
distances when hunted with firearms. An ex- 
perienced crow can tell a cane from a gun-barrel 
almost as far as he can see it. 

Nearly all birds build nests of some kind in 
which to cradle their eggs and young. The 
cow-bird and cuckoo (European), however, are 
exceptions. These birds have the rather human 
practice of turning their cares and labours over to 
somebody else. They are loafers and parasites. 
They lay their eggs secretly in the nests of other 
birds, where their eggs are hatched and their 
young cared for by an alien mother. I have seen 
a mother song-sparrow hustling about among the 
shrubs and grasses for an hour at a time almost, 


gathering food for a young cow-bird nearly twice 
as big as she was, while her foundling sat 
phlegmatically at the foot of a tree chirping and 
fluttering its wings, and acting as a thankless and 
apparently bottomless receptacle for the morsel 
after morsel laboriously harvested for it by its 
tireless little foster-mother. Sand-martins and 
kingfishers burrow in the earth and rear their 
broods in subterranean cradles ; gulls and game- 
birds build on the ground; the flamingoes and 
barn-swallows build mud nests ; the woodpeckers 
mine holes in trees ; doves and eagles make plat- 
forms of sticks ; the tailor-bird bastes living leaves 
together ; the social weavers construct great straw 
roofs covering the top of a tree, and build their 
nests on the limbs beneath ; most singing birds 
build daintily-lined baskets, and swing them in 
trees and bushes. 

It is often said that all the birds of a species 
build their nests in precisely the same way, and 
that, while men change and improve their dwelling- 
places from generation to generation, birds build 
their abodes in the same old way, just as their 
ancestors built theirs centuries and centuries ago. 
This is a favourite thought with the fogies, with 
those who change not in their thinking from the 
ways hacked out for them centuries and centuries 
ago. Birds are like men. Some of them — some 
races and some individuals — are much more given 
to initiative than others. There is as wide a 
difference between the hang-bird and the auk in 
the construction of their domiciles as between the 


millionaire and the savage. And the hang-bird has 
come by her home-making art through centuries 
of improvement, just as the millionaire has arrived 
at his. It is believed by ornithologists that the 
first nests of birds were the niches of rocks or 
simple hollows scooped in the sand and soil, such 
as are still seen among the more primitive bird 
races, and that from these aboriginal beginnings 
have come, through ages of evolution, the elaborate 
creations of the cotton-bird, weaver-bird, tailor- 
bird, oven-bird, the baya-sparrow, the finches, and 
the orioles. The savage who lives unmolested 
generation after generation in the same land and 
country builds his simple hut in just the same 
way as his ancestors built theirs, and thinks the 
same things his ancestors thought a thousand 
years before him. Sir Samuel Baker, in a paper 
on ' The Races of the Nile Basin,' points out that 
each tribe of men in eastern Africa, like each 
species of bird, has its own peculiar style of hut, 
and that the huts of the various tribes are as 
constant in their types as are the nests of 
birds. The same thing is true of their head- 
dresses as of their huts ; and this fixed character 
exists also in their languages, customs, and re- 
ligions. It is only some races of men that are 
given to growth and fluidity, and only some men 
of these special races. 

Right in our own country, among the remote 
mountain recesses of Appalachia, surrounded on 
all sides by the most wonderful development, 
material and intellectual, the world has ever seen, 


lives a race of rude mountain folk almost as 
aboriginal in their ways and views of life, and as 
unaffected by civilisation, as if they were in the 
heart of Africa. They live huddled together in 
one-room log-cabins without windows or floors, 
eat bacon and cornmeal, carry on almost constant 
wars, and execute the deputies of civilisation who 
happen to stray into their illicit dominions, just 
as they have done from the time these mountain 
silences were first broken by them 150 or 200 
years ago. 

Birds, as a rule, use a great deal of care and 
thought in the location of their nests. After they 
have selected a certain grove or field as the one 
best suited to their purposes, or as the one around 
which cluster the happiest memories, it usually 
requires several days of flying and peeping about, 
of spying and exploration, before the exact spot 
for the precious domicile is finally settled upon. 
It is a delicate matter for many birds, for security 
from sun, storm, and enemies must all be taken 
into account. Old birds, as has been frequently 
observed, build better nests and select more clever 
locations for their nests than the young and 
inexperienced. The nest-building habits of many 
birds are known to have changed during the past 
few hundred years. The American house-swallow 
did most certainly not build under the eaves of 
human houses 300 years ago, nor did the hair-bird 
ine her nest with horsehair as she invariably 
does now. The fact that wrens, swifts, and 
martins now build almost altogether in boxes and 


chimneys shows that birds are able and willing to 
adapt themselves to new conditions. The chimney- 
swift and purple martin, it is said, still cling to 
their aboriginal custom of rearing their young in 
hollow trees in the unsettled parts of America. The 
indomitable house-sparrow builds its nest almost 
anywhere, from knot-holes and tin cans to electric- 
light globes and tree-tops. Its original dwelling 
was probably an arboreal affair, like that of other 
sparrows, and different nesting-places have been 
adopted as a result of its association with man. 
Not only in its architecture, but in several other 
ways,'this bird has departed from the traditions of 
its tribe. The Fringillidse (the sparrow family 
of birds) are seed-eaters, both in structure and 
practice. But the house-sparrow, since it left the 
fields and groves to become a gamin on human 
streets, has learned to eat almost anything, and 
one thing, too, about as cheerfully as another. 
The varied habits of this bird are probably due to 
its natural elasticity in the first place, supple- 
mented by the unsettling influences of its rather 
kaleidoscopic experiences during the past few 
hundred years. 

The fear of birds for man is an acquired trait 
due to ages of persecution. If man would treat 
birds kindly, they would act toward him as they 
do toward any other friendly animal. When 
unfrequented islands are first visited by man, the 
birds are found to be perfectly fearless of him, 
flying about him, feeding from his hand, and 
manifesting no more timidity than if he were a 


big-hearted bird himself. Darwin states that, 
when he stopped at the Galapagos Islands on his 
famous trip around the world in the Beagle, he 
found the birds there so tame that he could push 
them from the branches of the trees with his gun- 
barrel. Professor Cutting, of the State University 
of Iowa, in an article in the Popular Science Monthly 
for August, 1903, tells of the almost absolute 
fearlessness of the birds on the island of Laysan, 
an isolated atoll in the Pacific west of the Hawaian 
Islands, which he visited during that summer. 
The island swarms with bird life — petrels, alba- 
trosses, and tropical birds of various kinds — and 
these birds betray no more fear in the presence of 
man than if he were a cow. The albatrosses were 
so numerous and so indifferent to the presence of 
man that it was necessary to shove them aside 
with one's foot to keep from stepping on them 
when one went for a walk along the sand-stretches 
of the shore. Professor Cutting took photographs 
of birds which literally posed for him in all sorts 
of positions, and half-savage jackies amused them- 
selves by going about and pulling the pretty tail 
feathers from the tropical birds as they sat on 
their nests. I have known of two cases where 
persons, by going to the same place day after day 
with food and kindness, have in the course of a 
few weeks taught robins, sparrows, and other 
birds, to lose all fear of them, so much so as to sit 
on their shoulders and arms and eat out of their 
hands. This is the spirit all birds would show all 
the time toward their featherless lords if these 



featherless ones would only treat them with half 
the consideration they merit. 

The love of a bird for the treasures of her nest 
is one of the most beautiful things of this world. 
Mother-like, the parent bird will do anything 
almost for the sake of her little ones. Who has 
not seen the kildeer strive with all the tact of her 
clever little soul to allure some big giant of a 
human being, who has wandered into her neigh- 
bourhood, away from her nest of precious young ? 
Many a time as a boy on the farm I have followed 
one of these birds limping and tumbling and 
fluttering along on the ground a few feet ahead of 
me, utterly disabled, as I supposed, but always 
managing to keep just a little beyond the reach of 
my eager hands. And when the artful mother 
has led me far from the sacred spot where lay all 
there was in this world to her, how triumphantly 
she has lifted herself on her unharmed wings and, 
to my utter astonishment, sailed away. The 
partridge and the mourning-dove are, if possible, 
even more artful in their acting than the kildeer. 
After I became a large boy and had been told the 
meaning of these exhibitions by parent birds, I 
often followed the mourning-dove, thinking the 
bird must be really wounded after all, so perfectly 
did it pretend. But the cunning of the kildeer is 
not confined to luring one away from the nest. 
If by some accident one finds her nest (and the 
nest is so cleverly concealed that, if it is discovered 
at all, it will be by pure accident), the resourceful 
mother is ready with other expedients to outwit 


you. She watches you all the time from the 
proper distance, and knows by your conduct the 
moment you have found her nest. And before 
you have even had time to admire the skill 
displayed by the mother in blending so perfectly 
her abode with its surroundings, a single peculiar 
note from her has caused the whole nestful of 
cuddling young ones to dart out of their cradle 
and disappear among the surrounding clods as if 
by magic. No amount of searching can find one 
of them. They have vanished as effectually as if 
they had evaporated. And it is enough to touch 
the heart of the most indifferent to see the anxious 
mother bird, as I have seen her from the cranny 
of a neighbouring rock-pile, come back to her 
nest and call her scattered children together again 
after they have once dispersed at her command. 
Circling around the nest two or three times to 
assure herself that no one is nigh, she alights and 
begins a low clucking sound like that of a hen 
calling her brood. The little ones come out of their 
hiding-places one after another as mysteriously 
as they vanished. You can't see for the life of 
you where they come from. They seem to just 
emanate. And if one of them fails to come at her 
call — for the devoted mother knows very well just 
how many she has — she extends her search farther 
out from her nest, looking all around and keeping 
up that peculiar little cluck, until the half-scared- 
to-death little slyboots finally comes creeping out 
from his improvised snuggery somewhere. If a 
kildeer's nest has once been found, and the mother 

12 — 2 


feels that it is in danger of future visits, she will 
move her family at night to some other locality, 
and it is practically impossible ever to find it 
again. The family relations of the ring-dotterels 
are said to be ' so charming and touching that 
even hunters recoil from shooting a female sur- 
rounded by her young ones.' 

Human beings, true to their instinct never to 
call into action their ability to think if they can 
employ their faculty for nonsense instead, call this 
love of the mother bird ' machinery.' But there 
are some of us (and our numbers are increasing) 
who are disposed to put off the adoption of this 
conclusion until we go mad. The bird builds her 
nest, weaving it of the rarest fibres. She hides it 
in the copse or prudently hangs it far out on some 
inaccessible bough. She lays her beautiful eggs, 
and hatches them with the warmth and life of her 
own breast. She tends her young, bringing them 
food and drink, and watching /Dver them with a 
tender and tireless vigilance. She protects them 
in storm with her own little body, worries about 
them when danger lurks, and dreams of them, no 
doubt, as she rocks and sleeps under the silent 
stars. She sings to them in the overflow of her 
gladness and hope, and risks her very existence to 
shield them from harm. She teaches them to fly, 
to find their food, and to detect their enemies. 
She is true to her mate, and her mate is true and 
kind to her. As the days of summer shorten, and 
the cool, long nights warn of approaching autumn, 
she leads her children away from the old place, 


she and her faithful mate, out into the wide old 
world. And I say there is love in the heart of 
that mother as truly as in the heart of woman, 
and there are joy and genuineness and sorrow and 
fidelity in that sylvan home more sacred than 
may sometimes bloom in the cold mansions of 

Conjugal love is also very strong in many of 
the feathered races, especially among those in 
which the wedding is for successive seasons or 
for life. The pining of love-birds for their dead 
sweethearts is well known. The mandarin duck 
is proverbial for its marital faithfulness, and a 
pair of these fowls is carried by the Chinese in 
their marriage processions as an emblem of con- 
stancy. Many instances are recorded of birds, 
after having been deprived of their mates, refusing 
steadfastly the attentions of other birds, and even 
sometimes separating themselves entirely from the 
society of their kind. The following account of 
the devotion of a widowed pigeon for her deceased 
consort sounds like a tale of human woe : 

' A man set to watch a field much patronised 
by pigeons shot an old male pigeon who had long 
been an inhabitant of the farm. His mate, 
around whom he had for many a year cooed, 
whom he had nourished with his own crop and 
had assisted in rearing numerous young ones, 
immediately settled on the ground by his side. 
She refused to leave him, and manifested her grief 
in the most expressive manner. The labourer took 
up the dead bird and hung it on a stake. The 


widow still refused to forsake her husband, and 
continued day after day slowly walking around the 
stake on which his body hung. The kind-hearted 
wife of the farmer heard of the matter, and went 
to the relief of the stricken bird. On arriving at 
the spot, she found the poor bird still watching at 
the side of her dead, and making an occasional 
effort to get to him. She was much spent with 
her long fasting and grief. She had made a 
circular beaten path around the corpse of her 
companion ' (12). 

And these are the beings whose bones men jest 
over at their feasts, and brutes shoot for pastime 
on human holidays. Much has been said of the 
sorrow of birds for their deceased mates, but not 
too much. For the avian soul may be smothered 
by the gloom and loneliness that come upon the 
heart, when the great light of love and com- 
panionship has gone out, quite as completely as 
the soul of a bereaved human. In not many 
human homes where loved ones lie sick and dying 
are felt the pangs of more genuine grief than those 
sometimes suffered by birds when their friends 
and companions are stricken in death. The follow- 
ing incident, vouched for by Dr. FrankHn, who 
observed it, is only one among many such instances 
recorded in the literature on birds : 

A pair of parrots had lived together on the most 
loving terms for four years, when the female was 
taken with a serious attack of gout. She grew 
rapidly worse, and was soon so weak as to be 
unable to leave her perch for food, when the male, 


faithful and tender as a human spouse, took it 
upon himself to carry food to her regularly in his 
beak. ' He continued feeding her in this way for 
four months, but the infirmities of his companion 
increased day by day, until at last she was no 
longer able to support herself on the perch. She 
remained cowering down in the bottom of the 
cage, making from time to time ineffectual efforts 
to regain her perch. The male was always near 
her, and did everything in his power to aid the 
feeble efforts of his dear better-half. Seizing the 
poor invalid by the beak or the upper part of her 
wing, he tried his best to enable her to rise, and 
repeated his efforts several times. His constancy, 
his gestures, and his continued solicitude, all 
showed in this affectionate bird the most ardent 
desire to relieve the sufferings and assist the weak- 
ness of his sinking companion. But the scene 
became still more affecting when the female was 
d5ang. Her unhappy consort moved about her 
incessantly, his attentions and tender cares re- 
doubled. He even tried to open her beak to give 
some nourishment. He ran to her, and then 
returned with a troubled and agitated look. At 
intervals he uttered the most plaintive cries ; then, 
with his eyes fixed on her, kept a mournful silence. 
At length his companion breathed her last. From 
that moment he pined away, and in the course of 
a few weeks died ' (10). 

Even the rough-looking ostrich has sensibility 
enough to die of a broken heart, as was the case in 
the Jardin des Plantes at Paris a few years ago. 


There is many a heart with a slabless grave far 
from the haunts of men, and many a tear in secret 
brews that never wets the eye. 

The individual who has never acquired the 
enthusiasm for a knowledge of the birds and a 
love for their presence and association has omitted 
some of the richest emotions of life. ' The sight 
of a bird or the sound of its voice is at all times 
an event of such significance to me,' says Chap- 
man, ' a source of such unfailing pleasure, that 
when I go afield with those to whom birds are 
strangers I am deeply impressed by the compara- 
tive barrenness of their world, for they live in 
ignorance of a great store of enjoyment that might 
be theirs for the asking.' 

' I cannot love the man who does not love, 
As men love light, the song of happy birds.' 

I have seen a mother mouse in a moment of 
peril flee from her home among the falling pieces 
of a cord-wood pile, and disappear under the roots 
of a neighbouring oak. I have seen her a little 
later, recovered from her initial dismay, making 
her way back again, clambering along among the 
tangled timbers, stopping now and then to look 
and listen, her eyes wild and anxious, and her 
whole little body quaking with excitement. I 
have seen her go among the ruins of her dwelling, 
take a poor little squeaking young one in her 
mouth, and hurry away with it to the gloomy 
refuge in the roots of the oak. I have watched 
her return again and again, each time taking in 


her careful teeth the tiny body of a babe, until five 
mouthfuls of precious pink were safely lodged 
within the fortress of the oak. And I could as 
soon believe that woman, when she saves her 
children from some fearful harm, is a soulless 
machine as think that that brave little wood- 
mother, out there alone under the trees, snatching 
her darlings from the jaws of death, was a heroine 
without sense or feeling. That little hairy mother 
with four feet and bead-like eyes loved her young 
ones in just the same way and for just the same 
reason as a human mother loves her young ones. 
She looked upon her babies, in all probability, 
with the same mother-love and tenderness as 
a human mother looks upon hers, and felt in 
miniature, with evil hovering above them, the 
same consternation a woman feels when destruc- 
tion reaches out after those that are nearest and 
dearest. And when it was all over, when the good 
angel of deliverance had finally spread its healing 
white wings over that afilicted family, the heart of 
that little rodent was doubtless soothed by the 
same joy as that which, in the hour of deliverance, 
calms the hearts of humankind. 

Ants tend their fields, gather their harvests, 
domesticate other insects, and keep slaves. They 
help each other bear heavy burdens, extricate each 
other from misfortune, speak to each other when 
they meet, and bury their dead. They build roads 
and bridges, and manifest wonderful engineering 
skill in their construction. They even tunnel 
under rivers. They go far from home, and find 


their way back again. They inhabit towns, and 
build splendid and spacious palaces. Each ant 
knows every other citizen of its own town, and an 
ant from any other town is immediately recognised 
as a foreigner. Ants have their overseers of indus- 
trial enterprises, and regular hours for work and 
sleep. The ant is the most pugnacious of all 
animals, and the most muscular compared with 
its size. It will boldly attack the biggest creature 
that walks if this creature invades its home It 
will fasten its mandibles into an enemy, and allow 
itself to be torn to pieces without relaxing its hold. 
Among some savage tribes, certain species of ants 
ire said to be used as surgeons. Infuriated ants are 
illowed to fasten their mandibles on the opposite 
sdges of a gash, and in this way the wound is 
:losed. The ants are decapitated, and their bodi- 
less heads with their relentless jaws serve as 
stitches to the wound. Ants have holidays and 
ithletic festivals. On such occasions they romp 
md chase each other and play hide-and-seek like 
;hildren. They stand on their hind-legs, embrace 
jach other with their fore-limbs, grasp each other 
oy the feet or antennae, pull each other down the 
jntrances to their towns, wrestle and roll over on 
;he sand, and so on — all in the friendliest manner, 
[t is greatly to the credit of these little people that 
10 observer has ever yet known them to become 
io inventively helpless or so athletically hard up 
IS to play slug-ball. Ants educate their young, 
md practise the fundamental principles of human 
states and societies. Forel, the great Swiss student 


of ants, says that several hundred nests are some- 
times united into a single confederation. Each 
ant knows every other ant of the entire con- 
federation, and they all take part in the common 
defence. Haeckel says, speaking of social evolu- 
tion in ants, that the aboriginal ants of the Chalk 
Age had as little idea of the division of labour and 
organisation of modern ant states as paleolithic 
flint-chippers had of the complexity and organisa- 
tion of twentieth-century civilisation. ' If we take 
an ant's nest, we not only see that work of every 
description — rearing of progeny, foraging, build- 
ing, rearing of aphides, and so on — is performed 
according to the principles of voluntary mutual 
aid, but we must also recognise, with Forel, that 
the fundamental feature of the life of many species 
of ants is the obligation of every ant to share its 
food, already swallowed and partly digested, with 
every member of the community which may apply 
for it. Two ants belonging to the same nest or 
to the same confederation of nests will approach 
each other, exchange a few movements with the 
antennae, and if one of them is hungry or thirsty 
— and especially if the other has its crop full — it 
immediately asks for food. The individual thus 
requested never refuses. It sets apart its man- 
dibles, takes a proper position, and regurgitates a 
drop of transparent fluid, which is licked up by 
the hungry ant. Regurgitating food for others is 
so prominent a feature in the life of the ants, and 
it so constantly recurs both for feeding hungry 
comrades and for feeding larvae, that Forel con- 


siders the digestive tube of ants to consist of two 
different parts, one of which — the posterior — is for 
the special use of the individual, and the other — 
the anterior part — is chiefly for the use of the 
community. If an ant which has its crop full has 
been selfish enough to refuse to feed a comrade, it 
will be treated as an enemy. If the refusal has 
been made while its kinsfolks were fighting with 
some other species, they will fall upon the greedy 
individual with greater vehemence even than upon 
the enemies themselves. All this has been con- 
firmed by the most accurate observations and 
experiments ' (20). 

Ants keep slaves. And the slaves, in some in- 
stances, carry their masters about, feed them, 
groom them, and attend to their every want, 
just as human lackeys do helpless aristocrats. 
In some species the institution of slavery is so 
old that the physical structures of the masters 
have been modified until the masters are phy- 
sically unable to feed themselves, and will perish 
from hunger, though surrounded by food, if they 
are left to themselves. The brain of the ant, as 
Darwin says, is one of the most wonderful bits 
of matter in the universe. It is scarcely one- 
fourth the size of the head of a pin, yet it is the 
seat of the most astonishing wisdom and activity. 
If human intelligence were as great, compared 
with the mass of the human brain, as is the ant's, 
man would be several hundred times as wise as he 
is now, and would then probably not fall far short 
of that state of erudition which the average man 


imagines he already represents. Ants remember, 
and a fact becomes impressed by repetition, show- 
ing that the faculty of memory in ants is governed 
by the same laws as is this faculty in man. Sir 
John Lubbock found it necessary to teach his ants 
the way by repeating the lesson where the way 
was long or unusual. * Sensation, perception, and 
association follow in the social insects, on the 
whole, the same fundamental laws as in the verte- 
brates, including ourselves. Furthermore, atten- 
tion is surprisingly developed in insects ' (Forel). 
Ants keep standing armies, make alliances, and 
maraud neighbouring states. They have their 
wars, civil and foreign, and their massacres and 
enslavements of the conquered. But they have 
never got so low yet, so far as anyone knows, as 
to hypocritically prosecute their conquests in the 
name of God and humanity. The battlefields of 
ants resemble the carnage-plains of men, strewn 
with ghastly corpses and covered with the head- 
less and dying. And the accounts of their expedi- 
tions — their going forth in regular columns, with 
captains, scouts, and skirmish lines, their battles, 
"and their return laden with plunder and captives 
— read like the grisly tales of human history. 
Ants perform, in short, about all the antics of 
civilised man, except maltreating the females and 
drinking gin. And shall we say their civilisation 
is less real because it is miniature and because it 
is carried on far below the Brobdingnagian con- 
templations of man ? ' When we see an ant-hill 
tenanted by thousands of industrious inhabitants, 


excavating chambers, forming tunnels, making 
roads, guarding their home, gathering food, feeding 
the young, tending their domestic animals, each 
one fulfilling its duties industriously and without 
confusion, it is difficult altogether to deny them 
the gift of reason or to escape the conviction that 
their mental powers differ from those of men not 
so much in kind as in degree ' (Lubbock). 

The industrious and gifted bee, with its wonder- 
ful social system, in advance even of that of the 
most enlightened societies of men ; the generous 
horse, who thinks and feels so much more than 
the clowns who maul him ever suspect ; the artful 
spider, that confirmed waylayer lurking in his lair 
of silk ; the soft and predaceous cat ; the timid- 
hearted hare, poor hounded little dweller of the 
fields and stream-sides ; the beautiful and vivacious 
squirrel ; the lowly lady-bug ; the cautious fox ; 
the irascible serpent, so cruelly misunderstood by 
men ; the patient camel ; the scornful peafowl ; 
the indomitable goat; the grave and vindictive 
elephant ; the ingenious beaver, the woodman of 
the primeval wilderness ; the lordly and polygamous 
cock ; the maternal hen ; the wary trout, beset 
everywhere by the villainous traps of impostors ; 
the bride-like butterfly ; the delicate antelope and 
deer; and the sturdy, incorruptible ox— all of 
these beings have within them souls composed 
primarily of the same elements as those that 
compose the souls of men. 

Ground-wasps have been observed to use tiny 
stones as hammers in packing the dirt firmly over 


their nests — a very remarkable act of intelligence, 
since the use of tools is not common even among 
the higher mammals (13). Fishes have been 
taught to assemble at the ringing of a bell, and 
toads and tortoises to come at the call of their 
favourite friends. An alligator which was kept 
tame for several years became so much attached 
to its master that ' it followed him about the 
house like a dog, scrambling up the stairs after 
him, and showing much affection and docility.' 
The favourite friend and companion of this 
alligator was the cat ; and, whenever the cat 
stretched herself on the floor in front of the fire, 
the alligator would lie down beside her, with its 
head on the cat, and go to sleep. ' When the cat 
was absent, the alligator was restless, but it always 
appeared happy when the cat was near it ' (12). 

Wolves and foxes sometimes cooperate with 
each other in their hunting expeditions, somewhat 
as men do in theirs. One of their number will 
crouch in ambush by the side of a road known to 
be used by hares or other small animals, and leap 
on the unsuspecting fugitives when driven that 
way by others of the hunting band. Many animals 
post sentinels when they eat or sleep or engage in 
other hazardous undertakings, and these sentinels 
show a good deal of discrimination in distinguish- 
ing between animals that are friendly and those 
that are not. Beavers not only build lodges to 
live in, but also construct dams to keep the water 
in which the villages are located at a certain height. 
The outlet of these dams is carefully regulated, 


being regularly lessened and enlarged to suit the 
supply of water in the stream. The trees used by 
the beavers in their enterprises are felled by them 
along the margins of the stream, and floated to 
the place where they are used. In old com- 
munities, where the supply of timber near the 
stream has been exhausted, artificial canals are 
cut by these indomitable engineers for use in the 
transportation of their materials. These excava- 
tions are made at a great cost of labour and for 
the deliberate purpose of enabling the builders to 
accomplish that which they could not accomplish 
in any other way. ' In executing this purpose,' 
says Romanes, ' there is sometimes displayed a 
depth of engineering forethought over details of 
structure required by the circumstances of special 
localities which is even more astonishing than the 
execution of the general idea' (lo). When, for 
instance, a canal has been carried so far from the 
original water-supply that, owing to the rising 
ground, it cannot be continued without a very 
great expenditure of effort in digging, a second 
dam is built higher up-stream, and with water 
drawn from this the canal is continued on at 
a higher level. Sometimes a third dam is built 
above the second, and the canal again continued 
at a still higher level before the valuable timber of 
the higher grounds is reached. These enterprising 
rodents also carve sometimes enormous channels 
across the necks of land formed by winding rivers, 
to serve as cut-offs in travel and transportation. 
And yet all of these things — all of the intelli- 


gence, feeling, and ingenuity displayed by the 
non-human races — are still lumped together by 
belated psychologists under the head of ' instinct,' 
by which is meant a blind, unconscious knack of 
doing the right thing without in any way realising 
what is being done or what it is being done for ! 
The principle in accordance with which mind is 
denied to non-human beings would, if carried to 
its legitimate conclusions, make machines out of 
all of us, and limit the possession of conscious 
intelligence to the individual who promulgates 
the theory. The attitude assumed by many 
psychologists toward the mental faculties of 
inferior races reminds one of Heine's interview 
with the old lizard at Lucca. In the discussion 
which ensued between the poet and the reptile, 
the poet dropped the words, ' I think.' ' Think !' 
snapped the lizard with a sharp, aristocratic tone 
of profound contempt — ' think ! Which of you 
thinks ? For 3,000 years, wise sir, I have investi- 
gated the spiritual functions of animals, and I 
have made men and apes the special objects of 
my study. I have devoted myself to these queer 
creatures with as great zeal and diligence as 
Lyonnet to his caterpillars. And as the result of 
my researches, I can assure you no man thinks. 
Now and then something occurs to him, and 
these accidentally occurring somethings he calls 
thoughts, and the stringing of them together he 
calls thinking. But you can take my word for it, 
no man thinks — no philosopher thinks. And, so 
far as philosophy is concerned, it is mere air and 



water, like pure vapours in the sky. There is, 
in reality, only one true philosophy, and that 
is engraven in eternal hieroglyphics on my own 
tail ' (ii). 

This attitude of the lordly saurian toward the 
human race is a stinging burlesque on the anthro- 
pocentric conceit which perverts all of man's views 
of the other orders of life. 

It is not contended that non-human beings are 
psychically identical with human beings. The 
races of men are not psychically identical with 
each other. The difference between the intel- 
lectual splendours of a Spencer evolving volumes 
of the profoundest philosophy and the mind of an 
Australian who cannot count six, or between the 
understanding of an Edison, the wizard of the 
electrical world, and that of the South Sea 
islanders, who, when Captain Cook gave them 
some English nails, planted them in the hope of 
raising a new crop, is almost infinite. The lowest 
races of men have neither superstition nor the 
power of abstract thought as have the higher 
races. They have a word for black stone, white 
stone, and brown stone, but no word for stone; 
for elm-tree, oak-tree, and the like, but no word 
for tree. As Kingsley says, ' It is difficult to 
believe that a dog does not form as clear an 
abstract idea of a tree as these people do.' There 
are human beings living in the forests of Asia, 
Africa, and Australasia that wander about from 
place to place in herds without chief, law, weapons, 
or fixed habitations. They go naked, mate by 


chance, and climb trees like monkeys. Some of 
these races know nothing of fire, religion, or a 
moral world, chatter to each other like apes, and 
live on such natural products as roots, fruits, 
serpents, mice, ants, and honey. One of these 
creatures, we are told, will lie flat on his front for 
an hour by the runway'of a field-mouse, waiting 
for a chance to snatch up the little creature when 
it comes along and eat it. Dozens of such de- 
graded races are mentioned by Buchner in his 
' Man : Past, Present, and Future,' and by Sir 
John Lubbock in his ' Origin of Civilisation.' 

Non-human beings have, as a rule, neither the 
psychic variety nor the intensity of higher humans. 
And it is not contended that in language, science, 
and superstition they are capable of being com- 
pared with the foremost few of civilised societies, 
any more than savages, especially the lowest 
savages, are capable of such comparison. But it 
is maintained that the non-human races of the 
earth are not the metallic and soulless lot of 
fixtures they are vulgarly supposed to be ; that 
they are just as real living beings, with just as 
precious nerves and just as genuine feelings, rights, 
heartaches, capabilities, and waywardnesses, as we 
ourselves ; and that, since they are our own kith 
and kindred, we have no right whatever, higher 
than the right of main strength (which is the 
right of devils), to assume them to be, and to 
treat them as if they were, our natural and legiti- 
mate prey. 



IV. The Elements of Human and Non-human 
Mind Compared. 

The analysis of human mind and the compari- 
son of its elements or powers with the powers 
of non-human mind corroborate the conclusions 
already arrived at through observation and deduc- 
tive inference. The chief powers of the mind of 
man are sensation, memory, emotion, imagination, 
voUtion, instinct, and reason. All of these faculties 
are found in non-human beings, some of them 
developed to a much higher degree than they are 
in man, and some of them to a much lower. 

Sensation is the effect produced on the mind 
when a sense organ is affected in some way by 
external stimuli. Sensation is the lumber of the 
mind, the raw material out of which are elaborated 
all other forms of consciousness. The chief species 
of sensation are those of sight, sound, smell, taste, 
and feeling. The original sense was feeling, and 
out of this sense were evolved the other four. 
The organs of seeing, hearing, smelling, and 
tasting are therefore modifications of the skin, 
which is the organ of original sense. The fact 
that in all animals, down almost to the very 
beginnings of life, sense organs exist, suggests that 
sensation may be almost, if not quite, coextensive 
with animal life. All mammals, birds, reptiles, 
amphibians, and fishes have the same special sense 
organs as man, and the organs of sight, sound, 
taste, and smell occupy in all vertebrates the same 
relative positions in the head. Birds see better 


than any other animals, and carnivora smell 
better. Ruminants see, hear, and smell with 
great acuteness. Fishes also see and hear well ; 
and the wings of the bat are so exceedingly sen- 
sitive that it will move about blindfolded and with 
ears stopped with cotton almost as unerringly as 
when aided by sight and sound. Insects have 
smell, sight, and taste well developed, as is shown 
by their keen appreciation of the colours, perfumes, 
and flavours of flowers. They also hear. Stridu- 
lation proves this. Worms have eyes and ears, 
and land-leeches scent the approach of their prey 
at a long distance. The starfish and the medusa 
respond to all the five classes of stimuli which 
affect the five senses of man, and nervous sub- 
stance is found in all animals above the sponge. 

Memory is the power of retaining or recognising 
past states of consciousness. The power to retain 
impressions follows in origin close upon the power 
to receive impressions. Memory is the historic 
faculty of the mind — the power of the mind to 
store up its experiences — and is found in nearly 
all animals. The lowly limpet, whose world is a 
seaside rock, will come back from its little roam- 
ings time after time to the same rude lodge from 
which it set out. Bees remember where they get 
honey or sugar months afterwards, and when it is 
necessary will sometimes go back to the old home 
hive which they left the year before. Ants retrace 
their steps after making long journeys from their 
nest, and are able in some way to recognise their 
friends after months of separation. The stickle- 


back (fish) knows the way back to his nest, although 
he has been absent several hours. Fishes return 
and hatch their young year after year in the same 
waters; birds come back to their old nesting- 
places ; and horses remember their way along 
devious roads over which they have not been for 
years. Horses used in the delivery of milk, or in 
other occupations in which they are accustomed 
to travel daily over about the same route, come in 
time to remember every alley, street, and stopping- 
place of the whole round almost as accurately 
as their drivers. Darwin's dog remembered and 
obeyed him after an absence of five years. The 
power of dogs, squirrels, and other animals of 
remembering where they have long before cached 
food is indeed wonderful. A squirrel will come 
down out of a tree when the earth is covered to 
a depth of several inches with lately fallen snow 
and hop away, without the slightest hesitancy or 
mistake, to the exact spot where it has months 
before stored its mid-winter acorns. A lion has 
been known to recognise its keeper after seven 
years of separation, and an elephant obeyed all 
his old words of command on being recaptured 
after fifteen years of jungle life. The similarity of 
memory in other animals to the same faculty in 
man is shown by the fact that memory everywhere 
is governed by the same laws. In all animals, 
including man, memory is strengthened by repe- 
tition — that is, impressions are always deepened 
and confirmed by being made over and over. A 
parrot or a raven masters a new sentence by 


working at it and saying it over and over again, 
just as a boy memorises his rules and catechisms. 
Imagination is the picturing power of the mind. 
In its lowest stages of manifestation it is akin to 
memory. Imagination, however, in its higher 
reaches, not only reimages previous impressions, 
but combines them in new and original relations. 
Imagination is displayed in dreams, images, de- 
lusions, anticipation, and sympathy. It also fur- 
nishes wings for speculation and reason. Spiders, 
when they attach stones to their webs to steady 
them during anticipated gales, probably exercise 
imagination. The tame serpent which was carried 
away from its master's house and found its way 
back again, though the distance was one hundred 
miles, no doubt carried in its imagination vivid 
pictures of its old home (10). Cats, dogs, horses, 
and other animals dream, and parrots talk in their 
sleep. Horses and cattle sometimes stampede at 
imaginary objects, and often distort real objects 
into imaginary monsters. When a horse at night 
takes firight at a big black stump by the roadside, 
he no doubt imagines it to be some terrible creature 
ready to eat him up if he should go near it, just 
as a timid child does in the same circumstances. 
There is a great difference in horses in this respect, 
just as there is among children and men, some of 
them taking fright at every unusual thing, while 
others are more bold or stolid. The cat playing 
with a ball of yarn converts it by means of its 
imagination into an object of prey, just as a girl 
converts a doll into a baby, or a boy changes a 


stick into a steed. Sympathy is the putting or 
picturing of one's self in the place of another, and 
by means of the imagination sharing or simulating 
the psychic conditions of that other. This high 
and holy exercise of the imagination is exhibited 
by horses, cattle, dogs, deer, elephants, monkeys, 
and birds — in fact, by nearly all animals as far 
down as the fishes and insects. 

Emotion is the stirring of the sensibilities by 
way of the intellect or the imagination. Thfe 
following emotions are found in non-human 
beings : fear, surprise, affection, pugnacity, play, 
pride, anger, jealousy, curiosity, sympathy, emula- 
tion, resentment, appreciation of the beautiful, 
grief, hate, cruelty, joy, benevolence, revenge, 
shame, remorse, and appreciation of the ludicrous. 
Excepting the emotions of conscience and religion, 
which are really compounds, with fear as the main 
ingredient, this list of non-human emotions is co- 
extensive with the list of human emotions. Many 
of these emotions germinate low down in the 
animal kingdom, fear, anger, sexuality, and 
jealousy all being found in fishes and in the 
higher invertebrates. In the higher vertebrates 
many of these emotions are almost as strong as 
they are in men. Does anyone who has felt the 
throbbing sides of a frightened puppy or hare 
have any doubt that these creatures suffer the 
keenest agony of fear ? Apes have been known to 
fall down and faint when suddenly confronted by 
a snake, so great is their instinctive horror of 
serpents ; and gray parrots, which are extremely 


nervous birds, have been known to drop from their 
perch unconscious under the influence of great 
fear (14). 

The horse is, perhaps, of all animals, the one 
which occasionally, gives itself over most com- 
pletely to the emotion of fear, as everyone who 
has witnessed the terrible abandon of a runaway 
team can testify. Ants, fishes, birds, cats, dogs, 
horses, monkeys, porpoises, and many other 
animals play. Young kittens, colts, and puppies 
enjoy a scuffle about as well as boys do. Pugnacity 
originates among the spiders and insects, and is 
highly developed in the ant, cock, and bulldog. 
This emotion is strong in the males of nearly all 
vertebrates. Anyone who has observed the vigi- 
lance displayed by fishes in protecting their nests 
can have little doubt that these comparatively 
primitive beings possess pugnacity. I was one 
evening floating in a boat by the edge of a Long 
Island pond just over a village of perches. Each 
nest was guarded by an assiduous male, who 
hovered over it vigilantly, or darted this way and 
that to drive off the piscatorial hoi polloi hanging 
about the neighbourhood, ready to slip in at the 
first opportunity and eat the eggs. Just to see 
what would happen, I put my hand down into 
the water and moved it slowly toward one of the 
nests. To my surprise, the guardian of the nest, 
instead of fleeing in alarm, proceeded to show 
fight. It chased my hand away time after time, 
and when the hand was not removed it would nip 
it vigorously, not once simply, but two or three 


times if necessary, and each time with increasing 
energy. It contended with the courage of a little 
hero. I pushed it and jostled it about, and even 
took it in my hand and Hfted it clear out of the 
water. To my amazement, on getting back into 
the water, it returned promptly to the attack. It 
fought until it was really fagged, for its onsets 
were at last much feebler than at first. I came 
away after twenty minutes, leaving the little hero 
in triumphant possession of his charge. 

Among some species of monkeys several indi- 
viduals will join together in overturning a stone 
for the possible ants' eggs under it ; and, when a 
burying beetle has found a dead mouse or bird, it 
goes and gets its companions to help it in the 
interment (20). Crows show benevolence by 
feeding their blind and helpless companions, and 
monkeys adopt the orphans of deceased members 
of their tribe. Brehm saw two crows feeding in 
a hollow tree a third crow which was wounded. 
They had evidently been doing this for some time, 
for the wound was several weeks old. Darwin 
tells of a blind pelican which was fed upon fishes, 
which were brought to it by its friends from a 
distance of thirty miles (15). The devotion of 
cedar-birds to each other and their kindness to all 
birds in distress are well known to every student 
of ornithology. Olive Thorne Miller tells of a 
cedar-bird that raised a brood of young robins 
that had been left orphans by the accidental 
killing of the parents. Weddell saw more than 
once during his journey to Bolivia that when a 


herd of vicunas were closely pursued the strong 
males covered the retreat of the weaker and less 
swift members of the herd by lagging behind and 
protecting them (20). 

A remarkable instance of altruism which he 
once saw exhibited by the king-crabs in a London 
aquarium is mentioned by Kropotkin in his work 
on ' Mutual Aid a Factor in Evolution.' One of 
these crabs had fallen on its back in a corner of 
the tank. And for one of these great creatures, 
with its saucepan carapace, to get on its back 
is, even in favourable circumstances, a serious 
matter. The seriousness was increased in this 
instance by an iron bar, which hindered the 
normal activities of the unfortunate crustacean. 
' Its comrades came to the rescue, and for one 
hour's time I watched how they endeavoured to 
help their fellow-prisoner. They came two at 
once, pushed their friend from beneath, and after 
strenuous efforts succeeded in lifting it upright. 
But then the iron bar prevented them from achiev- 
ing the work of rescue, and the crab again fell 
heavily on its back. After many attempts, one of 
the helpers went into the depth of the tank and 
brought two other crabs, who began with fresh 
forces the same pushing and lifting of their help- 
less comrade. We stayed in the aquarium for 
more than two hours, and, when leaving, came to 
cast a glance upon the tank. The work of 
attempted rescue still continued. Since I saw 
that I cannot refuse credit to the observation 
quoted by Dr. Erasmus Darwin that the common 


crab during the moulting season stations a sentinel, 
an unmolted or hard-shelled individual, to prevent 
marine enemies from injuring moulted individuals 
in their unprotected state.' Walruses go to the 
defence of a wounded comrade when summoned 
by its cries for help. Romanes tells of a gander 
who acted as a guardian to his blind consort, 
taking her neck gently in his mouth and leading 
her to the water when she wanted to take a swim, 
and after allowing her to cruise for a time under 
his guidance and care, conducting her back home 
again in the sanie thoughtful manner. When 
goslings were hatched, this remarkable gander 
seemed to realise the inability of the mother to 
look after them, for he took charge of them as if 
they were his own, convoying them to the water- 
side, and lifting them carefully out of the ruts 
and pits with his bill whenever they got into 
difficulty (lo). 

The disposition to go to the aid of a fellow in 
trouble is one of the most characteristic traits in 
the psychology of the swine. A single squeal of 
distress from even the scrawniest member of a 
swine herd will bring down on the one who causes 
this distress the hair-raising wrath of every porker 
within hearing. This trait has been considerably 
reduced by domestication, and in those varieties 
in which degeneracy has gone farthest it scarcely 
exists. But it is exceedingly strong in all wild 
hogs. Animals as low in the scale of development 
and as proverbially cold as snakes have been 
known, when educated and treated with kindness, 


to manifest considerable affection for their friends 
and masters. Nearly all domestic animals display 
a good deal of affection, not only to their young, 
but to adult members of their own kind and to 
their human masters. The devotion of the dog to 
man is without a parallel anywhere. It has been 
said that ' the dog is the only thing on this earth 
that loves you more than he loves himself.' When 
dogs become so much attached to their masters or 
mistresses that they pine and die on being separated 
from them, they show beyond any question that 
they have feelings which, in intensity, are not 
inferior to those possessed by the more highly 
developed men and women. And this has hap- 
pened time after time. 

A pathetic story of love and of its tragic close 
came last year out of the Maine woods. Two 
moose, who had been tracked all day by a couple 
of human tigers, were finally overtaken, when one 
of them fell pierced by two rifle-balls. The 
remaining moose, instead of dashing off into the 
forest, stood still, lowered its head, and sniffed at 
its fallen companion. Then, raising its antlers 
high into the air, it bellowed loudly. As the cry 
of the great creature echoed through the forest, it 
also fell at the discharge ot the rifles. It was 
found on examination afterwards that the first 
moose was blind, and that the second one, which 
had neglected to leave it for safety, was its pilot. 

My father once owned a cow who contracted a 
strong affection for my sister. This cow, who 
showed on many occasions and in many ways her 


highly developed emotional nature, would scarcely 
allow anyone else than my sister to milk her. She 
always presented herself to my sister as soon as 
she was let into the lot in order to be milked first, 
and she was so jealous of this privilege that if it 
were not accorded to her she would stand with 
her head down and give vent to her unhappi- 
ness in low moans. After she was milked she 
would follow her human friend around from one 
cow to another, in order to be as near her as 
possible. She knew my sister's voice from that 
of everyone else, and would always low a response 
and come to her when called by name, even though 
she were a quarter of a mile away in the pasture. 
Romanes tells somewhere of a band of apes that 
were being pursued by dogs when a young ape 
was cut off from the rest and was about to be 
killed by the dogs. The chief of the band, seeing 
the peril of the young one, went deliberately back 
and rescued it. 

Many animals show that they possess a rudi- 
mentary sense of humour by the pranks and 
tricks which they play on each other and on 
human beings. The monkey is the prince of non- 
human jokers, but dogs, cats, horses, elephants, 
and other animals have enough of this sense 
to have books written about it. A monkey has 
been observed to slyly pass his hand back of a 
second monkey and tweak the tail of a third one, 
and then composedly enjoy himself while the 
resentment of the injured monkey expended itself 
on the innocent middle one. Many monkeys 


enjoy entertaining their friends with grimaces, by 
carrying a cane, putting a tin dish on their heads, 
or other droll antics. These intelligent animals 
have a sufficiently high appreciation of the ludi- 
crous to dislike ridicule. Like human beings, 
they can't endure being laughed at, and get mad 
if they are made the victims of a joke. Romanes' 
monkey was one day asked to crack a nut for the 
amusement of a visitor. The nut turned out to 
be a bad one, and the melancholy look of disap- 
pointment on the monkey's face caused the visitor 
to laugh. The insulted monkey flew into a rage, 
and hurled the nut at the offending scoffer, then 
the hammer, and finally the coffee-pot which 
simmered on the grate fire (10). Darwin tells of 
a baboon in the Zoological Gardens of London 
who always became infuriated every time his 
keeper took out a letter or book and read aloud to 
him. On one occasion when Darwin was present 
the baboon became so furious that he bit his own 
leg until it bled (15). 

The emotion variously known as shame, regret, 
repentance, and remorse, is not common among 
the non-human races. It is found sometimes in 
dogs and monkeys, and especially in educated 
anthropoids. But this emotion is exceedingly 
rare among savages, and is not at all universal 
even among civilised societies of men. Some 
animals manifest self-restraint, which is an ex- 
ceedingly elite quality of mind, and one not so 
common as it might be even among the higher 
breeds of mankind. By restraint is meant the 


inhibition of a desire or instinct in the presence of 
circumstances tending to render the desire or 
instinct active — and this is obedience, and the 
beginning of morahty. A dog that will not chase 
a hare in the presence of his master may do so in 
his absence. I taught my guinea-pigs to abstain 
from certain food in their presence which they 
wanted very much, and which they would have 
eaten if they had not been educated to let it alone. 
Sympathy is the most beautiful of all terrestrial 
emotions. It is manifested, sometimes to an 
exceedingly touching degree, by all the highest 
races of animals. No other instances than those 
already given can be mentioned here. It is suffi- 
cient to say that the difference between the savage 
— whose sympathies are so feeble that he has been 
known to knock his own child's brains out for 
dropping a basket, and who puts his aged parents 
to death in order to avoid the burden of maintain- 
ing them, and whose sympathies seldom extend 
beyond his family or tribe — and civilised men and 
women, who feel actual pain when in the presence 
of those who suffer, and whose sympathies some- 
times include all sentient creation, is much greater 
than that between the savage and many non- 
human animals. The frail, narrow, fantastic 
character of human sympathy is the most mourn- 
ful fact in human nature. ' Man's inhumanity to 
man makes countless thousands mourn,' and his 
inhumanity to not-men makes the planet a ball of 
pain and terror. 

Volition is the power of the mind to act execu- 


tively. Or, perhaps, it is the resultant of the 
impulses actuating a mind at any particular 
instant. Whatever volition is, it is the same 
thing in the insect as in the man. Non-human 
beings have been observed to pause and deliberate 
and to make wise and momentous decisions in 
the tvfcfinkling of an eye. A chased hare will 
decide to squat, to go straight ahead, or to do 
something else which the emergency demands, 
just as unmistakably as a human fugitive. In the 
sense of being the power to act differently from 
the manner in which a being actually does act, 
there is no such thing as freewill. The will of the 
worm is just as free as the will of the judge — not 
in the sense that it is as varied in the directions 
of its activity, but in the sense that the character 
of its activities is determined inevitably by the 
character of its antecedents. All will, whether 
human or non-human, invariably acts in the 
direction of the strongest motive, just as a stone 
or a river invariably moves, if it moves at all, in 
the direction of the strongest tendency or force. 
It is impossible that this should be otherwise. 
For, if the will in any case elects to overthrow 
this fact by arbitrarily discarding a stronger 
motive for a feebler, in the very motive of the 
election are concealed elements which transform 
the feebler motive into the stronger. All motion, 
voluntary and involuntary — the motion of bullets, 
beings, societies, and suns — takes place along the 
lines of least arrest. Every being is compelled to 
decide as he does decide and to act as he does act 



by the inherited tendencies of his own nature and 
the tendencies of the environment in which he 
exists. And if any being, after having passed 
through life, were again placed back at the begin- 
ning of life and endowed with the same nature as 
before, and were acted upon through life by sur- 
roundings identical with those he had previously 
met, he would act — that is, he would exercise his 
will — in precisely the same way in every particular 
as he had previously done. To deny these things 
is to assert that the conduct of living beings is 
without law, and that psychology and sociology 
are not sciences. 

Non-human beings, all of the higher ones, have 
the same brain and nervous apparatus as man, 
and in their involuntary phenomena they closely 
resemble human beings. Aim a pretended blow 
near the eyes of a dog or a horse and it will wink 
involuntarily, just as a human being does. Sever 
the spinal cord of a man or a frog, and irritate 
the feet of each, and they will each manifest the 
same phenomena of reflex action, drawing their 
feet away each time from the stimulus. 

Instinct and reason are forms of intelligence. 
Intelligence is the adaptation of acts to ends. 
Intelligence is manifested by all organisms, both 
plants and animals, and may be either conscious 
or unconscious. Plant intelligence and reflex 
action are forms of unconscious intelligence. Plant 
intelligence, or the adaptation of acts to ends by 
plants, is manifested by plants in the shifting of 
their positions when in need of hght in order to 


obtain as large a supply as possible of the essential 
sunshine ; in devices, such as traps and flowers, 
for utilising the juices and services of insects ; in 
germinating and growing away from, instead of 
toward, the centre of the earth ; in discriminating 
between this and that kind of food ; and in a 
thousand other ways. Plant intelligence is all 
explicable in terms of chemistry and physics, and 
is, so far as is known, unaccompanied by conscious- 
ness. Reflex action is chemical affinity aided by 
the co-ordinating powers of nerve tissue. The 
vital processes of all animals, from the lowest to 
the highest, and many other highly habitual and 
highly essential operations, are carried on by reflex 
action. Reflex action in animals, like plant intel- 
ligence, is unconscious. 

Instinct and reason are conscious. Instinct is 
inherited intelligence — intelligence manifested in- 
dependently of, and prior to, experience and 
instruction. ' Instinct,' says Romanes, ' is reflex 
action into which has been imported the element 
of consciousness ' (i). It is exhibited by the babe 
when it nurses the mother's breast ; by the chick 
when it pecks its way out through the shell of the 
egg ; by animals generally, including man, in their 
solicitude for their young ; by the parent bird in 
incubation ; and by all beings when they seek 
food in obedience to the impulse of hunger. Our 
conception of the mental processes of non-humans 
is as yet very primitive, owing to our limited 
means of information and the erroneous influence 
on our judgments of traditional ways of thinking; 

14 — 2 


and much that is attributed by us to instinct is 
not instinct at all, but is acquired by the young 
through education imparted by the elders. Parent 
birds have often been seen teaching their young 
ones to fly, and no doubt a good deal of the 
migratory acumen manifested by birds is nothing 
but custom and tradition handed down to each 
younger generation by the old and experienced. 
A large part of the knowledge of mankind (or 
what passes for knowledge) consists of habits 
and hobbies, customs and traditions, impressed 
upon each new generation by the generation 
which produced it. Each generation of men 
seems to feel that whenever it creates a new 
generation it has got to pile on to this new 
generation all of the fool notions which have 
been acquired from the past, amplified by its own 
inventions. And when we come to know other 
animals better, there is practically no doubt that 
we shall find that a large part of what we now 
call instinct and look upon as congenital will, on 
closer and more rational examination, be found to 
be nothing but the pedagogical effects of early 
environment. Professor Poulton, of Oxford, who 
has made many experiments on just-born birds, 
says that young chicks learn to fear the hawk and 
to interpret the oral warnings of the mother. 
Cats teach their young to play with their prey 
in that cruel manner so characteristic of all the 
Felidas, as I have myself observed more than 
once. A mother cat will carry a live mouse into 
the presence of her kittens and lie down and play 


with it, tossing it playfully into the air, poking it 
with her paw when it does not move, and arresting 
it when it starts to run away, the kittens all the 
time looking on, but never once attempting to 
take the mouse. After awhile the mother hands 
the captive over to the kittens, who go through the 
same performance one after another. After they 
have practised on it until the unfortunate creature 
is almost dead, the old cat will probably walk over 
to where the mouse is and eat it up. The whole 
thing is a school. The mouse is obviously not 
intended as food for the young, but to be used 
simply to impart instruction to them. 

' In popular writings and lectures some or all of 
the following activities of ant-life are commonly 
ascribed to instinct : The recognition of members 
of the same nest ; powers of communication ; 
keeping aphides for the sake of their sweet secre- 
tions ; collection of aphid eggs in October, hatch- 
ing them out in the nest, and taking them in the 
spring to the daisies on which they feed, for 
pasture ; slave-making and slave-keeping, which, 
in some cases, is so ancient a habit that the 
enslavers are unable even to feed themselves ; 
keeping insects as beasts of burden — e.g., a kind 
of plant-bug to carry leaves ; keeping beetles, etc., 
as domestic pets ; habits of personal cleanliness — 
one ant giving another a brush-up, and being 
brushed up in return ; habits of play and recrea- 
tion ; habits of burying their dead ; the storage of 
grain and nipping the budding rootlet to prevent 
further germination ; the habit of Texan ants of 


preparing a clearing around their nest, and, six 
months later, harvesting the ant-rice — a kind of 
grass of which they are particularly fond — even 
seeking and sowing the grain which shall yield the 
harvest ; the collection by other ants of grass to 
manure the soil, on which there grows a species 
of fungus upon which they feed ; the military 
organisation of the ecitons of Central America; 
and so forth. But to class all of these activities 
of the ant as illustrations of instinct is a survival 
of an old-fashioned method of treatment. 

' Suppose that the intelligent ant were to make 
observations on human behaviour as displaj^ed in 
one of our great cities or in an agricultural district. 
Seeing so great an amount of routine work going 
on around him, might he not be in danger of 
regarding all this as evidence of hereditary instinct ? 
Might he not find it difficult to obtain satisfactory 
evidence of the fact that this routine work has to 
some extent to be learned ? Might he not say 
(perhaps not wholly without truth), " I can see 
nothing whatever in the training of these beings 
to fit them for their life-work. The training of 
their children has no more apparent bearing upon 
the activities of their after-life than the feeding of 
3ur grubs has on the duties of ant-life. They 
seem to fall into the routine of life with little or 
ao preparatory training as the periods for the 
manifestation of the various instincts arrive. If 
[earning thereof there be, it has so far escaped 
our observation. And such intelligence as their 
activities evince (and many of them do show 


remarkable adaptations to uniform conditions of 
life) would seem to be rather ancestral than of the 
present time, as is shown by the fact that many 
of the adaptations are directed rather to past con- 
ditions of life than to those which now hold good. 
In the presence of new emergencies to which their 
instincts have not fitted them, these poor creatures 
are often completely at a loss. We cannot but 
conclude, therefore, that, although acting under 
somewhat different and less favourable conditions, 
instinct occupies fully as large a space in the 
psychology of man as it does in that of the ant, 
while human intelligence is far less unerring and 
hence markedly inferior to our own." 

'Are these views much more absurd than the 
views of those who, on the evidence which we 
at present possess, attribute all the activities of 
ant-life to instinct ?' (21) 

Reason is the power of adapting means to ends 
which is acquired from experience or instruction. 
All animals that profit by experience, therefore, or 
that learn from instruction — that is, are teachable 
— exercise reason. 

The line of demarkation between instinct and 
reason is a mezzotint, reason being often instinc- 
tive, and instinct being as frequently flavoured 
with judgment. ' Instinct is usually regarded as 
a special property of the lower animals, and con- 
trasted with the conscious reason of man. But 
just as reason may be looked upon as a higher 
form of the understanding or intellect, and not as 
something essentially distinct from them, so a 


closer examination shows that instinct and the 
conscious understanding do not stand in absolute 
contrast, but rather in a complex relation, and 
cannot be sharply marked off from each other.' 
It is instinct that urges the bird to build its nest ; 
but when birds whose habit it is to build on the 
ground learn, on the introduction of cats into the 
neighbourhood, to change their nesting-places to 
the tree-tops, intelligence and thought are neces- 
sary. The first time Cavy (one of my guinea-pigs) 
smelled a cat, she was almost scared to death. 
She jumped back from it as if she had come in 
contact with a red-hot stove, and screamed and 
kept on screaming, and shot down under my coat 
as if she were about to be crucified. After a little 
while I tried to pull her out, but she refused, and 
kept hiding. The second time the kitten was pre- 
sented to her the result was the same. But after 
two or three days of association, she paid little 
more attention to it than to the other guinea-pigs. 
She had never seen a cat before. It was the odour 
of the carnivore that terrified her, and the effect 
was purely instinctive. But instinct was soon 
modified by intelligent experience. {Poor dear 
little Cavy ! I wonder where she is now !) 

Both instinct and reason (and one, too, just as 
much as the other) are absolutely dependent upon 
processes that are purely mechanical — that is, 
upon brain processes ; and brain processes depend 
upon brain structure, which is inherited. Hence, 
reason is, in a certain sense, as truly inherited as 
instinct is. A being must be born with the 


particular nervous apparatus by means of which 
reasoning is carried on, or with the power or 
disposition to develop this apparatus, or he will 
never reason. The genius of the partridge in 
cajoling the passer-by from her nest is called 
instinct, but it is not more inherited than was 
the genius of Shakspere. Experience simply calls 
into being that, whatever it is in each particular 
being, which is inherited. Sir Isaac Newton took 
to philosophy and Ole Bull to music not less 
inevitably than the duck takes to water or the 
hound to hunting. Reason is, hence, inherited 
by every man, who has it as truly as his erect 
posture and plantigrade feet. There is something 
in the past of all of us and of everything which 
has determined, and which may be used to account 
for, everything that to-day exists or happens, even 
to the style and behaviour of every leaf that 
flutters in the forest, and to the eccentricities 
of our opinions and handwritings. 

Reason, in the sense in which it is here used, is 
found feebly in the oyster. Oysters taken from 
a depth never uncovered by the sea open their 
shells, lose their water, and quickly perish. But 
oysters taken from the same depths, if kept where 
they are occasionally left uncovered for short 
intervals, learn to keep their shells closed and to 
live a much longer period out of the water. On 
the coast of France ' oyster schools ' exist, where 
oysters intended for inland cities are educated to 
keep their shells closed when out of the water in 
order to enable them to survive the desiccating 


exposures of the overland journey (lo). This act 
of the bivalve is probably the result of something 
like a vague form of reason. It is an act adapted 
to the accomplishment of a definite end, and the 
adapting power is acquired from experience. It 
is, moreover, reason which in its final analysis 
does not differ from the reason displayed by the 
wisest being that thinks. Judgment, forethought, 
common-sense, inference, ingenuity, genius, reason, 
and abstract thought, are all exercises of the 
cognitive or perceptive power of mind, and consist, 
all of them, in nothing more nor less than the dis- 
cerning of relations among stimuli. The dog who 
adopts a cut-off in order to intercept a fleeing hare 
performs exactly the same kind of intellectual 
process as the mechanic who erects a windmill in 
order to divert the energies of the breeze, or the 
politician who adopts a particular platform to 
:atch votes. ' A perception is always in its 
essential nature what logicians term a conclusion, 
whether it has reference to the simplest memory 
of the past sensation or to the highest product of 
abstract thought. For, when the highest product 
of abstract thought is analysed, the ultimate 
elements must always be found to consist in 
material given directly by the senses ; and every 
stage in the symbolic construction of ideas, in 
which the process of abstraction consists, depends 
on acts of perception taking place in the lower 
stages ' (i). The difference among the perceptive 
acts of different individuals consists, not in the 
different kinds of intellectual exercise, but in 


differences among the inatcriak with which the 
perceptive faculty deals. There are perceptions 
of simple sensations, and there are perceptions of 
composite sensations, or concepts — perceptions of 
elementary relations, and perceptions of compound 
and elaborate relations. But all displays of 
rational faculty, from the simple judgment of 
distance by the dimness and distinctness of defini- 
tion and the size of the visual angle, which all 
higher animals are compelled to make, to the 
labyrinthic abstractions of the logician, consist 
in nothing in addition to discriminations among 

Brehm one day gave one of his apes a paper 
bag with a lump of sugar and a wasp in it. The 
ape in getting the sugar was stung by the wasp. 
From that day, whenever Brehm gave that ape, 
or any other ape in that cage, a paper package, 
the animal, before opening it, took the precaution 
to shake the package at his ear and listen to find 
out whether or not there was a wasp inside (18). 
Now, such an act of intelligence implies several 
inferences. A train of thoughts something like 
this must have passed through this ape's mind : 
* Now, if one wasp can sting, so can another ; and, 
if a man can deceive me once by wrapping a wasp 
in a paper with a lump of sugar, he may try it 
again ; and, if one man will attempt such a thing, 
so may another ; and, if men will attempt it on 
me, they may attempt it on my friends ; so I will 
warn my friends to look out for those villainous 
chaps outside.' These inferences of the ape are 


the same kind of generalisations exactly as are 
made by men everywhere in their daily lives. And 
the common-sense inferences made by ordinary 
people in their every-day affairs are precisely the 
same processes of reasoning as those used by 
scientists and philosophers. Many people, like 
the character in Molifere's plays who was sur- 
prised and delighted to learn that he had been 
talking prose all his life, are surprised on hearing 
for the first time that they use induction and 
deduction every hour almost of their waking lives. 
They imagine that philosophers must have some 
secret and superior way of acquiring their con- 
clusions, different from what ordinary mortals 
have. ' But there is no more difference,' says 
Huxley, ' between the mental operations of a man 
Df science and those of an ordinary person than 
there is between the operations and methods 
Df a grocer weighing out his goods in common 
scales and the operations of a chemist in perform- 
ing a difficult and complex analysis by means 
Df his balance and finely graduated weights. It 
IS not that the scales in the one case and the 
balances in the other differ in the principles of 
their construction or manner of working ; but 
:he beam of the one is set on an infinitely finer 
ixis than the other, and, of course, turns by 
■he addition of a much smaller weight ' (i6). 
(\nd the difference in mental method between 
the man of learning and the ordinary man or 
?ifoman is the same as the difference between 
nature men and children and between men 


generally and other animals. It is one of degree, 
not of kind. The philosopher, the clodhopper, 
and the ape, all use precisely the same methods 
of reasoning, differing only in exactness and in 
the materials of consciousness dealt with. 

Nearly all animals, from moUusks to men, 
reason — not once or twice in a lifetime, but the 
most of them every day and every hour of their 
existence. In fact, it would be impossible for any 
animal addicted to moving about, and with a 
delicate and easily wrecked organism, to long 
survive in a world like this without that elasticity 
of action which reason alone can impart. Since 
they live in the same world-conditions as human 
beings, and are seeking providence for substantially 
the same wants, non- human beings manifest 
reason in the same general directions as human 
beings do — in the location and construction of 
their homes and fortresses, in the arrest of their 
prey, in circumventing their enemies, in over- 
coming obstacles and surmounting dangers, in 
protecting and educating their young, in meet- 
ing the emergencies of food and climate, in 
the wooing of mates and the waging of wars, 
and in the thousand other cases where they 
are called upon in their daily wanderings and 
doings to deal with novel and unprecedented 

When wild geese are feeding there is said to be 
always one of them that acts as sentinel. This 
one never takes a grain of corn while on duty. 
When it has acted awhile it gives the bird next to 


t a sharp peck and utters a querulous kind of 
:ry, and the second one takes its turn. This is 
prudence, or forethought, which is a form of 
reason. When swans are diving there is generally 
Dne that stays above the water and watches. 
Sentinels have alarm sounds of various kinds, 
which they give to signify ' enemy.' ' Ibex, 
marmots, and mountain -sheep whistle; prarie- 
iogs bark ; elephants trumpet ; wild geese and 
Bwans have a kind of bugle call ; rabbits and 
sheep stamp on the ground ; crows caw ; and 
wild ducks utter a low, warning quack.' 

In the Popular Science Monthly for March, 1901, 
is an account of a series of experiments on the 
intelligence of the turtle made by Professor Yerkes, 
of Harvard. The turtle was placed in a labyrinth, 
at the farther end of which was a comfortable bed 
of sand. It took just thirty-five minutes of wander- 
ing for the turtle to reach the nest the first time. 
But in the second trial the nest was reached in 
fifteen minutes, and by the tenth trip the turtle 
was familiar enough with the route to go through 
in three and one-half minutes, making but two 
mistakes. The turtle was afterwards placed in a 
more complex labyrinth, containing, among other 
features, a blind alley and two inclines. The 
inclines were puzzles, and it took one hour and 
thirty-five minutes of aimless rambling for the 
wanderer to reach its nest the first time. But 
the fifth trip was made in sixteen minutes, and 
the tenth in four minutes, which was not far from 


These experiments show that animals of almost 
proverbial density may learn with surprising 
quickness. English sparrows and other avian 
inhabitants of the city learn to live tranquilly 
along the busiest thoroughfares, exposed to all 
sorts of dangers, and subjected to what would be 
to many birds the most terrifying circumstances. 
Whizzing trolleys, tramping multitudes, and 
screaming engines have no terrors for them. They 
simply exercise the caution necessary to keep from 
being run over. They boldly build their nests 
right under passing elevated cars, where the roar 
is sufficient to scare the life out of an ordinary 
country bird. I have seen these testy little chaps 
sit and feed and jabber to each other in a perfectly 
unconcerned way within ten or fifteen feet of a 
thundering express train. They do not do these 
things from instinct : they learn to do them. 
They know that a diabolical-looking locomotive 
is harmless, because they have seen it before ; 
and they know that an insignificant urchin with 
a savage heart and a sling is not harmless, and 
they know it simply because they have previously 
had dealings with him. English sparrows will 
disappear completely from a neighborhood if a 
few of them are killed. Cats, dogs, horses — all 
animals, in fact — acquire during life a fund of 
information as to how to act in order to avoid 
harm and extinction. If they did not, they would 
not live long. And they do it just as man does it, 
by memory and discrimination, by retaining im- 
pressions made upon them, and acting differently 


when an impression is made a second, third, or 
thirteenth time. 

Animals of experience (including men) are more 
skilful in adjusting themselves to environmental 
exigencies than the young and inexperienced, 
because of their store of initial impressions. It 
is a matter of common observation that young 
animals are more easily caught or killed or other- 
wise victimised than the old and experienced. 
Many animals, however, (and a good many men) 
are able to profit by a single impression. One 
dose of tartar emetic is generally suificient to cure 
an egg-sucking dog, and it is a very stupid canine 
indeed that does not understand perfectly after 
one or two experiences with a porcupine or an 
unsavory skunk. ' The burnt child dreads the 
fire,' but so does the burnt puppy. Rengger states 
that his Paraguay monkeys, after cutting them- 
selves only once with any sharp tool, would not 
touch it again, or would handle it with the greatest 
caution (lo). Older trout are more wary than 
young ones, and fishes that have been much 
hunted and deceived become suspicious of traps. 
Rats, martins, and other animals cannot long be 
trapped in the same way, and partridges and other 
birds seldom fly against telegraph-wires the second 
season after the wires are put up. These animals, 
however, cannot learn to avoid these dangers from 
experience, for only a few of them are ever caught 
or struck. They must learn it from observing 
their unfortunate companions. Everyone who has 
read the story of Lobo, the big gray wolf of the 


Carrumpaw, cannot but wonder at the remarkable 
shrewdness shown by this old leader in baffling 
for years the tigers that hung upon his tracks (17). 
Nansen states that the seals, before man invaded 
the Arctics, occupied the inner ice-floes to avoid 
the polar bear, but after man came they took to 
living on the outer floes in order to escape the 
persecutions of this new and more fearful enemy. 
Domestic animals, when first turned out in new 
regions, often die from eating poisonous weeds, 
but in some way soon learn to avoid them. Many 
animals, when pursuing other animals, or when 
being pursued, display a knowledge of facts very 
little understood by the majority of mankind, such 
as of places where scent lies or is obliterated, and 
the effects of wind in carrying evidence of their 
presence to their enemies. The hunted roebuck 
or hare will make circles, double on its own tracks, 
take to water, and fling itself for considerable dis- 
tances through the air as cleverly as if it had read 
up all the theory of scent in a book. According 
to the London Spectator, one of the large African 
elephants in the Zoological Gardens of that city 
restores to its entertainers all the bits of food 
which on being thrown to him fall alike out of his 
reach and theirs. He points his proboscis straight 
at the food, and blows it along the floor to the feet 
of those who have thrown it. He clearly knows 
what he is about, for if he does not blow hard enough 
to land the food the first time, he blows harder 
and harder until he does. The cacadoos (parrots) 
of Australia, before descending upon a field or 



:hard in search of food, send out a scouting 
rty to reconnoitre the region and see that ' all 
well.' Sometimes a second party is sent. If 
e report is favourable, the whole band advance 
d plunder the field in short order. These birds 
2 exceedingly wary and intelligent, and seldom 
ike mistakes. But ' if man once succeeds in 
ling one of them, they become so prudent and 
Ltchful that they henceforward baffle all strata- 
ms ' (20). A short time ago a parrot at Wash- 
;ton, New Jersey, saved the life of its owner by 
mmoning the neighbours to his relief. Cries of 
[urder!' 'Help!' 'Come quick!' coming from 

2 home of the parrot, attracted the attention of 
ighbours, who ran to the house to find out the 
use. ' They found the owner of the parrot lying 

the floor unconscious, bleeding from a great 
sh in his neck. He had been repairing the 
iling, and had fallen and struck his head against 

3 stove. It required six stitches to close the 
)und, and the surgeon said that in only a few 
nutes the injured man would have been dead, 
few years ago this parrot's screams awakened 

owner in time to arouse his neighbours and 
/e them from a fire which started in the house 
xt door.' 

A friend of mine, who is thoroughly reliable, tells 
I that when he was a student at the University 
Michigan a few years ago one of the professors 
zoology there had a dog who was used by the 
partment for experiments in digestion. The dog 
lS compelled to wear a tube opening downward 


out of his stomach, and soon grew very weak and 
emaciated from the constant loss of food, which 
leaked out through this tube. After a time, how- 
ever, the dog was observed to be growing unac- 
countably hale and strong. He was watched, and 
the poor creature was found to have struck upon 
an ingenious expedient to save his life. On eating 
his meal, he would go out to the barn, and, in 
order to prevent the artificial escape of the con- 
tents of his stomach, would lie down flat on his 
back between two boxes and remain there until 
his digested food had passed safely beyond the 

A few months ago, John, one of the monkeys 
at Lincoln Park, Chicago, was suffering from a 
terrible abscess on the cheek, and an operation 
became necessary in order to save the little fellow's 
life. It was a pathetic sight to see the look of 
trust in the monkey's eyes when the surgeon was 
ready to begin the operation, and the courage and 
fortitude displayed by the sufferer were almost 
human. At the first touch of the knife the monkey 
pressed his head hard against the knee of the 
assistant and grabbed the forefinger of each of the 
assistant's hands, just as a person does who is 
about to undergo a painful operation. The swell- 
ing was first cut open and washed with antiseptic, 
when the cheek-bone was scraped and a small 
piece of it removed. After being again washed 
in antiseptic, the wound was sewed up, and John 
was lifted gently back into his cage — not, however, 
until he had licked the hands of the surgeon and 



kissed his face in gratitude. The Httle hero never 
uttered a sound from the time the knife first 
touched his face until he was put back into his 
cage. A similar act of intelligence is recorded of 
an orang. Having been once bled on account of 
illness, and not feeling well some time afterward, 
this orang went from one person to another, and, 
pointing to the vein in his arm, signified his desire 
to have the operation repeated. Both of these 
instances are examples of reason of a very high 
order — of a higher order, indeed, than many 
children and some grown people exhibit in similar 
circumstances. The chimpanzee, Mafuca, learned 
how to unlock her cage, and stole the key and hid 
it under her arm for future use. After watching the 
carpenter boring holes with his brad-awl, she took 
the brad-awl and bored holes in her table. She 
poured out milk for herself at meals, and always 
carefully stopped pouring before the cup ran over. 
When baboons go on marauding expeditions, 
they show that they realise perfectly what they 
are doing by moving with great stealth. Not a 
sound is uttered. If any thoughtless youngster so 
far forgets the necessities of the occasion as to utter 
a single chatter, he is given a reminder in the 
shape of a box on the ear. ' A certain Mr. Cops, 
who had a young orang, gave it half an orange 
one day, and put the other half away out of its 
sight on a high press, and lay down himself on 
the sofa. But the ape's movements, attracting his 
attention, he only pretended to go to sleep. The 
creature came cautiously and satisfied himself that 


his master was asleep, then climbed up the press, 
ate the rest of the orange, carefully hid the peel 
among the shavings in the grate, examined the 
pretended sleeper again, and then went and lay 
down on his own bed.' This incident is recorded 
by Tylor in his ' Anthropology.' ' And such be- 
haviour,' he adds, ' is to be explained only by 
supposing a train of thought to pass through the 
brain of the ape somewhat similar to what we our- 
selves call reason.' These instances of undoubted 
intelligence and thought might be added to almost 
without number if there was room. Every person 
nearly who has been in the world any length of 
time, and has had occasion to associate with these 
so-called ' machines,' has seen for himself, often 
unexpectedly, many flashes of brightness among 

It has been said that man differs from other 
animals, and is superior to them in the fact that 
he modifies his environment while other animals 
do not, but are modified by environment. Mr. 
Lester F. Ward makes this distinction in his 
' Pure Sociology.' The distinction is no nearer 
the truth than other distinctions of like character 
that have from time to time been drawn between 
men and other animals. It is not much more 
than half true, if it is that, and does not by any 
means deserve the italics awarded to it by this 
writer. Many races of non-human beings have a 
far greater influence on their environment than 
many races of men have. Many tribes of men 
wander about naked, build no habitations, make 


no weapons, and feed upon the fruits, roots, insects, 
and such other chance morsels as they can pick 
up from day to day in their wanderings. Such 
races are far inferior in constructive activity to 
the birds, who build elaborate houses, and to the 
beavers, who not only construct substantial dwell- 
ings, but dam rivers, and cut down trees and 
transport them long distances, and dig artificial 
waterways, to be used as aids in their engineering 
enterprises. Compare the elaborate compartments 
of the Australian bower-birds, surrounded with 
ornamented and carefully-kept grounds, with the 
lean-to of many savage tribes, made by sticking 
two or three palm-leaves in the ground and leaning 
them against a pole. Even ants plant crops, make 
clearings, build roads and tunnels, etc. It must 
be remembered, too, that, however affirmative and 
masterful a race of men may become, it never 
succeeds, and never can succeed, in emancipating 
itself from the influences of environment. It is 
true that with the growth of intelligence among 
organic forms there has been a constant transfer 
of influence from the environment to the organism; 
but this transfer began, not with man by any 
means, but low down in the scale of animal life. 

It has been said that man is the only animal 
that uses tools. But this is not true either, for 
animals as low in the scale of development as 
insects have been known to use tools. At least 
two diff'erent observers testify to having seen 
ground-wasps use small stones as hammers in 
packing the dirt firmly over their nests. Spiders 


use stones as weights to steady their webs in times 
of storm. Orangs throw sticks and stones at their 
pursuers, and certain tribes of Abyssinian baboons, 
when they go to battle with each other, carry 
stones as missiles. Monkeys often use stones to 
crack nuts with, and tame monkeys know very 
well how to use a hammer when it is given to 
them. In the London Zoological Gardens a 
monkey with poor teeth kept a stone hidden in the 
straw of its cage to crack its nuts with, and it 
would not allow any other monkey to touch the 
stone. ' Here,' says Darwin, in speaking of this 
case, ' is the idea of property.' Monkeys also use 
sticks as levers in prying open chests and lifting 
heavy objects. Cuvier's orang used to carry a 
chair across the room and stand on it to lift the 
door-latch. Chimpanzees, who are very fond of 
making a noise, have been seen standing around a 
hollow log in the forest, beating it with sticks ; 
and if we are to believe Emin Pasha, these in- 
genious parodies of men sometimes carry torches 
when they go at night on foraging expeditions. 
The Indian elephant, when travelling, will some- 
times turn aside and break off a leafy branch from 
a roadside tree and carry it along in its trunk to 
sweep off the flies. As Dr. Wesley Mills says in 
his work on ' The Nature and Development of 
Animal Intelligence,' ' It was formerly believed 
that animals cannot reason, but only those persons 
who do not themselves reason about the subject, 
with the facts before them, can any longer occupy 
such a position.' 


V. Conclusion. 

It is enough. The ancient gulf scooped by 
human conceit between man and the other animals 
has been effectually and forever filled up. The 
human species constitutes but one branch in the 
gigantic arbour of life. And all the merit and all 
the feeling and all the righteousness of the world 
are not, as we have been accustomed to aver, con- 
gested into this one branch. And all of the weak- 
ness and deformity are not, as we have also been 
anxious to believe, found elsewhere. The reluctance 
of wrinkles and deformities to appear in the pictures 
of men, and of strength and beauty to appear in 
the representations of the other races of the earth, 
is to be accounted for by the highly elucidative 
fact that man is the universal portrait-painter. 
There is no one to tell man what he is and how 
he strikes others, and hence he is the ' paragon of 
creation ' — the inter-stellar pet, half clay and half 
halo — the image and pride of the gods — the flower 
and gem of the eternal spheres. Man is the only 
professional linguist in the universe. And it is 
fortunate for him that he is. For, if he were not, 
his auditories would be compelled to carry to his 
perceptive centres a great many sentiments he now 
never hears. He would be likely to hear a good 
deal said, and said with a good deal of feeling, 
about perpendicular brigand — grandiloquent kakis- 
tocrat swelling with self-righteousness — rhetorical 
hideful wrapped in pillage and gorged with decom- 
position — a voluble and sanctimonious squash with 


two sticks in it. The definition of man as it 
appears in the dictionary of the donkey probably 
runs something Hke this : ' Man is an animal that 
walks on its hind-legs, invents adjectives with 
which to praise itself, and displays its greatest 
utility in proving that all sharks are not aquatic' 
We know what a lion looks like when painted by 
a man, but human eyes have never yet been 
allumined by the sardonic lineaments of a man 
painted by a lion. Being boiled alive in order to 
look well as corpses in store-windows, and having 
wooden pegs thrust into our muscles and left there 
to rot for a week or two to keep us in our agony 
from doing something desperate — we know what 
these experiences are like when they are delegated 
to lobsters, and we take no more serious part in 
them than to insure their infliction, but we are 
too fervent barbarians to bother our heads about 
what they are like from the crustacean point of 

Let us be candid. Men are not all gentle men 
and humane, and not-men are not all inhuman. 
There are reptiles in broadcloth, and there are 
warm and generous hearts among those peoples 
who have so long suffered from human prejudice 
and ferocity. Let us label beings by what they 
are — by the souls that are in them and the deeds 
they do — not by their colour, which is pigment, 
nor by their composition, which is clay. There 
are philanthropists in feathers and patricians in 
fur, just as there are cannibals in the pulpit and 
saurians among the money-changers. The golden 


rule may sometimes be more religiously observed 
in the hearts and homes of outcast quadrupeds 
than in the palatial lairs of bipeds. The horse, 
who suffers and serves and starves in silence, who 
endures daily wrongs of scanty and irregular 
meals, excessive burdens and mangled flanks, 
who forgets cruelty and ingratitude, and does 
good to them that spitefully use him, and submits 
to crime without resistance, misunderstanding 
without murmur, and insult without resentment, 
is a better Christian, a better exemplar of the 
Sermon on the Mount, than many church-goers, 
in spite of the creeds and interdictions of men. 
And the animal who goes to church on Sundays, 
wearing the twitching skins and plundered plumage 
of others, and wails long prayers and mumbles 
meaningless rituals, and gives unearned guineas 
to the missionary, and on week-days cheats and 
impoverishes his neighbours, glorifies war, and 
tramples under foot the most sacred principles 
of morality in his treatment of his non-human 
kindred, is a cold, hard-hearted brute, in spite of 
the fact that he is cunning and vainglorious, and 
towers about on his hinders. 

There are lessons that may be learned from 
the uncorrupted children of Nature — lessons in 
simplicity of life, straightforwardness, humility, 
art, economy, brotherly love, and cheerfulness — 
more beautiful, perhaps, and more true than may 
sometimes be learned from the stilted and Machia- 
vellian ways of men. Would you learn forgiveness? 
Go to the dog. The dog can stand more abuse 


and forgive greater accumulations of wrong than 
any other animal, not even excepting a wife. 
About the only thing in the universe superior to 
the dog in willingness to undergo outrage is the 
human stomach. Would you learn wisdom and 
industry ? Go to the ant, that tireless toiler of 
the dust. The ant can do that which no man 
can do — keep grain in a warm, moist atmosphere 
without sprouting. Would you learn art ? Go 
to the bee or to the wild bird's lodge. The art 
of the honeycomb and of the hang-bird's nest 
surpasses that of the cranny of the savage as 
the Cathedral of St. Peter exceeds the cottage. 
Would you learn socialism, that dream of poets 
and the hope and expectation of wise men ? It is 
actualised around you in thousands of insect 
communities. The social and economic relations 
existing in the most highly wrought societies of 
bees and wasps are fundamentally the ideal rela- 
tions of living beings to each other, but it will 
require millenniums of struggle and bloodshed 
for men to come up to them. Would you learn 
curiosity — not the curiosity that gossips and 
backbites, but the curiosity of the explorer and 
searcher after knowledge ? Go to the monkey. 
The monkey has been known to work two hours, 
without pause, utterly unconscious of everything 
but its purposes, trying to open a fettered trunk 
lock (10). Would you learn sobriety ? Go not 
to the gilded hells of cities, where men die like 
flies in gin's vile miasma. Go to the spring where 
the antelope drinks. Would you learn chastity ? 


Go not to the foul dens and fiery chambers of 
men. Go to the boudoir of the bower-bird, or to 
the subterranean hollow where the wild wolf rears 
her litter. 

Man is not the surpassingly pre-eminent indi- 
vidual he so actively advertises himself to be. 
Indeed, in many particulars he is excelled, and 
excelled seriously, by those whom he calls ' lower.' 
The locomotion of the bird is far superior in ease 
and expedition to the shuffling locomotion of man. 
The horse has a sense which guides it through 
darkness in which human eyes are blind ; and the 
manner in which a cat, who has been carried in a 
bag and put down miles away, will turn up at 
the back-door of the old home next morning 
dumfounds science. The eye of the vulture is a 
telescope. The hound will track his master along 
a frequented street an hour behind his footsteps, 
by the imponderable odour of his soles. The cat- 
bird, without atlas or geographic manuals, will 
find her way back over hundreds of trackless 
leagues, season after season, to the same old 
nesting-place in the thicket. Birds, thousands of 
them, journey from Mexico to Arctic America, 
from Algiers and Italy to Spitzbergen, from Egypt 
to Siberia, and from Australia and the Polynesian 
Islands to New Zealand, and build their nests and 
rear their young, year after year, in the same vale, 
grove, or tundra. The nightingale, who pours 
out his incomparable lovesong in the twilight of 
English lanes during May and June, winters in 
the heart of Africa ; and some birds nest within the 


Arctic Circle and winter in Argentina. Some of 
the plovers travel the entire length of the American 
land mass every summer, from Patagonia to the 
Arctic Circle, in order to lay three or four pale- 
green eggs, and see them turn to birdlings by the 
shores of the Hudson Sea. Many animals have 
the power to foretell storms, and man, though he 
can weigh worlds, is ever glad to profit by their 
superior sense. When herons fly high above the 
clouds, when sea-birds dip and sport in the water 
and the bittern booms from the marshes, when 
swallows fly low and the sow repairs her bed, 
when horses scamper and cattle sniff the air, 
when ravens beat the air with their wings, make 
noises, and flock together, when the swan raises 
her eggs by additions to her nest and the prairie- 
dog scratches the dirt up around its hole, when 
beetles are not found in the air and caterpillars 
mass in their webs, when bees remain near their 
hives and ants carry their eggs to their innermost 
abodes, when frogs croak more loudly from their 
watery retreats and fishes seek the safety of the 
unharried deeps — look out for foul weather ! Man 
has not the sweetness of the song-sparrow, the 
innocence of the fawn, nor the high relative brain 
capacity of the tomtit and the fice. 

Many animals have powers by which they are 
able to act in concert at times, vast numbers of 
them moving in unison over immense areas by 
signals or intuitions which man can neither 
imitate nor understand. Such are the mysterious 
migrations of the Norway lemming and of many 


birds and insects, and such were the memorable 
stampedes of the bison hordes on the American 
plains in years gone by. Kropotkin saw on the 
Siberian steppes one autumn ' thousands and 
thousands ' of fallow deer come together from an 
area as large as Great Britain at a point on the 
Amur River in an unprecedented exodus to the 
lowlands on the other side (20). How these scat- 
tered thousands knew when to start so as to arrive 
at the river at the same time, and how they knew 
the direction to travel and found their way so 
well, are mysteries which man can as yet only 
wonder at. More marvellous yet — more marvel- 
lous, perhaps, than the concurrent action of any 
other animal, for it implies the most accurate 
time-keeping extending over many years — are the 
annual festivals of the palolo, an annelid living 
among the interstices of the coral reefs of some 
of the islands of the South Pacific. About three 
o'clock on the morning following the third quarter 
of the October moon, these worms invariably 
appear on the surface of the sea, swarming in 
great numbers. Just after sunrise their bodies 
begin to break to pieces, and by nine o'clock no 
trace of them is left. On the morning following 
the third quarter of the November moon they 
appear again, but usually in smaller numbers. After 
that they are seen no more till the next October. 
This annual swarming is a phenomenon connected 
with reproduction, the ova escaping from the 
broken bodies of the females and, after being 
fertilised by the free-floating sperms, sinking 


down among the coral reefs and hatching into a 
new generation. ' Year after year these creatures 
appear according to lunar time. And yet in the 
long-run they keep solar time. They keep two 
cycles, one of three and one of twenty-nine years. 
In the three-year cycle there are two intervals of 
twelve lunations and one of thirteen lunations. 
These thirty -seven lunations bring lunar time 
somewhat nesir to solar time. But in twenty-nine 
years there is enough difference to require the 
addition of another lunation; the twenty -ninth 
year is therefore one of thirteen instead of twelve 
lunations. In this way they do not change their 
season in an entire century. So unfailing is their 
appearance that in Samoa they have given their 
name to the spring season, which is called " the 
time of the palolo." ' 

Instead of the highest, man is in some respects 
the lowest, of the animal kingdom. Man is the 
most unchaste, the most drunken, the most selfish 
and conceited, the most miserly, the most hypo- 
critical, and the most bloodthirsty of terrestrial 
creatures. Almost no animals, except man, kill 
for the mere sake of killing. For one being to 
take the life of another for purposes of selfish 
utility is bad enough. But the indiscriminate 
massacre of defenceless innocents by armed and 
organised psicks, just for pastime, is beyond charac- 
terisation. The human species is the only species 
of animals that plunges to such depths of atrocity. 
Even vipers and hyenas do not exterminate for 
recreation. No animal, except man, habitually 


seeks wealth purely out of an insane impulse to 
accumulate. And no animal, except man, gloats 
over accumulations that are of no possible use to 
him, that are an injury and an abomination, and 
in whose acquisition he may have committed 
irreparable crimes upon others. There are no 
millionaires — no professional, legalised, lifelong 
kleptomaniacs — among the birds and quadrupeds. 
No animal, except man, spends so large a part of 
his energies striving for superiority — not superiority 
in usefulness, but that superiority which consists 
in simply getting on the heads of one's fellows. 
And no animal practises common, ordinary 
morality to the other beings of the world in which 
he lives so little, compared with the amount he 
preaches it, as man. 

Let us be honest. Honour to whom honour 
is due. It will not emaciate our own glory to 
recognise the excellence and reality of others, or 
to come face to face with our own frailties. We 
are our brother's keeper. Our brethern are they 
that feel. Let us universalise. Our thoughts and 
sympathies have been too long wingless. The 
Universe is our Country, and our Kindred are the 
Populations that Mourn. It is well — it is eminently 
well, for it is godlike — to send our Magnanimity to 
the Dusts and the Deeps, our Sunrises to the Utter- 
most Isles, and our Charity to the Stars. 


(i) Romanes : Mental Evolution in Animals ; New York, 

(2) Burton : First Footsteps in East Africa ; London, 


(3) Lubbock : Origin of Civilisation ; New York, 1898. 

(4) Demoor : Evolution by Atrophy ; New York, 1899. 

(5) Darwin : Expression of Emotions in Men and Animals ; 

New York, 1899. 

(6) Starr : Human Progress ; Meadville, Pennsylvania, 


(7) Hartmann : Anthropoid Apes ; New York, 1901. 

(8) Brehm : From North Pole to Equator ; London, 1896. 

(9) Stanley: In Darkest Africa, vol i. ; New York, 1890. 

(10) Romanes : Animal Intelligence ; New York, 1899. 

(11) Evans: Evolutional Ethics and Animal Psychology; 

New York, 1898. 

(12) Jesse: Gleanings in Natural History, vol. i. ; London, 


(13) Peckham and Peckham : Instincts and Habits of the 

Solitary Wasps ; Madison, Wisconsin, 1898. 

(14) Cornish: Animals of To-day ; London, 1898. 

(15) Darwin: Descent of Man ; London, 1874. 

(16) Huxley: On the Origin of Species, lecture iii. 

(17) Thompson : Wild Animals I have Known ; New York, 


(18) Brehm: Thierleben ; Leipzig, 1880. 

(19) Gilbraith : Ethnological Journal, 1869, p. 304. 

(20) Kropotkin: Mutual Aid a Factor of Evolution; New 

York, 1902. 

(21) Morgan : Animal Behaviour ; London, 1900. 

241 16 






V. MODERN ETHICS ----- 267 

HUMAN BEINGS .... 272 
XII. CONCLUSION ..... 324 

243 16—2 

One of the wisest things ever said by one of the pro- 
foundest philosophers of all time was the warning to the 
seeker after truth to beware of the influence of the ' idols 
(or illusions) of the tribe/ by which he meant that body of 
traditional prejudices which every sect, family, nation, and 
neighbourhood has clinging to it, and in the midst of which 
and at the mercy of which every human being grows up. 



I. Human Nature a Product of the Jungle. 

The Golden Rule is not exemplified by the 
conduct of any considerable number of the in- 
habitants of the earth. To be civilised or even 
half-civilised is, to the children of this world, 
neither instinctive nor easy. To preserve a 
certain pretence or appearance of virtue, especially 
when encouraged to do so by an uplifted cudgel 
in the hands of the community, is a possible and 
not uncommon accomplishment. But to be at 
heart and in reality as considerate of others as we 
are of ourselves is, unfortunately, not natural. 
Human beings are not children of the sun, so- 
journing for a season on this spheroid of clay, and 
needing only pinions to be angels. Human nature 
did not come, pure and shining, down from the 
glittering gods. It came out of the jungle. 
Civilised peoples are the not very remote posterity 
of savages, and savages are the posterity of indi- 
viduals who laid eggs and had literally cold blood 
in their veins. Civilised men and women are 
troglodytes with a veneering of virtue. In the 


heart of every ' civilised ' man and woman is an 
unconverted core, large or small, of barbarism. 
Humanity is only a habit. Against it, and tend- 
ing ever to weaken and subvert it, are the power- 
ful inertias of animalism. Like the ship in Ibsen's 
' Rhymed Epistle,' civilisation carries a corpse in 
its cargo — the elemental appetites and passions 
which have been implanted in all sentient nature 
by the laws in accordance with which organic 
forms have been fashioned. Moral progress is 
simply the sloughing off of this inherited animality. 
To the initiated, therefore, it is not strange 
that we civilised folk in our conduct display so 
freely the phenomena of the savage. There is 
nothing more inevitable in the life of the convert 
than the haunting inclination to give way to 
original impulses. It is not strange that we are 
powerless to be as good and beautiful and true as 
we would like to be, that our divine efforts are our 
half-hearted efforts, and that the only time we get 
terribly in earnest and put forth really titanic 
energies is when we are dominated directly or 
indirectly by the instincts of the pack. Human 
aspiration is fettered by the fearful facts of human 
origin. It is not strange that we are continually 
conscious of being torn by contending tendencies, 
conscious of ghastly masteries, and of horrible 
goings on in our innermost beings. The human 
heart is the gladiatorial meeting-place of gods and 


II. Egoism and Altruism. 

Everything has been evolved — everything — from 
daffodils to states and from ticks to religion. 
Every organic thing is the result of long and 
incessant survival of the advantageous — advanta- 
geous from the standpoint of the organism itself 
or from the standpoint of its kind, not necessarily 
so from the standpoint of the universe. That 
which is true of everything is true also of egoism 
and altruism. Egoism and altruism exist as facts 
in the natures of human and other beings for the 
same reason that the various physical facts exist 
in the structures of human and other beings, 
because they have been advantageous in the 
struggle for life. There is just as definite an 
explanation for the existence of egoism and 
altruism in this world, and for their existence in 
the particular form and ratio in which they do 
exist, as there is for the fact that the human hand 
has five fingers, the rose odour, and the eggs of the 
kildeer the mottled markings of the clods among 
which they lie. 

Egoism is preference for self, partiality toward 
that part of the universe bounded by one's own 
skin. It may consist simply of regard for self, 
but with regard for self is usually associated 
enmity toward others. Egoism manifests itself 
in such qualities of mind as selfishness, cruelty, 
intolerance, hate, hardheartedness, savagery, rude- 
ness, injustice, narrowness, and the like. It is the 
primal impulse of the living heart. Enmity is 


older and more universal than love. Enmity con- 
stituted the very loins from vi^hich long ago came 
the original miscreants of this world. 

' I saw the fishes playing there ; 
I saw all that was in the whole world round ; 
In wood, and bower, and marsh, and mead, and field, 
All things which creep and fly, 
And put a foot to earth. 
All these I saw, and say to you, 
That nothing lives among them without hate.' 

Life has been developed through selection. This 
selection has been brought about largely through 
war — war between individuals and between groups 
of individuals. War and competition are struggle 
between living beings, and the soul of competition 
is selfishness. Egoism is the primal and most 
powerful of terrestrial impulses, because beings 
hated and exterminated each other before they 
tolerated and loved, and because struggle has 
far overshadowed cooperation as a factor in life 

There are those who believe that mutual aid 
has been a more dynamic factor in the develop- 
ment of terrestrial life than competition. Co- 
operation has been an important element in the 
evolution of animal life, and it has operated 
among nearly all animals, from the humblest to 
the highest. Far down near the beginning of 
organic existence we find the one-celled forms 
huddling together in colonies, giving rise in the 
course of time to the many-celled animals. But 
to conclude that cooperation is the chief factor in 


animal development is to shut one's eyes to one of 
the most obvious and overwhelming facts of organic 
evolution. Individualism antedates mutualism, 
both among the one-celled forms and among the 
many-celled metazoa. Cooperation everywhere is 
the sequence of a long preliminary of individual 
contention. And cooperation does not mean 
cessation of struggle, either among those co- 
operating or among the groups themselves, as 
Kropotkin and other exaggerators of the mutual 
aid factor seem to assume. It usually does little 
more than transfer the struggle from individuals 
to groups. When a lot of pelicans or wolves get 
together and work together in order that they may 
thereby the better defend themselves or slay others, 
it is hard to see how such facts can be placed to 
the credit of cooperation any more than to that 
of competition. Then, too, excepting in a few 
societies of insects, cooperation has not gone so 
far as to do more than slightly alleviate the 
competition even among the members of a co- 
operating group. Competition is a much more 
common and influential fact in the phenomena of 
life than cooperation, for it involves a large part 
of the activity of individual life, and is also promi- 
nent in all social activities. 

The preponderance of egoism in the natures of 
living beings is the most mournful and immense 
fact in the phenomena of conscious life. It has 
made the world the kind of world it would have 
been had the gods actually emptied their wrath 
vials upon it. Brotherhood is anomalous, and, 


even in its highest manifestations, is but the 
expression of a veiled and calculating egoism. 
Inhumanity is everywhere. The whole planet is 
steeped in it. Every creature faces an inhospi- 
table universeful, and every life is a campaign. It 
has all come about as a result of the mindless and 
inhuman manner in which life has been developed 
on the earth. It has been said that an individual 
of unlimited faculties and infinite goodness and 
power made this world and endowed it with ways 
of acting, and that this individual, as the world's 
executive, continues to determine its phenomena 
by inspiring the order of its events. But one 
cannot help thinking sometimes, when, in his 
more daring and vivid moments, he comes to 
comprehend the real character and condition of 
the world, what a discrepancy exists between the 
reputation of this builder and his works, and 
cannot help wondering whether an ordinary 
human being with only common-sense and insight 
and an average concern for the welfare of the 
world would not make a great improvement in 
terrestrial affairs if he only had the opportunity 
for a while. 

Altruism is the recognition of, and regard for, 
others. It shows itself in feelings of justice, good- 
will, tenderness, charity, pity, public spirit, sym- 
pathy, fraternity and love, and in acts of kindness, 
humanity, mercy, generosity, politeness, philan- 
thropy and the like. Altruism is a graft. The 
stock is selfishness and brutality. Altruism (the 
form of altruism to which I here refer : there are 


several distinct species of altruism) has come into 
the world as a result of cooperation and con- 
sanguinity. It has grown out of the cooperation 
of individuals in families and tribes against their 
cooperating enemies. Altruism — at least, in its 
initial stages — is a sort of tribal egoism. Men and 
other animals have learned to stand by each other 
and help each other against their common foes 
because it was the only way in which they were 
able to stand. Those aggregates that have had 
strongest this feeling of fraternity have prospered 
and prevailed, while the less fraternal have gone 

The altruism manifested by men in their rela- 
tions with each other is not different in kind from 
the altruism and cooperation displayed by other 
social animals. Human gregariousness — the gather- 
ing together of human beings into tribes and 
communities for purposes of companionship and 
defence — is a part of the phenomena of animal 
gregariousness in general. The inhabitants of a 
human town, however much they may think so, are 
not impelled to associate with each other and to 
cooperate with each other in the affairs of life by 
causes or considerations different from those which 
actuate a society of ants or apes, of wasps or 
wolves, who do the same things. The ante- 
cedents of human ethics and society are, there- 
fore, to be looked for in the ant-hill and the 

The fact that altruism has been evolved by the 
cooperation of individuals with each other and 


against others is a significant fact in the analysis 
and understanding of the ethical phenomena of 
the earth. To this fact is due the restricted and 
illogical character of all altruism. The ethical 
systems of all peoples are, and have always been, 
to a greater or less extent, provincial and contra- 
dictory. Ethical feeling and practice are not 
extended universally — that is, to all beings — but 
are maintained only among those associating 
more or less closely as a group, and having 
interests that are more or less nearly the same. 
Among men of primitive mind, morality is a thing 
to be practised toward only a few thousand or 
even a few hundred individuals, and then in a 
very half-awake and half-hearted manner. But 
as the perceptions sharpen and vivify and the 
horizon of knowledge widens — as commerce and 
imagination cause the mind to overflow the narrow 
bounds of the community into larger dimensions 
of time and space — as the myriad influences 
operating as race experience and race selection 
enable men to realise the wider and wider oneness 
of their origin, natures, interests, and destiny — 
an increasing consistency characterises the con- 
duct among the members of the group, and an 
increasingly larger number of individuals are 
admitted to ethical consideration and kinship. 

III. The Ethics of the Savage. 

The ethics of the savage is, almost without 
exception, purely tribal in its extent. A marked 
distinction is everywhere made by primitive peoples 


between injuries to persons inside the tribe and 
injuries to those outside the tribe. Crimes which 
are looked upon as felonious when committed by 
a savage against the members of his own tribe 
may be regarded as harmless, or even highly com- 
mendable, when perpetrated on those outside the 
tribe. Acts are not judged according to their 
intrinsic natures or results, but wholly as to 
whether they are performed on outsiders or on 
insiders. The Balantis (Africa) punish with death 
a theft committed against a fellow-tribesman, but 
encourage and reward thieving from other tribes. 
The Afridi (Afghanistan) mother prays that her 
son may be a successful robber — not a robber of 
her own people, but of other peoples — and in 
order that he may become proficient in crime 
teaches him to creep stealthily through a hole in 
the wall. By certain Bedouin tribes the * strenu- 
ous life ' is held in such high honour that ' it is 
considered a disgrace to die in bed ' ; and among 
the man-eating Fijians ' men who have not slain 
an enemy suffer the most degrading of all punish- 
ments ' (i). In the paradise of the Kukis (India) 
the cut-throats who have in life killed the largest 
number of aliens not only inherit the highest 
places, but these adepts of the knife are supposed 
to be attended in their celestial comings and 
goings by their victims as slaves (i). In his 
dealings with the other members of his tribe, the 
savage observes a certain rude code of morals, 
this code being usually, as in the case of the 
civilised code, an inglorious mixture of equity and 


brutality, superstition and sanity, honesty and 
hypocrisy. But the savage recognises no moral 
obligations to any being outside of his tribe, 
clan, or family. Anthropology teaches nothing 
more positively than this. Consanguinity and 
self-interest are the only bases of savage friend- 
ship. Outsiders are outlaws. They may be 
attacked, robbed, deceived, murdered, eaten, or 
enslaved, with perfect propriety. It was this 
general hostility of foreigners that Cain feared 
when he was turned out from his countrymen 
after his crime upon Abel. He knew that he was 
liable to be set upon by the first stranger that 
came upon him. So the Lord is said to have set 
a mark upon him, ' lest any finding him should 
kill him.' 

' There was no brotherhood recognised by our 
savage forefathers,' says Sir Henry Maine, in 
speaking of the ancestors of the Aryan and 
Semitic races, 'except actual consanguinity re- 
garded as a fact. If a man was not of kin to 
another, there was nothing between them. He 
was an enemy to be hated, slain, or despoiled as 
much as the wild beasts upon which the tribe 
made war, as belonging, indeed, to the craftiest 
and cruelest of wild animals. It would scarcely 
be too strong to assert that the dogs which 
followed the camp had more in common with it 
than the tribesmen of an alien and unrelated tribe ' 
(2). Among some tribes of savage men the ethical 
code is reversed in dealing with outsiders, and 
enmity toward aliens is considered a duty. 


This same senseless hostility toward every one 
from abroad, so spitefully exhibited by primitive 
men, is also manifested by ants, who immediately 
recognise and pounce upon an individual intro- 
duced from a foreign colony, but welcome with 
every demonstration of joy, even after a lapse of 
weeks or months, a returning member of their 
own society. The same spirit of exclusiveness 
is found also in elephants. If by accident an 
elephant becomes separated from his herd, he 
becomes an outcast and a fugitive, never being 
permitted in any circumstances to attach himself 
to another herd (3). 

That the savage should entertain feelings of 
friendship for those belonging to the same social 
unit as himself is, considering the circumstances 
in which it takes place, a perfectly natural phe- 
nomenon. The members of his tribe are, to the 
savage, the beings among whom he has come 
into existence, and in the midst of whom he has 
grown up. He knows and understands them, 
and is known and understood by them. They 
speak the same language as himself, and cherish 
the same customs and traditions. They have 
the same sacred trees, the same gods, the same 
experiences day after day, and the same memories, 
as he himself They are his associates in the 
chase, his allies in war, and his comrades in 
sorrow and success. They are the only beings 
into whose lives he has ever entered. They 
constitute his world, and are to him the only 
real beings in the universe. 


The members of his tribe are, moreover, to the 
savage, for the most part, his kinspeople. If 
they are not actually related to him by blood, 
they are usually conceived by him to be so related. 
The co-villagers of an Indian community call 
each other brothers. It is a characteristic of all 
the Aryan and Semitic races when in the tribal 
state to conceive that the tribes themselves, and 
all subdivisions of them, are descended each from 
a single male ancestor. The savage sees the 
living family of which he forms a part descended 
from a single living man and his wife or wives. 
This family group with which he is familiar and 
other similar groups make up the tribe. And the 
process by which each family has been brought 
about is in his mind identical with the process 
by which the community as a whole has been 
formed (2). It is a conception of this kind, 
handed down as a tradition from ancient tribal 
times, which causes the Jews even to-day to regard 
themselves as the ' seed ' of that venerable sheik 
who, so many centuries ago, led them as a band 
of nomads in their memorable migration westward 
from the plains of Mesopotamia. It is not strange, 
therefore, considering all of the circumstances in 
the midst of which the savage lives and moves, 
that he should look upon his fellow-tribesmen as 
beings to be distinguished by him from all other 
beings in the universe. 

Nor is it strange, when we consider the mental 
sterility of the savage, his lack of travel and 
imagination, the meagerness of his experiences, 


and his utter ignorance of the world beyond the 
community in which he Hves, that he should look 
upon and treat all outsiders as nobodies — as beings 
without any claims whatever upon his humanity 
or mercy. The imagination is the picturing power 
of the mind, the power by which beings are able 
to get out of themselves and into the places of 
others, the power which enables us to view the 
world comparatively — that is, from different points 
of view. This power of mind, which imparts to 
the higher types of intelligence their mobility and 
sympathy, is rudimentary in the savage. This 
has been proved by Tylor in his study of the 
comparative mythology of savages. It is this 
lack of imagination in the savage, combined with 
his ignorance and his simplicity of life, which 
gives to him his ferocity, and which renders him 
inaccessible to those higher sentiments of justice 
and righteousness which are — well, which are, at 
least, dreamed about and theorised about by the 
more evolved savages of the 'civilised world.' 
The world, to the simple mind of the sayage, is, as 
it is to the mind of the child, the world in which 
he lives and moves — the world which he feels, 
hears, tastes, and sees. The horizon is the boun- 
dary of the universe. Beings beyond his tribe are 
outside of the world. If they exist at all, it is as 
a very different order of beings from him and his 
people. They are not of kin to him, speak a 
strange tongue, and have monstrous customs and 
superstitions. How could they be in any way 
related to him ? They are his enemies — vague, 



villainous apparitions who appear to him only in 
the horrible ordeals of battle. His chief occupa- 
tion is the waging of war against them, and his 
keenest gratification is felt in laying them low. 
The accounts of all travellers testify that the 
intertribal relations of savages are, with few 
exceptions, those of chronic feud and hostility. 
The irreconcilable antagonism between the savage 
and those around him begets in the savage nature 
its dominating impulse — hate, hatred and hostility 
toward other men, as well as toward all other 
beings. In fact, the savage makes no moral 
distinction between man and the other animals, 
but regards them all indiscriminately as his foes, 
whom he must either use or remove from the face 
of the earth. The savage hunts men about as he 
hunts other animals, and for a like purpose. The 
Troglodytes hunted the Ethiopians in four-horse 
chariots with as little compunction as Americans 
hunt antelopes to-day. 

IV. The Ethics of the Ancient. 

But the doctrine that each petty tribe is the 
centre of the world and the only real and impor- 
tant people in the universe, and that all others 
are mere nobodies, is not peculiar to primitive 
peoples. Ethnocentric ethics — the ethics of amity 
toward their own tribe or state, their own clique 
or kind, and the ethics of enmity toward outsiders — 
has been manifested to a greater or less extent by 
the peoples of all times and of all degrees of 
enlightenment. Every people that has ever existed 


has had its own particular point of view, its own 
bias, its own knot-hole, large or small, through 
which it has looked at life and the world. This is 
inevitable. It arises as a necessary sequence out 
of the fact that all peoples above savages are 
the descendants of savages, and as such have 
inherited the limitations, mental and environ- 
mental, of those from whom they have evolved. 

Aliens had no legal rights in ancient times — 
none whatever. International cooperation, such 
as exists among the political societies of Europe 
and America to-day, was absolutely unknown. 
International relations were everywhere those of 
hostility. States and races looked upon each 
other as foes, as objects of plunder and victim- 
isation, not as friends. 

Caesar says of the ancient Germans that 
depredations committed beyond the boundaries 
of each state bore no infamy, and that stealing 
from aliens was even encouraged as a means of 
teaching their young men adroitness. 

The ancient Jews are an excellent illustration 
of a narrow and self-centred people. Not- 
withstanding their insignificance, politically and 
intellectually, as compared with the Egyptians, 
Greeks, and Persians, the Jews believed them- 
selves to be the only people of the first class 
inhabiting the earth. They conceived that they 
had been selected as favourites by the gods 
themselves, and that around their little district 
in half-arid Palestine revolved the interests of the 
entire world. Their chief city was supposed to 

17 — 2 


be the sacred and central city of the world, and 
heaven itself only a new and idealised edition of 
their metropolis. Every Jew was bound to every 
other Jew by high-wrought ceremony and obliga- 
tion. But all non-Jews were ' Gentiles,' chaff-like 
'pagans,' who possessed no rights which a 'child 
of Abraham ' was bound to respect. Their tribal 
god is said to have been so indulgent toward them 
as his ' chosen people ' that he allowed them to 
exact usury from foreigners, to sell them diseased 
meats, and to borrow jewels from them and after- 
wards run away with them. He even permitted 
them to make war upon weak peoples and dis- 
possess them of their lands. ' Whomsoever the 
Lord our God shall drive out from before us, 
them will we possess' (Judg. xi. 24). 

The kings of the ancient Assyrians were so 
accustomed to cruelties upon non-Assyrians, and 
were so proud of these cruelties, that they recorded 
them in stone as a claim to immortality among 
men. Assurbanipal, in speaking of the conquered, 
says : ' I pulled out their tongues and cut off their 
limbs, and caused them to be eaten by dogs, bears, 
eagles, vultures, birds of heaven.' Assur-natsir-pal, 
another wonderful fellow, boasts similarly : ' I 
flayed the nobles and covered the pyramid with 
their skins, and their young men and maidens I 
burned as a holocaust.' ' Their carcasses covered 
the valleys and the tops of the mountains,' says 
Tiglath-Pileser in his account of the slain Mus- 
kayans ; and Sennacherib informs us proudly that 
he drove his chariot over the dead bodies of his 


victims until ' its wheels were clogged with flesh 
and blood.' ' Evidently,' remarks Spencer, in 
speaking of these monstrous inscriptions, 'the 
expectation was that men of after-times would 
admire these merciless destructions; for we cannot 
assume that these Assyrian kings intentionally 
made themselves eternally infamous ' (i). 

To the ancient Greeks there were two classes of 
human beings in the world : Greeks and ' barbar- 
ians.' The Greeks were the inhabitants of Hellas, 
which was believed to be the central region of 
the world, and the ' barbarians ' were the godless 
denizens of the less-favoured and less centrally 
located remainder of the earth. The world was 
believed to be flat or shield-shaped, and in its 
exact centre stood Mount Olympus in northern 
ThessaJy. This mountain, which is 9,700 feet 
high, was supposed to be the highest elevation on 
the earth, and was the awful abode of the gods. 
The Greeks called themselves Hellenes. According 
to their fabled genealogy, they were the descend- 
ants of Hellen, son of Deucalion, the Greek Noah. 
While they were often at war with each other, 
they spoke a common language, and always 
regarded themselves as members of a single 
family. All non-Greeks were ' barbarians,' in- 
cluding the Romans, who were called ' barbarians ' 
down to the time of Augustus. While the Greeks 
themselves traced their ancestry back to the bright 
blood of the gods, the ' barbarians ' were generally 
supposed to have originated from stones and trees. 
The ' barbarians ' were looked upon and treated 


by the Greeks everywhere as a different order of 
beings from themselves. Those taken by them in 
war were regularly reduced to slavery. The slave 
population created in this way was increased by 
the slave traffic carried on with the East until the 
slave population of Greece was several times as 
great as the free population. The whole Hellenic 
world, in fact, even in the days of its greatest 
magnificence, was one vast pen of slaves. Almost 
every freeman of Attica was a slave-owner. Out 
of a population of about five hundred thousand, 
four hundred thousand were slaves. It was con- 
sidered a real hardship by the Greeks to be com- 
pelled to get along with less than a half-dozen 
slaves. In Corinth and ^gina there were ten 
slaves to one freeman. In Sparta the slaves were 
the vanquished Helots, the original inhabitants 
of the Peloponnesus, whom the Spartans had 
conquered and reduced to chains in early times. 
Their lot was particularly horrible. They were 
the property of the state, and were distributed to 
the Spartan lords by lot. ' They practically had 
no rights which their masters felt bound to re- 
spect. If one of their number displayed unusual 
powers of either body or mind, he was secretly 
assassinated, as it was deemed unsafe to allow 
such qualities to be fostered in the servile class. 
It is affirmed [by Thucydides] that, when the Helots 
grew too numerous for the supposed safety of the 
state, their numbers were thinned by deliberate 
massacre of the surplus population ' (4). The 
conception of human slavery entertained by the 


:ommon mass of Greeks may be inferred from the 
Fact that philosophers Hke Aristotle taught that 
' slaves were simply domestic animals possessed 
of intelligence.' It is this fact, this utter lack of 
justice and humanity manifested by the Greeks in 
their treatment of non-Hellenic mankind, which 
gives to Greek 'civilisation' its seamy side. Greek 
society has been appropriately likened to a pyra- 
mid, its apex gleaming with light and splendour, 
while its base was sunk in darkness. 

N on- Romans were called ' barbarians ' also by 
the Romans, and were considered by the Romans 
to be an entirely different order of beings from 
themselves. Any splinter of a Roman was, 
according to the Romans, superior to the most 
illustrious ' barbarian.' Men were not treated 
nor estimated according to their intrinsic quali- 
ties, but wholly as to whether they were or were 
not ' Roman citizens.' To be a ' Roman citizen ' 
was to be entitled to everything ; to be a ' barbarian' 
was not to be entitled to anything necessarily, 
except to serve in some way the all-glorious 
Romans. The elaborate legal and ethical codes 
formulated by these masters of the Mediterranean 
were reserved religiously for themselves. The 
business of the ' barbarians ' was to furnish fields 
for pillage and conquest, to impart magnitude to 
triumphal pageants, to act as slaves, and to die 
by ignominiously butchering each other for the 
amusement of their bloodthirsty masters. ' Bar- 
barian ' lands were looked upon simply as game- 
preserves where ambitious captains from the Tiber 


went to refresh their reputations by hunting and 
victimising the inhabitants. The history of Rome 
is the history of infamy on a colossal, almost 
world-wide, scale. There has never been dis- 
played by any people pretending to be civilised 
such shameless savagery as that displayed by the 
Romans in their gladiatorial arenas, where men 
(generally the captives of war) were ' butchered to 
make a Roman holiday.' These tragedies, in their 
magnitude and atrocity, seem almost frightful 
when we read of them on the pages of history. 
They were generally celebrated by victorious cap- 
tains and emperors at the close of some unusual 
outrage against the ' barbarians,' or upon the 
departure of Roman legions for the field of activity. 
The celebrations sometimes lasted weeks, or even 
months. The Emperor Trajan celebrated his 
victories over the Dacians with shows that lasted 
more than a hundred days. During this horrible 
festival ten thousand men fought upon the arena, 
and more than ten thousand wild animals were 
slain. The gladiators in these ancient combats 
fought in chariots, on horseback, on foot — in all 
the ways in which soldiers fought in actual battle. 
They fought with swords, lances, daggers, tridents, 
and every other manner of weapon. Some had 
nets and lassoes with which they entangled their 
adversaries, and then slew them. The life of a 
wounded gladiator was in the hands of the 
spectators, who showed their clemency or their 
lack of it by turning their thumbs respectively 
down or up. The thirst of the populace for blood 


was sometimes such that the dying were aroused 
and forced on to the fight by burning with a 
hot iron. The dead bodies were dragged from 
the arena with hooks, like the carcasses of 
animals, and the pools of blood soaked up with 
dry sand (5). There was an occasional Roman, 
like Seneca, sane enough to realise the real char- 
acter of these performances, and brave enough 
to denounce them as crimes. But by the great 
mass of all classes of Romans, even by those who 
pretended to think, they were regarded with per- 
fect moral indifference. The excuse offered by 
Pliny was generally concurred in by his country- 
men, that these bloody shows were necessary for 
the cultivation of manliness and for keeping 
awake the strenuous and red-handed instincts in 
the young. 

Scarce less revolting than the gladiatorial arena, 
in its violation of every principle of humanity, 
was the institution of human slavery. During the 
later republic and the earlier empire, one -half 
the population of the Roman state was slaves. 
The slave population was recruited chiefly, as in 
Greece, by war and by slave-hunting. Slave- 
traders and slave-markets flourished both in the 
capital itself and in all the great ports visited by 
Roman ships. Some of the outlying provinces of 
Asia and Africa were almost depopulated by the 
slave-hunters. Greek slaves were the highest- 
priced, because the most intelligent. Among the 
wealthy, who, like the illiterate rich of every age, 
dawdled their time in ostentation, there were 


slaves for each different function in the house- 
hold. There were the cubicularii, who acted as 
housemaids ; the triclinarii, who waited at table ; 
the culinarii, who acted as kitchen drudges ; and 
the balnearii, who looked after the baths. Then 
there were tonsores, or barbers ; criniflores, or hair- 
crimpers ; calceatores, who took care of the feet ; 
and lectores, whose business it was to read aloud 
to their masters at meals, in the bath, or in bed. 
The ostiarius, who was sometimes chained in the 
vestibule like a dog, was the porter; the invitator 
summoned the guests ; and the serviis ab hospitiis 
looked after their lodgment. There was the slave 
called the sandalio, whose sole duty was to care for 
his master's sandals ; and another, called the nomen- 
clator, whose exclusive business it was to accom- 
pany his master when he went upon the street, 
and give him the names of such persons as he 
ought to recognise. The common punishment 
for a refractory slave was beating. If the runaway 
were caught, as he could hardly fail to be, since 
there were extremely heavy penalties for harbour- 
ing or assisting him, he was either branded or had 
an iron collar like a dog's welded around his neck, 
or his legs were fettered, or, in exaggerated or 
repeated cases of offence, he was at once turned 
into the arena or otherwise put to death. If he 
attempted to take personal vengeance upon his 
master for any wrong whatsoever, his whole family 
shared his fate, and the regular form of capital 
punishment for a slave was crucifixion under the 
most ignominious and agonising circumstances (6). 


' In many cases, as a measure of precaution, the 
slaves were forced to work in chains and to sleep 
in subterranean prisons. The feeling entertained 
toward this unfortunate class in the later repub- 
lican period is illustrated by Varro's classification 
of slaves as " vocal agricultural implements," and 
by Cato the Elder's recommendation that old and 
worn-out slaves be sold, as a matter of economy. 
Sick and hopelessly infirm slaves were taken to 
an island in the Tiber, and there left to die of 
starvation and exposure' (5). Slaves were prac- 
tically without any rights whatever to the world 
in which they lived. A Roman could take the Hfe 
of his Gallic slave with as complete impunity as 
an American can slay his bovine servant to-day. 
Romans, in short, looked upon and treated non- 
Romans about as human beings to-day look upon 
and treat non-humans — as mere prey. 

V. Modern Ethics. 

But the peoples of the ancient world are not 
the only human beings who have suffered from 
the psychological bequests of savages. Modern 
states and peoples, notwithstanding their far-flung 
professions of righteousness, manifest, though in a 
somewhat weakened form, the same ethnic preju- 
dices and the same senseless antipathies as those 
displayed by the ancients. Remnants of the 
primitive tribal morality are found in the moral 
habits and conceptions of every people, however 
emancipated they may imagine themselves to be. 
Many a person who would not think of swindling 


one of his neighbours will not hesitate to swindle 
a foreigner, especially if the foreigner happens to 
be of a nationality much removed in language, 
colour, manners, or interests from his own. 
Morality is genetic. It is not a consistent some- 
thing — something reasoned out and framed accord- 
ing to the facts. It has grown up. It is essentially 
tribal — whether it is confined to a family, as is 
done by some, to a corporation or trade, to a 
nation, to an artificial fraternity, or to a species. 
We are, in fact, all of us, even the broadest and 
most illuminated, simply savages more or less 
leafed out. We all suffer, as men have always 
suffered, from the over-vividness of the presenta- 
tive powers of the mind (sensation and perception) 
compared with the representative powers (memory 
and imagination). We all exaggerate out of their 
proper perspective in the phenomena of a universe 
the things that are around us and about us — the 
events we witness or take part in, the things that 
are ours, and the aifairs of the street, city, state, 
neighbourhood, world, and time, in which we live. 
Every human being (the sage less than the savage, 
but the sage to some extent) is inclined to lump 
together as foreign to him, and as more or less 
useless and shadowy in themselves, the things, 
beings, and events that are distant, and to con- 
sider' them of less reality than those with which 
he is directly concerned, and of which his know- 
ledge is immediate. The evolution of consciousness 
in its social and ethical aspects consists in the evolution 
of the ability to make real and vivid the phenomena 


that are more and more distant in both space and 

The Chinese call their country 'the flower of 
the middle,' and believe it to be the central and 
choicest portion of the earth's surface. All those 
beyond the bounds of ' The Heavenly Flower 
Kingdom ' are, by those on the inside, venomously 
lumped together as ' foreign devils.' The people 
of Spain look upon themselves in much the same 
way as the Chinese look upon themselves, although 
they are in reality the most belated of all peoples 
to-day pretending to be civilised. There are a 
few travelled and educated Spaniards who realise 
the pitiful place held by their country in the 
family of reputable states. ' But the great mass 
of the people are not only perfectly satisfied with 
their condition, but consider themselves the most 
fortunate of all God's creatures. They never go 
outside of their country and never read a foreign 
newspaper or book. Like the Chinese, they con- 
sider other nations barbarians, and point to Madrid 
as the centre of civilisation.' The French, down 
to the nineteenth century, confiscated the property 
of all aliens who died within the realm ; and the 
savage practice of punishing one alien for the 
crimes of another alien was sanctioned by the 
laws of England down to the middle of the 
fourteenth century. It has been only a day 
in the history of the world since Caucasians 
hunted their dusky brothers in Africa like ' wild 
animals,' and sold and loaned and lashed them 
as we do horses to-day. Men now living can 


remember when it made no difference how exalted 
in character men might be: if a certain pigment of 
their bodies was dark, they were ' niggers.' They 
had no 'souls' as pale men had, and no more 
chance of paradise than cattle. At the beginning 
of the nineteenth century, incredible as it may 
seem, every country of Europe and America held 
slaves, and was engaged in the soulless avocation 
of man-hunting in Africa. Tens of thousands of 
Africa's children were annually seized by prowling 
pirate bands and exported to distant lands to 
wear their lives out in disgrace and drudgery. It 
was not until the latter part of the nineteenth 
century that civilised nations, following the initia- 
tive of England, finally abolished human slavery, 
the United States and Brazil being the last to act. 
The Christian sneers at all who do not bow down 
to his deities and worship according to his ritual, 
as ' heathens ' or ' freethinkers,' and to the Mos- 
lem all who are not followers of 'the True 
Prophet ' are ' infidel dogs.' The history of these 
two religions is a chronicle of almost unparalleled 
crimes upon disbelievers. 

But it is not necessary to go to Arabia or 
Cathay, nor even necessary to read history, in 
order to find examples of bigotry and provincial- 
ism. It is only necessary to open our eyes. 
Americans are not a peculiar people — unless it be 
in the unbridled character of their conceit. All 
the barbarism is not behind us nor around us. 
History looks dark and discouraging to us, as we 
turn its terrible pages, but we would see some- 


thing just as discouraging if we would look into a 
mirror. The old savage spirit still circulates in 
our veins. The ' foreigner ' is not an enemy, but 
he is still an individual whose chief significance is 
in his ' fleece.' If the ' foreigner ' did not ease 
our economic theories by benevolently ' paying 
the tax,' it would be hard to tell what would 
become of him. Those who suffer from a different 
government, speak a different language, or laud 
other gods are regarded by us as distinctly inferior 
to ourselves. Millions of dollars are annually 
squandered by self-righteous societies in sending 
missionaries to the other side of the planet to 
peoples who need evangels of mercy and humanity 
far less than we do ourselves. In these times of 
ecclesiastical enterprise, however, missionaries are 
being superseded, as agents of evangelisation, by 
the more effective inventions of Messrs. Maxim 
and Krupp. ' American ' is regarded by us as the 
synonym of perfection, and to be ' patriotic ' is to 
give unthinking enthusiasm to every scheme in- 
cubated by wolfish spoilsmen. Crimes of conquest 
carried on by others become, when undertaken by 
us, shining masterpieces of ' benevolent assimila- 
tion.' We are not so far from the naked and 
unkempt contemporaries of the cave-bear and 
sabre-toothed lion as we imagine we are. To 
carry a bayonet, and especially to redden it with 
an alien's blood, is here in this degenerate 
land of Jefferson, more glorious than to create 
a book. Captains particularly competent as 
butchers, though their characters be as coarse as a 


savage chief's, are hailed as heroes by thousands 
besides silly women, and held up, like the cut- 
throats of the Kukis, as the highest exemplars of 
right-doing. Old Rameses, holding by their hair 
a half-dozen dwarfs, and ostentatiously cutting off 
their heads with a single sweep of his sword, finds 
his modern counterpart in miserable Americans 
pompously gloating over the offhand slaughter of 
the children of distant archipelagoes. 

VI. The .Ethics of Human Beings toward Non- 
Human Beings. 

But the most mournful instance of provincial 
ethics afforded by the inhabitants of the earth is 
not that furnished by the varieties of the human 
species in their conduct toward each other, but 
that afforded by the human race as a whole in 
its treatment of the non-human races. Human 
nature is nowhere so hideous, and human con- 
science is nowhere so profoundly inoperative, as in 
their disregard for the life and happiness of the 
non-human animal world. With the develop- 
ment of the representative powers of the mind, 
the widening and mutualising of human activities, 
and the consequent enlargement of the human 
horizon, the feeling of amity has spread and 
intensified, until to-day, notwithstanding all that 
is true of human sectionalism, the ethical systems 
of civilised peoples include, theoretically at least, 
and more or less seriously, all human beings 
whatsoever. Ethical consciousness has extended 
from individual to family, from family to clan, 


from clan to tribe, from tribe to confederac)', 
from confederacy to kingdom, from kingdom to 
race, from race to species, until, in the case of 
many millions of men, ethical feeling has reached, 
with greater or less vividness and consistency, the 
anthropocentric stage of evolution. The fact that 
an individual is a man — that is, that he belongs to 
the human species of animals — entitles him in all 
civilised lands to the fundamental rights and 
privileges of existence. The rights to life, liberty, 
and the pursuit of happiness are believed to-day, by 
all exalted minds, to be the inalienable properties 
of every human being who comes into the world. 

But, except by occasional individuals here and 
there whose emotions are more civilised than the 
rest, or whose conceptions are more ample and 
clear, ethical relations are not extended by human 
beings beyond the bounds of their own species. 
Non-human millions are outsiders. They are 
looked upon and treated by human beings as if 
they were an entirely different order of existences, 
with entirely different purposes and susceptibilities, 
from human beings. They are not considered to 
be living beings at all, as human beings are, 
who are here in the world to enjoy life and 
all that life holds that is dear to a living being. 
They belong to the same class of existences as 
the waves of the sea and the weeds of the field. 
They are looked upon as mere things — mere 
moving, multiplying objects, without the slightest 
equity in the world in which they find themselves. 
They may be set upon, beaten, maimed, starved, 



assassinated, eaten, insulted, deceived, imprisoned, 
robbed, tormented, skinned alive, shot down foi 
pastime, cut to pieces out of curiosity, or com- 
pelled to undergo any other enormity or victimisa- 
tion anybody can think of or is disposed to visit 
upon them. It is enough almost to make knave; 
shudder, the cold-blooded and business-like man- 
ner in which we cut their throats, dash out theii 
brains, and discuss their flavour at our cannibal- 
istic feasts. As Plutarch says, ' Lions, tigers 
and serpents we call savage and ferocious, yel 
we ourselves come behind them in no species o: 
barbarity.' Accustomed from our cradle up tc 
look upon violence and assassination, we have 
become so habituated and hardened to these thing; 
that we perpetrate them and see them perpetrated 
with the same indifference as that with which wf 
watch waves die on the beach. Human beings 
are, in fact (' paragons ' though they pretend tc 
be), the most predatory and brutal of all animals 
— the great bone - breakers and bone - pickers o 
the planet. 

It is scarcely possible, astounding as it is, tc 
commit crimes upon any beings in this world 
except men. There are no beings in the universe 
according to human beings, except themselves 
All others are commodities. They are of conse 
sequence only because they have thighs and cai 
fill up the unoccupied places of the human alimen 
tary. Human beings are 'persons,' and hav( 
souls and gods and places to go to when they die 
But the hundreds of thousands of other races o 


terrestrial inhabitants are mere ' animals,' mere 
' brutes,' and ' beasts of the field,' ' livestock ' and 
' vermin.' Every crime capable of being perpe- 
trated by one being upon another is day after day 
rained upon them, and with an equanimity that 
would do honour to the managers of an inferno. 
Human beings preach as the cardinal rule of 
morality — and they seem never to tire of its 
reiteration — that they should do unto others as 
they would that others would do unto them ; but 
they hypocritically confine its application to the 
members of their own crowd, notwithstanding 
there are the same reasons identically for extending 
it to all creatures. The happiness of the human 
species is assumed to be so much more precious 
than that of others that the most sacred interests 
of others are unhesitatingly sacrificed in order 
that human desires may all be fastidiously catered 
to. Even for a tooth or a feather or a piece of 
skin to wear on human vanity, forests are depopu- 
lated and the land filled with the dead and 
dying. Assassination is the commonest and most 
fashionable of human pastimes. Jaded systems 
are regularly recuperated by massacre. Men arm 
themselves — men who roar about 'rights,' and 
even ministers of mercy — and go out on killing 
expeditions with as little compunction as savages 
put on war-paint. They come back from their 
campaigns of crime like the cut-throats of old 
Rome, trailing their victims as trophies, and 
expecting to be hailed as heroes for the hells they 
have established. Barbarians preponderate, and 



morality is turned inside out. Cruelty is lionised, 
and broad-mindedness is rewarded with a sneer. 
Compassion is a disease, and to be fashionable 
is to be a fiend. If non-human peoples had no 
nerves and no choice of emotions, and were utterly 
indifferent to life, they could scarcely be treated 
more completely as personal nonentities. 

The denial by human animals of ethical rela- 
tions to the rest of the animal world is a 
phenomenon not differing either in character or 
cause from the denial of ethical relations by a 
tribe, people, or race of human beings to the rest 
of the human world. The provincialism of Jews 
toward non-Jews, of Greeks toward non-Greeks, of 
Romans toward non- Romans, of Moslems toward 
non-Moslems, and of Caucasians toward non-Cau- 
casians, is not one thing, and the provincialism of 
human beings toward non-human beings another. 
They are all manifestations of the same thing. 
The fact that these various acts are performed by 
different individuals and upon different individuals, 
and are performed at different times and places, 
does not invalidate the essential sameness of their 
natures. Crimes are not classified (except by 
savages or their immediate derivatives) according 
to the similarity of those who do them or those 
who suffer from them, but by grouping them 
according to the similarity of their intrinsic quah- 
ties. All acts of provincialism consist essentially 
in the disinclination or inability to be universal, 
and they belong in reality, all of them, to the 
same species of conduct. There is, in fact, but 


one great crime in the universe, and most of the 
instances of terrestrial wrong-doing are instances 
of this crime. It is the crime of exploitation — the 
considering by some beings of themselves as 
ends, and of others as their means — the refusal to 
recognise the equal, or the approximately equal, 
rights of all to life and its legitimate rewards — the 
crime of acting toward others as one would that 
others would not act toward him. For millions 
of years, almost ever since life began, this crime 
has been committed, in every nook and quarter of 
the inhabited globe. 

Every being is an end. In other words, every 
being is to be taken into account in determining 
the ends of conduct. This is the only consistent 
outcome of the ethical process which is in course 
of evolution on the earth. This world was not 
made and presented to any particular clique for 
its exclusive use or enjoyment. The earth belongs, 
if it belongs to anybody, to the beings who inhabit 
it — to all of them. And when one being or set of 
beings sets itself up as the sole end for which the 
universe exists, and looks upon and acts toward 
others as mere means to this end, it is usurpation, 
nothing else and never can be anything else, it 
matters not by whom or upon whom the usurpa- 
tion is practised. A tyrant who puts his own 
welfare and aggrandisement in the place of the 
welfare of a people, and compels the whole people 
to act as a means to his own personal ends, is not 
more certainly a usurper than is a species or 
variety which puts its welfare in the place of the 


welfare of all the inhabitants of a world. The 
refusal to put one's self in the place of others and to 
act toward them as one would that they would 
act toward him does not depend for its wrongful- 
ness upon who makes the refusal or upon whether 
the refusal falls upon this or that individual or set. 
Deeds are right and wrong in themselves ; and 
whether they are right or wrong, good or evil, 
proper or improper, whether they should be done 
or should not be done, depends upon their effects upon 
the welfare of the inhabitants of the universe. The 
basic mistake that has ever been made in this 
egoistic world in the judging and classifying of 
acts has been the mistake of judging and classify- 
ing them with reference to their effects upon 
some particular fraction of the inhabitants of the 
universe. In pure egoism conduct is judged as 
good or bad solely with reference to the results, 
immediate or remote, which that conduct pro- 
duces, or is calculated to produce, on the self. 
To the savage, that is right or wrong which affects 
favourably or unfavourably himself or his tribe. And 
this sectional spirit of the savage has, as has been 
shown, characterised the moral conceptions of the 
peoples of all times. The practice human beings 
have to-day — the practice of those (relatively) 
broad and emancipated minds who are large enough 
to rise above the petty prejudices and 'patriotisms' 
of the races and corporations of men, and are able 
to view ' the world as their country ' (the world of 
human beings, of course) — the practice such minds 
have of estimating conduct solely with reference 


to its effects upon the human species of animals is 
a practice which, while infinitely broader and more 
nearly ultimate than that of the savage, belongs 
logically in the same category with it. The par- 
tially emancipated human being who extends his 
moral sentiments to all the members of his own 
species, but denies to all other species the justice 
and humanity he accords to his own, is making 
on a larger scale the same ethical mess of it as the 
savage. The only consistent attitude, since Darwin 
established the unity of life (and the attitude we 
shall assume, if we ever become really civilised) , is 
the attitude of universal gentleness and humanity. 

'The world is my country,' said Thomas Paine, 
and every man, woman, and child capable of 
appreciating the exalted sentiment applauded. 
But ' the world ' of the great freethinker was 
inhabited by men only. 

The following lines were written by Robert 
Whitaker, and first printed in a San Francisco 
newspaper : 

' My Country is the world ! I count 

No son of man my foe, 
Whether the warm life currents mount 

And mantle brows like snow, 
Or whether yellow, brown, or black, 
The face that into mine looks back. 

' My Native Land is Mother Earth, 
And all men are my kin. 
Whether of rude or gentle birth, 

However steeped in sin ; 
Or rich or poor, or great or small, 
I count them brothers one and all. 


' My Flag is the star-spangled sky, 

Woven without a seam, 
Where dawn and sunset colours lie. 

Fair as an angel's dream. 
The Flag that still unstained, untorn, 
Floats over all of mortal born. 

' My Party is all humankind. 
My Platform, brotherhood ; 
I count all men of honest mind 
Who work for human good, 
And for the hope that gleams afar. 
My comrades in the holy war. 

' My Country is the world ! I scorn 

No lesser love than mine, 
But calmly wait that happy morn 

When all shall own this sign. 
And love of country, as of clan. 
Shall yield to love of Man.' 

Robert Whitaker, you are a grand improvement 
on the 'jingo.' But you are still too small. 
There are conceptions as much more prophetic 
and exalted than yours as your conception is 
superior to that of the Figian. 

Broad as he is who can look upon all men as 
his brethren and countrymen — broad as he is 
compared with those groundlings called 'patriots,' 
who can see nothing clearly beyond the bounds of 
the political unit to which they belong — he is not 
broad enough. He is still a sectionalist, a partialist. 
He represents but a stage in the process of ethical 
expansion. He is, in fact, small compared with 
the universalist, just as the savage is small 
compared with the philanthropist. ' Mankind,' 


' humanity,' ' all men,' ' the whole human family ' 
— these are big conceptions, too big for the poor 
little nubbins of brains with which most millions 
make the effort to think. But they are pitifully 
small compared with that grand conception of 
kinship which takes in all the races that live and 
move upon the earth. Smaller yet are these 
conceptions compared with that sublime and 
supreme synthesis which embraces not only the 
present generation of terrestrial inhabitants, but 
which extends longitudinally as well as laterally, 
extends in time as well as in space, and embraces 
the generations which shall grow out of the exist- 
ing generation and which are yet unborn — that 
conception which recognises earth-life as a single 
process, world-wide and immortal, every part related 
and akin to every other part, and each generation 
linked to an unending posterity. 

Every individual, therefore, emancipated enough 
to judge of acts of conduct according to their 
intrinsic natures and consequences rather than 
according to some local or traditional bias, cannot 
help knowing that the exploitation of birds and 
quadrupeds for human whim or convenience is an 
offence against the laws of morality, not different 
in kind from the offences denounced in human 
laws as robbery and murder. The creophagist 
and the hunter exemplify the same somnambulism, 
are the authors of the same kind of conduct, and 
belong literally in the same category of offenders, 
as the cannibal and the slave-driver. To take the 
life of an ox for his muscles, or to kill a sheep for 


his skin is murder, and those who do these things 
or cause them to be done are murderers just as 
actually as highwaymen are who blow oif the heads 
of hapless wayfarers for their guineas. If these 
things seem untrue, it is not because they are untrue, 
but because those to whom they seem so are unable 
to judge conduct from the quadrupedal point of view. 
If there were in this world beings as much more 
clever than Caucasians as Caucasians are more 
clever than cows and sheep, and these beings 
should regard themselves as the darlings of the 
gods and should attach a fictitious dignity and 
importance to their own lives, but should look 
upon Caucasians as simply so much ' beef and 
' mutton,' these bleached terrorists of the world 
would in the course of a few generations of ex- 
perience probably become sufficiently illumined 
to realise that current human conceptions of cows 
and sheep are not only preposterous, but fiendish. 

VII. The Origin of Provincialism. 

Human provincialism, all of it, is the conse- 
quence of a common cause — the provincialism of the 
savage. Back of the provincialism of the savage 
is, of course, the antecedent fact of primordial 
egoism. The savage is the common ancestor of 
all men, and as such has imparted to all men 
their general characters of mind and heart. 
Everything that grows, whether it be a tree, a 
human being, a grass blade, or a race, grows from 
something. This something, this germ or embryo 
from which each thing springs, imparts to the 


thing its fundamental characters. However far 
anything may evolve, and however much it may 
come to differ superficially from its original, it 
will always remain at heart more or less faithful 
to the facts of its genesis. This hereditary 
tendency of everything, this tendency toward 
invariability, is the conservative, or inertial ten- 
dency of the universe. All races, colours, and 
conditions of men — civilised, slightly civilised, 
and barbarous — extend back to, and take root in, 
savages, just as all savages have probably sprung 
in some still more remote period of the past from 
a single stirp of anthropoids. The savage is, 
therefore, the author of human nature and 
philosophy. Just as the fish, which is the com- 
mon ancestor of all amphibians, reptiles, birds, 
and mammals, has predetermined the general 
structural style of all subsequently evolved verte- 
brates, so the savage, as the original ancestor of 
mankind, has predetermined the general mental 
and dispositional make-up of all higher men. 
That civilised and semi -civilised men are naturally 
narrow and revengeful, selfish and superstitious, 
and find it next to impossible to feel and act 
toward others as they would like to have others 
feel and act toward them, is, therefore, not more 
mysterious than that vertebrates have red blood, 
two eyes, two pairs of limbs, and a backbone with 
a bulging brain-box at the hither end of it. Just 
as the habits, beliefs, and conceptions of the child 
persist, often but slightly modified, in the full- 
grown man or woman, so the habits, beliefs, and 


conceptions, formed by the race in its childhood, 
continue, under the influence of the same laws of 
inertia, on into the more mature stages of racial 
development. Human nature changes with great 
reluctance, and only in its superficial aspects at 
that. There are cave-men, men with the primitive 
ideas and practices of the Stone Age, and men in 
the pastoral and hunting stages of mankind, in 
all the highest societies of men. There is scarcely 
a habit, vice, occupation, amusement, crime, or 
trait of character, found among men of the 
past but may be seen still among our contem- 

Altruism (other-love) is just as natural as 
egoism (self-love) is. There is not so much of it 
in the world as there is of egoism. But that is 
simply the misfortune of our place of existence. 
There is no reason why there might not have been 
as much, or even more, under different conditions. 
With the same antecedents, nothing can, of course, 
happen differently from what does happen. But 
with different antecedents, different causes, the 
results are bound to be different. Civilised men 
are not beings of altruism, because they are not 
the effects of that kind of causes. But there is no 
reason why there might not be a world — several of 
them, in fact, or even a universeful — where the 
inhabitants have never known or heard of such an 
indelicate thing as of beings preferring themselves 
to others — where it is as natural for them to act 
toward each other according to what we call the 
Golden Rule as it is for us terrestrial heathens to 


violate it. It is possible to conceive of beings 
with even too much altruism. The ideal condition 
is one of balanced egoism and altruism — one in 
which each thinks as much of others as he does of 
himself, no more and no less. And if beings were 
endowed with natures rendering them not only 
willing but determined to act primarily in the 
interests of others, and this condition of things 
were universal, there would be about as much 
discord and strife as if everyone acted in the 
interest of himself. The Golden Rule among a 
lot of hypothetical otherists like this would be the 
opposite of ours, for, instead of emphasising the 
importance of others as we do, they would need 
to encourage regard for self. Wouldn't it seem 
original to live in a world where men were sent to 
gaol for over- benevolence, and where sermons had 
to be preached on such texts as, ' Love thyself as 
thy neighbour ' ; ' It is more blessed to receive 
than to give ' ; ' Avoid doing to yourself that which 
you do not like when done to others ' ; ' The Lord 
loves a cheerful taker ' ; and the like ? 

The persistence with which savage ideas and 
instincts continue to influence men long after 
those ideas and instincts have really become 
anachronistic and vestigial is well illustrated by 
civilised men and women everywhere. The sun 
continues to ' rise ' and ' set ' in all civilised lands 
just as it used to do to the savage, although men 
have long since learned that it does not do either. 
Hell, as originally conceived, was an actual sub- 
terranean region, and heaven was an abode 


located a few hours' journey above the supposedly 
flat earth. To-day we continue to say ' up to 
heaven,' and 'down to hell' (never 'down to heaven' 
and 'up to hell'), and always think of these 
places as being thus relatively located, although it 
is extremely doubtful whether any really sane mind 
continues to believe that hell is on the inside of 
the earth (or any place else, for that matter), and 
although up means simply away from the centre 
of the earth, and away from the centre of a ball 
means literally every possible direction. The 
theological theories of the origin, nature, and 
destiny of man and of the universe in general, 
all of which originated in savage or semi-savage 
minds, and all of which bear the unmistakable 
traces of their origin, continue to cling to the 
minds of the masses of civilised men, notwith- 
standing the inherent absurdity of these theories, 
and notwithstanding the fact that their unsound- 
ness is vouched for by the most positive and 
unanimous assurances from the scientific world. 
Why should civilised men and women, any of 
them, be indifferent to the sufferings of others, or 
find delight in such loathsome avocations as the 
fishing and hunting of their fellow-creatures ? 
Because their ancestors were savages, and they are 
not yet sufficiently evolved to be independent of the 
instincts of their savage sires. There is no other 
explanation. No human being could enjoy seeing 
a pack of hounds hunt down and rend to pieces a 
poor harmless hare — unless he were a savage. No 
human being could go out to the abodes of the 


squirrel and quail, and shoot murderous balls into 
their beautiful bodies for food or fun — unless he 
were a savage. No human being would lounge 
all day about the margins of a brook, blind to 
the beauties of the stream and the glories of forest 
and sky, in order to thrust brutal hooks into the 
lips of those whom he deceives, and drag them 
from their waters to suffocate in the sun — unless 
he were a savage. No human being would have 
palaces and parks and yachts and equipages, 
townships of lands, packs of hounds, and studs of 
horses, troops of lackeys and nothing to do, when 
all around him are the men and women who made 
this wealth, half clad and half starved, suffocating 
in shanties and working like wretches from morn- 
ing till night — unless he were a savage. All of 
these deeds are savage deeds, deeds of exceeding 
thoughtlessness and brutality, and, instead of 
being enjoyable, are to every emancipated mind 
positively painful. 

Hunting, fishing, and fighting are the chief 
occupations of savage life. Back of the activities 
displayed in these occupations are powerful in- 
stincts prompting and sustaining them. Civilised 
peoples are devoted primarily to the arts of in- 
dustry and peace. But there are enough savages 
in every civilised society, and enough of the savage 
spirit in those who pretend to approximate the 
civilised state, to give to civilised life a decidedly 
barbaric aspect. War is a more or less regular 
exercise, and killing and competing and torturing 
enter largely into the pastimes of all peoples. 


Next to eating, fighting, in one form or another, 
is the favourite pursuit of men nearly everywhere 
on holy days and days of leisure. Whenever 
human beings have any energy or time left over 
from what they are required to spend in maintain- 
ing their existence, they use it in fighting some- 
body or in watching somebody else fight. And 
generally the more brutal and sanguinary the 
conflict, the more popular and satisfying it is. 
Witness the bull-fights and cock-fights of Spain 
and Mexico, the fisticuffs of Anglo-Saxons, and 
the baseball and slugball battles of the Americans, 
where eager thousands gather and roar for hours 
like hysterical idiots simply to see one animal or 
set of animals punish or discredit another. If 
there are no pigeons to shoot, or if the community 
is ruled by men and women who are too eman- 
cipated to allow such things, we make glass birds 
and heroically bang away at them, supplying by 
our imaginations the blood and agony of real 
carnage. And if we can't do anything else, we 
take some poor pig, that never did anyone any 
harm in the world, and grease it and turn it loose, 
and then take after it with knives, as Chicago 
butchers do on vacation days, and see who can 
cut its throat the quickest. This amusement, in 
pure barbarity, certainly stands pretty near the 
top in the list of human pastimes so far invented. 
Maybe it is outclassed by that other contest some- 
times advertised as a feature of butchers' bar- 
becues, in which a band of professional cut- 
throats compete to see who can kill, skin, and 

eviscerate the largest number of their fellow- 
beings in a given time. 

Games and other performances in which interest 
is aroused by contending or killing are all of them 
entertainments gotten up primarily for the amuse- 
ment of the under-exercised savage within us. 
The bloody carnivals of the ancient Romans, 
which seem so incomprehensible to the people of 
to-day, find their diabolical parallels right here in 
our high-sniffing civilisation. The bull-pen, where 
poor quadrupeds are baited by gorgeous assassins 
for the amusement of Castilian communities, and 
the cockpit and the prize-ring, where irate fowls 
and naked thugs peck and pound each other to 
insensibility for the entertainment of blood-loving 
mobs, are the legitimate succcessors of the gladia- 
torial arena of the Romans, The gladiatorial 
horror is not changed, either in its nature or 
functions, by changing the combatants to cocks 
and bulls. The ringside roars that rise to-day 
beside the Tagus and the Hudson over the fatal 
thrust of the matador or the knockout lunge of 
the pugilist are howls of barbaric elation arising 
from the satisfaction of the same instincts as those 
which seventeen centuries ago made amphitheatres 
thunder at the spectacle of gutted Gauls. The 
ability to enjoy strife and suffering in one form is 
not different in kind from the ability to be enter- 
tained by strife and suffering in any other form. 
Beings who can follow in riotous glee the terrified 
form of a fleeing stag, or shout ecstatically at 
sight of the death-stagger of a mangled ox, are 



psychologically equipped to go into raptures over 
the blood-curdling combustions of a literal hell. 

Few pastimes indulged in by civilised peoples 
are more horrible to an emancipated mind than 
that of bull-fighting. It is the national amusement 
of Spain, and is carried on among all peoples who 
have acquired their natures and institutions from 
the Spanish. ' Every Sunday afternoon, when- 
ever the weather permits, 14,000 or 15,000 men 
and women, representing every class of society, 
mothers and grandmothers, priests and monks, 
assemble at the Plaza de Toros in Madrid to 
witness the most brutal spectacle the human 
taste approves. Six bulls are tortured and 
worried until they are exhausted. Then they 
are killed by the thrusts of the sword of a 
matador, who is the most popular person in the 
community and makes more money than any 
other man. Often as many as twelve horses are 
ripped open by the horns of the infuriated bulls, 
and are allowed to die in the presence of the 
audience, with blood gushing from their wounds 
and their entrails dragging upon the ground. 
This sort of thing is carried on not only in 
Madrid, but is a regular weekly festival in all 
the cities of Spain. The horses are blindfolded, 
so they cannot even see what attacks them. The 
men who torture the bulls have wooden screens 
behind which they can dodge when pursued, and 
if one of the baited creatures crowds too closely 
upon any of its tormentors, the other matadors 
throw a blanket over its head. It is not sport, 


for the poor bulls have no chance whatever to 
escape or to fight back. It is simply slow 
butchery, an exhibition of unmitigated cowardice 
and cruelty. And yet, although the Spanish people 
are the most religious people of Europe, 95 per 
cent, of the population approve this atrocious 
barbarism — not only approve it, but demand that 
the King shall appear in the royal box at every 
bull-fight, or have his throne upset.' 

The notorious 'Juke' family of criminals, 
who sprang from a single ruffian who lived 
in 1720, has cost the State of New York 
millions of dollars in money and incalculable 
misery and crime. But the initial savage progeni- 
tors of the human species have stocked the earth 
with the most stupendous array of wrong-doers 
— knaves, felons, kings, warriors, barbarians, 
butchers, brutalitarians, kleptomaniacs, and thugs 
— that has ever (let us hope) brought damnation 
to a world. 

VIII. Universal Ethics. 

There are the same reasons for the recognition 
by human beings of ethical relations to non-human 
beings as there are for the recognition by human 
beings of ethical relations among themselves. 
Analyse the reasons for being considerate toward 
men, any variety of men, and you will find the same 
reasons to exist for being considerate toward all 
men. And analyse the reasons for being altruistic 
toward men — for being kind and sympathetic 
toward them — and you will find the same reasons 

19 — a 


to exist for being altruistic toward those who ar 
not men. The doctrine that we human being 
may perform upon the other inhabitants of th 
earth all sorts of injurious acts, and that these act 
when so performed by us are perfectly right an( 
proper, but that these same things when done b; 
others to us are crimes, is the logic of pur 
brutalitarianism. It is a doctrine utterly withou 
intelligence, at variance with every sentiment o 
justice and humanity, and has no legitimate exist 
ence outside the fibrous brains of ruffians. 

Right and wrong are qualities belonging to tw( 
diverse kinds of conduct. They are the qualitie: 
which render conduct respectively proper anc 
improper. All terrestrial races (unless the ven 
lowest) have the power of experiencing two kind; 
of conscious states — the desirable (pleasurable 
and the undesirable (painful). Now, if being; 
were indifferent as to what sort of conscioui 
states entered into and made up their experiences 
there would manifestly be no such thing as pro 
priety and impropriety in the causing of these 
states. But they are not indifferent. The pleasur 
able experiences are the experiences all beings arc 
seeking, and the painful ones are the ones thej 
are all seeking to avoid. Those acts which helj 
or tend to help beings to those experiences foi 
which they are striving are, therefore, right anc 
proper, and are, they and their authors, callec 
good. While those acts which compel beings tc 
undergo that which they are striving to avoid are 
improper and wrong, and are, they and theii 


authors, called bad. Kindness, courtesy, justice, 
mercy, generosity, sympathy, love, and the like, are 
good, and selfishness, cruelty, deceit, pillage, in- 
justice, and murder, are bad, because they are 
respectively the promoters and destroyers of well- 
being and happiness in the world. 

But these two kinds of conduct produce the 
same respective effects upon non-human beings as 
they do upon human beings. The emotion of a 
mangled sensory — is it not the same terrible thing 
whether the sensory hang to the brain of a quad- 
ruped or a man ? Do shelter and food not affect 
shivering and empty cattle, horses, and fowls, 
precisely as they do human beings ? Thunder 
harsh words at your dog. Will he not shrink 
and suffer, just as your child or hired hand will 
under like acts of terrorisation ? Speak kindly to 
him, love him, and accord to him a quarter of the 
consideration you claim for yourself. Is he not 
caused to be one of the happiest and most devoted 
of associates ? To take squirrels or song-birds, 
the most active of animals, and shut them up in 
narrow cages, and keep them there shut off from 
their companions and their own green world their 
whole lives long; to take an animal as sensitive 
and high-minded as the horse and put a pack on 
his back and a bit in his mouth, and then strike 
him dozens of times a day with a lash whose touch 
is like fire ; to shoot off the legs and wings of birds 
and fill their vitals with lead, and leave them to 
flounder out a lingering death in the reeds and 
grasses — do these things not cause misery and 


desolation in the world ? To place temptations in 
the way of fur-bearing animals and induce them 
to enter carefully concealed traps, and then allow 
them to remain in the villainous clutches of these 
devices, not minutes, but hours, perhaps days, 
until it suits the convenience of the ensnarer to 
knock out their brains, or until, crazed by pain, 
the poor wretches eat off their own limbs and 
escape — is not this a monstrous thing to do ? 

Oh that men everywhere were moved by the 
deep tenderness and the all-embracing sympathy 
of poor Robert Burns, who could apologise with 
real feeling to a frightened field-mouse whom he 
had accidentally upturned with his plough. 

' Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
Thou needna start awa' sae hasty, 

Wi' bick'ring brattle ! 
I wad be laith to rin and chase thee, 
Wi' murd'rous pattle ! 

' I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken nature's social union, 
And justifies that ill opinion 

Which makes thee startle 
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, 

And fellow-mortal.' 

Long ago it was said, and truthfully, that the 
merciful man is merciful to his ox. The truly 
kind man, the truly honest and the truly humane 
man, is not kind and honest and humane to men 
only, but to all beings — to the humble and lowly 
as well as to the proud and powerful — to all that 
have the misfortune to feel and mourn- Benevolence 


is the same beautiful thing whether it pour sun- 
shine into the dark and saddened souls of men or 
into the dark and saddened souls of other beings. 
John Howard never hearkened to a nobler duty 
when he lifted the darkness that hung over English 
gaols than will some inflamed soul some day who 
hears the cry of the lonely captives who to-day 
languish in menagerial dungeons to satisfy human 
curiosity. He who will emancipate horses from 
the hell in which they pass their lives — make 
them the associates of men instead of their slaves 
— will deserve to stand in the constellation of the 
world's redeemers beside Garrison and Garibaldi. 
Is there he who holds in his heart-cups the love 
and compassion of Buddha ? Let him go where 
the dagger drips and the heartless pole-axe crashes, 
and the meek-eyed millions of the meadows pour 
out their innocent existences in the soulless houses 
of slaughter. Let him lift from off the races the 
hounding incubus of fear, give back to them their 
birthright — the right to a free, unhunted life — and 
make the great monster (man) to be their high- 
priest and friend. 

' Among the noblest in the land, 
Though he may count himself the least. 
That man I honour and revere 
Who, without favour, without fear, 
In the great city dares to stand 
The friend of every friendless beast, 
And tames with his unflinching hand 
The brutes that wear our form and face, 
The were-wolves of the human race.' 


If to do good is to generate welfare, then to 
cause welfare to a horse, a bird, a butterfly, or a 
fish, is to do good just as truly as to cause welfare 
to men. And if to do evil is to cause unhappiness 
and illfare, then to cause these things to one 
individual or race is evil just as certainly as to 
cause them to any other individual or race. And 
if to put one's self in the place of others, and to 
act toward them as one would wish them to act 
toward him, is the one great rule — the Golden 
Rule — by which men are to gauge their conduct 
when acting toward each other, then this is also 
the one great rule — the Golden Rule — by which 
men are to regulate their conduct toward all 
beings. There is no escape from these conclusions, 
except for the savage and the fool.* 

IX. The Psychology of Altruism. 

The growth of altruism in the world has been 
largely cotemporaneous with the growth of the 
power of sympathy. Sympathy is the emotion a 

* The deliberate causing of misery and death to criminals, 
whether they be human or non-human beings, individuals or 
species, is not, as is sometimes supposed, a violation or 
reversal of the general theory of ethics. When they are 
prompted by a spirit of tenderness and universal goodness 
rather than by a spirit of revenge, penalties are justifiable by 
the everyday assumption that it is sometimes wise to inflict 
or undergo a certain amount of illfare in order to avoid or 
forestall a larger amount. The problems of universal penology 
are not different from those of human penology, practically 
the same cases and perplexities being presented by all delin- 
quents. See ' Better-World Philosophy,' by the author, 
pp. 218-227, foi' a discussion of the function of punishment. 


being has when by means of his imagination he 
gets so actually into the place of another that his 
own feelings duplicate more or less the feelings 
of that other. It is the ability or the impulse to 
weep with those who weep, and rejoice with those 
who are glad. Sympathy is the substance and 
the only sure basis of morality — the only tie of 
sincere and lasting mutualism. Men have always 
been to a considerable extent, and are yet, dis- 
posed to think about and act toward each other 
from motives of mutual fear or advantage. But 
such motives are not the highest nor the most 
reliable bonds of fellowship and unity. True 
altruism and solidarity — true expansion and uni- 
versalisation of the self — are found in sympathy. 
It is impossible for one individual to do in his 
heart to another as he would that another should 
do to him, unless he is at all times able and 
willing to get into the place of that other, and to 
realise in his own consciousness the results to the 
other of his acts. It is only when there is such an 
intertwining of the consciousnesses that the joys 
and sorrows of each individual consist to a greater 
or less extent of the reflexes of the joys and 
sorrows around him that there exists true social 
oneness. The great task of reforming the universe 
is, therefore, since the world is so steeped in 
selfishness and hate, the task of endowing beings, 
or the task of stocking the universe with beings, 
with dispositions to get out of themselves. If the 
far-away first parents of men and women had 
been broad-minded beings instead of narrow — had 


been beings whose most natural impulse was to be 
kind to others, and whose sympathies were as 
far-reaching as feeling — terrestrial life would not 
to-day present to the all-seeing understanding the 
disheartening spectacle it does present, and the 
long struggle for justice and amelioration would 
not have been. 

The primary fact prompting and underlying the 
exploitation of one being or set of beings by 
another is, and has always been. Selfishness. 
Whenever and wherever one people have ex- 
ploited another — whether the exploiters have been 
savages, Jews, Romans, Caucasians, or men — 
they have done so primarily because the act of 
exploitation was a convenience and pleasure to 
them and in harmony with their natures. This 
selfishness, in the case of civilised peoples, has 
been acquired by them through inheritance from 
the savage tribes from whom they have severally 
evolved ; and the selfishness of the savage is a 
legacy from the animal forms from whom the 
savage has come. Human selfishness is simply 
an eddy of an impulse that is universal — an im- 
pulse that has been implanted in the nature of the 
life-process of the earth by the manner in which 
life has been evolved. 

But there is another fact which has generally, 
if not always, contributed to every act of exploita- 
tion in this world, and that is Ignorance — ignorance 
on the part of those who have executed the ex- 
ploitation : not ignorance of grammar or geography 
or any other particular branch of human informa- 


tion or philosophy, but ignorance regarding those 
upon whom they have worked their will — uncon- 
sciousness on the part of the exploiters of the 
similarity which actually existed between them- 
selves and their victims. However free an indi- 
vidual may be from naturally selfish impulses, he 
will never act in an altruistic manner toward 
others unless he is able to realise that these others, 
are similar to himself, and that acts toward them 
produce results of good and evil, of welfare and 
suffering, similar to what these same acts produce 
when done to himself. Altruistic conduct implies 
not only altruistic impulses, but altruistic con- 
ceptions as well. Tyrants hold, and have always 
held, themselves to be an entirely different order 
of beings from their subjects, and far more deserv- 
ing. Read history — it is a tale told over and over. 
Between those who have ruled and those who 
have served — between the Ends and the Means — 
has ever yawned a chasm, wide, deep, and im- 
passable. The exploited have always been, ac- 
cording to their masters, a fibrous set, unfavoured 
and unthought of by the gods, endowed with little 
feeling or intelligence, and brought into existence 
more or less expressly as adjuncts to their masters. 
This is the theory of the savage, and it is the 
theory of all those who have inherited his narrow 
and unfeeling philosophy. The Gentile had no 
rights because he was a 'pagan.' He was a 
human being, it is true, and had come forth from 
the womb of woman, just as the Jew had. But 
he spoke a different language from the Jews, had 


his own ways of life, belonged to a different order 
of things, and was irritatingly unconcerned about 
the gods and traditions of the 'chosen people.' 
The Gaul had no rights that were inconvenient to 
Romans, because he was a ' barbarian.' The fact 
that he had blood, and brains, and nerves, and 
love of life, and ambitions, and that he suffered 
when he was subjected to humiliation, hard treat- 
ment, and death, just as Romans did, was never 
really thought of by the arrogant and reckless 
Romans. Romans never realised in their minds 
what it meant for non-Romans to be treated as 
they were treated ; and one reason why they never 
realised it was because it was convenient for them 
not to do so. To kill or enslave a Gaul or German 
we now know, who are able to judge these acts 
from an un-Roman and unprejudiced point of 
view, was practically the same crime as to kill or 
enslave a Roman. But it was not so to Romans. 
The most trifling offence against a Roman citizen 
was enough, according to Roman law, to condemn 
the offender to execution. But the most horrible 
outrages, when committed by Romans upon non- 
Romans, were nothing. Romans always thought 
and felt from the standpoint of Romans. They 
never got over into the world of the ' barbarians,' 
and really pictured to themselves — really felt — the 
misfortunes of their victims. It was the same 
way with the black man in the eyes of the white 
man a generation or two ago ; it is the same way 
with the brown man to-day. The black man had 
no rights that were inconvenient for the white 


man to respect, because he was a ' nigger,' and 
had no ' soul,' and was the offspring of Ham. 
This spirit of unconsciousness, which has been 
so prominent throughout the history of mankind, 
still survives in the minds of civilised men and 
women to-day, as is shown by the conception (or 
misconception) cherished by the Caucasian toward 
the 'nigger,' by the Christian toward the ' heathen,' 
by the Moslem toward the ' infidel,' by the Pro- 
testant toward the Catholic, and vice versa, by the 
plutocrat toward the proletarian, by men toward 
women, and by the human being toward the 
' animal.' 

The psychology of the exploitation of non- 
human beings by human beings is not different in 
kind from the psychology of any other act of 
exploitation. The great first cause of man's in- 
humanity to not-men is the same precisely as the 
great first cause of man's inhumanity to man — 
Selfishness — blind, brutal, unconscionable egoism. 
Monopolist-like man thinks and cares only about 
himself. He has the heart of the bully — deriving 
from the contemplation of his fiendish supremacy 
a sort of monstrous satisfaction. But there is 
also present in this case the same half-sincere, 
half-fostered nescience as in all other cases of 
exploitation. The ox, the hare, the bird, and the 
fish have no rights in the world in which they 
live other than those that are convenient for men to 
allow to them, because they are ' animals.' They 
are assumed to belong to an order of beings 
entirely different from that to which human beings 


belong. They are filled with nerves, and brains, 
and bloodvessels ; they love life, and bleed, and 
struggle, and cry out when their veins are opened, 
just as human beings do ; they have the same 
general form and structure of body, their bodies are 
composed of the same organs busied with the 
same functions ; and they are descended from the 
same ancestors and have been developed in the 
same world through the operation of the same great 
laws as we ourselves have. But all of these things, 
and dozens of others just as significant, are dis- 
regarded by us in our hard-hearted determination 
to exploit them. We have a set of words and 
phrases which we use in speaking of ourselves, 
and another very different set for other beings. 
The very same things are called by different 
names with wholly different connotations depend- 
ing on whether it is a man that is referred to or 
some other being. It is ' murder ' to take the life 
of a human being, but to take the life of a sheep 
or a cow is only ' knocking it on the head.' A man 
may murder squirrels or birds all day — that is, he 
may do that which when done to human beings is 
called murder — but it is only ' sport ' when done to 
these humble inhabitants of the wilds. The dead 
body of a man is a ' corpse ' ; the dead body of a 
quadruped is only a ' carcass.' A race of horses 
or dogs is a ' breed ' ; but a breed of men and 
women is always respectfully referred to as a race. 
We perpetuate our blindness by the use of words. 
We accommodate our consciences by inventing 
ways of looking at things that will bring out our 


own lustre and relieve us from the ghastly faces 
of our crimes. For the human race to rob and 
kill other races is the same kind of activity exactly 
as it is for human beings to rob and kill each 
other. But it is not considered so to-day — except 
by a few lost-caste ' visionaries ' scattered here and 
there over Christendom, and some millions of 
' heathens ' in Asia. 

A short time ago a series of letters came into 
my hands vinritten from Burmah by an American 
missionary in that country. According to this 
writer, one of the greatest obstacles the mission- 
aries have to contend with in their work there is 
the hostility aroused in the people by the killing 
and flesh-eating habits of the missionaries them- 
selves. The native inhabitants, who are the most 
compassionate of mankind, look upon the Christian 
missionaries, who kill and eat cows and shoot 
monkeys for pastime, as being little better than 
cannibals. Contemplate the presumption neces- 
sary to cause an individual to leave behind him 
fields white for mission-work, and travel, at great 
expense, halfway round the earth in order to 
preach a narrow, cruel, anthropocentric gospel to 
a people of so great tenderness and humanity as 
to be kind even to ' animals ' and enemies ! 

We human beings feel at liberty to commit any 
kind of outrage upon other races, and these out- 
rages are looked upon by us as nothing. But the 
most trifling annoyances of other races are deemed 
by us of sufficient consequence to justify us in 
visiting upon them the most fearful retributions. 


We can break up the laboriously built home of a 
mother mouse in the rubbish-heap of our back 
yard, scatter the pink babies of that mother over 
the ground to die of cold and starvation, and 
cause the frightened mother to flee at the risk of 
her very life — all to give to the terrier and our- 
selves a 'little moment of savage pastime. But if 
that same mother, some hard winter's night, when 
she has failed in her search elsewhere for some- 
thing to stay her hunger, comes into our larder 
and nibbles a bit of cheese or a few mouthfuls of 
crust from our pie, although she takes but a crumb 
in all, and is as dainty in her feeding as a lady, 
we immediately get out our traps and poisons and 
storm around as if a murder or some other irrepar- 
able wrong had been committed. We think of our 
acts toward non-human peoples, when we think of 
them at all, entirely from the human point of view. 
We never take the time to put ourselves in the 
places of our victims. We never take the trouble 
to get over into their world, and realise what is 
happening over there as a result of our doings 
toward them. It is so much more comfortable not 
to do so — so much more comfortable to be blind and 
deaf and insane. We go on quieting our con- 
sciences, as best we can, by the fact that every- 
body else nearly is engaged in the same business 
as we are, and by the fact that so few ever say 
anything about the matter — anaesthetised, as it 
were, by the universality of our iniquities and the 
infrequency of disquieting reminders. 

Many years ago an eccentric but gifted English- 


man had a dream in which he saw the fortunes of 
the world reversed. Man was no longer master, 
but victim. The earth was ruled by the birds and 
quadrupeds, the mice and monkeys, who pro- 
ceeded to inflict upon their erstwhile tyrant the 
same cruelties he had hitherto inflicted upon them. 
' Multitudes of human beings were systematically 
fattened for the carnivora. They were frequently 
forwarded to great distances by train, in trucks, 
without food or water. Large numbers of infants 
were constantly boiled down to form broth 
for invalid animals. In over-populous districts 
babies were given to malicious young cats and 
dogs to be taken away and drowned. Boys were 
hunted by terriers and stoned to death by frogs. 
Mice were a good deal occupied in setting man- 
traps, baited with toasted cheese, in poor neigh- 
bourhoods. Gouty old gentlemen were hitched to 
night-cabs, and forced to totter, on their weak 
ankles and diseased joints, to clubs, where fashion- 
able young colts were picked up, and taken, at 
such speed as whipcord could extract, to visit 
chestnut fillies. Flying figures in scarlet coats, 
buckskins, and top-boots were run down by packs 
of foxes that had nothing else to do. Old cock- 
grouse strutted out for a morning's sport, and 
came in to talk of how many brace of country 
gentlemen they had bagged. Gamekeepers lived 
a precarious life in holes and caves. They were 
perpetually harried by game and vermin ; held 
fast in steel traps, their toes were nibbled by 
stoats and martens ; and finally, their eyes picked 



out by owls and kites, they were gibbeted alive on 
trees, head downwards, until the termination of 
their martyrdom. In one especially tragic case, 
a naturalist in spectacles dodged about painfully 
among the topmost branches of a wood, while a 
mias underneath, armed with a gun, inflicted on 
him dreadful wounds. A veterinary surgeon of 
Alfort was stretched on his back, his arms and 
legs secured to posts, in order that a horse might 
cut him up alive for the beneiit of an equine 
audience ; but the generous steed, incapable of 
vindictive feelings, with one disdainful stamp on 
the midriff, crushed the wretch's life out ' (8). 

The following is from the Chinese. The speaker 
is an ox: 

' I request, good people, that you will listen to 
what I have to say. In the whole world there is no 
distress equal to that of the ox. In spring and sum- 
mer, autumn and winter, I diligently put forth 
my strength ; during the four seasons there is 
no respite to my labours. I drag the plough, a 
thousand-pound weight fastened to my shoulders. 
Hundreds of thousands of lashes are, by a leather 
whip, inflicted upon me. Curses and abuses in a 
thousand forms are poured upon me. I am 
driven, with threatenings, rapidly along, and not 
allowed to stand still. Through the dry ground 
or the deep water I with difficulty drag the plough, 
with an empty belly; the tears flow from both 
my eyes. I hope in the morning that I shall be 
early released, but I am detained until the 
evening. If, with a hungry stomach, I eat the 


grass in the middle of the field, the whole family, 
great and small, insultingly abuse me. I am left 
to eat any species of herbs among the hills, but 
you, my master, yourself receive the grain that is 
sown in the field. Of the chen paddy you make 
rice ; of the no paddy you make wine. You have 
cotton, wheat, and herbs of a thousand different 
kinds. Your garden is full of vegetables. When 
your men and women marry, amid all your 
felicity, if there be a want of money, you let 
me out to others. When pressed for the payment 
of duties, you devise no plans, but take and sell 
the ox that ploughs your field. When you see that 
I am old and weak, you sell me to the butcher to 
be killed. The butcher conducts me to his home 
and soon strikes me in the forehead with the head 
of an iron hatchet, after which I am left to die in 
the utmost distress. My skin is peeled off, my 
bones are scraped, and my skin is taken to cover 
the drum by which the country is alarmed.' 

' Witness the patient ox, with stripes and yells 
Driven to the slaughter, goaded as he runs 
To madness, while the savage at his heels 
Laughs at the frantic sufferer's fury.' 

The angler brags about his ' haul ' and the 
hunter about his ' bag ' and his ' big game ' with 
as little realisation of what these things mean as 
the slave-master boasts of his ' niggers.' Men 
talk of ' chops ' and ' steaks ' and ' roasts ' with 
the same somnambulism, the same profound un- 
consciousness of what these things really signify 
in the psychic economies of the world, as the 

20 — 2 


conqueror contemplates his ' captives,' the robber 
his ' spoil,' or the savage his ' scalps.' If before 
the eyes and in the mind of each individual who 
sits unconcernedly down to a parsleyed ' steak ' 
could rise the facts in the biography of that 
' steak ' — the happy heifer on the far western 
meadows, the fateful day when she is forced by' 
the drover's whip from her home,* the arduous 
' drive ' to the village and her baffled efforts to 
escape, the crowding into cars and the long, 
painful journey, the silent heartaches and the 
low, pitiful moans, the terrible hunger and thirst 
and cold, her arrival, bruised and bewildered, in 
the city, her dazed mingling with others, the great 
murder-house, the prods and bellowings, the 
treacherous crash of the brain-axe, the death drop 
and shudder, the butcher's knife, the gush of blood 
from her pretty throat, and the glassy gaze of her 
dead but beautiful eyes — there would be, in spite of 
the inherent hardness of the human heart, a great 
drawing back from those acts which render such 
fearful things necessary. If human beings could 
only realise what the hare suffers, or the stag, when 
it is pursued by dogs, horses, and men bent on 
taking its life, or what the fish feels when it is 
thrust through and flung into suffocating gases, 

* I have many times seen cows chased all over their native 
premises, round and round, through fields and barnyards, 
across streams and over fences — chased until the poor things 
were utterly exhausted, and whipped and beaten until their 
faces and backs were covered with wounds — before they 
could be compelled to leave for ever the old farm where they 
had been born and raised. 


no one of them, not even the most recreant, could 
find pleasure in such work. How painful to a 
person of tenderness and enlightenment is even 
the thought of rabbit-shootings, duck-slaughterings, 
bear-hunts, quail-killing expeditions, tame pigeon 
massacres, and the like ! And yet with what 
light-hearted enthusiasm the mindless ruffians who 
do these atrocious things enter upon them ! One 
would think that grown men would be ashamed 
to arm themselves and go out with horses and 
hounds and engage in such babyish and unequal 
contests as sportsmen usually rely on for their 
peculiar ' glory.' And they would be if grown 
men were not so often simply able-bodied bullies. 
If human beings could only realise what it means to 
live in a world and associate day after day with other 
beings more intelligent and powerful than themselves, 
and yet be regarded by these more intelligent indi- 
viduals simply as merchandise to be bought and sold, 
or as targets to be shot at, they would hide their guilty 
heads in shame and horror. 

The Being from whose breaking heart gushed 
these lines of sorrow and sympathy on seeing a 
wounded hare was a god : 

' Inhuman man ! curse on thy barbarous art, 
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye : 
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, 
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 

' Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, 
The bitter little that of life remains ; 
No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains 
To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 


' Seek, mangled one, some place of wonted rest. 
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ; 
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 
The cold earth with thy bloody bosom pressed. 

' Oft, as by winding Nith I, musing, wait 
The sober eve or hail the cheerful dawn, 
I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 
And curse the ruffian's aim and mourn thy hapless fate.' 

We human beings, in our conduct toward the 
races of beings associated with us on this planet, 
are almost pure savages. We are not even half 
civilised. And this fact is certain to bring upon 
us the criticism and condemnation of the more 
enlightened generations to come. The fact is 
apparent to-day, however — ^just as apparent as the 
barbarity of the Romans — to everyone who will 
take the trouble to rid himself of the prejudices 
which enslave and blind him, and view human 
phenomena from an un-human, extra-terrestrial 
point of view. 

To most persons — to all except to a few — every- 
thing is simply a matter of habit and education. 
And a majority of persons, too, can become 
educated to one thing about as easily and com- 
pletely as they can to another. In Mr. Huxley's 
' Man's Place in Nature ' there is reprinted from 
an old volume the picture of a butcher's shop as 
it is said to have existed among the savage Anziques 
of Africa in the sixteenth century. Mr. Huxley 
says that the original engraving claims to represent 
an actual fact, and that he has himself no doubt 
but it does really stand for just what it purports to 


represent, especially since the fact has been cor- 
roborated by Du Chaillu in comparatively recent 
times. The fact for which this old picture stands 
is a good illustration of the power of custom in 
shaping human ideas. In this savage ' market ' 
pretty much the same line of goods appears as is 
found in modern ' markets,' except that, instead 
of the quartered corpses of sheep and bullocks, 
there hang the shoulders, thighs, and gory heads 
of men. The butcher is represented as standing 
beside the chopping-block in the act of cutting up 
the leg of a man. A child's head and other 
fragments of the human body are piled up on 
another block, and behind these on pegs are 
ranged the more pretentious wares of the establish- 
ment. ' Presently we passed a woman,' says Du 
Chaillu, in speaking of the cannibalism of the 
Fans, who were probably identical with those 
referred to two centuries earlier as Anziques. 
' She bore with her a piece of the thigh of a 
human body, just as we should go to market and 
carry thence a roast of steak.' We can easily 
imagine (by the help of the sights we see every 
day) the anthropophagous crowd standing around 
giving their early morning orders, and the enter- 
prising assassin hustling about to wait on them. 
One of them wants an arm, another wants a leg, 
another a liver, another a half-dozen nice fat ribs. 
One fellow wants a tender ' cut ' of young girl's 
sirloin, and another would like an old man's calf 
for soup. A little naked urchin, who has had to 
wait a long time in order to get a chance to buy 


anything at all, exchanges a few shells for a 
section of human bologna. One fellow wants to 
know the price of the boy's head which lies on the 
neighbouring block, and a woman complains that 
the baby's brains which she bought the day before, 
and which were recommended as being especially 
' fresh and nice,' turned out to be ' bad.' We can 
see them go home with their gruesome purchases, 
cook them, and sit down and eat them, discussing 
their flavour or their lack of it, and remarking their 
tenderness, toughness, or juiciness, and finally 
throwing the bones out to the dogs — all with as 
little thought of the immorality of it as ' Thanks- 
giving ' gluttons have to-day at their feasts of 
blood. There may have been an occasional 
' visionary ' among these people fanatical enough to 
' refuse to eat meat,' or even to protest against the 
practice. Probably there was. There generally 
are a few such discordants in every generation of 
vipers. But ' fanatics ' in those days were in all 
likelihood, as they are to-day, too few to be 

To anyone familiar with the pliability of the 
human conscience, or with the soundness and 
depth of intellectual sleep, these things are neither 
impossible nor strange. There is so little looking 
into the essence of things, so little looking at 
things as they are, and so much thinking and 
doing as we are accustomed or told to think and do 
— there are, in fact, so few who can really think 
at all — that if we had been accustomed and taught 
to do so from childhood, and the world were 


practically unanimous in its conduct and teach- 
ings on the matter, very few of us indeed would 
not sit down to a breakfast of scrambled infant's 
brains, a luncheon of cold boiled aunt, or a dinner 
of roast uncle, with as little compunction, perhaps 
with the same horrible merriment, as we to-day 
attend a ' barbecue ' or a ' turkey.' Why should 
we not make hash and sausages out of our broken- 
down grandfathers and grandmothers just as we 
do out of our worn-out horses, and help out the 
pigeons at our killing carnivals with a few live 
peasants ? How much more artistic and civilised 
to pile our tables on holy days with the gold and 
crimson of the fields and orchards than to load 
them with the dead ! And yet how strangely few 
are mature enough to care anything at all about 
the matter ! 

Oh, the helplessness and irresponsibility of the 
human mind ! There is no spontaneity, no origin- 
ality, only the dead level of the machine. How im- 
possible it is for us to think, to discover anything 
unassisted, to perceive anything after it has been 
pointed out to us even, if it is a little different 
from what we are used to ! This, it seems to me, 
is one of the most pathetic things in all this world 
— this illimitable impotence, this powerlessness 
to inspect things from any other point of view 
than the one we inherit when we come into the 
world ; to be a knave or lunatic (or the next thing 
to it), and never have the slightest suspicion of 
the fact. The human mind will certainly not 
always be this way. It will surely be different 


some time. It seems incredible that the planet 
will drag along in disgrace this way forever. The 
men of Europe and America are not so primitive 
as the junglemen, and the junglemen are superior 
in some respects to the quadrupeds and reptiles, 
and this gives reason for a little hope. But when, 
that is the question, when will it he ? In what 
distant time will the Golden Dream of our prophetic 
hours come to this poor darkened larva of a world ? 
Ages upon ages after our little existences have 
gone out, and the detritus of our wasted bodies 
has wandered long in the labyrinths of the sod 
or been sown by aimless gusts over our native 

X. Anthropocentric Ethics. 

Anthropocentricism, which drifted down as a 
tradition from ancient times, and which for cen- 
turies shaped the theories of the Western world, 
but whose respectability among thinking people 
has now nearly passed away, was, perhaps, the 
boldest and most revolting expression of human 
provincialism and conceit ever formulated by any 
people. It was the doctrine that man was the 
centre about whom revolved all facts and interests 
whatsoever; and Judaism and its two children, 
Christianity and Mahometanism, were responsible 
for it. Everything, according to this conception, 
was interpreted in terms of human utility. Every- 
thing was made for man — including women. The 
sun and moon were luminaries, not worlds, hung 
there by the fatherly manufacturer of things for 


the convenience and delight of his children. The 
stars were perforations in the overarching concave 
through which eavesdropping prophets peered into 
celestial secrets, and errand-angels came and went 
with messages between gods and men. Not only 
the spheres in space, but the earth and all it 
contained — the rivers, seas, and seasons, all the 
plants that grow, and all the ilowers that blow, 
and all the millions that swim and suffer in the 
waters and skies — were, according to this remorse- 
less notion, the soulless adjuncts of man. In- 
trinsically they were meaningless. They had sig- 
nificance only as they served the human species. 
The hues and perfumes of flowers, the songs of 
birds, the dews, the breezes, the rains, the rocks, 
the ' beasts of the field and the fowls of the air,' 
the great forests, the mighty mountains, the 
fearful solitudes, even famine and pestilence, were 
all made for the being with the reinless imagination. 
Luther believed that the fly — festive little Musca 
domestica, who inhabits our homes, and sometimes 
unwittingly wanders over our tender places — was 
a pestiferous invention of the devil, maliciously 
sent to annoy him in his meditations. Garlic 
grew on the swamp brim as a handy antidote for 
human malaria. Fruits ripened in the summer- 
time because the acids and juices which they 
contained were believed to be necessary for man's 
health and refreshment. The great muscles of 
the ox were made to provide men with delicacies 
and leisure. The cloak of the ewe was made 
without any special thought, or without any 


thought at all, of the comforts of the ewe. It 
was placed there on the ewe by an all-tender 
creator, to be torn by his images from her 
bleeding back and worn. The fossil forms found 
in the rocks were not the bond fide remains of 
creatures that had lived and perished when the 
calcareous foundations of the continents were 
forming in ancient sea-beds. They were counter- 
feits, slyly designed by a suspicious providence, 
and sandwiched among the strata ' to test human 
faith.' The rainbow was a phenomenon with 
which the laws of reflection and refraction had 
nothing whatever to do. It was a sign or seal 
stamped on the retreating storms as a pledge that 
submersion would not be again used as a punish- 
ment for sinners. The universal ruler was con- 
ceived to be an individual of transcendent power 
and respectability, but was supposed to spend 
the most of his time and a good deal of anxiety 
on the regulation and repair of his illustrious 

The history of intellectual evolution is the 
history of disillusionment. The stars, we now 
know, are not hatchways, but worlds. They burn 
because they are fire. They blaze and circle in 
obedience to their own unchangeable inertias, just 
as the earth does. They blazed and wheeled when 
the elemental matters of the earth mingled indis- 
tinguishably with the vapours of the sun, and they 
will blaze and wheel when the last inhabitant of 
this clod has dissolved into the everlasting atoms. 
The I earth is not the capital of cosmos nor the 


subject of celestial anxiety. The earth is a satrap 
of the sun — a subordinate among servants, not a 
sovereign with a retinue of stars. The earth and 
its contents were not made for man. They were 
not made at all. They were evolved. The con- 
caves of the sea have been hollowed, the mountains 
upheaved, and the continents planted and peopled, 
by the same tendencies as those that hold the 
universes in their grasp- The primal matters of 
the earth came out of the substance of the sun, 
and by the play and activity of these elements and 
the play and activity of their derivatives were 
evolved all the multitudinous forms of land, fluid, 
plant, animal, and society. The flowers that 
' blush unseen ' do not necessarily ' waste their 
sweetness on the desert air,' as the poet so melo- 
diously imagines. The colours and scents of 
flowers serve their purposes — which are to secure 
the services of insects in fertilisation — quite as 
well when unperceived, as when perceived by 
human senses. The non-human races of beings 
were not made for human beings. They were 
evolved — the higher forms from the lower forms, 
and the lower forms from still lower — ^just as 
the higher societies of men have been evolved, 
under the eye of history, out of barbarism and 
savagery. They are our ancestors. They have 
made human hfe and civilisation possible. They 
made their homes on primeval land patches when 
the continents we creep over were sleeping in 
the seas. They lived and loved and suffered and 
died in order that a being intelligent enough to 


analyse himself and recreant enough to pick their 
bones might come into the world. 

There are supposed to be something like a 
million (maybe there are several million) species 
of inhabitants living on the earth. The human 
species is one of these. Not more than a few 
thousand of these species are seriously advan- 
tageous to men. The harmful and useless species 
are many times more numerous than the helpful. 
Now, if the 999,999 non-human species were made 
for the human species, why were the hundreds of 
thousands of species made that are of no possible 
human importance, and the hundreds of thousands 
of other species that are a positive injury ? And 
if by some miraculous stretch of imagination the 
999,999 species now living on the earth are con- 
ceived to have been made for man, why were the 
10,000,000 or 15,000,000 of species made that lived 
and passed away before there was a human being 
in existence. Perhaps the traditionist will say — 
accustomed as he is to treat syllogisms with con- 
tempt — that they were made to invigorate human 
' faith.' 

If the age of the human species be estimated at 
50,000 years and the age of the life-process at 
100,000,000 years, the time during which man 
has been on the earth is, when compared with 
the entire period during which the planet has 
been tenanted, as i to 2,000. And the time 
during which the earth has been inhabited — 
immense as that time is when compared with the 
little span of human history — is also insignificant 


when compared with the enormous lapse of time 
during which the planet was slowly cooling and 
solidifying preliminary to the existence of life. 
And the entire life of the planet — inconceivably 
vast as it is — is as nothing compared with that 
eternity, that duration without beginning or close, 
during which the sidereal millions have undergone, 
and are destined to continue to undergo, their 
countless and immeasurable transformations. 

It is about as profound to suppose that the 
earth and its contents, and the suns, stars, and 
systems of space, were all made for a single species 
inhabitating an obscure ball located in a remote 
quarter of the universe as it is to suppose that the 
gigantic body of the elephant was made for the 
wisp of hair on the tip of its tail. Man is not the 
end, he is but an incident, of the infinite elabora- 
tions of Time and Space. 

XI. Ethical Implications of Evolution. 

The doctrine of organic evolution, which forever 
established the common genesis of all animals, 
sealed the doom of anthropocentricism. "What- 
ever the inhabitants of this world were or were 
thought to be before the publication of ' The 
Origin of Species,' they never could be anything 
since then but a family. The doctrine of evolution 
is probably the most important revelation that 
has come to the world since the illuminations of 
Galileo and Copernicus. The authors of the 
Copernican theory enlarged and corrected human 
understanding by disclosing to man the compara- 


tive littleness of his world — by discovering that 
the earth, which had up to that time been sup- 
posed to be the centre and capital of cosmos, is 
in reality a satellite of the sun. This heliocentric 
discovery was hard on human conceit, for it was the 
first broad hint man had thus far received of his true 
dimensions. The doctrine of evolution has had, 
and is having, and is destined to continue to have, 
Sf. similarly correcting effect on the naturally narrow 
conceptions of men. It tends to fry the conceit 
out of us. It has been impossible since Darwin 
for any sane and honest man to go around brag- 
ging about having been ' made in the image of his 
maker,' or to successfully lay claim to a more 
honourable origin than the rest of the creatures of 
the earth. And if men had accepted the logical 
consequences of Darwin's teachings, the world 
would not to-day — a half-century after his reve- 
lation — be filled with practices which find their 
only support and justification in out-of-date 
traditions. But logical consequences, as Huxley 
observes, are the official scarecrows of that large 
and prolific class of defectives usually known as 
fools. The doctrine of evolution is accepted in 
one form or another by practically all who think. 
It is taught even in school primers. But while 
the biology of evolution is scarcely any longer 
questioned, the psychology and ethics of the Dar- 
winian revelation, though following from the same 
premises, and almost as inevitably, are yet to be 
generally realised. Darwin's revelation, like every 
other revelation that has come to the world, is 


perceived most tardily by those working in depart- 
ments where the phenomena are the most intan- 
gible and complicated. 

Darwin himself called ' the love for all living 
creatures the most noble attribute of man.' Giant 
as he was, he perceived more clearly than any of 
his contemporaries, more clearly even than his 
successors, the ultimate goal of evolving altruism. 
For he says : ' As man advances in civilisation, 
and small tribes are united into larger communities, 
the simplest reason would tell each individual that 
he ought to extend his social instincts and sym- 
pathies to all members of the same nation, though 
personally unknown to him. There is, then, only 
an artificial barrier to prevent his sympathies 
extending to the men of all nations and races. 
Experience, however, shows us how long it is, if 
such men are separated from him by great differ- 
ences of appearance or habits, before he looks 
upon them as his fellow-creatures. Sympathy 
beyond the confines of man is one of the latest 
moral acquisitions. It is apparently unfelt by 
savages, except for their pets. The very idea of 
humanity, so far as I could observe, was new to 
most of the Gauchos of the Pampas. This virtue 
seems to arise from our sympathies becoming 
more tender and more widely diffused, until they 
are extended to all sentient beings ' (7). 

The influences of a doctrine old enough and 
precious enough to have become embodied in the 
life and institutions of a race persist generally, 
through mere mornentum, long after the substance 



of the doctrine has passed away. This is eminently 
true of that misconception which has come down 
to us regarding the nature and origin of man and 
his relations to the rest of the universe. Darwin 
has lived, shed his light over the world, and passed 
back to the dust whence he came. Men no 
longer believe that other races and other worlds 
were really made for them. But they continue to 
act in about the same manner as they did when 
they did believe it. This assertion applies not 
simply to those half-baked intelligences who have 
only the rudest and most antiquated notions about 
anything but also to thousands of men and women 
who pretend to have up-to-date conceptions of 
themselves and the universe — men and women 
noted even for their activity in reminding others 
of their inconsistency — men and women who 

' Compound for sins they are inclined to, 
By damning those they have no mind to.' 

The doctrine of Universal Kinship is not a new 
doctrine, born from the more brilliant loins of 
modern understanding. It is as old almost as 
human philosophy. It was taught by Buddha 
twenty-four hundred years ago. And the teach- 
ings of this divine soul, spreading over the plains 
and peninsulas of Asia, have made unnumbered 
millions mild. It was taught also by Pythagoras 
and all his school of philosophers, and rigidly 
practised in their daily lives. Plutarch, one of 
the grandest characters of antiquity, wrote several 
essays in advocacy of it. In these essays, as well 


as in many passages of his writings generally, he 
demonstrates that he was far ahead of his con- 
temporaries in the breadth and intensity of his 
moral nature, and in advance even of all except a 
very few of those living to-day, 2,000 years after 
him. Shelley among the poets of modern times, 
and Tolstoy in these latter days, are others among 
the eminent adherents of this holy cause. 

Wherever Buddhism prevails, there will be 
found in greater or less purity, as one of the 
cardinal principles of its founder, the doctrine of 
the sacredness of all Sentient Life. But the 
Aryan race of the West has remained steadfastly 
deaf to the pleadings of its Shelleys and Tolstoys, 
owing to the overmastering influence of its anthro- 
pocentric religions. Not till the coming of Darwin 
and his school of thinkers was there a basis 
for hope of a reformed world. To-day the planet 
is ripe for the old-new doctrine. Tradition is 
losing its power over men's conduct and concep- 
tions as never before, and Science is growing 
more and more influential. A central truth of 
the Darwinian philosophy is the unity and con- 
sanguinity of all organic life. And during the 
next century or two the ethical corollary of this 
truth is going to receive unprecedented recognition 
in all departments of human thought. Ignorance 
and Inertia are fearful facts. They endure like 
granite in the human mind. But the tireless 
chisels of evolution are invincible. And the time 
will come when the anthropocentric customs and 
conceptions, which are to-day fashionable enough 

21 — 2 


to be 'divine,' will have nothing but a historic 
existence. The movement to put Science and 
Humanitarianism in place of Tradition and 
Savagery, which is so weak, languishing, and 
neglected to-day, is a movement which has for its 
ultimate destiny the conquest of the Human 

XII. Conclusion. 

All beings are ends; no creatures are means. 
All beings have not equal rights, neither have all 
men ; but all have rights. The Life Process is the 
End — not man, nor any other animal temporarily 
privileged to weave a world's philosophy. Non- 
human beings were not made for human beings 
any more than human beings were made for non- 
human beings. Just as the sidereal spheres were 
once supposed by the childish mind of man to be 
unsubstantial satellites of the earth, but are known 
by man's riper understanding to be worlds with 
missions and materialities of their own, and of 
such magnitude and number as to render terres- 
trial insignificance frightful, so the billions that 
dwell in the seas, fields, and atmospheres of the 
earth were in like manner imagined by the illiterate 
children of the race to be the mere trinkets of 
men, but are now known by all who can interpret 
the new revelation to be beings with substantially 
the same origin, the same natures, structures, and 
occupations, and the same general rights to life and 
happiness, as we ourselves. 

In their phenomena of life the inhabitants of 


the earth display endless variety. They swim in 
the waters, soar in the skies, squeeze among the 
rocks, clamber among the trees, scamper over the 
plains, and glide among the grounds and grasses. 
Some are born for a summer, some for a century, 
and some flutter their little lives out in a day. 
They are black, white, blue, golden, all the colours 
of the spectrum. Some are wise and some are 
simple ; some are large and some are microscopic ; 
some live in castles and some in bluebells ; some 
roam over continents and seas, and some doze 
their little day-dream away on a single dancing 
leaf. But they are all the children of a common 
mother and the co-tenants of a common world. 
Why they are here in this world rather than some 
place else ; why the world in which they find 
themselves is so full of the undesirable ; and 
whether it would not have been better if the ball 
on which they ride and riot had been in the 
beginning sterilised, are problems too deep and 
baffling for the most of them. But since they are 
here, and since they are too proud or too super- 
stitious to die, and are surrounded by such cold 
and wolfish immensities, what would seem more 
proper than for them to be kind to each other, 
and helpful, and dwell together as loving and 
forbearing members of One Great Family ? 

Act toward others as you would act 
toward a part of your own self. 

This is The Great Law, the all-inclusive gospel 
of social salvation. It is the rule of social recti- 
tude and perfection which has been held up in 


greater or less perfection in all_ ages by the sages 
and prophets of the human species. 

Hear Confucius, the giant of Mongolia, and the 
idol and law-giver of one-third of mankind : 

' What you do not like when done to yourself do 
not do to others.' 
And again he says : 

' Do not let a man practise to those beneath 
him that which he dislikes in those above him.' 

Over and over again the illustrious master 
repeats these precepts to his disciples and 

In the Mahabharata, the great epic of the 
Sanskrit, written by Indian moralists in various 
ages, and representing the accumulated wisdom of 
one of the most marvellous of all peoples, we find 
these words : 

' Treat others as thou wouldst thyself be treated.' 
' Do nothing to thy neighbour which thou 
wouldst not hereafter have thy neighbour do to 

' A man obtains a rule of action by looking upon 
his neighbour as himself.' 

These same truths were also taught by Jesus, 
that godlike Galilean, the great teacher and 
saviour of the Western world : 
' Love thy neighbour as thyself.' 
' Do unto others as you would have others do 
unto you.' 

Oh that these words were etched in fire, and 
stamped in scorching characters on the dull, cold 
hearts of this world ! 


Act toward others as you would act 
toward a part of your own self. 

Look upon and treat others as you do your own 
hands, your own eyes, your very heart and soul 
— with infinite care and compassion — as suffering 
and enjoying members of the same Great Being 
with yourself. This is the spirit of the ideal 
universe — the spirit of your own being. It is 
this alone that can redeem this world, and give 
to it the peace and harmony for which it longs. 

' So many gods, so many creeds, 
So many paths that wind and wind, 
While just the art of being kind 
Is all the sad world needs.' 

Oh the madness, and sorrow, and unbrotherli- 
ness of this mal-wrought world ! Oh the poor, 
weak, poisoned, monstrous natures of its children ! 
Who can look upon it all without pain, and 
sympathy, and consternation, and tears ? What 
an opportunity for philanthropy, if the ' All- 
mighty One ' of our traditions would only set 
about it ! 

Yes, do as you would be done by — and not to the 
dark man and the white woman alone, but to the 
sorrel horse and the gray squirrel as well ; not to 
creatures of your own anatomy only, but to all 
creatures. You cannot go high enough nor low 
enough nor far enough to find those whose bowed 
and broken beings will not rise up at the coming 
of the kindly heart, or whose souls will not shrink 
and darken at the touch of inhumanity. Live and 


let live. Do more. Live and help live. Do to 
beings below yoti as you would be done by beings above 
you. Pity the tortoise, the katydid, the wild-bird, 
and the ox. Poor, undeveloped, untaught crea- 
tures ! Into their dim and lowly lives strays of 
sunshine little enough, though the fell hand of 
man be never against them. They are our fellow- 
mortals. They came out of the same mysterious 
womb of the past, are passing through the same 
dream, and are destined to the same melancholy 
end, as we ourselves. Let us be kind and merciful 
to them. 

' Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods ? 
Draw near them, then, in being merciful ; 
Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.' 

Let us be true to our ideals, true to the spirit 
of Universal Compassion — whether we walk with 
the lone worm wandering in the twilight of con- 
sciousness, the feathered forms of the fields and 
forests, the kine of the meadows, the simple 
savage on the banks of the gladed river, the 
political blanks whom men call wives, or the 
outcasts of human industry. 

Oh this poor world, this poor, suffering, ignorant, 
fear-filled world ! How can men be blind or 
deranged enough to think it is a good world ? 
How can they be cold and satanic enough to be 
unmoved by the groans and anguish, the writhing 
and tears, that come up from its unparalleled 
afflictions ? 

But the world is growing better. And in the 


Future — in the long, long ages to come — it will 
BE REDEEMED ! The Same spirit of sympathy 
and fraternity that broke the black man's manacles 
and is to-day melting the white woman's chains 
will to-morrow emancipate the working man and 
the ox; and, as the ages bloom and the great 
wheels of the centuries grind on, the same spirit 
shall banish Selfishness from the earth, and 
convert the planet finally into one unbroken and 
unparalleled spectacle of Peace, Justice, and 



(1) Spencer: Principles of Ethics, vol. i. ; New York, 


(2) Maine: Early History of Institutions ; New York, 1869. 

(3) Tennent : Natural History of Ceylon ; London, 1861. 

(4) Myers : Ancient History, part i. ; Boston, 1899. 

(5) Myers : Ancient History, part ii. ; Boston, 1899. 

(6) Preston and Dodge : The Private Life of the Romans ; 

Boston, 1896. 

(7) Darwin : Descent of Man ; London, 1874. 

(8) Hamley: Our Poor Relations ; Boston, 1872. 

VIII. Verte- 

5. Mammals- 

'II. Primates : Man, monkey. 
10. Carnivora : Dog, lion, skunk. 
9. Ungulates : Ox, horse, deer. 
8. Sirenians : Dugong. 
7. Cetaceans : Whale, porpoise. 
6. Chiroptera : Bat. 
5. Insectivora : Mole, hedgehog. 
4. Rodents : Rat, mouse, beaver. 
3. Edentates : Sloth, ant-eater. 
2. Marsupials : Kangaroo, 

I. Monotremes : Duckbill, 
Birds : Ostrich, owl, lark 
Reptiles : Snake, lizard, turtle. 
Amphibians : Frog, salamander. 
Fishes : Shark, salmon, lung-fish. 

VII. Arthro 


4. Arachnids : Spider, tick, king-crab. 
3. Insects : Ant, fly, bug, beetle. 
2. Crustaceans : Crayfish, crab, barnacle. 
I. Myriapods: Centiped, milliped. 

VI. Mollusks : Clam, oyster, snail, squid. 

V. Worms : Earthworm, leech, trichina. 
IV. Echinoderms : Star-fish, sea-urchin. 
III. Celenterates : Hydra, coral, jelly-fish. 

II. PORIFERA : Sponge. 
I. Protozoa : Amoeba, euglena, paramecium. 



Wooly haired Men 






Cetaceans n / 


Ape -111 :e Men 


Man -like Apes 

Xew World 01d\*rorld 

Straigkt-liaiied Men 



Edentates Rodents 




Bats Tiiscctivo.[-;i 


Place ntals 



FliuenUd Atu/n<ii>: 





Primiti-le Birds 







Shark-like fishes 

Primitive fishes 






Flat tWorms 






To face p, 330. 



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