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LIBRARY OF
WELLESLEY COLLEGE

GIFT OF

Mary C banning Scott
in memory of
Edith Hemenway Eustis

THE PLAY OF MAN

KARL GROOS

PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN THE

UNIVERSITY OF BASEL
AUTHOR OF THE PLAY OF ANIMALS

TRANSLATED WITH THE AUTHOR S CO-OPERATION

By ELIZABETH L. BALDWIN

WITH A PREFACE BY

J. MARK BALDWIN, Ph.D., hon. D. Sc. (Oxon.)

PROFESSOR IN PRINCETON UNIVERSITY

HUNTTNGTON AVENUE,

NEW YORK

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

1901

\'h'^%

7/7

EDITOR'S PEEFACE

The present writer contributed a somewhat lengthy-
preface and also an appendix to the translation of the
author's earlier volume, The Play of Animals, mainly
because — apart from the expressed wish of Professor
Groos — he wanted to say something about the book. It
is a pleasure to him now to have the justification for
it which comes from the adoption by Professor Groos in
this volume of the suggestions made in the translation of
the earlier one. The main points have all been accepted
and used by the author (see pp. 265, 376, 395, of this
volume, for example), and further discussions of them
have been brought out. This is said in view of the opin-
ion of many that " introductions " are always out of place.

A notable thing about the present volume, considered
in relation to the Play of Animals, is the modification
of the theory of play as respects its criteria — a point
fully explained by the author in his Introduction (see
especially p= 5).

The present writer's editorial function has been con-
fined to the insertion of various notes, and the suggest-
ing to the translator of certain renderings; both mainly
of a terminological sort (see pp. 5, 122, 133, 264, for ex-
amples). In this connection it has been found possible
to anticipate and follow the recommendations made in
the present writer's Dictionary of Philosophy and Psy-
chology (now in press), seeing that Professor Groos is
in active co-operation with the committee engaged upon
the German-English equivalents of that work, in so far
adopted here. A particular case is the group of render-
ings: "Preparation" (Voriibung), "Habituation" (Einu-

iv THE PLAY OF MAN

bung-), "Exercise" (Auslibung), all terms of the "Prac-
tice " (Uebung) theory of play. Another case is the set of
terms applied to the various reactions of " Shyness " — e. g.,
" Bashfulness " (Schiichternheit), "Coyness" (Sprodig-
keit), "Modesty" (Bescheidenheit), "Shame" (Scham),
etc. Biologists will note the adoption of " Kudiment "
for Anlage in its biological sense.

Intrinsically the work will be found a worthy com-
panion to The Play of Animals, a book which has already
become famous.

J. Mark Baldwin.

Princeton University, February, 1901.

AUTHOR'S PREFACE

In this work my aim is to present the anthropological
aspects of the same subject treated of in my psychological
investigation of animal play, published in 1896, which
may be said to have been a pioneer attempt in its depart-
ment. In the discussion of human play, however, I am
supported by valuable philosophical works, among which
I acknowledge myself especially indebted to those of
Schaller, Lazarus, and Colozza. In regard to the stand-
point from which I approach the general problem of play,
it is hardly necessary for me to speak at length here. It
is the same practice theory on which I intrenched myself
in the earlier work. The difficulties in its way, arising
from our as yet imperfect understanding of human im-
pulse life, are fully allowed for in the introduction to the
first section, and I am convinced that the results attained
by its adoption will, on the whole, justify the method of
treatment which I have chosen.

Since it was my interest in aesthetics which first in-
duced me to turn my attention to the subject of play, it
is natural that the cesthetic phase of the question should
be conspicuous in this volume. Still, I wish it to be dis-
tinctly understood that my inquiry has not been con-
ducted solely in obedience to such leadings, nor should it
be judged exclusively by aesthetic criteria. I have inten-
tionally left many questions open for more mature con-
sideration, at some future time, when I can give to them
more thought than was possible in the year's study which
I have devoted to play phenomena.

Karl Groos.
Basel, December, 1898.

CONTENTS

PAGE

Editor's Preface iii

Author's Preface v

The System of Play — Introduction . . . . . 1

PART I

FLA YFUL EXPERIMENT A TION

I. Playful Activity of the Sensory Apparatus

1. Sensations of contact .

2. Sensations of temperature

3. Sensations of taste

4. Sensations of smell

5. Sensations of hearing .

(a) Receptive sound-play
(&) Productive sound-play

6. Sensations of sight

(a) Sensations of brightness
(6) The perception of colour
(c) Perception of form
id) Perception of movement

II. Playful Use of the Motor Apparatus

A. Playful movement of the bodily organs

B. Playful movement of foreign bodies

1. Hustling things about

2. Destructive (analytic) movement-play

3. Constructive (synthetic) movement-play

4. Playful exercise of endurance

7
7
14
14
16
18
19
31
48
50
54
60
67

74
75
95
95
97
99
101

VIU

THE PLAY OF MAN

PAGE

^ 5. Thro ing plays 103

(a) simple throwing 105

(b) Throwing with the help of a stroke or

blow ....... 107

foreign bodies 110

(d) Throwing at a mark . . . .114
6. Catching 118

III. Playful Use of the Higher Mental Powers . . 121

A. Experimentation with the mental powers . . 123

1. Memory 122

(a) Recognition 122

(b) Reflective memory 128

2. Imagination 131

(a) Playful illusion 131

(b) Playful transformation of the memory-

content 135

3. Attention 144

4. Reason 152

B. Experimentation with the feelings .... 158

1. Physical pain 159

2. Mental suffering 160

3. Surprise 163

4. Fear 166

C. Experimentation with the will . . . .169

PART II

TEE FLA YFUL EXERCISE OF IMPULSES OF THE SECOND
OR SO CI 0X0 MIC ORDER

I. Fighting Play .

1. Direct physical fighting play

2. Direct mental contests .

3. Physical rivalry .

4. Mental rivalry

5. The destructive impulse

6. Teasing.

7. Enjoyment of the comic

8. Hunting play

9. Witnessing fights and fight:

ng plays. The tragic

173

174
186
197
201
217
220
232
237
244

CONTENTS ix

PAGE

II. Love Play 253

1. Natural courtship play 254

2. Love play in art 268

3. Sex in the comic ........ 278

III. Imitative Play 280

1, Playful imitation of simple movements . . . 291

(a) Optical percepts 291

(&) Playful imitation of acoustic percepts . . 294

2. Drahiatic imitation in play 300

[3. Plastic or constructive imitative play . . . 313

4. Inner imitation 322

IV. Social Play 334

PART III

TIIF THEORY OF PL AY

1. The physiological standpoint 361

2. The biological standpoint 369

3. The psychological standpoint . . . . . . 379

4. The aesthetic standpoint 389

5. The sociological standpoint 395

6. The pedagogical standpoint 398

Index 407

THE PLAY OF MAN

THE SYSTEM OF PLAY

Introduction

While many have undertaken, by various methods, to
classify human play satisfactorily, in no single case has the
result been entirely fortunate. Grasberger remarked, a
quarter of a century ago, that a permanent classification
of play had not up to that time been achieved,* and in my
opinion the present decade finds the situation essentially
unchanged.

Under these circumstances, I can hardly hope that my
own classification will satisfy all demands, but I reassure
myself with the reflection that absolute systematization is
and must remain, in the vast majority of cases, a mere
logical ideal. Yet even an imperfect classification may
justify itself in two ways : it may be very comprehensive
and practical, or its aptly chosen grounds of distinction
may serve to open at once to the reader the inmost core
of the subject under discussion. My special effort has
been directed to the second of these uses, adopting as I
do the conception of impulse life as a starting point;
how far I may have attained to the first as well is for
others to judge.

I consider the governing force of instinct as having
been fully established in the study of animal play. In
the book f which deals with this subject I reached the
conclusion that among higher animals certain instincts

* L. Grashersrer, Erziehunsr unci Unterricht irn klassischen Altertlium,
Wurzhurar, 1804, vol. i, p. 23/ See also Colozza's compilation 11 Guoco
iiella Psicolooria e nella Pedaof^eia, Turin, 1.S95, p. 36.

+ Die Spiele der Thiere, Jena, 1890. Ensrlish translation by E. L.
Baldwin. D. Appleton and Company, Kew York, 1898.

2 THE PLAY OF MAN

are present which, especially in youth, but also in matu-
rity, produce activity that is without serious intent, and so
give rise to the various phenomena which we include in
the word "play." I shall treat of the biological signifi-
cance of this fact in the second, the theoretical section
of this book. Here I confine myself to remarking briefly
that in child's play (which, according to one theory of our
subject, is of the utmost importance) opportunity is given
to the animal, through the exercise of inborn dispositions,
to strengthen and increase his inheritance in the acquisi-
tion of adaptations to his complicated environment, an
achievement which would be unattainable by mere me-
chanical instinct alone. The fact that youth is par excel-
lence the period of play is in thorough harmony with this
theory.

An analogous position is tenable in the treatment of
human play, although the word instinct, while generally
applicable, is not universally so — a difficulty which is much
more conspicuous here than in the classification of ani-
mal play. We lack a comprehensive and yet specific term
for those unacquired tendencies which are grounded in
our psycho-physical organism as such. The word instinct
does not cover the ground with its commonly accepted
definition as inherited association between stimuli and
particular bodily reactions. Even the imitative impulse,
which is responsible for the important group of imitative
plays, is not easily included in this idea, because no spe-
cific reaction characterizes it.* It is safer, therefore, to
speak of such play as the product of " natural or heredi-
tary impulse," although even that is not entirely satis-
factory, since many psychologists connect the idea of
impulse with a tendency to physical movement. There
are undoubtedly deep-rooted requirements of our nature
w^hich this definition does not include, and which must
be given due weight in our study of play. Thus, as Jodl,
in agreement with Beaunis and others, maintains, every
sensory tract has not only the ability to receive and act
upon certain stimuli, but betrays itself originally through

* This is a modificatiou of my former view. For particulars, see the
section on Imitative Flay.

INTRODUCTION 3

desire for their realization."^" And if we keep in mind the
tension toward special sensation, always present even in
a state of comparative rest and distraction of the sense
organ, as well as those external movements which are no
longer the particular object of desire, we find ourselves
still further from the narrow idea of instinct in relation
to psycho-physical processes. In this dilemma we can
only hold fast to the fact of the primal need for activity,
which, while it can not, any more than the other, be in-
cluded in the narrower use of the terms, has neverthe-
less an unmistakable relation to the life of impulse and in-
stinct. And while it is true that mere intellectual fiat
is not adequate to the establishment of such causal con-
nections, one might be tempted, under the stress of dire
need, to coin some such term as " central instinct," did
not any added burden threaten to plunge the already
over-weighted term into a very chaos of obscurity. The
case is much the same, too, with other mental attributes.
Who is to decide whether it is lawful to assume a uni-
versal "impulse to activity" (Ribot approaches such an
assumption) f which may, according to circumstances, be-
come now effort after emotional excitement, now desire
for logical expression and the like? Or who shall pass
on the legitimacy of a revival of the hereditary central-
impulse theory which directs attention not to external
physical movement, but exclusively to such internal dis-
positions as are dependent on the psycho-physical organ-
ization? Should this latter view prevail, biological psy-
chology will have before it the task of linking an ancient
idea — it was developed in Ulrici's Leib und Seele in 1866
— to the body of modern science.

As it is likely to be some time yet before scientific ter-
minology shall have attained such clearness and perfec-
tion in a sphere by no means easily accessible, that we may
count on banishing all obscurity, I must content myself

* Jodl, Lehrbuch der Psyehologie, SUittsrart, 1896, p. 425.

t He speaks (Tsycholoi^ie des Sentiments, Paris, 189fi, p. 195) of an
instinctive impulse "a depenser un superflu d'aetivite." If, as 1 believe,
this does not mean actual superfluity (Spencer's "surplus" energy),
then it must refer to our natural impulse to seek action and experience.
See also Paolo Lombroso, Piacere di esplicare la propria activita. (Saggi
di Psicologiu del Bambino, Turin, 1894, p. 117.)

4: THE PLAY OF MAN

with the term "natural or inherited impulse"* as the basis
of my classification. In far the greater number of cases it
is equivalent to simple instinct. But in the imitative im-
pulse we have something which is analogous only to in-
stinct, and in reference to the higher mental disposi-
tions to activity, the term " impulse " must be expanded
beyond its usual significance. I am well aware that my
classification lacks precision, but I venture to think that
it affords deeper insight into the problem than may be
had by other means and that some aspects of the subject,
not evident from other standpoints, may be brought out
by this method of treatment.

The first important distinction made is that between
the impulses by which the individual wins supremacy over
his own psycho-physical organism without regard to other
individuals prominent in his environment, and such other
impulses as are directly concerned with his relations
to others. To the first group belong all the manifold
impulses which issue in human activity, those conti oiling
his sensory and motor apparatus f as well as the higher
mental dispositions which impel him to corresponding
acts. To the second group w "gn the fighting and sex-
ual impulses, imitation, and the social dispositions closely
connected with these. Each of these manifests its own
peculiar play activity. Unfortunately, an adequate ter-
minology here, too, is wanting, and as the opposites " ego-
tism and altruism," '" individualism and socialism," are
not admissible in our classification, it is difficult to desig-
nate the two groups with propriety. While awaiting bet-
ter names for them, I am forced to the very unsatisfactory
expedient of calling them impulses of the first order and
impulses of the second order.:}: To denote the playful ex-
ercise of the first order of impulses, I shall use the expres-
sion " playful experimentation," which is already adopted
in child-psychology, and also, by myself at least, in ani-
mal psychology.

* Acquired impulses are all developed from natural ones,
t In Kibot's classilication these impulses become instincts belonging
to the second group fPsychologie des Sentiments, p. 194).

J The terms " private " and '' public " (or " social ") are used by Bald-
win, Social and Ethical Interpretations, section 30, to cover a "similar
distinction. The terms " autonomic " and " socionomic " impulses would
possibly answer.- -Ed.

INTRODUCTION 5

As all further subdivisions will be effected without
difficulty in the course of our investigation, I add here
only a brief note on the general characteristics of the
playful exercise of these impulses. The biological cri-
terion of play is that it shall deal not w^ith the serious
exercise of the special instinct, but with practice pre-
paratory to it. Such practice always responds to definite
needs, and is accompanied by pleasurable feelings. The
psychological criterion corresponds with it; thus, when
an act is performed solely because of the pleasure it
affords, there is play. Yet, the consciousness of engaging
in sham occupation is not a universal criterion of play.

PAUT I
PLAYFUL EXPERIMENTATION

I. Playful Activity of the Sensory Apparatus
1. Sensations of Contact

The newborn infant is susceptible to touch sensations.
Movements and loud cries can be induced directly after
it has for the first time become quiet, by pinching the
skin or slapping the thigh.* Experiments with the hands
and mouth are most satisfactory, as these organs are ex-
tremely sensitive from the first. During its first week
the child makes many purely automatic motions with its
hands, and frequently touches its face. When contact is
had in this way with the lips, they react with gentle suck-
ing movements, and later follows the playful sucking of
the fingers so common among children. It is, of course,
difficult to say when such movements are conscious or
when they are the result of taste stimuli. f According to
Perez, a two-months-old babe enjoys being stroked softly,
and from that moment it is possible that it may seek,
by its own movements, to provide touch stimuli for itself.
Here play begins. " Touch now controls. At three
months the child begins to reach out for the purpose of
grasping with his hand; he handles like an amateur con-
noisseur, and the tendency to seek and to test muscular
sensations develops in him from day to day." t

a. We will first notice grasping with the hand as it is
connected with taste stimuli. The merely instinctive

* W. Preyer, Die Seele des Kindes, 4'^ Auf., Leipsic, 1895, p. 64.

+ See the'writinfrs of J. Mark Baldwin on the importance of repetition
for development. They are frequently cited in what follows.

X B. Perez, Ses trois premieres annees do Penfant, fifth edition, Paris,
1892, pp. 38, 45.

2 7

8 THE PLAY OF MAN

movements of the first few days are multiplied and fixed,
by means of inherited adaptation, progressively from the
beginning of the second quarter year. The child begins
by handling every object which comes within his reach,
even his own body, and especially his feet, and one hand
with the other.* In all this not only the motor element,
of which we will speak later, but also the sensor stimulus
becomes an object of interest, as Preyer's observation
shows. " In the eighteenth week, whenever the effort to
grasp was unsuccessful its fingers were attentively re-
garded. Evidently the child expected the sensation of con-
tact, and when it was not forthcoming wondered at the ab-
sence of the feeling." f This practice in grasping promotes
the opposition of the thumb, which first appears toward
the end of the first quarter, and from that time the refine-
ment of the sense of contact progresses rapidly. At eight
months Striimpell's little daughter took great pleasure in
picking up very small objects, like bread crumbs or
pearls.:}: This illustrates the familiar fact that play leads
up from what is easy to more difficult tasks, since
only deliberate conquest can produce the feeling of pleas-
ure in success. At about this time, too, the child's ex-
plorations of its own body are extended, and their con-
clusions confirmed by the recognition of constant local
signs. " As soon as she discovered her ear," says Strum-
pell of his now ten-months-old daughter, " she seized upon
it as if she w^ished to tear it off." In her third year
Marie G found on the back of her ear two little pro-
jections of cartilage, which she examined with the great-
est interest, calling them balls, and wanting everybody to
feel them. The nose, too, is repeatedly investigated.
Although it is seldom large enough to be grasped, still,
as Stanley Hall says, it is handled with unmistakable
signs of curiosity, and often pulled or rubbed "in an
investigating way." ^

The value of the sense of touch for the earliest mental

* See G. Stanley Hall, Some Aspects of the Early Sense of Self.
American Journal of Psychology, vol. ix, No. 3, 1898.

+ Op. cit.,\>. 162.

X L. Strumpell, Psychologische Piidagogik, Leipsic, 1880, pp. 359, 860.

* Op. cit., p. 357.

SENSATIONS OF CONTACT 9

development is testified to by the fact that the child,
like doubting Thomas, trusts more to it than to his sight.
Sikorski says : " At tea I turn to my eleven-months baby,
point to the cracker jar, which she knows, and ask her
to give me one. I open the empty jar and the child looks
in, but, not satisfied with that, sticks her hand in and
explores. The evidence of her eyes does not convince
her of the absence of what she wants." *
In Wolfdietrich one verse runs:

"Die Augen in ihren (der Wolfe) Hiiuptern, die brannten wie ein Licht,
Der Knabe war noch thoricht und zagt vor Feinden niclit.
£s ging zu einem jeden uud gritfihm mit der Hand,
"VVo er die lichteu Augen in iliren Kopfen land." t

Older children lose the habit of playful investigation
quite as little as any of the other manifestations of ex-
perimentation, even when the sensations encountered are
not particularly agreeable. Richard Wagner liked to
handle satin, and Sacher Masoch delighted in soft fur.
In later life as well, Perez continues, all the senses strive
for satisfaction; when the adult is not forced by neces-
sity to put all his faculties at the service of " attention
utile " he becomes a child again. He easily falls back into
the habit of gazing instead of looking, of listening in-
stead of hearing, of handling instead of touching, of
moving about merely for the sake of sensations agree-
able or even indifferent which are produced by these
automatic acts.:}: We all know how hard it is for school
children to keep their hands still during recitation.
" I knew a little girl," says Compayre, " who would under-
take to recite only on condition that she be allowed to

* Dr. Sikorski, L'e volution physique de I'enfant, Eevue Philosophique
xix (188.5). p. 418.

f " The wolves' eyes burned in their heads like lire,
But the boy in his folly lied not before the foe ;
He went up to one of them and seized it with his hand
Where he saw the glittering eyes glowing in its head."
I. V. Zincjerle, Das Deutsche Kinderspiel, second edition, Innsbruck,
1873. p. 51.

X Les trois premieres annees. etc., p. 46. In regard to the words "sen-
sations agreeable or even indifferent," I would say that this distinction
between pleasure in sensation as such, and pleasure in agreeable sensa-
tion, recurs again and again. In the most advanced play, aesthetic enjoy-
ment, it appears as the difference between testhetic effect and beauty.

10 THE PLAY OF MAN

use her fingers at the same time, and she would sew and
thread her needle while she was spelling." * The knitting
of women while they listen is perhaps of the same nature.
WuMin remarks : " We all know that many people, espe-
cially students, in order to think clearly need a sharp-
pointed pencil, which they pass back and forth through
the fingers, sharpening their wits by the sensation of
contact." t Then, too, there are the innumepable toying
movements of adults, such as rolling bread crumbs and
the like, all of which serves to introduce a short ethno-
logical digression. "In the year 1881," relates the bril-
liant W. Joest, " when I was travelling through Siberia,
... I noticed that many of the men, requiring some oc-
cupation for their nervous hands during leisure hours,
played absently with walnuts, which had become highly
polished from constant use." He saw stones, brass and
iron balls, and the Turkish tespi, whose original use is
devotional, employed for the same purpose; indeed, Le-
vantines, who are not Mohammedans, often regard these
latter as special instruments of gaming and vice.:}:

Carrying a walking-stick is another playful satisfac-
tion in which the hand's sensation of contact has a part,
while the lead pencil, small as it is, will sometimes satisfy
the demand for " something in the hand." This is a
genuine craving, which betrays itself in all sorts of awk-
ward movements if we try to deny its indulgence. Car-
rying a cane is a remarkably widespread custom, and some
think that the very small stone hatchets so common in
ethnological museums as relics of a prehistoric time were
used as cane handles in the stone age. Joest says, in the
article cited above, that walking-sticks are used in mil-
lions of forms, on every continent and island of our earth.
The naked Kaffir uses a slender, fragile cane of unusual
length, and, according to P. Eeichard,* his ideal of peace
and prosperity is embodied in "going to walk with a

* G. Compavre, L'evolution intellectuelle et morale de I'eufant, Paris,
1893.

+ H, Wolfflin, Prolegomena zu einer Psychologic der Architcktur,
Munich, 1886, p. 47.

X W. Joest, Allerlei Spielzcug, Internationales Archiv fur Ethnogra-
phic, vol. vi (180.3).

* Deutsche Colonialzeitung, 1889, No. 11.

SENSATIONS OF CONTACT H

cane," since this implies freedom from the necessity of
bearing arms. I close this digression with an instance
which borders on the pathological. Sheridan was waiting
for the celebrated Samuel Johnson, well known to be
eccentric, to dine with him, and saw the doctor approach-
ing from a distance, " walking along with a peculiar
solemnity of deportment and an awkward sort of meas-
ured step. At that time the broad flagging at each side
of the streets was not imiversally adopted, and stone
posts were in use to prevent the annoying of carriages.
Upon every post, as he passed along, I could observe he
deliberately laid his hand, but, missing one of them, when
he had got at some distance he seemed suddenly to recol-
lect himself, and, immediately returning back, carefully
performed the accustomed ceremony and resumed his
former course, not omitting one till he gained the cross-
ing. This, Mr. Sheridan assured me, however odd it
might appear, was his constant practice." *

h. The mouth of an infant is, of course, very sensitive
to touch stimuli, and the lips and tongue are especially
so. When Preyer put the end of an ivory pencil into
the mouth of a child whose head only was born as yet, it
began to suck, opened its eyes and seemed, to judge from
its countenance, " to be very agreeably affected." t It
happens very soon that automatic arm movements acci-
dentally bring the fingers near the mouth, and such auto-
matic sucking results. From it the familiar habit of
thumb sucking is formed, as well as the practice of carry-
ing every possible object to the mouth. " Your finger, a
scrap of cloth, a bottle, fruit, flowers, insects, vases, objects
large and small, attractive or repulsive, all seek the same
goal." X I think Compayre is right when he says that it is
not merely a case of duped appetite which Preyer points
out. "The child enjoys the mere contact; it gives him
pleasure to test with his lips everything that offers an oc-
casion for the use of his nerves and muscles." * We find
that in later life many persons like to play about the lips

* Croker's Boswell's Johnson, p. 215.
+ Op. cit., p. 65.

X Perez, Lea trois premieres annees, p. 16.

# Op. cit., p. 87.

12 THE PLAY OF MAN

with fingers, penholder, etc. Many, too, who have out-
grown the fascinations of thumb sucking, still lay a finger
lightly on the lips when going to sleep or when half awake.*
The pleasure derived from smoking is due perhaps more
than we realize to this instinct, and the common habit
of holding in the mouth a broken twig, a leaf, a stalk of
grass or hay, so far as it is not practice in chewing, be-
longs here. In K. E. Edler's romance, Die neue Herrin
(Berlin, 1897, p. 137), portraits of the extinct species of
young lady are described. "In this one the lips pressed
a cigarette, while in other pictures a rose stalk, the head
of a riding crop, or some other object, not excluding her
own dainty finger, was held against them, showing that
in those days the mouth must have something to do as
well as the hands, feet, eyes, and all the rest of the body."

Finally, it must be remembered that much of the en-
joyment of delicate food is due to the sense of contact.
When certain viands are consumed without hunger, be-
cause " they slip down so easily," we have play with touch
sensations. This has something to do with the popular-
ity of oysters and of effervescing drinks. " It tastes like
your foot's asleep," said a small maiden on being allowed
to taste something of the kind — a proof of the close con-
nection with touch stimuli.

A few words may suffice in regard to playful use of
touch sensations in other parts of the body. We have
seen that an infant enjoys being softly stroked, and we
may assume that a soft bed is appreciated early in life.
The question is, whether the child or the adult voluntarily
produces such sensations for the sake of the pleasure they
afford. Perhaps this is why we like to roll about on a
soft bed, and more unmistakably playful is the fondness
of children for throwing themselves repeatedly into a
well-filled feather bed or on piles of hay, to feel them-
selves sink into the elastic mass. Violent contact is in-
dulged in in many dances. In the Siederstanz, which I
myself learned in the Gymnasium, the thighs were beaten
with the hands. Somewhat similar, but decidedly more

* Compayre, indeed, maintains that kissine is no more than a " res-
Bouvenir" of the lip movements on the maternal breast.

SENSATIONS OF CONTACT 13

violent, is the Haxenschlagen of the Bavarian dances, and
the ancients practised the pa6anvyi(€i,vy an alternate strik-
ing of the foot soles on the back. A verse is preserved,
written in praise of a Spartan maiden who succeeded in
keeping this up longer than any one else — one thousand
times.*

Water affords delightful sensations of touch; in the
bath, of course, enjoyment of the movements and tem-
perature is more conspicuous, but the soothing gentleness
of the moist element is not to be despised. For con-
firmation I will cite Morike's beautiful verses:

" O Fluss, mein Fluss im Morgen- " O stream, my stream in the
strahl ! morning beam !

Empfange nun, empfange Receive me now, receive

Den sehnsuchtvollen Leib einmal Me thrilling, longing as I am,

Und kiisse Brust und Wange ! And kiss my breast and cheek ;

Er fiihlt mir schon her auf die I feel already in my breast

Brust, The cooling, soothing influence

Er kiihlt mit Liebesschauerlust Of fresh, delicious showers

Und jauchzendem Gesange. And joyous, rippling song.

;" Es schlupft der goldne Sonnenschein " The golden sunshine rains on me

In Tropfen an mir wider. In glittering drops. Soft waves

Die Woge wieget aus und ein Caress my yielding limbs,

Die hingegebnen Glieder ; My outstretched arms receive

Die Arme hab' ich ausgespannt, them

Sie kommt auf mich herzugerannt, As they hasten up to clasp

Sie fasst und lasst mich wieder." And then release me."

Here, as in all specialized pleasures, intensive emotion
betrays itself. In sea bathing the principal stimulus is
found in the sharp blow from the waves as they break
repeatedly over one. Last of all, we notice the sensation
of movement in the air. We take off our hats to let the
wind play with our hair, and fanning is not always in-
dulged in merely for the sake of cooling off, but also for
the sake of the touch stimuli excited by the soft contact
with waves of air.

* L. Grasl^erger, op. cit.. Fart I, p. 35. Fig. 282 in Maurice Emman-
uel's book. La danse Grecque antique (Paris, 1896), furnishes a pictorial
repret-entation of this movement.

14 THE PLAY OF MAN

2. Sensations of Tem.perature

There is a scarcity of material under this head, since
the occasions to produce such sensations, except for the
serious purposes of cooling or warming ourselves, are
comparatively rare. Among the few that may safely be
called playful, the most prominent is the seeking for
strong stimuli for their very intensities' sake, and because
like all powerful excitation, they give us the feeling of
"heightened reality" (Lessing). When we court the
stinging cold of a winter day, or sit in spring sunshine to
get " baked through for once," * we are as much playing,
I think, as when watching rippling water, or gazing at
heaven's blue dome.f Cool air has the same refreshing
effect as a cold bath, while even in a warm bath the pleas-
antness of the temperature sensation is a satisfaction
quite apart from its cleansing and sanitary effects, and
most bathers will stretch themselves out to enjoy it for a
little while after soap and sponge have done their duty.
Among the refinements of the sense of taste, too, the
stimulus of heat and cold is conspicuous, as ices and pep-
permint, hot grog, spices, and spirits witness.

3. Sensations of Taste

Brevity of treatment is accorded to this class of sen-
sations as well, though in this case from no lack of data.

Kussmaul's investigations X show that, as a rule, the
child prefers sweets from its birth, and will reject any-
thing bitter, sour, or salt, although, until the later devel-
oped sense of smell is perfected, it is incapable of more

* Miss Romanes's account of the capuchin ape perhaps furnishes an
example from the animal world: "He pulls out hot cinders from the
errate, and passes them over his head and chest, evidently enjoyinsr the
warmth, but never burninor himself He also puts hot ashes on his head "
(Animal Intelligence, fifth edition, London, 1892, p. 493). The context
favours the supposition of playful experimentation.

+ " Un aveusrle, voulant exprimer la volupte que lui causait cette
chaleur du soleil invisible pour lui. disait quil croyait entendre le soleil
comme une harmonic" (M. Guyan, Les probleraes de I'esthetique eontem-
poraine, third edition, p. (il\

X A. Kussmaul, Untersuchuugen tiber das Seelenleben des neugebore-
nen Menschen, 1859, p. 16.

SENSATIONS OF TASTE 15

delicate taste distinctions.* On the whole, we find that
with children such distinctions are less varied than among
adults, the sweet of candy and the acid of fruits furnish-
ing the staple material for their playful use of the sense.
It is true that the pleasure which they derive from these
is extreme. I well remember what unheard-of quantities
of these viands were consumed at our birthday fetes at
school in Heidelberg, by children from six to nine years
of age, not at all because they were hungry, but from
mere pleasure in the taste. For we find even in children
that enjoyment of eating is no more confined to the satis-
faction of hunger than is aesthetic pleasure limited to

the contemplation of the beautiful. When Marie G

was barely three years old she displayed an unmistakable
preference for piquant flavours; even those which were
evidently disagreeable in themselves she enjoyed, trying
them again and again for the sake of the stimulus they
afforded — a taste which is much more common among
adults than w^ith children.

A review of the pleasures and practices of the table
at various periods and among various peoples is an allur-
ing but here impracticable undertaking. Let it sufiico
to cite one example from the ancients, that most cele-
brated of all descriptions of revelry at the board, the
coena Trimalchionis of Petronius, which W. A. Becker
has made use of in his Gallus. The following will serve
as a characteristic ethnological instance of the enjoyment
of flavours, which are, to put it mildly, decidedly equivocal.
In Java the durian tree bears green prickly fruit, about
the size of cocoanuts and with a flavour which, according
to Wallace, furnishes a new sensation well worth journey-
ing to the Orient for. The smell of it is something
frightful — a cross between musk and garlic, with sugges-
tions of carrion and " overripe " cheese. The taste is aro-
matic, satisfying, and nutty, like a combination of cream
cheese, onion sauce, and burnt sherry. This fruit is rig-
idly excluded from the hotels, as its odour would instan-

* Les yeux et Ins navines etant fermes, dit Lonsret. on ne distingruera
pas line creine k la vanille d'line creme au cafe; elles ne produiront
qu'une sensation commune de saveur douce et sucree (Perez, Les trois
annees, etc., p. 14).

16 THE PLAY OF MAN

taneously pervade every room, but it is sought elsewhere
by the guests and eaten with avidity. Semon says of it :
" This fruit, like our strong, rich cheeses, is detested by
those who are not fond of it." ^^ What various associa-
tions are connected with the pleasures of the palate is
shown by the epitheta ornantia of a wine list, such as
strong, fiery, soft, fresh, lovely, sharp, elegant, hard, spicy,
fruity, and smooth. Huysmans, in his novel A Eebours,
gives a pathological example of amusement derived from
taste association in the following passage. After describ-
ing the life of the nervously diseased Des Esseintes, he
goes on: "In his dining room was a closet containing
miniature casks on dainty sandalwood stands, each one
fitted with a silver cock. Des Esseintes called this col-
lection his mouth organ. A rod connected all the cocks,
and they could be turned with a single movement answer-
ing to the pressure of a knob concealed in the woodwork,
filling all the little glasses at once. The organ was stand-
ing open, the register with the inscriptions of flute, cor,
voix celeste, etc, displayed, and all was ready for use.
Des Esseintes sipped here and there a few drops, playing
an inner symphony and deriving from the sensations of
his palate pleasure like that produced on the ear by
music."

4. Sensations of Smell

The ability to distinguish the character of odours
seems to be a later development than taste differentia-
tion. At least this is the case with regard to the enjoy-
ment of agreeable smells. Among children of various
ages experimented on by Perez, one of ten months showed
some appreciation of the perfume of a rose,t but most
children are probably first rendered susceptible to pleas-
ure from scents by their association with flavours. Girls,
however, seem to enjoy sweet smells as such more than
boys do, though M. Guyan relates that he recalls vividly
the emotion penetrante which he experienced on inhaling
for the first time the perfume of a lily.t

* R. Senion. Im australischen Busch uud an den Kusten des Korallen-
mecres. Leipsic, 189G, p. 512.

+ 02>. cit., p. 18. X Op. cit., p. 66.

SENSATIONS OF SMELL 17

With reference to adults, the same writer may be
cited : " In spite of its relative incompleteness, the sense
of smell has inuch to do with our enjoyment of landscape,
whether actually viewed or vividly portrayed. No por-
trayal of Italy is complete without the softened atmos-
phere which recalls the perfume of its oranges, nor of
Brittany or Gascony without the crisp sea air which
Victor Hugo has so justly celebrated, nor of pine forests
without suggestions of its aroma." " The passion for
smoking," says Pilo (I give this to show how complicated
our apparently simple enjoyments may be), " is so general
because almost all the senses are flattered impartially by
it; visceral, muscular, and taste sensations are involved
in the use of the lungs which it calls for, the lips, tongue,
teeth, and salivary glands through feelings of tempera-
ture; the senses of taste and smell through the piquant,
aromatic flavour; hearing, in a very direct and intimate
way, through the crackling of the leaves and the rhythmic
inhaling and exhaling of the breath ; and, finally, the sense
of sight in gazing at the glowing cigar and soft, gray
ashes and curling smoke which winds and glides upward
in a fantastic spiral ; while the brain, under the soothing
influence of the narcotic, enjoys a repose enlivened by
dreams and visions." * Complete as this description ap-
pears, it yet misses one point — namely, the sucking move-
ments which, from the recollections of the earliest months
of life, we associate with pleasurable feeling. We may
find the Des Esseintes of Huysmans's romance useful once
more. "Wishing now to enjoy a beautiful and varied
landscape, he began to play full, sonorous chords, which
at once called up before the vision a perspective of bound-
less prairie lands. By means of his vaporizer, the room
was filled with an essence skilfully compounded by an
artist hand and well deserving of its name — Extract of
the Flowery Plain. . . . Having completed his back-
ground, which now stretched itself before his closed eyes
in bold lines, he breathed over it all a light spray of
essences, . . . such as powdered and painted ladies
use — stephanotis, ayapapa, opoponax, chypre, champaka,

* Mario Pilo, La psychologic de beau et de I'art, Paris, 1895, p. 15.

18 THE PLAY OF MAN

sarkanthus — and added a suspicion of lilac, to lend to
this artificial life a touch of natural bloom and warmth
of genuine sunshine. Soon, however, he threw open a
ventilator, and allowed these waves of heavy odour to
pass out, retaining only the fragrance of the fields,
whose accent and rhythmical recurrence emphasized the
harmony like a ritornelle in poetry. The ladies vanished
instantly, the landscape alone remained; after an inter-
val, low roofs appeared along the horizon with tall chim-
neys silhouetted against the sky, an odour of chemicals
and of factory smoke was borne on the breeze his fans
now produced, yet JSTature's sw^eet perfumes penetrated
even this heavily weighted atmosphere."

5. Sensations of Hearing *

In the consideration of this important sphere of play
activity we encounter one of the special problems of our
subject. Since Darwin's time it has been customary to
explain the art of tone and the musical element in poetry
as an effect of sexual selection. But while I am con-
vinced that these arts do on one side bear the very closest
relation to sexual life, yet I believe that Spencer is right
in warning us that the exclusive reference of such phe-
nomena to sexual selection is hardly warranted. The
courtship arts of birds, it is true, are sufficiently striking,
yet we must remember, aside from the fact that promi-
nent investigators have raised serious objections to the
application of the theory even to them, that birds have
but a distant kinship to man. As regards our closer rela-
tives in the animal world, Darwin himself says, "With
mammals the male appears to win the female much more
through the law of battle than through the display of his
charms." f And among mammals, again, monkeys are not
distinguished by any special arts of courtship. The
acoustic phenomena cited by Darwin are summed up in the
cry of the howling ape and the musical notes of the species
of Gibbon from Borneo and the Sumatran ape described by

* This sootion has been published under the title Ueber HOr-Spiele,
in the Vierteljahvsschrift f. wiss. Philos., xxii.
t Descent of Man, vol. ii, p. 228.

SENSATIONS, OF HEARING 19

Selenka.* Of other such arts, only one is noteworthy in
monkeys as being also practised by man, and even that
not directly in connection with love-making — namely, the
disposition to display the back. It has not yet been
proved that the monkey's wonderful dexterity serves him
especially in courtship. The supposition has much in its
favour, it is true, but finds little support from what we
know of his sexual life. Brehm covers the ground pretty
well when he says, " Knightly courtesy serves him little
with the weaker sex; he must take by force the rewards
of love." Ethnology shows us, too, that an exclusive or
even a preferential reference of music and poetry to sex-
uality can not be assumed among primitive races. Hav-
ing thus stated the doubts in advance, it may be interest-
ing to glance once more over the psychology of play, with
a view to discovering which arts and testhetic pleasures
may have arisen independently of sex. In such a review
of hearing plays we are likely to find much which tends
to expand and also to limit the Darwinian theory — noth-
ing which will refute it.

Hearing plays may serve merely as a means for the
satisfaction of acoustic impulses, or to give necessary
exercise to motor apparatus, and, while this whole inquiry
can not be said to penetrate further than to the ante-
chamber of a3sthetic perception and artistic production,
an obvious distinction at once becomes apparent — namely,
that between the receptive or hearing function and the
production of sounds and tones. From the suckling's de-
light in his own guttural gurglings to the most refined
enjoyment of a concert-goer, from the uncouth efforts of
the small child to produce all sorts of sounds, to the crea-
tive impulse which controls the musical genius, there is,
in the light of history, a progressive and consistent de-
velopment.

(a) Receptive Sound-Play

Pleasure in listening to tones and noises shows itself
remarkably early, although, as is well known, the child is

* E. and L. Solenka, Soninfre Welt, Wieshaden. 1896, p. 55. The cry is
paid to be less like a melody than a sort of exultinar call. One of the
Swiss hunters in the expedition said that the a-pojodeled back to him.

20 THE PLAY OF MAN

born deaf. Infants but two or three days old will stop
crying in response to a loud whistle, and Perez has noted
signs of enjoyment of vocal and instrumental music dur-
ing the first month. Preyer reports of the seventh and
eighth weeks : " There seems to be a marked sensitiveness
to tone, and perhaps to melody as well, for an expression
of the most lively satisfaction is discernible on the child's
face when its mother sootlies it with lullabys softly sung.
Even when it is crying from hunger a gentle sing-song
will cause a cessation such as spoken words can not effect.
In the eighth week the baby heard music for the first time
• — that is, piano playing. Unusual intentness of expression
appeared in his eyes, while vigorous movements of his arms
and legs and laughter at every loud note testified to his
satisfaction in this new sensation. The higher and softer
notes, however, made no such impression." * The little
boy in Sully's Extracts from a Father's Diary manifested
displeasure at first on hearing piano playing, but soon be-
came reconciled to it, and his mother noticed that while
his father was playing the child became heavier in her
lap, " as if all his muscles were relaxed in a delicious self-
abandonment." t Perez relates of a child six months old,
on a visit to two aunts : " As the first of the young women
began to sing he listened with evident delight, and when
the other one joined in with a rich and melodious voice
the child turned toward her, his face expressing the ut-
most pleasure, mingled with wonder and astonishment." :}:
This seems to indicate that agreeable tones and variety
of movement are at first more appreciated than is the
actual beauty of the melody. According to Gurney, ap-
preciation of melody as such first appears in the fourth
or fifth year.* It is otherwise with rhythm. Just as
ethnology shows us that from the first inception of music
rhythm was more prominent than melody, so it seems that
the child too, as a rule, is sensitive to rhythmical cadence
even when the beauty of melody is lost upon' him. The

* W. Preyer, Die Seele des Kindes, p. 56. See Miss Shinn's Notes on
the Development of the Child, p. 115.

t J. Sully, Studies of Childhood, London, 1890, p. 409.

X B. Perez, Ses trois premieres annces des enfant, p. 34.

, =» E. Gurney, The Power of Sound, London, 1880, p. 102.

RECEPTIVE SOUND-PLAY 21

regular ticking of a watch excites lively interest in the
merest infant. Sigismund says : " I have often seen
three- and four-year-old children skip about when they
heard enlivening band music, as if they wished to catch
the time of the rhythmic movement, an impulse which
indeed affects adults as well,* as all well know." Here
we have inner imitation, the central fact of aesthetic en-
joyment, displayed by the veriest babes. Children show
their enjoyment of rhythm, too, in their preference for
strongly accented poetry.f Even half -grown boys and
girls take but little note of sense, compared with the in-
terest which they bestow on rhythm and rh;fme. That a
normally endowed girl could interpret the words of a
poem. Singing on its Way to the Sea, as Singing on its
Waiter, etc., without having her curiosity aroused, can
only be explained by this fact.:j: Is it not a frequent ex-
perience of full-grown men to be suddenly struck with the
profound truth hidden in some epigrammatic form of ex-
pression whose euphony has a hundred times delighted
them? They have actually failed up to that time to
grasp the clear, logical meaning of the verse or passage.
Indifference to the words of their songs is most marked
among primitive peoples, while with children an instinct-
ive demand for some employment of their organs of hear-
ing has much to do with their pleasure in harmony and
rhythm. The following facts justify this statement:
The disposition toward acoustic expression is particu-
larly susceptible to satisfaction from sensuously agree-
able stimuli, such as are responsive to harmony, melody,
and rhythm, partly on known and partly on unknown
grounds. Here Fechner's principle of co-operation is ap-
plicable— namely, that two pleasure-exciting causes work-
ing together produce a result which is greater than their
sum — and is so strong, in fact, as to extend the sphere of
sound-play far beyond that of the sensuously agreeable.
Absolute silence makes us uncomfortable, and, when it is

* B. Sigismund, Kind und Welt, 1897, p. 60.

t Miss Shinn's small niece displayed very little appreciation for
rhythm. Loc. cit.^ 120.

' X This instance is substituted for a parallel one of Professor Groos's, as
the point of the latter would of course vanish in the attempt to translate
it.— Tr.

22 THE PLAY OF MAN

lasting, conveys to the mind a special quality of emotion,
as in optics there is a positive feeling of blackness. So
it happens that we take pleasure in noise as such even
when it is not agreeable. This applies especially to chil-
dren. " Les bruits choquants, aigus, glappissants, gron-
dant," says Perez, " ne leur sont pas desagreable de la

meme maniere qu-aux grandes personnes." Marie G

manifested in her third year the liveliest joy in the grind-
ing and squeaking of an iron ring in her swing. To
small boys it is a treat to hear a teamster crack his whip.
My brother-in-law when a boy cherished for years the
ambition to make all the electric clocks in our house
chime in concert with a great musical clock. A sense of
discomfort is produced sooner, however, by a variety of
discordant sounds to which we are passively listening,
than when the din is self-produced — a distinction which
extends into the domain of art, as testifies many a piano
virtuoso.

Among adults it is probably true that sound-play is
either entirely or in part connected with the pleasure we
derive from ringing and resonance, subject to much the
same limitations as we have applied to children. Under-
lying it all we find, though it is not always easily recog-
nisable, enjoyment of the stimulus as such. I would
instance the cheery crackling of flames in a fireplace, the
frou-frou of silken garments, the singing of caged birds,
the sound of wind, howling of storms, rolling of thunder,
rustling of leaves, splashing of brooks, seething of waves,
etc. Most of these, it is true, contain elements of intel-
lectual pleasure as well, and so through association link
themselves to genuine aesthetic enjoyments. Yet the sat-
isfaction in mere sound as such is also unmistakably pres-
ent, being most evident perhaps where strong stimuli are
involved, since these have a directly exciting effect, while
weaker ones, on the contrary, are soothing. Edler's ro-
mance. Die neue Herrin, gives a good instance of this
emotional sensibility abnormally exaggerated. " Thoma-
sine was exactly like a child in her dread of silence, and
spared no effort to enjoy pleasant sounds, whether pro-
duced by herself or from other sources. . . . When her
birds were silent she resorted to the music room, with its

RECEPTIVE SOUND-PLAY 33

musical box and two grand pianos." This seems to con-
firm the idea that mere desire for sound as such is an
important element in the attention given to music. The
art of primitive races illustrates this as well as our own
marches, dances, etc. Gurney distinguishes two methods
of listening to music: the one accompanied by intelli-
gent appreciation, the other " the indefinite way of hear-
ing music," which is only cognizant of the agreeable
jingle or harmony. I think there is a form of the satis-
faction still more crude ; when we note the indifference of
many habitual concert-goers to fine chamber music we
must infer that the power of stimulus is the principal
source of their apparently absorbed enjoyment. Gur-
ney, too, seems to recognise this elementary factor when
he says : " While it is natural to consider as unmusical
those persons in whom a musical ear is lacking or is
only imperfectly developed, and who therefore can not
at all reproduce or perhaps recognise melodies, such per-
sons often derive extreme pleasure of a vague kind from
fine sound, more especially when it rushes through the ear
in large masses." *

Not to penetrate too far into the realm of aesthetics,
we will attempt to answer but two of its more obvious
questions, which, however, are by no means simple ones.
Whence is derived the strong emotional effect (1) of
rhythm and (2) of melody? (Some thoughts on the
acoustic effects of poetry will be presented in the next
section.) Rhythm may be regarded as the most salient
quality of music, and seems to have antedated melody
considerably among primitive peoples. While nothing is
easier than to recognise the pleasure it affords, the deri-
vation of its exciting effect on the emotions is most diffi-
cult to trace. Widely diverse theories have been ad-
vanced in the various attempts to solve this riddle.
Rhythm is a conspicuous instance of the unity in variety
which characterizes beauty. It satisfies the intellect, and
is calculated to rivet the attention by exciting expecta-
tion. It answers to our own organization; the step, the
heart-beat, breathing, the natural physical processes, are

* See Gurney, op. cit.^ pp. 35, 30fi.

24: THE PLAY OF MAN

all rliythmic, as well as the alternation of waste and repair
in the nervous system. But while these facts undoubt-
edly contribute to our enjoyment of rhythm, they can
hardly account adequately for its intense emotional
effects.

At this point the Darwinist comes to the rescue, and
says that its employment in courtship sufficiently explains
these effects, taking into account their hereditary asso-
ciation. He dwells on the sexual excitation which quiv-
ers in the purest enjoyment of music, and is " likely to
excite in us in a vague and indefinite manner the strong
emotions of a long-past age."* Far be it from me to
discard this hypothesis hastily, particularly as I have
no better one to offer, but since it appears to afford
but a meagre chance of solving the problem, we may ven-
ture to seek enlightenment in another supposition. It
is to be found in Souriau's system of aesthetics, which
in my opinion is not yet fully appreciated. As Nietzsche
has said, " As in art, so with any gesthetic fact or ap-
pearance, a physiological condition of transport is essen-
tial," t so, too, Souriau insists that art employs every
possible means to induce in us a semi-trance or hypnotic
state, and through it renders us approachable to a de-
gree which would be impossible when we are normally
alert.t

Now, rhythm is to the last degree such a transporting
agency, owing to its strong hold on the attention. Wein-
hold and Heidenhain have induced hypnosis by means of
the ticking of a watch, and in so doing have only employed
an agency which has similar uses the world over. Just as
most of the inhabitants of the earth have learned the use

* Darwin, oj). cit.^ vol. ii, p. 321.

t Streifzlisre eines Unzeilsrenuissen, vol. viii, p. 122.

X p. Souriau, La Sucrcrestion dans I'art, Paris, 1893. Of course this
means only a more or less remote approach to narcosis on the one hand,
and hypnosis on the other. Perhaps the idea of ecstasy meets our case
even better, as Mantegazza has figured it :

Ecstasy.

Hypnosis. Narcosis.

RECEPTIVE SOUND-PLAY 25

of narcotics, so too are they eager to adapt such an in-
toxicant as rhythm proves to be.*

We may read numberless statements of hypnotic con-
ditions being turned to account for religious and magical
ends. Next to measured movements of one's own body,
we find that listening to rhythmic sounds and the monot-
onous repetition of incantations is the surest key to this
state of dreamy consciousness.f In Salvation Army
methods the catchy, swinging songs are an indispensable
means of eliciting the ecstatic condition, though, through
the power of auto-suggestion, the expectation of the
state is also strongly influential. It is the singing, how-
ever, as Souriau says, which throws the hearer into a
state of mild hypnosis and renders him accessible to any
suggestion. t When the end in view is a religious one,
the ecstatic subject sees all sorts of visions, and can
swear to the appearance of saints or gods. When the
measure is martial in its suggestions, the subject becomes
belligerent; when it excites sexual feeling, he responds
in that direction; in short, his soul, being entirely under
the influence of the hypnotist, will reflect, and involun-
tarily respond to, every suggestion. We see, then, that
these intense emotional effects are only in part attrib-
utable to sound as such; rhythm is not entirely respon-
sible for them, but figures rather as a contingent cause
through which suitable suggestions act as the immediate
cause of emotional disturbances. "Hypnotism," says
Souriau, "is but a means, never an end. Art employs
this means the better to control our minds and keep our
imagination in the limits prescribed by her suggestions.
What we owe to her is not sleep, but the dream." *

This view seems to correspond with the facts. When

* Karl Buchner'« preiynant hypothesis is that acquaintance with rhythm
is chiefly derived from" physical labour (Arbeit und Rhythmus, Leipsic,
18%).

t See B. (). Stoll, Su^erestion und Hvpnose in der Volkerpsycholocrie,
and J. Lippert. Kultureeschichte der 'Menschheit, vol. i, p. 632, where
this idea is set forth with p^reat clearness,

X Schopenhauer says, Ehythni Cand rhyme) is " partly a means of
keepingr our attention— since "we srladly follow it— and partly the occasion
of a blind unreasoninsr submission in us to leadership, wiiich by this
means attains a certain authoritative and apparently unaccountable power
over us."

* Op. cit, p. 67.

26 THE PLAY OF MAN

we drum a familiar air with the fingers the regular time-
beat is not at all stirring, indeed it is sometimes quite
the contrary. When, however, agreeable or interesting
associations are connected with it the rhythm at once
induces in us a condition of the utmost susceptibility to
suggestion. Any change in intensity or time then calls
forth our capacity for "embodiment" (Einfiihlung) or
inner imitation in such force and completeness as would
be altogether unattainable without this deep-seated pro-
pensity of ours for measured rhythm. In many cities it
is customary, when fire breaks out, to ring a church bell
in quicker time than its usual stroke, and by reason of
the indirect factor — namely, their significance as a warn-
ing— the uniform sounds produce the most profound
effect on assthetically sensitive persons. Even those who
would be unaffected by the announcement that another
part of the city was in flames are deeply moved on hear-
ing the tolling bell. The harmless tones become appall-
ing. They seem to proclaim the destruction of the world,
and the imagination dwells on the idea that nothing will
be left in existence but these terrific, all-pervading waves
of sound. The intense feeling aroused by drum-beats is
similar to this. Since every loud sound is calculated to
arouse our involuntary attention, a rhythmical succes-
sion of loud sounds irresistibly holds our consciousness,
and, in the case of martial or festive music, association
aids in casting the spell and, with the acoustic pulsations,
forms a strong combination to which for the moment our
whole being is subjected.

It is, however, when rhythm develops into melody that
we experience the utmost force of its suggestive power.*
It is interesting to see how well ITanslick describes this
preliminary condition of musical enjoyment — this trance-
like state — only to censure it. " The elements of music,
sound, and movement hold many emotional music lovers
willing captives. It is surprising how large the number
is of those who hear, or rather feel, music in this way.

* AccnrdinGT to R. Wallaschek, it is the demand for distinct rhythm
which first elevates the state of transport to the appreciation of melody,
and leads to the proper valuation of the interval (Primitive Music, Lon-
don, 1S93, p. 232).

RECEPTIVE SOUND-PLAY 27

Since they are susceptible only to what is elementary,
they attain but a vague supersensuous and yet sensuous
excitement, answering to the commonplace character of
the music which appeals to them. Lounging half asleep
in the boxes, they yield themselves to the swing of the
melody without taking note of the exalted passages which
may swell, yearn, jubilate, and throb with increasing ap-
peal. These people, sitting in a state of undefined ecstasy,
form the body of ^ the appreciative public,' and do more
than any other class to discredit what is best in music.
Science can now supply these hearers who are void of spir-
ituality and seek only the effects of rhythm in music with
what they need, by means of an agency which far sur-
passes art in this effect — namely, chloroform. It will
plunge the whole organism into a lethargy pervaded by
lovely dreams, and, without the vulgarity of drinking,
will produce an intoxication which is not unlike its
effect." * Hanslick is quite right in one respect : the
trance condition as such is not confined to musical enjoy-
ment; but he overlooks what Nietzsche makes so clear,
that it is an indispensable physiological condition of the
most intense form of aesthetic pleasure. His position
is more that of the critic than that of the pleasure seeker.
His saying that " the laity ^ feel ' music most and the cul-
tivated artist least " shows this. First and foremost
to him is his " intellectual satisfaction in following
and anticipating the motive of the composition, in be-
ing confirmed in his judgment here or agreeably dis-
appointed there." f ,The element of aesthetic enjoyment
in this I have characterized, in my Einleitung in die
Aesthetik (p. 187), as internal imitative creation. But
the purest, highest, and most spontaneous pleasure is that
in which we have no thought for the artist, but yield
ourselves whole-heartedly to the beautiful object. Here is
the essence of the problem, and here the condition of
transport becomes most prominent, though it is never
entirely wanting, even in the outer circles of aesthetics,
where it becomes comparatively unimportant, as, for in-

* E. Hanslick, Vom Musikaliscb-Schouen, Leipsic, 1896, p. 153.
t Op. cit., pp. 168, 171.

28 THE PLAY OF MAN

stance, in the satisfaction afforded us by the happy
arrangement of the heads of a discourse.

In trying to find out just what it is that rhythm sug-
gests to us in simple tones that succeed one another at
agreeable intervals we may advance the hypothesis — to
use a somewhat strained expression — namely, that it
makes the impression of a dancing voice. By this I
mean that in the enjoyment of melody there is a mental
fusion of two kinds of association, one the analogue
of pleasing movement in space, and the other the analogue
of vocal expression of mental and emotional processes.
The two are so incorporated as to produce a new entity
which, as a whole, is unlike any other. The fact that
we represent tone-beats by up-and-down motion in space
has never been satisfactorily explained, although the
greatest variety of reasons has been advanced.* Yet
it is unquestionable that we do, and that the act is
one of our most cherished mental recreations; to use
Schopenhauer's expression, nothing else produces the
" idea of movement " in such purity and freedom as
do tone-beats. A series of tones more or less rapid,
says Siebeck, can adequately reproduce the rhythm of
movement " without a visible physical basis, which, by
reason of its relation to other associated images, would
tend to destroy the impression of movement considered
purely as such." f On this, too, depends the extraordi-
nary facility of tone movement, of which Kostlin says
that it " glides, turns, twdsts, hops, leaps, jumps up and
down, dances, bows, sways, climbs, c[uivers, blusters, and
storms, all with equal ease, while in order to reproduce it
in the physical world a man would have to dash himself
to pieces or in some way become imponderable." t AH
this goes to prove that our pleasure in the realization of
movement is never more perfectly ministered to than in
music. Spellbound by the magic of rhythm, our con-
sciousness repeats, voluntarily and persistently, the vary-

* Stumpf has treated the question most exhaustively (Tonpsychologie,
vol. i. p. 202).

t H. Siebeck, Das Wesen der Aesthetischen Anschauung, Berlin,
1875, p. 158.

X Kostlin, Aesthetik, p. 560.

RECEPTIVE SOUND-PLAY 29

ing dance of tones, and, freed from all incumbrances,
floats blissfully in boundless space, like Musa in Keller's
dance legend.

But melody is more than a mere alternation of tone.
It is also a kind of language, by means of which the soul's
deepest emotions seek expression. While it does suggest
up-and-down motion in space, at the same time it stands
for the audible expression of our mental life. It would
be misleading to attempt to explain this illusion from
simple analogies between speech and music, since it is it-
self primarily a mode of expression, and we involuntarily
make known our feelings and desires by means of it; by
such association of tone with voice the former comes to
point for us to life and its manifestations. There are,
however, many points of resemblance between melody and
the verbal expression of feeling. Dubos has devoted
some attention to this relation, and, among contemporary
writers, Spencer has most clearly set forth the analogy.
But he makes the mistake of applying it to the origin
of music, rather than as an explanation of our enjoyment
of it, and is decidedly at fault in the statement that
music originated in passionate and excited speech.* It
can attain reflection only by means of the changing
time and stress of melodic and rhythmic movement, as
well as the appropriation of the numerous sounds and
intervals which are hidden in feeling speech, and which
take effect on the listener. Yet even this statement
must not be interpreted too literally. Just as scen-
ery often owes its impressiveness to vague suggestions
of human interest, just as thunder sounds like an angry
voice without being an exact copy of it, so the analogy
between music and speech may be very real without
their becoming identical at any point. The song of birds
will perhaps best illustrate my meaning. Why does the
nightingale's note seem plaintive and that of other birds
cheerful or bold? Certainly not because we know the
bird's feelings, but because there is an indefinable likeness

* " Primitive music can not have grrown out of the voice modulation in
excited speech, because in many cases it has no modulation of tone, but
is simply rhythmic movement in a single tone " (Wallaschek, Primitive
Music, p. 252).

30 THE PLAY OF MAN

between our own vocal expression of emotion and the
bird's song, which, in spite of its vagueness, calls forth in
us the most direct response. And it is exactly so in the
other case. We can not expect to change an emotional
declamation into the same kind of melody simply by fixing
the pitch and regulating the intervals, for melody has its
own laws, to which speech is not amenable. We see, then,
that though the analogy is a real one and a constant, it
must not be carried too far. How far variation of stress
is concerned with emotional expression is interestingly
shown in Wundt's attempt to classify temperament on
this basis :

Strong.

Weak.

Fast

Choleric.
Melancholic.

Sanguine.

Slow

Phleo"niatic.

With regard to intervals, let any one attempt a mourn-
ful " O dear! " and a jubilant "All right! " in the major
and minor thirds, and he will not remain in doubt for a
moment as to which is the suitable one for each occasion.
Gurney's experiments with children resulted in the same
emotional effects when the piano was very much out of
tune as when it was correct,"^ and the attempt of Ilelm-
holtz to find a physical explanation signally failed. All
these facts point to the independence of the musical
interval.

In concluding, I repeat that these two analogies are
capable of fusion, as my figure of " dancing voice " im-
plies.f If we try, for instance, to determine what con-
stitutes the masculine, almost harsh, quality of Bach's
melodies, we will find on inspection that his best arias
have a variety of formal qualities of which it is difiicult
to say whether they pertain more to movement in space or

* Op. cit.. p. 272.

\ In a celebrated Chinese poem the effect of music is thus described :
" Now soft as whispered words, now soft and loud together — like pearls
fallinor on marble— now coaxine as the call of birds, now complaininff
like a V)ronk, and now like a moantnin stream burstin? its icy bounds.'"
AVhen we recall the great difference in form between Chinese music and
our own, the similarity of emotional effect is astonishing.

PRODUCTIVE SOUND-PLAY 31

to voice expression. There is pre-eminently a fulness of
accent which imparts even to the weaker notes a certain
impetus (Bereite dich Zion). Moreover, his propensity
to begin with two strong accents directly contiguous
(Mein glduhiges Heize, hi Deine Hdnde), which impart
to the whole a massive character from the very first, as
well as the many repetitions abruptly introduced in a
different pitch, and the strongly accented final syllables
where again two frequently come together; all these are
characteristics which tell in two directions. Here is mel-
ody governed by the laws of harmony in its forceful,
clear, and irresistibly progressive movement, as well as
in the expression which it gives to a purely masculine
personality, full of earnest purpose and sure of himself
and his aims. Only by the fusion of these two lines of
association do we get at the full significance of the piece.

(b) Productive Sound-Play

An embarrassing copiousness of material greets us
when we turn to the subject of sounds and tones spon-
taneously produced. In them too we recognise the be-
ginnings of, or rather the introduction to, art. Adher-
ence to facts requires our classification to distinguish be-
tween vocal and instrumental niusic, and we will first
consider voice practice and afterward the production of
acoustic effects by means of other agencies, both in their
playful aspects.

The child's first voice practice consists in screaming.
So far as it is a merely reflex expression of discomfort
it does not concern us, but it is probable that the crying
of children becomes practice for the organs of speech.
Discomfort may still be its first occasion, but the con-
tinuation of the cry is playful. " L'enfant qui crie," says
Compayre, " a souvent plaiser a crier." * Children of two
and three years show this very plainly; the howl begun
in earnest is often prolonged from playful experimenta-
tion.f And the same is probably true of the customary

* Compavre, op. oi^., P- 41.

t H. Gntzmann (Das Kin<1es Sprach iind Spraohfehlcr, 1804, p. 7)
shows that cryinsr is eood practice for talkincr. because, in contrast to the
habitual inethod of breatliinir. a short, deep inhalation is followed by lin-
gering exhalation, as in speech.

32 THE PLAY OF MAN

moaning wail of women over their dead. O. Ludwig
says somewhere that a woman subdues pain when she
can not escape it by means of the sensuous relief which
she finds in noisy moaning.

More important than crying are the babbling, chatter-
ing, and gurgling of infants, which begin about the
middle of the first three months. This instinctive tend-
ency to motor discharge produces movements of the lar-
ynx, mouth, and tongue muscles, and the child that at-
tains now to the voluntary production of tone is fairly
launched in experimentation. Without this playful prac-
tice he could not become master of his voice, and the
imperative impulse to imitation which is developed later
would lack its most essential foundation. From among
the numerous reports of the first efforts of infants in
the direction of speech we will select Preyer's very sat-
isfactory observations : " At first, when the lall-mono-
logue begins the mouth assumes an almost infinite variety
of forms. The lips, the tongue, lower jaw, and larjmx
are all active, and more variously so than in later life;
at the same time the breath is expelled loudly, so that
now one, now another sound is accidentally produced.
The child hears these new sounds, hears his own voice,
and delights in making a noise as he enjoys moving his
limbs in the bath.* . . . On the forty-third day I heard
the first consonants. The child, being comfortably seated,
gave utterance to numerous incoherent sounds, but at last
said clearly am-ma. Of the vowels, only a and o could
be distinguished then, but on the following day the baby
astonished us by pronouncing the syllables ta-hu with per-
fect clearness. On the forty-sixth day I heard go, orb, and
five days later ara. On the sixty-fifth day a-omh sounded
in his babbling, and on the seventy-first, at a time when he
was most contented, the combination ra-a-ao. On the
seventy-eighth day, with unmistakable signs of satisfac-
tion, hahu was pronounced. At five months he said ogo,
ina-oe, hd, o, ho, ich. The rare i (English e) was clearer
here than in the third month, and at about this time

* Loc. cit., p. 368. It is. of course, difficult to say at what moment the
automatic babbling attains the dignity of speech.

PRODUCTIVE SOUND-PLAY 33

began the loud crowing as an expression of delight. The
unusually loud breathing and the clearly voiced h in con-
nection with the labial r in hrrr-hd are specially indica-
tive of pleasure, as are also the aja, brrgb d-d-i 6d, sounds
which, toward the end of the first half year, a child lying
comfortably, indulges in. To this list, too, should be
added the constantly repeated eu and oeu of the French
Jieure and coeur, and the German modified vowels a and o.
It often happens that the mouth is partly or entirely
closed by the various movements of the tongue, causing
the imprisoned breath to seek any possible outlet and
giving rise to many sounds that are not employed in our
speech, such as a clearly sounded consonant between
5 and p or h and d, and also the labial hrr and m, all of
which evidently please the child. It is noteworthy that
without exception these sounds are expiratory, and I have
never known any attempt to produce similar inspiratory
ones.* In the eleventh month the child began to whis-
per; he also produced strong, high, and full notes of
varying tone, as if he were speaking in a language strange
to us. In his monologue a vowel sound w^ould be re-
peated, sometimes alone, sometimes in a syllable, as many
as five times without a pause, but usually three or four
times.f The mechanical repetition of the same syllable
such as papapa, occurs oftener than alternation with
another, as pata, and the child will frequently stop short
when he notices in the midst of his complicated lip and
tongue movements and the expansion and contraction
of his mouth that such a variation of acoustic effects is
being produced. He actually appears to take pleasure in
systematically exercising himself in all sorts of sjtii-
metric and asymmetric mouth movements, both silently
and vocally." X

* Somewhat akin to inspiratory sounds are the clickintj noises Avhich
children often produce. These are well known to play a considerable
part in the language of the Hottentots. For the influence of the self-
originated language of children on the speech of adults, and for the anal-
ogy between child-laneua?e and that of the lower races, see H. Gutzmann,
Die Sprachlaute des Kindes und der Naturvolker, Westermann's Monat-
shefte, December, 1895.

t Lubbock and Tylor have pointed out that reduplication is used
much more in the speech of savaires than in that of civilized peoples.

X Op. cit.j p. 311. These citations are somewhat curtailed. — Tk.

34 THE PLAY OF MAN

Not to prolong this section unduly, I devote only cur-
sory notice to the various voice plays of older children
and adults, which may be said to correspond with the
lall-monologue of infants and give expression to delight
by shouting, whistling, yelling, crowing, humming, smack-
ing, clicking, and the like. An example from the an-
cients is the " stloppus " : " C'est un amusement qui con-
siste a enfler ses joues et a les faire crever avec explosion
en les f rappant avec les mains." *

Another example, which, however, distorts the idea of
play and makes it border on the pathological, is given in
Boswell's Life of Johnson: "In the intervals of articu-
lating he made various sounds with his mouth, . . . some-
times making his tongue play backward from the roof of
his mouth, as if clucking like a hen, and sometimes pro-
truding it against his upper gums in front, as if pro-
nouncing quickly, under his breath, loo, too, too; all this
accompanied sometimes with a thoughtful look, but more
frequently with a smile. Generally, when he had con-
cluded a period in the course of a dispute by which he
was a good deal exhausted by violence and vociferation,
he used to blow out his breath like a whale." f

Two specially interesting motives are operative in pro-
ducing playful voice practice — namely, the stimulus of
what is agreeable and the stimulus of difficulty — and these
we will find introducing us to the formal side of poetry.
The pleasurable stimulus here takes the form of enjoy-
ment of the repetition of like and similar sounds of a
particular stress. This pleasure in repetition is a re-
markable thing from many points of view; on the motor
side there is a tendency to use the original sound as a
model for the new one (Baldwin's circular reaction),
while in listening to self-originated tones and sounds
primary memory is employed, that lingering of what has
been heard in the consciousness which makes it possible
to secure harmony of the new note with the previous
one. The rhythm which we have been investigating is a
simple form of such repetition, and a child will enjoy

* L. Becq de Foucinieres, Les jens des auciens, Paris, 1869, p. 273.
t €roker's Boswell's Johnson, p. 215.

PRODUCTIVE SOUND-PLAY 35

it in poetry as much as in music. At about the beginning
of the fourth year children are often observed to make
the attempt to talk in measure and assume the role of
the productive artist. In general, the result is a senseless
succession of words and syllables arranged rhythmically.'^

Marie G frequently pretended to read such jingles

to her dolls. The measure most popular with children
seems to be the trochaic. f This partiality still earlier
takes in whole groups of sounds, as the mechanically
measured repetition of the lall-monologue bears witness.
Perez gives two good examples. " A little girl," he says,
" repeated from morning till night, for fourteen days,
toro, toro, toro, or else rapapi, rapapi, rapapi, and took
great delight in the monotonous rhythm. Another child,
nearly three years old, kept up these refrains in speaking
or crying, and would take a great deal of trouble to use
them in answering questions, although his parents made
every effort to rid him of this vagary. For three months
this little parrot continued to repeat in a loud voice the
syllables, unintelligible to himself or any one else,:{! ta-
hille, tahille, tabilUy R. M. Meyer, who sees in the mean-
ingless refrain the germ of poetry, will find in such ex-
traordinary persistence a confirmation of his view.* It
is difficult to say whether there is not an inherited tend-
ency connected with courtship in the instinctive impulse
toward the gratification of such motor and sensor appa-
ratus as is involved in this.

Be that as it may, it is undeniable that the repetition
of meaningless rhymes, as well as of reasonable word^
and passages, is important to poetry as a whole. I would
refer in this connection to Grosse's Beginnings of Art,
and for my own part confine myself to selecting a few in-
teresting examples. The first is the chain rhyme, such as

* See K.Bucher, Arbeit unci Kliythmus, p. 75.

+ In subjective rhythm, a scale which is properly without accent is. as
a rule, conceived of as havinsr some tones emphasized to mark time. See
E. Meumann, Untersuchunsren zur Psycholoi?ie und Aesthetik des Ehyth-
mus (Philos. Studien, vol. x, p. 280),

X Loc. cit., p. 301.

# R. M. Meyer, IJeber den Refrain, Zeitschrift f. vorl. Litt.-Gesch., i,

1887, p. 34. Marie G . for example, santr in her seventh year, when

lirst awakened, icuUa, wolla^ budscha, incessantly and melodiously.

THE PLAY OF MAN

always delights a child,
ite song of theirs:

The following is from a favour-

" Kebeu triigt der Weinstock ;
Horner Jiat der Ziegenbock ;
Die Ziegenbock hat Horner;
Im Wald der waehsen Dorner,
Dorner waehsen im Wald.
Ini Winter ist es kalt,
Kalt ist's ini Winter," etc.

A negative form is:

" £in, zwei, drei,
Alt ist nicht neu,
Neu ist nicht alt,
Warm ist nicht kalt,
Kalt ist nicht warm,
Eeich ist nicht arm.
Arm ist nicht reich," etc.

Vines bear grapes ;
Billy-goats have horns ;
Horns has the billy-goat ;
In the woods grow tJiorns,
Thorns grow in the woods.
In Avinter it is cold,
It is cold in winter," etc.

One, tw^o, three,
Old is not new,
New is not old,
Warm is not cold,
Cold is not warm,
Eich is not poor,
Poor is not rich " etc.

A chain rhyme which dates back to the fourteenth cen-
tury has this same echoing effect, and, as Zingerle re-
marks, " affords a striking iiroof that the children's verses
of that period had the same form as our own.'' "^

A striking analogue of this is found in many poems
of the Molukken dwellers. They consist of four-lined
strophes, whose first and third lines form the second and
fourth of each preceding one. This often results in abso-
lutely inconsequent insertions, whose only office is to pro-
mote the echo effect and onward f swing, yet sometimes
the thought is well sustained. Here is an instance:

" JenetaubemitaiisgehreitetenFlugeln, "The dove with wide-spread
Sie fliegt in schriiger Lage nach dem wings

Fluss. Flies along the winding stream.

Ich bin ein Fremder, I am a stranger,

Icli kommeliierherindieVerbannuug. I come an exile here.

"Sie fliegt in schrager Lage nach dem "She flies along the winding
Fluss. stream

Tot wird sie mitten im Meere aufge- And is drawn up dead from the
fischt. sea.

* Lnc. cit.. p. 62.

+ "Le rythme . . . vant surtout par son elfet d'cntrainement," Sou-
riau, La suggestion dans I'art, p. 47.

PRODUCTIVE SOUND-PLAY 37

Ich komme hierlier in die Verbannung, I come an exile here,
Weil ich es wegen nieiner elenden Since that is my bitter fate.
Lage so will.

" Tot wird sie mitten im Meere aufge- " She is drawn up dead from the
lisclit," etc. * sea," etc.

While the genuine refrain originated in the chiming
in of the chorus with the other singers, this chain singing
must have begun from new voices taking up the verse
where others dropped it. Por a last word on the subject,
take this exquisite poem of Goethe's, which combines the
chain repetition with the charm of a refrain:

" O gieb vom weichen Ffiihle " O from that soft couch

Traumend ein halb GehOr ! Dreamily lend an ear !

Bei melnem Saitenspiele Lulled by my violin's music

Schlafe ! Was willst du mehr ? Sleep 1 What do you wish for more ?

*' Bei meinem Saitenspiele " Lulled by my violin's music
Seguet der Sterne Heer Like the spell of the starry skies,

Die ewigeu Gefuhle. A sense of the infinite moves you.

Schlafe ! W^as willst du mehr ? Sleep ! What do you wish for more ?

" Die ewigen Gefuhle " A sense of the infinite moves you
Ileben mich hocli und hehr And me to loftier heights,

Aus irdisehem Gewiihle. Away from earth's striving tumult.

Schlafe ! Was willst du mehr ? Sleep ! What do you wish for more ?

" Vom irdisehem Gewuhle," etc. " Away from earth's striving tumult,"

etc.

When the repetition is of single letters and syllables,
instead of whole sentences, we call it alliteration and
rhyme. A few examples will suffice to show that both are
as important to the sound plays of children as to the
poetry of adults. The alliteration may be mere repeti-
tion, as even the babbling babe loves to duplicate sounds,
and while sometimes logical connection of ideas is con-
veyed as well (Haus und Hof, hearth and home), children
enjoy meaningless sound-play quite as well.

" Hintcr s' TLanse Ilinterhaus
Haut Haus llolderholz
Iletzt Hund und Iliihnerhund
Hart hinter'm Hase her."

* W. Joest. Mavlavisclie Lieder und Ttlnze aus Ambon und den Uliase
(Molukken), Intcrnat. Arch. f. Ethnogr., v, 1802, p. 23.

38 THE PLAY OF MAN

" Meiner Mutter Magd macht mir mein mus mit raeiner Mutter Mehl."

" KOnnen Kaiser Karls' Koch
Kalbskopf unci Kabiskox^f kochen ? "

" Kound the rugged riven rock the ragged rascal rapid ran."

" Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers."

" Didon dina, dit-on, du dos d'un dodu dindou."

As an example of original production, take this com-
position of Willie F 's, which he liked to recite as he

pushed his wagon about the room:

" Wein, wein, wein, wein, wein, weln, warn,
Wein, wein, wein, wein, wein, wein, warn," etc.

The verse of Ennius, " O Tyte, tuti Tati, tibi tanta,
tyranne tulisti," shows that adults, too, enjoy such alliter-
ation, not only as a promoter of poetic beautyj but also
for the mere play of sound.

Rhyme is often mere reduplication,* its agreeableness
being due to the actual musical quality to which identity
and variety contribute, to repetition as such, and to its
unifying effect on the two words or lines concerned.
Children show enjoyment of rhyme at a very early age,
and as soon as they can talk often amuse themselves
with such combinations as Emma-bemma, Mutter-Butter,
Wagon-Pagon, Hester-pester, and the like.f And there
are many counting out rhymes where the original mean-
ing of the words is lost, and only the jingle remains, as :

" Ane-Kane, Ilacke-Packe, " Wonary, uary, icary, Ann,
Kelle-Belle, Kiidli-Bagli, Philison, folison, Kicholas, John,

Zinke-Pinke, Uff-Puff : Quimhy, quaniby, Virgin Mary,

Das fiile, futze Galgevogeli Stringuluni, strangulurn, Buck ! "

Hocket hinten utf.

" Eindli-Beindli, Drittmann-Eindli,
Silberhauke, Finggefauke,
Pilrli, puff, Bettel duss."

* The application of the principle of thirds to rhvme is interestins",
since the echo-like ring of the triple rhyme has an eflect very similar to
that of chain rhymes.

t Miss Shinn, Inc. «Y., p. 134. With the mentally deranged the strinsr-
incr of senseless rhymes is very common. One patient wrote on a sheet
of paper. '• Nelke, welke. Helce: Hikle. Tilde. Milde ; Hand, Wand,
Sand." Krapelin, Psychiatric, Leipsic, 1896, p. 599.

PRODUCTIVE SOUND-PLAY 39

'• Anige hanige, Sarege-sirige,
Eipeti-pipeti-knoU ! " *

To regard these rhymes as the direct inventions of
the children themselves would be as mistaken as to at-
tribute folk poetry to the masses. Most songs for chil-
dren originate with grown people, yet they are child-
ish and contain only what children can appreciate, for
the principle of selection decides their fate. At the
same time, original artistic production is exhibited by
children in alliteration and rhythm as well as in rhyme.

Thus, I noticed in Marie G , when she was about three

years old, a disposition to sportive variation of familiar
rhymes appearing simultaneously with the rhythmic ar-
rangement of words. The first rhyme evolved entirely
from the profundities of her own genius came to light at
the beginning of her fourth year, in the shape of this
strange couplet, which she repeated untiringly :

" Naseweis vom Wasser wcg
Welches da liegt noch nielir Ureck."

Another child, Rudolf F , also in his fourth year,

declaimed persistently this original poem:

" Ilennenias'che, Weideidas'clie,
Sind ja lauter Kasebiis'clje."

Pleasure in overcoming difficulties is an essential fea-
ture of all play. The determined onset against opposi-
tion, which is so conspicuous in play, shows how impor-
tant is the fighting instinct, so deeply rooted in us all.
Even in the lall-monologue, when the child accidentally
produces a new sound by means of some unusual muscu-
lar effort, he intentionally repeats it (Baldwin's persistent
imitation t). Older children playfully cultivate dexterity
of articulation by repeating rapidly difficult combinations
of sounds. The commonest are those where the difficulty
is mainly physiological, as Wachs-Maske, Mess- Wechsel ;

* Rochholz, Alemannisohes Kinderlied und Kinderspiel, Leipsic, 1857,
p. 124.

+ J. Mnrk Baldwin, Mental Development in the Child and the Kace,
1895, p. 132.

40 THE PLAY OF MAN

Der Postkutscher putzt den Postkutschkasten ; L'origine
ne se desoriginalisera jamais de son originalite; Si six
scies scient six cypres ; She stood at the door of Burgess's
fish-sauce shop welcoming him in; If Peter Piper picked
a peck of pickled peppers, where is the peck of pickled
peppers Peter Piper picked? And many similar ones.
Others require quickness of wits as well, as in these
verses :

" This is the key to the gate
Where the beautiful maidens wait.
The first is called Binka,
The second Bibiabinka,
The third Senkkreukknokiabibiabinka.
Binka took a stone,

And for Senkkrenkknokiabibiabinka broke a bone,
So that Senkkrenkknokiabibiabinka began to moan." *

Occasionally some obscurity in the language used in-
volves a comic element, as —

" Basanneli, Basanneli,
Schlag 'ufl und stand a Licht
Es geht a Plaus im Geist herura,
Ich greif, er furcht mieh an,
Zund's Kiihele an, zunds Kijhele an,
S'Lauternle will a Kiilble han,
Und wie der Teig am Himmel steht.
Da schiesst der Tag in Ofa." t

A. Bastian relates of the Siamese children that they
delight in repeating difficult sentences and alter their
meaning while speaking rapidly, as Pho Pu Khiin Me Pu
(The grandfather near the grandmother) is changed to
Pho Ku Khiin Me Ku (My father near me, his mother),
or Pit Patu Thot, Pit Patu Thot (Shut the door. Shut the
temple door). Mo Loi Ma Ha Phe, Phe Loi Pai Ha Mo
(The floating pot bumped against the boat, and vice
versa), etcX "Negro mothers on the Loango coast," says

* Rather a free translation of the verse in J. D. Georgens's ISIutter
Biichlein, p. 170.

+ F. U. Bohme, Deutsches Kinderlied und Kinderspiel. 1897, p. 302.
X A. Bastian, Die VOlker des ostlichen Asien, vol. iii, 1867, p. 227.

PRODUCTI^T] SOUND-PLAY 41

Pechnel-Loesche, " teach their children verses which trip
the tongue when spoken rapidly." *

A similar sport for adults is afforded by the students'
song, Der Abt von Philippsbronn, in which the syllable
" bronn " must be repeated four times. After the first
time there is a " Pst ! " sound, after the second a " Pf iff 1 "
after the third a " Click ! " and after the fourth a snore,
all given as rapidly as possible. The accelerated tempo in
the country song in Don Juan and in the wedding feast
of the dwarfs in Goethe's Hochzeitslied are of the same
character.

Other instruments besides the human voice are em-
ployed in sound-play. Even parrots and monkeys have
found pleasure in other noises than the practice of their
own voices. The young gorilla, in his exuberance of
spirits, drums on his own. breast, or, with even more satis-
faction, on any available hollow object, such as a bowl, a
cask, etc. The child's first auditory satisfaction derived
from any act of his own is probably the splashing of
water; another is the rustling of paper. Preyer says:
" The first sound produced by himself which gave the
child evident satisfaction was the rattling of paper. He
often indulged in this, especially in his nineteenth
w^eek." t Striimpell noticed the same thing at six months,
and also that it gave his little daughter pleasure to pat
the table with the palm of her hand t (rhythmic repeti-
tion again). The boy observed by Sully was in the be-
ginning of his eighth month when he one day accidentally
dropped a spoon from the table where he was playing
with it. "He immediately repeated the action, now, no
doubt, with the purpose of gaining the agreeable shock
for his ear. After this, when the spoon was put into his
hand he deliberately dropped it. ISTot only so, like a
true artist, he w^ent on improving on the first effect,
raising the spoon higher and higher, so as to get more
sound, and at last using force in dashing and banging it
down." * At nine months Preyer's child beat twelve

* See H. Ploss, Das Kind in Brauch und Sitte der Volker, 1882, vol.
ii, p. 285.

+ Op. cit.. p. 57. X L. Striimpell, Psychologische Piidagogik, p. 358.
« Sully, loc. cit., p. 415.

42 THE PLAY OF MAN

times on the stopper of a large caraffe with increasing
force. " On the three hundred and nineteenth day," he
goes on, " occurred a notable acoustic experiment which
denoted much intellectual progress. He struck the spoon
on his tray just as his other hand accidentally moved it.
The sound was deadened, and the child noticed the differ-
ence. He took the spoon in his other hand and struck
the tray, deadening the sound intentionally, and so on
repeatedly. In the evening the experiment was repeated,
with the same result." * Possibly Preyer is right in re-
garding this as a sort of scientific experiment on the part
of the child to investigate the causes of the deadening
of the sound, but Perez thinks the child's action is ac-
counted for by his desire to feel in both hands alternately
the effect of the blow and of the shock.f However that
may be, we are forced to agree with the German student
entirely when, from these observations, he finally draws
the conclusion : " The restless experimentation of little
children and of infants in their first attempts at accom-
modation, and even their apparently insignificant acts
(such as the rattling of paper in the second quarter), are
not only useful for the development of their intelligence,
but are indispensable as a means of determining reality
in a literal sense. We can never estimate how much of
the common knowledge of mankind is attained in this
way." t

Without pausing to enumerate the various instrumen-
talities employed in childish sound-play, we will leave
the infant and pass on to consider the insatiate demands
of our sensory organism. It seems that, in order to main-
tain our present life, an incessant rain of outer stimuli
must beat upon us, like that atomic storm which many
believe pours constantly upon the heavenly bodies and
accounts for gravitation. Indeed, the opinion has been
advanced, and apparently supported by some pathological
phenomena, that the cessation of all peripheral stimuli
marks the dissolution of psychic existence. Certainly
the sense of hearing has large claims to notice in this
connection — we all know the gruesomeness of absolute

* Op. cit., p. 58. t Op. cit., p. 33. J Op. cit, p. 212.

PRODUCTIVE SOUXD-PLAY 43

silence. This may be why children are so indefatigable
in making noises, patting their hands, cracking their
knuckles,'^ snapping and drumming with the fingers,
stamping and beating with the feet, dragging sticks about,
creaking and slamming doors, beating hollow objects,
blowing in keys, banging on waiters, clinking glasses,
snapping whips, and, in short, delighting in tearing and
smashing noises generally.f And adults are not much
behind them. These same sounds in other forms please
us too, as, for example, the clinking of spurs, snapping
a riding whip, rattling sabres, the tinkling of tassels and
fringe, the rustle of flowing draperies. The versatile
walking cane, too, comes in for a thousand uses here —
in striking, beating, and whistling through the air. Go-
ing for a walk one winter day, I fell behind two worthy
scholars who were deep in an earnest discussion. We
came to a place where the drain beside the road was filled
with beautiful milk-white ice. Crack! went the older
man's cane through the inviting crust, in the very midst
of his learned disquisition. The student everywhere is
a past master in such sport, as his unfortunate neigh-
bours find out to their sorrow in the watches of the night.
The measured hand clapping, which the child learns so
early, occurs in the dances of the people. I have men-
tioned the maddening rapidity of the Haxenschlagen.
Enjoyment of crushing or rending destructible objects is
characteristic of every age. I will cite as an example
Goethe's famed boyieh exploit. After throwing from a
window and smashing all his own store of breakable ware,
incited by the appreciative cheers of the neighbours, he
descended to the kitchen and seizing first upon a platter
found that it made such a delightful crash that he must
needs try another. He continued the entertainment until
he had demolished all the dishes within his reach. In

* "Crackinor tlie finsrers," writes Schellone from Kaiserwillielmsland,
" is a familiar practice with the little Papuan." Zeitschrift fur Ethuolo-
gie, xxi (1889\ p. Iti.

+ G. A. Colozza does not sufficiently consider this versatility when he
pays in his interestinsr hook on play, "I ^iocattoli dei hamhini poveri non
sono chedclle pietre ; esse si divertono non poco nel sentire il rumore che
si lia battendo pictra contra pietra." II Gienoco nella Psychologia e nella
Pedagogia, p. 70.

4i THE PLAY OF MAN

such a case, of course, enjoyment of the sound is not the
only source of pleasure. Joy in being a cause is con-
spicuous when the clatter is self-originated, and some-
times renders even unpleasant sounds attractive, like
scratching with a slate pencil, for instance. Besides,
there is the satisfaction of impulses to movement, and
often, too, the destructive impulse like that for overcom-
ing difficulties is closely related to the propensity for
fighting.

In all this we have not yet touched on the subject
of acoustic playthings, and it is so large that I can only
throw out a few suggestions as to the likeness between
primitive musical instruments and the noise-producing
toys of children. We have seen that even the ape has dis-
covered the principle of instrumental music, and puts it
to practice by pounding with his hand on a stick or some
hollow object. A baby does the same thing, and w411 take
great delight in beating persistently^ and with a certain
regularity on a table with his hand, on the floor with a
stick, or on his tray with a spoon. If we regard these
sounds thus playfully produced by beating on some foreign
object, together with some notion of time, as affording
probably the first suggestion of a musical instrument, we
are met by two possibilities : either the stick itself is con-
sidered as the source of the noise or else the object it
strikes is so regarded. In the simple instruments of sav-
ages both possibilities are realized. The Australian bell is
a thick, bottle-shaped club of hard wood which, on being
struck, gives forth a peculiar long note, and the drum
with which the women accompany the dancing of the men
is only a tightly stretched opossum skin, which they have
been wearing on their shoulders.* Stringed instruments
w^ere derived from the bow ; Homer sang of the clear sound
which Odysseus drew from the tightly strung bow, and
Heraclitus uses a complex figure of speech involving the
bow and the lyre. The South African " gora " is only
a modified form of this trusty weapon of the Bushman?.
The modification consists in introducing on one side, be-
tween the end of the cord and the bow, a trimmed, leaf-

* E. Grosse, Die Aniange der Kunst, 1894, pp. 275, 277.

PRODUCTIVE SOUND-PLAY 45

shaped, and flattened quill, which is placed upon the lips
of the performer and set in motion by his breath.

How can we explain these inventions otherwise than
as the results of indefatigable experimentation on the
part of either children or adults? Wind instruments
no doubt arose from contracting the lips and blowing
through the fist or from playful investigation of the prop-
erties of arrows and the hollow ornaments worn on the
neck, while vibratory ones, like the gora, no doubt find
their prototype in the blowing on leaves and grass blades,
which children are so fond of. Where there is no such
thing as scientific experimentation, playful experimenta-
tion becomes the mother of invention and of discovery.

While it is thus not improbable on the whole that
child's play has had much to do with the origination of
primitive instruments, we find, too, that children have
borrowed many of their toys from the grown people.
Things which, from the crudest beginnings, have been
brought to a high degree of perfection are reproduced in
miniature and simplified form for the little ones. In-
stances of this are too common and familiar to require
illustration here. Even in remote ages it was the custom
to give children little bows, wagons, dolls, etc., as well
as copies of musical instruments. In the province of
Saxony queer clay drums, shaped like an hourglass, have
been unearthed; they must belong to the stone age,
and among them is a tiny specimen, which can hardly be
anything else than a toy.* It often happens that instru-
ments which have entirely gone out of use among adults
continue to be playthings for the children for thousands
of years. This is the case with the rattles which are now
the merest plaything, having no interest for grown people,
except as a means of quieting an infant, yet their origi-
nal connection with it was probably much closer, as our

* G. Keischel, Aus alien Welttheilen, 189fi, No. 2. Wallaschek did not
believe that the drum is a primitive instrument chiefly because of our
failure to find them amoncr prehistoric relics, thouarh the "fife is frequently
found amoncr those of the stone acre. Here we have an instance, however,
which, while it belongs to the close of the period, is of such a complicated
and well-developed form as to point to lonof use. Moreover, as Grosse
points out in a letter to me, Wallaschek's argument is not conclusive,
inasmuch as the material used for primitive drmns was perishable.

46 THE PLAY OF MAN

progenitors used such instruments at dances, feasts, etc.,
for the pious purpose of driving off evil spirits.* There
is a widespread custom among savage tribes of frighten-
ing away the enemies of the stars by noisy demonstra-
tions, especially during the absence of the moon. As
these observances gradually become obsolete, the rattling
instruments are saved from oblivion by being handed down
as toys to the hospitable little people, without, however,
entirely losing the glamour of their religious office. Becq
de Fouquieres says, in speaking of the many religious
practices that are connected with children's toys : '^ Ses
premiers joujoux dont en quelque sorte des talismans et
des amulettes." f Many rattles have been found in the
graves of prehistoric children, together with clay figures
of animals, marbles, etc. Schliemann found a child's
rattle, ornamented with bits of metal, in the "third
city" at Hissarlik, and Squier found a snail shell filled
with tiny pebbles, with the mummy of a child, in Peru.:}:
Amaranthes, in the beginning of the eighteenth century,
in his remarkable Woman's Lexigon, defines a child's
rattle as " a hollow instrument made of silver, lead, wood,
or wire, ti;immed with bright coral and with little bells
either inclosed in it or attached to the outside.* Older
boys make a rattle of a dried bladder, with peas in it.

As I have dwelt on the probability of the invention of
the first musical instruments by means of playful experi-
mentation, I will now touch briefly upon another view.
Karl Biicher, in his admirable treatise on Arbeit und
Ehythmus, develops the hypothesis that rhythmic art is
derived from physical labour. Physical labour which em-
ploys the limbs with perhaps some simple implement as-
sumes spontaneously a rhythmical character, since this
tends to conserve psychic as w^ell as physical force. The
sounds arising as the work proceeds suggest the germ idea
of instrumental music and lead to involuntary vocal imi-
tation. Thus, poetry and music are engendered in the

* Our bells, too, may be derived from the rattle.
t Les ieux des anciens, pp. 6, 12.

X See Rich. Andree. Ethno?. Parallellen und Vergleichen, 1889, p. 8i3.

# Alwin Sehultz, Alltasfsleben eincr deutschen Frau zu Anfang des 18.
Jahrhundert, 1890, p. 207."

PRODUCTIVE SOUND-PLAY 47

very midst of toil, and only later, when they attain to
independent existence, are dance motions substituted for
the movements of physical labour, and frequently become
adaptations of them (as in pantomime dances, for in-
stance).

Convinced as I am that this theory contains a genuine
though perhaps one-sided* contribution to the proper
explanation of rhythmical art, I am unable to concur in
what Biicher regards as its logical consequence — namely,
that musical instruments are adaptations of the labourer's
tools. " We know," he says, " that labour rhythmically
carried on has a musical quality, and since savages, hav-
ing no appreciation of pitch or harmony,t value rhythm
alone, it is only necessary to strengthen and purify the
tone produced by the implement and to complicate the
rhythm, in order to produce what is in their estimation
high art. Naturally, to accomplish this the tools were
differentiated; varying conditions, as they arose in their
labours, became the occasion of further efforts for the
perfecting of tone and timbre, and the art instinct, strug-
gling for expression, first found it in such rude music.
So originated musical instruments from these tools of
manual labour, and it is a noteworthy fact that beaten
instruments were the first to appear, and are to-day the
favourites of savages. We find among them the drum,
gong, and tam-tam, while with many tribes the only in-
strument is the kettledrum, which clearly proclaims its ori-
gin, being in many cases nothing more than a skin tightly
stretched across the grain mortar or a suitable pot or
kettle. Primitive stringed instruments also were struck,
like the Greek pleptron, the tone of a violin and of the
strings themselves being a later discovery. Wind instru-
ments, too, are of very ancient origin, the commonest

* A formidable objection seems to me to lie in the fact that manual
labour is almost entirely wantinsr amonsr the tribes who subsist by the
chase, and that what little they have is conducted by the women, "while
it is the men who indulge in the sonar and dance. Grosse. moreover,
assures me that even their swimmmsr and marchinar are not calculated to
support this theory. It should be added that Biicher has now consider-
ably modified his view by deriving Avork itself from plav (Die Ent-
stehunsr der Volkswirtsch aft. 1898, p.>.2). " The order formerly laid down
must be directly reversed; play is older than work, art older than pro-
duction for utility.'" t This is too baldly stated.

48 THE PLAY OF MAN

being the flute and reed pipe, both of which are rhythmic.
The ancient Greeks used them first to mark time and as
accompanying instruments." *

I hardly think that this view will meet with general
acceptance. The wind instrument, whose importance to
primitive peoples Biicher somewhat underestimates, did
indeed serve the purposes of rhythm principally, but it
would be difficult to trace its derivation from any manual
tool. Nor does it follow that rattles and flappers came
from the use of hammers; while the drum, whose proto-
type he finds in the grain mortar, is in use by tribes who
have no mortars. I conclude, therefore, that musical in-
struments can, with more probability, be accounted for
as the result of instinctive sound-play and the experi-
mentation with noise-producing implements, which ac-
companies it.

6. Sensations of Sight

Turning his face toward the light is about the only
manifestation of sight sensation displayed by the infant
during his first few days. Many young animals find
themselves very much at home in the outer world as soon
as they are born, but such is not the case with a child.
He must attain to a clear perception of external objects
by toilsome experimentation, which commonly requires
about five months for its completion, though the fifth
week as well as the fifth month marks an epoch in the
practice of sight. " The average time is about the fifth
week," says Raehlmann, " when the capacity to ^ fix ' an
object is attained — that is, to take cognizance of the
retinal picture of what comes within the line of his
vision, as it is thrown on the macula lutea. About this
time, too, the eye movements, which till then are not defi-
nitely co-ordinated, become regulated, while associated
movements, such as elevating and depressing the line of
vision (the latter somewhat later than the former), also
appear. . . . But movements for the purpose of directly
subjecting to fixation objects which lie in the periphery
of the field of vision are entirely wanting at this period.
The second epoch, that at five months, is marked by the

* Op. cit., p. 91.

SENSATIONS OF SIGHT 49

development of orientation in the field of vision. At
this time begin actual glancing movements, which shift
the line of vision and bring peripheral retinal images on
to the macula lutea. Contemporaneously with this, a
definite system of innervations is established, especially
for those muscles which are employed in shifting the line
of vision. Secondly, the winking reflex is perfected by
the approach of objects from the periphery of the field
of vision. Thirdly, at this time the first experiments in
touch controlled by sight are instituted, and serve to
bring tactile perceptions into relation with those of sight.
The interval between birth and the fifth week, as w^ell as
that from this time to the fifth month, is employed in the
acquirement of such sense perceptions as react collec-
tively on the organ and commit it to special uses and
control. So, on the authority of repeated experience,
Avhatever is unsuitable is gradually excluded, and only
those eye movements are retained which further the
proper convergence of the two retinal images." * Of
course, the power of vision is by no means completely
developed at five months, though the technique of the
function, so to speak, is by that time essentially per-
fected. ISTow begin the real tasks of visual practice:
acquiring familiarity with external objects, imprinting
the visual images on the mind, and widening the scope
of association. On entering the subject of child's play
which is connected with vision it is evident that there are
four points for us to keep in mind — brightness, colour,
form, and movement. The inner images and concepts,
which go hand in hand with such perception (especially
with the notion of movement), do not, so far as I can
see, form part of our study, since while an eifect of the
highest importance they do not constitute one of the
objects of play.f

* E. Raehlmann, Physiol. -psyehol. Stitdien uber die Entwickelunar der
ftesichtswahrnehmuno'en hoi Kindern und bei operirten Blindo-eborenen.
Zeitsch. fiir Psychol, und Physiol, der Sinnesorarane, vol. ii (1891), p. 69.
Eaehlmann maintains in this article that those who are born blind and
attain the power of vision by operation pass through a process of devel-
ment quite l^ke that of the child.

+ It is otherwise with those born blind. Johann Ruben, who was
nineteen when operated on, at once made distance the subject of his
investigation. "For example, he pulled off his boot and threw it some

50 THE PLAY OF MAN

(a) Sensations of Brightness

Sensations of brilliance seem to arouse feelings of
pleasure at a remarkably early period. Thus Preyer says :
" Long before the close of the first day the facial expres-
sion of the babe held facing the window changed sud-
denly when I shaded his eyes with my hand. . . . The
darkened face looked much less satisfied." * Toward the
end of the first week the child turned his face toward the
window when he had been placed otherwise, and seemed
pleased to see it again. During the second week a child
will sometimes cry when taken into the dark, and can
only be quieted by having the sensation of brightness
restored. Thus, we see that in the very first week there
is at least a premonition of experimentation. In his sec-
ond month the infant will break out into joyful cries at
the sight of gilded picture frames or lighted lamps, illu-
minated Christmas trees or shining mirrors. Even in
Wolfdietrich the delight of children in bright and shin-
ing things is recorded :

"Do vergaz es sines frostes und spielte mit den ringen sin.
also daz kleine Kindel siner sorgen gar vergaz,
do greif ez on die ringe und sprach : waz ist daz ?
des Ilalsperges schoene daz Kindel nie verdroz." +

And it seems to grow with his growth in other direc-
tions. The following are some of Sigismund's notes on
his daughter's third quarter : " The child is now passion-
ately fond of light, and in the evening, when the darken-
ing room is lighted up, she regularly shouts aloud and
dances for joy. . . . This coincides with the fact that
artificial illumination stimulates adults also to a genuine
and boisterous gaiet5\ Our feasts and dances are always
held at night, and indeed it is difficult to attain the requi-

distance, and then tried to estimate how far ott" it was. He walked some
steps toward it. and tried to pick it up: findinor that he could not reach
it he went a little farther, until he finally got it." Eaehlmann, ibid., p. 81.
* Die Seele des Kindes, p. 4.

t " Then he forgot how cold he was, and played with the ring.
The little child forgot all his -woe.
He seized upon the ring and said, ' What is this ? ' "

— Zingerle, p. 51.

SENSATIONS OF BRIGHTNESS 51

site dithyrambic pitch in the daytime.* Nansen wrote,
when the electric light blazed for the first time on the
f rozen-in Fram : " What a tremendous influence light has
on the spirits of men! This light enlivened us like a
draught of good wine." t

To what degree this feeling is universal is shown by
the fact that bright and shining objects are highly prized
the world over. The school child, the savage, the cul-
tured man, display the same preference ; there is no essen-
tial difference whether it is a scrap of glass for which
the negro gives a g'enerous portion of his worldly goods,
or the blazing diamond coronet for which the lady in
society parts with hers. That our coins are made of gold
and silver is attributable to the high polish which they
take, and which won great favour for them in prehistoric
times. Poets of all ages have celebrated the brightness
of the human eye, and because light makes us cheerful
we speak of the brilliancy of an entertainment, the beam-
ing joyousness of the golden day. The strongest light
effects are produced by flame and by the heavenly bodies.
The strange attraction which flame exerts on insects, fish,
and birds is familiar to all. Romanes's sister relates
in the journal which she kept, about a capuchin ape, that
the clever little fellow rolled strips of newspaper into
lamplighters and stuck the end into the fire, to amuse
himself watching the flame.:|: Primitive men must have
experimented with fire in the same way when they came
in contact with it in lightning strokes and volcanic phe-
nomena, and in their earliest use of it for boring their
stone hatchets. Without playful experimentation, this
most important acquisition of mankind, the mastery of
fire, could hardly have been attained. The little ones in
our homes would find playing with fire one of their
favourite diversions if we did not use every means to
prevent it, on account of the danger. In spite of all
warnings, the untoward fate of little Polly Flinders of

* Kind und Welt. pp. 58, 61.

+ In Naeht und Eis, vol. i, p. 222.

X J. G. Romanes, Animal Intellisrence, p. 493. See. too, Ellendorf's
"beautiful description of the monkey playing with matches, Gartenlaube,
]862, p. 300.

52 THE PLAY OF MAN

nursery memory is daily becoming the experience of num-
berless children.

With grown people the light and glow of fire are of
the first importance in both religious and secular fes-
tivities. I need only refer once more to Sigismund's say-
ing, quoted above. The charm of moonlit and starlit
nights is one of the deepest joys that Nature affords us,
which only the regal splendour of sunshine can surpass.
Perhaps it has never been more w^orthily sung than in
these verses of Morike's, which the very spirit of Shake-
speare seems to have dictated:

" Dort, sieli, am Horizont lupft sich der Vorhang schon !
Es triiunit der Tag, nun sei die jS^acht entiloh'n ;
Die Purperlippe, die gesclilossen lag,
Haucht, halbgeoffnet, susse Atheniziige;
Auf eiumal blitzt das Aug' und wie ein Gott, der Tag
Beginnt im Sprung die kOniglichen Fliige ! " *

The human longing for light is so strong that it be-
comes for him the natural symbol for divinity, a fact on
which we have not time to dwell, except to note the sig-
nificance of the heavenly bodies and of fire in religion.
The self-devised IsTature worship of young Goethe, who
greeted the rising sun with an offering, is interesting,
and still more so is the statement of the deaf-mute Bal-
lard that, as a boy of eight years, he arrived by his own
unaided efforts at some sort of metaphysical and religious
thought, and felt a kind of reverence for the sun and
moon.f This is the effect of light which has so great
a part in the mythology of all peoples. Even in the Old
Testament account of the creation light is the first thing
which God called out of chaos. " And God saw that the
light was good."

We find brightness of aspect especially affected in the
industrial arts and in painting, and the employment of

* " There, see, the curtain dark already rolls away !
The nisrht must fly, now dreams the glorious day ;
The crimson lips that lay fast closed so long.
Breathe now, half ope'd, a sweet, low song ;
Once more the eye gleams bright, and, like a god, the day
Bounds forward'to be^in asrain his royal way."
+ W. James, Principles of Psychology, vol. i, p. 268.

SENSATIONS OF BRIGHTNESS 53

shining and glowing substances in decoration is too fa-
miliar to need comment. They are found in the orna-
ments of the Stone period, such as necklaces of animals'
teeth, bits of ivory and shells, as well as among sa/age
tribes of the present day. Grosse says : " The ornaments
of these people may be called brilliant not in a figurative,
but in a literal sense, and there is hardly any quality
which contributes so much to the decorative effect of an
object in savage estimation as brightness. The natives
of Fire Island frequently hang fragments of a glass bottle
on their neck band, considering them very superior adorn-
ments, and Bushmxcn are happy when they are made the
proud possessors of iron or brass rings. However, they
are by no means dependent on such windfalls from a
higher race, and when the ornaments of civilized man
and barbarian are both wanting and precious stones are
not available they betake themselves to Nature, who can
well supply their needs. The sea tosses up polished shells
upon the beach, vegetation furnishes bright seeds and
shining stalks, and animals give their shining teeth, as
well as fur and feathers." *

In painting, light effects in connection with colour
are of the greatest importance, and are skilfully man-
aged by many masters of the art. Eembrandt may be
said to possess the highest genius for their treatment.
Without going into particulars of technique, I may note
that the pleasure which we derive from light effects in
painting may be referred to two opposite extremes. We
know that it is out of the question for the painter to
transfer to his canvas Nature's extremes of light and
shade, only about half of the eight hundred ascertained
degrees of brilliancy being available to him.f Helm-
holtz has shown in an interesting manner how the artist
may triumph over this difficulty. It proves to be a spe-
cial case for the application of Weber's law; the adjust-
ment of intensities is not in proportion to the actual
force of the stimuli, but to their relative force. Thus,
when the painter tempers the brilliance of Nature he

* Die Anfitnsre der Kunst, p. 99.

t O. Kulpe, Grundriss der Psychol ogie, 1S93, p. 126.

64 THE PLAY OF MAN

actually gives a more faithful representation, because the
toned-down light against the deepened shadows of a pic-
ture produces the same effect on the senses as the clear
beams of sunlight in contrast with its luminous shadows.*
This so-called normal technique is objected to on diamet-
rically opposite grounds. Some painters, refusing to
darken and falsify Nature, seek to make their shadows
as bright as are those in the diffused light of day. As
it is impossible, however, to represent the actual inten-
sity of the light, their attempt to reproduce the actual is
only half realized. The true contrast between light and
dark fails, and the result is the faded, obscure, hazy ap-
pearance which characterizes the work of extremists of
this school. In the other direction the attempt is some-
times made to darken the shadows so excessively as actu-
ally to make the difference between light and shade
greater than it is in ISTature. Caravaggio and Kibera,
Lenbach and Samberger, furnish examples of this kind
of painting. Their work is done on the principle of dark-
ening the shade, in order to bring out the light more
sharply; eyes, brow, and hands in their pictures seem to
surpass the clearness of Nature because of this difference,
which is greater than that of reality. These artists are
true lovers of light.

(Z>) The Perception of Colour

The exact period in a child's life when susceptibility
to colour impressions arises has not been determined.
Preyer's son seemed interested in a rose-coloured curtain,
with the sun shining on it, on his twenty-third day,t but
who knows whether it was the colour that pleased him or
only the brightness? And the same doubt hangs over a
hundred other observations taken in the first months of
life, as, for example, this of Sully's: "Like other chil-

*" Shade," says Sehellinor, "is the painter's stock in trade, the body
into which he must try to breathe the Heetincr soul of liwht; and even the
mechanics of his art show him that the black which is at his service
comes far nearer to the effect of darkness than does white to that of
liorht." Leonardo da Vinci has said." Painter, if you desire the brilliance
of fame, do not shrink from the gloom of shadow." Sammtl. Werke,
vol. V, p. 533.

t Die Seele des Kindes, p. 6.

THE PERCEPTION OF COLOUR • 55

dren, he was greatly attracted by brightly coloured ob-
jects. When just seven weeks old he acquired a fondness
for a cheap, showy card, with crudely brilliant colouring
and gilded border. When carried to the place where it
hung, ... he would look up to it and greet his first love
in the world of art with a pretty smile." ^ Since we
can not be certain that it was not the mere brilliancy
which produced this effect, Sully is quite right when he
says : " The first delight in coloured objects is hardly
distinguishable from the primordial delight in bright-
ness." t Raehlmann thinks, however, judging from the
child's positions and actions, that one can — though not
till considerably later than the fifth week — be sure that
it perceives a difference between objects of similar form
and complementary colour.:}: And it is probably quite
safe to assume that there is pleasure in gay colours by
the end of the first three months.

Here we are met at once by the question. Does the
child prefer any particular colours ? Most observers agree
that the child displays more interest in the warm colours
— red and yellow — than in the colder ones.* Baldwin, on
the contrary, found from his experiments with a baby
nine months old (not using yellow, however) that blue
was chosen oftenest.|| Although Preyer denies the valid-
ity of Baldwin's experiment, it seems to me quite possible
that here, as well as elsewhere, there is room for the
manifestation of individual preference.'^ The choice of
yellow and red can hardly be a necessary one. For exam-
ple, I find Grosse's rule, that children will always empty
the vermilion cup in a paint box first and will, when al-
lowed to choose, always take a flaming red, by no means

invariable. Marie G (five years old) turns oftener to

the blue in her paint box than to the red. She herself
pointed out lilac as her favourite colour, and weeks be-

* Studies in Childhood, pp. 402, 300.
t Ibid.

X Op. cit., p. fi7.

# See also Miss Shinn, op. cit., pp. 29, 33, and F. Tracy, The Psy-
chology of Childhood, Boston, 1897, p. 14.

II Mental Developtnent, p. 50.

A See also Baldwin's reply to Preyer in the German and French trans-
lations of his book. — Ed.

56 THE PLAY OF MAN

fore my question she persisted in using bits of lilac silk
in her embroidery, though her mother had taken them
away from her. Having chosen the lilac, she however
added, after a pause for reflection, " Red is pretty, too."
Another little girl, Deti K , at the same time an-
swered the question as to what colour she liked best,
" Lilac too, but bright." Still another named first lilac,
then rose, and after these red and yellow. I consider it
not improbable that in many children of fine sensibility
the stimulus of crude red and yellow is too strong to be
particularly agreeable. This supposition perhaps explains
the exceptions to the rule, and also seems to interfere
with the likening of children to savages, which was for-
merly so useful. Observations of the children of such
tribes have never been made, to my knowledge.

Before going on, however, to consider the case of
savages, we must look briefly into the problem suggested
by the fact that there is choice of any colour. The
child's susceptibility to the cooler colours, and even its per-
ception of them, especially blue and gray, has been ques-
tioned. Preyer says : " The inability of my two-year-old
child to recognise blue and gray can be argued not only
from his occasional failure to do so, but also from the
evident difiiculty he encounters in connecting the com-
monly used and familiar names * blue ' and ' gray ' vdih
any special sensations, while ^ yellow ' and * red ' were
correctly applied several months ago. Were the sensa-
tions of blue and gray as clear as those of red and yellow
there would be no failure to recognise the colours. The
child does not know what green and blue mean, though
he does know red and yellow. . . . Even at four years
blue was oftener called green in the morning twilight,
though to me it was clearly blue. The child was greatly
astonished to find that his blue stocking had become gray
overnight. For years very dark green was called black." *
These striking observations seem indeed partially to con-
firm the hypothesis of Geiger, Gladstone, and Magnus, who
came to the conclusion, from the study of ancient picture

* Op. cit.^ p. 13, Sully's boy, on the contrary, in the eicrhth inonth of
his third year at once called "a light greenish gray, green. Studies of
Childhood, p. 437.

THE PERCEPTION OF COLOUR 57

writing, that primeval man distinguished only the three
primary colours (the Young-Helmholtz theory) — red,
green, and violet. From these were derived orange and
yellow, while blue was the very last to be discovered.
Yet, indeed, so far as any philological support is con-
cerned, the hypothesis can hardly be maintained either in
regard to the ancients or to modern low-standing tribes.

In the remains of buildings and plastic work?, which
are older than any picture writings, traces are found of
all the colours of the spectrum, and the philological test,
when applied to civilized peoples, does not yield the con-
firmation which advocates of the theory desire. While
it is true that the Esthonians have no word of their own
for blue (their sini is borrowed from the Russian), but the
apparent deduction from that fact is rendered doubtful,
to say the least, by this passage from Raehlmann: " Some
time ago I tested an old Esthonian peasant woman with a
gray starling. She was not quite sure of the name of
the colour, and changed it often. On closer questioning
about her ideas of colour, she seemed to have the spectral
series correctly in mind, distinguishing the colours as
blood, wax, grass, and sky. She had never needed other
terms with which to express her sensations, but she took
pains to convince me that she had perfectly clear ideas
on the subject of colour." *

But how is it with the savage tribes? Here we find,
indeed, that for the painting of their bodies, as well as
for other ornaments, the warm colours are almost exclu-
sively chosen. Besides black and white, hardly any other
colours than red and yellow are found at all. " The Aus-
tralian has always, in his bag of kangaroo skin, a supply
of white clay and of red and yellow ochre. For ordinary
occasions he contents himself with dabs on cheeks, shoul-
ders, and breast ; on holidays he paints his whole body." f

Bushmen rub their faces and hair with red ochre ; red
is the Fire Islander's favourite. Other savages use, with
deep blue-black, a blazing vermilion, a combination which
imparts to their faces the wildest and most forbidding
expression. Among the famous discoveries which Fraas

* Op. cit., p. 68. + Grosse, oj>. cit., p. 53.

58 THE PLAY OF MAN

has described so well * was a lump of kneaded paste about
as big as a nut, compounded of iron rust and reindeer fat,
and intensely red in colour. Probably every huntsman
of the Ice period had one of these to colour his body with.
The same colours are chosen for their other ornaments as
well. The Australians stripe their girdles and neck and
brow bands with red, white, and yellow, and the same or
similar colours are in demand with the Bushmen and Fire
Islanders. Among the Botoku red feathers, as the most
costly decoration, form the insignia of rank. Others wear
yellow feathers in the hair, and the same ornament floats
above the brow of the Australian hunter. The cool col-
ours are scarcely ever seen in primitive ornamentation,
even in combination with red and yellow. Blue decora-
tions are extremely rare, and the Eskimo's lip wedge of
green nephrite is quite unique in colour.f From this
brief survey we reach the conclusion that primitive man
is not so sensitive as we are to the stimulus of the colder
colours. In the painting of the body and some other
ornamentation the prevalence of red and yellow may be
partly attributed to the more general distribution of
these pigments, but such a reason can not be assigned
in the case of feathers, and we can not therefore deny the
probability that for the savage simple green and blue
lack the charm which they possess for the cultivated
eye.t That the cooler colours are imperfectly perceived,
however, is an unwarranted supposition in the provisional
stage which our knowledge of the subject has up to the
present time attained.* With them, as with children,
probably the cooler colours fail to arrest their attention
and excite their interest as they do ours. Whether this
is the result of a kind of colour blindness or whether it
is due solely to the intensive emotional effect of the
warm colours it is difiicult to say. The extraordinary

* O. Frass, Beitrfiare zur Cultursresehichte des Menschen wiihrend der
Eiszeit. Nach den Funden von der Schussenquelle. Archiv fur Anthro-
polocrie, vol. ii,

t Gros8e, p. 100.

X It should, however, be mentioned that the Brazilian Indians observed
by V. d. Steinen wore green and blue feathers also.

# It is undeniable that they sometimes use shades of blue in their
ornaments, when they have seen Europeans do so.

THE PERCEPTION OF COLOUR 59

want of susceptibility to reflected colour displayed by
educated adults proves that the lack of a3sthetic interest
may assume the form of partial colour blindness. There
are thousands, for example, who have never noticed the
intense blue of a shaded cement road under a clear sky,
although they may have seen it a hundred times. And
they will complain bitterly of the gross inaccuracy of a
picture which faithfully reproduces what is actually be-
fore them.

We may not dwell on the pleasure that is derived
from colour in natural scenery, in ornament and in cloth-
ing, in the arts and industries, for the theme is practically
inexhaustible, and we would hardly have space for even
the baldest enumeration of its leading divisions. It
would, for example, be well worth while to trace the his-
torical development of the various standards of taste in
such matters, to which this pleasure has at different times
conformed. The special emphasis given to colour in the
last decade has deeply influenced our poetry, and is char-
acteristically illustrated in the writings of Jacobsen and
G. Keller. The following passage from Martin Salander
could hardly have been written in any century before
the present one : " The setting sun, whose level rays shone
through the handsome dining room, glittered on the
golden lining of a large beaker, which stood before him,
freshly filled w^ith ruddy wine. The yellow gleam shot with
indescribable beauty through the heart of the rich red
transparent fluid. Martin raised his eyes from the glow-
ing colour picture, which, coming direct from the open
sky, was like a flaming seal for his thoughts. A sprightly
lady sitting opposite him noticed that a rosy shimmer
from the cup spread over his animated face, and begged
him to sit still, for he looked beautiful. Flattered, he
kept his face unmoved while the reflection vibrated with
the wine in the cup, for a slight tremor ran along the
table and disturbed the contents of the cups." It is in-
teresting, too, to note that boys concern themselves much
less about colour than girls do, and yet the history of
painting seems to show that the masculine sex has a finer
colour sense than the feminine. This is probably ex-
plained by the fact that boys early develop the fighting

60 THE PLAY OF MAN

instinct, and the active motor side of their nature keep-
ing perceptive play activities more in the background,
without necessarily depreciating their inborn capacity for
enjoyment of colour.

I now turn to the subject of play with colour, as
it is practised by adults. In his classification of the arts
Kant has, strangely enough, inserted a colour art besides
painting, because he looks upon the latter as pre-emi-
nently linear. As a matter of fact, there are several
colour arts. Such, to a certain extent, was the glass tint-
ing of the middle ages, which resembles aesthetic tapestry
weaving more than it does painting. Pyrotechnics, too,
produce very lively enjoyment by means of the play of
light and colour, and finally we have that modern inven-
tion, the serpentine dance, which seems to be quite near
to music in the direction of sensuous gratification, while
far below it as a means of intellectual expression. Those
modern painters who strive only to impart colour-tone and
harmony, to make the effect of their pictures resemble that
of music, are far surpassed by the serpentine dance (a
fact which is sufficient to prove that such an aim is mis-
taken). Here is actual rhythmical movement, ecstasy
terminating in itself, waving and attenuation as of tone,
and, above all, the thing that moves us so, the succession
of glowing colours on a dark background, whose intensity
takes -hold of the beholder's soul as only the noblest of
musical instruments or perfectly harmonious voices can=

Recognition, the first requirement for reproduction,
is dependent on perception of form. Later, in consider-
ing mental experimentation, I shall return to this subject
and treat it more fully. Here I will make only the gen-
eral statement that the visible form of objects is of higher
biological value to the exceedingly important faculty of
recognition than is colour or brilliancy. Evidently the
child has a very special interest in form, or he could not
without great effort distinguish the meaning of simple
outline at the relatively early age when we find him
doing so. It is remarkable how indifferent little chil-
dren are to gay colour in pictures. Konrad Lange has

PERCEPTION OP FORM 61

treated the subject exhaustively in his well-known book,
and Sigismund says : " I can not affirm that there is any
preference for coloured pictures at this age (two years).
When I laid before the child copies of the same picture
done in colours and in black and white he seemed to re-
gard them with equal pleasure." * This indifference is
displayed, too, by children who take the liveliest interest
in a gaudy ribbon or bright flowers ; therefore it seems to
me probable that the child is so concentrated in the apper-
ception of form that he has no attention left to bestow
on the colour — a legitimate argument for the importance
of form in recognition. Very striking, too, is the child's
extraordinary capacity for illusion in the observation of
form. When Souriau says, " Eegarder un dessin, c'est
voir des chimeres dans les nuages," he rightly adds that
it applies with special force to children.f " Mere out-
lines," says Sigismund, " serve for any object of that gen-
eral shape. My little one calls a square a bonbon, and a
circle a waiter." :}: Preyer's son called a square drawn on
paper with a red pencil a window, a triangle was a roof,
and a circle a ring.* All this goes to show how strongly
the child's interest is concentrated on the apperception
of form. 1 1 Such a capacity for illusion often has notable

results. Thus Marie G , when three years old, saw

a painting which represented the early morning just be-
fore sunrise, and asked me to turn the picture round to
see if the sun was on the other side.

Recognition and illusion are two of the threads from
which the complex web of a3sthetic enjoyment is woven.
When the child begins to take pleasure in form it is diffi-
cult to say, and more difficult still to determine, when
the £esthetic personification, which is so important to
adults, arises. Experiment may, however, throw some

* Op. cit., pp. 170, 171.

+ La susrarestion dans Tart, p. 95.
X Op. cit, pp. 170, 171.

# Die Seele des Kindes, p. 40.

II That the child first acquires a clear perception of form by means ot
experimentation is proved by the uncertainty of those blind persons
whose siofht is restored, in recocrnisinir form by the eye (even weeks after
the removal of the bandasres), although they already have a clear idea of
the forms, acquired by touch.

62 THE PLAY OF MAN

light on both questions. Marie G was five years old

when I first attempted something of the sort with her.
I showed her a straight line, and near it an irregular one,
and, in order to excite her interest, told her that I wanted
to keep one of them and was in doubt as to which it
should be. She pointed at once to the straight one —
"I should keep that." Well-drawn equilateral triangles
were preferred to irregular ones, but she gave a char-
acteristic reason for choosing the uneven quadrilateral
instead of a perfect rectangle — because,
she said, it looked like a hat. Here the
less pleasing form was preferred for the
sake of its meaning; she was still quite
clear in her idea of regularity. She asked
me, for instance, to draw " some straight
figures and some of the other kind." By
straight she meant regular — she called a
perfect circle straight. We thus find in a child the sesthetic
rule operative — namely, that formal regularity is agreeable.
Personification of the figure by children is also a subject
for experimentation. German students of aesthetics found
out long ago that the object of our enjoyment is endowed
by our imagination with personal attributes analogous
to our own. " We conceive of all natural objects," says
Wolfflin, " as analogous to our physical organism." * One
of the first requirements of our organism is that it shall
maintain its equilibrium, and accordingly an elementary
fact in our personification of natural objects is that a dis-
torted figure causes us an unpleasant feeling of disturbed

equilibrium. I showed the five-year-old Marie G

these two figures, and asked which she would rather have.

* Prolegomena zu einer Psychologic der Architektur, p. 13.

PERCEPTION OF FORM 63

TJnliesitatingly she pointed to A. " WKy ? " I asked.
"Because it stands on the point." "But the other one
stands on its point too." " Yes, but this " (pointing to
the angle S) " is so low." She played with the squares,
and turned them so that they rested on the horizon line.
" Now they hang down," she said ; " but this one " (point-
ing to B) " is just willing to come down." That the child
at play personifies all possible objects is a familiar fact,
and we here find that they can conceive of even abstract
figures according to physical analogies.

Savages manifest pleasure in form, more particularly
in their ornamentation. It was formerly believed that
creative imagination was responsible for some of their
geometric patterns, but lately this idea has more and
more given place to the opinion that all their patterns,
without exception, are the product of imitation. The re-
ports of Ehrenreich and von den Steinen of the tribes of
central Brazil go far to confirm this view. With them
animals almost invariably furnished the models, their
forms being reproduced in a conventionalized manner.
Thus a zigzag was derived from the markings of a snake,
the cross from those of a lizard, etc.* It is possible that
this theory attempts to prove too much, for basket work
may well account for some patterns which it would be
difficult to find in JSTature.f This possibility being once
granted there is no convincing proof that natural models
were used in the construction of conventional figures at
all. Often the resemblance may have been an after-
thought, as a child calls a square a window, though it
may have been drawn with no such intention, or the
Eskimo explains the peculiar outlines of his characters
by likening them to animal forms. However this, may
be, it is at least certain that these savage people offer
a convincing proof that the pleasure which is derived
from form is primordial and universal. If geometric
figures did originate in imitation of natural models, still
the persistence and abstract conventionalizing of them

* A collection of pucIi patterns may be found in the work of L. V.
Frobenins, Die Kunst der Naturvolker. 1. Die Ornamentik, Wester-
manns Mnnatshefte, December, 1895.

t W. Joestj Ethnolographisches und Verwandtes aus Guayana, p. 90.

64: THE PLAY OF MAN

points to a high valuation, which is in one case at least
independent of such accidental association — namely, when
ornamentation is applied to tools and utensils, and espe-
cially if we consider their fine polish and symmetrical
form as belonging to the order of embellishments.
" Smoothness and good proportion," says Grosse rightly,
" are usually not so much aesthetic as practical qualities.
An awkwardly shaped weapon does not reach the mark
as surely as does a symmetrical one, and a well-polished
arrow or spear head penetrates farther than a roughly
finished weapon. Yet we find among primitive people
articles which have just as much care bestowed upon
them, without any such evident utility. The blubber
lamp of the Eskimo need not be either so regular in
form or so highly polished in order to shed its light and
heat; the Fire Islander's basket would no doubt be quite
as useful were it a little less evenly woven. Australians
alwaj's carve their talismans symmetrically, though, for
all we know to the contrary, they might be just as effect-
ive otherwise. In all such cases we may be sure that the
workman is satisfying an aesthetic as well as a practical
demand." *

Since we can devote but a passing glance to the sig-
nificance of form in the art of cultured man, I confine
myself to some remarks on the esthetic effect of the
simplest of all forms — the straight line. Fr. Carstanjen,
in his interesting paper on the developmental factors of
the early renaissance in the ]^etherlands,t advances the
opinion that progress and development in art are the
direct result, psychologically speaking, of dissatisfaction
with contemporary art and its productions with which
the people have become satiated. As concerns the evolu-
tion of form, the common process seems to be that, by
a naturalism more or less fortunate, something like style
is first acquired by means of the mastery of straight lines.
From this point development is in the direction of over-
coming their stiffness and angularity. The representa-
tion of form ip. constantly more free, reaching thus a high

* Die Anfanare der Kunst, p. 111.

t Vierteljahrsschr. fiir wissensch. Philos., vol. xx (1S96).

PERCEPTION OF FORM 65

degree of beauty, but passing on through a period of ex-
travagant exaltation of circles, spirals, swells, and curves
to final and inevitable decadence. In following out this
succession of styles it becomes apparent that separation
from the direct is, aesthetically speaking, separation from
repose (as well as from stiffness). So Wolfflin says, in
pointing out emotional analogies as they bear on form:
"A line composed of short, delicate curves is commonly
called tremulous, while one with wider and shallower
vibrations indicates dull humming or buzzing. A zigzag
rustles and splashes like falling water, and when very
pointed sounds shrill like whistling. The straight line
is quite still; in architecture it suggests the quiet sim-
plicity of the antique." * It is a most interesting study
to note the almost illimitable force of this effect of the
straight line in an art which, having reached the pinnacle
of its development, allows full swing to the tendency
toward rounded forms as well. During the most flour-
ishing period of the Italian renaissance there was scarcely
a single master who gloried more in the pride of sensuous
loveliness than did Titian, yet even in the midst of his
intoxicating triumphs he attained something of that quiet
grandeur which, according to Winckelmann, formed the
basis of Greek art. How can we account for this? In
my opinion it was accomplished, in part at least, though
not entirely, by the use of the short straight line which
characterizes Titian's style, . and is repeated in the work
of many of his imitators — I mean the line that is formed
by the peculiar inclination of the head. It is found in
the wonderful Madonna of the house of Pesaro, in the
Flora of the Uffizi, the Laura de Dianti in the Louvre, in
the so-called " Loves " and other works of the master.
Their chief common characteristic is a certain command-
ing dignity impossible to describe. Among those artists
influenced by Titian, Moretto has followed him most
successfully.

This same line may become almost unpleasing when
the figure is too much in profile and the head bends for-
ward, as does Mary Magdalene's in Titian's Dresden Ma-

* Op. cit., p. 14.

QQ THE PLAY OF MAN

donna. I mention this because it is repeated in the
Medea by Feuerbach, who is very faithful to Titian's ideal.
He is, moreover, one of the vanguard of German artists
who are leading the way to the new idealism — a thing as
yet more hoped for than realized. And just here I have
a word to say. An essential of ideal art is that, as op-
posed to naturalistic reproduction, it plays with conven-
tionalized form and subordinates reality to it. While
at the height of the renaissance marvellous effects were
achieved by mingled and contrasted curves, such as aston-
ish us in the work of Raphael and sometimes of .Rubens,
of our modern idealism we may say: if we are justified
at all in calling its developments new, it is because, from
the standpoint of form, it does possess one unique and
original characteristic — namely, that in it for the first
time straight lines, and especially the perpendicular, are
dominant in a well-mastered technique, which is no longer
primitive. There are many traces of this principle in
Feuerbach's work, and it is still more strikingly shown
in that of Bocklin, who has close kinship with the Vene-
tians. The tensely upstretched necks of the swans in the
Island of the Blest is a perfect example of the new style.
It comes out rgain in the stiff little trees of his spring
landscape, in the abrupt lines of the drapery of a Muse at
the Arethusan spring, in the perpendicular line extending
from the shoulder of the musical shepherd boy quite to his
foot, and in many other pictures. Max Klinger is partial
to the horizontal, and much of the characteristic power of
his Pieta is due to his employment of these lines; three
stone steps, the outstretched body of the Redeemer, the
stretch of a wall in the background, the straight lines of
a thick wood, in contrast to these the upright half figures
of John and Mary. Many of our modem idealistic
painters have unfortunately abandoned the use of this
" line of Praxiteles," which imparts so finely poised a posi-
tion to the head and body and that peculiar mysterious
dignity and air of detachment to the whole figure —
" schone, stille Menschen." In the industrial arts this
preference for straight lines is most conspicuous in what
we wish to appear as new and original, and even in the
newest styles for men it gives us the creased trousers.

PERCEPTION OF MOVEMENT 67

the waistless coat, and the stiff, high hat. These phe-
nomena, however, we will not presume to attribute to the
influence of ideal art.

(d) Perception of Movement

When sight is the medium of perception movement
plays are at the same time visual plays, otherwise con-
sciousness is reached through the sense of touch. We
will here give special attention to experimental exercise
of the motor apparatus, as actual movement play is
treated of in detail in another section. After some gen-
eral remarks, a few cases will be cited whose most impor-
tant feature is the pleasure derived from the contempla-
tion of the movement, as is especially the case when it
is not self-produced. The powerful attraction which
movement has for us is well grounded biologically, for
evidently it is of the utmost importance in the struggle
for existence that attention should be at once and instinc-
tively aroused by any stir or change in the environment.*
But perception of movement by means of the eye alone,
and consequently the instinct of keeping absolutely mo-
tionless, is of great importance to the pursued animal.
Thus Edinger says : " I have repeatedly seen a hungiy
snake pause in the midst of his pursuit of a fleeing mouse,
when it crouched down and was quiet. I have seen it
recoil from the frog, which it was trying to catch, as soon
as the creature kept still." f Even our own involuntary
attention to motion has some analogy to instinct, and re-
calls the violent and sudden reaction with which we respond
to an unexpected touch on the bare back.t As a matter of
psychological fact, there is associated with movement, as
with sensations of hearing, a strong emotional effect.

* See G. H. Schneider. Why do we notloe thines which are moving^
rearularlv more easily than those at rest? Vierteljahrsschr. fiir wissen-
schaft. Philos.. vol. i'i HSTSX p. 377.

t L. Edincrer. Die Entwickelunsr der Gehirnbahnen in der Thierreihe,
Allsremeine medicinische Central-Zeitun?. 65. .Tahrcranpr (189H).

X The most thrillincr ehost stories are those in which a cold hand rests
on the back of the neck, or where tlie victim sees in a mirror the srhost
behind him. Doers, too. who are quietly lyinor down react with greater
excitement to liu-ht touches on the hair 'of their backs. The opposite to
this feeling is the pleasure we feel in bestowing our backs in a safe cor-
ner— of a restaurant, etc.

68 THE PLAY OF MAN

It is no wonder, therefore, that all his life long man
shows a peculiar interest in movement, and acquires the
capacity to detect its intimations very early in life. In-
deed, this capacity is one of the first to be developed, and
depends, apart from skin stimuli and the so-called after
images which reveal objective movement to the eye at
rest, principally on the ability to follow the moving object
with the glance. Practice is necessary for the mastery
of this capacity. The eyes accompany, in addition to the
regular objective motion, a constantly renewed backward
movement as well, by means of which we again grasp the
escaping object, an effort requiring the simultaneous exer-
cise of volition and attention. " This process requiring
continuous and constantly renewed attention," says L. W.
Stern, " this lying in wait that the object may not give
us the slip (for any laxity would at once be avenged by
an increased difficulty in fixing the object), bears wit-
ness to a condition and teaches us that the object with
which we are carrying on this game of ' catcher ' is in
motion." * This explains why little children so easily lose
sight of a moving object which they wish to follow with
the eye.

Here again we find that playful experimentation is
essential, and, according to Raehlmann, it commonly ap-
pears toward the end of the fifth week, rarely earlier.f
That Preyer's boy on the twenty-third day followed with
his eyes a slowly moving light was probably an instance
of forced development, as a result of much experiment-
ing. On the twenty-ninth day the same child crowed
aloud at the sight of a swaying tassel. On the sixty-
second day he gazed at a swinging lamp with constant
manifestations of delight for nearly half an hour, but
his eyes did not follow the swing of the pendulum; they
moved, it is true, now left, now right, but not in time
with the lamp. " On the one hundred and first day a
pendulum making forty complete swings in a minute
was for the first time followed with mechanical exact-

* L. William Stern, Die Wahrnehmunor von Bewesrunsfen vermittelst
des Auo;es, Zeitschr. fiir Psvchol. u. Physiol, d. Sinnesorgane, vol. vii
(1894), p. 373.

t Op. cit., p. 64.

PERCEPTION OP MOVEMENT 69

ness by his glance." * As his capacity for following the
movement increased, the greater his interest in it be-
came. A dog racing away or leaping about the child,
the fast horse, the hopping toad, the crawling worm or
gliding snake, running water, leaping flame, a rolling
wagon, and, more than all, the fast-rushing train, with
its cloud of steam — all these excite a really passionate
sympathy. The smoke of a cigar, too, gives great satis-
faction, and if a father knows how to make the beautiful
blue rings he must at once renounce his peaceful con-
templative enjoyment of his own play, for the youngster
will demand a very diiferent tempo in the repetition than
is agreeable to him. In enumerating instances of ani-
mal motion I omitted one because it deserves more ex-
tended notice— namely, the flight of insects, in which chil-
dren take such lively interest. The common illusion
that an insect which has been caught can be induced to
fly away by the recital of a form of words is highly inter-
esting, in itself considered as well as in view of its prob-
able origin. May not such poetic formulae be traceable
to a religious or at least superstitious origin ? The com-
monest of these rhymes are those addressed to the lady-
bird (Coccinella septempunctata) and the June bug.
Rochholz has made a collection of the names of the for-
mer, and found that in India it was sacred to the god
Indra, and among the old Germans to Frega. I give two
German forms of the verse :

" Muttergotteshuhle, Miickenstuhle, " Marienktiferchen, wann wircl Sonne
riiege auf, iliege auf! Wohl liber sein ?

die Bussenberof, Morsren oder heut?

Dass es besser Wetter wird." Flieg weg in den Himmcl !"

An English one is:

Ladybird, ladybird,

Fly away home ;
If you'll be quick,

The sunshine will come."

* Die Seele des Kindes, p. 27. Cf. Baldwin's remarks on the child's
interest in movement in Mental Development in the Child and the Eace,
p. 336.— Tu.

70 THE PLAY OF lAIAN

All are familiar with the adjuration to the June bug.
French children sing :

" Hanneton, vole, vole !
Ton raari est a I'ecole,
II a dit qu'si tu volais,
Tu aurais d'la soupe au lait
II a dit qu\si tu n'volais pas,
Tu aurais la t^tc en has."

To the butterfly, which is not so easily caught, the
invitation is to alight:

And in Scotch :

Molketewer sett di,
Komrat e Fogg de frett di ! "

" Le, la, let,
My bonnie pet ! "

The snail, too, is addressed in a rhyme which favours
the illusion that he will put out his horns to order :

" Schneck' im Ilaus, kreich heraus,
Strecke deine vier Horner heraus 1
Sonst werf ich dich in Graben,
Fressen dich die Raben."

" Snail, snail, put out your horn.
Or I'll kill your father and mother the morn." *

As a final example, I will mention the gruesome cus-
tom which, according to Papasliotis, obtains in modern
Greece, and especially in Crete, of attaching a small
lighted taper to a beetle and releasing it amid the accla-
mations of excited children. A passage in Aristophanes
gives the impression that the children of ancient Greece
also indulged in this cruel sport.f

The eye of the adult, too, delights in movement; ab-
solute immobility is as disturbing as absolute stillness.
Here, as elsewhere, in considering the playful indulgence
of sensuous perceptions, we must distinguish between
pleasure in movement as such and pleasure in sensuously
agreeable movement. Even children seem to exhibit this

* See Floss, Das Kind, etc., vol. ii, p. 313. t Grasberger, vol. i, p. 75.

PERCEPTION OP MOVEMENT 71

difference. Some weeks after the experiments in form
described above I drew irregular zigzags and some even,

wavy lines in the air before Marie G , then five years

old, and asked which she liked better. She chose the lat-
ter, though the others were calculated to produce a much
more exciting impression, giving as her reason that the
wavy lines were " straighter " ; evidently meaning, as in
the case of the figures, that these were more regular.
In adults susceptibility to sensuously agreeable movement
is doubtless still stronger, yet with them, too, there is a
wide margin of pleasure in movement as such. From the
multiplicity of available examples of this I select first the
observation of street scenes, which I have already noticed
in the case of animals,* especially the dog. The pleasure
which we find in gazing out of our own windows or from
behind the plate glass of a cafe at the bustle and swarm
of a city's traffic detaches itself from all intellectual or
even imaginative associations, and is gradually merged
into a dreamy consciousness of a sensation of movement,
mingled with mild enjoyment of its contrast with our
own repose. With similar sensations we observe the stir
of an ant-hill, the swarming of gnats in the evening glow,
the confusion of snowflakes, and the whirling of leaves
in a wind. A special interest attaches to the witnessing
of skilful acrobatics where the feeling of inner imitation
is strongly excited, and well does the juggler know how
to turn this interest to account. The dexterous leaps
which Amaranthus records at the beginning of the eight-
eenth century furnishes us an historical example : " Many
are the leaps by which the jugglers cause the money of
the spectators to jump into their own purses, and they
have names as strange as they are ridiculous. There is
the monkey jump, which throws one backward, landing
him on both feet; the trout leap, which does the same
thing twice in quick succession and with the legs crossed ;
twenty- two monkey jumps without stopping; a great
variety of table and board jumps ; the goat and hare leaps;
the leap through eight rings, one from floor to ceiling, over
chairs, etc. " f

* The Play of Animals, p. 225. t Alwin Schultz, op cit., p. 169.

72 THE PLAY OF MAN

The enjoyment is of course strengthened when the
already interesting motion becomes sensuously agreeable ;
a low degree of such pleasure is experienced in witness-
ing regular motion in a single direction, such as that
of a rushing stream or of clouds sailing across the heav-
ens. In one of his verses Gottfried Keller calls these
latter the " friendly companions of the dwellers on earth."
" As they wander on they attract and distract the bur-
dened soul of him who observes them with wonder, and
keep him amused all through the weary hours." Gurgling
springs add to their upward gushing motion the soft un-
derground murmur of their waters, while the beauty of
circling motion is perhaps never more effectively shown
than in the majestic floating of birds of prey. Darwin
says in his Voyage of the Beagle round the World:
" When the condors are wheeling in a flock round and
round any spot their flight is beautiful. Except when
rising from the ground, I do not recollect ever having
seen one of these birds flap its wings. Near Lima I
watched several for nearly half an hour, without once
taking off my eyes. They moved in large curves, sweep-
ing in circles, descending and ascending, without giving
a single flap." Perhaps our pleasure is even greater in
wave motions, as they roll over the ocean or are pro-
duced by the wind on a field of grain, or surge in the cur-
rent of a rapid stream. These noble verses of Morike's
on the Rhine falls bear witness to the power of the aesthetic
feeling so aroused :

" Halte dein Herz, o "Wanderer, fest in srewaltigen Handen !
Mir entstiirzte vor Lust zitternd das meinige fast.
Eastlos donnernde Massen auf donnernde Massen geworfen,
Ohr und Auge wohin retten sie sich im Tumult? . . .

Eosse der Gotter, im Schwung, eins iiber den Eiicken des ander
Sturmen herunter und streu'n silberne Mahnen umher;

Herrliche Leiber, unzahlbare, folgen sich, nimmer dieselben,
Ewig dieselbigen — wer wartet das Ende wohl aus ? "*

* " Stay now thine heart, O wanderer, held fast in powerful hands I
Mine own breaks forth in trembling joy.
Thundering masses roll, on thundering masses hurled,
How can the eye and ear escape the tumultuous roar ?

PERCEPTION OF MOVEMENT 73

Finally, we will notice dancing movements. It is not
only among birds that the courted female gazes with in-
terest at the dancing of the male; we see it in all public
dancing. This is one of the instances where visual play
is as important as the movement, for even among the par-
ticipants pleasure is heightened by the exciting spectacle
of the other dancers,'^ and it is true the world over that
spectators of a dance always become as passionately
aroused as do the performers themselves. The piercing
trills with v\^hich the women of some negro tribes at in-
tervals accompany the dance of the males are surely not
merely invitations to the latter, but indications as well
of their own excitement. For this reason many onlookers
are impelled to keep time with the rhythmic dance by
clicking the tongue or clapping the hands. '' The feeling
of pleasure which is kindled in the performer," says
Grosse, " sheds its rays on the beholder as well. ... In
this way both become passionately excited, intoxicated
by the sounds and movements; the transport constantly
increasing, swells at last to veritable madness, which often
results in violent outbreaks." f The solo dances of primi-
tive peoples presuppose an onlooking public more than
mass dances do. Among Bushmen and Eskimos the men
dance alone, while, according to Eyre, Australian women
do it sometimes alone and sometimes in companies to
arouse the men.t Among the civilized people of the
Orient professional dancing girls perform in the pres-
ence of men, in which case the spectators alone can be
said to play. And the same is true of our ballet, which,
indeed, except for its direct sexual effect, possesses but
little pleasurable quality.*

War horses of the srods at play, leapinsr over one another,

Dashing downward and strewing to the winds their silver manes;

Exquisite" forms unnumbered follow them, never the same,
Ever the same — who can wait till the end shall be ? "

* This is the case with our round dances, and is, perhaps, the greatest
objection to them.

+ Die Anfange der Kunst, pp. 202, 215.
X Ibid.

* Perhaps the world-wide demand for some sort of intoxicant is
another kind of sensory play, since it is calculated to excite and inten-
sify the social feelinsrs. Kraepelin says (Psychiatrie, p. 3fil) that there is
scarcely a single people which does not possess some popular agency for

74 THE PLAY OF MAN

II. Playful Use of the Motor Apparatus

In this new section we by no means cut loose from
what is sensory in a subjective sense, for of course we
become conscious of our own movements only through
the sensory paths of sight and what is collectively called
touch, chiefly sensations of contact, and tendon and joint
sensations. Yet from an objective standpoint we must
enter upon the investigation of an entirely new province,
where we shall be concerned not so much with the senses
as with the manifold co-ordinated muscular movements
of which our bodies are capable, and which are neces-
sary or at least useful for the accomplishment of the
tasks of life.

Since these movements are progressively acquired, the
child's first efforts can hardly be said to be voluntary.
Many that are instinctive and automatic must be repeated
over and over before voluntary ones come, for will im-
plies an image which is a memory picture of the move-
ment to be made. Preyer thinks that no intentional
movements are made before the end of the first quarter.*
Vierordt, indeed, says that their development is gradually
progressive. " All indications point to the arm as first
becoming obedient to volition, and the sucking move-
getting rid of the petty cares of life, and that the variety of these poison-
ous springs of pleasure is surprisingly great I will note only alcoholism
and the morphine habit. Mild intoxication by the former creates in the
subject pleasant internal temperature sensations, combined with greater
facility iu all motor exertion. We become freer, gayer, and braver, and
feci that life has no cares or anxieties for us. our strength and ability
seem enhanced, and we behave and speak with candour and commonly
without caution. The effect of morphine, on the contrary, seems to be
rather a pleasant deadening of the motor impulses and a quickening of
the intellect and imagination. In Paris there are said to be at least iifty
thousand morphine takers, and the manufacture of gold hypodermic
syringes of elegant design has become an important branch of tlie gold-
smith's business. That this intoxication is indulged in like play is shown
by Kraepelin's statement that in a Russian refriment, to which a young
friend of his belonged, nearly all the officers used the syringe. A still
more evident play with the social feelings is displayed by many hvsteri-
cal subjects, who take a certain satisfaction in imagined or real bodily
sufferings. These become the central fact in their lives, and are even
regarded with a sort of pride as an absorbing topic of conversation
(Kraepelin, Psychiatric, p. 732). These extravagances sro to show that
men in a normal state also play with their social emotions, even when
these are in a way distasteful.

* Die Scele des Kindes, pp. 211, 216.

PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OF THE BODILY ORGANS 75

ments, too, seem early to lose their reflex character. Then
follow intentional movements of the head and neck and
some groups of face muscles, and finally those of the
lower limbs, which as late as the sixth month still move
in the most haphazard manner." '^ Playful experiment
then promotes this acquisition of control over the bodily
movements by the will, and strengthens and renders it
permanent after it has been acquired.

Playful movements naturally fall into two great sub-
divisions, namely, those belonging to the organs as such
and those directed tov/ard other objects in connection
with such organs — a distinction already familiar to us
in our study of the production of noises and tones. We
will now consider the first of these divisions, the most
important phenomenon of which is locomotion.

A. PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OF THE BODILY ORGANS

In other connections w^e have touched upon many
movement plays, such as voice practice and the produc-
tion of sounds by means of various bodily organs, ex-
perimentation with tactile stimuli, and watching moving
objects. This sort of exercise often combines motor with
sensor play, as has been frequently pointed out. There-
fore, to avoid repetition, I will in this section, after a
few preliminary remarks suggested by such bearings of
the subject as I conceive to be essential, proceed at once
to consider the most important and obvious of all move-
ment-plays— namely, those connected with change of
place.

In voice practice experiments with the larynx, tongue,
lips, and breathing muscles are involved. When children
whisper, for example, their enjoyment must be due as
much to the lip movements as to the slight sounds pro-
duced. The fact that the blind deaf-mute Laura Bridg-
man f playfully indulged in the production of various
sounds seems to confirm this, and the principle is appli-
cable too to other noises. The child who claps his hands,

* Karl Vierordt, Physiologie des Kindesalters, Gerhardt's Handbuch
der Kinderkranklieiten, vol. i, p. 181.
t Preyer, Die Seele des Kindes, p. 139.

76 THE PLAY OF MAN

splashes in the water, bangs on the table with his fist, or
puffs out his cheeks to blow a horn; the grown man who
shuffles his feet, drums on the table or window pane, the
noisy dancer, and even the piano or violin player who
indulges in movements now loud, now soft, now slow,
now quick — all derive a considerable part of their pleasure
in the sport from the motor discharge which is involved.
No exhaustive demonstration is needed to prove that
the same conditions prevail in experimentation with touch
stimuli and the observation of motion, which is so often
connected with it. " In the first year," says Preyer, in
speaking of the manifold and apparently aimless move-
ments of the infant, " exercise of the muscles is the
raison d'etre of all this activity which appears to be aim-
less. An adult lying on his back could not repeat the
commonest movements of a seven to twelve months child
without extreme fatigue." ^ In arm movements the de-
velopment of right-handedness is of especial interest.
Formerly it was attributed to the mother's or nurse's
method of carrying the child, to the greater weight of
one side of the body, and similar pretexts; but Baldwin's
investigations show that such extraneous influences have
little to do with it, for he found on excluding such agencies
a marked preference for the right hand in the seventh
and eighth months, displayed first in strenuous grasping
movements.! An entirely satisfactory explanation has
not yet been offered, though Sticker's theory is perhaps
most probable — namely, that the left brain hemisphere
has a better blood supply than the right.:}: When there
is some difficulty to overcome, some opportunity to dis-
play dexterity, there are heightened stimulus and greater
directness in the movements of arms and hands. Older
children delight to set themselves such tasks as, for in-
stance, clasping the hands behind the back, so that one

* Prever, Die Seele des Kindes. p. 139.

t Mental Development, etc., chap, iv, the Orisrin of Right-handedness
See, too, Vierordt, Physiologie des Kindesalters, p. 187. [Baldwin ex-
plains it orenetically as an "expressive function" which afterward cul-
minates in speech, Vhich is located in an adjacent centre in the same
hemisphere. — Tr].

X See O. Behaghel, Etwas vom Zuknopfen, Frankfurter Zeitung, 1897,
No. 329.

PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OF THE BODILY ORGANS 77

arm crosses the shoulder, or placing the open hand on
a table and raising the ring finger without any of the
others, or laying the fingers over one another, etc. When
such efforts are overlooked and directed by parents and
teachers, we have the beginning of gymnastics, w^hich
remains a play so long as the subject enjoys it. Free-hand
movements, exercises with dumb-bells and weights and
the like, so far as the interest is not centred in the for-
eign body, all belong here. The intense desire for move-
ment in many forms of mental disease should also be
noted in this connection, since they have an indirect
playful character, and by their very exaggeration are cal-
culated to throw some light on the conduct of normal
humanity. ;N"o psychic derangement shows this more
clearly than does mania. The voice of such patients, says
Kraepelin, " is usually high-pitched. . . . They are con-
tented, feel inclined to all sorts of fun, and teasing, sing-
ing, and joking," yet all this is invariably followed by a
sudden plunge into the contrary mood. " That grave
symptom of derangement, strong propensity to move-
ment seems to stand in the closest connection with live-
liness of spirits. The patient fairly revels in emotion;
he is uneasy, can not long lie or sit still, stirs about, skips,
runs, dances. He gesticulates wildly, claps his hands,
makes faces, scribbles and rubs on the ground, walls, and
windows, beats and drums on the floor, strips off his
clothes, tears them to ribbons, etc." * Since movement
and its opposite are closely connected, the question arises
whether the strange rigidity of body manifested in cata-
lepsy is not referable to the same cause. There is cer-
tainly often a certain designedness about it. " When
any attempt is made to change the position of the patient
every muscle is found to be tense. If the head is forced
aside by pressure, it flies back to its former position when
released. To support the head hardly requires more than
the weight of a finger. We are best acquainted with the
psychic organ of this stubborn resistance in the common
cases where the patient responds contrarily to speech
suggestions. He can be made to go forward by being

* Op. cit.., pp. 444, 600.

78 THE PLAY OF MAN

ordered back, and vice versa, will take a seat when told
not to, stand still when commanded to go on, etc." *

Finally, before going on to our principal subject, W8
should glance at the instinctive chewing motions which
were mentioned among tactile plays. When a full-grown
man going for a walk sticks a twig in his mouth and
gnaws it the movements of his own jaw are of more
interest to him than is the stick, except as it promotes
sensations of contact. We take genuine pleasure in
crunching toast and gnawing on a bone, and the unfor-
tunate habit of biting the finger nails is one form of such
play. Many smokers soon chew up the mouth pieces of
their pipes and cigar holders, and others constantly bite
pencil or penholder, and are unhappy when such indul-
gence is denied them. Betel-chewing, which, it is true,
has the attraction of a narcotic, is indulged in, accord-
ing to Von Bibra, by one hundred million human beings.f
New-Zealanders use kauri, the resin of a certain tree.
" In the northern part of Sweden resin obtained from the
trunk of a pine tree is very generally chewed." X Ameri-
cans who twenty-five years ago chewed prepared resin have
adopted the chewing-gum habit. Material for it is
brought chiefly from Mexico ; in 1895 four million pounds
of chicle gum was imported for this purpose. ' Jules
Legras says of Russia : " Gnawing sunflower seeds is the
favourite amusement of children and of the poorer classes.
The streets are full of shops where the beloved grain is
sold, and the common people stuff their pockets with it.
They skilfully split open the husk with the front teeth,
discard it, and mechanically chew the kernel. It is a
national habit, inexplicable to an outsider, for the seeds
are tasteless; but the jaws are kept busy, and their mo-
tion forms an accompaniment to the vague dreaming of
the poor people." *

Turning now to our subject proper — namely, playful
locomotion or change of place — we find the biological
significance of play, the elaboration of certain imperfect

* Op. n't., pp. 444, 600.

+ Die Narcotic Genussmittel und der Mensch, preface, and p. 378.
tTbid.

* Jules Legras, Au pays Kusse, Paris, 1895, p. 18.

PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OF THE BODILY ORGANS 79

instincts, brought out with marked distinctness. The
child's first practice in the direction of future walking is
found in the alternative kicking, which is so essential to
muscular development."^ Further progress is marked by
raising the body and learning to sit, efforts marking the
beginning of the struggle with weights which Souriau re-
gards as the leading stimulus to movement-play. So long
as this struggle to retain his equilibrium lasts, the child's
behaviour betrays the direct intention of the play. Preyer
says : " In his fourteenth week my sturdy boy easily made
his first attempt to sit, having his back well propped. In
his twenty-second week the child could raise himself in
the effort to reach my face, but not till the thirty-ninth
week could he sit alone, and still preferred a back. In
his carriage it was necessary for him to hold on even in
the fortieth and forty-first weeks. But when for a su-
preme moment he did manage to sit up unassisted he
was evidently delighted, and made the greatest efforts
to preserve his equilibrium." f

Creeping is an imperfect though genuine sort of loco-
motion preparatory to walking. " It is a treat," says
Sigismund, " to watch a creeping child. The tiny crea-
ture, seated on the floor, longs for something beyond his
reach; straining to get it, he loses his balance and falls
over. In that position he still stretches his hand out,
and notices that he is nearer the object of his desire, and
that a few more such forward motions would attain it.
Soon he becomes more active, sure, and courageous, and
learns to maintain his centre of gravity on three supports
while he lifts the fourth member for his next step for-
ward, for at first the child raises but one limb at a time,
though he soon learns to use the right hand and left foot
together. I have never seen one so use the hand and foot
on the same side. Sometimes the child crawls backward
like a crab, even when there is nothing before him which
he wishes to shun." t Fouquieres gives two beautiful an-

* " The reprehensible confininfr of the child's leffs," says Vierordt,
in reference to kickincr. "retards the development of ttie muscles not a
little.'" Psycholocrie des Kindesalters, p. 186.

t Op. cit.^ p. 1 74.

X Kind und Welt, p. 70. Sigismund tries to explain the backward

80 THE PLAY OF MAN

cient representations of creeping children, the first going
toward some fruit which lies on a footstool, and the other
gazing at a vase on the ground.*

Children who have a lively desire to roam before
they are able to walk invent many expedients which af-
ford them great satisfaction; for example, a little boy,

Werner H , has acquired remarkable skill in getting

about by stiffening his arms as he stretches them down at
his sides and swinging himself forward as if on crutches,
as we sometimes see the unfortunates do who have had
both legs amputated.

Learning to stand is an essential step preliminary to
w^alking, and causes a child the liveliest satisfaction, giv-
ing him further control over his own body, and respond-
ing as it does to an inborn impulse. Sigismund places
the first efforts in this direction in the eighteenth or twen-
tieth week. "If the nurse holds up a child of this age
on her lap, supporting it under the arms, it will dance,
hop, and spring perpetually like a hooked fish, bound
like a grasshopper, draw up his legs like a closed pocket
knife, and twist his head and neck — in short, he will ex-
hibit the same mercurial exuberance of motion which
pleases us in young goats, lambs, and kittens. The child's
movements, however, are naturally in the direction of the
normal human attitude, and he will make desperate at-
tempts to pull himself up by his nurse's dress or the edge
of a chair or his bath tub, and when by the exertion of
his utmost strength he succeeds he commonly breaks out
into loud cries of joy." f The playful quality so clearly
recognised here appears also in Preyer's remark that his
boy in the fortieth week preferred to be exercised in
standing rather than in sitting, although the former was
more difficult.:!: This fact no doubt enhanced the pleas-

creepinor as due to the fact that the child erets on its dress and is impeded
by it. But it is noteworthy that Baldwin's little dauarhter, who for a time
preferred to creep backward, had previously exhibited the reverse of
natural walkinor movements — namely, such as would carry her backward
—when held over a table so that she could just feel it with her soles.
Mental Development, etc., p. 82.

* Les jeux des anciens, pp. Ifi. 21.

t Sififismund. op. cit.^ pp. 5fi, 74.

X Die Seele des Kindes, p. 175.

PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OF THE BODILY ORGANS 81

ure. At the end of the first year or beginning of the second
the child is usually far enough on to stand entirely alone.
" He is amazed at his own daring, standing anxiously
with feet wide apart, and at last letting himself down
rather abruptly." *

Coming now to actual walking, it is uncertain whether
the alternating kicks of the infant point to special in-
stinctive impulses, but we may be sure that when a child
pushes forward on being held with the feet touching the
floor he feels the stirrings of instinct. " Champney's
child," says Preyer, " was held upright for the first time
at the end of the nineteenth week, so that his feet rested
on the floor, and he was moved forward; his legs worked
with regularity, and each step was taken accurately and
without hesitation or wavering even when the feet were
lifted too high. Only in this case was the alternation
interrupted, and he made another effort to take the step
with his feet in the air. Resting the body sideways on
one foot seemed to transfer the stimulus to the other.
These observations ground my belief that walking is an
instinctive act." f This happens somewhat later if the
child is not moved forward on being held up ; thus Bald-
win, whose experiment included no such motion, found
that the " native walking reflex " suddenly appeared in
the ninth month, while previous to that only a single
alternation appeared, which might well be ascribed to
chance.^ Independent experimentation begins when, hav-
ing drawn himself up by a chair, the child walks around
it with the help of his hands, all the time resting on
the seat, in which progress the achievement of a corner
is as critical a movement as the rounding of a jutting crag
in the path of a mountain climber. Soon after this ar-
rives the crucial test — the terrible risk of the first step
alone, which, when successfully accomplished, throws both
parent and child into a transport of joy. The apprecia-
tive Sigismund gives a beautiful description of this too :
" Forward steps having been practised while the hands
cling to some fixed object, he is prepared to venture alone.

* Siofismuncl, oj>. eit.^ pp. 56, 74.
t Die Seele des Kindes, p. 179.
X Mental Development, etc., p. 81.

82 THE PLAY OF MAN

This first step alone of a little child makes one involun-
tarily hold his breath at the sight. The small face re-
veals a conflict between the bold resolve to venture all
and the cautious counsels of conservatism. Suddenly one
little foot is shoved forward rather than lifted, and one
hand at last stretched out as a balance. Sometimes that
one step is all, and the little Icarus sinks down again.
But often the child to w^hom the effort is particularly
difficult makes, like a boy learning to skate or a man
w^alking a rope, several steps in one direction, especially
w^hen the haven of safety is near at hand. Manj^ children
make no further attempts for weeks after the first ; others,
again, follow it up at once. Very gradually walking loses
its anxious, doubtful character, and becomes an easy
habit not requiring attention." Froebel has well de-
scribed the pleasure in success which, together with the
gratification of instinctive impulse, makes learning to
walk such a satisfaction. " The fact is well established,"
he says, " that walking, and especially the first steps, give
the child pleasure merely as a demonstration of his
strength, although this is soon followed by other elements
of enjoyment, such as the realization that it is means of
arriving and of obtaining." * As it becomes mechanical,
walking, of course, loses its playful character. Pleasure
in simple locomotion is experienced by adults, as a rule,
only when the discharge of their motor impulses has been
hindered by a sedentary life, and even then motion is not
the chief source of satisfaction. The regular rhythm of
walking acts like a narcotic on an excited mind, which
reacts to it unconsciously. I remember that Ibsen's John
Gabriel Borkmann paced up and down like a sick wolf
before the door of the wife from whom he was separated ;
and we find a fearful reminder of the restless walking
back and forth of caged animals in the deep-worn foot-
prints of the prisoner of Chillon. We find, though, for
all ages games whose object is the conquest of some diffi-
culty, great or small. We frequently see small dogs keep
one leg up in the air without any apparent reason and
run along on three, and in the same way children try all

* Fadagogische Schriften, 1883, vol. ii, p. 333.

PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OF THE BODILY ORGANS 83

sorts of experiments in walking. Now one of them is
lame in one foot, now one small leg is stiif, now he drags
his feet, now walks with a jerk or on tiptoe. Many of
these movements are turned to account in elementary
gymnastics, and those pathological subjects whose mania
takes a playful turn show quite similar peculiarities in
walking.* Almost as soon as the child has learned to
preserve his equilibrium in ordinary walking he proceeds
to complicate the problem by trying to walk on curb-
stones, in a rut, on a beam, on a balustrade or narrow
wall. Unusual facility in these leads on to rope walking,
and afterward turns out to be of great service to the
mountain climber on narrow ridges and snow-covered
ledges. A famous architect was so foolhardy as to walk
round the narrow leads of the Konigstuhl tower in Hei-
delberg, and it is recorded of the ancient Norse king Olav
Tryggvason that he possessed the accomplishment, among
others, of being able to run across the oars of a boat
while the men were rowing. Another form of self-
imposed difficulty and consequent conversion of loco-
motion into play is the attempt to step on all the
cracks in the pavement or floor or on certain figures in
a carpet. Something of this kind must have led to the
game of Paradieshiipfen in Germany, hop-scotch in Eng-
land, la Marelle in France, in which certain spaces are
marked out in the sand or on a floor, on whose outlines
the foot must not be set.

Running games will form our next subject, and we find
that the child's earliest efforts for locomotion are as much
like running as walking. His first steps alone are, it is true,
most hesitatingly made, but the nearer the goal, especially
if it happens to be his mother kneeling with outstretched
arms, the more rapid are his movements. Gradually the
distinction between running and walking becomes more
marked. For an example of genuine practice for a quick
run Preyer's observations may again be cited. He says
that on the four hundred and fifty-ninth day the boy
stopped short several times in his rapid course and
stamped. In his seventy-seventh week this child ran

* Kraepelin, Psychiatrie, p. 445.

84: THE PLAY OF MAN

nineteen times without stopping around a large table,
calling out " mama," and " bwa, bwa, bwa," " the while.
This simple running soon loses its charm, and is not
much used later in play until it is transformed into a
contest and acquires a new and higher meaning, of which
we shall speak presently. Yet there are many running
games whose attraction consists in the difficulties to be
overcome, and very rapid running is a delight in itself,
throwing us into a sort of transport and exciting in us
" je ne sais quelle idee d'infini, de desir sans mesure, de
vie surabondante et folle, je ne sais quel dedain de I'in-
dividualite quel besoin de se sentir aller sans se retenir, de
se perdre dans le tout." f

Running down a smooth slope is a diversion which eas-
ily tempts even grown people, and boys at least find some-
thing like it in their game of snapping the whip, in which
game a chain is made with the strongest boy in front.
He has the task of moving the whole line in curves, so
that the end ones are obliged to run in dizzy haste. In
both cases natural forces, coming to the aid of the indi-
vidual's own efforts, add to the enjoyment. Overcom-
ing difficulties is prominent in the Hellenic mrvXiCeiv,
which it seems consisted in running on the tips of
the toes, as well as in the equally ancient iKTrKeSpi^av,
which was a peculiar varied running, without curves,
in a straight line back and forth, the line growing
shorter and shorter till a central point was reached,
where, as only one step remained, the runner came to

a standstill.:^

Hopping and skipping are also to be classed with run-
ning plays; the body is suspended in the air for an in-
stant in all these movements, though in hopping and
skipping the motion is more vertical. They belong in
the same category with the vagaries of locomotion which
I have pointed out, and any lively child finds it hard to
dispense with them when out for a walk, just as lambs
and kids do. In the ordinary skip one foot at a time

* 6>??. r?Y., p. 182.

+ M. Guyau, Les ProVjlemes de I'Esthetique contemporaine, p. 48.
X L. Grasberger, Erziehung und Unterricht iin klassischen Alterthum,
pp. 32, 319.

PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OF THE BODILY ORGANS 85

comes with a slight shoving motion on the ground and
gives us the beginning of a galop and the principle of
the waltz, while hopping forms the foundation for the
polka. This hop on one foot is utilized in many plays,
such as the hopscotch already mentioned, and in chas-
ing and fighting games, like " Cock Fight " (German
Hahnenkampf), "Fox in his Hole," etc. In Greece the
da-KOiXid^etv was a popular game, and Grasberger says
that their hopping was the same as ours, and in some
games he who accomplished the task with the fewest
hops won the prize. In a catching game the contest-
ants hopped oji a circular line and attempted to touch
one another with the free foot. Finally, the drollest
and most popular form of the game, which never failed
to excite laughter in all beholders, was the genuine
Askoliasmos. A skin well oiled on the outside and
filled with air was stepped on by the player, who at-
tempted to stand on it while he went through various
dancing and hopping motions. The favourite circus
trick of running on a rolling cannon ball is a modern
form of this.

Children begin to jump by leaping downward. Before
the little experimenter has halfway learned to go down
steps he likes to reach the ground by a jump from the
last one, at first a difficult enough exploit. But soon this
palls, and something harder is at once undertaken, just
as the habitual drunkard attains to stronger and stronger
potations. The three-year-old can take two or three steps
or boldly leap from a chair on which he has laboriously
clambered with this intent. When some large stone pil-
lars intended for a garden gate lay in the street before
my house all the children in the neighbourhood collected
to enjoy the pleasure of jumping off of them. Psycho-
logically this pleasure is derived not merely from the
agreeable flying motion, but from the stimulus of diffi-
culty to be overcome and a feeling of pride in encounter-
ing risks. Chamberlain tells of two small Americans who
had in their familiar speech a word. for "the feeling you
have just before you jump, don't you know, when you
mean to jump and want to do it and are just a little bit
afraid to do it," and another for " the way you feel when

86 THE PLAY OF MAN

you have just jumped and are awfully proud of it." *
Perhaps the liveliest feeling of pleasure is caused by the
leap into water, because the soft, yielding, and yet re-
sisting element furnishes an unusually long trajectory.
Many South Sea islanders have cultivated this art to an
astonishing degree. The pleasure of snowshoeing, too,
consists chiefly in the circumstance that the path ends
suddenly in an abrupt slope, over which the skilful sports-
man flies in a tremendous leap amid a whir of soft snow.
" To see," says Nansen in his book on Greenland, " how
the practised runner makes his leap into the air is one
of the finest spectacles in the world. To see him whiz-
zing boldly down the mountain, collect himself in a few
steps before the spring, pause and take position, and then
like a sea gull glide through the air, striking the ground
at a distance of twenty to twenty-five metres immersed
in a cloud of flying snow — all this sends a thrill of sym-
pathetic pleasure through one's frame." Later, children
learn high and long-distance jumps, the doorstep, a tiny
stream and narrow ditch affording opportunity for the
first practice, and an older boy leaps gaily over a low
hedge, a wide brook, or his comrade's back in leap-frog.
The element of danger exists here and some combative-
ness, as though it were a sort of conquest of the object;
these features are especially prominent when the vault
is made over a blazing fire, as in the custom with some
moimtaineers' games. It is first heard of in the Palilia,
a herdsman's game of ancient Rome, commemorative of
the founding of the city, and the people of the Nicobar
Islands believe that leaping through fire is a sure cure
for colds, fevers, etc.f The salto mxortale m "ked the
highest degree of difficulty and danger — a Greek vase
shows it as a somersault in the midst of the high jump.
ISTorwegian youths can spring up so high as to touch
the ceiling with one foot and agilely regain their up-
right position. The Greeks used weights of stone or lead,
which they swung violently to intensify the force of the

* A. F. Chamberlain, The Child and Childhood in Folk-Thought,
p. 263.

+ See W. Seohoda, Pie Bewohner des Nikobar-Archipels. Inter.
Arch, ftir Eth., vol. vi (1893), p. 32.

PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OF THE BODILY ORGANS 87

leap, the springboard being apparently unknown to them.
Grasberger regards the statement that Phayllos of Crete
could cover from fifty to fifty-five feet * as well authen-
ticated, but it was certainly a prodigious leap. Similar
incredible feats are reported of the ancient Germans, one
being that of the Viking Half dan, who jumped over a
gorge thirty yards wide.f From this is but a step to the
world-famed contest between Brunhilde and Gunther, in
which Brunhilde hurled a mighty stone and then leaped
after it as far as or farther than the stone went, and
Siegfried performed the same feat, carrying Gunther
with him.

Climbing is probably the outcome of a special in-
stinct. The striking fact that a newborn infant is at
once able to cling with his hands certainly points to this.
It has been showm by Eobinson that infants may cling
fast enough to a stick to be lifted from the ground and
held suspended in midair.

The first attempts at actual climbing occur in the second
year in conjunction with creeping, and are usually eiforts
to go upstairs. Young animals whose future life demands
skill in climbing also manifest this upward tendency.
Where Lenz says that the two-weeks-old kid enjoys neck-
breaking adventures and makes remarkable leaps, that he
always wants to go upon piles of wood or stone, on walls
and rocks, and that climbing upstairs is his chief delight,:}:
he gives at the same time a faithful picture of dawning

human impulses. Little George K , a year and a half

old, made his way in an unguarded moment from the
garden to the third story of his father's house. Number-
less accid its have resulted from the climbing upon chairs
and tables, which is so indefatigably persisted in, and
there are few plays which afford so much pleasure to older
children as climbing trees. It is probable that, in spite
of the danger of the situation, there is an instinctive
feeling of security and comfort when they are cosily
settled among the branches. We naturally attribute this
to the habits of their progenitors, but a simpler explana-

* Grashersrer, op. cit., p. 300.

+ Weinhold, Altnordisches Lehen, Berlin, 1856, p. 308.

X H. O. Lenz, Gemeinnutzige Naturgeschichte, 1851, vol. i, p. 612.

88 THE PLAY OF MAN

tion of their enjoyment of the situation may be that
their elders can not get to them. That girls gladly par-
ticipate in this supposedly masculine indulgence is note-
worthy. Marlitt and Mrs, Hungerford give amusing in-
stances of trying situations in which older girls have been
placed through this propensity. The tall and glossy beech
tree, with all sorts of beauties luring one to its topmost
branches, presents special difficulties to adventurers.
Climbing steep cliffs, too, is a favourite pastime; one of
the pleasantest recollections of my own youth is of climb-
ing a wooded slope in the neighbourhood of St. Blasien in
the Black Forest, where I spent half a day with two other
children building a moss hut on an almost inaccessible
crag. The modern fad of making foolhardy excursions to
the highest peaks is too familiar to need enlarging on.
It clearly shows that the most difficult movement plays
are combative. Th. Wundt, the famous climber, is quite
right when he says in his book on the Jungfrau and
the Bernese Oberland that the mountain climber " takes
Nature by storm; he does not expect that she will present
a smiling aspect; he measures strength with her; he
seeks a contest which will try him to the uttermost, and
the longing for adventure is much stronger than any mere
passive enjoyment." We find traces of this same spirit
in old German records, as witness thus : King Olaf Trygg-
vason, to prove his prowess, climbed the Smalsarhorn,
hitherto regarded as unscalable, and fixed his shield to its
summit.*

With only a passing mention of swimming movements,
in which the South Sea Islanders excel, I turn at once
to the dance, or what may be called the artistic form of
locomotion, confining myself, however, strictly to those
forms of it which have to do with pure movement-play.
We must, I think, assume that elementary ideas of danc-
ing are present in childhood, but the developed art be-
longs to adults. Besides the walking, running, hopping,
and skipping of which we have spoken, the child makes
use of every imaginable turn and attitude of the head,
trunk, and limbs, and a careful study of the various gym-

* K. Wienhold, Altnordisches Lebeu, p. 307.

PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OF THE BODILY ORGANS 89

nastic motions of all times and peoples could hardly re-
veal greater variety than is found among these little ones.
A certain rhythm, too, is noticeable in their ordinary
hopping and skipping, but the essential feature of the
dance, the regulation of bodily movement by measured
music, must be acquired. Preyer's statement that his
child in its twenty-fourth month danced in time with
music,* it seems to me, is an exception to the rule, for
among the large number of small children whom I have
seen dancing to music I can not recall a single one
who kept time regularly and with assurance without
some teaching and example. I myself learned the polka
step, moving forward in a straight line, when I was
a ten-year-old boy, and I can remember feeling that
it was something new and peculiar, and that many of
my comrades had great difficulty in achieving it. I am
told by a woman teacher that she attempted to teach
some little girls between five and eight years old to walk
in time to a march played on the piano, and that not
a single one of them could do it successfully on the first
trial. Yet, on the other hand, it is certain that chil-
dren learn dancing very quickly through imitation, espe-
cially among savages. It is amazing to see with what
assurance these little ones can participate in the com-
plicated dances of their elders. I shall return to this
in speaking of imitative plays. The ring dances of
European children, which we shall shortly refer to under
social plays, are derived from m^edi^eval and ancient
dances of adults.

To find the sources of pleasure in dancing we must go
back to the common ground of satisfaction in obeying the
impulse for motion, yet it is not easy to assign a general
explanation for the peculiar charm of rhythmical move-
ment. Spencer holds that passionate excitement naturally
manifests itself in rhythmic repetition; while Minor, on
the contrary, sees in it the expression of a prudential in-
stinct to restrain the fury of passionate feeling.f As
Schiller, too, says :

* Die Secle des Kindes, p. 183.

•f J. Minor, Neuhochdeutsche Metrik, Strassburg, 1893, p. 11.

90 THE PLAY OF MAN

"Es ist des Wohllauts machtige Gottheit,
Die zum geselligen Tanz ordnet den tobenden Sprung,
Die der Nemesis Gleicli, an des Khyttimus goldenem Zugel
Lenkt die brausende Lust uud die verwilderte zalimt." *

This view is quite plausible when applied to the social
effect of dancing, as Grosse has pointed out. Khythm does
subdue and order " riotous lust," and afford a harmless
outlet to the general need for some expression of it. Yet
it w^ould be a mistake to suppose that its effect is always
subduing, since, as a matter of fact, it often leads to the
wildest tumult. " Oh, thou bold gamester," an old song
runs, " Make for us a long row, Hip, hip, hurrah ! how- he
can go ! Heart, lungs, and liver he will overthrow." f

Spencer's remark makes it clear, from the other point
of view, that rhythm is a most suitable instrument for the
expression of passionate emotion, be it sad or joyful, but
fails to explain why it is in itself intensely exciting and
pleasurably so. Grosse justly says of Spencer's view:
" According to this theory the rhythm of dancing move-
ments seems to be only a sharply and strongly intensified
form of locomotion. It does not at all explain the pleas-
urable quality of rhythm, and if we are unwilling to
accept description in lieu of explanation we can only
regard this statement of fact as introductory to further
investigation."

Since Darwin's theory, mentioned above, has as yet
found little substantial proof, the intoxicating effects of
rhythmic motion must find some other explanation here.
Such movements are employed among most peoples as a
means of producing ecstatic conditions. Selenkas gives a
simple instance from Borneo : " The candidate [for the
office of doctor] was led before the Manangs as they
squatted on the ground. The Dekan, or spokesman, ad-
dressed him, and, rising, anointed his forehead with oil
and ordered him to go around the ring bearing a lance

* " It is the godlike power of harmony

Wl)ieh orders wild motions to the quiet social dance.
And like a Nemesis, with the golden reins of rhythm, ,
Harnesses riotous lust, and tames its madness."
■j- " O, Du frecher Spielmann. mach uns den Keilien lang! Juchheia!
Wie er sprang! ITcrz. Milz, Lunsr und Leber sich rundum in ihm
Schwang." K. Weinhold, Die deutschen Frauen in Mittelalter, p. 373.

PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OF THE BODILY ORGANS 91

to which was hung a medicine bag. The Dekan followed
him at a trot, and their speed was constantly increased
as the accompanying song of the others grew louder, until
at last the novitiate, gasping and stumbling as if hyp-
notized, broke down." *

Here w^e have in elementary form the kind of intoxica-
tion which is so fruitful in the production of religious
ecstasy as it is indulged in by many Christian sects, nota-
bly the American Puritans in their rolling exercise.
Numerous descriptions, however, show that some dance
movements may produce the same effect ; indeed, some in-
vestigators have been led to the belief that all dancing was
originally religious, but this view is as one-sided as is
the attempt to refer dancing exclusively to courtship.
It is safer to regard it rather as an exciting movement-
play which possesses, in common with other narcotics, the
magic power of abstracting us from commonplace exist-
ence and transporting us to a self-created world of
dreams. When accompanied by special influences, which
relate to fighting or love, the agitation produced is suf-
ficient to stir the soul to its depths; but even without
these associations the intoxicating power of movement is
apparent, its simplest effects being a kind of ansesthesia,
relaxation of all tension, unconsciousness of fatigue, and
the illusion of being free from bodily weight, like a spirit
floating about in space. As Schiller says, " Bef reit von
der Schwere des Leibes." This illusion, in itself pro-
ductive of great enjoyment, explains our pleasure in
such dances as we are considering. Much has been
said in criticism of the modern round dance. Apart
from sexual considerations, to which, after all, I do not
attach much weight, present-day dancing, is said to lack
the social effect of mass plays and the stimulus of mimic
dances. But if we look upon it as a simple movement-
play, and consider it more from the standpoint of the
dancer than of the spectator, that criticism loses its force.
The slower time of old-fashioned waltzing was certainly
more effective, and made a much more dignified spectacle,
but from the dancer's point of view it was a distinct

* Sonnige "Welten, p. 77.

92 THE PLAY OF MAN

advance when the tempo was quickened, for the present
method plunges the dancing pair more surely and quickly
into the delicious tumult and madness of motion.*

Since it would take too long even to glance at all the
gymnastic dances of times gone by, it will serve our pur-
pose to point out those which were controlled by rhythm.
The wild leaping of mediaeval ring dancing, where it is
said that even the ladies jumped a distance of six feet,
and flew through the air like birds; the Spartan /?t/?a(rt5,
kept up until exhaustion ensued; the forward, sideward,
and backw^ard springing, and the measured tramping of
the Australian corroborris; the squatting and kneeling of
the Nicobar Islanders; bowing the body, swinging the
arms, and nodding the head in the Dajak war dance; the
clapping and " Haxenschlagen " of Europeans — all these
are typical phenomena. Sometimes, in the midst of the
general agitation of the body, one part will remain rigid,
as in this instance, described by Man : " The dancer bent
his back and threw his whole weight on one leg, whose
knee was crooked; the hands were stretched out before
his breast, one thumb held between the other thumb and
forefinger while the other fingers were strained for-
ward. In this position the dancer turned round, hopping
forward on the suporting leg, and with every hop stamp-
ing on the floor with the free foot.f Similar spreading
out of the fingers is mentioned in Selenkas's picture of a
Malay woman's dancing in Sumatra,:]: and I saw a comic
European dancer hold his arm out horizontally, but
turned up from the elbow in a stiff manner, which made
the immobility of the upper part of his body appear in
ridiculous contrast to the lively motion of his legs. It
would seem that the inhibition of all involuntary mus-
cular innervation produces more absolute surrender to the
prescribed movements of the dance. . . ."

Before entering on the second half of this section we
must devote a few words to artificial methods of moving

* Our waltz was orisrinally the final movement in a complicated dance
" which represented the romance of love, the meetinar, the pursuit, the
painful doubts and ditticulties, and at last the wedding jollity." — Schalier,
Das Spiel und die Spieler, 1861, p. 219.

+ Grosse, op. cif., p. 20-3.

X Sonnige Welten, p. 338.

PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OF THE BODILY ORGANS 93

the body, which are divided into two classes, those which
are passive and those employed in active locomotion.
Naturally the first implement of this kind to be men-
tioned is the cradle, of whose use among the Greeks we
find no evidence, but the Romans had them since the time
of Plautus. The oldest German record of them is in the
Saxon manuscript at Heidelberg.* Of course, the cradle's
rocking motion and its soothing effect should be in-
cluded in our enumeration of agreeable movements. The
same may be said of swinging, which we find practised
by many birds and by the ape; indeed, one case is re-
corded where a monkey himself attached a rope to the
projection of a roof and swung himself on it. The hu-
man race, too, probably without exception, enjoy the
sport. The hammock is in some cases the prototype of
the swing. Von den Steinen relates of the Brazilian Ba-
kairi that the men when at home spend most of their
time swinging in hammocks.f Parkinson describes a still
more primitive sort of swing. It seems that the Gilbert
Islanders select a stout, well-grown cocoanut tree and
attach a cord to it, on the other end of which is a club.
A young woman climbs on the trunk, and taking her
seat there is swung by a youth, who, watching his chance
when the motion is well under way, catches hold with
his hands and swings with her.t The Greeks had several
forms of the swing, among them the joggling board, con-
sisting of a flexible plank supported at its ends on fixed
beams, and the rope swing which with its comfortable seat
supported by four cords was used by adults. The Berlin
Museum possesses a bowl ornamented with the figure of
a fawn running under a young girl in such a swing and
sending her high in the air. Athens celebrated a special
holiday called after the swing, atwpat.*

Pleasure in riding and driving being partly due to

* H. Plo.ss, Das Kleine Kind vom Tras^bett his zum ersten Schritt,
1881, p. 98. From this exhaustive treatise on the cradle it appears that
most primitive peoples do not use our cradles with rockers, but prefer the
swinging kind.

t K. V. d. Steinen, Unter den Naturvolkern Centralbrasiliens.
X R. Parkinson. Beitrasce zur Ethnologic der Gilbert Insulaner. Inter-
nat. Archiv fur Ethnologie, vol. ii, p. 92.

* Becq de Fouquieres, Les Jeux des Ancicns, p. 54.

94 THE PLAY OF MAN

the control we have over the horses, such enjoyment is a
combination of active and passive. Even when we are
only steering a boat the illusion is easily supported that
we are to some extent responsible for its progress. Riding
has other elements of attraction: besides the forward
motion and lofty seat there is some peculiar enjoyment
of each particular gait, the sensuously agreeable canter
and the hard shake of the trot, which, so far as it can be
pleasurable, furnishes an instance of more vehement en-
joyment. Among artificial means of locomotion, those
are most agreeable which afford a swaft and yet smooth
gliding or rocking motion. Souriau says in his Esthetique
du Mouvement that the chief attraction of movement-
plays lies in the overcoming of gravitation. But in that
case, as I pointed out in my earlier work, downward
movement would have no charm, since gravitation is
there triumphant. The child's first jump is, as we have
seen, downward, and the downward rush of a sled fills
us with exquisite delight. Souriau's other supposition,
that perhaps it is the exemption from friction, from the
slight hindrances and detentions which commonly attend
our movements, which accounts for our pleasure,* seems
more probable. It is to be hoped that among the sports
of the future, flying either in balloons or with flying
machines will be included. Lilienthal, in recounting his
experiences in these arts, assures us that gliding through
the air in a slanting direction affords a new and delight-
ful sensation.

A long list of inventions, for the most part recreative,
meet the demand for aids to active locomotion, notably
aj)pliances for rowing and the bicycle. Among ancient
implements of this character I mention but two: stilts
and snowshoes. Running on stilts is a favourite sport
of children, both on account of the difficulties it pre-
sents and because of the elevation it affords. It was prac-
tised by both Greeks and Romans, and Pollux mentions
a Spartan dance which was performed on stilts, probably
the kind which is bound to the foot.f In speaking of

* See especially oj). cit.^ 205, where Souriau seems to undervalue the
attraction of the backward fflide.
t See Grasberger, op. cit., p. 128.

PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OF THE BODILY ORGANS 95

the ethnological distribution of this custom Andree says
that stilts are found all over the world. " In China they
are very skilfully used, and are not unknown to Africa
among many African tribes. The negro boys left of the
Congo bind stilts to their ankles to appear taller. They
are well known to the Malays and the inhabitants of the
South Sea Islands. In Tahiti a limb of a tree is used,
having a smaller branch projecting at about a metre from
the ground, and in this fork the foot is placed. The
beautifully carved stilts of the Marquise Islanders have
attained a certain celebrity." * The snowshoe, which has
recently become popular once more, seems to be as an-
cient as the skate. t

" In skating," says Weinhold, " the men and boys
emulated the example of Ullr and Skadi, who must have
been very gods of snow and ice. But they did not use
steel skates like ours, but stood on long boards and held
a staff to steady them. Many Norsemen became famous
for this kind of running; such sagas of their skill have
come down to us. . . . The Finns were teachers of this
art, which was carried to great perfection among them.
In their peace treaties any violator of them was menaced
with being called a traitor as far as ships sailed or shields
glittered, as the sun shone or snow fell, or the Finn could
skate." t

B. PLAYFUL MOVING OF FOREIGN BODIES

The primitive impulse to extend the sphere of their
power as far as possible leads men to the conquest and
control of objects lying around them. We can distinguish
six different groups of movement-plays resulting from
this impulse : 1, Mere " hustling " things about ; 2, de-
structive or analytic play; 3, constructive or synthetic
play; 4, plays of endurance; 5, throwing plays; 6, catch-
ing plays.

1. Hustling Things about

By this rather inelegant but expressive term we desig-
nate a kind of play which belongs to early childhood.

* Op. eit., p. 99.

+ See Strutt, The Sports and Pastimes of the People of England, p. 153.

X Weinhold, Altnordische Leben, p. 306.

96 THE PLAY OF MAN

From the grasping impulse the tendency is developed in
the second quarter to push and pull things about in all
directions, to shake and test them with hands and lips,
to seize and to push away. External objects are all play-
things to the child, says Perez, all objects of his investi-
gating tendencies. " 11 les manie, les tourne, les abat,
les redresse, les jette, les reprend, les poursuit a quatre
pattes, quand il ne peut les atteindre, les attire a lui,
les frappe, les uns contre, les autres, fouille dans leurs
profondeurs, les entasse et les separe, enfin joue ou s'in-
struit par eux de mille manieres." * Tearing paper gives
particular pleasure. The child " seizes it with avidity,
crumples it up in his hand as if pleased to find that there
is power enough in the tiny fist to change the form of
anything, or he polishes the tables with it as zealously as
a Dutch woman." f

" A child delights to play with things that can be put
in motion, takes pleasure in shaking a well-filled purse,
turning the handle of a coffee mill, pulling out drawers,
dabbling in w^ater, and for the same reason older children
are fond of handling smooth sand and clay." $ Auten-
rieth gives a good instance of what we call joy in being
a cause, which is conspicuous in all play of this class.
" All small boys regard it as a treat to be allowed to
paddle in street puddles, where they can produce a great
effect with little effort." **

Much that might suitably be classed here has already
been mentioned in connection with seeing, hearing, and
tactile plays, since the impulse to set surrounding objects
in motion is very closely connected with the desire for
sensuous excitement. To avoid repetition I will simply
refer to what has been said, and content myself here with
adding one more play to the list, as it has special claim
to be classed with them — namely, flying kites and similar
play with captive insects. Although a little child can
have but a very imperfect conception of the difference
between animate and inanimate objects, yet living crea-

* Perez, Les trois premieres annees, etc., p. 80.

+ Siarismund, op. cit..^ p. 40.

X Tbid., p. 53.

<* I. H. Autenrieth, Ansichtcn uber Natur und Seelenleben, p. 163.

HUSTLING THINGS ABOUT 97

tures certainly have a paramount interest for him.
Everything which flies or crawls is watched and ques-
tioned with an almost passionate interest, and the desire
to follow a flying insect and to possess it leads the child
to tie a string to some part of its body. K. von den
Steinen saw two Bororo boys in Brazil, one of whom
had a bee and the other a butterfly fluttering on a cord."^
In Greece such sport was called fxrjXoXovSr] or fMyjXoXdvSrj.
Gold beetles were attached to cords three yards long, with
pieces of wood on the end, and unmercifully pulled about
in the air — veritable " hustling " indeed.f Children
sometimes treat little birds in the same way. " When a
boy catches a sparrow," says Geiler von Kaisersberg, " he
ties a thread one or two ells long to it, letting the bird
fly while he holds the cord in his hand. If it darts off and
tries to get away the boy jerks the string, and the poor
little creature falls down again." X

Paper kites in the form of birds and animals afford
similar entertainment, and have a remarkably lifelike ap-
pearance as they sail aloft. They impart to their owners
a pleasant sense of a w^idely extended sphere of control.
This fine sport originated in China, where it is the na-
tional game. Bastian saw Siamese children* playing
with kites, and the Berlin Museum has paper ones from
the Soudan. They are in use also in the South Sea Islands
as far down as IsTew Zealand.

In concluding, I remark it was this faculty of busying
one's self with all sorts of objects in this kind of play
W'hich first suggested to me the term experimentation
which I have found useful in a much wider sense.

2. Destructive (Analytic) Movement-Play
The simplest and earliest handling of external objects
exhibits the fundamental principle which differentiates
the forms of our conscious activity, showing them to be
such as make for division or for concentration. Play
which separates or analyzes easily acquires a special char-

* Unter den Naturvolkem Centralbrasiliens, p. 383.
+ Grasberofer, vol. i, p. 74.

X Kochholz, p. 4r,4.

# Die Volker des ostlichen Asien, vol. iii, p. 323.

98 THE PLAY OF MAN

acter which allies it with the fighting instincts and con-
verts it into wild destructiveness. The veriest infant
shows its beginnings in his desire to tear paper, pull the
heads off of flowers, rummage in boxes, and the like; and
as the child grows older he displays more clearly this
analytic impulse — boys as a rule more than girls, be it
noted. They are constantly taking their toys to pieces,
dissecting tools, w^eapons, clocks, toys, etc.; and since the
child, like the savage, has not our clear perception of the
difference between what is living and the lifeless, he will
pull to pieces a beetle, a fly, or a bird with the same seren-
ity which accompanies his demolition of a flower. Perez
tells this of a child hardly ten months old. " His nurse
put him on the grass and gave him a turtle to play with,
and as he seemed to be absorbed in watching it, left him
for a moment. When she came back one of the creature's
legs was torn half off, and the zealous investigator was
applying his powers to another." * As far back as Fisch-
art's time this was known to be different from actual
cruelty, and Keller in his Eomeo und Julia auf dem
Dorfe gives us a classic instance. The boy and girl were
playing together with a doll which he suddenly jerked
away from the little girl and mischievously tossed up in
the air. The doll came to grief in his hands, for a little
hole appeared in one of her knees and some bran was
escaping. The little girl did not seem to notice the hole,
so the boy kept quite still busily making it larger with
his finger and increasing the flow of bran. His silence
at last aroused her suspicion, and she came closer and
beheld his wickedness with horror. " Just look at that ! "
he cried, holding the leg so that some bran fell in her
face; and when she tried to reach the doll, he leaped away,
and would not stop until the whole leg hung limp and
empty as a husk. Then follows a description of how the
offended child was finally won over to join the boy in the
work of destruction, helping to bore hole after hole in
the body of the martyr. Other examples of the workings
of the destructive impulse will be adduced under fighting
plays.

* Les trois premieres annees, p. 84.

CONSTRUCTIVE (SYNTHETIC) MOVEMENT-PLAY 99

3. Constructive (Synthetic) Movement-Play
Constructive play bears about the same relation to
imitation that analytic play bears to the fighting instinct.
Circumstances under which this relation can not be traced
are comparatively rare and very primitive. However, it
is important to bear in mind that back of the fJ-ifirjo-ts, in
which Aristotle finds the essence of artistic effort, and
back of the overflow of dammed-up energies which the
new psychology emphasizes, there is still something pri-
meval. Ribot calls it " Le besoin de creer," or a demand
for some external result of our instinctive movements,
which is, after all, but a specialized form of joy in being
a cause.* Pleasure in the work of our own hands, which
takes a negative form in destructive sport, here becomes
positive creation, the instinct for building, for uniting
scattered elements into a new whole. Its simplest form is
found in the child's moulding new forms from some suit-
able material, their chief charm being their newness.
Moist sand is heaped up or dug aw^ay, snow tunnelled
through or rolled into a great ball, sticks of w^ood piled,
water collected in a pond, etc. Such things are always
going on where there are children. " I have a boy in
mind," says Michelet, " hardly eighteen months old, who
claps his hands joyously when he succeeds in laying one
little stick upon another. He admires his work, and, like
a small creator, seems to say : ' See that ? It is very
good.' " t Marie G affords the following pretty in-
stance: One day, when she was about three, she sat on the
floor in great distress, with tears pouring down her cheeks.
Soon she noticed that the drops roiled down like silver
balls on her woollen dress, and at once began to collect
the transparent pearls in a fold, and so accumulated as
she sobbed a little " heap of woe " in her lap.

We readily see how imitation brings about great va-
riety in the manifestations of the constructive tendency.
The fun is not at its height until the sand is converted
into mountains, tunnels, moats, and w^alls, the snow into
the figure of a man, the mud to a similitude of dolls,

* Psychologic des Sentiments, p. 323. + Compayre, p. 271.

100 THE PLAY OF MAN

the woodpile to buildings, water to lakes, streams to
waterfalls, etc. Arranging the same or similar objects
in rows is a more advanced and yet primitive kind of
constructiveness. Preyer reports such arrangement of
shells, pebbles, and buttons in the twenty-first month.*
Where this is not imitation of elders it may be regarded
as the forerunner of that preference for regular succes-
sion which is so prominent in decoration.

Closely connected Y\dth all this is the disposition to
make collections. The disposition to appropriate and
cling to whatever attracts the attention (James f makes it
a special instinct, which he calls appropriation or ac-
quisitiveness) is a feature of constructive activity. Ani-
mals as well as children try to accumulate whatever
pleases them. Viscachas, woodrats, various members of
the crow family, and many other birds, have the habit
of hoarding especially bright objects. The inclination
first shows itself in children in their collecting in one
place various things of only ordinary interest, as in the
pockets of a small hoj,X or a girl's bureau drawers; and
adults too often retain this habit. G. Keller, whose me-
tier for the grotesque is well known,** gives exaggerated
instances of the mania for collecting, as in the case of the
lacquered cabinet belonging to Ziis Biinzlin, one of his
heroines. It contained a gilded and painted Easter egg,
a half dozen silver teaspoons, the Lord's Prayer printed
in gold on a red transparent substance which she said was
human skin, a cherry stone on which a crucifix was carved,
a broken ivory box lined with red silk and containing
a small mirror and a thimble, another cherry stone inside
of which a miniature game of skittles was going on, a
nut with a Madonna in it under glass and a silver heart
inside, and so on. But the passion for collecting reaches
its height only when some particular kind of thing forms
its object. It is natural to us all to get together as many
things as we can of a kind which especially attracts us.
When the four-year-old girl who never tires of picking

* Die Seele des Kindes. p. 383.

t W. James, The Principles of Psychology, vol. ii, p. 422.
J See Compavre, p. 191.

# See Baechtold, Gottfried Keller's Leben, vol. iii, p. 273.

CONSTRUCTIVE (SYNTHETIC) MOVEMENT-PLAY 101

flowers ties those she had plucked into a bouquet to
carry home, we have the beginning of discriminating col-
lection; when she searches for and hoards shells or coloured
pebbles of unusually perfect shape, she is really within the
charmed circle. Munkacsy tells us of his childhood:
'' Strange as it may seem, my chief enjoyment was in gath-
ering stones on the street, and many a box on the ear
has the habit earned for me. I stuffed my pockets so
full that the integrity of my trousers was seriously
threatened; and besides, my father had frequently for-
bidden it." * Boys will collect anything, says James,
which they see other boys collect, " from pieces of chalk
and peach pits up to books and iDhotographs." f Of the
hundred students whom he questioned, only four or five
had never collected anything. The words " which they
see other boys collect " intimate that imitation and
rivalry have much to do with this impulse. Any boy is
admired and envied who has very rare butterflies, beetles,
eggs, stamps, etc., or a large number of them; as indeed
is any man, for the same principle applies to adults.
There are other manifestations, too, of the combative
emulative siDirit which is active in almost all play. The
search for more specimens often leads to contests which
place even those who are otherwise honourable in an atti-
tude of open hostility, and admits the practice of deceit,
treachery, and robbery. Kleptomania is frequently noth-
ing else than an overwhelming and imperative impulse for
collecting. Y"et the fact that adults collect things which
have no intrinsic value shows that imitation and the com-
bative spirit are here only incidental, in spite of their
seeming weight. In impulsive insanity the patient care-
fully saves the refuse from his own body, hair that has
been cut off, finger nails, bits of skin, and even more un-
pleasant things. This must have its origin in a deep-
rooted demand for synthetic activity.

4. Playful Exercise of Endurance
The play which we have been considering gains, as
other kinds do, a further charm when difficulties are

* Michael Munkacsy. Erinnerungen, Berlin, 1897, p. 4.
+ Oj}. cit, vol. ii, p. 423.

102 THE PLAY OF MAN

associated with it, and it becomes more like fighting play.
When Striimpell's little daughter learned to grasp easily
she was no longer satisfied with holding ordinary things,
and took to picking up objects so small as to be difficult
to get hold of.* When she was two and a half years old
she enjoyed opening the door of a little clock, and never
tired of fitting the small snap into its slot ; she could also
thread the finest needle. Animals, too, seem to enjoy
overcoming difficulties. Parrots like to take out screws,
and Miss Romanes says that her monkey tried with inde-
fatigable perseverance to put back the handle on a hearth
brush which he had taken apart, and turned away from it
at once as soon as he succeeded.f There are all sorts of
puzzles which indulge this fancy, such as untying ap-
parently fast knots with a single jerk, disentangling in-
tertwined rings, taking balls or rings off an endless cord,
taking two corks, held between the thumb and forefinger
of one hand, with the thumb and forefinger of the other
without leaving the hands joined, and many such things.
The Greek x"^*^'^/"-^^ is explained for the first time by
Becker in the fifth scene of his Charikles : " It was an
attempt to bring a coin spinning on its edge to a stand-
still by touching it from above with the finger." Roch-
holz thus describes the Swiss " Fadmen " : "A boy sitting
in a basket which is swung to and fro in the air gets a
prize if he succeeds in threading a needle during the
process. ... In Aargau the contestants sit on a stout
bottle with their feet crossed." t Strutt gives two Eng-
lish examples from the fourteenth century. A youth
standing on a light flexible pole stretched over water,
attempted to put out one candle with another.* The
familiar Chinese game which we call jackstraws was men-
tioned by Amaranthus in 1715. || The Berlin Museum
has many such puzzles from remote parts of the world.
O. Finsch mentions two (probably imported) much used
in India: the Chut-jueh-mudra, in which a cube is put
together from tiny bits, and the " five-horse game," where
two wooden rings strung on a cord are to be removed

* ()?i. cit., p. 9. # Op. cit.. p. 103.

+ The Play of Animals, p. 93. |! Alwin Schultz, op. cit., p. 11.

X Oj). cit., p. 456.

THROWING PLAYS 103

without loosening the knot, and other such sports as are
common among- ourselves.* The difficult task of form-
ing various figures with a string held stretched be-
tween the two hands (cat's cradle) aflPords entertainment
for hours at a time to the Eskimos in Baffin Land. They
call the game ajarorpoq.f It is found also in Australia,
Borneo, New Guinea, New Zealand, and Java, where,
Schmetz says, the children play it too. Finally, I may
add that von Hartmann classes much of the ladies' fancy
work with such play, inasmuch as it does not possess
artistic value, and its intrinsic worth is out of all pro-
portion to the effort expended." :{:

5. Throwing Plays

Whereas the forms of movement-play which we have
been considering are more or less connected, throwing is
regarded by many as a special instinct. Preyer says that it
is " undoubtedly instinctive." When monkeys get excited
they throw anything they can get hold of; and a five-year-
old idiot whose brain structure was much like that of a
monkey did the same thing when he was teased.* In
any case, throwing is certainly an interesting phenomenon,
which, if monkeys did not indulge in it, we should claim
as a prerogative of the human race. At first it was de-
fensive, the missile serving at a distance as a substitute
for one of the bodily members, and consequently first gave
the idea of a machine, if we take the word/xr;xav7Jin its
more general sense. The next step, and one which mon-
keys can not attain, is the fashioning of the projectile
into a work of art.

Accidental dropping of objects seems to introduce the
idea of Throwing to the infant mind, and what we have
called visual play furthers its development, since the
child from watching the falling object comes to repeat the
process intentionally, and so learns to throw. The follow-

* 0. Finsch, Reise nach Westsibirien im Jahre 1876, Berlin, 1879,
p. 520.

+ F. Boas. Tnternat. Arch, fur Ethnol., vol. i. 1888, p. 229. See. too,
H. W. Klutschak, Als Eskimo unter Eskimo, pp. 136, 139, where are to be
found illustrations of such Hgures.

X E. V. Hartmann. T>as Spiel. Taoresfragen, Leipsic, 1896, p. 146.

# Die Seele des Kiudes, pp. 183, 257.

104 THE PLAY OF MAN

ing report of Preyer's traces this progression : " Thirtieth
week: Frequent dropping, but still not noticed. Thirty-
fourth week : The child looks after the object dropped, but
indifferently. Forty-seventh week: The child throws
down anything that is given him after playing with it a
little, and often looks after it. On one occasion he threw
a book on the floor eight times in succession, and his
pursed-up lips indicated serious determination." * Fur-
ther developments were hampered by the interference of
his parents. Sigismund, too, gives valuable notes, and
adds some luminous remarks on the biological and psycho-
logical significance of such play. '' All children like to
throw," he says, " and are often blamed for it very un-
justly. We should remember that although some window
panes may be endangered by such play, it lays the founda-
tion for man's supremacy over the other animals, and
that by means of it muscles are gradually developed and
strengthened. We should rejoice, then, with the children
when a stone goes a long way or bounds into the water
with a splash. When children get out of doors the desire
to throw something takes possession of them; even the
yearling picks up pebbles and delights to roll them. The
older boys stand on the coping or carriage block, and are
engrossed in testing the force and directness of their aim.
They are trying the power of will over matter." + This
is the correct designation of the peculiar satisfaction de-
rived from throwing. It is that which comes from send-
ing the object from us and, as it were, projecting our
individuality into a wider sphere of action. Souriau
says : " We take a special interest in the extension of mo-
tion originated by ourselves. It becomes a part of us.
The force which we behold at work outside of us is our
own." X

If we include rolling or sliding in our definition of
throwing, we are confronted by a bewildering variety of
games ; * but since the ends of a general psychology of
play would not be furthered by an enumeration of these,

* Op. cit., p. SO.

+ Kind und Welt, p. 115.

X L'estlietique du Mouvement, p. 202.

# Even in skittles one speaks of a good throw.

SIMPLE THROWING 105

we will try to single out such as illustrate the varied
forms of satisfaction which throwing in general affords.
First of all let us keep in mind our principle, that in-
ventive play presupposes a complication of instinctive
tendencies through the satisfaction of which enjoyment
is greatly enhanced. Usually it is impulses for fighting
and imitation which ally themselves with that toward
movement and render the play more varied and pleasur-
able. There are, indeed, very few throwing plays that
have not culminated in contests of one kind or another,
and many are at the same time imitative, though whether
they were originated by children or adults it is difficult
or even impossible to say. Our study of primitive
acoustic instruments showed that the child is sometimes
actively inventive. Trying, then, to keep clear as much
as possible of fighting and imitative play, we distinguish
several kinds of throwing plays which we may briefly char-
acterize as follows: (a) Simple throwing, upward, down-
ward, or horizontally; (h) propulsion by means of a blow
(c) rolling ,spinning, shoving, and skipping; (d) throw-
ing at a target.

(«) Simple Throwing

Downward throwing is, as already said, the easiest and
most natural movement of the kind to a child, from the
fact that he learns it by letting things fall. It appeals
at the same time to his sight, and quite as much
perhaps to his hearing. To send toys, spoons, trays, and
books rattling, crashing, and slamming on the floor is a
pastime which children will keep up as long as they dare,
as the young Goethe tossed the dishes and pots out of the
window into the street and enjoyed the clatter. A friend
of mine was one day holding his two-year-old nephew in
his arms near an open window, and gave the child a silver
cigarette case to play with. He hurled it to the street
below, to the alarm of passers-by, and called out a loving
farewell after it. Older children enjoy throwing some-
thing down from a bridge or tower, and sometimes in de-
fault of other ammunition make use of Nature's supply of
saliva, as many of us perhaps remember from having our
ears boxed for such indulgence. The fascination of send-
ing stones over a precipice appeals to adults as well.

106 THE PLAY OF MAN

Throwing forward is learned almost as early as the other;

as soon as he can toddle every child tries to throw pebbles
across a brook or into a neighbour's yard, the larger the
shot the greater his satisfaction. Most of the toys, bor-
rowed from long-disused practices of adults, which cater
to this impulse belong under another head— Throwing
at a target.

Among the earliest of these were the catapult, the an-
cient discus, something like the English quoit, and the
sling. We often find grown men testing their strength
and skill in throwing. Once when I was on the banks of
the Liinersee a young traveller used to try to throw stones
into the lake, which appeared to be but a few paces from
the house but was in reality much farther. Following
his example, other tourists would join in the game in
spite of their fatigue, though generally with but little
success. At Swiss festivals the herdsmen keep up an an-
cient Aelplerspiel, which consists in throwing heavy
stones as far as possible.*

That wonderful passage in the Odyssey where the god-
like suilerer threw the discus, the stone hummed loudly
as the spectators bent to the earth under the force of the
blow, is a classic example of instinctive assthetic appre-
ciation, and serves as a match for Gretchen's remark,
" Then quivered at every throat the blade which I felt at
mine." Upward throwing is acquired somewhat later,
perhaps, because children easily lose sight of the missile
which goes far above them. Their first efforts are usually
to toss a ball a very little way up, but boys soon acquire
the uncomfortable but effective method of bending back-
ward before making the throwing motion. Homer refers
to this too: "Behold! He has hurled it [the ball]
aloft to the shadowy clouds, bending backward." As a
little fellow I often tried to throw over tall trees, and
my grandfather used to tell me how, when he was a young
painter in Kome, he used to vie with the street urchins
in throwing stones over the Arch of Titus. A favourite
game of this kind is played by placing a ball or pebble

* H. A. Berlepsch, Die Alpen in Natur und Lebensbildern, Jena,
1871, p. 415.

THROWING WITH HELP OF A STROKE OR BLOW 107

in a sling which is whirled so rapidly that it hums. In
Heidelberg, where many grounds are planted with plane
trees, autumn invites the children to a game with the
long fruits which hang by threads from their branches,
a natural toy which the little ones are quick to take ad-
vantage of. Among toys originating in imitation the
bow is sometimes used for sending arrows aloft for the
simple pleasure of watching their upward flight, though,
of course, its chief use is for aiming at a target.

(b) Throwing with the Help of a Stroke or Blow
Here we must consider the transference of motion to
the missile by means of a sudden blow, a method closely
allied to simple throwing, though in some of its modi-
fications, as, for instance, when the radius of the bodily
movements is artificially lengthened and the communi-
cated force correspondingly increased, introducing a large
circle of new plays in most of which the arms are the only
bodily organs employed. I notice first the various games
of skill played with rubber balls, principally by girls.
The descending ball is met and again impelled upward
by the open palm, the closed fist, or even one stiffened
outstretched finger. There are similar games requiring
more powerful strokes and better suited to masculine
taste. Thus the Romans had two kinds of balls, one very
large, the follis, and the other smaller, the folliculus,
which were struck, the former with the forearm protected
with bandages or a wooden ring, and the latter with the
fist.* The first is still much liked in Italy under the
name of giuoco del ballon grosso, the player sheathing
his arm in a sort of muff; the other game is preserved in
the English handball.f For an ethnological example we
may turn to the Gilbert Islands; in their game for men,
" Oreanne," they use a cocoanut shell bound with cords,
tossing it lightly into the air and propelling it by a blow
from the hand.t And we may also cite the game carried to
perfection in China, and called by the Greeks Kw/ouKo^oAta

* See Fouquieres, p. 200.

+ Gutsniuths, Spiele zur Uebimrr und ErholunLC des Korpers und
Geist.es, eiirhth edition, pp. 12-2. 139, ICO.

X ii. Parkinson, Beiti". zur Ethn. der Gilbertin, p. 92.

108 . THE PLAY OF MAN

in which a huge suspended ball is kept in motion by blows
from a number of players. A pretty contrast to this is
found in the Samoan game, where an orange instead of
a ball is hung in the middle of a room, about sixty centi-
metres from the floor. The players sit in a circle around
it, each being provided with a small pointed stick with
which in his turn he gives the orange a blow as it cir-
cles past.*

The human leg, with its fine muscular development
and its long radius, is a favourite and variously used pro-
pelling implement. Kicking is a primitive method of
fight which children make early use of, and the famous
incident in the French Council Chamber is sufficient to
establish its adaptability to the requirements of the
highest culture. The game of football proclaims its tri-
umph as an instrument for play, where, too, the value of
movement-play is obvious. This game, which Anglo-
Saxons are wont to regard as their peculiar property, is
claimed by Mosso to have originated in Italy in the time
of the Renaissance, when physical exercise was a fad with
high and low. It is true that such a game was described
in great detail in 1555 by Scaino in his celebrated Trat-
tato della Palla under the name of giuoco del calcio, and
the writer insists that shoes with soles of buffalo hide
are indispensable for the players. While our game of
football is a hotly fought contest, Forbes describes a
form of it popular in Sumatra w^hich is nothing more
than a skilful movement-play. During the dance festi-
vals, which last for several days, " the young people amuse
themselves on the village green with a ball game called
Simpak, in which they vie with one another in the display
of measured and elegant movements in the presence of
the girls and the public generally. About twenty youths
arrange themselves in a circle and keep a large hollow
ball skilfully wrapped with ratan in the air by hitting
it as it descends with the side of the foot; they are not
allowed to touch it with anything else. In delivering the
blow the leg is thrown almost perpendicularly into the

^ Gutsmuths, Spiele zur Uebunsr und Erholung des Korpers und
Geistes, eighth edition, pp. 122, 139, 169.

THROWING WITH HELP OF A STROKE OR BLOW 109

air, while the body assumes a horizontal position, and
the beauty of the movement consists in the fine swing
which restores the body to an upright position without
upsetting the player." ^

An innumerable variety of games depend on the prin-
ciple of increasing the arm radius, including many of the
favourite amusements of young and old. Golf,t cricket,
tennis, and croquet may be mentioned as types. Build-
ings :}: put up especially to play in, witness how much
such exercise — w^hich, by the way, develops the body much
more systematically than any regular gymnastics can — was
formerly valued in Germany. In these buildings games
using rackets and bats were most common; one, which
was hardly more than mere knocking the ball back and
forth was very popular and was called " Pelotieren." ^

The citation of primitive examples is more to our pur-
pose, and I select first two games in which bits of wood
are employed in lieu of balls. One in the Holstein Klink-
or Klischspiel. A chip of a peculiar shape is balanced
on the end of a stake driven diagonally into the ground
and then hit from below with a sort of club. The other
is simpler still: it is called Porscheck in the game books. ||
A cigar-shaped bit of wood is so placed that one end is
free, and a blow on this free end sends it whirling in the
air. In Heidelberg, where this game is much cultivated,
and is dignified by frequent contests, the man about to
strike asks " Tenez ? " whereupon his antagonist answers
" Oui," neither party having the slightest suspicion that
they are speaking French — a proof of the power of tradi-
tion.^ Similar games are played by children, one being
accompanied by singing as the piece of w^ood or arrow
is shot into the air, and Rochholz suspects that this is
a survival of a religious ceremony symbolic of the flight
of winter before the fiery darts of spring. If so, it is one

* H. O. Forbes, Travels of a Scientist in the Malay Archipelago, vol.
i, p. 159.

t William Black's Iliorhland Cousins gives a line description of this
national game of Scotland.

X See Fischart's descriptions in his Gargantua.

** See Vieth's Encyklopadie der Leibesiibungen, vol. iii, p. 296.

II Another game like this is the so-called Frellballsplel. Gutsmuths,
p. 101. ^

A See Floss, Das Kind, vol. ii, p. 292.

110 THE PLAY OF MAN

of many games which originated in this way. But how
did the religious custom arise? Does not tracing its
origin lead us in a circle back to playful experimentation,
as we found to be in all probability the case with the
discovery and application of some musical instruments?
It is most likely.

In this division I group together such plays as lend
a special character to the movement of the object, includ-
ing them all, however, in the general class of throwing
play, since it would unnecessarily complicate matters to
make a separate class of them. In all plays with rolling
balls, such as tenpins and billiards, pleasure in motion
as such forms the undercurrent of the satisfaction af-
forded, even when they develop into important contests.
The thundering roll and crash of the heavy wooden ball,
and the noiseless, lightning-quick motion of the elastic
ivory one, each has its charm. In a billiard room it is
amusing to note how irresistible is the impulse to most
players to take the balls from their, pockets and roll them
on the green surface after the game is over. Primitive
forms of such games no doubt originated in experimenta-
tion with the round or disc-shaped stones found in every
river or brook bed. Many fruits, too, are used in the
same way — the horse chestnut, for example, being a fa-
vourite plaything wherever it grows. Yet the manufac-
ture of artificial balls is no doubt very ancient, but in-
quiry into that must not detain us here. After the first
years of life, when rolling in itself is an object, such
balls are used in relation to some goal, perhaps partly
because they are constantly getting lost when knocked
aimlessly about, and the children do not wish to risk their
precious possessions.

Other rolling toys, such as wheels and hoops, whose
motion is kept up by means of continuous striking, offer
a veiy different kind of amusement. The violent run-
ning, combining as it does something of the zest of the
chase with the pleasure of overcoming a difficulty, forms
a delightful compound with the enjoyment of the roll-
ing as such. The Greeks called the hoop Tpo^os: or K/atKos,

ROLLING, SPINNING, AND SHOVING m

They Avere rather large, and made of metal studded with
tinkling bells and propelled by a metal rod. Ganymede
is often represented with such a hoop. The Romans had
an extraordinary fondness for this sport, and Ovid, who
refers to a teacher of the art of hoop rolling, says in one
of his enumerations of the spring games :

" L'sus equi nunc est, levibus nunc luditur armis,
Nunc pila, nunc celeri volvitur orbe trochus."

Fouquieres cites a passage from Martial about youths
rolling hoops on frozen streams. Another play with
wheels consists of whirling a small one on a string passed
through its axis, a practice both ancient and modern ; and,
too, there is the beautiful sport of rolling blazing wheels
downhill at night, as is the custom with many moun-
tain-^ers. Here, of course, the element of pursuit is
wanting.

Single discs, such as coins, are used for the spinning
of which we have already spoken. Sometimes it was spun
horizontally on a peg fixed at its axis, forming the toy
called by the Greeks (rro/3tAo?, and by the Romans turben.
But much more important is the conical top, whose dance
can be indefinitely prolonged by skilful whipping. There
are few plays which foster the illusion of our having a
living thing at our pleasure as effectually as this does.
H. Wagner tells of a small boy who liked to keep several
tops spinning together. " Each had its name, and he
talked to them all. The one which spun longest was his
favourite, and he tested them by setting them all in
violent motion and leaving them while he ran down in
the yard. When he came back he rejoiced over those that
were still spinning." * This is a good deal like a little
girl's behaviour to her dolls, though the boy's relation to
his toys is rather that of a teacher than parent. This
difference comes out strongly when the children play with
a puppy: the girl wants to wash and pet it, while the
boy will teach it tricks. The widespread popularity of the
top is an indication of its importance, and its variety of
names among the ancients witnesses to its high favour

* H. Wagner, lllustrirtes Spielbuch fur Knaben, Leipsic, 1895, p. 182.

112 THE PLAY OF MAN

with them (^e/x/??;^, /8e/3t^, pofji^o's, (TTp6fipo<;, etc.). It was
found in the third city in the Trojan excavations. Boys
threw their tops in the courts aiid streets by a leather
string, and accompanied with a monotonous cry rrjv Kara
cravTov eAa, or <TTpt<\>ov, /xr] tcrracrat.* Tibullus likens his
lovesick heart to a top " which a restless child spins on
smooth ground with a jerk of the cord." f Its German
names are even more numerous than are the antique
(Ganzknopf, Topf, Topsch, Triesel, Drudelmadam, Ha-
bergais, Kriiselding, Schnurrprusel, etc.). In early writ-
ings a top humming on ice was used as a figure of rapid
motion, and such comparisons are quite frequent with old
German poets. This one, which incidentally proves that
top cords were used at the time, is particularly striking:

" Ez pre wan ine topfe
Vor geiseln solhen umbeswanc,
Als si raich ane minen danc
Mit slegen umb und utiile treip." X

In the Indian archipelago many stone ^ as well as
wooden tops are used. Ten Kate gives illustrations of
massive yellow painted wooden ones from there. The
conical shape is about the same as with our own tops, but
it lacks the horizontal grooves. || We have Andree's au-
thority for the statement that children in Egypt, China,
Siam, and Burmah are fond of spinning tops,^ some In-
dians having top cords with three thongs.O

Skipping stones on ice, as all boys love to do, is dig-
nified in Bavaria and Austria into a game called " Eis-
schiessen," in which heavy and carefully polished stone
discs with a handle on top are slid over the frozen sur-
face. Gutsmuths says : I " This game is played zealously

* Grasberger. p. 78.

t See Fouquiere, p. 173.
t Zincrerle, p. 27.

# Jour, of Anthro. In., vol. xvii (1887), p. 88, on stone spinninor tops.

II Ten Kate, Beitriige zur Ethnographic der Tiniorgruppc. Internat.
Arch. f. Ethn., vol. vii (1894\ p. 247^

^ Ethnographischo Parallelen nnd Vergleichen, p. 93. See, too, E.
Andree, Das Kreiselspiel und seine Verbreitung. Globus, vol. Ixix
(1896), p. 371.

0 Gutsmuths, pp. 232, 358.

{ibid.

ROLLING, SPINNING, AND SHOVING 113

in town and village, and the sturdy sportsmen allow no
stress of weather, no untoward circumstance, to interfere
with this their winter's fun. Even the boys have their ice
sticks to beguile the way to school. High and low take
part in the healthful sport; and as in the Tyrol the vil-
lage pastor must not fail in archery, so here he enters the
lists as a matador of the icy course." The Scotch use for
the same purpose semispherical curling stones from
twenty to thirty kilogrammes in weight, and provided
with an iron or wooden handle.*

Skipping and bouncing, which again call forth the im-
pression of life depending on our own exertions, are
prominent in the two very popular and primitive games
in which the ball and disc show us another side of their
Protean adaptability. One consists of throwing the ball
to the floor with such force that it rebounds, and meeting
it with a blow as it comes up so that it is struck back
again, and the process is repeated indefinitely. Swiss
girls sing a little verse in time with the strokes:

" BiiUeli ufe, Biillile abe
Gump mir nit in nasse Grabe !
Gump mir an en trockne Fleck,
Gump mir nit in nasse Dreck," etc. t

Niebuhr saw the children on the Euphrates playing
the same game. The other amusement of this kind is skip-
ping stones on water ; the Greeks called it eTroo-rpa/ctcr/xos.
Minucius Felix describes it graphically and with sympa-
thetic insight; "Is lusus est: testam teretem jactatione
fluctuum levigatam, legere de litore; eam testam piano
situ digitis, comprehensam, inclinem ipsum atque hu-
milem, quantum potest, super undas inrotare; ut illud
jaculum vel dorsum maris raderet; vel enataret, dum
leni impetu labitur; vel summis fluctibus tonsis emicaret
dum assiduo saltu sublevatur. Is se in pueris victorem
ferebat, cujus testula et procurreret longius et frequenti-
bus exsiliret." X As many as fifty German names for this
sport might be enumerated, some of them showing pretty
fancies and aesthetic personification. Fischart, of course,

* H. Wagner, Spielbuch fur Knaben, p. 114. t Kochholz, p. 391.

X Grasberger, p. 60.

114 THE PLAY OF MAN

makes his Gargantua a master in this art too. He says
in his quaint German, " Gargantua warff breyde Kiese-
Stein am Gastaden schlimms aufs Wasser, dass es ob dem
Wasser weiss nicht wie viel Sprung thaten." *

(d) Throwing at a Mark

If throwing is, as many believe, an inherited impulse
at bottom, then it must belong with the fighting instincts,
since it gives a man the power to slay his enemy or his
prey without actual contact with either. However that
may be, throwing at a mark must have originated in such
hostile use of the ability to throw at all, and it is sig-
nificant that by far the most numerous and popular games
of the kind require a target, and belong essentially to the
male. Thus it may be questioned whether the whole sub-
ject would not better be treated in connection with fight-
ing play; but it seems to me that consciousness of the
fact that the target is a symbol of an opponent or of
prey hardly forms any considerable element in the
satisfaction derived from the sport, and for that reason I
deem it fitting to notice it briefly in this connection.
Moreover, its biological significance is more extensive
than is that of mere belligerence, for it promotes to a
higher degree than almost any other play the concentra-
tion of attention and the capacity of the organism for
swift and sure reaction.

It is easy to see how, with children, throwing at a
mark naturally follows simple foi-ward throwing. Per-
haps we get a hint of how this comes about from their in-
tentional throwing of objects to the floor with a view to
producing a noise, for the floor is then in some sense a
goal, though there is as yet no specialization. From my
own observation I should say that the first suggestion of
the possibility of striking intentionally often arises from
the pretence of some older person that he is badly hurt by
the falling or rolling object, whereupon the heartless little
creature at once tries to repeat the attack, this time with
malice aforethought. Further development of this ca-
pacity is rather hindered than furthered by the child's

■^ " (lavirantua tlirew flat stones carelessly on the water &o that they
skipped I don't know how many times."

THROWING AT A MARK 115

learning to run about; indeed, it is commonly the sixth
year or later before he begins to be interested in such
games, a manifold variety of which is handed down by
tradition.

In this case, too, I can but touch upon a few principal
groups, and illustrate them with examples chosen from
the wealth of material at hand. In many games the ob-
ject is to hit a comrade with a ball. In one very popuhir
at Heidelberg all the boys' caps are placed in a straight
row on the ground, and the chosen king throws his ball
on one of them, whereupon its owner must instantly seize
the ball and hurl it after his fleeing comrades. This comes
very near to fighting play, as does another game, which
takes the form of pelting some object set or hung up for
the purpose, or something in motion.* Many games are
founded on this principle, from throwing stones at a
flowerpot or fruit hanging on a tree up to tenpins, which
has been introduced of late into Egypt, and shooting at
a target with blowpipe, lance, bow, crossbow, or rifle.
An early developed, though, it is true, not purely playful,
form of this sport is set forth in a beautiful Greek epi-
gram called the Plaint of the Fruit Tree, which may be
thus paraphrased : " Truly they have planted me here
by the roadside as an unhappy target for all the playful
boys to throw stones at ! And how the destroying shower
has rained down and torn my blooming crown and broken
all my branches! The tree can be of no more use to you
with all its harvest ruined. Alas! here have I, most
miserable one, borne all this fruit to my own undoing." f

A modification of such plays consists in throwing one
missile after another of the same kind, as a ball after a
ball, a quoit after a quoit, etc. Thus Burmese children
play Tschapieh-Kasah by throwing flat seeds on one an-

* A beautiful example of this may be found in Schweinfurtli's Im
Hcrzen von Afrika, Leipsic, vol. i, p. 329.

•j- GvasVjerirer ^ives this version in German verse :
" Wahrlich ein are:es Ziel fiir den Schwann der spielenden Knaben,
Und fur des Steinwurfs Wucht pflanzten sie mich an den Weg.
VVie hat die wiiste Hatrel getroffen, die bluhenden Krone
Mir zersehlagen, und ach, wie sind die Zweige geknickt !
Nichts niehr gilt nach der Ernte der Baum Euch : zur eigenen

SchandunsT
Hab' ich Unseliger hier alle die Fruchte gezeugt."

116 THE PLAY OF MAN

other,* and many of our own games are essentially the
same, especially those played with marbles. These little
toys are very generally used, and are quite ancient. Bas-
tian saw them in Burmah and Siam, where the game is
called Leu Thoi-Kong.f It is popular all through the
Orient, and extends to Africa. In old German burial
urns, " with the bones of children are found polished
round stones, such as modern children play with." X The
Komans called marbles ocellata. They are frequently
mentioned, too, in old German literature,* one instance
being of pedagogical interest. In the sixteenth century
the sumptuary laws of Zurich included one forbidding
marbles among other plays, under penalty of the " Gat-
terei." And what was this punishment? The youthful
criminal was placed in a revolving wooden machine and
whirled until the crisis of dizziness and nausea was
reached! ||

Very common, too, are the games in which small
discs are thrown one after another. The Greek IcrrpcTrTtvSa
was an attempt to propel a quoit or coin lying on the
floor by means of another thrown toward it. Forbes
describes a peculiar form of the game as practised in
Sumatra : " All day long the boys under my window
amused themselves with a game called Lepar, which
interested me very much. . . . Each player had a sort
of quoit made of cocoanut shell, which he threw from
a special stand and tried to hit one or more (according
to the number of players) of the other quoits lying at
a distance of forty or fifty feet. . . . The manner of
propelling the missiles was remarkable. The player
turned his back to the goal, laid his quoit flat on the
ground, seized it firmly between his heels, and with a
rotary motion of his legs shot it forward so that its
rim described a cycloidal curve. It was amazing to see
with what certainty the best players reckoned on the
amount of force necessary for perfecting such a curve

* Bastian, Die Volker des ostlichen Asien, vol. iii, pp. S22, 324.
+ Ibid.

X Ploss, Das Kind, vol. ii, p. 201.

# See A. Richter, Zur Gescliichte des deutschen Kinderspieles. Wes-
termaiins Monatshefte, 1870,

I Eochholz, p. 421.

THROWING AT A MARK 117

as would pass in among the quoits and hit the ones
aimed at." *

In the Greek game KwSaAto-/xo5 the object was to dig
up with one pointed stick another which was fixed in the
ground, and to do it in such a manner that the first stick
was left standing up where the other had been. Fischart
and Rabelais mention this game.

Still another kind of play belonging to this class (and
at this point all connection with fighting play is severed)
consists in rolling or throwing the projectile into or
through a hole. The familiar game of marbles with holes
was known to Greek children, and was called rpoTra. The
same principle, too, is employed in the old-fashioned bil-
liards in those games requiring a ring into which the
ball is rolled. For other games the ring is made on the
ground, as in this described by Nordenskiold : " Several
stand in a circle and take turns at throwing a short taper-
ing iron rod, the object being to cause the iron to fall on
its sharp end within the circle and stand upright.f In
croquet the balls must roll through wickets. Throwing
balls through the open mouth of a figure carved in wood
was a mediaeval diversion, and Eneas Silvius wrote in
1438 that the youths of Basel hung an iron ring on their
playground and amused themselves with batting balls
through it.t In Genf, little metal balls were tossed
through holes bored in the head of a cask.* We have a
classic description of such a game in Storm's Schimmel-
reiter, where Hauke Haien wins the victory under the
eyes of his beloved : " Then it flew like lightning to
TTauke's arms. He stooped a little, turning the ball two
or three times in his hand, and as he took aim deathlike
silence reigned. All eyes followed the flying ball as it
hummed along, cutting the air. Suddenly, far away, the
silvery wings of a seagull gleamed, and her thrilling
cry sounded from the dikes, but in the same instant the

* Forbes, op. cit.^ vol. i. p. 234. See also vol. ii, p. 45, where a simpler
jorame is described which is played by boys also, and is more like Euro-
pean quoits.

t Nordenskiold, Die Umsegelung Asiens und Europas auf der Vega,
Leipsic, 1SS1-'S2, vol. i, p. 70.

X Gutsmuths, p. 69.

« Ibid., p. 198.

118 THE PLAY OF MAN

ball crashed into the cask, and all the people cried out
^ Hurrah for Hauke ! ' while the word ran through the
crowd, ' Hauke Haien has won the game.' But he, as
they all crowded toward him, reached out for but one
hand. She cried, ' What is the matter, Hauke? The ball
is in the cask ! ' He only nodded, and did not stir from
the spot. It was not till he felt the little hand fast
clasped in his own that he spoke. ' You must be right,'
he said, * I do believe I have won.' " Finally, I will recall
Ulysses's marvellous feat in the presence of the drunken
suitors, when on his return home he sent an arrow
through the ears of twelve oxen standing in a row.

In our last division of this class of games the pro-
jectile must cling to the target. Everybody has tried to
throw his cap on his head or a peg, and jugglers and
clowns give us numberless examples of feats belonging
here. One game is played with rings hung on a stick, or
caught with a hook, or thrown on an upright stake. At
fairs the lucky player gets a prize for tossing rings on
knives. Play of this kind has been used by a brilliant
American journal to point a satire on American bidding
for European titles. The ambitious damsels stand in
front of a brightly lighted booth, in which numerous man-
ikins of repulsive appearance, with their armorial bear-
ings suspended round their necks, are ranged on exhibi-
tion, and attempt to throw engagement rings over the
heads of these figures.

6. Catching
Catching and holding moving objects is the direct
opposite of throwing, and the two are best understood
by being contrasted. Catching, too, is the complement of
throwing; the object which has been set in motion, ani-
mated, as it were, by human power, comes to our hand to
get new life. In no way can our supremacy over matter
find more satisfactory expression. It is with difliculty
that children learn to catch, for the direction of their
necessary motions by means of sight requires so much time
that the moving object passes to another place before the
hand is ready to seize it. The child usually practises
catching a ball rolling on the floor first, then holds up its

CATCHING ' 119

dress or apron or two hands placed together to form a
cup into which the ball thrown skilfully through the air
will drop. Many such attempts are required before the
art is acquired of controlling the muscular innervation to
meet the still distant moving object.

While there are various objects emploj^ed in such
play — as, for instance, in the Greek TrevTaXiOi^^iv there
were five pebbles, bits of china, or what we call jack-
stones, thrown up with one hand and caught on its back,
and in the beautiful game of magic rings, and trials of
skill with sticks, knives, watches, etc.* — still the ball is
the most perfect and suitable plaything, partly because
it is easy to grasp from any direction and partly on
account of its lightness and elasticity. It is equally
well adapted to solitary or social play. When alone, the
player throws it with a view to its return to the start-
ing point, whether its course be perpendicular or a
rebound. A game of skill popular with girls consists in
throwing the ball, and before it has time to descend
taking another ball from a table, then catching the
first one with the same hand.f In bilboquet, which
was played by Henry III of France, and is known to
many primitive peoples, as, for instance the Eskimos, the
ball is caught in a cup, to which it is attached by a string.
The games are much more varied when two or more play
together at throwing and catching, though in that case
experimentation is usually transformed into a contest.
The kadokadoka of the Gilbert Islanders illustrates a
simple and universally known form. Women play it by
standing in two opposing lines and throw the ball, which
must never be allowed to drop, back and forth.:}: In the
Greek ovcfipavLa cr<^atpa the ball was thrown as high as pos-
sible, and the contest was over who should catch it, or, if
only two were playing, in the agility of the leap for it,

* A peculiar and difficult jrame of catchinof is played by the Gilbert
Islanders. A lisrlit feather ornament is loosely attached to a stick which
is thrown into the air. As the stick descends the ornament floats away,
and the players' task is to fish for it, as it were, with a stone fastened to a
lonor line and brincr it down. This cranie is called " Tabanm." K. Par-
kinson, Beitriitre zur Ethnologic der Gilbert Insulaner.

t See Ernst Meier, Deutsche Kinderreime und Kinderspiele aus
Swaben, p. 145.

X K. Parkinson, op. cit.

120 THE PLAY OF MAN

as in the Odyssey. The victor must throw the ball aloft
again before his feet touch the earth. A game practised
by the Indians is apparently of a similar character. " The
beginner of the game holds a rather hard ball in his
hand, throws it directly up, and attempts to catch it.
This is by no means an easy task, for around him stands
an eager circle each with hands outstretched to seize the
ball. The successful one rushes to an appointed goal, while
the others try to hinder him." * The game in which one
boy rides on another's back to throw the ball is illustrated
in an Egyptian wall picture, and Bastian saw it also in
Burmah. In this, imitation becomes prominent, as does
the element of rivalry, where the boys vie with one an-
other in clapping, kneeling, and going through varioug
motions before catching the ball. In most games where
the ball is struck the contest develops after it is caught.
In playing trapball, the ball is placed on a springboard
and sent aloft. All try to catch it, and the victor must
bounce the ball until he is supplanted by another. In
England, trapball can be traced back to the fourteenth
century. Strutt gives an illustration of the spoon-shaped
board then used.f

In closing these remarks on movement-play we will
notice briefly the distinction implied in our use of the
word " sport," since many of the games which we have
been considering are so designated and practised by
adults. What is it that converts play into sport? Pre-
eminently the seriousness, the stress of earnestness with
which it is pursued. Yet this statement is too general,
for children too, as every one knows, are deeply earnest
about their play, which does not on that account become
a sport ; and a man may play billiards or chess with such
perseverance and zeal that his game becomes the principal
event of his daily life, and yet he is not called a sports-
man. We must evidently find a more specific definition.
The fact that in the merest play all sorts of acts and
achievements are involved which are not, as such, playful,
but rather preparatory for play, may help u.s to this.
In the eyes of adults the interest of a game lies in the

* H. Wagner, lllustrirtes Spielbuch fur Knuben, p. 92. t Op. cit..-p. 177.

PLAYFUL USE OF HIGHER MENTAL POWERS 121

construction of a theory for it; they busy themselves
with perfection of form in play, with the rules of the
game, with practice and training, with the proper outfit
and suitable costume, etc. Only he who does so assidu-
ously busy himself is a genuine sportsman, according to
this theory. We may then define sport as play pursued
reflectively, scientihcally. This accounts for the fact that
children are never sportsmen, despite the immense im-
portance of their play to them, and that the mountain
climber whose highest ideal is to conquer the heights,
or the chess player who devotes all his spare time to the
game, is still not a sportsman.

III. Playful Use of the Higher Mental Powers

Rousseau, who dwells upon the fact that a man's edu-
cation begins at his birth, illustrates clearly, if somewhat
exaggeratedly (being under the influence of Condillac),
the threefold biological significance of youth when he
says in the first volume of Emile that if man came into
the world full grown he would be " un parfait imbecile,
un automate, une statue immobile et presque insensible."
These words exactly fit into our subject and its classifica-
tion. PTaving treated of the sensor and motor aspects of
experimentation, we now proceed to examine its value to
the higher mental life, where by its help man is rescued
from the danger of remaining " un parfait imbecile."

The influence of experimentation is felt in the activ-
ity of intellect, feeling, and will alike. Of course all
play, including the limited group which we have been
considering, is of great importance to the whole mental
make-up, since it acts in all directions, sharpening the
intellect, exercising the will, and furnishing occasion for
the discharge of emotion. But the special aim of the
present discussion lies in the investigation of how far
these powers of the mind are themselves the subjects of
experimental play, and accordingly in what follows we
shall not inquire as to the advantageous effect of play
on attention, imagination, reason, etc., but will examine
cases where these capacities are directly experimented
with.

122 THE PLAY OF MAN

A. EXPERIMENTATION WITH THE MENTAL POWERS

If we ask ourselves what aspects of intellectual activ-
ity are most conspicuously subjects of playful experi-
mentation we naturally turn to memory, imagination,
attention, and reason. Our first subject for consideration,
then, is memory, where again we must distinguish be-
tween simple recognition and reflective recollection.

1. Memory
(a) Recognition
Recognition is the link which connects the present
with w^hat we have known in the past. The new psy-
chology repudiates the common idea that the present im-
pression is compared with a memory picture of the past
and the two recognised as identical, since it is not borne
out by the facts. Neither the emergence of a genuine
memory picture nor its comparison with the present ob-
ject is demonstrable. When I select my own from a num-
ber of hats I simply recognise it, and can tell no more
about it. But a careful study of cases in which the rec-
ognition is hesitating clearly distinguishes the two fol-
lowing stages. First there is the simple knowledge: I
have seen this before, the recognition having been ac-
complished by the " Coefficient of Recognition " * (Hofl-
ding) without our necessarily knowing why we recognise
the object. It is difficult to say what grounds this feel-
ing. Physiologically there may be special reasons for the
accompanying nervous processes. Speaking psychologic-
ally, there seem to be certain shadowy feelings of warmth
and intimacy. In any case the content of the memory
picture is genuine, though it does not stand alone, but
blends with the impression of the moment by the process
of assimilation. f A second stage is reached through the
fact that we are able to place the object suitably; we know
that we have had something to do with it, and this is
often facilitated by a hasty reversion to its earlier psychic
milieu of space and time relations, as well as of word

* See Baldwin, Mental Development, etc., p. 31?i. Baldwin uses the
term " coefficient of recognition.'"

t Ibid., p. 30S, where the motor process is emphasized in connection
with attention.

RECOGNITION 123

and idea connections. When not too mechanical, as some-
times when dressing we put on everything in its right
relation but without attention, recognition is pre-emi-
nently pleasurable. Even the mere coefficient of rec-
ognition is accompanied with a mild satisfaction such
as Faust experienced when after a foreign sojourn he
found himself once more in his study. " Ah, when in
one's own narrow cell the friendly lamp is burning." But
much more intense is the effect of the second stage, for
here comes in joy in accomplishing a task, in overcoming
some difficulty, however slight. A short time ago I found
on my table a. fragment of porcelain decorated with gold.
I knew it at once; the pattern was one I had often seen,
but where? My glance accidentally fell on the curtain
cord, and immediately I felt that the scrap must be from
one of the porcelain knobs which it was looped on. The
result was lively, almost triumphant satisfaction. The
act of recognition being so pleasurable, we would natu-
rally expect man to make use of it for its own sake —
that is, experimentally. Aristotle, indeed, grounds ap-
preciation of art in pleasurable recognition, and, while
not going to that length, we must admit that the idea
deserves consideration.

We have already spoken of visual recognition, which
is a prominent division, and will now consider play con-
nected with it. The earliest manifestations of pleasure
in the perception of form recorded by child psychologists
are no other than acts of recognition. In its second quar-
ter the infant begins to recognise its mother and nurse.
There is nothing playful about this, of course, but very
soon experimentation becomes prominent as the same
form appears in changed conditions with consequent un-
certainty involving the stimulus of difficulty to be over-
come. At six months Preyer's baby saw his father's re-
flection in a mirror, and made a sudden motion toward
it.* The little girl observed by Pollock at thirteen
months recognised pictures in a newspaper, calling out
" Wall, wah " to the animals, trees, etc.f In Sully's beau-
tiful experiment, made in the seventeenth month, the

* Die Seele des Kindes. p. 88.

t F. Pollock, Au Infant's Progress in Language. Mind, vol. iii, 1878.

12i THE PLAY OF MAN

playful character is more evident. " The young thinker,"
he says in the diary, '' achieved his first success in geo-
metric abstraction, or the consideration of pure form,
when just seventeen months old. He had learned the
name of his rubber ball. Having securely grasped this,
he went on calling oranges ' Bo.' This left the father
in some doubt whether the child was attending exclusively
to form, as a geometrician should, for he was wont to
make a toy of an orange, as when rolling it on the floor.
This uncertainty was, however, soon removed. One day

C was sitting at table beside his sire, while the latter

was pouring out a glass of beer. Instantly the ready
namer of things pointed to the bubbles on the surface,
and exclaimed ' Bo ! ' This was repeated on many subse-
quent occasions. As the child made no attempt to handle
the bubbles, it was evident that he did not view them as
possible playthings. As he got lost in contemplation,
muttering ' Bo, bo ! ' his father tells us that he had the
satisfaction of feeling sure that the young mind was
already learning to turn away from the coarseness of
matter and fix itself on the refined attribute of form." *
At this time, too, the child begins to enjoy recognising
things from their mere outline. Sigismund records
progress in this direction at about the end of the second
year. " They already know many things by the simple
outline. My boy, who, by the way, has seen few pictures,
recognised my shadow in his twenty-first month, being
frightened for the first moment, then clearly delighted,
calling out * Papa ! ' and has probably not been afraid of
any shadow since. On the contrary, he, like other children
of his age, likes to watch shadow pictures,! especially
moving ones." They soon learn to know the outlines of
their own. How deeply must the essence of individuality
be impressed upon them when these meagre outlines of a

* Sully, Studies in Childhood, p. 421. See also Sikorski's report on his
eight-nionths-old child, who recocrnised the crescent sliape of tlie holes
in a pieeon house as connected with the moon ("p. 414).

+ The French animal psych olocrist. E. Alix, says the same tiling of an
Arabian door which he owned ("see The Play of Animals, p. 91)." Play
with shadows by adults miorht be dwelt upon. With us it is hardly more
than trivial amusement for an idle company, but amonsr other peoples it
becomes much more important, as witness the hichly interesting silhou-
ettes hanging in the Berlin Museum. See, further," F. v. Sumasch, Das
ttirkische' Schatteuspiel, luternat. Archiv fur Ethnographic, vol. ii, p. 1.

RECOGNITION 125

figure which they are accustomed to seeing filled out are
sufficient fo.r recognition! Perhaps for children who do
not see pictures early, shadows serve to introduce the lat-
ter and explain them, just as, according to the Greek fable,
they led to the art of drawing. Children are so fond of
looking at pictures that they often enjoy the representa-
tion more than the reality. "A house!" exclaims the little
picture gazer delightedly when he comes to one, while he
would hardly notice the real thing. Does this pleasure
arise from the solving of a riddle, as Aristotle seems to
say?* This would make the enjoyment of recognition
identical with that derived from overcoming difficulties,
and there can be no doubt that this is an important ele-
ment in all art appreciation, if it be not, indeed, the very
kernel of aesthetic enjoyment. In the enjoyment of a
landscape, it is safe to say that for nine tenths of the ob-
servers the chief satisfaction comes from recognising the
various peaks, villages, castles, etc., in the panorama.
There is one more point. As soon as anything like a con-
test is involved, a stronger shock, a sturdier resistance to
the act of recognition, a comic colouring is given to the

enjoyment. Marie G , who from the time she was two

years old had a veritable passion for having things drawn
for her, considered it a great joke when she could not
make out what was meant without some effort. For older
children and adults puzzle pictures are skilfully prepared
with a view to rendering recognition difficult, and success
is followed by triumphant laughter. Finally, it may be
added that primitive folk are sometimes unable to see
the meaning of photographs and other pictures,! a fact
which makes their eairly recognition by children the more
wonderful. On the other hand, I recall Charles de La-
hitte's observation of an imprisoned Guayake, a little-
known and utterly uncivilized tribe of southern Para-
guay) which proves that the very lowest savage may rec-
ognise a photograph and be overjoyed with it. " He rec-
ognised his picture after some instruction, and broke out
with expressions of pleasure and astonishment, crying re-

* Kind unci Welt, p. 169. See Miss Shinn, op. cit.^ p. 71.
t K. V. d. Steinen, Steinzeit-Indianer in Paraguay. Globus, vol. Ixvii,
1895, p. 249.

126 THE PLAY OF MAN

peatedly as he slapped his body, ' Gon, gon ! ' which
equals ' me ! ' " *

Acoustic recognition, too, is more important and sig-
nificant for art than one might at first suppose. We find
even in children who repeat a simple melody indefatigably
that pleasure in repetition forms a psychological basis
for a physiological impulse, and in the musical pleasures
of adults this feeling is much stronger.f The playful
feature is emphasized when acoustic conditions vary, as
in changed pitch or some other modification, so that
overcoming difficulty enters. Potpourri and variations
are instances. In Wagner's music there is a peculiar sat-
isfaction in the emergence of a leading motive from the
overwhelming mass of tones; like a friendly island rising
in the midst of surging seas. All modern music, indeed,
is evolved from the intricacies and modifications of such
acoustic play; to follow them and identify the unity
in variety is a pleasure which grows with the hearer's
technical appreciation, until at last, in fuguelike move-
ments, actual beauty is subordinated to the artfully or-
dered formal features of the composition.

In poetry, playful repetition takes manifold forms,^
such as rhyme, allitera'tion, and that chainlike reiteration
of words referred to earlier. But still more ingenious
and charming is the device of bringing the repetition
so close on its own heels that the first impression still
dwells in the mind when the second demands attention.
Pure enjoyment of repetition as such is simplest when the
same or similar forms are separated by a long interval,
allowing the first impression to sink below the threshold
of consciousness before its analogue appears. A passage
of this kind occurs in Goethe's poem quoted above, " O
gieb vom weichen Pfuhle," etc., and is still better illus-
trated by the similarity of the second and eighth verses
of a triolet. Take this of Gleims:

* R. Andree, Etlinocrraphische Parallelen und Verirleiche, p. 57.

+ We may perliaps find the movincr "Qualitiit der Bekanntlieit" in
the recurrence of the keynote of a melody.

:J: Zola frequently applies tlie Waarnerian leadinsf-motive method to the
characterization of isoine ti<rure in his novels, often with wearisome per-
sistence, yet a not uninteresting study might be made of the subject.

RECOGNITION" 127

" Ein Triolet soil ich ihr singen ?

Ein Triolet ist viel zu klein,
Ihr grosses Lob hiiieinzubringen.
Ein Triolet soil ich ihr singen ?
Wie sollt ich mit der Xleinheit ringen,

Es musst' ein grosser llymnus sein !
Ein Triolet soil ich ihr singen ?

Ein Triolet ist viel zu klein ! " *

It is but a step from this to the familiar and primitive
refrain. t To serve this purpose, interjections, single
sounds, words, and sentences are repeated after so long an
interval that there can be no question of sensuous enjoy-
ment; it becomes mere repetition. As the soothing satis-
faction of a melody is produced by dwelling on the key-
note, so with the refrain. This principle is even more
strongly brought out in the turn, which is so prominent a
feature in much lyric poetry, and also in the form origi-
nating in Spain and Portugal in which a single verse of a
familiar stanza is made the keynote of a new poem. This
is play to the producer and hearers as well. Such analogy
of lyric form to musical variation as is shown in the
" freien Glosse " actually deserves to be called variation
itself.^

In the imitation of particular sounds poetry offers
further indulgence to the enjoyment of repetition, to
the amusement of adults and delight of children. This is
really imitative play and as such belongs to a later divi-
sion of our subject ; yet for the listener it is also an exer-
cise in repetition, and is conspicuous in many refrains.
Minor says : " The imitation of musical instruments by
means of articulate or nondescript sounds is common in
folk songs. The shepherd's pipe, the horn, trumpet, and

* See Fr. Kaufmann, Die Deutsche Metrik nach ihi-er geschiehtliehen
Entvvickelung, Marburg, 1897, p. 224, We may And a fine'English exam-
ple in a triolet of Walter Crane's :

" In tlie light, in the shade, Hope is born, and not made,

This is time and life's measure ; And the heart finds its treasure
Witli a lieart unafraid In the light, in the shade ;

In the light, in the shade. This is time and life's measure." — Tk.

t R. M. Meyer regards the refrain as a survival from the first begin-
ning of poetrv. Ueber die Eefrain, Zeitschr. f. vgl. Literaturgeschichte,
vol. i (1887), p. 44.

X See Minor, Neuhochdeutsche Metrik, pp. 393, 460.

128 THE PLAY OF MAN

drum are introduced in pastoral, hunting, and military
pieces." * Children are especially partial to the mimicry
of animals, and some of the formulae have become tradi-
tional. The German robin sing^, it seems,

" Buble witt "witt witt,
I will dir e Kriii-zerrle geau."

The sparrow says "Twitter, twitter"; the quail "Bob
White, peas ripe ? " the cackling hen in English, " Cut,
cut, cadahcut," and in German " Duck di duck Alii Stuck
Unter mi Ruck."

Finally, we must not forget a very popular game
founded on recognition. A whole company will dance
around a blindfolded person until he hits on the floor
with a stick, whereupon they all stand still, and he
touches one and attempts to identify him by the sound
of his voice, having three trials. Sometimes the sense
of touch is allowed to assist the recognition, as in blind-
man^s-buS and the Greek ixvLvSa.j

(b) Reflective Memory
Playful exercise of the recollective faculty, dependent
on the enjoyment of reproduction as such rather than
on any quality of the memory picture, is confined almost
exclusively to children, and indeed to those not yet of the
school age. From about the third year :|: to the end of
the sixth, when enforced mental exercise is begun, we
find in children outspoken satisfaction in the voluntary
exercise of reproduction. During this time mental feats
almost unachievable by adults are performed, such as
learning by heart thick books of nursery rhymes, long
poems, interminable stories — acquirements which stir the
proud parents with hope and mistaken conclusions as to
the extraordinary mental endowments of their offspring.
That children of this age often burden their minds with

* See Minor, Neuhochdeutsche Metrik, pp. 393, 460.

t Grasberger, p. 46. For other forms of this game see Gutsmuths, p.
377.

:|: " The third year," says Sully, "is epoch-making in the history of
memory. It is now that impressions hesrin to work themselves into the
young consciousness so deeply and firmly that they become a part of the
permanent stock in trade of the mind." — Studies of Childhood, p. 437.

REFLECTIVE MEMORY 129

lists of unconnected and meaningless words and take
pride in reciting them, proves that enjoyment of the mere
ability to do it is the chief incentive. Thus, when she

was in her sixth year, Marie G learned to count in

French from one to one hundred, and enjoyed going
over the numbers when she supposed herself to be unob-
served, as when lying in bed in the morning. Carl
Stumpf's report of the prodigy Otto Poehler,^' who at
two years of age had learned to read fluently without
teaching, is highly interesting in this connection.
Stumpf says of the boy, then four years old and in other
respects normal, having, indeed, a decided disinclination
for systematic education when others tried to impose it
on him : " Reading is his greatest passion, and the most
important thing in his life. lie knows the birth and
death year of every German Kaiser from Charles the
Great, as v/ell as of many poets, philosophers, etc., and
can tell the birthday and place of most of them. Besides,
he knows the capitals of most countries, and the rivers
on which they are situated, etc. He knows all about the
Thirty Years' War from beginning to end, with the lead-
ing battles of this and other wars. According to his
mother's statement, he has acquired all this without aid,
and by diligent study of a patriotic almanac and similar
literature about the house, and from deciphering monu-
mental inscriptions in the city, an amusement which he
dotes on. I myself can witness to the lasting impression
which such facts make on his mind. At the Seminary I
showed him pictures of Fechner, Lotze, and Helmholtz,
mentioning their full names. Of each he asked at once
when and where he was born and died, and some days
later could give not only name and surname of every one,
but the full date of birth and death, mentioning day,
month, year, and place." Since Stumpf tells us that there
was no trace of vanity or a desire to show off, we must
explain these accomplishments as the result of the child's
desire to experiment playfully with his own mental
powers.

In assigning such play chiefly to the period between

* Sonntagsbeilage zur Vossischen Zeitung, January 10, 1897.

130 THE PLAY OF MAN

the third and sixth years, I did not by any means intend
to imply that it is suspended thereafter. It is, indeed,
often seriously impeded by the compulsory methods com-
mon in our schools, yet it does not entirely vanish.
Lessing- is a brilliant example of the scholar by whom even
erudition may be turned to playful account, and who is
able to assimilate every kind of pabulum that falls in the
way of his omnivorous brain. When the teacher is able
to direct his pupils to the discharo-e of their tasks with
interest and pleasure, there may still be something- play-
ful about the mental exercise of school work. Subordina-
tion to authority does not exclude play so long as the
obedience is voluntary. Children never submit so abso-
lutely to any one else as to a leader among their play-
fellows. Fenelon was not far wrong when he said : " The
common way of educating is very mistaken — to place
everything that is pleasant on one side and all that is
disagreeable on the other, connecting the latter with in-
dustry and study and regarding the former as waste of
time. How can we expect anything else than that the
child will grow impatient of the restraint and run to
his play with the greatest eagerness?''" Those who, on
the other hand, protest against making play of instruc-
tion are mistaken in supposing that it is thereby turned
into a jest, for we well know that play can be prosecuted
with great zeal and earnestness. Yet they are not alto-
gether wrong, for it is most important to impress the
necessity for doing what is repugnant to us, and for this
merely playful study, even if it accomplished all else that
we want, would always be inadequate. Finally, with re-
gard to the adult: it does occasionally happen even in
our rushing times that some one commits a poem to mem-
ory with the avowed intention of giving exercise to his
mind. Were this practical end the only one, play, indeed,
would not be involved ; but, as a rule, pleasure in acquisi-
tion as such is combined with the other motive. Such
exercise was formerly much more common, and at a time
when few^ could read surprising feats were performed, A

* Die Erziehunof der TOchter, wie solche Herr von Fenelon, Erz-
bischoff von Camhray beschrieben, aus clem FranzOsischen iibcrsctzt.
Llibeck, 1740, p. 36.

IMAGINATION 131

survival of this may be found now in the Balkan coun-
tries, where the heroic songs are still orally preserved. In
mental exercise of this kind it is difficult to draw the line
between the emotions aroused by the content of the piece
and what pleasure is derived from the act of learning, and
we will not here go into that phase of the subject, only
mentioning, in closing the section, that conjuring up one's
own past is another form of memory-i)lay with the feel-
ings.

2. Imagination
The phenomena which the exigencies of language com-
pel us to include under the words imagination or fantasy
naturally fall into two quite clearly differentiated groups,
namely, illusion, either playful or serious, and the vol-
untary or involuntary transformation of our mental con-
tent. Considerable controversy has arisen as to which of
these groups shall be taken as the basis of a definition,
and it is in opposition to the prevailing view that I have
designated the capacity for illusion as my choice for
that purpose. Yet on reflection I consider it more pru-
dent not to attempt a comprehensive definition, but rather
to keep separate the two distinct departments of mental
life which the usages of language too closely associate, and
which, while they are closely interwoven in some of their
aspects, are yet of so heterogeneous a character that we
may hope to distinguish between them in all essentials.

(a) Playful IlUision
This heading includes all those manifold cases in
which mental presentation is accepted as actual, whether
they are concerned with genuine memory pictures or
merely some mental content worked up for the occasion.
When a fever patient sees an absent friend bodily before
him, we call this imagination as well as when he seems to
see absurd or grotesque things. The distinguishing fea-
ture is whether the illusion appears as a substitute for
reality, as in dreams, delirium, hypnosis, and insanity, or
as the product of conscious self-deception (K. Lange's
"bewusste Selbsttauschung," P. Souriau's "illusion vo-
lontaire")* where the knowledge that we have ourselves
produced the illusion prevents actual substitution, as in

132 THE PLAY OF MAN

play and art. Transition from one to the other of these
states is easy. The dreamer or fever patient may have
the feeling that the fantasy in which he lives and suffers
is, after all, an unreal thing ; and, on the other hand, illu-
sion is often so strong for playing children and artists
that it forms a perfect substitute for reality. Just now
we are concerned with conscious illusion only. In in-
quiring how far experimentation is involved in it we
must bear in mind that there are two sides to all illu-
sion, one which has reference to an internal image, and
the other blending with external phenomena. It is a dis-
tinction similar to that between hallucination and illu-
sion in the narrower pathological sense.

The illusion which depends on internal images can,
as we have seen, elevate actual memories as well as cou-
vertible mental contents to the appearance of reality.
So we see that the two kinds of mental activity included
under the name imagination are intimately and variously
related, while neither alone covers the' entire ground.
Enjoyment of play with memory pictures which are more
than ordinarily faithful to fact is practised almost ex-
clusively by adults, and more especially by the aged. The
psychological condition of this is that by means of strong
concentration of attention on the mental picture (we are
reminded again of hypnosis) the actual present is thrown
very much into the background, and the past thus con-
jured up loses many of the usual characteristics of a past,
since the memory picture, from lacking the usual projec-
tion, assumes the expression of reality. The following
is a beautiful example of this distinction between mere
reflective memory and playful illusion where the differ-
entiation was gradually built up. When Goethe as a ma-
ture man took up his Faust manuscript, he said to him-
self, "I thought over this subject a great deal ten years
ago; but that would be only a memory." Yet as he lost
himself in the joyful or painful memories connected
w^ith that period, he came to ignore the fact that they
were long past, and more and more substituted them
for the present, which in its turn became gradually
submerged. These words reveal the play of his imag-
ination :

PLAYFUL ILLUSION 133

" My pulses thrill, tears flow without control,
A tender mood my steadfast heart o'ersways ;
What I possess as from afar I see,
What I have lost is the reality to me."

Miss ISwamvicJc's translation.

A strange characteristic of these playful reminiscences
is that what displeased us at the time of its occurrence
may give pleasure when revived by memory. When, for
instance, a traveller recounts his adventures on a moun-
tain tour he takes pleasure in dwelling on the hardships
which he endured. Is this entirely due to the knowledge
that it is all over now? I think not. First comes self-
congratulation on having borne such grievous difficulties,
i. e., the feeling of power which we find to be the chief
source of satisfaction in almost all play.

Playful pretence * that the personified and elaborated
mental contents are real is psychologically important to
productive artists, and still more so to the enjoyment of
poetic creations. Artists often refer to their as yet un-
embodied conceptions as to very real things, and fre-
quently these assume the role of relentless taskmasters
or of veritable demoniacal possessions. Then, of course,
they cease to be playful. A. Feuerbach writes: "If it
were not for this Gastmahl I would be happy; but it per-
vades everything and gets in my way. It haunts my
thoughts. It feeds on my heart's blood and saps my in-
most life." t Yet the artist often exults in the fact that
he has a self-created world all his own — he plays with the
illusion. " It would concern the reader little, perhaps,"
says Dickens about his David Copperfield, " to know how
sorrowfully the pen is laid down at the close of a two
years' imaginative task; or how an author feels as if he
were dismissing some portion of himself into the shadowy
world when a crowd of the creatures of his own brain are
going from him forever. Yet I have nothing else to tell,
unless, indeed, I were to confess (which might be of less

* Fur wirklieh halten : ft is recommended by the authorities of Bald-
win's Dictionary of Philosophy that the term "semblance" he used as
the equivalent of the German "shein " or illusion — that which is "taken
for real "—in this field of the aesthetic and plav functions. — Ed.

t See A. Oelzelt-Nevi-n, Ueber Phantasie-Vorstellungen. Graz, 1880,
p. 42.

13i THE PLAY OF MAN

moment still) that no one can ever believe this narrative,
in the reading, more than I have believed it in the writ-
ing." This sort of illusion is essential to aesthetic enjoy-
ment in hearing or reading poetic creations. The child
who listens absorbedly to a fairy story,* the boy for whom
the entire external world sinks and vanishes while he is
lost in a tale of adventure, or the adult who follows with
breathless attention the development of a captivating ro-
mance; all allow the authors' creations to get possession
of their consciousness to the exclusion of reality, and yet
not as an actual substitute for it.

In a second kind of conscious illusion the mental con-
tent blends with actual external phenomena and shares in
their reality. Here, according to Wundt's terminology,
we have a kind of simultaneous association which is very
like the imagination that transforms reality. Each of
our ordinary concepts is a mixture of sensuous impression
with its associated memory picture, and it first becomes
illusion when the association assumes the character of
hallucination, and is susceptible of correction by an ap-
peal to common experience. When a white spot dimly re-
vealed by the moonlight appears to me as unmistakably
a towel, I see more than sense-perception warrants; but
when I firmly believe that it is a white-robed figure, then
I have fallen into an illusion, and, as they say, my im-
agination has played me a trick. Yet there are degrees
of difference between serious illusion and the playful kind
which concerns us here. When I had fever, as a boy, I
saw on the bright coverlet the most marvellous feast
spread out, and at the same time had an amused con-
sciousness that it was all an illusion caused by my illness.
Von Bibra's experiences from hasheesh-smoking were quite
similar to this, as he tells us in his book previously cited.
In this are two distinct kinds of play, first the substitu-
tion of an image for its original, and second the lending,

* It may often be observed that the child's eyes lose their conversrence
as their interest is absorbed — a means of detachment from surrounding
reality. Even in half-grown children the power of detachment is much
greater than in adults. The great modern })Octs are at a disadvantage in
that their appeal is to an audience whose power of imagination is on the
wane. It was otherwise with less cultured people when, lirst, tlie adults
were less literal and, second, the poets themselves less intellectualized.

TRANSFORMATION OF THE MEMORY-CONTENT 135

as it were, of our own personality. The first has been
treated exhaustively by K. Lange in his study of conscious
illusion. Not only the little girl who makes a favourite
baby of a knotted handkerchief or some other formless
object, and the boy who calls a stick a horse, a pile of
sand a mountain, a collection of chairs a railroad train,
etc., but also the adult in his enjoyment of plastic art
and scenic effect, using his own mental content to verify
the appearance, is making playful use of his capacity for
illusion, and he, too, takes pleasure in so doing. Lend-
ing one's own personality reveals illusion as operative in
another direction; here w^e impart our own mental states
to the object under consideration ; we " lend " to it the
emotions which we conceive would be ours under like con-
ditions (the shoe is made to fit the last). From our
feeling of sympathy or inner imitation we then experi-
ence all the resulting states of mind, cheerfulness and
brightness from what is attractive, or solemnity from the
sublime. In speaking of imitation we shall have occasion
to refer to this again.

(b) Playful Transformation of the Memory-Content
Simple recollective processes by no means give an
adequate picture of reality. In the tenth chapter of his
book on illusions Sully gives such a list and description
of important mental illusions as is calculated to shake
our faith in the trustworthiness of memory. It seems
that our recollections are often mere fragments of a
formerly well-known whole (we may recall, for example,
only one or two features of an acquaintance), and as a
result of this analytic process we are prone to make new
combinations of the detached elements. Thus, a short
time ago I thought that I could clearly picture to my-
self the house of my brother-in-law by the power of asso-
ciation, but I afterward discovered that I had conceived
the bricks to be far too bright a red, and had evidently
substituted the colour of some other house. What we call
constructive imagination then turns out to be constantly
renewed manipulation of previously verified impressions.
We need not here touch upon the wide field of involuntary
productive imagination, since it is only play directed by
10

136 THE PLAY OF MAN

the will that is engaging us; yet before going on to con-
crete cases, it should be stated that in constructive im-
agination as weir the pictures formed are to a consid-
erable extent involuntary, the will aiding more by its in-
fluence in concentrating the attention on the trend of the
internal processes and in discriminating between them,
than in forming the picture itself. This is why the efforts
of great artists are so often like inspirations.

Building air castles is the simplest exercise of con-
structive imagination.* It most commonly manifests
itself as voluntary playful forming of cheerful and am-
bitious images of ourselves or our friends amid the most
fortunate surroundings.f We may see how it is done by
watching little children who have enjoyed a new kind of
treat at a birthday party or some such occasion — how they
will remember and repeat it in their future plays. All
the details will be copied sometimes just as in the model,
sometimes in new combinations, or turned into a joke.
The inestimable value of such play for making life worth
living is self-evident. It veils the sordidness of everyday
existence with a double illusion, the first being our con-
ception of the air castle as a reality, and so getting im-
mediate possession of this radiant dream (here the two
kinds of imagination converge). Such illusion supplies
the psychological interest in Faust's bargain; he enjoys
the " schonsten Augenblick," although his present satis-
faction is merely premonitory. The second illusion is
exemplified in our implicit trust that the future will
verify our hope,t that buoyant and vivifying emotion
which accompanies us all through life.

Conjuring up all sorts of hindrances, difficulties, and
dangers is a modification of this castle building, and gives
more play to the intellectual faculties as we weigh the
varying possibilities of success or failure, develop the
probable consequences of a proposed step, and try to find

* See Baldwin's Handbook of Psychology, vol. i, p. 227.

I" That some temperaments play with dreams of an unhappy future
there is tio doubt. We shall encounter such phenomena later in noticing
enjoyment of pain,

f Games of chance which keep the participants long in suspense are
among the special forms of adult play which make use of such picturing
of the future.

TRANSFORMATION OF THE MEMORY-CONTENT 137

the best and easiest road to success. By such processes
the crude picture is moulded into shape. Here, again,
the capacity for illusion is of importance in connection
with imaginative combination, since each possibility that
is considered has the appearance ' of reality in its turn,
but such mental activity is playful only when the com-
binations as such are enjoyable. Every creative artist,
statesman, writer, or scholar must often work on an im-
aginative basis which he knows he can never verify.
Many persons like to take, with the help of a Baedeker,
long journeys which they can never hope to indulge in
in any other way, and to solve complicated problems based
on hypothetical games of chess.

Leaving castle building, let us see what other forms of
constructive fantasy can be practiced playfully. In
speaking of illusions we have noticed the blending of
memories with external phenomena, which is so con-
spicuous in child play and in {esthetic enjoyment. The
process of " assimilation " which grounds playful self-
deception is so closely related to constructive imagina-
tion that it is difficult to locate the boundary between
them. The psychic process which transforms a splinter
into a doll's milk-bottle, a few chips stuck up into men
and trees, a cloud * into the greatest variety of faces,
animals, etc., which endows lifeless objects with our own
spiritual capacities of desire, emotion, and temper — all
this is synthetic activity which may quite as well be
called assimilation as constructive imagination. Its
pleasurable quality is inherent,t especially where a per-
fect imitation of reality would give us so little room for
the exercise of imagination as to be on the whole less
satisfactory.

Constructiveness which is concerned purely with
ideas, not blending them with external objects, is quite
as important. One of its uses, though one not clearly
defined, may be to direct the attention, when there exists
but a vague idea of the completed picture, to a choice

* Even the serious Lucca SiarnorelTi was not asliained to place two
clouds, which, showinsr distinct faces, back of the Christ in his Crucifixion.

t See in this connection the more thorough treatment in the section
on inner imitation.

138 THE PLAY OF MAN

among the multifarious internal images which make up
the material supplied by memory. This process is of the
greatest importance in the origination of artistic com-
positions, but its relatively simple beginnings may be
clearly traced in the play of children. While we may not
hope to follow the imaginative process into all its rami-
fications and refinements, nor to account for individual
variations in memory content, visual, motor, etc., three
general, constantly recurring forms of its constructive
activity are distinguishable : 1. The conjunction of con-
cepts which are not connected, or not so connected in
reality. 2. The abstraction of certain elements from a
complex and their transference to other combinations.
3. Exaggeration and deiDreciation. It will be readily seen
that these three forms of imaginative activity are useful
for playful experimentation as well as in actual artistic
production, which, however, rarely makes playful use of
fantasy.

The first of these activities is often so capricious in
children that it can hardly be called experimentation; it
seems a mere disconnected succession of fancies and self-
originated images, very much as in the case of mania and
other abnormal states. Striimpell's little daughter, aged
one and a half years, is responsible for the following:
"Go gramma and buy a pretty doll gramma for me
under the bed for me to play the piano. Bring papa
golden sheep; take m.amma's white sheep too. Go on,
there, driver, gramma is going. Get up, Klinglingling.
Gramma comes up the steps. Oh, oh, ah, ah, lying on
the floor, all tied up, no cap on. Theodosia [her doll] lie
on the bed, bring yellow sheep to Theodosia. Run, tap,
tap, tap for Lina. Strawberries, gramma, wolf lie on
bed. Go to sleep, darling Theodosia, you are my dearest ;
everybody is fast asleep. May makes the trees green —
let me — on the brook violets are blooming — I want to
go to walk. A cat came in here, mamma caught it, it had
feet and black boots on — short cap, band on it. Papa
ran — the sky — gramma gone — grampa resting," etc.* In

* Strunipell, Psycholoofipche Padaerodk, p. 364.

The child, of course, spoke a haby German. This effort at translation
serves only to sliow the versatility of her imagination and its disjointed
expression. — Tr.

For example of amentia, sec Kraepelin, Psychiatrie, p. 331.

TRANSFORMATION OF THE MEMORY-CONTENT 139

this, attention seems to be entirely lacking, so that there
can not be said to be any aim, however indefinite. Genu-
ine constructive imagination is more apparent in the at-
tempts of small children to tell stories. I have the fol-
lowing note on Marie G , made at the age of three

years and one month. She insisted that I must lie on the
lounge after she had gone through the motions of " mak-
ing the bed." Then the little mother warmed the gruel
in a heavy cigar cutter, made me drink at the peril of
my teeth, and ordered me to shut my eyes. Then she
seated herself, pretended to sew, and told a story to put
me to sleep : " The other day I went down town. There
were beautiful shops and there were flowers. Anna [her
doll] wanted to pick one, and a bear came up. All my
six children were dreadfully scared and hid in the bath-
room stove, and I locked the door and took out the key,
and the bear went away ; and I was so frightened ! " It
was evidently her intention to make a connected story,
although the first situation, the scene down town, was
transferred to a different^ one without any proper transi-
tion. Yet the various processes are easily traced in spite
of their complexity. First, the idea of the city where the
romancer takes her doll, as she was often taken by her
mother. The memory picture of the florists' shops which
led to an overweening desire on the payt of the doll to take
a flower. Then judicial wrath appears in the frightful
shape of the bear, and at once the whole situation is
changed; there are now the six children of the familiar
tale, who hide. But where? In our bathroom stove (an
improvement on the tale), which develops a lock and
key for the occasion (confusion with the attributes of a
closet door). Here, then, are divisions 1 and 2 clearly
defined — namely, the combining of complex presentations,
and the detachment and transposition of some features.
Analogy with artistic methods is too obvious to need en-
larging upon.* An interesting example of the inventive-
ness of an older child endowed with genius is the volumi-

* Wliile Stnimpell's example was suflrffestive of the wanderings of a
diseased mind, this one recalls the tales told by savaees. Compare it, for
example, with the Bushman's story of the o-rasshor»per in Ratzel's Volker-
kunde (vol. i, p. 75). Of course, we do not know whether there may not
be some closer connection of ideas than we can trace.

140 THE PLAY OF MAN

nous romance which the young Goethe used to tell again
and again to his plajTuates, and has transcribed in his
biography. It will be seen that the imaginative process
is much less easily traced in it than in the earlier in-
stance.*

One important branch of imaginative composition is
the picturing of the fantastic creatures of mythology, such
as animals with human heads, mermaids, and the gro-
tesque blending of animal and vegetable life, yet w^ith the
essential features taken from iS[ature. As Dickens says
of his characters, that, being made up of many people,
they were composite,t so with these creations. The fol-
lowing dialogue of Marie G with her doll near the end

of her fifth year will illustrate the use of this faculty in
the case of concepts which transcend the limits of actu-
ality. " So, little sister Olga, you have come in from
your walk. Tell me about everything that you saw. A
little lamb, a cow, a dog, a horse. Yes, and what else?
Blue bells and green primroses and red leaves — but that
can not be; you are fibbing, my little sister." Such play-
ful and grotesque combinations are often introduced in
art, but they no longer appeal to superstitious fear. In
the temptations of St. Anthony, in Oriental tales of
strangely deformed men, in the taste for grotesque gar-
gojdes and other ornaments, we find instances. In some
fantastic creations the imagination is given unbridled
license, with the result that the production acquires more
of the characteristics of play.:}:

The third division of constructive fantasy, compris-
ing exaggeration and depreciation, is also an object of
playful activity. All children delight in giants and
dwarfs, whether because they excite pleasurable emo-
tions by their disproportionateness, which appeals to the
comic sense, or whether it is the strong stimulus of what

* See Paola Lombroso, Sagsri di Psicologia del Bambino, chap, ix,
especially p. 155 ; B. Perez, L'art et la poesie chez Tenfant, chap. ix.

+ John Forster, The Life of Charles Dickens, vol. ii, p. 71.

X They divercre from play, first, in that an end outside of the sphere
of play is added to that of satisfaction in production for its own sake ; and,
second, that much of the artist's effort is spent in iraprovin.ir. altering, and
hein^' otherwise occupied with technical conditions, etc.. and not eniraired
in for the pleasure which it affords. We may compare what was said
above in regard to sport.

TRANSFORMATION OF THE MEMORY-CONTENT 141

is unusual that accounts for the attraction, Marie G

improvised a rare tale when she was five and a half years
old, which well illustrates exaggeration, as well as con-
scious illusion and imaginative combination. The child
was lying in bed in the early morning with a copy of
Grimm's tales, and pretended to be reading from it.
" Once upon a time there w^as a king who had a little
daughter. She lay in the cradle. He came in and knew it
was his daughter, and they both had a wedding. As they
sat at the table the king said, ' Please draw me some beer
in a big glass.' Then they brought a glass that was thirty
yards high, and went to sleep ; only the king stayed up as
a watchman. And if they are not dead they are living
there yet." Of course the child had no clear idea of how
high this glass would be, but she evidently pictured one
whose size far transcended the limits of reality — of this
I subsequently satisfied myself. Adults are constantly
using this sort of imaginative exercise in a playful way
in verbal exaggeration. The talk of students and of girls
abounds. in superlatives, and they are employed by satir-
ists with telling effect — so much so that the recounter
himself is sometimes deceived by his own extravagance.
Schneegans says in his interesting book : " The grotesque
satirist is often carried away by his own work, and
gradually loses sight of his original aim; . . . and finally
the conclusion is forced upon us that the writer has
yielded to his passion for gross exaggeration." This is
certainly true of Kabelais, when he says that Pantagruel
had but to put out his tongue to protect his whole army
from the rain, or that his arrows were as large as the
beams of the bridge at ISTantes, and yet with one of them
he could shoot an oyster from its shell without break-
ing the latter; or when he describes the people who
needed no tailor, since one of their ears served as hose,
doublet, and vest, while the other was used like a Spanish
mantle. This last morsel recalls some of the folk tales
which have amused the masses for more than two thou-
sand years. While we may not lightly affirm that the
grotesque extravagance of some of these stories is always
due to imaginative play, yet we can trace it in such of
them as the Greenland myth of little Kagsagsuk, whom

142 THE PLAY OF MAN

the men lifted by the nostrils until they grew enor-
mous, while the rest of his poorly fed body remained
as small as ever, and in the account of his subsequent
marvellous strength. Kagsagsuk divided the mob as
though it had been made of little fishes, and ran so
vigorously that his heels hit the back of his neck,
and the snow flying up around him made shining rain-
bows.*

Playful lying should be mentioned along with other
forms of exaggeration. Children's lies have been studied
carefully of late years, and the conclusion is general that
they are usually playful. Untruthfulness must be playful
when it is indulged in merely to tease others or to get
amusement from their credulity, or to heighten the re-
counter's sense of the marvellous.f Only such examples
are useful for our purpose as find their chief incentive in
the enjoyment of invention. Compayre rightly calls this
experimentation, and says that children play w^ith words
as they do with sand or blocks.:}: The real stimulus which
lying affords to imaginative activity is best demonstrated
in the progressive lie : " I have thirty marbles ; no, fifty ;
no, a hundred ; no, a thousand ! " or " Je viens de voir
un papillon grand comme le chat, grand comme la
maison." * One of my nephews, Heinrich, was a great
romancer, and the same peculiar, almost divergent fixing
of his eyes characterized him then as when listening to a
marvellous tale. At three and a half years north Berlin
was the scene || of his inventions, a name which the little
Stuttgarter had in some way picked up. There he had
seen fish resembling sharks with boots on their feet. On
one occasion he related the following: "In north Ber-
lin hares and hounds are on the roofs; they climb up on
ladders and play together, and then — and then — comes a
telephone, a long wire, you know, and on that they come

* Grosse, op. cit., p. 250.

+ When Daudet was thirteen years old he took an independent voyacre
on a ship with some soldiers on their way home from the Crimea. " With
my southern power of imagination," he writes in Gaulois, " I made myself
out an important personage."

X Op. cit.. p. 309. See'Guyan, Education et Hercdite, p. 148.

# Perez, Les trois premieres anneos, etc., p. 121.

II Like ancient and modern wonder tales, whose occurrences always
take place in distant and almost inaccessible lands.

TRANSFORMATION OF THE MEMORY-CONTENT 143

to Stuttgart. That's the way they get here." " It is easy
to see the connection between this and rudimentary
artistic production. Guyan says : f " The lying of chil-
dren is usually the first exercise of their imagination, the
first evidence of the germ of art." Such playful experi-
mentation is, of course, quite different from actual de-
ception. Perhaps nowhere is finer discrimination in this
direction shown than in Goethe's remarks on his boyish
story-telling: "It greatly rejoiced the other children
when I was the hero of my own story. They were de-
lighted to know that such wonderful things could befall
one of their playfellows, and yet they did not seem to
marvel that I could play such tricks with time and space
as these adventures implied, for they were well aware of
my goings and comings and how I was occupied all day
long. None the less I must choose the scenes of these
adventures, if not in another world, at least in a distant
place, and yet tell all as having taken place to-daj^ or
yesterday. They therefore made for themselves greater
illusions than any I could have palmed off on them. If I
had not gradually learned from my natural bent to work
up these visions and conceits into artistic forms, such
a vainglorious beginning could not have been without
injurious consequences to me." Even when the playful
lie becomes artistic production there is always a leaning
toward genuine deception. Goethe says : " I took good
care not to alter the circumstances much, and by the uni-
formity of my narrative I converted the fable into
reality in the minds of my auditors. Yet," he adds — and
this is proof that the deceit was playful — " I was averse
to falsehood and dissimulation, and would by no means
lightly indulge in them." :|: The same remarks apply to
the corresponding amusements of adults, such as fishing
and hunting stories, and Munchausen tales generally.

In concluding this subject the temptation is strong
to go into some of the special forms of fantasy, such as,
for instance, the association of sensuous impressions with

* The close of this recalls the numerous efforts of primitive folk to
account for natural phenomena.
+ Op. cit., p. 148.
X See, too, Sully's Studies of Childhood, p. 254.

144 THE PLAY OF MAN

abstract ideas. Poetry has the task of justifying such
combination, and this quatrain affords a simple instance:

" Woher kommt dcr Blutegel ? "■ Whence comes the leech, then ?

Aus der Keisfeld treibt er in den Out of the rice Held it turns tu the

Fluss. stream.

Woher kommt die Liebe ? Whence comes love, then ?

Aus dem Auge senkt sie sich in's From the eye it sinks down to the

Herz." heart."

From this doggerel to " Warte nur, balde ruhest du
audi," suggested by a view of wooded hills standing in
evening quiet, is but a matter of development. Meta-
phor ensues when abstract form is superseded by sensuous
impression. The designer and novelist Topffer gives a
beautiful instance of such materializing of the spiritual
in this interesting contribution to child psychology when
he tells us how he always conceived of conscience in the
form of his teacher. " For a long time I did not distin-
guish between the inner voice of conscience and the ad-
monitions of my instructor. When I felt the stirrings of
the former I pictured the latter before me in his black
robes, with his scholarly air, and his spectacles on his
nose." *

3. Attention

As I have attempted to set forth in former efforts,!
attention is probably in its earliest manifestations rather
a means for the furtherance of the struggle for life than
a so-called faculty of the mind. The instinct of lying in
wait (by which we must understand not merely holding
one's self in readiness to seize prey, but also a prepared-
ness for flight) is, as I conceive, the elementary form of
attention. Some sense-perception called forth hj the
prey or the enemy, as the case may be, warns the animal
to brace his organism for the utmost swiftness and accu-
racy of aim in view of what is coming; secondly, to hold
his muscles tense and ready for lightning-quick reaction
to the approaching stimulus; and, thirdly, to keep such
restraint on his whole body as to repress all sounds and

* B. Perez, L'enfant de trois a sept ans. Paris, 1894, p. 239.
t The Play of Animals, p. 214. Zum Problem der unbewussten Zeit-
schatzung, Zeitschr. f. Psycholog. u. Physiol, d. Siunesorgaue, vol. ix.

ATTENTION 145

movements which might betray him. Among the higher
animals, and especially man, ''' theoretic " attention has
developed from this motor attention, which reacts to the
anticipated stimulus with special external movements. In
the former the reaction is an internal, brain process, not
involving the second of the step^ given above; it is suf-
ficient to seize and master the object — to lie in wait
apperceptively, as it were. The characteristic holding of
the powers in check seems to argue the derivation of this
sort of attention from the motor, thus grounding both
on instinct. Expectancy is not then a variation, but
rather a fundamental form of attention, and concentra-
tion on an object present before it results from a suc-
cession of constantly renewed expectations.

Both forms of attention are of real importance in the
w^orld of play, but we will note only those cases in which
the effort of attending is itself the subject of playful ex-
ercise. Sikorski has asserted forcibly that children fre-
quently make use in their play of the expectation of a
familiar impression w^iose memory picture is already
present in the mind ; what Lewes calls " preperception,"
and Sikorski "' reproduction preparatoire." He says :
" It is very interesting to notice how children use atten-
tion in their play. It is one of the most salient features
of all the mental operations of children in all their busy-
ness and destructiveness. It may be called a sort of
mental auxiliary which gives variety to play." -^ He goes
on to instance Preyer's son, who opened and closed the
cover of a can seventy-nine times in succession, and
evinced the closest attention all the while.f The expecta-
tion of a resulting sound is no doubt an essential part
of such play as this. Alternate stress and relaxation of
attention account for the charm of hide and seek. Dar-
win says that his son on the one hundred and tenth day
was delighted when a handkerchief was put over his face
or his playfellows and then suddenly withdrawn.:|: While
surprise was probably the principal cause of this delight
at first, on its repetition expectation and the sudden reve-

* Op. cit., pp. 418, 545.

+ Die Seele des Kindes, p. 212.

:i: A Biographical Slietch of an Infant, Mind, vii (1877), p. 289.

146 THE PLAY OF MAN

lation must play a part. When a child throws stones in
water or at a mark, batters an old pot, awaits the tossed-
up ball or watches a rolling one, we must reckon with the
pleasure which is derived from the exercise of close at-
tention, as well as that in movement as such, and in
this kind of play the comparison of memory pictures with
present reality. " In all such play," says Sikorski, after
instancing several examples, " a particular result is ex-
pected and awaited as something desirable. The sound
of the stone striking the w^ater, the direction taken by
the soap bubble the moment it is tossed off,* all such
consequences are pictured in advance, and the essence of
the enjoyment consists in the coincidence of reality with
the mental image." f

At this point we may again take up the process of
recollection which is attended with some difficulty. The
progressive power of rhythmical repetition, especially
when musical or poetic, to whose chains we are such will-
ing captives, is nothing else than attention fixed on what
is to come. Still stronger is the tense expectation aroused
by artistic productions which require time for their pres-
entation. In the drama and recitation especially must
we ascribe value to continuity, for here true art consists
not so much in taking the hearer or reader by surprise —
indeed, this is an insignificant element — as in contriv-
ing to make him suspect the coming situation and await
it with intense concentration. On this depends not only
the effectiveness of tragedy (O. Harnack has compared
Ibsen's Ghosts in this respect with the antique CEdipus),
but in large measure that of all narrative poetry. " The
poor satisfaction of a surprise ! " exclaims Lessing. " I
am far from thinking that the enjoyment we get from the
work of a great artist is due to concealment of the de-
nouement. I believe, moreover, that it would not tran-
scend my powers to create a work in which the climax
shall be revealed in the first scene, and from that very
circumstance derive its strongest interest." Finally, we
must notice the interesting phenomena of attention in
its connection with gambling, for the tremendous effects

* See Stcni\s remark quoted above ozi watching movement.
+ Op. cit., p. 418.

ATTENTION 147

of which many diverse causes must conspire. Ribot says
of it, " C'est la complexite qui produit I'intensite." *
The tension of interest in gaming depends on the two
possibilities, winning and losing. It must be one thing
or the other, and this fact differentiates it from our pre-
vious examples. Hope of winning usually looms large in
the foreground, the possibility of losing assuming more
the character of an auxiliary, adding intensity to the pro-
cess. " Gambling," says Lazarus justly, " has ruined
many, enriched few, yet every player expects to be of the
minority." f As games of chance will come up for more
exhaustive treatment later, I merely mention here that
the effort of attention is one ground of their strong effect.
We now take up playful apperception of new impres-
sions. The deep-rooted impulse to bring everything
within the sphere of our own powers is especially powerful
in the presence of novelty, of what is unfamiliar. We
experience an almost irresistible desire to examine closely
any strange object and make ourselves acquainted with
its properties. Curiosity is the name given to the play-
ful manifestation of attention which results from this
tendency. Since I introduced it among the plays in my
work on animals I have been told that curiosity is no
play;* but if w^e keep to our principle that the exercise of
an impulse merely for the sake of the pleasure we derive
from it is to be called play, then I am unable to see why
curiosity should form an exception. It stands midway
between two kinds of perception as applied to what is new,
but is identical with neither. On one side is the impulse
to inquire into the practical use of the unfamiliar object,
w^hether it is beneficial or injurious; on the other side
is thirst for knowledge, not entirely with a view to appro-
priation, but more concerned with placing the object
properly in our system of things known. But curiosity,
while it does depend on the stimulus X of novelty, con-
cerns itself primarily neither with the practical value of
the thing nor with its theoretic significance. It simply

* La psvcholocfie des sentiments, p. 322.
+ Die Keize des Spiels, Berlin, 1883, p. fil.

X James says that the stimuli of seientilic curiosity "are not objects,
but ways of conceiving objects." Principles of Psychology, vol. ii, p. 430.

148 THE PLAY OF MAN

enjoys the agreeable emotional effects which arise when a
new concept does not readily adjust itself to the beaten
track of the habitual, and requires paths at least partially
new to be opened before it. The interest attaching to
scientific investigation is logical and formal, but that
excited by curiosity may be said to be material. The
freshness of the untried belongs to this new mental heri-
tage, and is as exhilarating as the mountain climber's dis-
covery of a new path to some coveted summit. Where
such pleasure becomes the ground of activity, that activ-
ity is play. For illustrative purposes let us suppose a
landslide. Practical interest would at once apply to the
proper authorities to find out the extent of damage
caused by the catastrophe; scientific and learned curi-
osity would investigate the causes ; while the simply curi-
ous would run from all directions just to see what was
happening, using their powers of attention playfully.

In The Play of Animals I have presented quite a col-
lection of examples, and I insert another here, which was
not at that time available. When Nansen was on his
north polar expedition a valuable gun accidentally fell
into the sea. As the water at that place was but ten
metres deep an attempt was made to recover the weapon.
" While we were so engaged a bearded seal constantly
swam around us, regarding us wonderingly, stretching his
great head now to this side and now to that side of us,
and drawing nearer and nearer as if he were making
efforts to discern in what sort of nocturnal labour we
were engaged." * When we read such reports and see
how widespread these phenomena are in the animal world,
we naturally expect to find them universal among men.
Yet it has been maintained by some that the lowest orders
of savages have extremely little or no curiosity at all.
Spencer has published a note in his Data of Sociology to
the effect that it is entirely wanting among such peoples :
" Where curiosity exists we find it among races of not so
low a grade." f I do not think that this can be sub-
stantiated. The numerous reports of travellers which

* Fr. Nansen, Tn Nacht niifl Eis, Leipsic, 1897, vol. i, p. 151.
t H. Spencer, The Principles of Sociology, vol. i, p. 86.

ATTENTION 149

seem to give colour to it can, I believe, be explained in
two ways: First, the savage is too suspicious to show his
curiosity; and, secondly, many reporters in speaking of
the lack of curiosity refer rather to scientific curiosity,
or thirst for knowledge. The Bakairi of central Brazil,
who are certainly primitive enough, displayed, according
to K. von den Steinen, lively curiosity, while they had
absolutely no desire for knowledge. " Our clothes," he
says, " were as strange to these good people as their
nakedness was to us. I was escorted to the bath by both
men and women, and it was amusing to see with what
interest my clothes were examined. It never seemed to
occur to them that I might resent the inspection. They
showed some interest in my Polynesian tattooing, but
were evidently disappointed not to find something mar-
vellous concealed under all this careful and unheard-of
wrapping." * Just as curiously they investigated the con-
tents of his pockets; admired his watch, which they
called " moon," because it did not sleep at night. A
genuine desire for knowledge was nowhere shown, only
a playful curiosity. K. von den Steinen has also recog-
nised this distinction. " Nothing could be more mis-
taken," he says, " than to suppose that frank curiosity is
a genuine desire for knowledge or a longing to under-
stand the cause of things." f He is a firm upholder of
the other view, having lived for some time alone among
the Bakairi, and says that much which he had observed
as characteristic of them vanished when the larger com-
pany arrived; the perfect naivete disappeared, and their
manner became more and more that of the savage as
usually described to us.t That the higher standing races
are extremely curious is a familiar fact, admitted and
illustrated by Spencer himself. I instance only Semon's
humorous account of the Ambonese. A committee from
the village made ■ visits lasting for hours on the ship
where he was busy with his men. All hints that they
might be needed on shore were unavailing, and for two
days I bore it uncomplainingly when they crowded into
my tiny cabin. On the third day I thought it best to

* Unter den Natur vol kern Central brasiliens, pp. 59, 67, 79.
tlbid. tibid.

150 THE PLAY OP MAN

speak to them plainly, and asked them in Malay to sit
before the cabin door. . . . And the rest were just as
curious, although they did not come on board ship. My
morning dip in the sea was a treat to the whole village.
A crowd of spectators gathered to witness the show, ob-
serving every detail, and not scrupling to express their
criticisms." *

In children, curiosity is useful as an antidote to in-
stinctive shyness in the presence of what is new and
strange, and as an introduction to the general desire for
knowledge. It is stimulated by surprise, but can be called
true curiosity only when the perception of what is un-
usual has a directly pleasurable effect, as, for example,
when an infant six months old regards a veiled face with
close attention and signs of delight. Tiedemann reports
as early as the end of the second month : " He makes more
and more unmistakable efforts to add to his store of ideas,
for new objects never seen before are followed longer with
the eye." f " All little children," says Preyer, " make in-
effective sympathetic movements of various kinds when
they hear new sounds, music or songs. They like to move
their arms up and down. The child, on hearing, seeing, or
tasting something new, directs his attention toward it,
and experiences a pleasant sensation of gratified curiosity
which induces motor discharge." t Sully regards curiosity
as the best offset to fear in children, and considers it a
fortunate circumstance that the commonest causes of
fear — namely, new and strange phenomena — are also the
originators of a feeling such as curiosity, with its attend-
ant impulses to follow and to examJne. It would indeed
be detrimental to intellectual development if new things
roused feelings of fear exclusively. Yet in spite of these
differences, fear and curiosity are probably closely related,
since the caution and suspicion which characterize fear
may be the point of departure for curiosity. Caution
impels the animal to examine with careful attention every
unusual object which makes its way into his environment,

* Tm Anstralisohen "Bnsch. etc.. p. 52fi.

+ Dietrich Tiedemann, Beobaohtnnffen iiher die Entwickelung der
Seelenfahicrkeiten hei Kindern, Altenburg, 1897, p. 14.
X Die Seele des Kindes, p. 140.

ATTENTION 151

with an eye to its possible injurious or useful character.
Assuming that this impulse is emancipated gradually
from its double practical aim, we see it converted into
curiosity before our eyes, while ontogenetically it is the
antecedent of the thirst for knowledge, just as the prac-
tical aim precedes it phylogenetically. Perez has de-
scribed this evolution beautifully. Playful exercise of
the sensor and motor apparatus, which is at first mere ob-
scure impulse toward sensation and movement, achieves
more and more the clearness of intellectual activity as it
becomes associated with curiosity. Yet all this results
" not so much from the necessity, for knowing what
things are and what they can do, as from the demand
for new and fresh impressions." * Veritable thirst for
knowledge, with its unappeasable questioning, gradually
develops from this, making without difficulty the transi-
tion from the realm of play to that of genuine scientific
investigation.

This demand for novelty plays a conspicuous role in
the life of an adult as well. The masculine half of the
race exhibits a praiseworthy self-denial in ascribing this
quality to the other sex exclusively, but the women are
about right when they say that men are quite as curious
as themselves. Without going into the merits of this con-
troversy, we will confine our discussion to the province
of curiosity in aesthetic enjoyment. It is no doubt true
that the highest and most complete aesthetic pleasure is
independent of the stimulus of novelty, as is proved by
the fact that our appreciation of a work of art is un-
diminished by repeated examination, and it remains
" herrlich wie am ersten Tag." Yet there is a peculiar
charm attaching to a first view of even the most perfect
work of genius, which E. von Hartmann has likened to
that of the first kiss, and which must be at least in part
due to novelty. This advantage depends not entirely on
the diminishing of the satisfaction by use, but also on a
positive, independent pleasure in the apperception of a
new thing, and new, original, in the sense of being a
revelation, are the productions of genius. In the develop-

" Les trois premieres annees, etc., p. 117.
11

152 THE PLAY OF MAN

ment of art, too, a disinclination to get into ruts, to-
gether with positive enjoyment of original work, is a de-
cidedly progressive force, as opposed to the multiplication
of reproductions and imitations. Before the revolution
caused by a new thing has become an accomplished fact,
behold ! it is no longer new, and the danger is of achieving
only the pre-classical, as it were, and not the classical.
Of following the prophets, perhaps, but not the Messiah.

4. Reason

"We need no chain of reasoning to prove that the
logical faculty is involved in very many plays, even those
of simple movement; but now, as heretofore, we will
strictly exclude all uses of it except those in which it is
the very object of the play, those in which it is play-
fully experimented with. Two bearings of the subject
will engage our attention: first, causality; and, second,
inherence. Both are prominent in the playful use of
reason, while some special forms involve the use of judg-
ment as well, as in the play of wit, for instance.

How far the gratification afforded by play is depend-
ent on causality is strikingly shown by the fact that
there is not a single form of it which does not exhibit
in one shape or another the joy of being a cause as the
germ of its attractiveness. It is true that this universal
fact directs the attention more to the feeling of being
a cause than to the logical idea of causal connection, yet
we find enjoyment of logical activity prominent in the
categories which we have designated as " hustling things
about," and as destructive and constructive movement
play. The tendency toward such play was chosen for our
point of departure, and the indications are that it is of
the first importance to the child, and that only through
frequent repetitions of the post hoc does independent in-
terest in the 'propter hoc gradually arise. Still, it can
not be denied that the true characteristics of play are
in inverse ratio to the intensity of the desire for knowl-
edge, and it should be clearly stated that we are now on
the frontier territory of play and earnest. The steps by
which we have reached this point can be clearly traced
by every reader of what goes before; therefore, without

REASON 153

stopping to recapitulate, I cite this striking remark of
Preyer's as a fitting climax. He says in reference to the
evolution of a feeling of individuality : " Another impor-
tant factor is the perception of change brought about by
his own activity, in the familiar objects by which he is
surrounded, and, psychologically speaking, or, indeed,
from any standpoint, a red-letter day in the infant's life
is the one on which he first grasps the connection between
his own movements and the sense-perceptions caused by
them. The sound produced by tearing and crumpling
paper was still unrecognised by this child till in his fifth
month he discovered that it gave him a new sensation,
and he repeated the experiment day after day most ener-
getically until the stimulus of novelty w^ore away. Still,
there was no clear apprehension of causality, but the child
had now had the experience of being an originator, and
of combined sight and sound perceptions, regular in so
far that when he tore paper it became smaller for one
thing, and sound resulted for another. Other such
amusements were shaking keys on a ring, opening and
shutting a box or purse (thirteen months), repeatedly
filling and emptying a table drawer, piling up and scat-
tering sand and gravel, rustling the pages of a book
(thirteenth to nineteenth month), digging in sand, pull-
ing footstools back and forth, laying stones, shells, and
buttons in rows (twenty-one months), pouring water in
and out of bottles, cups, and cans (thirty-first to thirty-
third month) and throwing stones in water." * Miss
Shinn also gives a pretty example in the case of her
little niece : " In the twentieth month (five hundred and
ninetieth day) I saw her outdoors, especially when driv-
ing, cover her eyes several times with her hands. I
thought the sunlight might be too brilliant, but it is
more likely that she was experimenting, for in the fol-
lowing weeks she would often cover her eyes with her
hands, and take them away, hide her face in a cushion
or on her own arms, often saying ^ Dark,' then look up,
* Light now.' " f Tormenting animals is another direc-

* Die Seele des Kindes, p. 383.

+ M. W. Shinn, Notes on the Development of a Child, p. 11.

154 THE PLAY OF MAN

tion in which the quest for a causal connection is evident.
When Andree Theuriet was a four-year-old boy he threw
a newborn puppy in the water just " pour voir," and
then wept bitterly because he could not rescue it.^ As
these demands of reason become prominent we can clearly
see that we are approaching the limits of play.

There are other cases, however, where the search for
a causal connection can more assuredly be called playful.
An essential feature of the enjoyment derived from men-
tal contests is the calculation of the result. Several pos-
sibilities are before the player, and he enjoys the intel-
lectual effort of testing each and using the most advan-
tageous. In the solution of whist and chess problems and
such like, rivalry becomes an insignificant feature, and
logical experimentation forms the central interest. Just
so with the common and often ancient mechanical and
mathematical puzzles. Pleasure in conquering their log-
ical difficulties is derived from the gratification of a
" general impulse or general instinct to exercise the in-
telligence as such." t Causality plays a prominent part
in poetry, too, since we require it to reveal to us the inner
relations of the events set forth and to exhibit cause and
effect in clearer and more orderly sequence than the com-
plexities of reality admit of4 Especially is this the case
with tragedy. In my Einleitung in die Aesthetik I ex-
pressed the opinion that the treatment of tragical cli-
maxes as logical necessities is an important means of

* Compavre. op. cit., p. 308.

t Ernest "^H. Lindlev, A Study of Puzzles. Amer. Jour, of Psychol.,
viii (1897), p. 436.

X The amusinor rhymes illustrating cause and effect which children
are so fond of, arcTin point — for instance, The House that Jack Built — and
this one in German :

" Der Teufel holt den Henker nun,
Per Henker hfmgt den Schliichter nun,
Der Schliichter schlafft den Ochsen nun,
Der Ochse liiuft das Wasser nun,
Das Wasser loscht das Feuer nun,
Das Feuer brennt den Prugrel nun,
Der Prliorel schlii,L''t den Pudel nun,
Der Pudel beisst'den Jockel nun,
Der Jockel schneidet den Plafer nun,
Und komnit auch gleich nach Haus."
See the similar Hebrew verse about the kid in Tylor's Aufilnge der
Culture, vol. i, p. 86.

REASON 155

bracing us for the increasingly painful inner imitation
which is so essential, without weakening or modifying its
effect. " When the course of the tragic tale is so far de-
veloped as to suggest that a catastrophe is imminent, it
should also appear inevitable. Stern necessity must urge
the hero toward the fearful goal so persistently that
escape shall be unthinkable, a logical impossibility. This
feeling of necessity is calculated to fix the aesthetic illu-
sion, and consequently help on the effect by rendering
more strenuous the mental tension and directing it so
forcibly toward the climax that consciousness is a captive
to inner imitation until the tragedy has culminated. In
other words, fear of the catastrophe is so absorbing as to
create the illusion that the apprehended event is just at
hand, and consequently all sense of the painfulness of
the situation is merged in the stress of this illusion, since
it alone is competent to relieve the tension." '^ I might
have continued to the effect that such manifestations of
the law of cause afford us a positive logical satisfaction,
and in spite of the impression forced upon us by the
crushing blows of Fate, weave some threads into the in-
tricate texture of aesthetic enjoyment, because in them we
recognise a proof of the existence of a universal causal
nexus.

A glance over the sphere of inherence, too, will help
us to a proper orientation for this inquiry. By the word
inherence we signify the relation of a thing to its quali-
ties, or, abstractly speaking, the relation of a concept to
its characteristics. A common and well-nigh universal
form of play depends on this principle — namely, the mak-
ing and solving of riddles. The large majority of them
involve an effort to find the concept whose characteristics
are given, and the task is intentionally rendered difficult,
with the result that the solution is attended with a proud
sense of success. The exercise easily leads to a contest,
but it is grounded in experimentation with the logical
faculty, and many persons enjoy the amusement for this
reason alone.f

Children as young as four years sometimes indulge

* Oj). cit.^ p, 353. t Ernest Lindley, loc. cit.^ p. 455.

156 THE PLAY OF MAN

ill a sort of preliminary exercise in riddle solving, such
as the simple game in which one child, noticing the pecul-
iar colour of some object in the room, says, " I see some-
thing you don't see, and it's yellow," and his comrade
must guess it. The play here is connected with sense
perception by the relations of things to their qualities,
and there are many games for large companies much like
it. In a genuine riddle the enumeration of charac-
teristics must be imperfect or in some way misleading
to render the solution troublesome, and still sufficiently
complete to make it possible; many are made sufficient-
ly puzzling by the lack of logical opidKos without the
introduction of other means of mystification; such,
for example, as —

'' Drufg'schloh,
Ufg' deckt,
Usse g'no,
Dra gschmuckt,
Und dann wiederum versteckt."

(Tabakdose.)
" Inside whole,
Outside full of many holes."

(Thimble.)

" Two legs sits on three legs
And milks four legs."

(Milkmaid.)

" Oben spitz und unten breit
Durch und durch voU Sussigkeit."

(Zuckerhut.)
" First white as snow,
Then green as clover,
Then red as blood.
They taste to all children good."

(Cherries.)

The play is more genuine, however, when the char-
acteristics are more veiled, as in (1) metaphor and (2) ap-
parent contradiction. The riddles which follow are evi-
dently calculated to put one on the wrong scent. On
the coast of Malabar two familiar riddles are " Little man,
strong voice," and "A little pig in the woods." The

KEASOX 157

answer to the former is Grasshopper, and to the latter
Pediculus cervicalis.

" There is a little man
AVith a stomach of stone ;
He ha3 a red cloak
And a black cap on."

(Haw.)

" S'itzt etAvas amme Rainle,
Es wackelt ihm sein Beinle ;
Vor Angst und Noth
Wird ihm sein Kopile feuerroth,"

(Erdbeere.)

" An iron steed with silken reins,
The faster runs the horse the shorter grow the reins."

(Needle and thread.)

Apparent contradiction is a favourite means of mys-
tification, as in the questions " What teaches without
speaking ? " A book. " What two things are together early
and late, and yet never touch each other ? " Parallel
lines. The East African Schamlala have a riddle which
is metaphorical. " My grandfather's cattle low when they
are driven away, and are quiet coming home." This re-
fers to the water gourds carried by the women, which
clatter when taken away empty, and are silent as they
come back filled.* A German riddle of this kind is:

" Ich hab' einen Eiicken und kann nicht liegen;
Ich hab zwei Fli'igel und kann nicht fliegen ;
Ich hab ein Bein und kann nicht stehen ;
Ich kann wohl laufen, aber nicht gehen."

(Nase.)

I can not here examine other forms of logical experi-
mentation with the exception of the phenomena of wit,
which are too important to be omitted from our review.

*A. Seidel, Geschichten und Lieder der Africaner. Berlin, 1896. pp.
176, 309. Similar riddles used for the amusement of children are given
by Tylor. Op. cit.^ vol. i, p. 91. Words used in a double or multiple
sense (homonyms) are particularly etfective.

158 THE PLAY OF MAN

Primarily wit should be classed with the comic, of which
we shall speak in another connection, but at times it over-
reaches these limits, and more general grounds must be
assigned for it in logical experimentation. When wit
is free from sarcasm and assumes the form of playful
judgment, as Kuno Fischer says, then its most natural
expression is in the riddle and the proverb. The evolu-
tion of such serious wit as Jean Paul's is possible only to
a highly cultured people, and Nietzsche, the most brilliant
German exponent of modern witticism, displays a certain
tendency to proverb. " To be stiff to his inferiors is wis-
dom for the hedgehog" has the true flavour of the terse
sayings found among all primitive people. The satisfac-
tion afforded by true wit is due to the playful conquest of
logical difficulties; some statement is made which con-
fuses by its unusual conjunction of ideas, and we hail as
a victory the sudden emergence of the hidden meaning.
Therefore it would be a mistake to call the pleasure pro-
duced by wit exclusively a play with reason, since con-
structive imagination and the formulation of the abstract
are also involved. When the negro produces this — " God
keeps the flies off the ox that has no tail " — he gives us an
expression of wit illustrating abstract judgment which
may be accompanied by the stronger emotion.

B. EXPERIMENTATION WITH THE FEELINGS

That a man may play with his emotions is a well-
known fact, but one which has not to my knowledge been
adequately investigated in all its ramifications. While
the " luxury of grief " is often referred to, the interesting
distinction of its varying degrees has not been gone into.
It can not be labelled, I think, simple play with pleasur-
able sensations, partly because the concentration of atten-
tion on the feeling itself instead of on the accompanying
sensations and ideas tends to weaken the very feeling in
question, and also because the division of consciousness
which attends such a survey of one's own emotional life
is less operative in the sphere of pleasure.* There must

* Annoyance over one's own enjoyment is, of course, not play.

PHYSICAL PAIN 159

be a distinct recognition that it is genuine pain which we
are enjoying, before the sense of being a spectator arises,
and we can become conscious that we are playing with
our emotions. The various feelings which may be in-
volved in this process are physical pain, mental suffer-
ing, surprise, and fear. Besides these four, the mixed
feeling of suspension between pain and pleasure might be
mentioned, but as it has already been referred to it will
be included in our treatment of surprise.

1. Physical Pain
I have frequently had occasion to note that we com-
monlj^ enjoy stimuli whose effect is distinctly disagreeable
because they are calculated to satisfy our craving for in-
tense impressions. A sensitive tooth is constantly visited
by the tongue, a stiff neck is constantly experimented
with, any slight wound is repeatedly pressed and rubbed,
etc. Hall * and Allin testify that this is especially the
case in childhood. We have already noticed the shock of
a cold bath and the sting of sharp drinks. The pleasure
which we derive from eating pungent horseradish, which
brings tears to the eyes, is a relative, distant and humble
it is true, but still unmistakably a relative of our enjoy-
ment of tragedy. Our satisfaction in strong, self-pro-
duced excitement is so intense as to make physical pain
to a great extent enjoyable. It is true that while these
phenomena are so far quite normal, secret but direct
paths connect them with the realm of pathology. While
some individuals display this in a somewhat anomalous
desire for taste stimuli, in others pleasure in petty self-
torture develops into a sort of sport, having as its ob-
ject not merely a test of their power of endurance (of
that we shall speak in the section on will) but some ob-
scure delight in actual suffering as well. Cardanus con-
fesses in his autobiography to a diseased condition which
could not dispense with pain, so that if he found himself
perfectly comxfortable he was at once moved by an irresisti-
ble impulse to torture his body until tears came. Mante-

* The Psycliolosry of Tickling, Laughing, and the Comic. Amer.
Jour, of Psychol., vol. ix.

160 THE PLAY OF MAN

gazza tells of a veteran who took a strange delight in
scratching the inflamed edges of an old wound in his leg.*
In some forms of insanity the patient maltreats his per-
son, inflicting the most frightful wounds and mutilations,
w^hich would be incredible if his sensibilities w^ere not to a
great degree blunted. In the attempt to explain these phe-
nomena some have thought them an exception to the rule
that pleasure accompanies only what is in some way
useful, but it seems to me that a sufficient explanation
of normal cases is found in the utility of the experi-
mental impulse, which in seeking strong stimuli takes
a certain amount of pain with the rest. So long as
pleasure predominates over pain in the experience, play
is possible. In pathological cases sexual excitement is
often aroused sufficiently to neutralize the suffering, and
where this is not the case we must suppose a perverse
directing of the fighting instinct against one's own body,
furthered by the deadening of sensibility to pain.

2. Mental Suffering
Psychologists have given special attention to the en-
joyment which is derived from contemplating unpleasant
images and subjects. Perhaps the most familiar passage
on the subject is that of Spencer's on the luxury of grief,
yet, as he himself admits, his idea of self-pity does not
clear it up, and he goes on: "It seems possible that the
sentiment which makes a sufferer wish to be alone with
his grief, and makes him resist all distraction from it,
may arise from dwelling on the contrast between his own
worth as he conceives it, and the treatment he has re-
ceived— either from his fellow-beings or from a power
which he is prone to think of anthropomorphically. If
he feels that he has deserved much while he has received
little, and still more if instead of good there has come
evil, the consciousness of this evil is qualified by the con-
sciousness of worth, made pleasurably dominant by the
contrast. . . . That this explanation is the true one, I
feel by no means clear. I throw it out simply as a sug-
gestion, confessing that this is a peculiar emotion which

* See Eibot, Psycliologie des sentiments, p. 64.

MENTAL SUFFERING 161

neither analysis nor synthesis enables me to under-
stand." * This is indeed an unsatisfactory explanation,
and the play idea seems to bring us nearer to one, for here,
as in the case of physical pain, it is the deep-rooted need
of our nature for intense stimuli which enables us to enjoy
our own suilering. That unassuageable longing of Faust
which had exhausted the meagre emotional recourses of
study, and now dragged him out in search of life and ex-
perience, was a longing for both pleasure and pain, since
both could stir up life's deep sea, which now lay stagnant ;
" Sturzen wer uus in das Eauschen der Zeit,

Ins Kollen der Begebenheit!

Da mag denn Schnierz und Genuss,

Gelingen und Verdruss

Mit einander wechseln, wie es kann

Nur raseios betliiitigt sich der Mann."

Contenplative natures, not given to activity, have a
tendency to play with their suffering, and by a strange
division of consciousness stand as on some rocky height,
beholding v/ith pleased appreciation the foaming torrent
of their own feelings. In the closing chapter of my Play
of Animals I treated the subject of divided consciousness
at some length, and will not here repeat what is said there.
For a specific instance we need only point to the artist
who brings a tragic tale to a close with real regret, and,
in spite of the suffering it has caused him, is filled with
the joy in being a cause, in his power to create. When
Kleist finished Penthesilia in Dresden he went to his
friend Pfuel in tears. " She is dead ! " he wailed, and yet,
in spite of his deep and genuine grief over the death of
his heroine, in the depths of his soul he was conscious
of joy in his creation. This is a good example of play
with mental suffering, and Marie Bashkirtseff fur-
nishes another illustration which I have cited in my
earlier work. " Can one believe it ? " she writes in her
journal, at the age of thirteen; "I find everything good
and beautiful, even tears and pain. I love to weep, I
love to despair, I love to be sad. I love life in spite
of all; I wish to live. I must be happy, and am happy to

* Principles of Psychology, vol. ii, p. 590.

162 THE PLAY OF MAN

be miserable. My body weeps and moans, but something
in me that is above me enjoys it all." By these words
she reveals most clearly that division of consciousness
in which, behind the suffering I, another seems to stand,
which has the power to change the grief to bliss. Goethe,
too, seems often to have felt the same. His Werther
blames himself because he is prone to cower before petty
ills. Further than this there is such a thing as emotional
pessimism founded on temperament. For Schopenhauer
it was an evident satisfaction to work himself up to a
condition of the utmost indignation over the evils of
the world. Kuno Fischer has sharply exposed this playful
characteristic of his pessimism. It is true, he says, that
Schopenhauer takes a serious and even tragic view of the
w^orld, but, after all, it is only a view, a spectacle, a
picture. " The world tragedy is played in a theatre ; he
sits in the audience on a comfortable divan commanding
the stage, using his opera glass with discretion. Many of
the spectators forget the suffering world at the buffet,
none follow the tragedy with such close attention, such
deep earnestness, such a comprehensive glance as his.
Then, deeply moved and soul-satisfied, he goes home and
writes down what he has seen." * Melancholy, too, in
the ordinary sense, not the pathological, belongs here,
the melancholy of lovers, poets, and artists, the condition
typified by the phrase " degustation complaisante de la
tristesse." f

Finally, pleasure in the tragic, of which we have
spoken in another connection, should be mentioned here.
Augustine, the great prober into the problems of the soul,
has set forth this question with inimitable clearness in
the third book of his Confessions. " Why," says he,
" should a man sadden himself by voluntarily witnessing
what is painful? The spectator does undeniably feel sad,
and the very sadness is a pleasure. How can we explain
this sympathy with unreal, theatrical sorrows? The hope
of ultimate rescue is not the only thing that appeals to
him — it is the actual accumulation of misery as well, and
he praises the play in proportion as it moves him. When

* Kuno Fischer, Arthur Scliopenhauer, Heidelberg, 1893, p. 125.
t Kibot, La Psychologic des sentiments, p. 64.

MENTAL SUFFERING 163

common woes are so represented as not to affect the
hearer, he goes 'away dissatisfied and complaining". If he
is affected, on the contrary, he listens attentively, and
weeps with delight." If I understand Augustine aright,
he finds the solution of the puzzle in the idea of a sort
of sympathy which he distinguishes from real or moral
sympathy, and which is at bottom nothing else than the
play of inner imitation, that aesthetic feeling of fellowship
of which we shall hear more later. He puts his finger on
the real reason why fellow-feeling for the sufferer has a
special charm when he admits that tragic representation
affected him with sharp, creepy sensations, like the
scratching of a finger nail. Thus he concludes, as we have
done, that the foundation of enjoyment of tragedy is
the result of intensive stimuli. As Du Bos * remarks,
we take the pain accompanying the emotion in the bar-
gain because we like the emotion, the agitation of feel-
ing, so well. This recalls the Aristotelian dogma of
tlie catharsis, but the objection to this theory lies, as its
name implies, in the fact that it seeks a practical end
for the play of aesthetic pleasure. For Aristotle the ques-
tion is to establish the purifying effects of a thunder-
storm, not the enjoyment of its grandeur, and for this
reason the doctrine of the catharsis, however clear it may
be, does not directly answer our question. Delight in the
tragic element is not concerned with the lull after the
storm, but only with the surging might of the tempest
itself, in which we are playfully involved. Weil and
Bernays seem to me to have the right idea when they
speak of the need for violent emotional play, and of
enjoyment of ecstatic conditions. And Lessing also, when
he says that strong passion gives more reality to feeling.
But it is doubtful whether Aristotle considered this side
of the question in forming his theory.

3. Surprise

Surprise is connected with fear, and for this reason
is in itself a disagreeable sensation; yet, on account of its

* See Hubert Rottel\en's interestiner article, Ueber asthetische Kritik
bei Dichtuneen (Beilaire zur Alloreni. Zeit., 1897, Nos. 114, 115). Volkelt
(Aesthetic des Tragischen, p. 389) seems to me to undervalue this point.

164: THE PLAY OF MAN

strong psychophysical effect^namely, the shock which it
produces — it becomes highly enjoyable in play, and dis-
plays, perhaps more clearly than any of the other cases,
the charm of strong stimuli. Children indulge very early
in play involving the shock of surprise, and its effective-
ness as a means of giving pleasure becomes more and
more intense. Darwin relates that his son, from the
one hundred and tenth day, was wildly delighted when a
handkerchief was laid over his face and then suddenly
withdrawn, or when his father's face was hidden and
revealed in this way. " He then uttered a little noise,
which was an incipient laugh." I referred to this in speak-
ing of expectancy, which, indeed, goes hand in hand with
surprise, however opposed they may appear, since sur-
prise which is entirely unexpected is of course no part
of play. There is always playful experimentation with
the shock when we expect it, but do not know when or
in what form it will appear. It is just this combination
which makes the emotional effect of surprise greater than
it would otherwise be. When, for example, we hold a
lighted match over a lamp, we are the more startled by
the slight explosion because we have attentively awaited
it; and there are many games for children in which the
combined effect of expectation and surprise furnish an
essential part of the pleasure, such as those where persons
or objects are hidden. The excitement, too, which is
caused by loud and sudden sounds is of the same char-
acter. M. Reischle, in his fine paper on child's play, dis-
tinguishes a special group of expectation and surprise
games, and points out that the little ones peek while their
comrades are hiding, and yet are overjoyed to find them,
and apparently surprised. In many throwing and catch-
ing games both elements are influential in heightening
the stimulus, and special plays grow out of them, such
as " Hide-and-Seek," "Blind-Man's Buff," "Drop the
Handkerchief," as well as many games of chance. Indeed,
in the last named the stimulus of surprise is often of spe-
cial importance,* and one of the chief sources of pleasure

* Max Reischle, Das Spielen der Kinder in seinem Erziehungswerth,
Gottingen, 1897, p. 17.

SURPRISE 165

is the tension of expectancy followed by the sudden deci-
sion on the fall of dice.

Yet more interesting is the significance of surprise in
relation to the comic. While the latter is more than a
play with surprise, this feature becomes a factor that
should by no means be overlooked in studying comic
effects, especially when we reflect that previous efforts to
explain this modification of aesthetic enjoyment have
proved abortive, possibly through failure to give due
weight to this very element. E. Hecker advances the
theory, it is true, that laughter from tickling accounts for
the origin of enjoyment of the comic, but in this purely
physiological explanation he seems to overlook the fact
that as a rule we laugh only when we are tickled, not when
we tickle ourselves — that is to say, that contact with finger
tips becomes tickling only when the hand is a strange one.
Even in physical tickling, then, there must be some
psychic factors, of which surprise may be one, even
though it is inadequate alone to explain the phenomena.
The fact that surprise not carried far enough to frighten is
one of the first causes of laughter in children gives colour
to this idea. Zeising has shown conclusively that there is
a double surprise in the comic, the first being the intuitive
start at something unusual, and contrasted with what is
normal and typic, be it occasioned by some anomaly in
the object itself or depending only on the momentary
Tnilieu — such, for instance, as the ridiculous appearance
of a tiny cottage in a row of palatial residences.* This
first shock is followed by a moment of suspense. " When
the entirely unexpected happens," says Goethe in Tasso,
" the mind stands still for a moment," which again is
interrupted by the new surprise of finding the first one
negatived or reversed. f Here we have the counter shock,
whose pleasureable effect is strong enough to more than
neutralize the first, and render their combined result
agreeable.:}: As Kant, with his unrivalled penetration, has

* Lipps cpives special attention in his Psychologie cler Komik to this
point (Philosph. Monatshefte. 24 and 25).

t I shall not here discuss the relative importance of the two.

1 Even the first shock is not entirely unpleasant, since we usually
have a premonition of the approaching counter shock.

1G6 THE PLAY OF MAN

remarked, we play with the error as with a ball, tossing it
back and forth and looking after it each time; in this
way we are hurried through a succession of tensions and
relaxations.

While this illustration shows clearly how the essence
of comicality is due to the peculiar character of the
double shock, yet it remains true that even in this case
surprise as such is pleasurable, and plays its part in the
complicated effect.

4. Fear
That even fear, the most abject of all affections, may
become the object of playful experimentation is one of
the riddles of soul life. Here, too, we can only apply the
theory of pleasure in intense stimulus to that of divided
consciousness. When Lukrez dwells upon the pleasure
of gazing on a stormy sea from the vantage ground of
a rocky crag he illustrates this state, only here the soul
is both in the midst of the storm and on the rocks as well.
Apart from and above the terror-stricken personality
stands another, safe and free, and enjoying the fascina-
tion of painful excitement. For the power of fear is
fascinating, even benumbing in its effect. Souriau says:
" I remember, as a child, seeing a snake, cut in two by a
spade, convulsively writhing on the garden walk. The
sight filled me with terror, which rooted me to the spot.
Fascinated, I stood perfectly still, my eyes following the
agonized twisting of the creature while I felt waves of
pain surging through my own body." * Of course, such a
condition can be playful only in case of an sesthetic illu-
sion when the fear is but apparent, and may be dispelled
at will, and when pleasure is stronger than pain in the ex-
perience. Nevertheless, there are transitions between real
and apparent fear which are particularly operative when
curiosity becomes the counter irritant. Every one's child-
hood will furnish an example of this. George Sand tells
us how she as a little girl tried with a playmate to get a
glimpse into the spirit world by means of mystic oaths
and incantations. The children waited long in fear and
trembling, for blue flames, protruding devil's horns, etc.

* La Suggestion dans I'art, p. 39.

FEAR 167

This was only a play, "but a play that set our hearts
beating." * Although fear in this instance has more the
character of a necessary accompaniment than of an ob-
ject of play, real delight in the gruesome is undeniably
evident in the world of art. In the first place, there are
legends and stories with horrible fantasies. The child is
wrapped in breathless interest in accounts of ghosts,
wicked magicians, werewolves, etc., and while safe in his
own home enjoys the terrors which these ideas excite. As
a small boy I listened with nameless horror to the crude
account of the fate of Faust secretly read to me by our
gardener out of a popular book. I remember how, when
the devil led Faust through the ceiling, his skull was
broken and his brains spattered on the wall. For some
time after that I w^as afraid to pass shady places in the
garden, even in the daytime. With older boys descrip-
tions of battles and adventures, and, above all, Indian
stories, take the place of fairy tales. The Leather Stock-
ing Tales were my chief delight, especially The Path-
finder, and I can still recall the rapt attention with which
I followed the frightful perils which threatened my hero,
whenever I could get a quarter of an hour off. How
meagre is our capacity for aesthetic enjoyment in later
years compared with the absolute, unconditional sur-
render to it of a youthful soul! Adults enjoy the grue-
some in poetic creations such as those of Hoffman and
Victor Hugo. When we read of the struggle with the
polypus in Toilers of the Sea the strong stimulus im-
parted by fear is certainly the chief source of pleasure.
My grandfather in extreme old age liked nothing better
than to read such thrilling tales of hairbreadth escapes,
and the strong preference for detective stories evinced by
the masses is based on the same grounds. Savages, too,
like children, always prefer tales which deal with demons
and magic.

Finally, we must notice an aesthetic phase which is
related to fear — namely, exaltation. Since Kant's thor-
oughgoing elucidation the principle is fixed that exalta-
tion is the result of a rebound from fear. First depres-

* See Sully, Studies in Childhood, p. 501.
12

168 THE PLAY OF MAN

sion, then exaltation. At first, the object of our reverence
oppresses us, and for a moment we are painfully conscious
of our impotence and nothingness ; then comes a reaction ;
we throw off the oppression and begin to study the revered
object with serious pleasure. In my Einleitung in die
Aesthetik I did not attribute the first part of this process
to aesthetic pleasure, because I found that inner imita-
tion on which I based my investigation only in the sec-
ond stage.* While I still regard it as the highest and
most important element in aesthetics, yet I am aware that
my view as there presented was somewhat one-sided, as is
almost unavoidably the case if one attempts to carry
out a theory systematically. As I shall return to this
point, let it suffice to say here that probably the depression
itself is pleasurable, and so forms a part of the sesthetic
satisfaction. It is characteristic of our complex natures
that along with our demand to control our surroundings
w^e also feel the need of the domination of a higher power.
When we encounter an incontestably overpowering force
we gladly surrender unconditionally, and take pleasure in
acknowledging that we are insignificant and helpless.
The significance of this spirit for religion is apparent.
Schiller has designated awe as the noblest human trait,
and Schleiermacher found the springs of religion in the
feeling of dependence. The first stage in the satisfaction
derived from exaltation is akin to this when we enjoy
our self-abasement in order to render more conspicuous
the subsequent expansion of an individuality, in the sec-
ond stage when by the exercise of inner imitation we
identify ourselves with the revered object, thus partaking
of the greatness which at first overawed us. While it is
true that only the second part of this process attains
the summit of enjoyment, the first, too, is playful.
" How felt I myself so small — so great ? " asks Faust, and
attributes both sentiments to the selfsame moment. This
play with depression is facilitated by repeating the whole
process frequently. The mind is not only attracted to the

* " The iirst stasre, depression, is in itself considered entirely extra-
aesthetic. For as soon as inner imitation comes into play — that is, as
soon as the esthetic aspect is assumed — the projection of the I into the
object begins and depression gives place to exaltation." Op. cit.^ p. 336.

EXPERIMENTATION WITH THE WILL 169

object, but alternately repelled from it, and in this pro-
cess of repetition depression assumes more and more the
character of play.

C. EXPERIMENTATION WITH THE WILL

Since our inquiry in this closing section is not as to
the general use of the will in play, but rather into playful
experimentation with the will itself, we must direct our
attention to the control of movement. Play requires that
those movements which depend on both inherited and ac-
quired brain paths shall be under voluntary control. The
pleasure accompanying this control is founded on the
feeling of freedom and of mastery over self; and it is to
be specially noted that almost all the related phenomena
take the form of contests and appeal to the fighting in-
stincts. The majority of cases require the suppression of
emotional expression or of such reflexes as are connected
with them. Thus, for example, winking is not an ex-
pression of emotion in the ordinary sense, and yet when
it follows closely on the sudden presentation of some ob-
ject before the eyes it seems to indicate that the person
is startled or even terrified. Children often play with
this refractory reflex, one moving his hand rapidly before
the eyes of another, who makes desperate efforts to keep
them open, and a forfeit game is played as follows : Two
persons sit or stand opposite one another; one moves his
hand close to the other's eyes while the following col-
loquy takes place : " Are you going in the woods ? "
"Yes." "Going to take some bread with you?" "Yes."
" And you want some salt on it ? " " Yes." " Are you
afraid of the wolf ? " If he holds his eyes open all the
time he is not afraid, but if he winks he must pay a
forfeit.^ The attempt is often made, too, to resist the
impulse to laugh while two persons gaze into each other's
eyes. Indeed, such games are too numerous to mention.
The effort to repress the expression of pain is still more
interesting. Self-control during the suffering of phys-
ical pain is everywhere regarded as a proof of manliness,
and is earnestly cultivated by savages as by our own boys.

* Herman Wagner, Spiel buch fiir Knaben, p, 572.

170 THE PLAY OF MAN

The quiet submission to painful tattooing, the endurance
displayed by Indian children often in gruesome ways,
the effort of our schoolboys to bear corporal punishment
unflinchingly, the self-control of students who joke while
their wounds are being sewed, and — to carry the struggle
against self-betrayal into the field of mental suffering
as well — the apparent indifference of gamblers to the re-
verses of fortune; while all of these can by no means be
called playful, still the cases are sufficiently numerous in
which there is actual playful experimentation with the
powers of endurance. For example, Rochholz describes
this test : Two persons strike the knuckles of the doubled-
up fists together, and measure their will power by the
length of time that they can endure the pain. Another is
to strike the first and middle fingers against those of the
other person. A friend of mine told me that as a boy
(probably after reading some Indian tales) he once
wagered with a conirade as to how long they could hold
lighted matches in their fingers. He won the bet, but had
to go with a bandaged hand for a long time.

A playful exercise of the will which suppresses not
only every admission of suffering, but the fighting in-
stinct as well, is related by Goethe of his youth. After
remarking that " very many sports of youth depend on
a rivalry in such endurance, as, for example, when they
strike with two fingers or the whole hand until the limbs
are numb," he goes on : " As I made a sort of boast of
this endurance, the others were piqued, and as rude bar-
barity knows no limits, they managed to push me be-
yond my bounds. Let one instance serve to illustrate.
It happened one morning that the teacher did not appear
at the hour of recitation. As long as all the children were
together we entertained ourselves very well, but when my
friends left after waiting the usual time, the others took it
into their heads to torment and shame me and to drive me
away. Leaving the room for a moment, they came back
with switches from^ a broom. I saw what they meant to
do, and, supposing the end of the hour to be near, I at
once resolved to resist them until the clock struck. They
lashed my legs unmercifully, and in a way that was actu-
ally cruel. I did not stir, but soon found that I had

EXPERIMENTATION WITH THE WILL 171

miscalculated the time, and that pain greatly lengthened
the minutes. My rage swelled the more I endured, and
at the first stroke of the clock I grasped my most unsus-
pecting assailant by the hair, hurled him to the floor in
an instant, pressing my knee upon his back. The sec-
ond, who was younger and weaker, and who attacked me
in the rear, I held with his head under my arm. The
last, and not the weakest, remained, and only my left
hand was free, but I caught hold of his clothes, and by
a dexterous twist on my part and an awkw^ard slip
on his, I brought him down too, striking his face on
the floor."

Another impulse whose suppression is sometimes an
end in play is imitation. Perhaps the most familiar game
illustrating it is " All Birds Fly," in which one of the
children says " Pigeons fly, ducks fly, bears fly," etc., and
raises her hands in the air each time, while the others
must follow her example only when a bird is mentioned.
The ]Mufti-commc-ca described by Wagner is similar.
All stand in a circle except the one who is in the centre
making various motions. When he calls out " Mufti,"
all stand still; but when he continues " comme ca," they
imitate him. In the English " Simon says," the players
make all the gestures that he commands, regardless of
those which he may be making.*

All these examples are concerned with the repression
of inborn reflexes, expresssive movements, and instincts,
but acquired habits are no less difficult to w^ithstand.
Many games are founded on the assumption that the abil-
ity to do so is a proof of will power, and emphasizes the
freedom and self-control of the subject. It is particularly
well illustrated in vocal exercises. To omit a particular
syllable in a familiar rhythmic verse, or possibly several
verses, requires a sudden check to the accustomed move-
ments. A well-known German example is the song —

" Europa hat Kuhe,
Europa hat Ruh',
Unci weiin Europa Kuhe hat,
So hat Europa Kuh'"—

* H. Wagner, Spielbuch fiir Knaben, p. 542.

172 THE PLAY OF MAN

in which the first, second, or third syllable of the word
Europa, or even the word or all the other words, are
omitted. Kreis mentions a similar play for children.
It consists simply in substituting other meanings for
the words (stretching for bending, for example), so that
when the order is given " Bend," the arm is stretched out,
etc.* There is such a thing, too, as playful resistance
of old habits. How many smokers resolve as a sort of
jest to do without cigars for a week! It is the merest
playful experimentation; they want to see if they are
really absolute slaves of the pleasant vice, or whether the
habit is still under the control of their will. If the ex-
periment succeeds, they contentedly go back to their
cigars; it is not at all a serious effort to reform. Many
frivolous persons play thus with their habits, and take
a childish delight in the little conquests achieved by their
will, yet without permanently or seriously altering their
manner of living.

* I. von Kreis, Ueber die Natur gewisser Gehirnzustande. Zeitsclirift
f. Psych, u. Phys. d. Siunesorgane, viii (18y4}, p. 9.

PART II

THE PLA YFUL EXERCISE OF IMP ULSES OF
THE SECOND OR SOCIONOMIC* ORDER

I. Fighting Play

Our conception of experimentation includes a large
number of phenomena having the common tendency to
bring into action the manifold inborn predispositions of
the organism, but without reference to those instincts by
means of which the relation of the individual to other liv-
ing creatures is regulated. In experimentation only the
more general needs, such as are indubitably grounded in
the nature of the organism, are allowed expression, in
such a manner as to bring into action the sensor and
motor apparatus as well as the higher mental faculties.
The individual would exhibit similar qualities in isola-
tion; he plays with himself, not with his relations to oth-
ers, and even when association exists, as, for instance, in
ball-catching, he recognises at the same time that experi-
mental play is involved. Now, however, we enter on the
consideration of such play as is intentionally directed
toward other beings, and first on our list is the inborn im-
pulse to fight. Walther von der Vogelweide has shown
the power of this instinct in the impressive lines:

" Des Stromes Wellen rauschten " Tlie stream's waves murmured

kiihl ; coolly ;

Ich sah darin der Fische Spiel. I saw the fishes playinof there ;

Ich sah, was ringsum in der 1 saw all that was in the whole

Welt : round world ;

Den Wald, das Laub, Kohr, Gras In wood, and bower, and marsh

und Feld, and mead, and field,

Und was da alles kriecht und fliegt All things which creep and fly,

Und seine Bein' zur Erde biegt. And put a foot to earth.

Dis sah ich, und ich sag' Euch das All these I saw, and say to yon,

Keins lebt von ihnen ohne Hass." That nothing lives among them

without hate."

* See p. 4, note 3.

173

174 THE PLAY OF IMAN

In our common speech, too, life is referred to as a
battle, and is in reality too often a general struggle for
money or power. It is but natural, then, to find the
fighting impulse developed early in childhood and prac-
tised in play. Indeed, the demand for its exercise is so
strong that there is scarcely any form of play which may
not take on the character of a contest. Especially is this
the case when there is any difficulty to overcome or dan-
ger to be encountered. " Both danger and difficulty,"
says Lazarus, " appear as incarnated opponents over
whom it is possible to gain a victory." * In the same way
play with lifeless objects is easily converted into a con-
test by the force of jBsthetic illusion. As numerous ex-
amples of such intensive stimulation of the fighting im-
pulse have already been given, I shall here mention only
the mountain climber's struggle w^ith lofty peaks. In
this chapter such collateral themes must be avoided, as
we shall find our immediate problem very wide. In order
to discriminate as to the relative importance of the vari-
ous fighting plays the following division of the subject
will prove convenient: First, there are direct fighting
plays in which the contestants immediately measure
their strength, whether mental or physical. The second
group is composed of indirect fighting plays where the
victory is sought through means of conducting the con-
test. Among the mental phases of this we find betting
and gambling. In the third group we place merely offen-
sive sports in which no defence is possible or availing,
such as playful destructiveness, teasing, and the enjoy-
ment of the comic (so far as it is connected with fighting
at all). After disposing of all these, two subdivisions yet
remain: first, playful chasing, fleeing, and hiding (hunt-
ing plays) ; and, second, the enjoyment of witnessing a
contest.

1. Direct Physical Fighting Play

Any one who takes the hand of a two-year-old child
and strikes himself with it, pretending to be much hurt,
can not doubt after seeing the delight displayed by the
little creature, the pleasurable effect of the discharge

* Die Keize des Spiels, p. 131.

DIRECT PHYSICAL FIGHTING PLAY 175

of this impulse so deeply seated in human nature. Y"et
the fighting instinct seems to be comparatively late in as-
suming the form of regular independent playful contests.
Unprovoked tussling merely for the fun of the thing sel-
dom appears earlier than the third year, while young
bears, dogs, and other animals begin such play almost
at once. In this youthful tussling the chief aim is to
throw one's opponent to the ground and to hold him
in this helpless position. So far as my observation goes
in this little-investigated sphere, very small boys sel-
dom stand for their combats. Usually one already seated
seizes his comrade, who may be standing near, by the
foot, pulls him down, and they fight, rolling over on
the floor, and each seeking to keep the upper hand.
The effort is constantly made to keep the enemy's head
down, a position so distasteful to the party concerned
that the scene threatens to end in noisy and serious
strife. As the children grow older they gradually for-
mulate rules for their contests partly through imita-
tion of their elders and partly as the result of their own
experience. As with adults, the proper grip of the op-
ponent's body is an important point. " He caught him by
the waist, where he was w^eakest " is quoted as far back as
the Hildebrandslied. For throwing, it is often necessary
to slip the hand through the other's arms and give him
a sudden twist, or to place one arm on his neck and push
him backward. The legs, too, have their part to do.
Sometimes a boy is thrown across a projected knee, or a
leg is thrust outward to check the fall when the attempt
is made to throw sideways by lifting. Or the method
adopted by Odysseus in an extremity may be employed — •
a sudden blow" dealt at the bend of his opponent's knee
being the cause of his overthrow. Usually the fight ends
at this point,* but sometimes the tussling is continued
on the ground, as described above, and the playful charac-
ter is very apt to be lost. Sometimes it happens, on the
contrary, that the fight is over before either contestant
is thrown. I saw two boys wrestling, when one of them

* I remember a serious fight between two boys of about fifteen, in
■which the stronsrer was contend to throw the other over and over again
and quietly let him regain his feet.

176 THE PLAY OF MAN

was lucky enough to get a good grip on his opponent's
body, but the latter could bend his head back, where-
upon they desisted and called it a tie. There is often
an effort to take the enemy Unawares, as when a boy leaps
unexpectedly on his opponent's back, gives him a violent
push, or runs against him forcibly. Suddenly dousing
one another with water is another favourite if not very
pleasant youthful sport.

Prize fighting by adults seems to have been generally
practised in Europe as well as in other parts of the
world from remote antiquity. The ancient Egyptians
were zealous wrestlers. Among the Greeks, where the
art was extraordinarily developed, it often became brutal ;
breaking the fingers and throttling were allowed, and a
familiar sculptured group shows a cruel twisting of the
arms to hold down the thrown wrestler. Ring fighting
was practised by both boys and men among early Ger-
mans, as numerous ethnological remains demonstrate.
In Japan, prize fighting is as much a national sport as is
bull baiting in Spain. Bastian saw it in Burma, Ratzel
among the Eskimos, Indians, Hawaiians, etc., and other
observers in remote parts of the earth. Among the Bra-
zilian Bororo friendly contests are governed by the fol-
lowing rules : " To seize a man by his right wrist is a
challenge. The two contestants face one another, and
each places his hands on the other's shoulders or on the
small of the back. In this position they must stand with
bodies perfectly erect,* their feet wide apart, and each
looking toward the other's back. They maintain a good-
humoured silence for some time, and then suddenly be-
come very much in earnest, and make desperate efforts to
throw one another by tripping. One usually opens the at-
tack by thrusting one of his heels into the knee hollow of
his opponent and trying to bend it, but the other is pre-
pared, and sets his sturdy leg so far back that the effort is
fruitless. Attack and resistance on both sides follow in
rapid succession until one of the contestants falls."t

* In the fi?ht between Odysseus and Ajax the position of the contest-
ants was compared to the sidewise posture of two sparrins: dog's.

t Von den Steiuen, Unter den JS'uturvolken Central-Brasiliens, pp.
127, 383.

DIRECT PHYSICAL FIGHTING PLAY 177

Plere, too, is opportunity for the application of the wiles
practised by Odysseus when the mighty Ajax lifted him
off his feet.

"... Still his craft not deserted Odysseus :
He dealt a blow from the back and loosened the joint of his knee
So that backward he fell and Odysseus sank down above him
Eiglit on his broad chest. And the people around were amazed."

In von den Steinen's description of the Brazilian cus-
toms, the effort to pull down the head, mentioned above
in connection with childish wrestling, is dwelt upon as
the chief aim instead of the grip on the waist. " The con-
testants, representatives of different tribes, come foi*ward
in pairs, their bodies smeared with yellowish red uriiku,
and with black. They stoop, catch up a handful of sand,
and in a crouching jjosition, with hands hanging down,
they rapidly circle round each other, casting angry
glances at their opponents, and calling out threateningly,
' Huuha ! huuha ! ' Then one touches his right hand to
his adversary's left, and at this signal they all leap to
the attack, springing up and down as fast as possible on
the same spot, not unlike angry apes, each seeking to seize
and bend down the other's head. This violent exercise
goes on for some time without any direct attempt to
throw one another. They are very friendly after it is
over, and may be seen walking about with their arms
around each other's shoulders."

As a last example I quote Berlepsch's graphic descrip-
tion of the Schwingen as practised in the Swiss Alps.
Shirt and trunks are the only articles of clothing allowed,
and the latter expose half the thigh, and must be made
of stout, strong drilling. - Every man grasps with his right
hand the waistband of his opponent, and with his left the
rolled-up trouser leg, and now begin, either standing or
kneeling, violent efforts to overthrow one another. For
a complete conquest this must be accomplished twice.*
The struggle is especially exciting when the contestants
represent different valleys, and on them rests the respon-
sibility of maintaining the honour of their native place.

* Among the Greeks throwing three times was the rule.

178 THE PLAY OF MAN

" As soon as the two athletes have taken the proper grip
they sink on their right knees and withdraw the lower
part of the body as far as a good hold will permit. If one
has reason to fear that he is about to be lifted, he lies
flat down on his stomach and the other must follow suit.
In this unnatural position they torment one another for
half an hour at a time, writhing on the ground like
snakes, and stretching sinews and muscles until their
faces grow dark with the strain. If neither can manage to
overcome his opponent by endurance, superior strength,
or strategy, they at last voluntarily abandon the conflict,
utterly exhausted, and shake hands on their prowess, but
neither can claim a victory." * So-called tests of strength
are similar to this.f In pulling contests the attempt is
made to draw^ the opponent toward one, sometimes by
the hands — in the Bavarian mountains it is done by hook-
ing the middle fingers together — sometimes by seizing a
stick at its ends or across, sometimes with a rope, as the
Greek boys did, sometimes by a band around the neck,
which serves to strengthen the muscles of the back,^
and sometimes by hooking one knee of each together, so
that the contestants can only hop about on one foot
until the contest is decided. Another test of strength is
the pushing which children usually take up of themselves,
as many schoolroom benches could testify. In Japanese
contests pushing across a line seems to be a leading fea-
ture. Zettler gives the following description of it:
" Japanese prize fighters are trained to their profession
through centuries of inheritance from father to son, and
by every conceivable means calculated to produce perfect
specimens of their kind. In stature they are veritable
giants, not only in height but in the development of all
the limbs and masses of fat, which would not lead one to
expect special adroitness or muscular force. In their ring
contests the effort is made either to throw or to push
one another off the arena, which is an elevated circular
platform thickly strewn with sand and surrounded with

* H. A. Berlepsch, Die Alpen, p. 417.

+ Some of the suceeedine examples are taken from M. Zettler's article
on prize fifrhtinar in Euler's encykl. Plandbd. ares. Turnwesens.

X In Switzerland this play is called Ivatzenstriegel. Grown boys try
to pull each other over thresholds in this way.

DIRECT PHYSICAL FIGHTING PLAY 179

a double ring of straw. Whoever makes one step over the
edge is lost. Weight is of great use in this contest."
Children frequently make use of a combination of pull-
ing and pushing, which is really imitative play. One
child, for instance, takes his position on a sand heap
and defends himself against another who represents the
enemy storming his castle. From the well-nigh innu-
merable tests of strength we may select the following as
typical: The players stand with outstretched arms oppo-
site one another, seize hands and pull, or one stands firm
with stiffened arms while the other tries to stir him, or
they sit in such a way that the knees of one are caught
between those of the other, and the effort is made to
force the legs apart; or sometimes it is to open the
rolled-up fist, etc."'^

Fighting with fists leads the way to fighting with
weapons, though the rolled-up fist is used by the angry
child as a weapon earlier than the open hand. In play-
ful fighting, however, the blow with the fist is not much
used. Sometimes a little playful boxing is indulged in,
but it is difficult to keep within the bounds of play in a
fisticuff. Gymnastic exercises of this kind as practised
hj the Greeks and English are more important. Among
the former blows were aimed at the head, and, " to
strengthen the blow," says Fedde, " the fist and forearm
were wrapped with thongs of oxhide, which left the fingers
free to double up the fist. Later a strip or ring of hard
leather was added, which, as it was held around the ball
of the fist, inflicted severe wounds, being sometimes
studded with nails or lead knobs. The soft leather thongs
of earlier times were called friends (fieiXiyai), while the
dangerous knobs in later use received the name of bul-
lets ((T(f)alpai) , and. a specially cruel kind of gloves were
ants (fivpfirjKes).-]- That not only practised athletes used
these, and that they were donned in the playful contests of
mere boys, is proved by the speech of Lucien's Scythian,

* When Milon, of Croton. held an apple in his fineers, it was said to
he impossible to get the fruit away from him, or to bend even his little
finsrer.

t Fr. Fedde's article Griechenlaud, in C, Euler's encykl. Handb. d.
ges. Turnwesens.

180 THE PLAY OF MAN

Anacliarsis. " And those standing so straight there," he
says as he is observing the youthful sports, " beat one an-
other and kick with the feet. There is one who has been
hit on the chin, and his mouth is full of blood and sand,
and his teeth almost knocked out, poor fellow, and yet
the archon does not separate them and end the strife. On
the contrary, he urges them on and praises the one who
gives the blow." * Raydt says of English boxing : " An
English specialty in physical exercise is boxing, practised
methodically and with all possible skill. The fists are
incased in thickly wadded gloves, which render the blows
harmless, and a distinction is made between extreme
severity and lighter strokes, the tactics admitting of fell-
ing an opponent by the former or exhausting him with
the latter. The boxing which I have seen was carried on
in an orderly and decorous manner, and still I was con-
vinced that it is a very severe exercise, and should not
be introduced into the schools." f Regular boxing
matches, requiring seconds and an umpire, as they are
given by the students, are fought either to settle some
dispute — " Fighting with fists is the natural and English
way for English boys to settle their quarrels," is said in
Tom Brown's School Days — or as a spectacle for a large
audience to witness. In both cases it is fighting play only
when the belligerent instinct as such forms the chief mo-
tive, and when, too, the quarrel in one case, or the prize
offered and desire for self-display in the other, gives oc-
casion for the exercise of the fighting instinct. There
can be no doubt that this is often the case. Like our
own students, English youths often fight, not because
they have any quarrel, but because they seek one, because
they want to fight, and the strus'gle thus becomes not the
means but actually the end. The case is frequently the
same wdth prize fighting. Professional boxers at the be-
ginning of the nineteenth century were to a great extent
rough fellows, who were only after money, or at best
notoriety. But Conan Doyle has recently given us in
his Rodney Stone a masterly description of a blacksmith

* W. Richter. Die Spiele der Griechen und Romer, p. 38.
+ H. Ravdt, Ein gesunder Geist in einem gesunder Korper, Hanover,
1899, p. 102.

DIRECT PHYSICAL FIGHTING PLAY 181

who was a good husband and a skilful workman, yet
even in his old age could not resist an invitation to take
part in a public prize fight. What primarily influenced
this man was a deep-rooted manly enjoyment of fighting
for the fight's sake, and many Greek and English athletes
have felt as he did.

Another primitive method of fighting is by throwing
missiles; even monkeys throw stones, dry branches, and
fruit. Miss Romanes's ape was very sensitive to ridicule.
One day the tailoress came into the room, and a nut
was given to the monkey to open with his hammer, as
he knew how to do. The nut proved to be empty, and
the woman could not help laughing at the monkey's
blank expression. "He then became very angry, and
threw at her everything he could lay his hands on — first
the nut, then the hammer, then a coffee-pot, which he
seized out of the grate, and lastly all his own shawls.
He threw things with great force and precision by hold-
ing them in both hands and extending his long arms well
back over his head before projecting the missile, standing
erect the while." *

The child begins very early to throw things to the
ground, as we have seen, and seems to delight in watching
their motion as well as in the noise. Later the child turns
the skill thus acquired to the account of his fighting in-
stinct, and in this way genuine offensive throwing begins
as soon as he is able to tumble about alone. The en-
joyment is doubled when it becomes not only a question
of hitting the enemy, but of dodging his missiles as well.
The prettiest and most harmless form of such sport is
snowballing; but also fruit, cherry stones, clods of earth,
pebbles, hay in the meadows, pillows from the beds, etc.,
all serve the same purpose. Some games of ball, too, are
of a similar character. K. Weinhold tells us how he as a
boy played against his comrades with a six-pound cannon
ball. The wonder is that no bones were broken. "Less
fortunate," he continues, "were the islanders who in-
dulged in this mad folly, for in their case it was pun-
ished. On a holiday the contest between boatmen and

* G. J. Komanes, Animal Intelligence, p. 485.

182 THE PLAY OF MAN

landsmen was begun, and after several days the latter re-
tired as victors. The boatmen, stung by the taunts of
their conquerors, took counsel with their friend Hard
Grimkelssohn, who advised them to make balls of horn
and challenge the shore people to another game. That
evening six of the latter lay dead, while the boatmen lost
not a single man." "^ In many ball games, however, the
players do not themselves catch the ball, which is sent to
a base or home, as in the English game of football. Be-
hind each party is a base consisting of two upright posts
and a connecting rod, and each side endeavours to get the
ball over the other's base or to prevent such a result
when it threatens their own. This is a specialized form
of reciprocal mass contest, since the enemy is not at-
tacked in person, but the effort is made to wrest from
him a symbolic stronghold, as is common in mental con-
tests. There are many similar ball games — for instance,
baseball — where the ball is thrown by hand and its ana-
logue found among the Xorth American Indians; and
cricket, where a single player, armed with a bat, defends
the easily approached wicket.- The idea is carried fur-
ther when the ball which is thrown becomes the goal as
well, so that the same instrument is at once weapon and
symbol of the enemy. Playful pelting is indulged in in
carnival times, when berries and confetti are thrown
about promiscuously; in former times there were many
occasions for this lively sort of play. Travellers experi-
ence the primitive impulse which makes it hard for them
to resist the temptation to throw when in midsummer
they stand in a little snow field, and students are univer-
sally given to throwing beer mugs, in spite of its being
occasionally dangerous. The principle of returning offen-
sive missiles is not much applied in play, and yet I re-
member that as a boy I enjoyed shooting with bow and
arrow at another boy similarly armed. We stood about
fifteen feet apart and tried to hit each other with light
and harmless cane arrows. A still more innocent battle
was fought with popgun and berries.

It is doubtful whether children really play with

* Altnordisclies Leben, p. 294.

DIRECT PHYSICAL FIGHTING PLAY 183

thrusting weapons; they rather exercise than fight with
their wooden swords and spears, but when it comes to an
offensive use of the weapons play turns to earnest, and, as
with the young Goethe, ends disastrously in quarrelling
and blows. Boys who are much older engage in actual
fighting plays with such weapons, but it is left to the
students' duels to exhibit its highly developed form.
Some years ago the half-grown sons of a professor in a
university town went to a fencing hall and fought out a
regular contest in a perfectly friendly spirit, although it
was by no means bloodless. Many readers will no doubt
recall such incidents. Such contests between boys and
young men are very interesting, and in Germany we dis-
tinguish between them and real duels in that they are
playful, while the latter are brought about by some seri-
ous offence. That serious wounds sometimes result from
these fencing matches is no argument against their play-
ful character, for many games are dangerous, and these
contests certainly come within our definition of a play,
the satisfaction afforded by them being not in conquest
but in fighting as such. When, indeed, one student pro-
vokes another intentionally from dislike or anger, the
fighting which results is not a play; but the elaborately
arranged appointments and the fencing matches which
result from some remarks made, perhaps, in all courtesy,
though it may end in injury to one or both parties,
undoubtedly is of this character.* In the same way must
have been managed the jousts and tourneys of the middle
ages, the knightly combats of ancient Teutons, and
youthful trials at arms and many similar contests as prac-
tised by various peoples f where, so long as there is no
evidence of a quarrel, but only a natural demand to sat-
isfy an inborn impulse to fight, it is all playful. We
must not forget, however, that the desire for self-exhi-
bition, to display one's skill and courage, is also con-
spicuous.

This subject brings us to a question which I touched

* See E. V. Hartmann, Tasresfrasren, Leipsic, 1896, p. 135.

t A very interestins" example from ethnoloory is contained in the arti-
cle by W. Svoboda, T)ie Bewolmer des Nikobaren-Archipels. Intern.
Arch", f. Ethnogr., vi, 1893, p. 6,

184 THE PLAY OF MAN

upon in The Play of Animals. In reviewing the fight-
ing plays of animals we found that many mammals and
birds fight hotly in youth who seldom beard an enemy
in later life, habitually taking to flight when attacked.
The supposition in such cases must be that fighting play
serves as practice for the mating contest, since even the
peaceful ruminants engage in bitter combat with rivals.
This supposition granted, we may further assume that the
fighting plays of the fiercer animals are also connected
w^ith the sexual life, and may it not be true with men
as well? It is indisputable, of course, that human com-
bat with wild beasts and other enemies is often a struggle
for food and ownership, and accordingly, in considering
play as preparatory for serious fighting, its aim must be
considered as only partially sexual. Still, the connection
is sufficiently close to deserve a few words of mention.*
A great difference is observable in the tussling of boys as
they approach maturity. While the games of six-year-
olds are uniformly harmless, and proceed amid laughter
and fun, as the age of puberty approaches fighting play
assumes a much more serious character, and even when
only play is intended the whole bearing of the partici-
pants is greatly modified. Genuine make-believe, the in-
nocent measuring of strength, is no longer practised;
the youth desires to prove that he can play with danger,
too; he assumes an offensive and boastful air, and re-
gards each of his contemporaries as a rival. The inward
restlessness which characterizes this time of life is di-
rected by instinct toward belligerence, and every oppor-
tunity to fight is welcomed. It is at this time that the
weapons, properly blunted or otherwise rendered less
effective, may still be dangerous, for youths of all vigor-
ous peoples will engage in some kind of spirited combat.
Take, for example, the description of London boys, by
Fitz Stephen, who lived in the time of Henry II. We
find not only the nobility, but the merchant class as well,
exercising themselves at all times of the year in armed
contests, which, in spite of their playful character, often
had serious results. In the dead of winter, often on ice,

* We shall return to this subject in the consideration of love plays.

DIRECT PHYSICAL FIGHTIXQ PLAY 185

they assembled for this purpose, with staves for lances,
held jousts "from which they did not always escape un-
injured, for many were the legs and arms broken in the
fray. But the youths, in their desire for glory, delighted
in such practice, which served as a preparation for the
time when they should go to war." "*

While we are obliged to attribute a very general sig-
nificance to such dangerous indulgence of daring warlike
spirit, still we can not fail to trace its connection with
sexual life. Without the youth's necessarily knowing it,
there is something similar to the bellicose tendency ex-
hibited by animals in their pairing season, in the feeling
of rivalry which possesses him at this time. The same
thing is shown in the spirit of adventure, which at first is
only a general desire for change, and delight in struggle
and risk, but in its manifestations that are most closelj^
connected with play appears in many mediaeval knights in
close conjunction with courtship. " The heroic deeds of
adventurous knights," says Alwin Schultz, " should be
included in the category of fighting plays. Thus Ulrich
von Lichtenstein, in his open letter to all knights, prom-
ised to every knight who would break a lance with him
on his homeward journey from Venice to Bohemia a gold
ring for his sweetheart, and to any one wdio should un-
horse him the steed on which he rode; while in case he
himself came out conqueror all he required was that the
vanquished knight should pay homage to his lady."
Another knight, Waltman von Lattelstedt, took with him
on a ride from Merseberg to Eisenach a damsel on a
palfrey, having with her a sparrowhawk and a hunting
dog. " Waltman proclaimed that on his arrival at Eisen-
ach he would be ready to fight all comers, and that who-
ever should overcome him could have the girl, the palfrey,
the sparrowhawk, and even the dog and harness, but must
permit the girl to ransom herself if she chose with a
guilder and a gold ring. Whomsoever he should overthrow
must give to him, as well as to the maiden, a ring of
equal value. When she came back from Eisenach this
young girl had gold rings enough to bestow one on every

* Strutt, op. eit., p. 8.

1S6 THE PLAY OF MAN

maid of high degree in all the town of Merseberg." *
Such contests were more formidable with the North Ger-
mans. Among these warriors it was common for a hero
to travel to a distant land, and when a woman there
pleased him, to demand her surrender from husband or
father or brother in two weeks' time, the demand to be
supported in the lists.f

And finally it may be mentioned that the tourney,
which was at first practised chiefly as preparatory for
war, became later as often a contest for a woman. In
one English tilt the king promised the kiss of an eight-
year-old girl as the reward of success, and Eastern tour-
neys were often instituted to win the hand of a princess.:}:
What was there done with intention may often uncon-
sciously ground the various contests of young men.

2. Direct Menial Contests
The impulse to opposition is a quality which is usually
regarded as a very unpleasant disposition of mind, but
which is in reality, when kept within proper bounds, the
very leaven of human life. We shall see later that rivalry
taken in connection with the imitative impulse is one
of the mainsprings of advance of culture, and the opposi-
tional force connected with the fighting instinct is also
necessary for the mental development of mankind. The
great newcomers in the various departments of learning
are almost invariably either friendly or bitter opponents
of long standing authorities, and any project which meets
with no opposition sinks to sleep. For the individual,
too, it is quite as important, since a man without it would
be entirely too hospitable to suggestion; indeed, ab-
normal suggestibility rests finally on the suspension of
this instinct. Children early show a playful as well as an
earnest resistance to authority. While Sully is right
when he says that an attitude of absolute hostility to law
on the part of the child would make education impossible,
still he admits that the best children — from a biological

* Alwin Schultz, Das hotische Leben zur Zeit der Minnesinger, Leip-
sic, 1889. vol. ii, p. 118.

t K. Weinhold, Altnordisches Leben, p. 297.

X K. Weinhold, Geschichte der mensclilichen Ehe, Jena, 1893, p. 168.

DIRECT MENTAL CONTESTS 187

standpoint — have " most of the rebel " in them.* The
sweetness of forbidden fruit is imparted largely by the
combative instinct. Such a spirit is manifested play-
fully, not when disobedience is attended with cries and
struggles or sulky behaviour, but when it is enjoyed for
its own sake, as a source of triumphant satisfaction.
When a two-year-old child who has been told not to
throw his spoon under the table repeats the action, not
in anger but with twinkling eyes, he is acting playfully.
Some of their speeches, however, exhibit this spirit most
clearly. For instance, a small boy who had been rather
rough with his younger brother and was remonstrated
with by his mother, asked, " Is he not my own brother ? "
and then cried triumphantly, when his mother admitted
the undeniable fact, " Well, then, you said I could do
what I please with my own things ! " f Another child of
three years and nine months answered his nurse who
called him : " I can't come ; I have to look for a flea ! "
and pretended to be doing so while he broke out in a
roguish laugh.:j: A three-year-old Italian girl said to her
grandmother under similar circumstances, " Non posso
venire, la piccolina [her doll] mi succhia ! " *

With children of school age, playful resistance to au-
thority is naturally directed chiefly against the teacher.
As an example I regretfully recall a piece of mischief of
which I myself was guilty. I had looked back during a
recitation to speak to the boy behind me, when the teacher
called out to me to turn around. At that I turned around
so completely as to be able to continue my conversation
from the other side. The indulgent teacher was so
amused at my impudence that he did not punish me as I
deserved. Hans IToflman has shown in his Ivan the Ter-
rible how ill-mannered schoolboys can take advantage of
a teacher who does not possess the secret of command ; and
Carl Vogt says of his school days at the gymnasium:
" Study and work were for the majority secondary con-
siderations. Most of the boys staid there for the purpose
of tormenting their fellow-students and enraging their
teachers. By studying the peculiarities of character pos-

* Studies in Childhood, pp. 208, 269, 271, 274. f Ibid. X Ibid.

* Paolo Lombroso, oj). cit., p. 126.

188 THE PLAY OF MAN

sessed by our tyrants we soon found a weak side to each
of them and tried such experiments with these weaknesses
as their owners could not avenge by punishment. Thus
the whole school was leagued against the professoriat,
and now single combat or skirmishing, now slyly precon-
certed mass operations were for the time in favour, and
there were occasional truces, but no lasting peace." * E.
Eckstein's humorous sketches, too, are especially popular
because of their celebration of this warfare against the
teachers.

We have yet to notice adult opposition to political,
scientific, artistic, social, and religious authority. It is
of course usually serious, and yet it seems to me that
in spite of its practical side there is often something play-
ful in it, something of enjoyment of the conflict for its
own sake. The obstructionist in legislation, the oppo-
nents of time-honoured regulations, customs, doctrines,
rules of art and dogmas, all take, if they are born fighters,
a peculiar pleasure in the excitement of resistance to au-
thority. They like to blend their voices in the war cries
of spiritual combat. It is one of the pleasures of life.

Contradiction is another form of opposition. I once
snapped the fingers of my four-year-old nephew, Heinrich
Iv., for some misbehaviour. After he had been quiet for
a while, as was his habit, this dialogue passed betw^een us,
evidently soon becoming playful to the child : " Uncle, I'll
shut you up in a room so you can never get out." ^'' Oh,
I'll climb out of a window." " Then I will shut the
blinds." " But I will open them." " But I'll nail them
shut." " Then I'll saw a hole in the door." " But I'll
have an iron door, very strong." " Then I'll make a hole
in the floor." " But I will go underneath and make iron
walls to the whole house." And so it w^ent on until I
gave up the struggle with childish inventiveness. En-
joyment of such playful dispute often lasts a lifetime. As
a fourteen-year-old boy I once argued for hours with a
friend as to whether the beauty of colour was relative
or absolute. One of us contended that a blue embroid-
ered chair might be positively ugly, however attractive

* Carl Vogt, Aus meinem Leben, Stuttgart, 1896, pp. 70, 98.

DIRECT MENTAL CONTESTS 189

the colour, while the other maintained that the beauty of
the blue would make the chair admirable. I mention this
trivial example only because it shows so plainly the play-
ful character of such talk, for without any personal in-
terest in the matter we waxed warm over our respective
views and presented them with great energy. The heated
discussion gave us quite as much satisfaction as solving
the problem could have done; in fact, the charm of con-
versation is largely to be attributed to the enjoyment of
disputation. On examining closely into what constitutes
the attraction of such entertainment for us we find that
besides relating- and listening to anecdotes and gossip
about acquaintances (this is also play) our chief pleasure
is in more or less playful combating of opposite opinion.
People who have no interest or talent for these three
things are at a loss in society.

We now take up such intellectual contests as are com-
monly included in the lists of fighting plays, including the
solution of riddles, to which we alluded under experi-
mentation. The measuring of mental readiness between
individuals when the problem is given orally by a third
person, and this is the original and natural method, is a
genuine intellectual duel. It was a favourite entertain-
ment of the ancient Germans which Riickert has cele-
brated in his beautiful poem. Another form is the put-
ting of difficult questions alternately to opposed parties,
as in our modern spelling bee. There are examples of
this in the Eddas, such as the intellectual duels between
Odin and a giant, and between Thor and the dwarf Alvis.
Romantic troubadour songs belong here too. Uhland
and Riickert once engaged in a metrical debate as to
whether it is worse to find one's lover dead or faithless.
Uhland preferred death, while Ruckert attempted to sus-
tain the thesis " better false than dead." * Rivalry is
conspicuous in such contests, as we shall have occasion to
note later.

In our common forfeit games, too, mental contest

* See E. M. Werner, Lyrik und Lyriker, Hambur.cr, 1890, p. 220.
Ruckert and Uhland encfasred in another beautiful contest in which they
carried on a narrative alternately and in such a manner that each stanza
was intended to make the next one difficult.

190 THE PLAY OF MAN

often forms the basis of the fun. For instance, it is a
distinct attack and parry when a handkerchief is thrown
to a player and a word pronounced to which he must find
a rhyme. In English, where the spoken and w^ritten words
are so unlike, the spelling of unfamiliar words is turned
into a game; and another idea is to introduce into a
story some object or incident suggesting the name of
one of the players, whereupon he must continue the re-
cital, passing it on to another in the same w^ay. Or a
passage from some great author may be cited and his
name guessed, and many similar devices. Finally, we
mention the important group of plays for which the
stimulus is partly intellectual experimentation, but is
primarily attributable to the combative instinct, such as
board and card games, both of which are symbolic of
physical contests in which the players appear as leaders
of opposing forces and originators of strategic operations.
A genuine battle ground is afforded by the board, and the
great object is to have the right man in the right place
at the right time. In cards strategy is exhausted in the
choice of the right champion at the right moment, but
is rendered much more difficult by the fact that the
former contestants have disappeared from view, while the
reserve is concealed. Thus it results that board games
afford opportunity for the display of skill in arrangement
and card games especially cultivate memory, while both
are important promoters of the logical faculty and of
imaginative foresight." An important distinction be-
tween them is that in board games the strength of the
contestants is exactly equal at the start, and the naaterial
chances are identical, while in cards inequality is the rule.
Board plays (the name is not very fortunate, for the
battlefield is by no means always a board) are older and
more generally distributed than the others. When Laza-
rus points out reasoning games in distinction from games
of chance as indicative of a higher state of culture f he
can not be referring to board games in general, since some
of the lowest and most savage tribes indulge in them.
There are three distinct varieties of these plays. In the

* See Lazarus, Die Reize des Spiels, pp. 88, 89. t Ibid.

DIRECT MENTAL CONTESTS

191

first kind one, or possibly two, stand opposed to a large
party, but the conditions are equalized by the rule that
all the party must act together while the smaller side is
rendered more formidable by various advantages, such
as greater freedom of motion and capacity for lying in
wait and taking prisoners. The object is to dislodge the
single fighter from his stronghold and cut off his retreat,
or to surround him in the open field and
take him captive. The prototype of the
former is the beleaguered fortress, and of
the latter combats with dangerous beasts
of prey. The Malay Eiman-Riman, or
Tiger-play, is a good example of the latter.
The arena is somewhat of this form and
appearance, the figure being simply traced
on the sand, or stamped with red and white
on boards or cloth. The single player has
twenty-four stones, the men, orang-orang.
The other players have a single large one
or sometimes two, the tiger, riman. The tiger is gov-
erned by fixed rules, and the men seek to pen him up so
that he can not move.*

In the second kind the parties, being numerically
equal, stand opposed as in checkers, where a hot struggle
goes on to get three men in a row — at least this is one
of the simplest forms of the game as described by Ovid.
Among German antiquities there is a representation of
two men with a board set with stones. Schuster at least
considers this a game similar to checkers.f And besides,
there are groups engaged in the Damen-Spiele, which was
probably known to the ancient Egyptians as well as the
Greeks and Romans, although we can not be certain as
to the rules of these ancient games, ttoXis, ludus latrnn-
culorum. In mediaeval times elaborately ornamented
boards were used for this game. " Especially notewor-
thy," says Weinhold, " is one that is used as a reliquary
on the altar at Asschaffenburg. It is set with* jasper and
beryl crystals, beneath which various figures are inlaid in

* K. Plischke, Kurze Mittheilung
Intern. Arch. f. Ethnocrr., iii (1890).
t n. M. Schuster, Das Spiel, p. 2,

liber zwei maylayische Spick

192 THE PLAY OF MAN

the Roman manner on a gold ground." * Biittikofer
brought with him from Liberia a very interesting ethno-
logical specimen, almost unique in character. The game
played in that region does not require a board or other
flat surface, but wooden cases into which
rods are inserted like arrows in a quiver.
This represents the placing of the men
on a board. Each player has ten rods, of
which only four are placed at the begin-
ning of the game. The dots in the cut
show their position. The object is to get
into the enemy's country by judicious
jumping, the reserve ammunition being placed as occasion
requires until the supply is exhausted.f Another form of
this kind of game is the Oriental Mangale, which is now be-
coming quite general.:!: In Damascus, where, according to
Petermann, it is constantly played in all the coffee houses,
a board two feet by six inches is used. It is over an inch
thick and has in its upper side two parallel rows of holes,
seven in number in Damascus; other places have six,
eight, or nine. In these holes tiny pebbles, gathered in
a particular valley by pilgrims to Mecca, are laid; usually
seven in each. The player removes the stones from the
■first depression on his right, and throws them one by one
toward the left and into the holes on his opponent's side.
This play is kept up under certain rules and conditions,
of course, and with the aid of much counting * of win-
nings, and whoever gets the most stones has the game.||
In concluding we must not fail to notice the noblest of all
board games, chess, which, on account of the great variety
of men employed and their complicated moves, is the
most difficult of games, as well as the most entertain-

* K. Weinhokl, Die deutsehen Frauen im Mittelalter, vol. i, p. 115.

t J. Biittikofer, Einisres liber die Eingeboren von Liberia. Intern.
Arcli. f. Ethnogr., i aSSS).

X Accordintf to Andree it is played in Arabia and a large part of
Africa. The Berlin Mu.«eum has such boards from various African dis-
tricts, notably one from central Africa, with two rows of six holes and a
carved head on the end.

# See R. Andree, Ethnogr. Parall. u. Versr. Neue Folge, p. 102. Peter-
mann's description, which I have not fully transcribed, seems to me to be
deficient in that it does not make clear how the reckoningr is kept.

jl II. Petermann, Reisen ira Orient, Leipsic, 1860, vol. i, p. 162.

DIRECT MENTAL CONTESTS 193

ing. Many are of the opinion that hjome ancient games
are of the same character, but it is probable that real
chess is of Indian origin, whence it spread to the Per-
sians and Arabians, and through them into northern
Africa, Sicily, Sardinia, and Spain. In the last-named
country we hear of it as early as the ninth century, and
it appeared in Italy and Germany certainly not later than
the eleventh, soon becoming the favourite game of the
educated classes. This is proved by the fact that in a
book of sermons published in the latter half of the thir-
teenth century one Jacobus de Cessoles, a Dominican,
attempts to set forth a system of rules for right living
founded on the rules of the ludus scaccorum.^ The game
has naturally undergone many changes in the course of
time; for instance, the Arabians originally had elephants
in the place of our bishops; but it has always preserved
the character of a battle, and is so represented in old
Arabian manuscripts.f

Our third group of board plays is comprised of those
which add the attraction of chance to intellectual enjoy-
ment of the contest. It is true that to a certain degree
chance is an element in the purest games of reason, since
the most skilful player can not foresee all the conse-
quences of a move, and various uncontrollable influences f
may interfere with the best-laid plans; but in the games
which we are now considering there is a blending of risk
with calculation, which has a peculiar charm. Perhaps
the most familiar game of this kind is backgammon,
which was certainly known to the Greeks and Romans,
and possibly to the Egyptians and Phoenicians. In this
game and kindred ones the object is to throw away men
whose value is determined chiefly by chance, while the
advance to advantageous points is a matter of calculation,
thus affording a combination of direct and indirect fight-
ing. Backgammon is of peculiar ethnologic interest be-
cause of the prominent part it plays in the controversy

* See A. V. d. Linde, Geschichte und Litteratur des Scliachspiels,
Berlin, 1874, vol. i, note 2.

+ 8ee T. v. d. Sasa, Zur Geschichte und Litteratur des Schachspiels,
Leipsic, 1897, p. 10.

X J. Schaller, Das Spiel und die Spiele, p. 247.

194: THE PLAY OF MAN

as to whether Asiatic influence is traceable in primitive
American civilization. E. B. Tylor has stated in several
passages * that a kind of backgammon played on a cruci-
form board is a favourite amusement of the East Indians,
and is called by them Patschisi (in Burmah: Patschit),
and a very similar form of the game was known to the
pre-Columbian Mexicans under the name of Patolli.
Tylor considers the complicated nature of the game as a
sufficient disproof of its independent origin, and from
this, and a certain kinship to chess which is apparent in it,
he concludes that the whole group of games furnishes an
important argument in favour of Asiatic influence on
American life before the Lime of Columbus.

Dominoes may serve as the connecting link between
such games as we have been considering and card games,
since the lack of a prescribed field, the concealed store of
each player, and the chance distribution at the begin-
ning, as well as the acquisition of new ammunition dur-
ing the game are common features. Plajdng cards are
supposed to be a comparatively recent invention of the
Chinese, which, like chess, was carried into Spain by the
Saracens, and thence spread all over Europe in the four-
teenth century. Many are of the opinion that they are a
modification of chess, and in fact the oldest game known
to be played with them is one of the most complicated
that we have — namely, Taroc, which requires seventy-
eight cards. It was played in Bologna in the beginning of
the fifteenth century.

Since the victory in card games is not won by virtue
of the position of the cards, but by their succession and
value, the faculty of memory is largely concerned, as
victor and vanquished at once disappear and the men yet
unengaged are concealed. This and the inequality of
the players' forces at the beginning constitute the dis-
tinguishing feature of cards. Lazarus's penetrating
glance has descried the point which differentiates the

* E. B. Tylor, On the Game of Patolli in Ancient Mexico and its
probably Asiatic Oriafin. Jour, of the Anthrop. Instit., vol. viii (1878).
(^n American Lot Games as evidence of Asiatic intercour.se previous to
the time of Columbus. Internat. Archiv. f. Ethnogr., supplement to vol.
ix (1896), p. 55.

DIRECT MENTAL CONTESTS 195

various games, placing them in the varying relation of ac-
cident and calculation. " Not all games," he says, " are
alike in this. There are some in which chance is pre-
dominant— as poker, for example, or the new game of
bluff, so popular in America, where so much depends on
the dealing, and the play is not so much a calculation as
an attempt to exhaust one's opponent. . . . The stronger
games, however, such as whist, Boston, I'hombre, solitaire,
piquet. Skat, euchre, etc., depend on the sustained influ-
ence of both chance and calculation. After the cards
are once distributed calculation begins, but chance con-
tinues to be powerful,^ for at every play a new card enters
into the combination and must be given its due weight,
whether from the hand of friend or enemy. This is more
obvious in the cases where the original force is recruited
by drawing from the pack; yet even here attentive fol-
lowing of the progress of the game Avill furnish data for
determining the probable situation of a third card, and
thus, after all, skill has as much to do with it as chance.
And in such a game as whist en deux in which all the cards
are dealt, and each player knows exactly the strength of
his opponent, the whole thing depends on calculation, and
consequently is not so attractive. It would be a game of
chess with cards but for its inferiority in variety and
combination." f Lazarus goes on to say why chance is
indispensable in card games — namely, because, as there is
no such thing as space combination, the monotony would
be wearisome, and continued playing well-nigh impossible.
Without Fortune's reverses, too, the games would neces-
sarily be begun with equal forces, and it is easy to see
how little enthusiasm such games would excite. Only in
connection with chance, then, can Reason find in cards
a task worthy of her powers, and, indeed, a small prize
is a stimulus sometimes needed to keep up our interest.
This may be a suitable place to mention that it was for-

* See, too, in this connection J. Schaller, Das Spiel und die Spiele,
p. 239.

t Lazarus, op. cit., p. 98. I differ totally from Lazarus'.s unwarranted
conclusion that in some card grames, where tlie cards are distributed
accidentally, the chief stimulus is in the " battle of reason against
chance."

196 THE PLAY OF MAN

merly the custom to play for money or some stake with
all games of chance and even with chess.

I close this review of contests w^hich are purely intel-
lectual with two brief remarks, the first of which con-
cerns the invention of board games. It is difficult to
find a perfectly satisfactory answer to the question of
their origin. However, their complication points to
adults rather than children as their probable inventors,
and to me the following consideration seems important:
The primitive races, who find it difficult to convey their
thoughts in speech, naturally take to marking on the sand,
and hence the figures might arise." If the leader of one
of the more intelligent peoples wished to instruct them
concerning some past or future combat, it would be a
simple method of illustrating his meaning to draw an out-
line on the ground and represent the position of the
hostile forces by small stones or similar objects whose
movements would symbolize the manoeuvres of the forces
or the advances of knights for single combat. This would,
no doubt, be exceedingly interesting to those conducting
it, and also to the spectators, and might easily be repeated
for the sake of the amusement afforded until some inven-
tive genius turned it into a veritable play with board and
men. To show that there is nothing improbable in this
supposition we may point to the fact that such play is
actually carried on by our own officers (Italian, manovra
sulla carta).

The second remark relates to the pleasurable quality
of games involving use of the reasoning faculty. We
have already shown that play with reason takes the form
of experimentation with imagination and the other intel-
lectual faculties in their capacity of illusion workers as
well as in their more constructive activity; now we find
further that its recreative effect is much greater than is
realized during the progress of the game, and that the con-
sciousness of standing voluntarily in a world of our own
creation may be a feature in the interest excited by the
game.f The chief source of satisfaction, however, is enjoy-

* See V. d. Steinen, Unter den Katurvolkern Zentral Brasiliens. p. 230.
t Op. cit., pp. 90, 102-109. Lazarus treats exhaustively of this syrn-

DIRECT MENTAL CONTESTS 197

ment of the fight, in the playful intellectual duel, where
bold attack and skilful parry, systematic advance and
stubborn resistance, crafty manoeuvring and direct as-
sault, single combat and the general skirmish, as well as
pursuit and demolition, succeed one another in ever-
renewed combinations. In those games which add the
charm of uncertainty to the mental contest the effect is
of course still more complicated. As 1 shall have occasion
later to speak exhaustively of games of chance, I confine
myself here to Lazarus's significant conclusion from the
union of these contrasted forces. " That men, and, in-
deed, the same man can take pleasure in such opposite
and absolutely contradictory principles of play seems
wonderful, and yet it is most natural, for both are ele-
ments of human nature grounded in the very essence of
his being and the normal manner of using his powers. In
his serious, moral life, directed by the mandates of duty,
he is also controlled by two contrary forces, freedom and
necessity. He must bow to Fate and yet strive and strug-
gle for what is his own. He expends his energies accord-
ing to his own behests, and must then await success
and reward till the turn of Fortune's wheel. Both disap-
pointment and struggle, receiving and expending, suffer-
ing and toiling, are woven into the texture of his life
and character, and become the sources of his volition
as well as the arbiters of his fortune. He obeys both
forces; to pursue and hold to what is good is his dual
impulse, both in life and in play." *

3. Physical Bivalry
In playful competition indirect conquest of an op-
ponent is aimed at, since the effort is to show that one
can perform the task better than another. In it the
fighting instinct assumes the form of rivalry. " No en-
treaties or commands," says Lazarus, " nor even tips, could
arouse our coachman to such a display of skill and speed
as could another coachman who showed a disposition to
race wdth him. Apart from the fighting instinct itself,

holic significance of play and likens it to the symbolism of music, which
may be effective without clear consciousness of it on the part of the
subject. . * Ibid., p. 91.

198 THE PLAY OF MAN

jealousy is the prime cause of rivalry. Spinoza defines
it as " the desire for a thing aroused in us by the be-
lief that others want it." One of the first manifestations
of jealousy in children is with regard to the love and
caresses of its parents; we all know at what an early age
the infant expresses his disapproval when his mother pets
another child — sometimes as early as the second quarter.
If he shows it simply as anger he is plainly jealous, as older
children are; but if (as a dog often does when the hand
he loves strokes another) he tries to win to himself by
all sorts of cajoleries the maternal tenderness, then he
enters upon a sort of rivalry. True emulation, however,
is first developed when the aim is to win approbation and
admiration when iDraise rather than love is the alluring
reward — in short, when the child becomes ambitious.
Say to a three- or four-year-old boy, " Your friend Otto
can draw beautifully," and it is ten to one that he will
answer, " But I can draw better." This desire to sur-
pass others is what leads to the indirect contest which we
call rivalry.

Imitation, too, plays the part of a first cause here,
as Spinoza points out in pursuance of his definition of
emulation. As, however, this subject will come up for
discussion later, let it sufiice to say here that imitation is
exceedingly important for all mental and physical de-
velopment, and is accordingly especially conspicuous in
the play of children. The effort to say " I can, too," easily
takes on a certain hostile character when there is dif-
ficulty in attainment, and so imitation becomes actual
rivalry as soon as the effort is for " I can do better,"
and the struggle becomes sharper in proportion to the
consciousness of a desire to surpass. Thus we are justi-
fied in regarding the impulse of jealousy which is related
to the fighting instinct as the foundation of rivalry as
well.

Before going on to investigate this playful rivalry it
may be useful to inquire into its social significance. G.
Tarde, in his interesting sociological study, Les lois de
I'imitation,* attempts to prove that imitation is the main-

* Second edition, Paris, 1895.

PHYSICAL RIVALRY 199

spring of social evolution. But along with the peaceful
operations of imitation, the fighting instinct, too, makes
itself felt in manifold ways, as a principle of progress (as
I remarked above in discussing combativeness), in con-
junction it is true with imitation and usually under the
form of rivalry. It is evident that social progress would
be slow indeed if men only imitated and never opposed
what is done in their presence. Rivalry in ownership,
power, and authority is the force which urges each to
do his utmost in the struggle for life, and which has
produced the most advanced civilizations. A people with-
out ambition is lost; not merely stationary, but actually
decadent. As in art bald imitation of even the best
models results in weakness, so in society. Men must
will to do better in order to do as well.

In spite of their variety we can very quickly review the
physical imitative games, since under movement-plays we
have already noticed a considerable number belonging to
this class, and since it is their psychological side alone
that chiefly appeals to us. The following examples, then,
are merely chosen to show by means of their variety the
great importance of imitation in human play."^ Chil-
dren learn most of their bodily movements by such play
in a way which clearly illustrates the mingled effects of
imitation and emulation. When one child jumps off the
second step, another child who sees him immediately tries
to cover three; and when boys are practising their leaps
each makes a mark in the sand beyond the others as his
goal. To lift a heavier weight, to throw farther, to run
faster, to jump higher, to make a top spin longer, to
stay longer under water, to shoot higher, farther, and
with better aim than his comrades can, is the burning
wish of every childish heart. In order to see the same
enthusiastic rivalry in physical prowess exhibited by
adults, we must turn to the half-civilized peoples to
whom such acquirements are of surpassing value in
the struggle for life. Among the ancient Germans, for

* Playful rivalry is quite rare among animals, and for that reason it
was not considered in my former work. It is only durina" courtship that
animals engage in such contests, which are accordingly included under
courtship plays.

200 THE PLAY OF MAN

example, such contests were carried to the highest de-
gree of perfection, and, in spite of their avowedly play-
ful character, conducted with such seriousness that they
often became matters of life and death. Skill, prowess,
and endurance in leaping, running, lifting and throw-
ing huge stones, the use of bow and arrow, diving
and swimming, riding and rowing, were all the subjects
of contest, and each victor sought to surpass the
achievements of the former one. All warlike peoples of
whom ethnology is cognizant show much the same pic-
ture, and highly civilized nations, too, accord an im-
portant position to athletic contests, as the Greek and
Koman games bear witness, as well as the championships
and records of our own day. Rivalry enters, too, into
such games as tenpins, billiards, croquet, golf, etc., all
of which are favourite amusements. The pleasure they
afford is complicated, including display of one's own
strength and skill, the pleasure of watching others, the
stimulus of rivalry and the satisfaction of overcoming
an opponent. Sometimes, and especially in croquet and
billiards, the contest closely approaches fighting play,
since the participants not only try to attain the object
of the game, but are apt to engage in direct hostili-
ties.

We now turn to some examples that are better cal-
culated to exhibit the many-sidedness of rivalry, which is,
of course, an element in all the games of skill which we
have mentioned. We are not so well prepared to find it
in games requiring patient effort, yet even the Eskimos,
in their Fadenfiguren, indulge in fierce emulation,* and
a play as peaceful as kite-flying is not exempt. " The
Hervey Islanders believe that once the god Tane chal-
lenged the god Kongo to a kite-flying contest, in which
the latter won because his cord was longer." f In drink-
ing there is rivalry in the effort to withstand the power
of alcohol, and students have a time-honoured tradition
that the man is a fine fellow and worthy of all respect
who can drink the rest of the company under the table.
It is more charitable to attribute this practice to rivalry

* E. Andree, Ethnogr. Farall. u. Vergl., pp. 95, 96. t Ibid.

PHYSICAL RIVALRY 201

rather than to love of drunkenness.* The instance of the
two boys holding burning matches illustrates how readily
the ability to suppress any manifestation of pain lends
itself to rivalry. The old Germans tested their endur-
ance by sitting at feasts after their battles, and when
they were covered with wounds. In a grotesquely exag-
gerated saga it is related of the wounded sons of Thor-
brand : " Thorodd got such a blow in the neck that his
head hung sideways; his hose were all bloody and would
not meet. Snorri could see and feel that a sword was
sticking in his thigh, but Thorodd said nothing. Among
the gayest of the gay is Snorri, son of Thorbrand, who
sits with the others at table, but eats little and looks
white. When asked what ails him he says, ' When the
vulture has won the fight he is not in haste to eat.' Then
Gode looks at his neck and finds an arrow head at the
root of his tongue." f The jeering of Walthar and Hagen,
who vie with one another in mocking at their wounds,
is another case in point. Finally, the passion for making
collections, which is so strong in both children and adults,
may be considered as a form of competitive rivalry which
reaches its climax in the miser.

4. Mental Rivalry

The space devoted to the more general kinds of emu-
lation has purposely been curtailed in order to devote
more to the special case of gaming, as much of the ground
has been covered already.

Children are fond of displaying their mental acquire-
ments even before they are old enough to go to school,
but it is there, of course, that the best opportunity is
afforded them. Colozza tells us how the Italian children
use their recess time for contests over the multiplication
tablet During school hours recitation is easily trans-
formed to emulation which can be turned to account by

* The Eclipses Politico-Morales draws the picture of a fashionable
lady of the early eicrhteenth century. She says: ''We have our sprees
in spite of the inen ; we dance and carouse the whole nio-ht Jonsr. . . .
We smoke and chew tobacco and make Ava.crers about theni."' A. Schultz,
Alltaffsleben einer deutschen Fran, etc., p. ISfi.

+ K. Weinhold, Altnordisches Leben, p. 315,

X Colozza, op. cit.., p. 85.

202 THE PLAY OF MAN

the judicious teacher with better results than are attained
by one who tries to draw the line too rigidly between work
and play.

The intellectual rivalries of adults are exceedingly
varied. Music offers unlimited opportunities when peo-
ple are far enough advanced to have any sort of society,
and even primitive tribes indulge in this sort of enter-
tainment. Among the Eskimos the contestants compete
in public for the prize for singing, and then fall into
actual combat, thus combining the two forms of rivalry.
Grosse quotes from Rink the following musical dialogue
between two East Greenlanders. " Savdlat : ' The south,
the south, oh, the south over there! As I stood on the
headland I saw Pulangitsissok, who had grown fat upon
halibut. The people of this land know not how to speak.
Therefore they are ashamed of their language. They
are dumb over there ; their speech is not like ours. In the
north we speak in one way, different from those in the
south. Therefore we can not understand their talk.' " To
this challenge Pulangitsissok responds : " ' There was a
time, as Savdlat knows, when I was a good sledger, when
I could take a heavy load on my kajak. Four years
ago he found this out. That was the time when Savdlat
bound his kajak to mine for fear he might capsize. Then
he could carry a good load on his kajak, too. As I was
tugging along you cried out pitifully, and were afraid
and almost overturned. I had to hold on to my ropes
to keep us up.' " * Such sarcastic dialogue often leads to
direct contests, in which the singers try to rout one
another by means of their witty improvisations. A
later form is the contest in oratory and song on an as-
signed theme, opening with a direct challenge between
the contestants. The poem of Wartburg-Krieg is
especially famed, while Plata's symposium may be in-
stanced as a fine example of competitive oratory on a
given theme.

Other kinds of rivalry frequently arise in social gath-
erings, such as recounting experiences in love, hunting,
and battle, as was pre-eminently the custom among the

* Grosse, Die Anfange der Kunst., p. 231.

MENTAL RIVALRY 203

ancient Germans. " One after another," says Welnhold,*
*' boasted of his prowess and sought to prove it by tales
of his wonderful deeds. To heighten the effect, each chose
an opponent worthy of his mettle. Thus it happened
that Eystein and Sigurd, the crusader, both Norwegian
kings, once had a controversy in court. Eystein advanced
the proposition that it was impossible to live aright in
society, and called on his brother to sustain the contrary.
Then the travelled warrior Sigurd, who had filled all lands
with the fame of his deeds, and the peace-loving, home-
staying Eystein, each related what he had done and could
do: the one his battles, his fame in the East; the other
that he had built huts for poor fishers, made roads over
rugged mountains, opened harbours, widened Christen-
dom, and strengthened the Church — in short, extended his
kingdom by every peaceable method. The talk became
warm, and the silence which followed was ominous, but
as they were both noble-hearted no harm came of it."
Very characteristic, too, is the Harbardhslied in the
Edda, where the gods Wotan (under the name Harbardh)
and Donar emulously recount their achievements :

Donar : " Do you ask what I did to Eungner,

The giant with sturdy lieart and head of stone i

I felled him then, he lies at my feet.

And what did you, Harbardh, the while ? "

JIarbardh : " For more than live full winters

Was I on an island that is called Allgriin ;
There I found men to tight and enemies to fell,
Many tilings to prove, and many maids to free," etc.

Singing the praise of one's future deeds is another
form of such boasting. A company of carousing men
have need of a wild boar or some other sin offering to
go through their midst as they perjure themselves with
oaths concerning the hazardous and difficult deeds which
they mean to perform.

Before taking up games of chance again I mention
once more the fact that many reasoning games are also
rivalries — dominoes, for example, and backgammon f —

* Weinhold. Altnordisches Leben, pp. 462, 463.

t Many of the new games for children which appear every year are
simply modifications of backgammon.

204 THE PLAY OF MAN

since the chief effort is to reach a certain goal first and
direct efforts are made to embarrass and retard the adver-
sary, so that genuine fighting play results.

In chance games proper, however, the contestants do
not attack one another directly, but seek to conquer by
the better solution of some problem, the point of de-
parture from other rivalries being that the reward of solu-
tion, at least in games of pure chance, is entirely acci-
dental, and not dependent on the player's strength or skill.
We will now attempt to review the more important
phenomena connected with such games, and later study
the question in its psychological bearings.

The wager is akin to play with chance and arises from
the holding of opposite opinions, which can only be
settled by future events. Even if the bet concerns some-
thing which is past or present, still the decision must
be in the future, and the fighting element comes in in
the striving of each to prove his superiority, the inter-
est being much enhanced by pooling the stakes. The
bettor's conviction as to the correctness of his opinion
may be strong or weak * — absolute certainty destroys the
validity of the bet, while absolute uncertainty makes it a
mere game of chance, whereas it should depend, like the
best card games, on a union of reasoning and hazard. For
this reason future events are the proper subjects of the
wager, and we will confine ourselves for brevity's sake to
such bets. Schaller says rightly : " The future is pre-emi-
nently the object of conjecture, of the reckoning of proba-
bilities. Even when present circumstances seem to tend
inevitably to a certain result, there are still infinite pos-
sibilities that other results may transpire. Therefore the
wager should concern something yet to come." f

One of the earliest forms of betting was on physical or
mental superiority, and the stakes formerly so common in
reasoning games may be regarded in the same light. There
was much betting on the victor in the old German riddle
contests and life itself was sometimes staked, if we may
depend on the ancient accounts. More often, though,

* When it is known in advance that the chances are unequal it is
common to make the stakes so as well, sometimes ten to one, or a cow to
a hen, etc. t J. Schaller, p. 269.

MENTAL RIVALRY 205

physical prowess was the subject of the wager. " Indeed,
Tacitus may be right," says Schuster, "when he records
that the Germans disdained to be praised for ordinary
physical vigour, yet they gave prizes to the victors in
their contests and liked to claim the glory when it set
them above others. Reputation with them must not be
mere empty words; one must work for it to the full ex-
tent of his powers. Many examples illustrate this spirit ;
for instance, Welent and Amilias, the smiths, each boasted
that he could not be surpassed in his art. The latter
offered to bet on it, and Welent replied, ' I have not
much property, but I will stake it all.' Then said Amilias,
* If you have nothing else, stake your head, and I will
stake mine, and whichever of us is the better man shall
cut the other's head off.' Two of Olaf Trygvason's re-
tainers boasted of being superior mountain climbers, one
wagering his ring on it, and the other his head." * Schus-
ter cites, too, the famous contest in the Xibelungenlied, to
which Brunhild thus challenges King Gunther:

" She said : If lie is your lord and you are in his hire,
Tell him that I have sworn that whoever can resist my play,
And prove himself my master there, him will I wed,
"While if I win you must go alone from hence."

Fable makes animals wager in the same way; the old
tale of the hare and the hedgehog is found even in Africa,
although there the hedgehog has become a tortoise.f

The stakes are not always, however, on one's owm abil-
ity, but quite as often on the performances of others, or on
the speed and endurance of animals. This is indeed the
most popular form of the sport, doubtless because the
agreeable tension of expectation is thus prolonged until
the very moment of the denouement, as it is not likely to
be in the more personal contests. In riding, rowing, sail-
ing, and running contests spectators, as well as partici-
pants, bet on the result.^: Betting on races," says E. v.

* Schuster, op. c/t.. p. 9.

+ A. Seidel, Gescliichten und Lieder der Africaner, p. 162. See
Globus, vol. Ixvii (1895), p. 387.

I The two Englishmen who placed two snails on a table and bet high
stakes on which would reach the other side of it first furnish a fine
instance of this kind. M. Schuster, Das Spiel, p. 216. The English

206 THE PLAY OF MAN

Hartmann, " is the most dangerous and exciting form of
gambling, being dependent purely on chance, and yet offer-
ing a false appearance of being essentially influenced by
intelligence and judgment. The custom is fostered of
raising the stakes at the last moment under the influence
of artificial stimulation to interest during the race itself.
Immature boys, sons of respectable labourers, are thus
initiated in the fascinations of the passion for gaming who
would otherwise have little inclination for it." * In vari-
ous parts of the world wagers are laid on the result of
fights between animals. In ancient Greece gamecocks were
bred with special care, and Tanagra, Rhodes, Chalcis, and
Delos were famous for the achievements of their respec-
tive breeds. The birds were fed with garlic before the
fight to augment their excitement, and were armed with
artificial spurs. The stakes were often enormous.f Cock-
fights in which betting seemed to be the principal feature
were held during the middle ages in most European cities,
and in some localities have survived to the present day.
Malays are especially devoted to this sport. It only re-
mains to add in conclusion that lifeless things, too, may
be the subject of bets. The Gilbert Islanders set two
sailboats, about four feet long, afloat, and bet as to which
will sail fastest. t This is very near to being play with
pure chance, and the wager of Canning with an English
duke is even more so. They staked a hundred pounds on
the question of who should meet most cats on a certain
road.

There is but one opinion as to the origin of games
of pure chance — namely, that they grew out of the seri-
ous questioning of Fate in the form of oracles, and colour
is given to the theory by the custom of jesting with the
oracle. The Greek custom of pouring wine into a metal
cup and from the sound it made reading one's prospects
in love, drawing straws — a practice which Walther von der
Vogelweide has made famous — the various flower oracles,

have always been and especially at the beginning of tliis century famous
for their bets.

* Tagesfragen, p. 162.

t Guhl und Koner, Das Leben der Griechen und EGmcr, Berlin, 1864,
p. 354.

X R. Parkinson, Beitrilge zur Ethnologic der Gilbert-lnsulaner.

MENTAL RIVALRY 207

counting the cuckoo calls, observing the flight of birds —
as, for example, how many times the kite circles — and
many other such customs * were originally conducted seri-
ously, with a view to gaining some knowledge of the
future, and even when playfully practised smack of super-
stition. Tylor says, in his admirable study of this sub-
ject : " Soothsaying and games of chance are so closely
allied that the instruments of each are used interchange-
ably, as among the clever Polynesian magicians cocoa-
nuts are skilfully rolled about in a circle. In the Tonga
Islands the chief use made of a holiday is to inquire
whether the sick will be cured. They offered loud prayers
to the family deity that he would place the nuts aright,
then spun them, and from their position judged of the
god's will. Under other circumstances, when the cocoa-
nuts are rolled simply for amusement, no prayer is
offered and no significance attached to the result. The
Rev. G. Turner found the same custom in the Samoan
Islands in another stage of development. There a com-
pany sits in a circle, the nuts are rolled about among
them, and the oracle's answer depends on whether the
monkey face of the nut is turned toward the questioner
when it stops rolling. The Samoans formerly used this
method to detect a thief, but now it is a forfeit game." f
In this sort of play with chance there is nothing special
at stake, yet it is no doubt closely connected with those
forms which have this feature.

Another of the earliest of the manifold forms of
chance games is the casting of lots. New Zealand wizards
decide the fortunes of war by throwing staffs. If the
stick which represents their own tribe falls on that of
another, then a favourable outcome may be confidently
expected to the battle. The Zulus have a similar cere-

* A particularly pretty oracle, afltordinof no less than four alternatives,
is described by Hall Caine (TJie Manxman, London, 1894. p. 120) as in
use on the Isle of Man. A maiden, anxious to know her fate, throws a
willow bough in the water, while she sings :

" Willow bough, willow bough, which of the four,
Sink, circle, or swim, or come floating ashore ?
Which is the fortune you keep for my life.
Old maid or young mistress, or widow or wife ? "
t Die Anfange der Kultur, vol. i, p. 80.

208 THE PLAY OF MAN

mony, and the Hindus cast lots before the temple and sup-
plicate the gods for victory. In the Iliad the crowd
prayed with outstretched hands while the dice in Aga-
memnon's helmet decided w^ho should be tte first to fight
Hector. Tacitus tells us that the German priests tossed
three dice on a white cloth before they attempted to
reveal the future.* The origin, then, of the use of dice
in games of chance is indubitable. The ancient form of
backgammon common in India and Mexico was played
wdth lots instead of dice, as was also the case with the
Arabian Tab. Some Indian tribes use the simple casting
of lots for gambling purposes. The Arabian does not
throw, but draws lots as a substitute for the Meisir for-
bidden in the Koran.f The complicated Chinese game
lotto is well known, and Bastian found a similar one used
in Siam.:j: E. von Hartmann refers repeatedly in his
Tagesfragen to our European lottery, combating the
popular idea that it is reprehensible, and should not be
fostered by the state. He sees in a well-conducted state
lottery the- best means of directing the ineradicable tend-
ency to play games of chance into harmless channels.
Money speculation is, as a rule, little different from a
lottery, since the great majority of speculators have no
more intimation of the outcome than is furnished by the
law of probabilities which governs pure games of chance.
Returning now to simpler manifestations, we find many
w^hich are closely related to the use of lots, ^orth Ameri-
can Indians, who are zealous gamblers, use marked or col-
oured stones, seeds, and teeth, and stake their clothing,
furniture, weapons, and, in fact, all that they possess.
In Burmah a favourite game is plaj^ed with beans, and in
many of the villages a thrashing floor is erected for the
express purpose of supplying the demand.* In Siam the
children play with shells, and everything depends on
whether the opening falls up or down.|| A similar game
was known to the Greeks, and in Borne a coin was tossed

* Tylor, op, cit., pp. 78. 125.

+ X. Wiinsche, Spiele bei den Arahern in vor- nnd nachmohameda-
nischer Zeit. Westerinanns Monatshefte, Milrz, 1896.
X Die Volker des ostliclien Asien. vol. iii, p. 326.

# Bastian, op. cit.^ vol. ii, p. 358 ; vol. iii, p. 323.
I Ibid.

MENTAL RIVALRY 209

with the cry, " Caput aut navis ! " equal to our " Heads or
tails ! " We must suppose that such play by children is
derived from adult games of chance.

Astragalus and dice were the implements used in many
such games. The former are peculiarly shaped bones
from the ankles of sheep, goats, or calves, and their use
for such purposes is very ancient. They are capable of
resting on any one of four sides which may vary in value,
as the six sides of dice. The Schliemann collection in the
Berlin Museum contains some of them which were found
in the " second city." In ancient Greece four astragali
were used in the games of adults, and were thrown either
from the free hand or from a cup. Special names were
given to the various throws, such as Aphrodite, Midas,
Solon, Euripides, etc., and the worst throw was called,
there as in Rome, the dog. The children of antiquity also
played with these bones a game partly of chance and
partly of skill, and Hellenic children use them to this
day. Ulrichs saw them at Arachola on Parnassus. " The
children there," he says, " play with the astragalus, which
is a small four-sided bone rounded at the end and so
shaped as to be capable of resting on any of its sides. In
the game the uppermost side is read, the commonest
throw being that which brings the round end up and is
called the baker or the donkey. Then follow the thief,
the vizier, and, rarest of all, the king, the side which looks
like an ear and is opposite the vizier." -

The name vizier seems to point to Mohammedan in-
fluence, and indeed the children of Damascus have a
special game of chance with astragalus in which the
terms vizier and thief are both used.f Some think that
ordinary dice are derived from the astragalus, but it
would be difficult to prove, though their imitation in
other materials seems to suggest it, as in the case of ths
oblong dice used by the Romans with cubical ones, and
several hundred prehistoric dice found in Bohemia are
of similar form. The Berlin Museum, too, has oblong
dice from India and China, showing that they were widely

* W. Richter, Die Spiele dor Gvlechen und Roraer, p. 76.
t H. Peterman, Eeisen irn Orient, vol. i, p. 157.

210 THE PLAY OF MAN

used in the Orient, and Hyde points out in his history
of games of chance that the Greek word KUfdos is related
to the Arabic Kah, which meant simply made of lamb's
bones. On the other hand, cubical dice with spots like
ours are found in Theban graves, so that we can not be
positive as to the priority of the astragalus.

Possibly cocoanut rolling was the ju-imitive form of
roulette as we have seen it used in half -religious, half-
playful manner by the South Sea Islanders. The Berlin
Museum has Chinese rolling dice through which a peg-
passes, projecting on each side or with the peg on one
side only, and the ball tapering to a point on the other.
According to Egede, Greenlanders have a sort of roulette,
an oblong ball about which the players sit with the stake
before them.* Another form of chance game is the morra,
which was probably known to the ancient Egyptians, and
was in all likelihood at first a clever method of calculat-
ing.f As a play the hands of all the players are thrown
simultaneously into the air, and each must guess at the
number of outstretched fingers without taking time to
count. This amusement, still very popular among Italian
peasants, was called by the Acha3ans " micare digitis."
In China, where it is zealously cultivated, it bears the
name of " tsoey-moey.":}: The ISTorth American Indians
have a modification of it in their cane guessing — namely,
the effort to locate a small object passed quickly about in
a company. It is used for gambling purposes, the Indians
staking all that they have, even to their wives some-
times."* The " Kyohzvay " play is taken quite as seri-
ously in Burmah. For this a stick is fixed among the
folds of a tightly wrapped cord, and the game is won or
lost 1 1 according as it is or is not successfully concealed.^

* Hans E<rede. Besohreihursr von GrOnland, Berlin, 1763, p. 178. See
K. Andree. Ethnoorr. Par. Neue Folfi^e, p. 104.

t The New Zealand game "ti" consists in counting on the fingers.
One of the players calls a numner and must instantly touch the right
finger; while in the Samoan game "Lupe" (see Andree. op. cU., p. 99)
one player liolds up a certain number of fingers, whereupon 'his opponent
must do the saine or be loser.

t Tylor, Anf. d. Kult.. vol. i, pp. 74, 75.

* Andree, op. cif.. p. 98.

II Bastian. Die Vr.lkcr, d. ostl. Asien, vol. ii, p. 394.
^ See Becq de Fouquieres, p. 294.

MENTAL RIVALRY 211

The various games of cards afford by far the most im-
portant instances of play with chance, and their name is
legion. We have not time even to glance at such games
as faro, lansquenet, rouge et noir, trente et quarante,
etc., except to say that they all depend on a combination
of reason with chance, and so more speedily put an end to
suspense as to who is the victor than do purely chance
plays. We are now confronted by the difficult question
of what it is that constitutes the demoniacal charm of
gaming, whose power is demonstrated by the value of the
stakes with which a man will tempt Fate. Every one is
familiar with Tacitus's description of the ancient Ger-
mans who, when they had lost everything else, staked their
freedom and their life on the last throw. H. M. Schuster
gives a long list of examples of Germans staking free-
dom, wife, and children, the clothes on their backs, life
itself, yes, even their souls' salvation when their passion
for play was at its height. That this is a universal Aryan
trait is shown by the Indian poem of ISTala and Dama-
yanti. The former, under the power of a hostile demon,
loses at play with Pushkara his ornaments, jewelry,
horses, wagons, and clothes. In vain his wife and fol-
lowers seek to restrain his madness ; for many months the
ruinous play goes on until N"ala has lost all his property
and even his kingdom. Then as Pushkara, with loud
laughing at the unlucky fellow, cried out that now he
must put up his wife Damayanti, ISTala rose from the table
and walked away with his faithful wife, stripped as he
was of all else. The Chinese, Siamese, and Burmese, too,
are all passionate gamblers, and the Malays are famous for
their wagers on animal fights. This is sufficient to show
that the wonderfully strong attractive power of gaming,
"le jeu-passion, dout le role tragique est vieux comme
I'humanite," " is the result of numerous causes whose ag-
gregate, according to Fechner's principle, is far greater
than their numerical sum. Taking account of the essen-
tials only, we still have a threefold phenomenon ; these
are, desire to win the stake, the stimulus of strong effects,
and the impulse given by the fighting instinct.

* Kibot, Psychol ogie des sentiments, p. 322.

212 THE PLAY OF MAN

Winning the stake is so important that without it
games of chance become very flat and most unimpressive,
as forms of entertainment. How is this to be explained?
Sometimes it appears as veritable cupidity, the " fascina-
tion d'acquerir d'un bloc, sans peine, en un instant." *
The seductive chink of gold pieces is heard and visions
of new names of wealth open before us, promising to de-
liver us from all burdens and dangers which in spite of
their distance and vagueness we strive to get possession
of by a single turn of Fortune's wheel; the gold fever is
at home in gambling dens. Yet — and I think this is im-
portant— as a rule, it is not mere greed for gain as such,
but a feeling more refined. It is boundless delight in sud-
den good fortune that makes the unearned winnings so
enticing. That inward striving after the absolute, which
is so deeply rooted in the human breast, is concerned in
the longing to experience at least one moment of exhila-
rating joy with which a single stroke of Fortune's wand
sets our hearts aflame:

" From the clouds it must fall,
Such is the gift of the gods ;
And the strongest power of all
Is that which belongs to the momeut."

It would be misleading to suppose that all wagers in
a game of chance are attributable to a desire to win, even
in this refined sense. In so far as it is the chief motive,
there is no real play at all, for it constitutes a serious
aim wholly outside the sphere of play. There must be
some other meaning to the intense delight in winning,
and Lazarus, as usual, puts his finger on it. " Even for
an onlooker, not pecuniarily interested, the charm in-
creases with the value of the stake."t The stake serves
not only to enhance the thought of winning the game,
but intensifies the decisive moment.:}: A gambler must
have excitement at any price, and he also wants to risk
something; betting satisfies both demands.

The need for intense stimuli which we are so con-

* Ribot, Psychologic des sentiments, p. 322.

t Op. cit., Y>. 60.

X See Schaller, pp. 258, 268.

MENTAL RIVALRY 213

stantly encounte^'ing in the course of this inquiry ap-
pears as the second motive in our classification, and it is
met by a storm of effects which betting excites. Conse-
quently gambling is pre-eminently suited to supply this
demand. I have already pointed out that betting on the
performances of others is an especially popular form of
gambling, since in this way alone can the excitement be
enjoyed unimpaired by personal considerations. So, too,
in games of pure chance, which relegate the player to
comparative inactivity and impart a feeling of external-
ity among its other effects. By far the most important
of these effects is the contrast of the emotions of hope
and fear, and often this simultaneous action of opposing
passions is sufficient to stir the soul to its depths, since,
as Lazarus penetratingly remarks, the result is in either
case positive; the question is not, winning or not win-
ning, it is winning or losing. This is another point which
renders games of chance peculiarly fit for the production
of exciting effects. Also besides fear and hope there is
the tension of expectation and the shock of surprise to
render the mental agitation more intense and varied.
This explains why gambling is the last resort of the dissi-
pated, worn-out man who needs sharp stimuli to arouse
his exhausted powers.*

Gambling is, moreover, a fighting play, and this is
doubtless one of its most important phases. There is
no other form of play which displays in so many-sided a
fashion the combativeness of human nature and with so
slight expenditure of time and strength. There is the
charm of danger as such, enjoyment of bold betting which
in the changing course of the game is constantly renewed,
and further indirect as well as direct battle with an oppo-
nent, for he who makes the best throw gets the best card.
Besides all this there is the desire to win his wager,
and by means of the steady augmenting of stakes it
differs from all other fighting plays in affording at the
last moment, when all seems lost, an opportunity of re-
trieving everything by a sudden overwhelming victory.
xAnd finally there is the defiance of the power of chance,

* See Schaller, pp. 258, 268.

214 THE PLAY OF MAN

or rather, if a religious rearing makes one scruple to put
it in this form, we may call it a struggle with the powers
of darkness.

The question now arises whether this is properly called
a fight when the player can not influence the outcome,
but must submit absolutely to the incalculable hazards
of fortune. What right has he to congratulate himself
on a victory for which he is in no way responsible? To
this it may be answered that in addition to this subjec-
tive, psychological condition there is an active contest;
for an illusion exists in connection with every game of
chance that in some way the outcome is dependent on the
capacity of the player, and a little reflection will show
that this is characteristic of human nature. How else
arises our naive sense of worth or of shame ? Are we not
vain of physical beauty, of inherited advantages, and of
riches which we have not earned ? Does not the conscious-
ness of deforaiity, stupidity, weakness, awkwardness, or
even a lowly origin impart a feeling of shame and a sense
of responsibility for our own shortcomings? We feel as
if we had had a voice in the fashioning of our bodies and
souls and a choice of our position in life — in short, as the
vulgar saying has it, as if we had not been careful enough
in the choice of our parents. Just in the same way we
are proud of our luck in play. Luck is genius, and he
whom it smiles upon is a hero.* This failure to discrimi-
nate between fortunate circumstance and personal merit
is shown in a striking manner in jDopular poetry. Its
heroes are often armed with magic weapons or directly
assisted by higher powers who lend them supernatural
strength or work ruin to their enemies. Such advantage
is thus given them that the reflecting person has some dif-
ficulty in regarding their exploits as especially praise-
worthy, yet the average hearer is undisturbed by such
considerations. For instance, consider the invulnerabil-
ity of Achilles and Siegfried's Tarnkappe, which gave
him in the fight with Brunhild " the strength of twelve
men."

In the case which we are considering, however, this

* J. E. Erdmann, Ernste Spiele, p. 161.

MENTAL RIVALRY 215

habit of mind has a twofold significance: First, there is
the personification of chance as fate, with whom the
player struggles. Lazarus says : " Instead of blind chance,
he pictures before hiin a reasoning intelligence whose
laws he tries to fathom, and in the face of many failures
and mistaken conclusions he persists in attempting to
calculate his chances and to count on them, forgetting
that the reckoning of probabilities is useful only in gen-
eralities and is practically worthless when applied to a
single case. By and bye he endows luck with moral quali-
ties as well. He will risk everything on a single card,
and either can not believe that Fate will be inexorable,
that his faith and perseverance must at last be rewarded,
or else assumes an attitude of defiance to a hostile be-
ing." * In the second place, the gambler regards the im-
plements of his trade as does the magician among primi-
tive peoples the means of performing his incantations. It
is actual fetich worship in which personification assumes
proportions quite different from those it bears in the
general idea of fate. Demons who sometimes obey the
player's will, and sometimes mockingly defy him, seem to
dwell in the dice and cards, transforming play into a
contest in magic arts. This is perhaps not so strongly
felt by cultivated people of the present day as I have
represented it, yet it is present in a more or less rudi-
mentary form in all devotees of the game. While some
scoff at it, even they avoid those things which are tradi-
tionally supposed to bring ill luck. Thus, when I was a
student, in our games with dice which were very popular,
the following rules were rigidly observed : In order to
throw double sixes, the player took the dice cup in his
right hand, placed the left over it and shook it solemnly
three times up and down before making the final throw.
If low numbers were desired, the inverted cup was held
slantingly and drawn carefully back on the table so that
the dice glided out rather than rolled. For medium
throws there was a choice between two methods over
whose comparative efficacy there was serious controversy:
either to rise from the table and empty the cup from a

* Op. cit.., p. 76.
15

216 THE PLAY OF MAN

height, or to propel the dice suddenly by a sidelong move-
ment from the cup, held at a slant. Was all this mere
joking? To a certain extent certainly it was, yet the boys
half believed in it and had a poor opinion of beginners
who did not know how to handle the dice. Among the
lower classes, however, and among peoples of less ad-
vanced civilization this fetichism is much stronger.
Konrad von Haslan, says Schuster, testifies to having
seen and heard " how on the one hand dice are honoured,
greeted, and kissed, and have offerings of booty made to
them, while on the other they were beaten and abused as
if they possessed life. Often the player who has lost by
them takes revenge by picking out the spots or smashing
the dice with a stone or biting them in two to make
them suffer." * All these circumstances combine to make
gaming a fighting play not alone with men, but also with
supernatural powers whose inscrutable decisions possess
a peculiar power and whose favour lends to the fortunate
player a special nimbus, while the vanquished does not
suffer in his own esteem as if he had been conquered by
a human foe.

Finally, we should note that gaming has various men-
tal connections with experimentation, since enjoyment of
the excitation of hope and fear and the feeling of sus-
pense as well as the shock of surprise is experimental in
every case. With this is combined great activity of atten-
tion and imagination to whose agency the personification
of which we have spoken must be ascribed; reason's part
in the process is displayed in the complex calculation of
probabilities, and that of the will most conspicuously in
the effort to appear outwardly calm while the wildest ex-
citement reigns within, and hope and despair surge in
alternate waves across the soul.

It is difficult to say which of these stimuli ought to be
placed at the head of the list, but two appear to me to
be rather more important than the others. First, the
combative impulse, whose influence is particularly strong
here; and, second, pleasure in intense effects, as when the
" gold fever " takes the form of longing for a supreme

* Schuster, p. 83.

THE DESTRUCTIVE IMPULSE 217

moment which shall fill the soul to the brim, something
which will transcend all other transporting agents. Both
find their satisfaction at the gaming table, owing to the
suddenness and importance of its revelations. In con-
cluding, it may be remarked that the extraordinary per-
sistence of gamblers, who sometimes sit all *night at the
table, as if hypnotized, may be at least partly explained
by the law of repetition taken in conjunction with the
independent attractions of the game. The performance
of the last part of a mechanically repeated action tends to
lead to the production of the first part again.

5. The Destructive Impulse
Turning our attention now to the third of our prin-
cipal groups of fighting plays, the first subject — namely,
the destructive impulse — will not occupy us long, as we
have already given some consideration to it in the section
on analytic movement-play. There we were chiefly con-
cerned with the experimental element as manifested in
the desire to take things to pieces. Here we shall empha-
size the fighting instinct which is so easily aroused even
toward a lifeless object, and frequently becomes a sort
of delirium which is only appeased by the entire destruc-
tion of the object, as if it were a vanquished foe. And
here, too, belongs the inquiry under what circumstances
the discharge of this impulse, whether directed against a
living or a lifeless object, may be considered as playful.
As soon as rage ceases to be the chief influence, and the
destruction is continued simply for the sake of its intoxi-
cating effects, it takes on more or less of a playful char-
acter, though it is inexpedient to attempt to set clearly
defined limits to what is earnest and what is play." When
children tear paper or overturn structures laboriously
erected by themselves, how often the interest is cumula-
tive, developing finally into passionate eagerness from
action which was at first indifferent ! The paper is seized
in the teeth, the building kicked to bits, objects which
are breakable entirely destroyed, flowers pulled to pieces.

* See anecdote of Goethe's youth, p. 105. For the destructive impulse
in animals, see The Play of Animals, pp. 91, 200, 220.

218 THE PLAY OF MAN

etc. Education should interfere at this point and direct
the play, imposing proper checks. Madame Necker de
Saussure relates of a previously gentle and tractable girl
of eighteen months that " one day when she was alone
with her mother, who was confined to her bed from illness,
the child, wfthout the least provocation, broke into open
rebellion. Clothes, hats, fans, and every movable object
that she could lay her hands on were piled in the middle
of the floor, and she danced around the pile and sang
with the greatest delight. Her mother's serious displeas-
ure had no restraining effect." * "A girl three years old,"
says Paolo Lombroso, " was left alone for a few moments,
and proved her ability to improve the time. She at once
began most energetically, and with full consciousness of
what she was doing, to pull to pieces a basket of vege-
tables. She reduced all these to fragments, and then emp-
tied an inkstand in her lap, amusing herself by smearing
it on the wall and floor with her fingers. When that palled
she took a corkscrew and punched her apron as full of
holes as a sieve."t A little later in life the impulse
leads to more violent misdemeanours. The destruction of
garden borders, smashing of furniture in public parks,
and many other acts of vandalism which we prosecute, are
practised by half -grown lads, and sometimes even by stu-
dents.:}: Some may object to calling such roughness play,
but play it surely is if there is no malicious intention,
as is usually the case. Such mischief is often reprehen-
sible, and deserves to be checked, yet such antics as these
of the subalterns as described by Eugen Thossan can riot
be taken seriously. He says : " Suddenly a beer mug
flew across the table and hit Sergeant Putz square in the
face. This was the signal for a general free fight.
Steins flew through the air like cannon balls. Four lamps
borrowed from the oflicers' rooms were on the table;
one was struck and the chimney fell off. Somebody called
out ^ When the chimney is gone the lamp may as well

* Saorsri di pslcolosria del bambino, p. llS.

t L'edneation prosrvessive, Paris, 1841, vol. i, p. 302.

X H. Eiriniincrhaus finds many points of resemblance between the
period of life durinsr which such actions are most rife and a condition of
mania. (Die psvchischen Storungen des Kindersalters, Tubingen, 1899,
p. 179.)

THE DESTRUCTIVE IMPULSE 219

follow/ and a blow from a fist shattered the lamp. A
mad rage for destruction was kindled, and with anything
that came to hand all the lamps were beaten to pieces. In
the general hullabaloo no one noticed the wounds that he
received from the splinters and blows. When every ves-
tige was demolished, a frightful w^ar whoop rose to the hall
above." It is more than probable that such orgies as this
often have a certain connection with the sexual life. We
find among animals — deer, buffalo, etc. — a similar rage
for destruction during their breeding season.

My last example refers to mature men. It is the
vigorous description in Vischer's Auch Einer of the argu-
ment of two friends in an inn about the china displayed
around them. " At last Auch Einer called out : ' That
is enough; they are condemned.' He bought the w^hole
collection from the innkeeper and then let himself loose.
He handed me the pitcher with the remark that I should
have the honour of opening the ball. I was not slow to
obey, and as a massive granite block stood opposite the
window I sent the pitcher crashing against it. Auch
Einer was delighted, and, seizing a vinegar cruet, fol-
lowed suit. Then we took turns with plates, dishes,
glasses, and whatever came to hand. A crowd of villagers
soon collected outside and cheered the rare sport; loud
laughter and cries of ' Go it, there ! ' greeted each act of
justice."

Injurious treatment of living creatures, too, is often
due to the same instinct. In the desire to investigate,
the principle of the golden rule is forgotten. It would
be too optimistic, however, to assume that such things
are never done from cruelty. Fischart says that even w^ell-
disposed children reveal the demon of fighting and de-
struction when there is a beetle or a broken-winged bird
or a wounded cat to torment. Most readers will recall
some reminiscence of their own youth when they really
enjoyed inflicting injury on some living thing. It may
assume a dangerous form wdien directed against other per-
sons. Some years ago a number of children at play in-
tentionally drowned a comrade; and Fr. Scholz tells us,
" An eight-year-old girl with an angelic face secretly
put some pins in her little brother's food, and calmly

220 THE PLAY OF MAN

awaited the catastrophe, which fortunately was averted."
" A girl twelve years old pushed a child of three, with
whom she was playing, into a pile of paving stones for
no other reason than that she might have the opportunity
to tickle him cruelly." * Among criminals murders may
sometimes result from following this impulse. Some
time ago three peasants w^ere tried for the murder, with
incredible cruelty, of a servant. They were father, son,
and mother. After the old man had throttled his victim
he said to his accomplices, " Now he is dead enough."
But the woman, to make sure, dealt a hard blow on the
poor fellow's head. " I^ow I think he has had enough,
this fine rabbit that we have caught."t Here the bounds
between play and earnest are hard to place, but probably
belong at the point where the prearranged plan is no
longer the leading thought, it having given place to mad
delight in inflicting injury. These matters are, after all,
only on the threshold of play, and we will now turn our
attention to subjects more important to our inquiry.

6. Teasing ^
The fighting instinct of mankind is so intense that all
the playful duels, mass conflicts, single combats, and con-
tests which we have described, do not satisfy it. When
there is no occasion for an actual testing of their powers,
children and adults turn their belligerent tendencies into
a means of amusement, and so arise those playful attacks,
provocations, and challenges which we class together
under the general name of teasing. The roughest if not
the earliest form of such play is that of bodily attack,
such as is often observed among animals. A female ape
which Brehm brought to Germany loved to annoy the
sullen house dog. " When he had stretched himself as
usual on the greensward, the roguish monkey would ap-

* Fr. Scholz, Die eharakterfehler des Kindes, Leipsic, 1891, pp. 148,
149. See F. L. Burk, Teasins: and Bullying. The Pedagogical Seminary,
vol. iv (1897^. p. 341.

t See S. Sicrliele, Psvchologie des Aullaufs u. der Massenverbrechen,
Dresden, 1897,' p. 18. "

X A ]K)rtion of this section appeared in the periodical Die Kinderfehler.
It may be compared with Buvk's article on teasing and bullying, which
was then unknown to me. The latter, however, is more concerned with
serious than with playful aspects of the subject

TEASING 221

pear and, seeing with satisfaction that he was fast asleep,
seize him softly by the tail and wake him by a sudden
jerk of that member. The enraged dog would fly at his
tormentor, barking and growling, while the monkey took
a defensive position, striking repeatedly on the ground
with her large hand and awaiting the enemy's attack. The
dog could never reach her, though, for, to his unbounded
rage, as he made a rush for her, she sprang at one bound
far over his head, and the next moment had him again
by the tail." * We all know how children delight in just
such teasing. To throw an unsuspecting comrade sud-
denly on his back, to box him or tickle and pinch him, to
knock off his cap, pull his hair, take his biscuit from his
hand, and if he is small hold it so high that the victim
leaps after it in vain — all this gives the aggressor an
agreeable feeling of superiority, and he enjoys the anger
or alarm of his victim. When I was in one of the lower
gymnasium classes our singing on one occasion was sud-
denly broken into by a shrill scream. One of the pupils
had found a pin which he energetically pushed into an
inviting spot in the anatomy of the boy in front of him.
The culprit could only say in palliation of his offence that
he did it " without thinking," which excuse was received
rather incredulously. Schoolboys often pull out small
handfuls of one another's hair, and it is a point of hon-
our not to display any feeling during the process. Becq
de Fouquieres records an ancient trick of this kind, con-
sisting of a blow on the ear in conjunction with a simul-
taneous fillip of the nose. Cold water is a time-honoured
instrument of torture. To duck the timid bather who is
cautiously stepping into the pond, to empty a pitcher
on a heedless passer-by, to place a vessel full of water so
that the inmate of a room will overturn it on opening
the door — these are jokes familiar w^herever merry young
people are found. The lover of teasing naturally seeks
such victims as are defenceless against him, especially
those who are physically weak or so situated as to be
incapable of revenge. Yet there are ways of annoying
the strong and capable. A good-natured teacher is apt to

* The Play of Animals, p. 167.

222 THE PLAY OF MAN

be the subject of his pupils' pranks, though in this case
they seldom take the form of physical assaults. It is not
an unheard-of thing, however, for a paper ball to hit
his head or for his seat to be smeared with ink or per-
haps with glue as in Messerschmidt's Sapiens Stultitia.*

Youths and growm men are little behind the children
in such jests. There is, for instance, the christening on
board ship in honour of crossing the line which Leopold
Wagner thinks is derived from the ancient religious cere-
mony celebrated on passing the pillars of Hercules.f
Tossing in a blanket, which made such a lasting impres-
sion on Sancho Panza, was known to the Komans by the
name of sagatio. Such rough sports were practised in the
time of the Roman emperors by noble youths. Sue-
tonius relates of Otho that the future emperor as a young
man often seized, with his companions, upon weak or
drunken fellows at night, and tossed them on a soldier's
mantle (distento sago impositum in sublime jactare).:}:
In popular festivities fighting with pigs' bladders is a
fruitful source of amusements to which tickling with a
peacock's feather is a modern addition, and lassoing
with curled strips of paper which cling about the neck.
Students make a specialty of such pranks. A favourite
one was crowding, when the streets had only a narrow
pavement for pedestrians, while in bad weather the rest
of the road was a mass of unfathomable mud; another
was to deal a hard blow on the high hat of some worthy
Philistine, plunging him suddenly into hopeless darkness,
or tracing a circle on the bald head of a toper asleep over
his wine, etc. In an inn in Giessen there is still in ex-
istence a bench through whose seat a nail projects when
a hidden cord is pulled — a pleasant surprise for the un-
suspecting guest who reclines upon it. On entering the
gymnasium I was initiated in an resthetic little practice
which is of ancient date and serves as an instance of the
coarse jesting that is so common there. One of the com-
pany secretly fills his mouth with beer and reclines on

* See Schneesran's Gesehichte der Grotesken Satire, p. 448.
t Leopold Warner, Manners, Customs, and Observances, London, 1895,
p. 34. " .

X Becq de Fouquieres, p. 273.

TEASING 223

two chairs. With a handkerchief spread over his face
he plays the part of The Innkeeper's Daughter. They
all sing the familiar song, and two accomplices play the
role of two of the peasants while the novice is asked to
be the third. The veil is thus twice withdrawn from the
daughter's face, and twice replaced without any sus-
picious revelations, but when the innocent third lover
arrives he is greeted with the stream of stale beer full
in the face. A suitable companion-piece to this decidedly
disgusting trick is this incident related by Joest as occur-
ring among the Bush negroes of Guayana : " As I was
tending the wound of a young negress whose breast was
badly cut, she wearied of the operation, and suddenly
seizing it in both hands she sent a stream of wann milk
into my' face and fled laughing away." *

The most harmless teasing is the obvious kind which
forms the basis of much social play, such as games for a
company like " Blind-Man's Buff," " Fox Chase," " Copen-
hagen," and similar diversions. A striking instance occurs
in The Sorrows of Werther. During a violent storm Lotta
attempts to cheer the frightened company; she places
chairs in a circle and seats everybody in them — many ac-
ceding in the hope of being rewarded with a sweet for-
feit or two, and getting their lips all ready. " We are
going to play counting," said Lotta. "Now, attention I
I am going round the circle from right to left, and you
must count, each taking the number that comes to him;
and we are going like lightning, and whoever hesitates
or blunders gets a box on the ear, and we are going on to
thousands." She then stretched out her arms and flew
around the circle, faster and faster. If any one missed,
bang! came a box on his ear, and in the laugh that fol-
lowed, bang! came another, and always faster and faster,
Werther, however, noticed with inward satisfaction that
the two blov/s which he received were somewhat harder
than Lotta gave the others. When the company is still
less refined than this, joking sometimes becomes so rough
as to lose its playful character. The ancient Thracians

* W. Joest, Ethnographisches und Verwaiidtes aus Guayana, supple-
ment to vol. V, Intern. Arch, ftir Ethnographic (1892), p. 49.

224 THE PLAY OF MAN

were celebrated for this sort of thing. Gutsmuth says
truly that from this circumstance much could be inferred
concerning the state of civilization among them, if we
had no other sources of information. " A man stands on
a round stone holding a sickle in his hand and having his
head through a noose suspended from above. When he is
not expecting it a bystander pushes the stone away and
there hangs the poor wretch who has been chosen by lot
for this fate. If he has not sufficient skill and presence
of mind to cut the knot at once with the sickle he
flounders there until he dies, amid the laughter of the
spectators." *

Turning now to other forms of teasing than direct
bodily annoyance, we find again that children very early
understand it. When the pretence is made of great alarm
at his beating with a spoon or banging a book or at a
sudden ciy, a child as young as two years old shows great
delight, and will repeat the performance with a roguish
expression. From this time on, to cause sudden fright is
a favourite method of gratifying the taste for teasing.
The ghostly manifestations which terrify each generation
in turn can often be traced to some mischievous urchins.

I remember a joke played on a geographical professor
at the gymnasium who, as he carelessly opened a closet
door, was confronted by a skeleton which had been used
in the previous lecture. Students could hardly subsist
without the ancient trick of stuffing the clothes of a
" suicide," and placing the figure on the floor of their
victim's room with a pistol lying near, or hanging it by a
rope to the window frame, to give the late home-comer
a genuine scare. In Atheniius we find a beautiful in-
stance of readiness to meet such a trick. King Lysim-
achus, who took delight in teasing his guests, one day at
a banquet threw a skilfully made artificial scorpion on to
the dress of one Bithys, who recoiled; but, quickly recov-
ering himself, said to the rather penurious king: "My
lord, it is now my turn to frighten you; I beseecjh you
give me a talent."t Such sport with fear, though harmless
in these instances, becomes a passion with all narrow-

* Gutsmuth, op. cit., p. 25. t Becq de Fouquieres, p. 21.

TEASING 225

minded, tyrannous natures, and leads to cruelty which is
anything but playful. Slatin's dramatic work, Fire and
Sword in the Soudan, gives an instance of such traits
in the character of the Caliph Abdullah. Indeed, Ab-
dullah had a part in, or rather was the occasion of, Slatin's
first experience during the life of the Mahdi. Slatin was
taken prisoner by the Mahdi's army before the gates of
Khartoum. The morning after the city was taken, alarm-
ing rumours reached him; half incredulous, he looked out
of his tent. " A mob had collected before the quarters of
the Mahdi and his caliphs; it seemed to be getting into
motion and making toward me, and I soon saw clearly
that they were coming in the direction of my tent. I
could now distinguish single persons. First walked the
negro soldiers, one of whom, whose name was Shetta, car-
ried a bloody burden on his head. Behind him howled
the mob. The slaves entered my tent and stood glowering
before me, and Shetta opened the roll of cloth and showed
me — Gordon's head ! I grew faint and dizzy at the sight,
my breath stopped, and it was only by the greatest effort
that I commanded myself sufficiently to gaze upon that
pallid face." The Mahdi and his caliphs had ordered this
hideous cruelty.*

A common and early developed form of teasing is the
deception which imparts to the perpetrator a feeling of
intellectual superiority. Children display this in their
tender years principally by pretending that they are going
to do forbidden or improper things, as revolt against au-
thority. When the little girl observed by Pollock was
twenty-three months old she often declined to kiss her
father good-night. She turned from him as if annoyed
or indifferent, to make a fausse sortie, and then called
him back and gave the kiss.f Sigismund's boy often ex-
hibited a " kind of humorous defiance of authority," such
as grasping at a light standing near him, but not so
that it could burn him, and looking slyly at his father.^

* Sixth edition, Leipsic, 1890, pp. 321-323. This recalls tales of Roman
emperors who sat hefore their guests dishes containina: the heads of their
own wives and children. See' Hall and Allin, loc. cii., p. 22.

t F. Pollock, An Infant's Procrress in Language, Mind, vol. iii (1878).

X Sigismund, p. 151. See Burk, op. cit.^ p. 356.

226 THE PLAY OF MAN

Older children have innumerable tricks of this kind. A
sort of game is to strike on a table with a spoon or
on the floor with a card and repeat the formula " He can
do little who can't do this, this," and pass the stick or
spoon to the next neighbour with the left hand. The un-
initiated who attempt to do this usually pass it with the
right hand and are much puzzled when told that they are
wrong. There is much of this element, too, in the games
of magic which children are so fond of. For examples
of it among adults it is only necessary to turn again to
the old jokes of students. In a university town a mer-
chant, Karl Klingel, was roused in the middle of the
night by a ring at the bell. The visitor was a student
named Karl, who pretended to think that the name on
the sign was a signal for him. " Mystification," says
Goethe in Wahrheit und Dichtung, " is and ever will be
amusement for idle people who are more or less intel-
ligent. Indolent mischievousness, selfish enjoyment of
doing some damage is a resource to those who are with-
out occupation or any wholesome external interests. No
age is entirely free from such proclivities." Moreover,
one whole day in every year is given over to this jesting
deception. The civilized world over the first of April is
fool's day. Wagner thinks that this custom arose from
the change of the new year from the vernal equinox to
January 1st, thus giving to the customary exchange of
'New Year's gifts the character of jests, and to those who
should forget the change of time the appearance of fools.
So they are called Aprilnarren, poisson d'Avril, April
fools, and in Scotland gowks.*

Memory forms another important division of our sub-
ject. The child's natural impulse is easily aroused by
new and striking peculiarities — for instance, he soon
learns by example to stammer, to talk through his nose,
or imitate any other defect without at first intending to
tease. When his mimicry is laughed at he attempts inten-
tional caricature, yet we are not to suppose from this
that he would never do so alone. As a rule, though, it
is the amusement of adults which stimulates him to

* L. Wagner, Manners, Customs, and Observances, p. 255.

TEASINa 227

improve on his former efforts. And as soon as he per-
ceives that his victim is annoyed his mimicry becomes
teasing.* At school this sort of teasing attacks unmer-
cifully any little weakness or peculiarity, such as a halt-
ing or limping gait, stammering or lisping speech, a
strange accent or foreign pronunciation. All these be-
come the objects of ridiculous exaggeration even in the
presence of older persons if they show no signs of disap-
proval.f In our club in the high school there was a boy
who ran his words together in a comical fashion, and
from imitating his manner of speech we constructed a
formal language, some words of which still sui-vive in the
memories of his contemporaries. The most important
sphere of this sort of imitation is that of pictorial art,
where the caricaturist seeks to amuse by his exaggerated
representations of familiar peculiarities. Children at-
tempt this too. Their efforts are at first, of course, the
grossest deformities with projecting ears, huge noses, etc.,
which they label with the name of some comrade whom
they wish to annoy, but later when they have learned
to draw they achieve some creditable caricaturing. I
well remember our portrait of a French teacher who had
two deep lines from the base of his nose to the corners
of his mouth, forming- with his long nose the letter M.
Such pictures are, of course, not to be classed with meth-
ods of teasing unless the intention is to show them to the
subject, which is by no means always the case, and un-
less their raison detre is something less than serious
malice or hatred. There is always a charm in wielding,
under the safe refuge of anonjTuity, these effective
weapons against the mighty of the earth. What has not
the nose of Napoleon III, for instance, suffered in this
way !

Political caricatures w^ere known to the early Egyp-
tians ;t and in Venezuela, besides pre-Columbian figures, a
statuette with a gigantic nose has been found which is

* See on this subject Perez, Lea trnis premieres annees, p. 320.

t Hall and AUin's Psychology of Tickling, Laughing, and the Comic,
p. 21.

X O. Beauresrard, La caricature il ya quatre mille ans. Bulletins de
La Soc. de TAnthropol. de Paris, 1S89.

228 THE PLAY OF MAN

supposed to represent the Spanish invader.* Indirect
satire forms a poetic analogue to these creations of the
pictorial art, as it is an ironical form of teasing which
imitates in an exaggerated manner, and makes the most
of awkwardness and weakness, to raise a laugh against their
possessor. Here play and earnest are frequently mingled,
the poet usually setting out with the serious intention of
annoying his victim, and yet taking such pleasure in the
effort that the attack becomes genuine play. Indeed, we
may say that the happiest and most effective satires are
usuallj^ those which reveal such playfulness. The episfolce
ohscurorum virorum afford brilliant examples as well as
many passages in Kabelais's immortal work.

Finally, we must note the kind of teasing which is
implied in provocative words and actions. Children often
have the desire to use insulting and abusive language to
their elders, but, not quite daring to utter it, they assume
an impertinent air which sometimes seems partly play-
ful. Thus Compayre tells of a child who said to his
mother, " Vilaine ! " but added immediately, " poupee

vilaine " ; and Marie G in her third year said to her

father, " Papa, you are a — stove, you are a — tray," while
the expression of her face plainly showed that she had a
more offensive epithet in mind.

There can be no doubt that the fighting instinct often
finds expression in the direct effort to excite others to
anger by provoking words. Such taunts are frequently
thrown into rhythmical form, and so constitute a primi-
tive lyric in which the musical element is not wanting.
This is especially the case when there are several par-
ticipants, who chant them in a sort of recitative, and
usually adopt, as far as my observation goes, that funda-
mental stereotyped measure which forms the basis of all f
primitive German child-song, and which in its simplest
form is this :

^ '^-

* Marcano, Caricature precolonibienne des Cerritos. Bulletin Soc.
de I'Anthropol. de Paris, 18S9.

+ Deutsches Kinderlied und Kinderspiel, liv.

TEASIXG 229

In this measure the street urchins call mockingly after
a teamster:

'"S hilngt eener hindc dran,
'S hiingt eener hinde dran,"

or when they wittily compare a tipsy man with an over-
loaded and toppling wagon:

" Er hot, er hot,
Er hot zu scheppc gelade,"

or taunt a young Englishman with

"Beefsteak, Wassorweck
Auf dem Kopf e grosse Schneck ? "

or scoff at a tale-bearing comrade:

" Angeber, geb mich an
Kriegst 'n hohle Backezahn,'"

This same motive is always used for such songs now as it
was in the days of our pagan forefathers, who doubtless
gave it a wider application,

Grosse points out that the derisive songs of savages
have a strong similarity to such childish taunts. He cites
one which Grey heard Australians sing in scorn of one
of their own number:

*' Oh, what a leg he has !
Oh, what a leg he has !
The old kangaroo jumper " —

and compares it to a scene before the door of a school in
Berlin where a troop of children followed a little lame

girl, calling out:

" Aetsch, atsch, iltsch,
Anna has a erooked leg,
Aetsch, iltsch, iitsch." *

Scornful speech among the common people is more
than teasing. I must confine myself to only one or two
examples of this important group. The above will suffice
as an instance of the common jeering at physical in-
firmity.

Banter between the sexes begins even in childhood. In

* Grosse, p. 235.

230 THE PLAY OF MAN

Alsace the little girls sing a rhyme which recalls the Eng-
lish

" Girls are made of sugar and spice " Euge, Eiige, Tropfe !
Aud all that's nice ; D'Buawe muess ma, klopfe,

Boys are made of rats and snails D'Maidle kummen in Hommelbett,
And puppy dogs' tails." D'Buawe kummen in Knotensack !"

While in Bohemia the boys have it —

*' Zeisig, Zeisig, " Boys are the busy ones,

Die Buben sind fieissig. Goldfinch, goldfinch.

Stieglitz, Stieglitz, Girls are no use at all."

Die Miideln sind gar nichts niitz."*

At the festivals, and especially the weddings of moun-
tain folk, the youths and maidens carry on a veritable
poetic warfare, which sometimes becomes pretty severe.

Ten different German tribes too had champions who
sang in scornful contests like that of the two Greenland
poets.f In trade rivalry the tailor suffers most. Ke-
ligious differences have given rise to such jargon as this:

" Franz Willwauz
Wilhvippke Kadanz,
Willwippke Kadippke
Katholisclier Franz !" X

As it is not expedient to dwell on the higher forms
of satire here,"* I will close this section with some remarks
on the provocative manner and bearing. Like all other
teasing, a scornful manner results from a feeling of su-
periority, and is always calculated to depreciate its object.
When serious, such scornful behaviour constitutes a chal-
lenge to actual combat, but when playful it becomes the
sort of teasing in which the perpetrator enjoys annoying
others. The gesture which naturally accompanies it is
pointing with the finger, and children usually add laugh-
ter. Even dogs understand this laughter, as their half-
angry, half-depressed demeanour well proves. Sticking

* F. M. Bohme. pp. 271, 277.

+ See E. H. iSIeyer, Deutsche Volkskunde, Strasshurg. 1898, p. 337:
" This practice is very ancient, and seems to have given their names to
some German tribes."

X Ibid.

* To cover all the erround, the teasing application of wit would have
to be included here. It is taken up and treated briefly in the next section.

TEASING 231

out the tongue, which with some children only means
awkwardness and embarrassment, is sometimes employed
in the same way. Sittl thinks that it was unknown to the
Greeks and early Romans * ( ?) ; yet the Gauls made use
of it as a means of expressing contempt, as did also the
Jews. I have been unable to find a satisfactory explana-
tion of this or for the " turned-up nose." In Romeo and
Juliet this passage occurs : " I will bite my thumb at
them, which is a disgrace to them if they bear it " ; and
Persius refers to the same thing as expressing scornful
depreciation of one's opponent. Italians and Greeks place
the thumb nail on the front teeth and snap it foi-ward
with like intent.f Minimo digito provocare, which may
be freely interpreted as " I can mr.nage you with my little
finger," serves the same purpose as does snapping the fin-
gers also. Tylor remarks that in the language of deaf-
mutes the rubbing together or snapping of small objects
signifies contempt, depreciation, etc.f Many scornful
gestures are obscene in character, and some such have
been perpetuated in plastic art, especially during the
middle ages (as, for instance, on the door of the Schwii-
bisch Hall). They all no doubt originated in the desire to
express contempt in a forcible manner,* though the ap-
propriateness of some of them is not apparent, as, for
instance, jeering challenges to some degrading act, direct
accusations, symbolic threats of defilement, w^here the
idea seems to be that the assailant wishes to prove himself
not only fearless in the presence of his foe, but shameless
as well.

While on one side teasing is an expression of the
fighting impulse, on the other it seems to be of consider-
able value as a promoter of sociability. The educational
quality of school comradeships and students' clubs de-
pends in no small degree on the hardening of the super-
sensitive by teasing, and thus preparing them for the

* Carl Sittl, Die Gebarden der Griechen und ROmer, Leipsic, 1890,
p. 90.

t Ibid.

X Early History of Mankind, second edition, 1870, p. 45, See the anal-
osrous behaviour of the Dakotas in Darwin's The Expression of the Emo-
tions, p. 2n7.

* See Sittl, p. 99.

232 THE PLAY OF MAN

future buffetings of fortune. It is useful, too, in stirring
up heavy and phlegmatic natures. Bastian writes from
Siam : " When a boy misses his aim and stands like a
whipped poodle, his comrades mock him with * Kui, kui,'
which is very provoking. Some poor fellows are so sen-
sitive to this blame and jeering, and so emulous of praise
that they are quite beside themselves, and beat their heads
against a wall. They are then said to be ' Ba-Jo,' or mad
from shame. When, on the contrary, they meet such
scorn with indifference, they are regarded as fearless." *

7. Enjoyment of the Comic
There are two theories of the comic — that of the feel-
ing of superiority and that of contradiction; the one
being more subject to the will and the other to reasoning
processes. That which Hobbes sets forth and which is per-
petuated in modern psychology by Bain, Kirchmann, ^e-
berhorst, and others, emphasizes the connection between
laughter and ridicule. As the latter is a pleasure, " orta
ex eo, quod aliquid, quod contemnimus in re quam odimus
ei inesse imaginamu " (Spinoza), so too our appreciation
of the comic is derived from our own powers of exaggera-
tion over and above the contradictions inherent in the ob-
ject of our depreciation. Erdmann says that we never think
of Christ's laughing, because we have an innate feeling
that there is something malicious in unrestrained laugli-
ter.f The other theory, which also has many supporters,
lays most stress on the intellectual side of the phenom-
enon, on tlie idea of contradiction, of inconsequence, of
incongruity as displayed by the comic object. This
startles us at first by its unexpectedness, and then appeals
agreeably to our sense of the ridiculous. These two
theories are by no means exclusive the one of the other,
and are only opposed in that each accuses the other of
failure to cover all the facts. Sully and Bibot :|: attempt
to unite them by deriving the more refined sense of incon-
gruity from the first exaggeration, progressively exclud-

* Die Volker des ostlichen Asien, vol. iii, p. 222,
t Ernste Spiele, p. 10.

X The Human Mind, vol. ii, p. 148. Psvchologie des sentiments,
p. 342.

ENJOYMENT OF THE COMIC 233

ing the latter by mental play with contraries. "We will
be satisfied with the undeniable fact that pleasure de-
rived from the comic is usually not only experimenta-
tion with attention, the shock of surprise, and a more
or less logical enjoyment of the incongruities involved,
but also an agreeable pharisaical feeling of being supe-
rior to the occasion. So far, then, as such pleasure can
be referred at all to reason it does consist in this sense
of superiority, and belongs in the category of fighting
plays.

It is a familiar remark that we find something not
altogether disagreeable in hearing of the misfortunes of
even our best friends. From the standpoint of social sci-
ence it is evident that humanity is not entirely dominated
by the social and sympathetic instincts since even when
these are most strongly manifested there is always a rem-
nant of the fighting impulse in ambush, which greets
with joy any damage to a friend as to a foe. This is
the principle of competition. We know that untutored
savages make violent demonstrations of joy over the mis-
fortunes of an enemy, their fiendish laugh of triumph
has been often described, and childhood recollections fur-
nish most of us with striking data in the same line. " A
ten-year-old boy who had daubed a comrade with filthy
mud from the street danced around his victim and
screamed with laughter." * Sometimes scornful and con-
temptuous laughter serves as a weapon, for it is not
always a mere expression of feeling, being frequently
used to infuriate an opponent much as a provoking man-
ner is employed. We find, too, that in numerous cases
it originates in a triumphant feeling, as when the teasing
we have been considering is successful, and also when
spectators applaud such success. Then, too, there is
laughter at the artistic representation of such scenes, pic-
torial, plastic, and poetic. Yet we are far from exhaust-
ing the list. As a result of the struggle for life, every in-
feriority calls forth a triumphant feeling in the obsei'ver,
be it in physical or mental fitness or in opportunity or

* See Hall and Allin, op. cit. The remark of a little ^irl who danced
about the jjrrave of her friend and rejoiced thus, "How glad I am that she
is dead and that Pm alive ! " is in the same line.

234 THE PLAY OF MAN

ability. Thence comes, too, the opposition among gre-
garious animals to anything which menaces the social
norm or its usages, anything which is too small or too
great to be reduced to the general average, provided the
greatness is not sufficient to inspire awe or fear. And
inferiority, too, in the courtship contest is often subject
for ridicule. In all these cases, embracing as they do a
large proportion of things comic, the instinct for fighting
enjoys a triumph, and this enjoyment forms a large part
of the general sense of satisfaction.

Yet we rightly hesitate to identify enjoyment of the
comic with mere maliciousness. There is evidently some-
thing more. But what ? Is Aristotle's explanation, that
the misfortune to another which excites our mirth is
really a harmless thing, sufficient ? By no means. While
this may be quite true considered subjectively^ it does
not bear on our special question. It is at this point, I
think, that the other theory becomes applicable, especially
in a connection which has not been sufficiently brought
forward. In all the relations of the comic with which
w^e have so far had to do, only a small part of the stimulus
of contrast has come from the object itself and from the
relief of tension. By far the most significant feature of
the process is the fact that the observer alternates be-
tween aesthetic feeling or inner imitation and the ex-
ternal sense of triumph. Hereby alone does the comic win
the right to a place in the sphere of aesthetics. It is a
psychological law that sufficient observation of any object
stirs the imitative impulse to such a degree as to cause
us inwardly to sympathize with the object, and the law
holds good with regard to what we consider inferior if it
impresses us as amusing as well. Our feeling, then, is so
far from being pure malice that we actually spend an
interval in inward participation in the inferiority, though
at the next moment, it is true, exulting triumphantly
in our own superiority. All this is a play grounded on
the instinctive indulgence of our fighting impulse, aided
and enlarged by the idea of contrast, the two together
constituting appreciation of the comic. Mere mischief
is not aesthetic, and the mere idea of contrast does not
necessarily produce laughter; but, then, synthesis does

ENJOYMENT OF THE COMIC 235

call forth this characteristic effect of the comic* The
mischievous factor is sometimes of much less impor-
tance, and the laugh not at all like ridicule, yet in
the vast majority of cases the idea of resistance min-
gles, if for nothing else, then to overcome the shock"
which is apt to stagger us at first, but is finally conquered.
I proceed now to adduce some instances to which, in spite
of their diversity, this explanation is applicable. We have
seen that surprise is one of the first causes for laughter in
children. They thoroughly enjoy the moment of recog-
nition of a picture which has puzzled them, and adults
have the same feeling when they have wrestled with
almost illegible handwriting and at last decipher it.
There is a slight shock of it, too, when we hear a child
express precocious sentiments or see an animal act like
a man. Then arises what Kries calls a state of false
psychic disposition, from which we escape in the next
instant. We may test this sensation by turning from a
comic sheet to some serious reading. We are apt to con-
ceive of the first sentences as if they were meant to be
ironical, and find the recognition and correction of the
misapprehension a pleasure in itself. Such a stimulus
is also mildly operative in the amusement we derive from
masquerades and other pretences. The charm of jug-
gling and sleight-of-hand tricks is dependent on the un-
expected performance of an apparently impossible task
or the solution of an apparently insurmountable difficulty.
As an instance of the surprise whose conquest forms a
part of our amusement and which at first gives us a shock
which has something of superstition in it, I will mention
that which I felt on receiving " in the very nick of time,"
as it were, the article of Hall and Allin's, to which I
have so often referred, just as I was about to begin my
attempt to analyze the comic.

Punning, the introductory step to wit, is enjoyed by
children too young to appreciate true wit. It consists in

* In my Einleitunar in die Esthetic I have tried to show how the feel-
inar of superiority is ixradually supplanted hy inner imitation. In the
humorous contemplation of inferiority Erdmann's "■maliciousness" need
have no place, and we can conceive of a God as laucrhing in this way.
As Kellei''s poem has it, '*Der Herr, der durch die Wandlung geht,
Er lachelt auf dem Wage."

236 THE PLAY OF MAN

an incongruous association of ideas which at first amazes
and then delights. Wit presents ideas in unexpected asso-
ciations full of suggestion which prove either to be illu-
eory or to conceal some jesting or serious meaning,
finally, we may include in his list some lying tales and
extravagances which are too grotesque to represent any
intention to deceive.

In all these instances we can trace the combination
of fighting play with the contrast of ideas. The former,
however, possesses here a deeper and more subjective sig-
nificance, since it is no longer inspired by external inferi-
ority, but by the necessity for overcoming the shock
which at the first blush staggers and overwhelms us, but
which it enables us to shake off immediately. We can
thus speak of an offensive and a defensive triumph; in
the former the laugh has something of the character of
an attack, while in the latter we are warding off sur-
prise. Yet the contrast of ideas coming in here makes
it difficult to maintain this distinction clearly. Inner
imitation falls in many cases into the background or en-
tirely out of view, indicating that we are no longer deal-
ing with aesthetic enjoyment. In the simpler cases con-
trast between stressed attention and its sudden unex-
pected release becomes the most prominent feature, while
in others it is the contrast of opposing qualities which the
object really possesses or has ascribed to it.

Summing up now the important data we find that en-
joyment of the comic depends in the large majority of
cases, though not in all, on the union of fighting play
with the idea of contrast. This kind of fighting play
naturally falls into two distinct groups, involving every-
thing comic. The one is essentially composed of aggres-
sive fighting plays, and makes prominent the contrast be-
tween inner imitation and the triumphant feeling of su-
periority. In the other group we find more defensive
fighting play, and the idea of contrast takes the form pri-
marily of sudden relaxation of the stressed attention and
the impresion of contradiction. That the first group rep-
resents an earlier stage of development from which the
second is evolved, as Sully and Ribot intimate, is not
easily proved. Children exhibit both very early.

ENJOYMENT OF THE COMIC 237

Are there cases which do not exhibit fighting play in
any form? I do not deny the possibility, though up to
this time I have not been able to discover any such. The
first difiiculty to surmount in trying to establish this pos-
sibility would, it seems to me, be the laughter of chil-
dren when they mimic anything (for example, the cries or
movements of animals), which is not in itself amusing,
nor is their intention mischievous. Can this be a case
where the idea of contrast works alone and there is no
fighting play? I think not, for I am convinced that the
child's first impression of the comic depends on his aes-
thetic sympathy with the model and on his conscious
shaking o& of this feeling; and, furthermore, the idea of
contrast is in this instance connected with the conquest
of difiiculty, an association which always indicates an
approach to fighting play, and is especially significant in
this case, since mimicry singles out the salient and indi-
vidual characteristics of the model.*

8. Hunting Play

Having learned to recognise the three principal groups
of fighting plays we turn now to a special application of
the fighting instinct. The name " hunting play " will
include, for the sake of brevity, playful pursuit, flight,
and hiding.

The chase is, in connection with the collecting of
fruits, the oldest and most primitive method of obtain-
ing a food supply known to us. It is not impossible that
in some more primitive stage than that of modern sav-
ages human beings subsisted entirely (with the excep-
tion of some insects, young birds, and eggs) on vegetable
food, as monkeys do. But we have no definite knowledge
of this, and, however it may be, the facts justify the de-
duction that the impulse to pursue a fleeing creature, or,
on the other hand, to flee and hide from approaching
danger, is as much an inborn instinct in man as in the
lower animals. It is true, indeed, that the arts of the

* The fact that the humorous temperament is so much more rare in
■women artists than in men supports the theory of its involvinor the fiofht-
insr impulse. (See Mario Pile, La psychologie du beau et do Tart, Paris,
1895, p. 145.)

238 THE PLAY OF MAN

chase are of vast service to evolution in other ways than
in the pursuit of and escape from wild beasts, for it is
often enough his fellow-man from whom the fugitive flees
and must escape by speed or guile. In the case of ani-
mals the instinctiveness of the impulse is proved by their
play. The kitten treats a ball of yarn exactly as an
adult carnivorous animal does its prey, and that before
she takes note of a living mouse; and young dogs show
their wolfish nature in their chasing of one another when
there is no real game to pursue. In the life of man, too,
phenomena are not wanting which point to an instinctive
basis for the hunting instinct, and they all belong to the
sphere of play.

First, then, we must consider actual hunting of ani-
mals, which is not for the purpose of securing food.
Small children display a disposition to chase animals. G.
H. Schneider considers that this fact points directly to
the inheritance of the habits of primitive man, but it is
not necessary to call in the principle of inheritance of
acquired characters, since simple succeeding to inborn in-
stincts is sufficient to produce this result. " In the same
way," says Schneider, " the impulse for hunting, fishing,
slaughtering animals and plundering birds' nests in so
cruel a manner is inherited, and is to-day quite common
in young men accustomed to an outdoor life. The boy
never eats the butterflies, beetles, flies, and other insects
which he eagerly pursues and possibly dismem^bers, nor
does he suck the eggs which he gets from nests in high
trees, often at the risk of his life. But the sight of these
creatures awakens in him a strong impulse to plunder,
hunt, and kill, apparently because his savage ancestors
obtained their food chiefly by such acts." ^ Schneider
goes too far, I think, in assuming that there is a special
connection between the sight of a certain animal and the
inherited impulse, yet it is quite probable that there is a
general tendency to seek and pursue moving living crea-
tures over and above what can be accounted for by fear.
And perhaps the children of savages possess this tendency
in a higher degree than do our own. Semon tells us of

* G. PI. Schneider, Der Menschliche Wille, Berlin, 1882, p. 62.

HUNTING PLAY 239

young Australians : " Any one who observes the children,
and especially the boys, will see how in their play all the
exercise is directed to the perfection of their skill in the
chase. They are constantly occupied with throwing pieces
of wood and little clubs at any possible target, killing
squirrels and bringing down birds and small animals with
these missiles. On the march, while the women and girls
carry the baggage, the boys amuse themselves with vari-
ous throvv'ing plays." The cylindrical nests of Australian
birds are favourite hiding places of poisonous snakes,
" and children who give promise of becoming zealous sci-
entific investigators are often, as well as their elders,
bitten in tiiis way. My little friends in Coonambula were
eager collectors of all sorts of insects and every creeping
thing, and I have to thank them for many of my choicest
specimens." *

The chase as practised for sport by adults also argues
for an instinctive basis of such play. Civilized man, who
no longer makes hunting a direct means of replenishing
his larder, still feels the force of this pow^erful impulse,
and playfully reverts to the practices of his progenitors.
The passion which this sport excites in its votaries is so
strong as to leave little doubt that the impulse is an in-
herited one. " In our time," says Johann von Salisbury
in the twelfth century, " the chase is regarded by the no-
bility as the most honourable of employments, and its
pursuit the highest virtue. They consider it the summit
of earthly bliss to excel in this exercise, and consequently
they ride to the chase with greater pomp and pageantry
than to war. From pursuing habitually this manner of
life they lose their humanity to a great degree, and be-
come almost as savage as the beasts they hunt. Peasants
peacefully tending their flocks are torn from their well-
tilled fields, their meadows, and pastures, in order that
wild beasts may take possession." f

King Edward III had such a passion for hunting that
he took a large pack of dogs with him when he was making
war on France, and on French soil and every day he fol-
lowed the chase in some form. The priestly Nimrods

* Semon, Im Australischen Busch, pp. 168, 197. + Strutt, op. cit.., p. 62.

24:0 THE PLAY OF MAN

whose tastes belie their calling have been subjects of de-
rision from the time of Chaucer to C. F. Meyer's Shots
from the Chancel, and the opposite extreme is found in
Sebastian Brant's Xarrenschiff, where he accuses his con-
temporaries of disturbing the worship of God by bring-
ing their dogs and falcons into the churches. In modern
times the passion for hunting is strongest in mountain-
eers, whose free outdoor life affords every opportunity to
indulge the taste. No one who has seen the face of an
old mountaineer as he catches sight of a likely goat has
any further doubt that inherited instinct is at the bottom
of the hunting impulse. Bismarck well described the
charm of field sports at the time (1878) when, his health
being threatened, he left the business of his office to
younger diplomats, and refused to be consulted except on
the most vital questions. Kudolf Lindau has given, too,
in a parliamentary speech of Bismarck a half-humorous
and yet striking picture of a tired hunter : " When a m-an
starts off on a hunt in the morning he is quite willing to
tramp over miles of heavy ground to get a shot at birds.
But after he has wandered about all day, has his game bag
full, and is about ready to go home, being tired, hungry,
and covered with mud, he shakes his head if the game-
keeper says that there are partridges in the next field.
' I have enough,' he says. But if a messenger comes with
the news that there is a wild boar in the woods below, this
tired man with hunter's blood in his veins forgets his
fatigue, and hastens to the woods, not satisfied until he
has found the game and captured it."

The most rigidly conducted chase has something of
the character of play, and there is a whole cycle of games
in which flight and pursuit are the main features. To be-
gin with the pursuit of our own kind: suppose one tak-
ing a two-year-old child in his arms and springing toward
another person, who runs away in pretended fright. The
child will manifest delight, which is much too strong to be
attributed to mere pleasure in the movement, and must
be connected with the hunting impulse. It is shown, too,
quite as plainly by boys playing on the street. James is
right when he says, " A boy can no more help running
after another boy who runs provokingly near him than

HUNTIXG PLAY 241

a kitten can help running after a rolling ball." * In 1894
I had an opportunity to observe a scene which displayed
the power of this instinct in a manner which was almost
terrible; the boys irresistibly reminded me of dogs or
wolves pursuing their prey in a hot chase. At that time
a racer came to Giessen, and to attract attention ran
through the streets at midday attired in rose-coloured
tights, fantastically decorated, and carrying a large bell
in his hand. He moved with incredible rapidity, now
disappearing round some corner, and now emerging from
a side street. When school was out a crowd of homeward-
bound boys filled the streets, hnd, catching sight of the
runner, chased after him, so that soon a mob of from
fifty to one hundred children were on his heels, chasing
him like a pack of hounds with the wildest excitement
and loud cries. The man carried a whip which he laid
about him well, otherwise the children would doubtless
have tried to catch and beat him.

The number of plays which employ such chasing is
extraordinarily great, and I will confine myself to a few
examples which display the characteristic points of diifer-
ence. One of the simplest forms of it is the " Zeck,"
which is described in a seventeenth century collection.
Another is the Greek ocrrpaKLvSa, for which the boys used
bits of pottery or a shell, one side of which was smeared
with pitch and called night, while the other side was
day. The children were divided into parties of the day
and night, and the token thrown up in the air. The side
lying uppermost on its fall determined which party should
flee and which pursue. Whoever was caught was called
a donkey f and must sit on the ground to await the end
of the game. This may have been the origin of our coin
tossing. In most chasing plays there are special pre-
arranged conditions which avert danger from the fugi-
tive and facilitate bringing the play to a close, and most
of these conditions can be traced to some ancient super-
stition. In one game the pursued is safe while standing
on or touching iron, and in another sudden stooping
makes him immune, while others again appoint bases as

* The Principles of Psychology, vol. ii, p. 427. t Grasberger, pp. 52, 57.

242 THE PLAY OF MAN

cities of refuge. These were used by the Greeks, and a
great variety of designation indicates how general they
are among the Germans. In the Greek (rxotvocf>L\LvBa the
participants formed in a circle, around which one went
with a stick which he secretly hid behind one of the
players, who has the privilege of chasing the depositor;
or, in case he fails to discover in time what an honour
ha§ been conferred upon him, he must run around the
circle exposed to the blows of all its numbers.* It is
like our " Drop the Handkerchief," and also the game
where the boy, whose cap the ball falls in, must throw it
after the others. Finally, I will mention two games in
which this element has developed into complex imitation
of genuine combat. "Fox chasing" furnishes a perfect
picture of battle. Two hostile parties stand opposed and
attempt to conquer one another and to free their impris-
oned allies, and yet, since each capture is made by pursuit
and not by fighting, the principle of the chase is the con-
trolling one. " Hare and Hounds " is another imitation of
the chase. Adults usually play it on horseback, though
there is a notice in Ueber Land und Meer (1880, No. 27)
of such a chase on foot, in America. Two specially good
runners are given fifteen minutes' start, and the rest of
the company take the part of hounds.

But it is not essential that the thing pursued shall
be a living creature. Just as kittens and puppies chase
lifeless objects, such as rolling balls, sticks, etc., so do
human beings also find substitutes for the proper objects
of their sportiveness. Catching a swiftly moving ball is
sometimes of this nature; there is attending it a feeling
of triumphant mastery much the same as that which ex-
cites the boy who seizes and holds a fleeing comrade or
the clown who obstructs the course of a scorching wheel-
man. This is especially the case with professional ball
players, who allow the ball to pass their hands and then
seize it by a quick movement as it is about to touch the
ground. There are other games in which the ball is not
caught in the air, but is allowed to fall to the ground and
roll away while the players must pursue and catch it.

* Grasberger, pp. 52, 57.

HUXTING PLAY 243

Football and cricket are examples of this, and conse-
quently can be classed either with chase or fighting plays,
though they have more of the characteristics of the latter.
Another form of hunting play which should not be
overlooked is the seeking for hidden persons or things.
H. Lemming refers to a process belonging to the child's
first quarter as a kind of hiding play. " The child's aunt
had him on her lap, his little head resting on her right
shoulder, while she played hide with him. ^ Where is he ? '
she would cry while she hid his head between her arm and
breast ; then, as she suddenly drew the arm away, ' There
he is.' She had not done it many times before the little
fellow understood perfectly. As soon as his aunt made
the motion he turned his head in the right direction and
laughed softly. Several days passed, and the game had
been repeated two or three times, when one morning
early, as he was lying on my bed, I smiled at him and
he laughed back; then his face took on a roguish expres-
sion, and he buried his head in the pillow for an instant
and suddenly raised it with the same mischievous look.
He repeated this several times." * Becq de Fouquieres
restores a beautiful antique picture of a Greek hiding
play. One little fellow presses his eyes shut while two
others hurry to hide themselves. In Siam " Hide-and-
Seek " is called " Looking for the Axe," and is oftenest
played in the twilight because dark, impenetrable corners
are more abundant then.f There is added weirdness, too,
in the half light, and the shock of surprise on suddenly
coming upon the hidden object is stronger, bringing the
players more in touch with the emotional life. The ob-
jects to be hidden are of various kinds. This is a use
to which children love to put Easter eggs, and much in-
terest is added to the search by the cries of "Cold," "Freez-
ing," " Getting warm," " Hot, hot, burning," etc. Very
common, too, are games like " Button, button, who's
got the button ? " where a small object is passed from hand
to hand and kept concealed. A curious forfeit game like
this was very popular in former years, and is thus de-

* Das Kind, second edition, Leipsic, 1896, p. 53.

+ Bastian, Die Volker des ostlichen Asien, vol. iii, p. 325.

24:4: ■ THE PLAY OF MAN

scribed by Amaranthes : " The whole company sit close
together in a circle on the ground while a shoe belong-
ing to one of them is slipped along and hidden beneath
their legs, while one person tries to find it." * Fleeing
and hiding occur in all hunting plays, but are specially
prominent in some forms — in games like " Going to Jeru-
salem," for instance, where many attempt to make use of
the same chair, " Stagecoach," " Change Kitchen Furni-
ture," " Cats and Mice," etc. In many the pursuers are re-
stricted by certain conditions and prohibitions which are
in favour of the fleeing ones, and furnish occasion for eva-
sions and all sorts of byplay. For one thing the " catcher "
may be hooded or blindfold. Bastian saw a game played
in Siam in which the bandage over his eyes was so ar-
ranged that it hung down like an elephant's trunk.f An-
other handicap is to require the pursuer to hop on one
foot and hit those whom he overtakes with his knotted
handkerchief. When in his excitement he changes to the
other foot they all cry out and beat him with theirs. The
Greek acrK(oAtao-/i,o9 was apparently much like this.

9. Witnessing Fights and Fighting Plays. The Tragic
^Esthetic observation belongs more properly to imita-
tive play, but we have been compelled to notice it already
in several connections and must not overlook its influ-
ence on fighting play. Thanks to inner imitation we can
take part in fights without objective participation, and
actually enjoy attacks and defence, strategy and risk, vic-
tory and defeat as if they were our veritable experience.
As we found in games of rivalry, this internal sympa-
thetic fighting has a great advantage over objective fight-
ing in the more varied and lasting excitement which it
effects (for example, the tension of expectation which in
one's own quarrels soon vanishes) ; yet, on the other hand,
it lacks the element of pleasure peculiarly associated with
one's own achievements.

In considering the observation of actual fighting we
must distinguish between combat with an enemy and the

* Alwin Schultz, Alltasfslehen einer deutschen Frau, etc., p. 8.
t Die VOlker des ostlichen Asicn, vol. iii, p. 325.

WITNESSING FIGHTS AND FIGHTING PLAYS 245

conquest of difficulty. Inner imitation is prominent in
both. When we see a company of labourers trying to lift
a heavy stone or beam with pulleys, or driving piles in
the water, or a man pulling his boat up on the beach, or
a smith beating the hot iron with heavy blows of his
hammer, or a hunter scaling mountain crags to reach
an eagle's nest, we take part in the struggle with diffi-
culty and enjoy success as if it were our own. The sym-
pathetic interest is even greater in witnessing a fight be-
tween two combatants; indeed, it can be playful only
when the onlooker can restrain his emotions and regard
the struggle going on before him as a theatrical repre-
sentation, as is often enough the case. When two boys
are tussling, when adults quarrel with high words, when
a rider attempts to control his vicious horse, when a
man defends himself with a stick against a brutal dog,
when the champions of opposing parties fight in the pres-
ence of their backers, the spectators may take such imper-
sonal interest in the combat.

Much more to our purpose, however, is the witnessing
of playful fights where the contestants engage merely for
amusement or to test their prowess, whether or not they
are in playful mood. In this case, overcoming difficulties
is the leading feature. Then, too, there are myriad forms
of juggling, contortionism, prestidigitating, etc., in
which the spectator, at least in part, inwardly joins; and
the wild 'excitement of animal and ring fights, bull bait-
ing, fencing matches, racing on foot, wheel, and horse.
Even for the fighting plays which are not intended as an
exhibition, such as football and cricket games, there is
usually collected a crowd of intensely sympathetic spec-
tators, and the players themselves, when not in action,
are entirely out of the game, yet they still take part
through inner imitation which has frequent outward
manifestations. Moreover, whoever sees a difficult piece
of work accomplished feels a desire to test his own skill
with a like task. The merest onlooker at a prize fight will
assume belligerent postures, as Defregger says, and sav-
ages are often so wrought upon by witnessing a war dance
that serious brawls ensue.

These facts lead us insensibly to the realm of art, of

246 THE PLAY OF MAN

which I merely remark in passing that certain echoes of
the fray may be detected in architecture and music, and
that the representative arts and especially painting de-
vote a wide field to combat, but that the real domain of
internal fighting play is found in poetry. Fighting and
love plays* contribute most largely to the enjoyable ele-
ment in poetry, and the latter is less effective when
divorced from combat. Even in lyrics, which would seem
to afford the least opportunity for exploiting such themes,
the tourney is a fruitful inspiration, and the triumphant
note of victory is conspicuous. A verse of Heyse's illus-
trates in mocking wise, and, perhaps more forcibly than
any other, how great is the importance to the poetic art
of its connection with the fighting instinct. In dilating
upon the literary status of the abode of bliss he says:

" Fiir Drame, Lustspiel und novelle " For drama, stage play, and novel
1st leider hicr Xein glinst'ner There is, alas ! no public liere ;

Bodcn ; These things are practised down in

Die kultivirt man in der Holle. hell.

llir giebt es Ilymnen nur und Here hymns and odes are de
Oden," rigueur?''

In studying epic poetry we are struclv by the fre-
quency with which the excitement of fighting furnishes
the motive. This is the case with almost the whole cycle
of primitive epics and folk stories, down to our modern
romance; and when an epic is produced, like the Messias,
for example, without such stimulus to interest, it falls ir-
retrievably under the reproach of dulness. In the drama
war is all-important! A short time ago an unnamed au-
thor published an article on dramatic conflict to which
I fully subscribe.f Since the time of Aristotle the idea
of acting has been prominent % in any conception of the
drama, though there have been some writers like Lenz,
Otto Ludwig, and lately Gartelmann, who have stressed
the delineation of character. Both theories easily lead
to a one-sided view. " ISTot character as such, but char-
acter in conflict it is which lays claim to our interest in

* They do not, of course, form the essence of poetic enjoyment.

t Der dramatische Konflikt, Grenzboten. 1897, No. 39.

X Volkett, Aesthctik des Tragischen, Miinchen, 1897, pp. 83, 87.

WITNESSING FIGHTS AND FIGHTING PLAYS 247

the drama, and only such acting is dramatic as reveals
the conflict. . . . The essence of the dramatic consists in
the presence of an overwhelming catastrophe which forms
the central point of the poem, and its culmination is the
writer's chief task." It strikes me that this is incontest-
able, though it may be urged that the conflict is only a
means of bringing out the essential features of the char-
acter. Thus Wetz strikingly says : " If a poet wishes to
portray his hero realistically, then must his environment
contrast with his character. He must be put in trying
circumstances, and thus be brought out of himself and
reveal his utmost depths. Comedy as well as tragedy fur-
nishes such situations; where the amusing complications
or fatal passion have once been intimated they must be
pursued to their final consequences." * For refined con-
noisseurs it may be true that in perfect drama f conflict
is but a means of unveiling character, yet even their in-
terest is deepened by psychological considerations. With
naive spectators, w^ho are to me the more important, it is
quite otherwise. The conflict itself is the important thing
to them, and the fact that it may afford insight into char-
acter is only noteworthy as making the fight more inter-
esting. In any case we are safe in averring that the pleas-
ure afforded by the drama has one very essential feature
in common with ring contests, animal fights, races, etc. —
namely, that of observing a struggle in which we may
inwardly participate.

Tragedy is the highest poetic representation of a con-
test which is pursued to the bitter end, usually violent
defeat.f Here we again encounter the question of en-
joyment in relation to what is tragic. Volkelt explains
it as a result of (1) the exalted character of the ex-
citement; (2) sympathy; (3) strong stimuli; and (4) ap-
preciation of artistic form. The third point, which is
also one of ours, he considers subordinate. His first
point, however, is not universally applicable, and his sec-

* W. Wetz. Ueber das Verhaltniss der Dichtung zur Wirkllchkeit und
(Tescliiclite. Zeitsehr. f. \'g\. Litt.-Gesch., vol. ix, p. 161. He admits in
the sequel that in Corneille's Cid, for instance, there is no such working
out of psychical individuality.

+ Tbid.

i Volkett, Aesthetik des Tragischen, Miinchen, 1897, pp. 83, 87.

248 THE PLAY OF MAN

ond is limited to those cases in which the sufferer is re-
garded as worthy, and even then pain predominates and
only serves to weigh the balance further down on that
side. Thus only the last two points remain for universal
application. While we grant that appreciation of artistic
form is an element in the explanation, the third point,
pleasure in intense stimuli, seems to me more important.
Volkelt's view is not a little influenced by Vischu's con-
tention that " a general disturbance of the emotions con-
stitutes a satisfaction for barbaric crudeness and ennuis
We have already had occasion to show that the enjoy-
ment of strong stimuli is of great significance in all
departments of play, but I fail to see anything barbaric
about it, and consider this word unworthy to be applied
to aesthetic pleasure. Is it not a noble pleasure to stand
on a mountain summit or a ship's prow and watch an
approaching storm? And how much more elevated still
is the storm of effects which tragedy awakens in us !

In considering fighting play in this connection we
must notice a further point which is a corollary to those
which have gone before, and is illustrated by some of the
examples already given. The man standing on a ship and
contemplating the force of a storm (I do not refer to his
struggle with it) enjoys more than mere excitement. His
soul partakes of the raging of the elements, the seething
waves which break on the vessel's prow, the furious gusts
of wind, all this outward strife is inwardly imitated by
him, and he is filled with jubilant delight in exercising all
his fighting instincts. So also with tragedy. Not only
joy in the storm of emotions, but also joy in the con-
test, is an important means of subduing what is unavoid-
ably painful. While this relation, too, has been appre-
ciated in other spheres, its application to the tragic has
not hitherto been made. Indeed, this instinct is usually
referred to in a narrow sense as a sort of bloodthirsti-
ness, an idea not always far wrong. Ribot has formulated
the following progression: "Pleasure in manslaughter,
pleasure in judicial execution, pleasure in witnessing
death (murder, gladiatorial combat, and the like) pleasure
in seeing the blood of animals gush out (bull and cock
fights) pleasure in witnessing violent and gory melo-

WITNESSING FIGHTS AND FIGHTING PLAYS 249

drama [this is only imitation, since the illusion of reality-
is but momentary], and finally, pleasure in reading bloody
romances and following imaginary murder trials." ^ We
can hardly deny that even the cultured spectator feels
something of the murderous impulse when, for instance,
Hamlet springs with the agility of a tiger toward the king
to fix him with a dagger. Yet as a whole this exposition
of the theory of tragedy is defective even if we make
the murderous impulse cover every variety of injurious
conduct. The impulse to inflict injury has nothing to
do with the final overthrow of the hero of our sympathies
(and we do sympathize often with the very criminals in
tragedy), and in the instances cited by Ribot it is usually
less the bloodiness of the episode than its character as a
fight which attracts us. The feeling of power in combat,
not the cruelty of destructiveness, is most prominent.
The reason that spectators of an animal fight are not
satisfied until one of the fighters is either killed or dis-
abled is surely not because they delight in injury as such,
but because the fight can not be decisive until some in-
juiy is done.

While, then, we can not adopt this theory of the de-
structive impulse, yet we can learn from it, especially on
one point to which we have given too little attention.
We do take a certain pleasure in the catastrophe involv-
ing the personages of a drama which differs from our
satisfaction in a fighting play; we sympathize with the
sufferer, and yet experience feelings of pleasure. So long
as the crisis delays, the case is indistinguishable from
all other fighting plays; but how can we take part by
inner imitation in the general collapse and yet enjoy the
spectacle? In answer to this I must say that I am ex-
tremely doubtful whether the moment of the catastrophe
is always enjoyable; I am inclined to think that quite
often the sources of pleasure are insufficient to outweigh
genuine grief. In this case inner imitation persists be-
cause the spectator is hypnotized by the extraordinary
tension, and is unable to desist. I think, for example,
that no one experiences lively feelings of delight while

* Psychologie des sentiments, p. 225.

250 THE PLAY OF MAN

Wallenstein is being nmrdered behind the scenes, in spite
of the intense stimulus, importance of the interests in-
volved, etc. It is not essential that every instant of
sesthetic contemplation should be filled with unadulter-
ated pleasure. On the other hand, there are undoubtedly
instances in which the catastrophe is actually enjoyed;
and since we are not prepared to accept the explanation
of this given above, let us inquire whether we can find
one more satisfactory from the standpoint which we have
adopted — namely, that of fighting play strictly speaking.
An example will make my view clear, and one which may
be explained in two ways. Let us picture to ourselves a
Roman amphitheatre with the spectators assembled to
witness a fight between a " bestarius " and a lion, and
suppose that the man, in spite of wonderful agility, re-
ceives more and more serious wounds and is finally slain
by the maddened brute. Suppose, further, that inner
imitation on the part of the spectators is engaged by the
man, as is natural, so that their pleasure can not be re-
ferred to triumph in the lion's victory. To us the most
conspicuous feature of the whole thing is the cruelty and
bloodthirstiness of the spectators, and reading modern
descriptions of these old Roman customs only strengthens
this idea. The barbarity was undoubtedly there, but was
it the ground of their enjoyment? I think not, for thou-
sands of the breathless spectators. On the contrary, that
which moves these people is one of the strongest and most
stirring stimuli known to us, sympathy with the courage
and persistence of fighters to the death. For the best
and probably the most of the spectators the satisfaction is
not in mere witnessing cruel horrors, but first in the in-
vincible courage which is undaunted in their presence, or
in case of the hero's defeat it consists in a victory over
their own sympathetic terror. How clearly this passage
from Cicero indicates this ! " When you see the boys in
Sparta, the lads in Olympia, or barbarians in the arena
suffer the severest blows and bear them silently, will you
wail like a woman when you feel pain? Boxers never
lament when they are beaten from the ring, and what
wounds they get ! Can you not put up with a single hurt
from the buffetings of life? What fighter, even an ordi-

WITNESSING FIGHTS AND FIGHTING PLAYS 251

nary one, ever sighs or groans or goes about with a down-
cast face? Which of them has tamely submitted to
death?"

In a similar way the sight of misfortune in tragedy
may give pleasure because the outward undoing of the
hero is calculated to awaken in us a feeling of triumph
in which imitation gives us a part. As I have said, I do
not believe that this is always the case, but rather that
while the tragedy as a whole gives pleasure the supreme
moment may be painful; and in still other circumstances
the storm of emotion, one of all-conquering Fate, etc.,
may cause feelings of satisfaction when there is no inner
victory. It is never so intense, however, as when this is
present — a proof of the importance of fighting play. The
utmost triumph for a fighter is the victory over his fear
of defeat, and such victory is afforded by our playful sym-
pathy with a tragic incident. Then fighting play becomes
a source of such pleasure as is attributed ordinarily to ex-
alted influences. Such side lights on a subject are seldom
without important significance, and our problem is now
thrown into somewhat this form. Tragedy most perfectly
represents combat when it is pursued to a catastrophe.
Since we habitually sympathize Vv'ith the human element,
the contradiction ensues of our experiencing pleasure in
the suffering which we deplore and are involved in. We
explain this apparent contradiction by assuming that the
catastrophe becomes the foundation for an inner victory
which converts it into a triumph. An examination of the
various elevating effects which Volkelt's analysis dis-
closes reveals much that is irrelevant from our stand-
point. The most salient of these points is his tragic
opposition, whereas we have found that the catastrophe is
in itself enjoyable only when exultation in the triumph
of desolation is based on dread of that very thing. When
the exhilaration depends merely on the ovei'whelming na-
ture of Fate or when a moment of respite is snatched for
the doomed hero, the poignancy of our sympathy with
the final suffering is softened. Independent satisfaction
in the catastrophe is present only where there is an ele-
ment of fighting play, and herein lies the essence of our
theory — that is, when inner imitation transforms defeat

252 THE PLAY OF MAN

into victory. " Courage and self-possession in the pres-
ence of a powerful enemy, of threatened danger or calam-
ity, or of difficult and anxious questions — this is what the
tragic artist displays. All that is martial in us holds
saturnalia in the presence of tragedy." *

The study of fighting play has thus led us from its
rough and cruel manifestations to the culminating point
of tragedy. What Volkelt says in a general way of the
supreme moment we may apply to our own position:
" Even in suffering and grief, in fear and defeat, must
the tragic personage, if he would not fall below the re-
quirements of his art, always appear great. When a man
quails in the hour of extreme suffering or wavers before
the severest test, however superior he may have appeared
previously, there is an end of tragic effect. But let him
display greatness of soul at the crucial moment, he then
makes an elevating impression which is subverting to pes-
simism and encouraging to the idea that the severest and
most outrageous attacks of Fortune can not make a man
small, that the human spirit bears within itself a principle
of growth and of supremacy which is able to cope with the
might of Fate itself.f

I close with the remark that this study of the tragic
is advanced with a full sense of its inadequacy. My main
intention is to indicate the scope of my conception of
fighting play. The general idea of play has been devel-
oped by others and applied advantageously in the treat-
ment of contrast of ideas in the tragic. Tragedy, like all
other sources of higher aesthetic pleasure, extends beyond
the sphere of play because, to put it briefly in the words
of Schiller, we can descry through the veil of beauty the
majestic form of truth.

11. Love Play

Is there such a thing as playful application of the

sexual impulse? Views of this subject differ widely, and

the remarks on it of animal observers show that many

hesitate to use the term "play" in this connection.

* Nietzsche, Gotzendamnierunir, P- 136.

t I shall return later to the discussion of Wundt's use of imitation.

LOVE PLAY 253

Wundt says : " The distinction has been made between
fighting play and love play, and such actions and ex-
pressions as, for instance, the cooing of doves, the calls
of singing birds, etc., have been interpreted as wooings.
But these wooings are quite seriously intended by the
bird, and I do not think that we can regard them as
in any sense playful." * On the other hand, others can
be cited who assure us that most observers agree in ascrib-
ing to singing birds, besides their regular courtship arts
of song and flight, actions which have all the marks
by which Wundt himself characterizes play — namely, en-
joyment, repetition, and pretence. However, we shall find
that it is in man that play with the function in ques-
tion is most clearly exhibited, and, as its connection with
art has already been referred to, it will be sufficient to
dwell on one aspect of it here — namely, its relation to
poetry. However derogatory it may be considered
to condition poetic art on such stimuli, the fact is
incontestable that, deprived of their influence, the
tree of poetry would be stripped of its verdant living
dress.

On the other hand, we must avoid the older and more
common error of speaking about the " sweet sportiveness
of love " without distinguishing between what is really
playful and what is quite seriously meant. It is true
that such popular usages of speech have not become gen-
eral without some foundation in fact, and it may prove
interesting to inquire how this one arose. We find the
element of truth in the popular feeling by comparing the
subject under discussion with eating and drinking, which
are also sensuous pleasures. Why do we not hear so much
of play in their exercise ? Evidently there is a difference.
While in eating and drinking, so far as directed by hun-
ger, the real end, the preservation of life, is always in
view, while the real end of lovers' dalliance, namely, the
preservation of the species, is far in the background. It
is true that we sometimes eat and drink for the enjoy-
ment it gives, as well as to satisfy hunger and renew our
strength, yet the practical bearing of the act is so closely

* Vorles. lib. d. Menschen-u. Thierseele, third edition, 1897, p. 405.

254 THE PLAY OF MAN

and inseparably connected with it that only under very
special circumstances can we speak of it as playful. It is
quite otherwise with the caresses and the traffic of love.
Here the practical results are so far removed and the
things in themselves are so enjoyable that such language is
quite justified.

Still, while there is analogy there is not perfect iden-
tity with play, and we must carefully inspect various
aspects of the subject to select those which are unmis-
takably of this character. The subjoined examples
are therefore selected advisedly and with care, in view of
possibly unexpected readers of this chapter. A glance over
the field discloses the following suitable divisions: 1,
Natural courtship play; 2, sex and art; 3, sex and the
comic.

1. Natural Courtship Play

Birds have many familiar courtship arts which are
hereditary (the isolated adult bird displays almost as
much capacity in this direction as does one reared with
his kind), but mammals exhibit much less of it. In rela-
tion to man there is a theory that sex grounds all art
(of this we shall speak later), but a scientific system of
comparative courtship of the various human races does not
exist ; nor, indeed, have we systematic observations of any
one people. It is therefore impossible to affirm whether
there are such things as instinctive gestures, expressions,
caresses, etc., which all human beings recognise as sexual
stimuli. From the little that is known it seems probable
that the number of such tokens is not great — even the
kiss is by no means general! We can only be sure of a
universal tendency to approach and to touch one an-
other, and of a disposition to self-exhibition and co-
quetry as probably instinctive and of the special fonns
which these tendencies take under the influence of imita-
tion and tradition as secondary causes. Caressing con-
tact may then be regarded as a play when it is an end
in itself, which is possible under two conditions: First,
when the pursuance of the instinctive movements to their
legitimate end is prevented by incapacity or ignorance;
and, second, when it is prevented by an act of will on

NATURAL COURTSHIP PLAY 255

the part of the participants. Children exhibit the first
case, adults often enough the second.

It is generally known that children are frequently very
early susceptible to sexual excitement, and show a desire
for contact with others as well as enjoyment of it, with-
out having the least suspicion of its meaning. Keller gives
a beautiful and touching example of this in his Romeo
und Julia auf dem Dorfe : " On a tiny plot of ground all
covered with green herbs the little lass lay down upon
her back, for she was tired, and began to croon some
words in a monotonous way, while the boy sat near her
and joined in the song, almost wishing to follow her
example, so weary and languid he felt. The sun shone
into the open mouth of the singing girl, gleaming on her
teeth so dazzlingly white and shining through the full
red lips. The boy noticed this, and taking her head in
his hands he examined the little teeth curiously and cried,
* Guess how many teeth you have ? ' She reflected for a
moment, as though making a careful calculation, and
then said with conviction, ' A hundred.' ' No ; thirty-two,'
he answered ; ' but wait till I count again.' Then he
counted aloud, but as he did not make thirty-two he had
to begin over several times. The little girl kept still for
some time, but as the zealous enumerator seemed never
to get any nearer the end of his task she shook him off at
last and cried, ' I will count yours.' So the boy stretched
himself on the grass with the girl above him, throwing
his head back while she counted 1, 2, 7, 5, 2; but the
task was too hard for the little beauty, and the boy had
to teach and correct her, so she too had to begin over
and over again. This play seemed to please them better
than any they had had that day. But at last the little
girl slid down by the side of her small instructor,
and the children slept together in the bright sunshine."
From such tender, unconscious premonitions we pass to
more strongly marked love plays, for which the services
of a special instructor are usually necessary, as in the
somewhat peculiar relation of the boy Rousseau to the
little Goton who played the part of teacher in their
private interviews : " Elle se permettait avec moi les plus
grandes privautes, sans jamais m'en permettre aucune

256 THE PLAY OF MAN

avec elle; elle me traitait exactement en enfant: ce qui
me fait croire, ou qu'elle avait deja cesse de I'etre ou
qu'au contraire elle I'etait encore assez elle-meme pour
ne voir qu'un jeu dans le peril auquel elle s'exposait."

Often, too, children show the same sort of preference,
all unconscious of its import, toward particular f avourite3
among their grown-up friends, enjoying the pleasure of
contact for its own sake. " The pretty girl," says Mante-
gazza, "whom Nature has endowed with the power to
awaken longings and sighs at her every step, often does
not realize that in the swarm of her admirers there are
boys scarcely yet past their childhood, who secretly kiss
any flower on which she may chance to look, who are
happy if they may steal like a thief into the room where
the beauty has slept and may kiss the cai-pet that her
foot has pressed; . . . and how seldom does she suspect,
as her fingers play with the locks of the little fellow whose
head rests on her knee, that his heart is beating audibly
under her caressing touch ! " * Perez cites Valle's account
of a ten-year-old boy who was in love with his older cousin.
"Elle vient quelquefois m'agacer le cou, me menacer les
cotes de ses doigts longs. Elle rit, me caresse, m'embrasse;
je la serre en me defendant et je I'ai mordue une fois.
Elle m'a crie : Petit mediant ! en me donnant une tape
sur la joue un peu fort, etc." t

This feeling may be involved in some of the positions
and movements of tussling boys. Schaeffer has remarked
in a short paper that in the belligerent plays of boys, espe-
cially ring fighting,^ " the fundamental impulse of sexual
life for the utmost extensive and intensive contact, Avith
a more or less clearly defined idea of conquest underlying
it," plays a most conspicuous part. I do not believe that
this is the rule, yet I am convinced that Schaeffer's view
is more often correct than would appear at a first glance,
and especially so when the contestants are on the ground
and laughingly struggle together.

Lastly, we must notice the absorbing friendships be-

* The Psycholoory of Love, p. 53.

+ L'enfan't do tvoi's a sept ans, p. 273.

X Zeitschr. f. Psychol, u. Physiol, d. Siuuesorgane, vol. ii (1891), p. 128.

NATURAL COURTSHIP PLAY 257

tween children of the same sex. Here, too, the instinct,
robbed of its proper aim, may assume a sportive, playful
air. Even among students, friendships are not rare in
which the unsatisfied impulse plays its part all unknown
to the subjects. I content myself in this connection with
the citation of a little-known passage of the highest poetic
beauty, and evidently inspired by personal reminiscence.
In it a light touch of sexuality is imparted with a deli-
cacy equal to that of Keller. Wilhelm Meister writes to
Natalie of his suddenly formed and tragically ended
friendship with a village lad. The two boys, who had
just become acquainted, were fishing together on the river
bank. " As we sat there leaning together he seemed to
grow tired, and called nay attention to a flat rock which
projected into the water from one side of the stream.
It made the loveliest place to bathe. Pretty soon he
sprang up, declaring that he could no longer withstand
it, and before I knew it he was down there undressed and
in the water. As he was a good swimmer he soon left the
shallows, yielding his form to the water and coming to-
ward me. I too began to be interested. Grasshoppers
danced around me, ants swarmed about, bright-coloured
insects hung from the boughs overhead, and gold gleaming
sunbeams floated and glanced fantastically at my feet,
and just then a huge crab pushed up between the roots
to his old stand whence he had been driven by the
necessity of hiding from the fishers. It was so warm
and damp that one longed to get out of the sun into
the shade, and then from the cool shade to the cooler
water. So it was easy for my companion to lure me
in with him. I found a mild invitation irresistible and,
notwithstanding some fear of parental displeasure, and
a vague terror of the unknown element, I was soon
making active preparations. Quickly undressing on the
rock I cautiously stepped into the water, but did not go
far from the gently sloping bank. Here my friend let
me linger, going oif by himself in the buoyant waves.
When he came back he stood upright to dry his body in
the warm sunshine. I thought the glory of the sun was
eclipsed by the noble manly figure which I had never
seen nude before. He too seemed to regard me with equal

258 THE PLAY OF MAN

attention. Though quickly dressed again, we now stood
forever revealed to one another, and with the warmest
kisses we swore eternal friendship."

I suppose the general playfulness of the foregoing in-
stances might be called in question on the ground that
there is no consciousness that it is all a play, no sham
activity. Yet we refer complacently enough to other
things which display quite as little of such subconscious-
ness as play. Indeed, the rule is that it is absent from
mental play, and, moreover, this is a case that more
closely concerns the emotions. The plays which involve
subjective sham activity overlap to a great extent the
sphere of the objective ones where the man or animal
takes pleasure in action which has no necessary actual
aim, yet without being conscious of having turned aside
from the life of cause and effect. If we admit that the
boy careering aimlessly about is playing because he en-
joys the movement for its own sake, or that gourmands
who eat without hunger, and merely to tickle their
palates, are playing, then we must also call it play when
the child takes pleasure in the sexual sensations arising
from touch stimuli without knowing that his activity,
on account of the exclusion of their proper end, is all a
sham. From a purely biological standpoint the concep-
tion of play goes much deeper, as we shall see later on.
I have purposely selected such examples as (with the ex-
ception of the last citation) exhibit the sexual impulse in
conjunction v/ith other activity that is unmistakably
playful, believing that this conjunction would strengthen
the probability of its being playful in those cases which if
given alone might appear doubtful.

With adults the subjective side of play is more promi-
nent, especially when the proper end of the instinctive
impulse for contact is held in abeyance by the will of the
participants. Here belongs the dalliance of engaged
couples. It is no play, of course, when the lovers, on the
first revelation of their common feeling or after a long
separation, indulge in a passionate embrace. But when in
their daily intercourse that manifold trifling begins which
is too familiar to need description, I see no reason why it
should not be called play with touch stimuli. The more

NATUEAL COURTSHIP PLAY 259

naive the period or social class the more common this
is. In the free intercourse of the sexes in mediaeval baths
the jesting caresses must often have been quite rough.
While many of the pictorial representations of such bath-
ing scenes are doubtless exaggerated, still they could not
have Keen pure inventions. The description by the Flor-
entine Poggio (1417) of Swiss bathing customs bears
them out. He expressly says : " It is remarkable to see
how innocent they are; how unsuspiciously men will
look on while their wives are handled by strangers, . . .
while they gambol and romp wdth each other and some-
times without other company; yet the husbands are not
disturbed nor surprised at anything because they know
that it is all done in an innocent, harmless way." In
feudal times it was the custom for noble gentlemen to be
served in the bath by young women, to be washed by them,
and afterward rubbed. At the spinning fetes the young
couples " played," as a Christmas piece has it, with all
sorts of hand clasping and stroking. But the most re-
markable proceeding of this kind was the " lovers' night
of continence," observed in various countries, including
France, Italy, and Germany, by knightly devotees whose
lady permitted them to pass one night at her side, trust-
ing to their oath and honour not to take advantage of
her kindness. This strange custom, so shocking to our
ideas of propriety, was doubtless derived from similar
practices of very ancient origin among the peasantry, the
chastity of whose girls was rarely violated in spite of the
utmost intimacies. It is interesting to find an ethno-
logical analogue to this among the Zulus. According to
Fritsch, the custom of Uku-hlohonga obtains there, " in
which the young bachelors join the maidens of the neigh-
bourhood, and these latter choose their mates, each ac-
cording to her pleasure. The rejected swains have to
bear the scorn of the whole company, while the chosen
ones recline with their sweethearts, and an imitation of
the sexual function is gone through with. Yet, as a
rule, the girl by force and threats prevents anything more
serious ! " *

* Fritsch, Die Eingeborenen Siid-Afrikas, p. 140.

260 THE PLAY OF MAN

Self-exhibition will occupy us only so far as it does
not relate to art. Every lover desires to present himself
in the most favourable light to the object of his affections,
and to this end he plays a part, to a certain extent; he
" does as though " he were braver, stronger, more skilful,
handsomer, of finer feeling, and more intelligence than
he actually and habitually is. Fliegende Blatter said
once, " A lover always tries to be as lovable as he can,
and is therefore always ridiculous." Such self-display is
not necessarily playful, but it becomes so as soon as the
lover's vanity is involved, and he aims not only at the
desired effect on his mistress, but also enjoys for its own
sake the exploitation of his charms. Here, as in so many
psychic phenomena, the complexity of the field is im-
portant. We are able to see ourselves over our own
shoulders, and behind the wooing I stands a higher con-
sciousness which looks on with satisfaction at the dis-
play of its own attractions. Hence arise the frequent
cases where a sort of tacit understanding between a man
and woman prohibits all serious intercourse, so that they
can have only such relations as depend on the sexual
stimulus (flirting).

As the first form of courtship by self-exhibition I men-
tion those fighting plays in which the combatants engage
in the ladies' presence. I have noticed incidentally that
human combat, as well as that between animals, is often
connected with the sexual life, but now w^e will consider
the subject from its proper standpoint. That a martial
bearing is a means not only of terrifying enemies, but also
of delighting females, all experience goes to show, and
war paint and feathers become adornments as well. Here
as with animals, says Colin A. Scott, the terrible ap-
proaches the beautiful, and as modesty in women has a
l^eculiar charm to the other sex, so does a warlike spirit
appeal to the feminine nature. " In some tribes a man
dare not marry, and indeed no woman would have him,
until he has slain a certain number of foes." * The con-
quest of rivals then becomes a means of self-exhibition
before the loved one. Westermarck, in his history of

* Colin A. Scott, Sex and Art, Am. Jour, of Psychol., vol. vii, p. 182.

NATUEAL COURTSHIP PLAY 261

human marriage, gives numerous instances of such court-
ship contests, from which I shall borrow. Heame states
that " it is a universal custom among the North American
Indians for the men who are wooing a woman to fight
for her, and naturally the strongest among them gets the
prize. This practice prevails among all their tribes, and
is the occasion of passionate rivalry among their youths,
who from childhood, and on every possible occasion, make
a point of displaying their strength and skill in fighting."
Lumholtz writes from North Queensland : " If a woman
is beautiful all the men want her, and the strongest and
most influential is usually the lucky man. Consequently,
the younger men must wait a long time to get a wife,
especially if they are not brave enough to risk a fight with
one stronger than themselves. Among the West Vic-
torian tribes described by Dawson a young chief who
can not find a wife for himself and is inclined to an-
other man's, may, if the latter has more than two wives,
challenge the husband to combat, and if victorious make
the lady of his choice his lawful spouse. In ISTew Zealand
when a girl has two suitors of equal merit a contest is
arranged in which the damsel is dragged by the arms in
different directions by the wooers, and the stronger car-
ries off the bride.'* Arthur Young tells of a strange cus-
tom which was at one time general in the Arran Islands.
" A number of the poorer village folk confer together
respecting some young girl who according to their opin-
ion ought to be married, and select an eligible peasant.
This settled, they send a message to the fair one that
next Sunday she will be ' beritten gemacht ' — that is,
carried on the men's shoulders. She then prepares burned
wine and cider for the feast, and after mass all pay her
a visit to watch the sling contest. After she is ' beritten
gemacht ' the rivalry begins, and general attention is
skilfully directed toward the chosen swain. If he is
victor he surely marries the maiden ; but if another over-
comes him he loses her, for she is the prize of the cham-
pion." * There is surely something playful about such
contests, at least in the preparation and in the awards,

• * Westermarck, op. cit.^ p, 156.

262 THE PLAY OF MAN

if not in the struggle itself. But it is not always by
combat with other suitors that the lover displays his cour-
age, strength, and dexterity. By boldly taking risks and
engaging in tests of strength and trials of skill which
have so strong an attraction for the young, he claims the
attention and admiration which women bestow on such
acts. I do not assert that such exhibitions would never
take place without feminine spectators, but as a rule they
would be pursued with much less enthusiasm if the only
onlookers were to be men. Most herdsmen would be in-
different to the Edelweiss growing on the almost inacces-
sible rocks did not a sprig of it in their hats advertise
them to the village beauties as men fearless of danger.
We have seen that the adventurous knight's readiness for
the fray and hearty welcome to danger in any form were
usually prompted by his wish to lay the trophies of his
victories at his lady's feet. Nowhere is this sort of court-
ship more naively expressed than in Walter Scott's Ivan-
hoe, where Richard Coeur de Lion sings beneath his lady's
window :

" Joy to the fair ! My name unknown,

Each deed and all its praise thine own ;

Then, oh, unbar this churlish gate !

The night dew falls, the hour is late.

Inured to Syria's glowing breath,

I feel the north breeze chill as death ;

Let grateful love quell maiden shame,

And grant him bliss who brings thee fame."

We should further note the display of physical charms
so far as it can be separated from art, which, indeed, is
no easy task, as the boundary line is sometimes almost
indistinguishable. Yet it does exist, and we may be able
to detect it most readily in the conduct of our budding
youths. As a rule, when the other sex begins to interest
them they are impelled to make the most of every out-
ward advantage. The boy begins to be neat, to care for
his teeth and nails, arrange his hair more carefully, to
consider the fit of his clothes, and to indulge in boots
and gloves which are too small for him; he puts on high
collars and makes a great display of his cuffs, and impa-
tiently awaits the premonitions of a mustache. It is

NATURAL COURTSHIP PLAY

altogether unlikely that he is clear as to the meaning
of all this, and in that case he is playing with his per-
sonal charms. Such special attention is given to the hair
by youths of all classes as to suggest a particular signifi-
cance for that form of adornment, and the care of the
beard naturally goes with it.

There are, however, less innocent modes of self-exhibi-
tion and some which more unmistakably point to the end
which they are intended to serve. The girdle decorations
of savages, for instance, are now considered to have a
significance quite different from that formerly attributed
to them. Their original intention was in all probability
to attract attention, not to conceal. Of their ornamental
use we are not new speaking, but I confess that I have
my doubts of the universal applicability of the explana-
tion just indicated, in spite of the opinion of many com-
petent investigators. Forster speaks of the leaves of a
certain species of ginger plant which the male inhabit-
ants of some of the New Hebrides bind to their breech
cloths, as outraging in their appearance every law of
decency, and Barrow makes the same remark about the
Hottentots.* Many scholars, too, are disposed to attrib-
ute the origin of circumcision to some such beginnings,
as there is much against its explanation on religious or
sanitary grounds. It is rather surprising that no one
has adduced, in support of the modern view of the pur-
poses of courtship served by the articles suspended from
the girdle, the strange fashion of projecting front flaps
introduced in the fifteenth century. Eabelais's famous
chapter on this subject is merely an exaggeration, not
an invention. The' reality was certainly bad enough,t
and as little calculated as are the savage decorations to
serve the purposes of modesty. Yet in neither case am
I prepared to assert that they belong exclusively to the
category of sexual stimuli.

The higher the culture of a people the more prominent
becomes the display of mental qualities in conjunction
with physical advantages. We have seen that the op-

* Wostermarck, op. eit., p. 102.

t Rudeck, Gescliichte der offentlichen Sittlichkeit in Deutschland,
Jena, 1897, p. 45.

264 THE PLAY OF MAN

portunity to speak in public is often the leading stimulus
in the mental fighting play of argument, and in the in-
tercourse of the sexes the decorous display of one's intel-
lectual advantages appears as a further play, be it whether
the man simply wishes to show his powers to their best
advantage in the presence of beautiful women, or whether
he intends his gallantry as a direct attack on the femi-
nine heart. Every one knows how common this is as a
mere play, apart from any serious intention, and, indeed,
that it is the habit of man to play the gallant even when
he is not especially " laying himself out " to be attractive.
The much-decried unseemly haste of men in society to
seek refuge in the smoking room after dinner is due cer-
tainly in part to their fatigue after keeping up the play
so long and trying to appear superior to their ordinary
selves.

But earnest courtship, too, easily assumes a playful
character, because the pleasure in self -exhibition and the
satisfaction of vanity easily become ends in themselves.
The stilted and flowery epistolary style common a few
generations ago doubtless grew up in this way, and the
old letters published as models for lovers are good in-
stances of this sort of extravagance.

Coquetry in the other sex is allied to self-exhibi-
tion in the male, but it is of so complicated a character
that a special section is devoted to its treatment. Usually
the word conveys the idea of a heartless use and enjoy-
ment of a woman's power over men, but it really has a
much wider meaning which is of great biological im-
portance.

ISTot only among human beings, but in the animal
world as well, peculiar behaviour is noticeable on the part
of females, which is based on the antagonism of two in-
stincts— namely, the sexual impulse and inborn coyness.
Hence arises that alternate seeking and fleeing for which
I know no better name than coquetry, which is thus
seen to be often quite different from mere heartless play.
A simple illustration is that of the doe followed by an
ardent buck; she flees, but it is always in a circle.

If we find the cause of such coquetry in inborn mod-
esty which is directly opposed to the sexual impulse the

NATURAL COURTSHIP PLAY 265

question is at once asked, Of what use is this mod-
esty? The answer which is attempted in The Play of
Animals involves an essential modification of the theory
of natural selection. Darwin has referred animal arts
of courtship to aesthetic taste on the part of the female,
who is said always to choose the handsomest and best
equipped of her wooers. But it is by no means certain
that such choice from a number is always the case; in-
deed, some observers directly contradict' the theory of
courtship arts at all. The Miiller brothers have definitely
established the fact that birds pair long before the breed-
ing season, so that such arts can only be for the purpose
of " overcoming feminine reluctance to sexual union."
And H. E. Ziegler remarks, in a notice of my book, that
courtship plays are indulged in repeatedly by monoga-
mous birds long after their permanent choice has been
made. With these facts then as premises, I have reached
the following conclusion: Since the sex impulse must
necessarily have extraordinary strength, the interests of
the preservation of species are best served by a long pre-
liminary condition of excitement and by some checks to
its discharge. The instinctive coyness of the female
serves this purpose. The question is not, in my opinion,
which of many males she will choose, but rather which
male possesses the qualities necessary for overcoming the
reluctance of the female whom he selects and besieges,
and for maintaining at the same time the proper state
of excitation. " The female is not then the awarder of a
prize, but is rather a hunted creature; and just as the
beast of prey must possess special instincts for securing
his victim, so must the ardent male be equipped with
special instincts for subduing the coyness of his mate."
Thus the phenomena of courtship are directly referable
to a biological end, and the great importance of coyness
is explained.*

* Altum, one of the hicrhest authorities on birds, coniirms this view
(Der Voorel und sein Leben, fifth edition, Munster, 1875, p. 137). I liave
to thank Baldwin, too, for the reference to Guyau, who considers that
the innate modesty may be '' necessaire a la femme pour arriver. sans se
donner, jusqu'au complet developpement de son orsranisme." [See also
Ilavelock Ellis, Geschlechtstrieb mid Schamsrefilhl, p. 10. This view
was worked out in some detail, it seems, together with a view of sexual

266 THE PLAY OF MAN

But this peculiarly feminine instinct has a salient
psychological significance as well, as I have hinted in the
preface to my former work : " Just as in the beast of prey
instincts of ravenous pursuit are refined into the various
arts of the chase, so from such crude efforts at wooing
that courtship has finally developed in which sexual pas-
sion is psychologically sublimated into love." We must
suppose that the evident refinement and depth of the mar-
riage relation among birds is largely to be ascribed to the
fact that the male does not simply excite and control his
mate, but seeks to win her in a less abrupt manner by the
display of his charms and capabilities; and the same is
true with ourselves. Without the modesty of women,
which as a rule only yields to the power of love, the sexual
relation would hardly be a poet's theme, while now love is
regarded as the highest flight of the human soul. " La
pudeur," says Guyau, " a civilise I'amour."

This coyness, of course, can . only constitute a love
play when it is manifested in the struggle with sexual
instinct — that is, when it becomes coquetry or flirting.
As in the female spider, this impulse is converted into
rage which endangers the life of the wooing male, so there
are among women Brunhild natures for whom the pro-
cess of courtship can never be playful. Bat the effect
is different when repulsion is so balanced by attraction
that there is alternate motion to and from, approach
and then flight; though this alone does not constitute it
a play, as the conflict of opposed instincts may be very
serious. When, however, women enjoy the varying moods
for their own sake, playful exercise of instinct easily en-
sues, and is somewhat akin to the fighting and hunting
play, yet clearly differentiated from them. " In Para-
guay," says Mantegazza, " where intercourse between the
sexes is very free, an impatient youth who has good
grounds to believe that he is regarded favourably repeats
in all possible variations of tone, now tender, now pas-
sionate, now beseeching, now wrathful, the one word,

selection similar to Professor Groos's, by Him, in a chapter on Animal
Display in a Swedish work in 1896 ; it is now reproduced in that author's
Oriorins of Art (1900), chap, xiv; cf. also the preface to the same work. —
J. M. B.]

NATURAL COURTSHIP PLAY 267

' To-day ! ' and the lovely Creole who has never heard of
Darwin answers laughingly : ^ No, indeed ; not to-day !
You have only known me ten days ! Perhaps in two
months.' " ^ Here the natural shyness has so little of
fear or anger that the young girl actually enjoys con-
trolling her lover and putting him off, and yet such co-
quetry as this is far from being the heartless behaviour
so commonly designated by that word. Even this latter I
regard as a love play, however, for we must suppose the
genuine coquette to be heart whole. She finds her chief
pleasure in her relations with the other sex, even the
satisfaction of her vanity being of another quality from
that which has no such connection. If w^e inquire what
are some of the special forms of this playful coquetry
we find them parallel with self -exhibition in men, except
that the display is constantly held in check and veiled
by modesty. While man makes much of his courage and
strength in the presence of women, women are apt to
take occasion to parade their weakness and helplessness.
Genuine love involves, as I have occasion to remark, a
combination of the sexual and fostering instincts; there-
fore w^oman's need of his help is a strong attraction to
a man, which is quickly recognised and turned to ac-
count by the female. A young girl is usually very much
alive to the fact when one of her rivals makes a display
of her timidity or delicacy to make herself interesting.
On the other hand, women too like to show where their
capabilities lie, and they exploit their housewifely quali-
ties. This is amusingly shown among the company col-
lected in one of the mountain clubhouses where all must
go to strengthen and refresh the inner man. Great zeal
is displayed by the women, aforetime so weary, in get-
ting out the dishes, laying the table, cooking and serving
the meal, and then in clearing away and tidying up. It
is all done with laughter and jest, for the very novelty
makes it a delight, but would their interest be so great
if there were no masculine spectators in the hut?

Of all the modes of self-exhibition, there is none so
important to a woman as the display of her physical

* Op. cit., p. 87.

268 THE PLAY OF MAN

charms, and the difference between the sexes is plainly-
shown here as elsewhere. Man in his wooing makes
straight for the goal; woman's efforts are veiled, but not
hidden, under a show of modesty. The man says, " Look,
I am thus and so " ; the woman, " I, too, am thus and so,
but don't look." The alluring glance which turns away
if it is noticed, but not unless it is, is a purely feminine
love play, and so is the smile which is not visibly directed
toward the man for whom it is intended; with them, too,
attention to the hair is conspicuous. It is amazing to
see what importance even a three-year-old girl will attach
to it, and with what jealous interest the hair of other
children is observed. A doll with real hair is their chief
desire. But an enumeration of woman's peculiarities in
this respect is summed up in their toilet for full dress;
the decollete gown tells the whole story. Klopstock has
the idea when he speaks in his ode (Die Brant) " of the
quickening breast which so softly swells, not wishing to
be seen, but sure of being seen." It would be impossible
for men to carry off such an exhibition as women do.
They would either not do it at all, or else openly recog-
nise the object of it. Women, on the contrary, would,
if asked, indignantly protest against such an implication.
As a rule, however, they show little disposition to exhibit
their charms for one another's benefit.

This principle extends, too, to the display of their
mental graces. When the talk between a man and a
woman becomes a love play, she usually tries to conceal
her discovery of their congeniality with defensive trifling.
She leads him on with mocking words, makes a direct
attack, then pretends to discourage him, or intrenches
herself in incredulity.

2. Love Play in Art
Before going on to consider this branch of the subject
a few remarks are in order in regard to the Darwinian
theory, which has been so often referred to. According
to it the arts are considered as directly derived from the
relations of the sexes in much the same manner as the
well-known phenomena in the bird world are known as
courtship arts. Far be it from me to deny the sexual in-

LOVE PLAY IN ART 269

stinct its part in the beginnings of art, yet I certainly
consider this view entirely too one-sided. The attempt
has been made, too, to refer the conception of beauty to
this instinct. Grant Allen, in particular, is a latter-day
exponent of this view; proceeding from sexual selection
he reasons that for man mankind is the first of aesthetic
objects. All misshapen, abnormal, feeble, unnatural, and
incapable creatures are repugnant to us, while those are
beautiful which can boast of health, vigour, perfect de-
velopment, and parental soundness. Consequently our
first ideas of beauty are purely " anthropinistic," having
their origin and centre in man and what immediately
concerns him, his weapons, garments, and dwellings.*
The value placed on bright-coloured shells, stones,
feathers, etc., comes from their use as personal adorn-
ments. While this view certainly has much in its favour,
yet its first premise is doubtful. Can w^e assert with
assurance that the perfect human form was the first object
of Eesthetic admiration? If there ever w^ere primitive
men who knew no sort of personal adornment, was the
well-built, vigorous, and youthful body beautiful to them ?
Did they first derive their intense delight in coloured
stones, feathers, shells, etc., from the fact that these
things could be used as bodily adornments? Such an
afiirmation is by no means self-evident. We find pleasure
in gay or shining objects a much earlier feeling in chil-
dren than is admiration of the human form, and, more-
over, it must be borne in mind that the attraction in-
stinctively felt for the normal and vigorous youthful
form is not ordinarily due to aesthetic appreciation. May
it not be possible that the shining stones and gay feathers
were the earliest objects of aesthetic observation, and
that from them the eye first received its education and
learned to admire the human figure. Or if this is too
radical, is it not more prudent to assume that sensuous
pleasure as such has its place in conjunction with sexual
stimuli in the development of aesthetic appreciation?
The personal adornments of primitive peoples seem to me
to indicate clearly that men at first had very little regard

* Mind, October, 1880.

270 THE PLAY OF MAN

for perfect physical beauty; therefore, proceeding cau-
tiously, we are led to the conclusion that the original
use of cosmetics is on the whole a detraction from racial
beauty, though some painted or tattooed designs do em-
phasize even for our eyes the symmetry and eurythmy of
the nude figure, and whitened teeth do bring out the colour
effects of a dark skin. Yet there are so many forms of
would-be decoration which have a contrary effect by
reason of their lack of harmony with the racial norm,
so to speak, that we are forced to doubt whether the
natural man has much feeling for simple physical beauty
in itself. Take this brief description of Scott'3 : " Teeth
were extracted or filed to points, the head shaved, beard
and eyebrows pulled out, skull compressed, feet bandaged
and lengthened or deformed by turning the four smaller
toes under, nose and lips weighted with rings and sticks,
ear lobes dragged down until they touch the shoulders,
the breasts cut off or made unnaturally prominent, the
skin scarred, seamed, or bruised as well as painted, stained,
and tattooed." * Is it not natural to infer from this that
to the savage the body is beautiful only when what we
think its most beautiful and characteristic features are
marred or destroyed?

It proves to be very questionable, then, how far the
idea of beauty is connected with the sexual instinct,
though none can doubt that the use of ornaments plays
an important role in self-exhibition before the opposite
sex. It would be hazardous to state, however, that court-
ship is their only end, since there are terrifying decora-
tions which would not be useful in that capacity unless,
indeed, as a means of frightening away rivals, which is
hardly probable. There is the social aim to be consid-
ered, and the simple pleasure in possessing beautiful, un-
usual, or valuable things (we put such things in our
pockets, but the savage has to attach them externally) .f
Hardly any primitive method of decoration can be ad-
duced as directly strengthening Darwin's theory; the imi-

* Colin A. Scott, op. cit., p. 181.

t We may compare, too, our watch charms. They, like the trophies
and tribal symbols of savasres. show much more the desire for ownership
than the principle of self-exhibition.

LOVE PLAY IN ART 271

tative principle controls the beginnings of plastic art,
courtship is not the exclusive aim in savage dancing, and
as for the music and poetry which go with the dancing,
they rarely deal with such subjects.

It may be demurred that such arts have gradually been
divorced from their original intention, but the facts do not
point to it. Though some scholars regard other ornamenta-
tion as of later origin than the use of cosmetics, there is
nothing to prove that this is a fact.* Moreover, in the de-
velopment of the special arts a noteworthy fact becomes
prominent — namely, that the sexual element appears
stronger in the later stages, while at first other elements
are quite as important or evQii far more so. Thus love
is a conspicuous theme in the lyrics of civilized peoples,
but of primitive races Grosse declares : " It can not be
ascertained that the Australian tribes . . . have pro-
duced a single love song; and Rink, their most faithful
student, says that the Eskimos hardly show any appre-
ciation of the sentiment of love." f In our dancing the
two sexes unite in a movement-play, and Orientals have
beautiful girls to dance before them. Among savages, on
the contrary, imitative dances are much more common,
which have no connection with sex relations. Indeed,
we often find rules which confine dancing to certain
places of resort where women are excluded. We can say
of personal adornment too that civilized peoples apply
them much more to the uses of courtship than do savages.

These things being true, it is well to use caution in
applying the Danvinian theory to the origin of art ; while
uses of courtship very often accompany the appearance
and development of art, we must still cling to our con-
ception of play as its principal source. Delight in sen-
suous pleasure and in regularity, the charm of rhythm,
enjoyment of imitation and of illusion, the demand for
intense stimuli, the attraction of attempting what is dif-
ficult— all are elements in the principle which we have
repeatedly found and shall find more and more, connect-
ing the spheres of play and art without necessarily touch-

* The examples of decoration by animals applies to their dwellings
rather than to their persons.
+ Grosse, p. 233.

272 THE PLAY OF MAN

ing at all on the question of sex. Even self-exhibition
itself may depend as much on the social as on the sexual
instinct. I am convinced, then, that Schiller was in the
main right in deriving art from play, while Darwin's
theory must be relegated to the position of a secondary or
partial explanation.

Having made this critical review of the subject, I may
give my undivided attention to the effort to prove that
art, in its last analysis, does include the sexual element
along with all else that appeals to the feelings, and so is
often converted into a love play. But we must distin-
guish such play as it is manifested in artistic production
and that which appears in cesthetic enjoyment. We often
find courtship carried on by means of the former, while
the latter is concerned only with the playful enjoyment of
sexual excitement, unconnected with any serious aim.
Courtship by means of artistic production is a subject
which has been pretty thoroughly canvassed and will have
but brief mention here. It exhibits a playful character,
such as the above-mentioned forms of self-display when
the wooer enjoys the mere act of unfolding his charms.
Among savages it is usually confined to the use of pig-
ments and dancing. Westermarck and Grosse have re-
cently enumerated the principal uses of the former. But,
as I have said, such decoration is not exclusively for
courtship purposes; the desire to outshine other tribes is
often a powerful motive. The psychological aspect of
this sort of thing is interesting. The later development
of fashion teaches us that mere delight in finery and orna-
ment is a very small part of it ; there is a complication of
relations. When we see an elegant old gentleman at a
watering place with a flower in his buttonhole, we
attribute his state of mind to a belated feeling of youth-
fulness; and so the adornments of savages and the co-
quette's toilet owe their effect less to a direct appeal to
the senses than to their symbolic meaning. They betray
the demand for ornament, and this demand again dis-
closes the adaptability of ornamentation to sexual pur-
poses. Our peasant youths at the fairs put labels in
their hats announcing to the interested public that they
are in the matrimonial market, and all decoration for

LOVE PLAY IN ART 273

courtship purposes says the same thing in effect. Their
suggestiveness is not so much in the external appearance
as in their symbolism,* and this may explain the fact that
what is merely striking is as effective in primitive and
sometimes in modern decoration as what is really beau-
tiful.

Savage dances sometimes serve the purposes of court-
ship, and, of course, the wild intoxication of move-
ment which they lead to is itself calculated to produce
sexual excitement. Notes on obscene dances may be
found in the works of Waitz-Gerland (Australian), Tur-
ner (Samoan), Ehrenreich (Brazilian), Powers (Cali-
fornian), Fritsch (Zulu), and others. "When such dances
serve the purposes of courtship they are not uninterest-
ing. When they consist of a wild melee in which partici-
pators and spectators are thrown into a condition of
ecstasy, the idea of discriminating choice on the part of
the women is difficult to apply. There is, however, no
such difficulty in the way of my theory that violent ex-
citement is a necessary preliminary. I give two examples
from the bird world: "The black-headed ibis of Patagonia,
which is almost as large as a turkey, carries on a strange
wild game in the evening. A whole flock seems to be
suddenly crazed; sometimes they fly up in the air with
startling suddenness, move about in a most erratic way,
and as they near the ground start up again and so re-
peat the game, while the air for kilometres around vibrates
with their harsh, metallic cries. Most ducks confine their
play to mock battles on the water, but the beautiful
whistling duck of the La Plata conducts them on the wing
as well. From ten to twenty of them rise in the air
until they appear like a tiny speck, or entirely disappear.
At this great height they often remain for hours in one
place, slowly separating and coming together again while
the high, clear whistle of the male blends admirably with
the female's deeper, measured note, and when they ap-
proach they strike one another so powerfully with their
wings that the sound, which is like hand-clapping, remains

* Tn an article on Sex and Art, Scott has developed similar ideas, and
has risrhtly connected the vacraries of fetichism with the abnormal sexual
excitement produced by special materials, such as fur, velvet, etc.

274 THE PLAY OF MAN

audible when the birds are out of sight." * In cases where
this sort of orgy, indulged in by flocks of birds, serves
sexual purposes, as it probably often does, my theory
proves to be more explanatory than Darwin's, and the
same may be said of our general dance with its direct ap-
peal to such stimuli. It is much less likely that some of
the dancers will single out special partners than that par-
ticipant and spectators alike will be thrown into an
ecstatic state in which all restraints are cast off.

In considering such dances the question must be met
w^hether they, like the courtship arts of birds, are refer-
able to instinctive tendencies. It may be inferred from
the introductory part of this section that I am somewhat
sceptical as to that. I do, indeed, doubt whether human
dancing should be attributed exclusively to courtship, and
I think we can hardly emphasize too much the fact that
while man possesses the full complement of instincts, they
are subordinated in his case in favour of intellectual
adaptations. Of birds we know with comparative cer-
tainty that they must learn and practise their courtship
arts practically without teachers; but no one will affirm
that individual man without tradition or example would
turn to ornament and dancing on the awakening of sexual
imp\ilse. Only a general disposition toward self-display
is instinctive, the how and when being left to invention
and tradition. Perhaps some particularly significant
movements are specializations of this disposition, as, for
instance, the hip movement, which is accentuated in the
waltz and which has influenced plastic art since the time
of Praxiteles. There must be much more thorough in-
vestigation of the subject before we can affirm even the
possibilities respecting it.

Of the other arts, that of lyric poetry is about the only
one which we need to consider in relation to courtship,
and this more especially in its connection with music.
Among primitive races dancing invariably accompanies
the recital of such poetry. The troubadour is the product
of a higher social condition. The lyric, too, played an
important part as an instrument of courtship in Mo-

* The Play of Animals, p. 211.

LOVE PLAY IN ART 275

hammedan civilization during the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries, as is apparent from the Thousand and One
Nights Tales. " The ear often loves before the eye," to
quote from one of them which deals with the winning
power of beautiful verse. In the story of Hajat Alnufus
and Ardschir the amorous prince, who is disguised as a
merchant, seeks to awaken the love of the proud princess
by means of passionate verse, and the description is fine
of how a tender interest is aroused in the coy and high-
spirited beauty toward the persistent wooer, though it de-
velops, it is true, into genuine love only under his gaze.
" O Hajat Alnufus," runs one of these love poems, " make
happy with thy presence a lover whom absence is undoing.
My life was surrounded with joy and bliss, but now the
nights find me raving and mad with love. Must I always
sigh and moan, always be cast down and hopeless? All
night long sleep shuns me, and I gaze wearily at the stars.
Oh, have pity on a dismayed and suffering lover whose
heart is sad and his eyes weary with watching ! " In the
story of Hasan of Bassrah we have a feminine counterpart
of this which deserves to be numbered among the finest
pearls of Oriental lyrical poetiy. Hasan's lady is so re-
joiced to see him after a long separation that she breaks
forth in the following rhapsody : " I breathe in the air
which wafts from your land and refreshes you in the
morning. I ask the wind about you whenever it blows
from that way; I think of no one but you."

More common are the instances which, while not di-
rected toward a special wooing, yet have the character of
play with the sexual emotions which is pleasurable in
itself, and involve the question of the connection of such
stimuli with esthetic enjoyment. I maintain that this
element is much more conspicuous in the use of cos-
metics and in dancing than is actual courtship, and even
in the ornamentation which seems far from the sphere of
sex, and in architecture itself love play is not entirely lack-
ing at any stage of its development. Von den Steinen
has told us what pleasure the Brazilian tribes take in
decorating their tools with conventionalized uluri, which
are triangular pieces of bark such as the women are fond
of wearing. It is very conspicuous in all the adornments

276 THE PLAY OF MAN

of these people, who make no secret of their fondness for
it. This feeling, too, is at the foundation of the em-
ployment of nude female figures for decorative purposes
in renaissance art. Obscene exaggerations of the mascu-
line figure are not uncommon in plastic representation,
and are no doubt due as much to sexuality as to any re-
ligious significance (such as the exaltation of the idea
of productiveness, etc.). E"or is love play lacking in the
art of cultured peoples, though here we are not con-
fronted with the crude sensuality, which is of compara-
tively little psychological interest, but with that more
subtile effect of the instinct, that tender, moving, melting
sensation which must be felt to be understood, for it can
not be described. In my Einleitung in die Aesthetik* I
have set forth the grounds on which the philosopher
Stockl objects to representations of the nude. " As a
result of original sin," he says " mankind is susceptible
to evil passions which are aroused at the sight of naked-
ness, and the will is incited to connivance in the sinful
lust. Of original sin and its consequences, it is true, most
advocates of the nude in art are quite ignorant theoret-
ically, and yet it is a truth testified to by the experience
of every man, even though he be a student of aesthetics,
that there is in us a law which is at variance with spir-
itual law, and that we ought to avoid everything that
tends to bring us under its power, to which things naked-
ness in art belongs." f Whatever protest can be made
against this in the name of art, and however it may be
insisted that there is such a thing as chaste nudity, still
I am convinced that in the extraordinary attractiveness
of the work of Praxiteles and Canova, for example, subtile
emotions connected with the sexual life are involved.
I have noticed that for the uneducated person Canova's
Cupid and Psyche is regarded as embodying the acme of
sculptured beauty without the observer having the re-
motest suspicion of the source of much of his intensify of
admiration. The higher the aesthetic culture, however,
the less as a rule (not always) is this force operative, and

* Page 76.

+ A. Stockl, Lehrbuch der Aesthetik, second edition, Mainz, 1889,
p. 229.

LOVE PLAY IN ART 277

therefore directly in the interests of chastity the answer
may be made to Stockl's challenge, that an artist may
experience a purely aesthetic enjoyment of form in the
nude figure which is hardly possible to the uncultivated
person.

It is hardly necessary to dilate on the influence of the
instinct in question in the sphere of painting. Here, too,
it is more evident to the average man, with his naive en-
joyment of materiality, than to the connoisseur. Andreo
tells us that many tribes of men cherish indecent pictures
and statues which have no religious symbolism, and we all
know how common is the habit of drawing such things
on fences and walls. But more significant than such
grossness is the popular preference for sentimentally sug-
gestive pictures. The passionate admiration of some
neuropathic persons for the flat illustrations of a fashion
paper is but a pathological exaggeration and distortion of
the amazing popularity of some insipid, wide-eyed, sim-
pering feminine figure, and the almost worse blond hero of
many so-called artists. It is not necessary to call names,
but a student of psychological aesthetics should not shrink
from stating sine ira the true (though often unconscious)
grounds for the admiration bestowed on such things, nor
ignore its significance.

While music comes in the province of our inquiry only
when the accompanying words, situation, and explana-
tions, or the subjective temper of the hearer lends to the
tone movements a sexual meaning,* poetry, on the con-
.trary, as has been said, plays a very large part in the
business of love, and even more so among civilized than
among primitive people. Besides love lyrics, which have
been sufliciently illustrated, there are narrative descrip-
tions of love scenes and processes — not only the numer-
ous poetic lucubrations which deserve to be designated as
erotic, which means in plain English indecent, but the
whV^ ^ immeasurable sea of novels and romances whose
leading interest depends on this theme. Many can read
such tales only in their youth (boys are especially liable
to this passion for romance immediately after the subsi-

* Wagner and Liszt are especially strong in such effects.

278 THE PLAY OF MAN

dence to their attack of Indian tales), but the majority
retain their capacity for inward sympathy with the trials
of lovers; and here, too, the taste of the general public
is as opposed to that of connoisseurs as in the case of
pictures. The ability to cater to this taste is possessed
pre-eminently by women, because the false idealism which
abounds in such works accompanies a certain ignorance
of the facts of life which women retain oftener and longer
than men. The study of some of the better class of these
romances — notably those of E. Marlitt — is not without
psychological interest. One of our comic papers not long
since quoted this passage, ostensibly from a novel : " In
an adjoining room sounded a bearded masculine voice";
and the sentence might serve as a motto for the title-
page of a treatise on the yellow-covered romance of the
type which is so highly prized by hundreds of thousands
of readers of both sexes. A favourite theme is to follow
the fortunes of a young married couple who are estranged
at first, as in Marlitt's Zweiter Frau, Werner's Gliick
auf, and Ohnett's Hiittenbesitzer. It is, of course, psy-
chologically and aesthetically interesting to follow the
conversion from real or pretended aversion to attachment,
a process from which, Spinoza tells us, deeper love results
" quam si odium non prsecessisset." But the extraordi-
nary attractive power of this novel specific for bringing
about the desired result arises from a special stimulus not
difiicult to identify from our point of view, and inherent
in the situation.

3.* The Comic of Sex

This subject offers a difficult problem. The fact that
all mankind, adult and child, the refined, cultured person
as well as the primitive savage, the latest representative
of centuries of civilization and his remotest ancestor,
alike show a propensity to take pleasure in things relat-
ing to this subject, is one which we may deplore and yet
can not characterize as entirely inexplicable. But we
may ask why it is considered comical.

It frequently happens that the comic impression is
heterogeneous, as in the ribaldry which pei-verts wit from
its proper sphere and makes the offence against good man-

THE COMIC OF SEX 279

ners take the form of a social blunder, while uninten-
tioned indecency may raise a laugh at the expense of the
perpetrator. Yet it can not be denied that the mere in-
troduction of the sexual element is an independent source
of amusement and one which requires some special ex-
planation.

The common solution as set forth by Vischer and
Zeising- is to the effect that this stimulus is ide^itical
with that of any other impropriety, the laugh being at
the outrage to conventionality.* But while this explains
some cases there are others which it does not touch.
Civilized man who is prohibited by strict rules of pro-
priety any reference to such subjects may experience a
feeling of triumph when he boldly bursts the bonds of
custom, but with children and savages the case is quite
different, and they exhibit a peculiar enjoyment of such
things which is not identical with their relish of for-
bidden fruit. Von den Steinen tells us that the Bakai'ri
consider it a shameful thing to be seen eating, but do
not regard the broadest reference to things sexual as the
least breach of good manners.f Yet they too find them
comic. " It is true," says the famous and learned trav-
eller, " that things which would seem indecent to us
afforded the Bakai'ri, both men and women, evident en-
joyment, and if any delving pedant who considers modesty
in our sense an inborn inheritance of mankind could
follow the rising tide of gaiety which would have offended
a member of our degenerate race, he would be obliged
to admit that their hearty laugh is not shameless in our
sense, nor is it an effort to conceal embarrassment. Yet
it is undeniably erotic in a mild way, and resembles as
much as the difference in circumstances and conditions
will allow the laughter over games with us in which the
two sexes are thrown together." %

What, then, is the true source of this? Possibly the
following considerations may serve to throw some light
on it: First, it may be premised that allusion to sexual
subjects has some association with the idea of physical

* Vischer, Aestlietic, sec. 1<S9. Hall and Allin, op. cit., p. 31.
t K. J. Dodsre. Modern Indians of the Far West, pp. 146, 164.
X Op. cit., p. 68.

280 THE PLAY OF MAN

ticklishness. " The sexual parts have a ticklishness as
unique as their function, and as keen as their importance.
The faintest suggestion of them has great power over the
risibilities of children." * More important still are two
other points which make the sexual comic a special case of
offensive and defensive fighting play, such as we consid-
ered in the previous chapter. The former may be inferred
from the fact that this passion throws men and animals
into a state of ecstasy which robs them of self-control,
and, like intoxication, temporarily " disables them in the
struggle for life." f As a result of this the man who by
word or deed actually places himself in any relation to
this side of life calls forth in us a feeling of superiority
which pleases us and excites our laughter. This applies
especially to the amusement which all displays of amor-
ousness induce, whether they are modest or bold — the one
so long as it does not move, and the other so long as it does
not disgust us. In other cases the fighting play becomes
defensive, and this side of the question seems to me to ex-
hibit more delicate psychological distinctions, since it con-
cerns the thrill of sexual emotion which is excited in the
hearer or spectator, and which, while it is agreeable, yet,
coming as it does from "without and therefore not under
his own control, he laughingly repels it. Kant notices
that amusement is generally caused by what is momenta-
rily deceptive. If we accept the purely intellectual con-
ception of deception — namely, that it is a shock or a slight
confusion — then we may regard its conquest as a genuine
triumph. Such a triumph we experience when we repel
the incipient stimulation, and the contrast of ideas thus
called up gives the finishing touch to the comic effect.

III. Imitative Plays

The Tschwi negroes have a proverb to the effect that

"no one teaches the smith's son his trade; when he is

ready to work God shows him how " ; and I. G. Christaller

obtained the following explanation from one of the

* Op. cit., p. 14. Hall and Allin.

t Accordinsr to R. ,J. Dodfre. who is a thorousrh student of Indian life,
amonof those of the far West it is a polite fiction not to observe the wooing
lover, " because they consider love a weakness."

IMITATIVE PLAYS 281

aborigines : " If you have a trade, and a son who watches
you at work, he easily learns it. God has implanted in
children the faculty of observing and imitating, and when
the son does what he has seen his father do so often it is
as if he knew of himself. It is, indeed, God who teaches
him ! " And this childlike elucidation is not a bad one
of the significance of playful imitation in life. The in-
born impulse enables a child to learn alone w^hat he either
could not do at all or only after painful and wearisome
teaching. Imitation is the connecting link between
instinctive and intelligent conduct. Thanks to it we
can add much to our accomplishments without other
instruction, and in a manner agreeable to ourselves,
for enjoyment of its exercise is natural, so that, to
use the language of the African, it is indeed God who
teaches us.

The earlier psychologists gave too little attention to
imitation. The work of Tarde '^ and Baldwin f has first
brought to many the knowledge that it is probably des-
tined to win a prominent place in biological psychologjs
similar to that accorded to the idea of association in the
older theories. At any rate these investigators have cer-
tainly expanded the common acceptation of the term.
Tarde says of a man who unconsciously and involuntarily
reflects the bearing of others or accepts outside sugges-
tion, that he is imitating, and he regards such magnified
imitation as a special case of the great cosmic law of repe-
tition (ondulation, generation, and imitation are the three
forms of " repetition universelle ")• Baldwin calls stimu-
lus-repeating repetition in general imitation (so far as it
is produced by the organism itself), and so includes
the alternate expansion and contraction in the lowest
organic forms. According to him, the essence of imita-
tion lies in the fact that when movement follows a stim-
ulus, the stimulus is renewed, giving rise to what may be
called "circular" reaction. Imitation of the acts of an-
other individual, from the perception of which a dupli-
cate act results, is a specialized form of this circular

* (t. Tarde. Les lois de I'imitation. Second edition, Paris, 1895.
t J. M. Baldwin, Mental Development, and Social and Ethical Inter-
pretations.

282 THE PLAY OF MAN

reaction. Baldwin has tried to prove that the accommoda-
tion of an organism to its environment is a phenomenon
of " organic imitation," and he grounds his new theory of
" organic selection " on this principle. I can not here
dwell longer on it than to say that it undertakes to
mediate in the strife between neo-Darwinism and neo-
Lamarckianism, since the survival of the individual with
the necessary adaptibility gives selection time to pro-
duce hereditary adaptations with the same general trend
(selection among coincident variations). Our purpose is
best served by confining ourselves to the ordinary use of
the term imitation, namely, " The repetition of the acts
of one individual by another,"* as Lloyd Morgan has de-
fined it.

Even this is of the greatest biological and psychologi-
cal import, since it is responsible for what Baldwin calls
" social heredity " ; the psychic heritage or " tradition,"
independent of physical heredity,! which hands down aCc-
quired habits from generation to generation. In using
the word tradition, indeed, one naturally thinks more of
habits acquired by their owner, who by precept and exam-
ple imparts them to others, so that emphasis is laid first on
the acts of the originator, though the inclination to im-
part would be fruitless without imitation on the part of
the pupil. On close examination we find this literal use of
the term far from satisfactory; as a rule, the acquisition
of the habits of others depends entirely on the imitator,
without intentional assistance from the model, a distinc-
tion which finds expression in the common proverb that
example is better than precept. The operation of this
principle i^ apparent among the higher animals. Wallace
lays great stress on it, though in a somewhat partial way.
Weismann employs the word in its wider sense when he
says : " A young finch which grows up alone sings un-
taught the song of its kind, though never so beautifully
nor so perfectly as when an older bird which is a fine
singer is given him as a teacher " (teacher is here not to be
understood literally). "He is largely influenced by tradi-

* Habit and Instinct. London and New York. 1896, p. 168.
t Baldwin's further distinction between tradition and social heredity
seems true enough, but not especially practical.

IMITATIVE PLAYS 283

tion, though the fundamental principle of the finch's song
is already implanted in his organization." * Indeed, the
data of animal psychology give us a sort of experimental
proof of the importance of the imitative impulse, since
animals reared away from their own kind but with some
other species are often strongly influenced by the alien
models, in spite of their inborn instincts. An attempt
to formulate satisfactorily the biological significance of
imitation results somewhat as follows : To the higher ani-
mals imitation of their own species is an important ad-
junct to instinct. The young finch has, indeed, an inborn
instinctive capacity for producing the note characteristic
of his kind, but even with the assistance of experimenta-
tion this instinct is not adequate to his needs until imi-
tation of practised singers rounds out, so to speak, the
inherited capacity by means of acquired adaptations. It
is evident that there are two ways of regarding this con-
ception of imitation. The one which Baldwin develops
is implied in Weismann's " already " when he says that the
fundamental principle of the finch's song is " already " im-
planted in his organism, thus implying that imitation is
an essential factor in the growth of his instinctive equip-
ment. When the more intelligent individuals of a species
have by means of independent accommodations made new
life conditions for themselves they can manage to keep
afloat by the aid of imitation until " natural selection, by
favoring and furthering " coincident variations (those
tending in the same direction), can substitute the lifeboat
heredity for the life-preserver tradition.

The other view, as I have presented it in The Play of
Animals, takes just the opposite ground — namely, that
imitation enables the animal to dispense with instinct to
a much greater degree than would otherwise be possible,
and so gives free play to the evolution of intelligent con-
trol. Here we find imitation tending to relegate instinct
to the category of things rudimentary, while, according
to the hypothesis analyzed above, it favours the growth
of instinct. " It is through instinct," says Baldwin in a

* Gedanken tiber Musik bei Thieren und beim Menschen. Deutsche
■Rundschau, October, 1889.

284 THE PLAY OF MAN

notice of my earlier work, " that instincts both rise and
decay." For our purpose the second view is evidently the
more serviceable, since it is undeniable that in man at
least, the transition from fixed instincts to more plastic
tendencies, with their partial supplanting by acquired
adaptations, has been the general course of phylogenetic
evolution, and to this process imitation is of extraordi-
nary value.*

Finally, in pursuance of the same line of thought, it
seems that imitation, at least in man, goes far beyond
instinct; for by his untrammelled relations to the ex-
ternal world man has been enabled to climb beyond the
ground floor of Xature tc a higher plane of culture. Yet
of all his means of improvement none to speak of are
physically inherited. Thus we see the idea of imita-
tion expanded not only to supply the deficiencies of in-
stinct " not yet" or "no longer" adequate, but to such
an extent that on it depends the " social " heritage of cul-
ture from generation to generation. This powerful im-
pulse, w^ithout which there could be no teaching, no hand-
ing down of anything to posterity, thus becomes the in-
dispensable medium of continuity, and therefore the
necessary postulate of a cumulative human culture, as
opposed to one constantly recommencing ah ovo. But
the further question arises. May we not be justified in
calling the imitative impulse itself an instinct? Once
granted the fact of instinct at all, and an affirmative
answer seems imperative to one who is familiar with
the workings of this impulse in men and animals. On
these grounds I have committed myself in my former
work to the designation of imitation as an inborn in-
stinct, and yet I must admit the logical inconsistency
of this, since the very conception of instinct dispenses
with the use of imitation. As commonly understood,
instinct may be defined as a hereditary and clearly de-
fined motor reaction to a given stimulus. In imitation,
on the contrary, we have a thousand varying reactions,
for as the stimulus (the model) varies the whole char-

* See Baldwin's A New Factor in Evolution, in The American Natu-
ralist, June, July, 1896.

IMITATIVE PLAYS 285

acter of the reaction follows suit. What becomes of the
fixed hereditary orbit if at each repetition entirely new
movements, sounds unconnected with the foregoing ones,
etc., are produced ? " To assert that imitation is instinc-
tive," says Bain, " is to maintain the existence of an in-
finity of pre-existing associations between sensations and
actions/'' * This appears to me to be the one insur-
mountable objection among the many which he and others
have brought against the conception of imitative instinct,
and it is serious enough to cause me to modify my former
position.

As a point of departure, suppose we take the assump-
tion that, with certain limitations, a psychophysical ad-
justment, not in the ordinary sense instinctive, accounts
for the genesis of imitation. This adjustment depends
on the fact that in conscious activity a necessary connec-
tion exists between the movement produced and the an-
tecedent concept of the movement. On the one hand, then,
a movement is said to be voluntary only when the motor
act is accompanied with such an idea of movement, while
the other view implies that the idea itself is the thing
which urges its own fulfilment.f If this is so, the mere
concept of the movement performed by another impels
us to perform it as well, and hence arises imitation. Al-
though the difficulty is to establish the correctness of this
assumption,^ yet we may be pretty sure that the concept
of a possible movement, if not crippled by antagonistic
motives, does induce a certain readiness for fulfilment.*

This analysis, it is true, acquaints us with a necessary
condition of imitation, but as little accounts for the amaz-
ing force of the impulse as the mere conception of move-
ment accounts for voluntary activity. While every con-
cept may impel to the corresponding motor act, we know

* The Senses and the Intellect, p. 408.

t James Mill, Analysis of the Phenomena of the Human Mind, vol. ii,
chap. xxiv. Tiedeman'n's remarks on the subject, too, are clear and brief.
Op. cit, p. 12. .

X See A. Pftinder, Das Bewusstsein des Wollens. Zeitschr. f. Psych,
u. Phys. d. Sin., vols, x and xvii.

# The stronsr emphasis of imitation in hypnosis seems to support this,
for there we have a decided narrowing of the consciousness, so that the
antagonistic motive has little showing compared with the idea of move-
ment.

2S6 THE PLAY OF MAN

from experience that such tendencies to form habits are
checked and aborted by all sorts of hindrances, mere in-
ertia being sufficient in many cases to counteract the
motive power of such concepts. There must be special
reasons, then, which lend to the perception of a move-
ment performed by another such extraordinary motive
power. We have still to meet the question whether there
may not be an inherited relation developed on the founda-
tion and presupposition of the " readiness " described
above. The thousand sensory motor paths involved in it
can not be determined by heredity, since they presuppose
acquired experience (as in learning to speak, first crude
experimentation, then imitation). But the strength of
the pleasurable quality in the reproduction of a move-
ment accomplished first by another, the strenuousness of
the effort which presses for expression, as well as the seri-
ousness of the disappointment in cases of failure, are
direct results of selection and the developmental factors
connected with it. In support of this proposition we may
refer to the social instincts, the simplest of which is the
a«sociativeness of members of the same race, tribe, or
faction. Its demands lead to a kind of imitation, at least
in movement impulses (Hudson assures us that the young
pampas sheep runs the instant it is born after its rapidly
running mother), and the impulse to answer a warning or
alluring call. Pleasure in satisfying this genuine in-
stinct is especially evident where one of the participants
(they being usually of the same species) accompanies the
signal with appropriate movements.

I permit myself no judgment of the value of this
hypothesis, but I believe its adequacy to meet the case is
incontrovertible. Bain, too, in the fourth edition of his
work cited above, has made a suggestion looking in the
same direction, by which the use of the word instinct
gains a certain justification. ISTor should it be forgotten
that to strengthen this " readiness " a whole series of
other requirements may be present, which for convenience
in this analysis I may call instinctive. Perhaps an illus-
tration of a movement concept which is not imitative in
the ordinary sense will make this clear. If we think in-
tentionally and definitely of the movements involved in

IMITATIVE PLAYS 287

whistling, we are likely to feel a mild inclination to
whistle, which, however, is commonly easy enough to over-
come. Therefore we call it a certain " readiness " in
preference to a stronger term, such as " impulse." But
let this mental process take place in church during serv-
ice ; the corresponding action, it is true, is not performed,
because of the influence of contrary motives, but the im-
pulse may nevertheless be so strong that their subject suf-
fers great annoyance. Why is this ? Probably because the
idea of not whistling excites the instinctive impulse to-
ward activity of the movement apparatus (experimenta-
tion) as well as the fighting instinct,* which resents such
constraint and lends itself as a powerful auxiliary to the
movement impulse. It is just in this way that the percep-
tion of movement made by another arouses special in-
stinctive emotions, and illustrates the power of the imita-
tive impulse. This, then, is a brief explanation of the
grounds of the theory developed above, according to which
imitation serves as a complement to instincts which have
been weakened in favour of intellectual development or
are, for whatever reason, inadequate to the individual's
life tasks.

Thus we know that a child has the impulse to make
use of his motor apparatus, but this impulse is strength-
ened when another person makes a movement which
attracts the child's attention. The concept as such pro-
duces a mild inclination and the natural impulse to move
weighs down the scale. The little girl inherits an in-
stinct for nursing ; alone, it would probably not be strong
enough to originate nursing play, and quite as little
would the idea of the movements involved which the
child acquires from watching her mother have that re-
sult (as witness, the boy). The two together produce the
familiar result. In the same way the boy's fighting in-
stinct impels him to imitate all warlike demonstrations.
We may say that the " what " of the subject is answered
by the movement idea and the " that " predominantly
by the corresponding instinct, though acquired neces-

* An attempt to explain the charm of what is forbidden, not by means
of the fightinor impulse but on the trround of psychic inhibition may be
found in Lipps's Grundthatsachen des Seelenleben, pp. 634, 641.

288 THE PLAY OF MAN

sity of course may do the same thing. Moreover, imita-
tion has a special affinity for curiosity and the fight-
ing instinct. The former asks concerning an unusual
movement by another, " How does he do it ? " and an
effort to experiment at once ensues, while the fighting
instinct is on the alert at the perception of a difficulty,
and loses no time in overcoming it in order to enjoy the
" I can, too," of success. This success may be a triumph
over the model, since if no superiority is proved we arro-
gate to ourselves a capacity which up to this time has
been the property of another.* It may, however, be mere
pleasure in overcoming the difficulty, as when we try to
imitate qualities which we admire in another, adding to
the combative impulse the desire to make one's self
agreeable or to subordinate others. But so far as con-
scious playful imitation is directly concerned, the strug-
gle with difficulties is still in the foreground. We must
remember, too, that with many of the higher kinds of
imitation — pre-eminently so with that which may be
called constructive, since its material is invariably appro-
priated from foreign sources — the pleasure which is de-
rived from recognition and from illusion adds to its play
the powerful charm of imagination.

Although I have presented here only a few of the lead-
ing features which an analysis of the imitative processes
reveals, enough has been said to show how complicated
and difficult the problem is, and to render advisable a
general summing up in more compact form of the results
of these somewhat rambling observations. It will not do
to call imitation instinct and leave it at that, since it is
not a specific but quite an involved reaction. More-
over, the condition of imitation, namely, the tendency
of movement ideas to produce corresponding movements,
is not itself instinctive; but we have seen that this
tendency alone does not explain all that we include under
the name of imitation. This tendency of the movement
ideas must have special grounds furnished by organic
needs, and especially those which are instinctive; when

* In this triumph we tind a means of explanation for the exhilarating
effect of simple— that is neither mischievous nor mocking— imitation.

IMITATIVE PLAYS 289

the general idea of movement is coincident with one
of these the impulse toward discharge becomes very
strong-. We cited in illustration of this the general
movement-impulse, nursing, curiosity (how is it done?),
belligerence (not only as regards distinctly hostile move-
ments, but sensation as well), recognition, and illusion.
If there is nothing else, then imitation taken alone is no
instinct; it is only in very close connection to instinct,
as our biological point of view has shown. It is, however,
probable that these limits are not reached by the simplest
imitation, such as coughing, gaping, etc., and use may be
made of the hypothesis of transference (loi de trans fert)
from specific social instincts, which are themselves the
result of a certain degree of imitativeness of the move-
ment idea (agreement, answering, and the like) to move-
ment itself in cases involving the movements belonging
to a species. By this means natural selection of whatever
developmental factor is employed acquires an essential
impetus. Whoever regards such collaboration as probable
will consider imitation as a phenomenon at least similar
to instinct.

Thirdly — and this point will be quickly disposed of —
when is imitation to be regarded as play? Evidently
we must apply the psychological criterion; imitation is
a play when it is enjoyed for its own sake.* Imita-
tion transcends play at its highest and lowest limits.
Simple reflex reactions, such as gaping when another
gapes, fleeing because another has fled, etc., can not be
called play in a psychological sense, nor is the child's
first reproduction of sounds playful. Only when he re-
peats the performance from enjoyment of his success can
we be sure of the thing from a psychological standpoint.f
The limit is passed in the other direction by rendering
the movem^ents mechanical, so that the imitation is per-
formed involuntarily, no longer affording enjoyment of the

* The hiolocrical criterion of practice of the impulse is not very well
applicable to imitation. We do not copy playfully in order to he able to
copy seriously, and, moreover, playful imitation itself accompfishes the
purpose. Yet the practice theory is of course indebted to the contribu-
tions of imitation in the highest desrree.

t The question as to whether play may not be more extensive from a
purely biological standpoint is touched upon in the theoretical division.

290 THE PLAY OF MAN

act itself, as it is now directed toward the external aim.
Here belong imitative teaching (so far as it is not in
itself enjoyable) and the imitation of an exemplary per-
sonality or ideal which is so important to ethics. In the
latter, however, a suggestion of playfulness is sometimes
present, though it would seem that nothing could be fur-
ther from the proper sphere of ethics; when poetic figures
serve as models, however, it is sometimes hard to mark
the limit between the serious and the playful.*

In conclusion, I would remark that imitation is almost
never merely that; it is creation as well, production as
well as reproduction. Close on the heels of imitation
comes imagination, and that in the double meaning of the
word which we have learned to know. Imagination ex-
pands the copy into a full likeness of the original, and
then creates the illusion that it is the original. How-
ever, imitation may actually be new creation. As Bald-
win lucidly puts it, the child's persistent imitation calls
into the arena with the satisfactory copy a host of new
combinations which may be non-essential to this special
aim, but which claim the child's attention and interest
as discoveries of his o^vn. He is often so interested in
these unexpected combinations as to lose sight of his
original purpose, and runs to his parents or comrades to
show what he can do.f

In turning to the consideration of imitative plays I
prefer to divide them into the following groups for the
sake of convenience. First, I shall speak of playful imi-
tation of simple movements, which are preparatory to
more complicated processes, distinguishing between op-
tical and acoustic percepts. Then follow two important
specialized groups, namely, the dramatic and plastic or
constructive imitation; and finally I shall treat inner
imitation as a fourth kind of play.

* " 1 looked for ?reat men," said Kietzsche once, " and found them
only apins: their ideals." Vol. viii, p. 66.
t Social and Ethical Interpretations, p. 103.

OPTICAL PERCEPTS 291

1. Playful Imitation of Simple Movements

(a) Optical Percepts

According to Tracy * there are few points so generally
accepted without question by child psychologists in genenil
as that of the beginning of imitation in the second half
year. Yet this agreement is not so universal as might be
wished. Thus Baldwin says that experiment with his own
children has left him utterly unable to confirm the results
reported by Preyer, who thought that he could establish
the presence of imitation in the third or fourth month.
Baldwin, like Egger, could not be sure of it before the
ninth month.f Striimpell, on the other hand, thought
he recognised the beginnings of it in the twelfth week.
" Careful observation assured me that the child was sym-
pathetically excited by the movements of adults in speak-
ing. When any one was talking to him he watched the
mouth instead of the eyes, as formerly; and as he
watched, his own mouth moved softly, the lips assuming
different positions, which undoubtedly resulted from
movements in the inner part of the mouth." X Baldwin
may be right in regarding such very early observations as
frequently misleading, since the correspondence with a
model is apt to be accidental, though I do not think that
this supposition explains away all cases. However, en-
joyment of imitation and consequently play with it is
undoubtedly of later origin. This observation of Preyer
may be called playful. " In the tenth month correct
copies of various movements are constantly produced,
and that with full consciousness. In the often repeated
hand and arm movement of ' shaking ta-ta ' the child
gazes earnestly at the person showing him the signal, and
suddenly repeats it correctly."* This is not the uncon-
scious or involuntary copying of strange models which is

* Fr. Tracv, The Psychology of Childhood, fourth edition, Boston,
1897, p. 104.

+ Mental Development, etc., p. 123. Egger, Le developpement de
I'intelliorence et du lanerasre chez les enfants, p. 10.

X Op. cit., p. 354. See Perez fLes trois premieres annees, etc., p. 124),
who assumes involuntary imitation in the second month.

# Die Seele des Kindes, p. 186.

292 THE PLAY OF MAN

so common with young and old. The question no doubt
arises in the child's mind, " How is that done? " and when
followed by the successful accomplishment of the task, is
further succeeded by the joyful feeling of " I can, too,"
and playful use of the imitative faculty. The same is
the case with the following instances : " As I, with the
intention of amusing the child, waved my right hand to
and fro before him, he suddenly began to move his own
right hand in the same way, and from that time imitation
slowly but surely progressed. On the day following, he
was much quicker in repeating the attempt, and evidently
wondering at the novelty of his experience, watched at-
tentively now my hand and now his own. ... At fifteen
months the child learned to put out a candle flame. He
blew six or seven times in vain, and kept grasping at the
flame, laughing when it eluded him, and straining after
it, w^hile puffing and blowing with distended cheeks and
lips unnecessarily protruded. ... A large ring which I
slowly laid on his head and took off again the child
seized and unhesitatingly set it on his own head (sixteen
months)."* Sigismund says: "The child learns all his
little arts from his nurse : shaking good-bye, patting, kiss-
ing his hand, bowing, dancing, etc. But he copies of his
own accord movements and attitudes which strike and
please him. He walks with his father's stick, tries to
smoke a pipe, puts wood on the fire, scribbles with a
pencil, and, in short, imitates whatever he sees done about
him." t

From a psychological standpoint there are various dis-
tinctions to be made in these instances. Sometimes it is
the movement itself which forms the centre of interest,
while again the result of the movement is the thing aimed
at, making the muscular exertion only a means to the
end (as in blowing out the light). :|: It is significant that
the pleasure derived from imitation is more conspicuous
in the first case; and another important question is,
whether more of curiosity or more of pleasure in com-
petition is involved, since the one likens imitative activ-

* Preyer, op. cit., p. 188. t Kind unci Welt. p. 129.

X Lloyd Morgan calls one imitation and the other copying (Habit and
Instinct, p. 171).

OPTICAL PERCEPTS 293

ity to intellectual experimentation, and the other assimi-
lates it to rivalry. In the one case the child's attention
is fixed on the question, " How is that done ? " He is in-
terested in the modus operandi as in the solution of a
riddle. In the latter case the movement made in his pres-
ence arouses him like a challenge : " You can't do that ! "
And his whole effort is directed to the proof that he can.
The two factors do not necessarily exclude one another;
they may work together. The exhilarating effect is
heightened by strong emphasis of the fighting element;
the stronger the consciousness that the task was difficult,
though now achieved, the more will both child and adult
enjoy the imitation — another support to our theory of the
comic.

In later life, at least among civilized people, the im-
pulse to playful imitation of the movements of others is
not so strong,"* except in the case of teasing mimicry.
Most adult imitation is either of the character of invol-
untary adaptation, or for some specific end, and is thus
partly within and partly without the sphere of play.
When, for instance, the southerner who goes north to
live, gradually controls his lively gesticulation, it is done
unconsciously and involuntarily, unless he assists in the
process because he does not wish to appear ridiculous.
There may be some imitative play in the indulgence of
air-castle building, founded on external models, though
careful discrimination would be needed to detect it
always. Then there is the callow youth who copies a
leader of fashion in his manner of walking, talking, and
acting, and finds sufficient satisfaction in the success of
his efforts without any further aim. Sometimes, too,
that imitation founded on serious effort is manifested in
trifling ways. I do not know whether such amusement is
now dispensed with in teaching writing; my experience
was that the higher classes at school as well as the chil-
dren tried to model their hand after that of some ad-
mired student, teacher, or friend. Sully's remark that
imitation is sometimes " the highest form of flattery " is
applicable here.

* 02J. ciL, p. 188.

294 THE PLAY OF MAN

(J) Playful Imitation of Acoustic Percepts
A group occupying a position midway between the
foregoing and that which is now to be treated of consists
of such imitations as find their antecedent in movement
which appeals to the eye and yet whose real effect is in
the repetition of acoustic impressions. Preyer records
the following unsuccessful effort at the end of the first
year : " At this period, if any one struck with a salt spoon
on a glass, making it sound, my child would take up the
spoon and attempt to hit the glass in the same way, but he
could not get the tone." * Quite similar is Baldwin's ob-
servation : " H 's first clear imitation was on May 24th

(beginning of ninth month) in knocking a bunch of keys
against a vase as she saw me do it, in order to produce
the bell-like sound. This she repeated over and over
again, and tried to reproduce it a week later when, from
lapse of time, she had partly forgotten how to use the
keys." * This sort of imitation, where, as in putting out
the light, the result is more important than the movement
itself, is more enduring than simple movement imitation,
because the end attained is itself a source of pleasure.

The most important phase of acoustic imitation is that
which aids in the child's acquirement of speech. In study-
ing experimentation we found that voice practice is an
indispensable antecedent of learning to talk. Add to
this the imitative impulse and the equipment is complete
for acquiring a mother tongue. The child imitates all the
kinds of sound that he hears — the howling of the wind,
animal calls, coughing and sneezing — but of course he
hears most constantly the sounds of his native language,
and so it naturally follows that he gives it particular
attention, which constantly increases as he becomes aware
of his parents' delight in his acquirements and as he
perceives their practical use.

Sigismund has asked whether imitation of singing may
not serve as an introduction to language lessons. He
says : " The first real imitation which I observed in my
boy was not repetition of articulate speech, but of a
musical tone. When he was fourteen months old and

* Op. cit.., p. 88. + Mental Development, p. 123.

PLAYFUL IMITATION OF ACOUSTIC PERCEPTS 295

had as yet imitated nothing (?), I occasionally sang to
him a popular song whose melody began with a down-
ward quarter (F-C), which interval recurred frequently''
and forcibly in the song. I was greatly surprised when
the child, though very drowsy, sang this measure correctly,
an octave higher. The following day the same thing
happened, and this time without any example. ... Is it
the rule or the exception that the infant sings imitatively
before he speaks so? Many mothers whom I have ques-
tioned were uncertain whether such singing had occurred
at all, but they had probably simply failed to notice it.
The result of my own investigations and observation
points to the probability that children, like birds, more
easily comprehend and repeat singing tones than
speech." * Ufer justly replies to this that while children
do indeed often sing before they can talk, we have no
reason to affirm that this is the rule. The child ob-
served by Miss Shinn, for example, first made feeble
efforts to imitate singing in its fortieth month. f It is
always unsafe to attach too much importance to isolated
cases. It is characteristic of man that many of his in-
herited capacities are left afloat, as it were, and must
be anchored by individual experience, thus affording op-
portunity for the development of varied individuality.
Consequently, it is hardly possible to be too cautious in
drawing conclusions for phylogenetic evolution from
ontogenetic development.

It is self-evident that not all the sound imitations
which underlie the acquirement of speech are playful in
a psychological sense. Words are often babbled mechan-
ically without any special enjoyment. Moreover, as soon
as the child has overcome the difficulties of the first stage
of his language study and knows how to express his wants,
he often makes use of expressions whose model exists
only in his memory, without any playful intention. Still,
a considerable part of the effort to learn to speak is
properly imitative play. Preyer's description shows us
how the child put his whole soul in the attempt to under-
stand the lip movements, and in another place (fifteen

* Op. cit.^ p. 88. t Notes on the Development of a Child, p. 112.

" 20

296 THE PLAY OF MAN

months) he says, " If he hears a new word, * cold,' for
example, which he can not repeat he is angry or turns his
head away and cries." * This demonstrates the presence of
fighting: play ; when the effort to be able to say " I can,
too," fails in its aim, consciousness of defeat is betrayed
by ill humour. Older children, too, often obtain new
acquisitions in speech in a playful fashion. I kept a
series of notes on Marie G in this connection, ex-
tending from the third to the seventh year, and they
show this unmistakably. While she lived in Giessen she
mimicked the dialect of the servants and many of the
peculiarities of Hessian speech, and enjoyed copying the
expressions of her playmates in talking to her dolls. In
one note, which records the observations of a single day,
I find four distinct efforts of this kind, and for many
months she adopted the rather forward manner of speak-
ing, practised by a boy of whom she was thrown with for
a while. Hardly had we become settled in Basel before
she made a rhyme illustrating the local accent here.

The child's effort, on the whole, is directed toward at-
taining likeness to his model, whatever may be the diffi-
culty, otherwise he would remain satisfied with his first
effort when he found it understood. " Persistent imita-
tion " constantly urges him on to improvement by repeti-
tion, constantly striving for betterment. Thus the power
is gained to acquire new territory. The child's enjoyment,
too, of recognition constantly furnishes him with allur-
ing models. This progressive method is directly opposed
to natural inertia and indolence, .which are so strong in
some children that we occasionally find them not only
satisfied with slipshod methods, but actually going back,
after learning better, to the faulty pronunciation. This
retrogression, too, is often playful.

We have space but for one illustration from the many
which this subject affords; it relates to inventiveness in
language imitation. We have already seen that the ex-
perimental play of infants (especially in reduplication)
furnishes material for a science of language. The easily
articulated syllables papa, mamma, baba, fafa, dada, etc.,

* Op. cit., pp. 314, 321.

PLAYFUL IMITATION OF ACOUSTIC PERCEPTS 297

are sufficiently explained in the case of parents, who take
them into their own vocabulary and thus confirm the child
in their use. Many expressive words have originated in
this way.* Darwin's child said " mum " to signify eating
or wanting to eat, and Striimpell's daughter at ten months
called all the birds that she saw from the window " tibu." f
Older children, too, often indulge in such playful experi-
mental coining of words,:j: as we shall see later. At pres-
ent we are more concerned with the word building
founded on acoustic imitation. Preyer thinks that the
only kind of word creation practised by children is the
imitation of sounds v\^hich they have heard and their repe-
tition in the form of interjections. I quote from him:
" When the listener first imitates a word and then makes
independent use of it depends with normal children prin-
cipally on whether much eifort is made to instruct them.
More important psychogenetically . . . are observations
on the creation of words with a special sense before the
beginning of genuine speech. These are not to be re-
garded as mistaken, imperfect, or onomatopoeic imitations,
. . . but rather as original interjections. In all my obser-
vations and studies directed especially to their investi-
gation, I have been able to discover nothing tending to
establish a connection of the hearer's concepts with articu-
late sounds and syllables. . . . S. S. Haldemann has in
his notes on the invention of words, which include a small
boy's discoveries in that line, citations from Taine,
Holden, myself, and others. This boy called a cow " m," a
bell " tin-tin " (Holden's boy said " ling-dong-mang " for
a church bell), a locomotive " tschu-tschu," the splash of
something falling in water " boom," and applied the same
word to throwing, striking, falling, shooting, etc., with-
out regard to the quality of the sound, though always with
reference to some sound. In weighing the fact that a
sound repeated to him, such as a trumpet call, was fitted
with a word suggestive of the sound seems to show that

* See, on the other hand, Preyer's conclusion given below. Op. cit.,
p. 3fi9.

t See Ufer's article on Siarismund's Kind und Welt.

X Jodl calls the root word, which he and others refer neither to inter-
jectional nor imitative origin, ideal roots ; I prefer to call them experi-
mental roots.

298 THE PLAY OF MAN

an intelligent child attempts to imitate and repeat wliat
he hears, despite the objection of a Max Miiller, and until
a better hypothesis is offered affords an object lesson in
the study of the origin of language."

Yet this theory is decidedly partial, for among primi-
tive people, besides mamma, papa, adda, etc., other sounds
depending on neither interjections nor imitation, but
purely the result of experimentation, get a meaning from
the simple relation of mother and child, and so attain
at least a place in their vocabulary and surely form one
of the grounds for the explanation of the growth of
language. It is not maintained that the child first learns
the art of imitating sound from his elders, for without
doubt he is often the originator, as in the case of mamma
and papa, which he has taught them. For us the inter-
esting question here is that of recognition which we find
again the object of playful activity. The " Bow-wow "
theory sounds perhaps improbable, or even ridiculous when
we think of its being used by adults,"^ but when con-
fined to children all this is changed. It works somewhat
in this way: The child learns through imitation to pro-
duce all sorts of sounds — the crash of falling objects, the
rumble of rolling ones, cries of animals, the gurgling of
water. His mother's play with him adds to the value of
such imitations, since in their play the imitative sound
comes to stand for its object just as symbolism arises
from the effort to express qualities. Imitation makes this
intelligible, since every copy is a symbol of the thing
copied. Even the interjection and the experimental
sound can only be elements of speech by imitation or
repetition. Thus Jodl rightly says (following Marty) of
the imitation of sound, " As soon as their power of ad-
justment, their reason, is sufficiently developed, they de-
rive from free play the means consciously employed for
the acquisition of varied experience." f Therefore I
maintain that imitation is an indispensable condition in
the explanation of the origin of language, its objects

* Tt should be remembered that the appearance of an imitative sneech
is quite natural in connection with oresture language. We do not know
certainly, however, which preceded the other.

t Lehrbuch der Psychologie, p. 570.

PLAYFUL IMITATION OF ACOUSTIC PERCEPTS 299

being threefold: (1) All the acoustic models afforded by
the environment; (2) interjectional sounds; (3) experi-
mental sounds. It is as assured a fact that children prac-
tise the first as that they playfully repeat their own ex-
periments. Playful imitation of interjection is not to my
knowledge indulged in by very young children, but using
the sound to signify the thing from which it proceeds is
natural enough. On the whole, then, it seems that while
imitation plays an important part in the origin of lan-
guage, as many investigators testify, to make it the only
factor would be an act of presumption.

As this impulse for acoustic repetition is weaker in
adults than in children, I need only mention the playful
use of it in poetry where it is agreeable to all. I have
already had occasion to remark that poetry written for
children is especially rich in such imitation. Animal
cries and bird notes figure largely. Riickert's poem Aus
der lugendheit makes use of a very common metre to
imitate the whirring call of the swallow, thus:

" Wenn ich weggeh', : , : " When I go away
Hab ich Kisten und Kasten voll ; I have trunks and boxes full ;

Wenn ich wiederkomni', : , : When 1 come back again

Hab ich kein Fiidchen Zwir — r— n."'* I haven't a rag to my name."

This interpretative imitation which lends to unintel-
ligible sounds a special meaning is applied to other things
than animal cries, such as the clatter of arms, the ringing
of bells, the splashing of water, the roaring of wind, etc.
For adults it is expressed in the refrain, which, however,
does not as a rule convey any special meaning. A rather
crude form of it is found in Biirger's Leonore. A more
subtile use of it is illustrated in efforts to make the sound
of the words convey a faint resemblance to the acoustic
effect which is being described. A familiar and celebrated
instance of this is found in this passage from Faust :

" Und wenn der Sturm im Walde braust und knarrt,
Die Eiesenfichte stiirzend Nachbaraste
Und Nachbarstiimme quetschend niederstreift,
Und ihrem Fall durapf hohl der Hiigel donnert. . . ." t

* See Franz Magnus Boehme, op. cit., p. 218.
t " The howling blast throneh the n-roaning wood
Wrenching the giant pine, which, in its fall,

300 THE PLAY OF MAN

Music, too, is notably richer in imitation of the latter
sort than in the much less valuable tone-painting. As we
have, however, touched on its analogy with and relation
to speech movements, which is its most important feature,
the subject will not be opened further here.

2. Dramatic Imitation in Play
In the playful imitation which we have considered
up to this point, illusion was as a rule not involved, of the
kind which seems to convert the copy into the original.
In dramatic or imitative play involving the reproduction
of actions it is almost invariably present, and essentially
differentiates such play. Imitation is still the foundation
and also the source of pleasure not only in the feeling of
emulation, but in putting one's self in the place of an-
other, in the play of imagination and in the enjoyment of
Eesthetic effect. There caai be no doubt that this refinement
of the process by which the external act of imitation be-
comes at the same time inward sympathy is of great impor-
tance to human progress. Konrad Lange has shown in his
stimulating article * that with the higher animals at least,
play without the contributory zest of illusion or conscious
self-deception would probably be much less attractive and
consequently fail of its biological purpose, since this fea-
ture of it contributes essentially to the advance of intelli-
gence. Even when the child merely copies for the sake
of copying he learns an astonishing amount, and acquires
a host of psychic adaptations. But mental elasticity,
adaptability, and mobility are first acquired when the mi-
gratory instincts of the soul, so to speak, are awakened,
and the child enters into the life of his model. Veritable
participation in the mental states of another individual,
objective appraisal of what he feels and strives for, would
scarcely be possible without such practice.

In the dramatic imitative play of children important
distinctions are apparent which are not noticeable in the

Crashinor sweeps down its neisrhbourins: trunks and boughs,
Wliile with the hollow noise the hills resound."

Miss Swanwiclc's translation.
* Gedanken za einer Aesthetik auf entwickeluni;sgeschichtlieher
Grundlage. Zeitschr. f. Psych, u. Phys. d, Sinnesorganc, vol. xiv (1807).

DRAMATIC IMITATION IN PLAY 301

dramatic art of adults. The play may be so conducted
that the player's own body appears as the exclusive object
of the mimic production, or in such a manner that the
pretended object serves, either on the ground of an actual
resemblance or by sheer force of imagination, as a sub-
stitute for the thing represented, or, lastly, in a way that
includes both. We have an instance of the first when the
boy pretends to be a soldier, of the second when he
marches his tin soldiers to battle, and of the third when
he himself takes part in the combat, or wdien a little girl
plays that her doll is a real baby and she herself the
mother. Since we have reason to believe that dramatic
art has developed from the play of children by way of the
mimic dance we may be sure that its progress has been
selective, and that there is good reason for the perfection
of the first of these forms. The second, indeed, appears
in the marionette farces which are still much enjoyed by
the uneducated classes among ourselves and are in great
favour in the East. The third kind, in which the player
places himself in direct dramatic relation with the puppet
(taking the word in its widest sense), has no analogy in
our art, but is most prominent in the fetich cult. And
the reason why is easily traced. A fundamental distinc-
tion between mimic play and mimic art consists in the
fact that the player imitates simply for his own amuse-
ment, the artist for the pleasure of others. His is not real
play, but exhibition. Bearing this distinction in mind,
w^e see that the third form of play is not applicable to art.
In our short review of dramatic imitative play we will
not adhere too closely to the three distinctions, but simply
inquire what it is that the child imitates. And first we
glance at the strange fact that his impersonating impulse
extends even to inanimate objects ; the child acts without
any feeling of limitation, like the labourers in Midsum-
mer-Night's Dream, who were ready to take the part of
the Wall or the Moon indifferently. During a long and
complicated play some child will be a door post, a tree,
a seat, a wagon, and a locomotive, and endeavour by his
motions and carriage to support these bold illusions.
This exhibition of versatility on the part of the child
is interesting in its analogy to the expansion of the

302 THE PLAY OF MAN

imitative impulse in aesthetic perception. Such exter-
nal personification of lifeless objects corresponds to
inner imitation which is itself a kind of personifying, A
higher object of dramatic imitation is found in the actions
of animals which, as we have seen, are apt to lead to
strongly marked comic effects. They are a source of the
liveliest amusement to children, who will crawl like a
snake, grunt like a pig, fly like a bird, swim like a fish,
seize and devour prey, make grimaces, wear animal masks,
make shadow pictures, notice and laugh at animals, and
perhaps even mimic their movements.-' This last propen-
sity has given name and character to many complicated
traditional games, such as " Cat and Mouse," " Wolf im
Garten," "Fox Chase," "Hen and Hawk," "Fox and
Chickens," etc. This manifestation of the child's deep in-
terest in the animal world is analogous to animal imitation
in primitive art and animal veneration in primitive reli-
gion. In the former connection the animal dance is most
conspicuous, being extremely w^idespread. Masks repre-
senting the different animals are commonly worn, and the
movements of domestic animals, especially the dog, as well
as of wild beasts, are reproduced in rhythmic order,t nor
are the dancers daunted by swimming and flying. Prob-
ably the masking in Greek and Japanese dances is
attributable to such an origin, as also the unnaturally
placed tails on ancient figures of fauns, for in these dances
animal tails were hung in the belt.:}:

Hall and Allin, in their valuable treatise so fre-
quently cited, attempt to assign a reason for the very
special interest which children take in animals. They
find my practice and preparation theory in this case
" obviously wrong." As a partial explanation they de-
velop the view that use of a rudiment produces to a cer-
tain degree its atrophy, and that consequently childish
imitation of animals " marks the harmless development

* ITall and Allin, Psychology of Ticklings, Lauofhinor, etc., pp. 15-17.

t Miss Shinn reports a kind of animal dance by a child m its third
year {op. cit.. p. 127).

X Ainonsr the varied decorations which the natives of British New
Guinea wear at their holidav dances is the bushy tail, which is placed
quite as hisrh as on the antique fauns. See A. C. Haddon, Intern. x\rch.
f. Ethnogr., vol. xi (1893).

DRAMATIC IMITATION IN PLAY 303

of rudimentary animal instincts as they pass to their
needed maximal growth, till the next higher powers that
control and subordinate them are unfolded, thus recapitu-
lating with immense rapidity a very long stage in the evo-
lution of the human out of the animal psyche." * It
strilies me that this is one of the numerous cases of the
too bold application of the seductive but dangerous phylo-
genetic theory. Entirely apart from the fact that the
idea of weakening as a result of practice seems improb-
able in regard to the imitation of animals as well as in
the catharsis theory on which the author seems to base
his, it is noteworthy that the child has to make an effort
to reproduce the movements, actions, and calls of animals,
and this at a time when it has already progressed very far
in the acquirement of human capabilities. Therefore, I
am unable to subscribe to the theory advanced by these
gentlemen. None w^ill deny that the imitative impulse
is of great biological importance as practice, and I do not
see that any special explanation is needed for its exten-
sion to animal actions. If, however, such explanation is
required, my theory readily supplies it, for few things are
more useful to primitive man than a thorough knowledge
of animal life, and playful imitation afforded a much
surer means of acquiring this than did mere receptive
observation.

We now pass to human activities which are chosen as
models by children still more than are the activities of
animals. It may be stated in general that there is
scarcely anything which engages the energy of man which
is not made the object of childish imitation. Children of
savages naturally have a much smaller repertoire than
those of civilized people, but as far as the fact of imi-
tation is concerned, and as it appears in child's play, it
usually strikes travellers most forcibly, since they are not
as a rule alive to the less salient phenomena of experi-
mentation. Livingstone says that in central Africa it is
remarkable how few playthings the children have; their
life seems to be already a serious one, and their only
amusement consists in imitating their elders while they

* Hall and Allin, Psychology of Tickling, Laughing, etc., pp. 15-17.

304 THE PLAY OF MAN

build huts, lay out gardens, or make bows, arrows, shields,
and spears. In other places, he says, giving a beautiful
instance of childish invention and illusion, many bright
children are found who have plenty of attractive toys.
They shoot birds with their little bows, and teach cap-
tive ones to sing. They are very skilful in setting traps
and snares for small birds, as in the preparation and
spreading of birdlime. The boys make toy guns out of
reeds and shoot grasshoppers.* Many other witnesses
confirm all this, though their reports are usually less full
and lucid, and we may conclude that the games and sports
of adults are also early acquired by the children by means
of imitation. Among the " wild men " exhibited in Eu-
rope, quite small children are often found who perform
the dances of their elders with astonishing accuracy, and
travellers tell us that they do the same thing in their
homes. Captain Jacobsen once attended a regular Indian
child's party, for which the little people painted their
faces and stuck feathers in their hair in regulation style.
" It was really comical to see little tots of three and four
gotten up in this fashion and dancing about with leaps
and bounds while older ones beat the wooden drum." f
Children of civilized peoples still retain among their plays
many heathenish customs which have not been practised
by adults within the memory of man. An interesting
example will accomplish the transition from savagery,
dealing as it does with the powerful influence of the imi-
tation of the uncultured on European children. Signe
Rink tells of her childhood spent in Greenland : " Like
all European children in the country my brothers and
sisters and I had a genuine passion for everything per-
taining to Greenland; and accordingly, as soon as the
door was shut on our elders we tried in every possible
way and by all sorts of mimicry to identify ourselves with
our playmates. My brother got himself up as a seal
hunter from head to foot, and I became an Eskimo woman
with waddling gait, who was sternly forbidden to leave
the house." And of her play in an Eskimo hut and with

* Livin.isrstone's last Journals from Central Africa,
t Captain Jacobsen's Keise an der Nordwestkiiste Amerikas, 1881-83,
Leipsic, 1884, p. 85.

DRAMATIC IMITATION IN PLAY 305

a Greenlandic girl she gives the following delightful de-
scription : " We took oif our shoes and sat on the warm,
comfortable, half -dark part of the couch behind the backs
of the grown people. Wherever I was there was Anna,
my best friend among the Greenland children. . . . We
made quite free with pincushions, dishes, and timepieces !
We brought mussel shells and bleached seal bones and
made a playhouse in the corner. We took cushions from
the great pile and made beds for the puppies. We made
mural decorations from coloured chips. Over our heads
hung boots, hose, skins, trousers, and timiahs (under-
jackets) to dry in the warmth of the lamp or to be out
of the way. All these surroundings formed elements in
our play. In imagination w^e had sent our husbands ofi
on a seal hunt, and with thimbles on our first fingers, the
Greenland custom, we sewed round flaps for the boot soles
of the absent ones." * One can not read such a descrip-
tion as this without being impressed with the incalculable
influence of imitation on the whole psychic life of the
child, not only in relation to externals, but also as affect-
ing their deeply rooted sympathies and antipathies, habits
and convictions, all of which are deeply influential on
the developing character. Baldwin says : " It is not only
likely — it is inevitable — that he makes up his personality,
under limitation of heredity by imitation, out of the
* copy ' set in the actions, temper, emotions of the people
who build around him the social inclosure of his child-
hood. It is only necessary to watch a two-year-old closely
to see what members of the family are giving him his per-
sonal * copy ' — to find out whether he sees his mother
constantly and his father seldom; whether he plays much
with other children, and what their dispositions are to a
degree; whether he is growing to be a person of sub-
jection, equality, or tyranny; whether he is assimilating
the elements of some low, unorganized social content
from his foreign nurse. For, in Leibnitz's phrase, the boy
or girl is a social monad, a little world, which reflects the
whole system of influences coming to stir its sensibilities.

* Signe Rink, Aus dem Leben der Europaer in Gronland, Ausland.
vol. Ixvi (1893), p. 762.

306 THE PLAY OF MAN

And just as far as his sensibilities are stirred he imi-
tates, and forms habits of imitating. And habits? — they
are character." ^

There is hardly any limit to the role playing of civi-
lized children. Under normal conditions they naturally
take their own parents as models, and even in societies not
governed by caste considerations this must have a con-
servative influence. But the occupations of others, too,
appeal strongly to the imitative impulse, and it is alto-
gether probable that such tests of various possibilities
often exert an influence on the later choice of a life's call-
ing, for play develops predispositions and antipathies.
When Schiller was eight or nine years old he was taken to
see the magnificent ducal opera house in Ludwigsburg,
and was forthwith inspired to produce a similar work; so
he built a little theatre of books, and had paper figures
to act in it. Soon afterward he got up private theatricals
among his sisters and schoolmates. His enjoyment of
preaching, too, was shown in his being able, like young
Fichte, to repeat, when a child, whole sermons verbatim
whose lofty spiritual pathos confirmed his natural inclina-
tion toward the priestly calling.

Before proceeding to the consideration of special
forms of the imitative impulse, I will make a limited
selection from a series of observations calculated to illus-
trate the variety of childish imitation. The carrier's
wagon, the street car, the railroad are as well represented
by his own body as by external objects, though the silver
knife-rests on our table seems especially adapted for
the last, being hitched together and pushed about the
table, passing through tunnels, stopping at stations, etc.
An old servant who comes to our house daily to see if
anything is wanted from the library or post ofiice, regu-
larly gets letters which the child has placed in old en-
velopes. Another play is for the child to knock at the
front door and say to the taaid who opens it, " I am an old
letter carrier." When asked if she has any letters she
answers, "Here is some money for you," and spits in
the girl's hand. She comes with a pile of old papers, and

* Mental Development, p. 357.

DRAMATIC IMITATION IN PLAY 307

asks if we want to buy one. She travels to Coburg be-
tween the house and garden, and visits a friend, saying,
when she comes back, " I have told Emmy that she must
come here soon." For months after a visit to a swimming
pool she practises swimming in the garden; standing on
a chair holding her nose she jumps in the grass, where she
tries to copy the movements of swimmers. She said, when
five years old, to her doll : " Lisa, in an hour you go to
Frau Schneider, and when she asks you, ^ What is, the sky
is blue ? ' you must say, ' Le ciel est bleu ' ; and when she
asks, ' What is, the tree is green ? ' you must say, ' L'arbre
est vert.' " At six and a half she gave her doll writing
and piano lessons. In the latter she grasped the doll so
that by means of pressure on the hidden mechanism she
elicited from it accompanying wails, at regular intervals
and in good time.

The capacity for illusion is always the most interest-
ing feature of such play. The same child varies greatly
in this respect : sometimes he seems entirely given up to
self-deception ; he will offer you a meal of candy in which
one bit represents the meat, another the vegetables, etc.,
and is quite hurt if you are guilty of confusing these
dishes. Sometimes, too, when he has concocted various
dainties out of mud, he can not resist the temptation to
bite into the brown mass, although in his calmer mo-
ments he well knows that mud is not edible. On the other
hand, the waking consciousness seems to be unshaken
through it all. If you warn the playing child not to
hurt his rocking horse, he will answer that it is only a
wooden horse, without, however, abating his zeal in the
play. Then, again, the whole thing is laid out before-
hand, as in this case. Marie : " Then let's play that I
am a thief, and there is a whole roomful of cakes, and
the door is shut, and I cut a hole in it and take all the
cakes away, and you are the policeman and run after me
and get all the cakes back again." Frieda : " And I will
take them to my child. Or shall we play birthday?"
When choice is thus offered between various possibilities
there is, of course, much variation in the strength of the
illusion, and the sudden transitions of the imagination
are often very striking. For instance, one small dramatist

308 THE PLAY OF MAN

called two combs which he held together a biscuit, and
said it had an excellent taste, and the next moment was
rocking them to sleep with tender solicitude. We have
already noticed the child's extraordinary capacity for
supplying any deficiencies in the object of his fantasy;
he has no difficulty in accepting two upright pencils as
towers, an umbrella for a baby, with grass stalks at-
tached to it for flowing locks.

At the risk of giving too much space to this phase of
the subject I will describe a baptismal festival in 1896,
which was participated in by half a dozen children from
five to fourteen years old, at our house. For the adults
chairs were provided and placed in regular rows, and they
were required to bring tickets of admission which a duly
accredited doorkeeper received. All the children were
deeply affected during the official parts of the ceremony,
especially the young mother, who showed as she brought
the doll infant forward a really pallid face, and the four-
teen-year-old minister was so moved by his solemn office
that he lost his place after the first sentence. On the cer-
tificate of baptism was the proverb,:

" Ihm ruhen uoch im Zeitenschoose
Die schwarzen und die heitern Loose " ; *

and the programme, whose second part seems to throw
some doubt on the lofty idealism of the children, was
as follows:

PROGEAMME

FOR THE CHRISTENING OF ILSE, ELIZABETH, AND ERIKA BOHME

I. Baptism.

1. Sermon.
11, Lunch,

First course, pastry.
Second course, ham and asparagus.
Third course, fish and potatoes.
Fourth course, tongue and cabbage.
Fifth course, beefsteak with sauce.
Sixth course, poultry and salad.
Seventh course, roast pork and chestnuts,

* " Time's passasre shall unfold for him
Fortune bright and fortune dim,"

DRAMATIC IMITATION IN PLAY 309

Eighth course, venison and compote.
Ninth course, pies.
Tenth course, ices.

Eleventh course, chfeese and pumpernickel.
III. Conclusion.

1. Conversation.

2. Games.

3. Domino party.

4. Dancing.

Amid the bewildering variety of childish dramatic
play two specialized groups seem to be particularly promi-
nent. As stated in the general introduction the imitative
impulse is often aroused by an intensive stimulus calcu-
lated to call into play other stimuli as well, one of the
most prominent being the fighting instinct — playful imi-
tations of all sorts of contests — as vigorously practised by
boys, for, however much education may be said to foster
it, their inborn nature sets the pace. The old story of
Achilles's choice of a sword, though he had been brought
up like a girl, is well founded. Among savages the
chase and manly contests are the constant models for
playing boys, while among ourselves, besides playing
soldier, many such sports are kept alive solely through
tradition. This is the case, too, with less cultured peo-
ples, the bow and arrow being used as toys long after
they are abandoned for serious warfare.* Since so
many of these plays have been enumerated with the other
fighting plays, I will not here single them out, but
rather confine myself to a notable example from eth-
nology. Just as our children chase each other, take
prisoners and execute them, so do the little ones of the
Seram Islands play at decapitation. " A favourite game
of young and old," says Joest, " is that of cutting off
heads, for which the children are armed with light wooden
swords. A cocoanut is hidden in the shrubbery, and
their naked bodies wind like snakes through the grass and
thicket in search of it. An arrow or lance is hurled into
the air when the nut is found, and a couple of well-
directed blows with the sword sends it bounding away,

* W. Svoboda, Die Bewohner das Nikobaren-Archipels. Intern.
Arch. f. Ethnogr., vol. v (1892).

310 THE PLAY OF MAN

severed from its stem. The victor, holding his booty in
his left hand and exulting in his triumph, runs off at a
gallop, pursued by the entire crowd, shouting and bran-
dishing their weapons." *

The nursing or fostering instinct which is so promi-
nent in the imitative play of little girls deserves more
attention. A special section is devoted to such play
among animals in my former work, but I admit that I am
myself somewhat sceptical in regard to some of the ex-
amples quoted there, though I was most careful to get
the testimony of trustworthy investigators. Among ani-
mals, moreover, some sorts of nursing play are wanting,
such, for instance, as that in which a lifeless object is
treated as a veritable infant.f The feeding of young
birds of, a second brood hj their older brothers and sisters
seems to me entitled to be called a nursing play, and
Naumann observed this in the case of water wagtails.
Altum reports the same behaviour by canary birds, and
vouches for having seen young water wagtails who were
still wearing their first feathers feed young cuckoos. t
That this is a play can scarcely be questioned, and it
must be imitative since the parent birds are taken as
models, but whether it is dramatic illusion play is an-
other question and a doubtful one, for there is always
actual feeding with actual food; not, as with children,
a mere pretence. Yet I am very doubtful whether there
would be any nursing plays among children without pa-
rental models, and for that reason it has been included
among imitative plays in this book instead of being given
a separate section. We then conclude that the maternal
instinct is present in little girls, but first attains expres-
sion in play on the rise of the imitative impulse.

We have a direct analogue to the bird examples when
an older child assumes the role of mother to a younger
with purely playful and imitative motives. Dramatic
illusion first comes in when sham activity is involved,
as may be the case with dolls, other children, or even

* W. Joest. Weltfahrten, Berlin, 1895, vol. ii, p. 162.
t Pechuel-Loesche's report of a monkey's play with a doll shows that
it was mere experimentation (The Play of Animals, p. 169).

X B. Altum, Der Vogel und sein Leben, Mlinster, 1895, pp. 188, 189.

DRAMATIC IMITATION IN PLAY 311

adults as the subjects. We must conclude, then, that the
imitative impulse is fully developed only when imagina-
tion supplements the copy. Baldwin gives a particularly
pretty instance of dramatic nursing play where the older
sister takes the part of mother to the younger.*

As regards the use of dolls it would be interesting to
know whether the child would of its own accord so treat
any beloved object if it had never seen a real doll made
by adults, but the artificial doll is always provided so
early that there is no opportunity to make the experi-
ment. In the slums of a great city a proper subject
might perhaps be found. However, we know that the
child's powers of illusion are amazing. A cushion, a
stick, a building block, an umbrella, a dust brush, or a
footstool, a table cover, a slipper, a fork, in short, any-
thing portable, is liable to become a beloved and zealously
nurtured baby, and every detail is quickly arranged to
suit the picture.f Finally, a few words as to the origin
of this toy. Its use is well-nigh universal, and one of
the sights most worth seeing in an ethnological museum
is a collection of dolls from all over the world. They are
made of clay, of edible earth, of w^ax, of wood, of bark,
of cloth, of porcelain, etc., and imitations of the human
figure blend with those of animals, of household furni-
ture and utensils, of arms and implements of different
sorts in motley variety.ij: They serve to illustrate human
progress. In mediaeval Europe, in ancient Kome, in
Greece — everywhere the doll was at home. The old mu-
seum in Berlin, for example, possesses a wooden doll from
the Egyptian excavations, which has movable legs, and a
crocodile whose jaws can open and shut. Since these
images of men and animals were probably the earliest
form of toys, the conclusion is natural that they probably
originated with idols which from religious feeling may
have lain in the cradles and thus appealed to the children
as playthings. Other customs and the testimony of

* Mental Development, p. 362 (omitted from the German version).

t Thus, to mention one example, Marie G had no sooner adopted

a small thermometer as a baby than she spied the tassel which it hung
up by, and called everybody's attention to its lovely head.

X The Japanese collection in the Berlin Museum is the finest that I
have ever seen.

312 THE PLAY OF MAN

travellers give colour to this idea, though it is difficult to
draw the line between the idol and the doll.* Through
the kindness of my former colleague, Sticker, at Giessen,
I myself own an old Indian wooden doll, which appears
suited to be both a protection from evil spirits and a toy
for children. Still, we must not allow to pass unchal-
lenged any manifestation of the disposition which used to
be so common, to refer everything to a religious origin.
It is quite possible that simple pleasure in plastic repre-
sentation for its own sake is responsible for the manufac-
ture of these toys. Von den Steinen tells us, " Dolls a
span long, made of straw, served as children's toys, and
were also stuck in a pole on the roof of their places of
festivity as a sign that some frolic was in progress, and
everybody spread the news." f There is nothing here to
hint at a religious significance.

Of dramatic imitation play by adults we find only a
few remnants among civilized people, aside from mimicry
on the one hand and the borders of art on the other,
where imitation is not exhibited as an end in itself, but
rather in relation to its effect on the spectators, and there-
fore is no longer a genuine play. Professional actors
" play " only in particularly happy hours. The case is
quite otherwise, however, with savages, whose imitative
dances, while conducted in the presence of spectators, it
is true, are unmistakably for the enjoyment of the par-
ticipants first, somewhat as are our amateur theatricals.
We have already described animal and erotic dances,
which are also imitative, of course, and all interesting,
comic, and exciting elements of their life are repeated in
various dramatic dances, fighting scenes being favourite
subjects. I choose an example whose details most strongly
recall the capacity for illusion possessed by children. It
is a woman's dance which K. Semper saw in the Palau
Islands : " We could already hear the rustling of their
leafy garments, which swung in time with the dancers'
movements as they stood in a long row. Their aprons

* See J. Walter Fewkes, Dolls of the Tusayan Indians. Int. Arch, f.
Ethnogr., vol. vii (1894). Fewkes is very careful about committing him-
self on this point.

t Op. cit., p. 254.

DRAMATIC IMITATION IN PLAY 313

were of the briefest, their naked bodies were fantastically-
painted in gay colours. In one hand they carried short
wooden instruments which seemed to be weapons, and in
the other a staff covered with a skilfully made tuft of
white shavings, tipped with red. They marched in a row
on to the raised platform whose roof sheltered them from
the sun, and now the dance began. The beginner sang
a verse without moving, then all repeated it as a chorus
with accompanying rustling of the leafy gowns and
beckoning movements of the arms. Soon they became
more active, and apparently wished to express joy and
greeting. Each seized her wooden instrument — a neigh-
bour told me that they represented weapons — and made
light swinging movements before her. During this war
dance they gradually removed from the starting point.
A sudden loud cry, wild movements of the arms and whole
body, excited singing and blazing eyes betokened the ex-
pectation of approaching battle. . . . The dancers' move-
ments became wilder, they stamped their feet, their hands
dealt blows in time with the song — here to strike a fallen
foe, there to sever a head. At last victory is won. They
grasp the wands bearing the gay tufts and raise them
aloft, then lower them diagonally to the ground. ^ What
does that mean, Frau Ebadul ? ' I ask. ^ That is the battle
of the Inglises against Aibukit, whom they are besieg-
ing; now they are firing the villages — the yellow tufts
are flames to light the huts with.' " Aside from the
rhythmical movement which is needed to complete the
power of illusion for adults, this is very like the dramatic
imitative play of children.

3. Plastic or Constructive Imitative Play
Under this heading are grouped external representa-
tions of two or three dimensions, thus including draw-
ing as well as the moulding commonly understood as
plastic. Here it is more difficult to distinguish between
play and art than in dramatic imitation, since, while the
child nursing her doll, or putting his tin soldiers through
a drill, thinks not at all of spectators, and how they will
be affected; even an infant artist is always eager to show
what he can do. It can, however, be generally prevised

314 THE PLAY OF MAN

that pictorial imitation is a play only when pure joy in
the act of production fills the soul of the copyist.

I begin with imitative drawing, which seems to be
widely practised, not only by children but by primitive
people as well, and will therefore claim most of our atten-
tion. Its origin is not clearly determined, though von
den Steinen's observations make out the case pretty
clearly for their connection with language of gesture.
" The simplest drawings," he says, " are those connected
with gesture. When a savage repeats the cry of an animal
in one of his spirited dramatic tales and wishes to make
the effect more forcible, he also imitates the creature's
bearing, gait, and movements, and pictures special pecul-
iarities, such as long ears, trunk, horns, etc., in the air
with his hand. Such actions for the eye form a parallel
to the voice imitation for the ear, but w^hen they still
do not suffice, drawings are made on the sand. In the
absence of word equivalents for communicating with
them I myself have often taken refuge in such sand writ-
ing." * He goes on to say that he thinks, although his
observation has been confined to Indian tribes, the further
development of drawing followed for the purposes of com-
munication after the idea of making pictures was once
grasped; and that finally they were made without such
practical aim, efforts were made to improve the technique,
and all sorts of natural objects were represented in inter-
esting and novel aspects.f

I know of nothing that should hinder us from accept-
ing this luminous explanation and applying it to the
origin of all drawing but for one point, which does offer
some difficulty. That a primitive hunter should imitate
animal bearing, gait, and movement is easily accounted
for by the instinct for dramatic imitation, but it takes
us no nearer to our goal; and, moreover, how does it
happen that he adds the outline of ears, trunk, or horns in
the air to complete the picture ? On this point the whole
question depends. Would this mode of suggesting con-
tour ever occur to a man who had never seen drawing?
Does not the former presuppose the latter, instead of ac-

* Unter den Naturvolkern Central-Brasiliens, p. 230. + Ibid,

PLASTIC OR CONSTRUCTIVE IMITATIVE PLAY 315

counting for it? I do not presume to judge of the force
of this objection, but feel that we can not aiiord to ignore
it. If it is a just one, von den Steinen's explanation of
course falls to the ground, and there is apparently nothing
left but to refer the whole subject to playful experimenta-
tion. In this case we would best proceed from the sand
drawing, since it is probable that the child or adult play-
fully marking on the sand accidentally produces some
semblance to a natural object and adopts it as his own.
Thus the child observed by Miss Shinn accidentally
produced (110th week) a triangle in the midst of aim-
less scribbling, and repeated it afterward with conscious
intent."^ While aboslute certainty is unattainable in such
instances, it would still be valuable to make observations
on a child who had never seen a pencil used for drawing
or writing. Should such a one go on from scribbling to
drawing, our play idea would receive valuable confirma-
tion.

Another question is how far drawing, however ac-
quired, may be regarded as a play. The finished produc-
tion of the artist's pencil is not always so, by any means,
for in modern times his art requires all a man's energies,
and becomes his life calling and his means of support.
Productions of dilettantes belong more to our sphere. But
how is it with primitive folk? Here, too, the play idea
is often excluded, for the reason that their drawings serve
religious purposes, or are used as picture writing; yet,
according to the views of recent ethnologists, it would be
misleading to refer such drawing exclusively to these
ends. " We are convinced," says Grosse, " that in the
drawings of savage people, with comparatively few ex-
ceptions, neither a religious nor any other serious pur-
pose is involved. We are perfectly right in trusting the
numerous witnesses who assure us that such drawings are
made simply for the pleasure of making them." f This
establishes the pre-eminently playful character of primi-
tive drawing and sculpture, and the efforts of children are
still more obviously so. Imitative and imaginative play
here join hands, the former making the point of depart-

* Op. cit., p. 98. See also Sully's Studies, p. 333. t Op. cit., p. 195.

316 THE PLAY OF MAN

ure while the expanding and illuminating power of the
latter is needed to complete the satisfaction in the fin-
ished product.

As I am unfortunately unable to go into details,* I
close the subject with some general remarks on the char-
acter of such drawing. For the child and for the savage
the chief object of representation is one of the most dif-
ficult of all, namely, living animals. Miss Shinn's niece,
who began with mathematical figures, is an exception ac-
counted for by the fact that she was intentionally directed
toward abstract form. Even the geometrical patterns in
primitive ornamentation may often be traced to the imi-
tation of animals, and a distinction between the work of
these people and that of children lies in the fact that they
prefer such figures while children incline to the human
figure, which is rarely represented by savages. The ex-
planation of this is that for the hunter the animals which
he pursues form the chief objects of his imagination, as
any sportsman among ourselves who begins to draw will
illustrate. A third view is presented when we ask what
is the psychological antecedent of imitation. In civilized
art it is as a rule conscious perception of the actual ob-
ject, as genuine artists rarely paint from memory. But
it is quite otherwise with children; they object to draw-
ing from Nature, as H. T. Lukens points out.f They
prefer to make the absent present by their art, and their
passion for drawing is considerably dampened by the
practice in observation which school discipline requires.
The child's model is commonly a mental image, a fact
which explains many of his particularities. The savage,
too, from what we know of his art, seems to produce
it not directly from the object, but from his impression
of it, and thus it happens that he represents effects of
things which are not visible to the beholder now, though

* See on this point Grosse's Anfansre der Kunst and the chapter on
The Young Draughtsman in Sully's Studies of Childhood. If space

allowed I could orive similar particulars of my nephew Max K 's work.

In this boy the artistic impulse all turned to the representation of ani-
mals, in which he became a master. He took the grreat scissors and cut
away almost without looking, and with every turn of the shears he
turned his body too (an instance of the outer effects of inner imitation).

t H. T. Lukens, Die Entwickelung beim Zeichnen, Die Kinder-
fehler, ii (1897).

PLASTIC OR CONSTRUCTIVE IMITATIVE PLAY 317

they may have been elements of the scene which he recol-
lects, and explains, too, in part his almost incredible errors
in proportion and in the relative position of things, such
as placing the mustache of a European above the eyes,
or even on top of the head.* This suggests the distinc-
tion which Grosse makes between childish and primitive
art. He thinks it strange that the two are even con-
sidered to be on a par, since children seldom show a trace
of the hunter's close observation. The art of savages is,
as a rule, naturalistic, that of children symbolic; the
only actual resemblance being the lack of perspective in
both. This view certainly contains an important germ
of truth, but the statement is extreme. It is true that
many drawings of primitive man display a remarkable
truth to Nature, impossible to a child, and, as Grosse
rightly says, resulting from trained powers of observation
joined to the dexterity acquired in the manipulation of
weapons and tools. But this wider knowledge and greater
skill seem to me to be the sole grounds of difference, and
the sharp distinction of naturalistic and symbolic unwar-
ranted. Of course, drawing is in itself to a great degree
symbolic, but the symbolism displayed by children, surpris-
ing as it often is, does not betoken any special preference
for symbolism, but often results partly from incapacity
and partly from the exigencies of the subject being repre-
sented. When full representation is unattainable they
are satisfied to make their meaning intelligible, and sav-
ages, too, often resort to similar expedients. Grosse him-
self gives us some Australian drawings on wood where the
human face is represented without a mouth, just as often
happens in childish efforts. In these figures the fingers
are symbolized by mere lines. In his valuable chapter on
drawing among the Baka'iri, von den Steinen points out
still closer analogy with children's work. He says, for
example, that, as a rule, only three fingers and toes are
indicated, to serve as a suggestion for the rest. It seems
to me that it is then rather a question of more or less
than any real difference.

Our next topic is the question of beauty, and here, too,

* Von den Steinen, Unter den Naturvolkern, p. 235.

318 THE PLAY OF MAN

the child and the savage are close parallels. Soth have a
certain interest in the introduction of colour which ap-
peals to them, both object to carrying out the full type,
both probably draw from memory, and both lack almost
totally the appreciation of beautiful form. The savage,
indeed, does introduce the simpler elements of beautiful
form in his ornamentation, but in his representations of
human and animal figures there is little effort to preserve
such outlines. This bears out our former conclusion that
savages have little appreciation for physical beauty as
such, and w^ith children it is much the same. Some chil-
dren, it is true, make a general distinction between people
who are beautiful and those who are ugly, but in draw-
ing not only the ability but often the intention as well
is wanting, to produce beautiful faces. When they do
attempt something definite in the way of expression it is
much more likely to be caricature of homeliness than
beauty. It is known also that this tendency is especially
displayed in periods of highly developed art, and more
particularly by the Germans.

A final observation refers to children alone. I have
already noted that imitative play, in which the player ap-
pears in dramatic relation to the puppet, while common
enough with children, is not found in adult art unless at
the most a partial analogy is traceable in some religious
connections; these same principles apply to drawing. The
child plays with the figures he has drawn as with dolls,
and gives us a most attractive picture of his capacity for

illusion. Marie G , when four and a half years old,

wanted to draw a holy family. First came a kneeling
figure, whose position was most precarious — his knees
would not bend properly, and for reverently folded hands
there was a confusion of crossing lines. The little artist
cried with annoyance : " The naughty child doesn't want
to kneel. Joseph will be angry with him because he won't
kneel down and say his prayers ; he is stamping and scold-
ing.— You naughty child, won't you kneel down now and
pray?" In the meantime she made Joseph (asking if he
wore trousers), with his foot raised to stamp on the
ground, and then came the kneeling figure — a good child
now, at last. A little of this capacity for illusion is

PLASTIC OR CONSTRUCTIVE IMITATIVE PLAY 319

sometimes found among full-grown artists, and especially
among the naive religious painters who are conscious of
the divine indwelling as they make their representations
of religious subjects.

The consideration of plastic imitative play in its nar-
rower sense will occupy us but a short time. Von den
Steinen's explanation of drawing, given above, will hardly
apply here. The probable starting point for such figures
was the accidental resemblance of some outline to
weapons, implements, or ornaments. The child's ready
capacity for illusion which is as likely to call a circular
outline an umbrella as a human head is not wanting in
adults as well, and especially so among primitive people.
When he makes a dagger handle out of a reindeer horn,
or a necklace of various small objects, or adorns a clay
vessel with impressions, and enjoys doing these things, his
hands thus rendered skilful need but little help to make
other images. Another possible origin is in experimenta-
tion with plastic material, such as clay or wax, which
would naturally lead to moulding.

The first hjT)othesis is well illustrated by von den
Steinen's description of the chain figures of the Bakairi.
He says, " As the rhyme often suggests the thought, so
an outline already familiar may suggest a motive " ; the
meagre suggestions which satisfy savages in such cases
" is evident in most of the figures which adorn their neck-
laces, strung between seeds, shells, and nuts. It matters
not what is the material — a bit of the spiral of a rose-
coloured snail shell with an irregular outline does duty
as a crab; from the shell of the Caramujo hranco (Orthali-
cus melanostornus) they cut birds and fishes; . . . bits of
green and black mottled stone are fishes when flat and
birds when rounded, and sometimes Nature is assisted in
carrying out these resemblances. Fruit, too, was used
which bore an accidental resemblance to some sort of
bird." *

But Brazilian plastic art includes the other type as
well; they mould figures in wax and in the edible clay
which furnished their forefathers with food. As a man

* Unter den NaturvOlkern, etc., p. 251.

320 THE PLAY OF MAN

held a lump of clay in his hand the impulse may have
been aroused by some accidental resemblance, and thus
give rise in a purely playful manner to the custom which
von den Steinen has called " only a skilful method of
storing the material. . . . Black wax was most beautifully
moulded by the Mehinakti into excellent animal forms
and suspended around the neck or laid away in a basket
until wanted." * That this was a playful habit is proved
by the maize figures of the same tribe. These were
usually bird forms almost as large as turkeys, and hung
from the roof on long ropes, " A strange spectacle to the
traveller who thinks at once of idols or fetiches, but these
fine birds are in reality nothing but well-filled ears of
corn in the natural husks." f We can not here go into
the higher forms of primitive sculpture, but it may be
mentioned in passing that even such aboriginal tribes as
the Indians of central Brazil often make use of their
plastic skill for symbolic decoration. Thus the Mehinakti
adorn the upper end of their wooden spades with the
carved head of a mud wasp, because they too dig in the
ground and throw up the dirt as the Indian does with
his tool.:}:

We must pass still more hurriedly over the plastic
efforts of children, which are of much less importance
than their drawings, though among the children of sav-
ages the disposition to attempt a rude sort of sculpture
is much more common than with us. Nachtigal relates that
the negro children of Runga formed rhinoceroses and ele-
plants out of the beautiful red clay which abounds there.*
There are individual instances of a similar kind among
civilized children. Ricci has taken some trouble to make
a collection of such work by Italian children, and finds it
differs less from the efforts of savages than their draw-
ing does. II On the whole, however, this branch of art

* U liter den Naturvolkern, pp. 251, 254, 255, 257.

+ Ibid.

X Ibid.

« G. Nachtisral, Sahara und Sudan, Leipsie, 1889, vol. iii, p. 133. See,
too, Knabenspiele im dunkeln Welttheil, Deutsche Kolornalzeitung, 1898,
No. 42.

II Conrads Kicci, L'arte del Bambini, Bolosrna, 1887. The younsr
Canova, when a kitchen boy, betrayed his talent as a sculptor by mould-
ing a lion in butter.

PLASTIC OR CONSTRUCTIVE IMITATIVE PLAY 321

seems to be comparatively little prized or pursued with
the exception of making snow men and some caricatures
in wax, dough fruits, and the fashioning in sand of gar-
dens, streets, cities, tunnels, and forts which are all about
as much imitative play as production.

In conclusion I offer a few general remarks on imita-
tion in connection with representative art, where three
forms of it can be distinguished — objective, artistic, and
subjective imitation. The first consists, as we have seen,
in repetition founded on sense-perception and simple
memory, while the last permits considerable deviation
from reality. The child and probably the savage prefers
to produce from memory.

Artistic imitation may be defined as the influence of
copies produced by other artists. It plays in art the
same role as that which falls to tradition in general cul-
ture, for without it the artistic genius would have lit-
tle advantage over the gifted savage; indeed, even Avith
him artistic imitation is of great importance. It is not
alone the wish to do what others have attained ; it is also
the via regia to the higher evolution of art. A stimulat-
ing task is to trace in history how originality was won by
copying. Baldwin's little girl began to build a church
from blocks after a picture. When she has laid the foun-
dation, suddenly her face lights up and she begins to de-
part from the model. On being reminded by her father
that churches are not built in that way she answers, " Oh,
no; I am making an animal with a head and a tail and
four legs," and, full of pride in her new discovery, she
returns to her work of art, which is no longer a church,
but has been turned into an animal.* We see here, as in
a magnifying glass, the law of progress. Not in random
discharges but from real action comes the new; and the
action that leads to the new is not original, but must be
imitative.f

This imitative action must not only always have an-
other artist's work as its model ; here may enter our prin-
ciple of subjective or self -imitation, which, indeed, is
more a physiological than a psychological principle since

* Social and Ethical Interpretations, p. 106. t Ibid, pp. 94 ff.

322 THE PLAY OF MAN

it is no other than all-powerful habit in its spontaneous
form, the impulse to repeat.

Children best illustrate it, but the familiar saying that
genius consists in an infinite capacity for taking pains
is a popular expression of the fact that progress de-
pends on indefatigable perseverance. It is Baldwin's
persistent imitation again. And self-imitation is as
indispensable to progress as is the imitation of others,
acting in conjunction with the law of habit, accord-
ing to which the frequent use of an act tends to make
it easy. The conservative principle of imitation fur-
nishes a basis for higher development by supplying an
incentive for the mechanical effort required by the first
laborious accomplishment of the task, as well as for the
introduction of new details and the application of effect-
ive variations. Here, too, an example from child psy-
chology clearly shows the coupling of new with old habits,
A child observed by Perez had learned to draw a loco-
motive, and was so charmed with the accomplishment
that he did not want to draw anything else. One day his
grandmother wanted him to make a portrait of her, and
w^hat did the boy do but draw a locomotive with a first-
class carriage attached, and his grandmother's head pro-
truding from one of the windows ! * In similar way the
painting of landscape began in history with little pieces of
background piping out of figure pictures.

4. Inkier Imitation
The conviction has long prevailed f among German
students of aesthetics that one of the weightiest problems
of their science is offered by that familiar process by
which we put ourselves into the object observed, and thus
attain a sort of inward sympathy with it. In France the
same problem has been treated in a notable manner by
Jouffroy, who says, " Imiter en soi I'etat exterieurement

* B. Perez, L'art et la poe^ie chez I'enfant, Paris, 1888, p. 200. The
self-evident truth that forces the contrary of imitation are also operative
in the prourress of art is not the proper subject of this investicration.

t J. Volkelt, Der Symbol-P)e!.''rift" in der neuesten Aesthetik, Jena,
1876 ; and P. Stern, Einfiidlune und Association in der neueren Aes-
thetik, Hamburg and Leipsic, 1898.

INNER IMITATION 323

manifeste de la nature vivante, c'est ressentir I'effet
esthetique f ondamental." * In this very complicated
process we can distinguish these leading characteristics:
la. The mind conceives of the experience of the other
individual as if it were its own. Ih. We live through
the psychic states which a lifeless object would experience
if it possessed a mental life like our own. 2a. We in-
wardly participate in the movements of an external ob-
ject. 2h. We also conceive of the motions which a body
at rest might make if the powers which we attribute to
it were actual (the fluidity of form). 3. We transfer the
temper, which is the result of our own inward sympathy,
to the object and speak of the solemnity of the sublime,
the gaiety of beauty, etc.

By including all these under the rather inadequate
name of aesthetic sympathy, and bearing in mind what
we learned in the review of aesthetic pleasure, we can not
fall into the error of supposing that they include the whole
field; yet at the same time we must see that their explana-
tion involves not only its most difficult but also its most
important problem. Why is this?

The attempt might be made to answer this question
entirely in terms of the psychology of association, only
we should then be forced to designate processes as associ-
ational which do not at all come under the original defini-
tion of the word — namely, processes of fusing or blending,
which is not the bringing of a succession of disparate
ideas into special relations, but rather a unifying process,
in which the after-effect of past experience and the pres-
ent perception blends to an inseparable synthesis.

I select, then, as an example, the latest utterance of
LIpps on the impression produced by a Doric column, cit-
ing only those points which seem to meet our purpose.
He speaks first of the mechanical method of regarding
the column and then continues : " But another element
follows this naturally. Mechanical events external to us
are not the only things in the world. There are events
lying nearer to us in every sense of the word since they
place within us ; and these are similar or analogous to the

* Jouffroy, Cours d'esthetique, Paris, 1845, p. 256.

324 THE PLAY OF MAN

external events. Moreover, we have the disposition to re-
gard similar things from the same point of view, and this
point of view is determined preferably by the nearest
object. Therefore we compare what happens externally
with what happens in or to ourselves and judge of it ac-
cording to the analogy of our own experience." After
remarking that such a method of observation is implied in
such expressions as " strength," " aspiration," etc., as ap-
plied to a column, Lipps goes on : " Our satisfaction is not
of the general kind which applies to the universal idea
of strength, effort, activity. Every mechanical event has
its special character or its special manner of fulfilment.
This may be easier, more untrammelled, or more difficult,
and requiring the overcoming of more serious obstacles;
it may require greater or less expenditure of ' force.' All
this reminds us of our own inner processes and evokes
those, not indeed identical in character, but analogous.
It presents to us an image of similar effort on our own
part, and with it the peculiar personal sensations which
accompany the act. The mechanical event which seems
to fulfil itself ' with ease ' incites us to an equally simple
and expeditious act; the violent expenditure of vigorous
mechanical energy, to an exertion of our own will power,
to which is added the feeling of lightness and freedom
proper to a self-originated act, and in other cases the
not less agreeable feeling of our own strength." Omitting
what intervenes I add the conclusion of the treatise:
" From the conditions indicated there results not, indeed,
the entire aesthetic impression produced by a Doric col-
umn, but a considerable part of it. The vigorous curves
and spring of such a pillar afford me joy by reminding me
of those qualities in myself and of the pleasure I derive
from seeing them in another. I sympathize with the
column's manner of holding itself and attribute to it
qualities of life because I recognise in it proportions and
other relations agreeable to me. Thus all enjoyment of
form, and indeed all aesthetic enjoyment whatsoever, re-
solves itself into an agreeable feeKng of sympathy." *

* Dr. Lipps, Eanniisthetik und geometrische-optische Tauschungen,
Leipsic, 1897, p. 5.

INNER IMITATION 325

Here we encounter the difficulty mentioned above. It
is evident from these extracts that this is a case of succes-
sive associations. We are " reminded " of similar subjec-
tive processes, and the " idea " of similar acts of our own
is " evoked," be they facile or strenuous. But successive
associations are not available as an element in aesthetic
enjoyment, as Lipps * goes on to say: " Moreover, all this
takes place without reflection. Just as we do not first
see the pillar and subsequently work out its mechanical
interpretation, so the second, personal interpretation, can
not be said to follow the other. The being of the column,
as I perceive it, is necessitated by mechanical causes
which themselves appear to me to be from the stand-
point of human action." f Then we have not a true
image of our own deeds before us; we are not actually
" reminded," for the process is one of simultaneous fu-
sion, in which the consequences of earlier experience unite
with sense-perception to effect a direct harmony. From
this direct blending at the instant of perception we see
why, to the observer, the pillar seems to hold itself " as
I do when I brace myself and stand up straight."

Assuming that this simple presentation of the psy-
chology of inner sympathy furnishes the elements of an
explanation, still, in my opinion, the state of aesthetic
enjoyment is not yet sufficiently accounted for. The fu-
sion processes described form part of a general psycho-
logical fact, and it is impossible to complete an act of
apperception without such synthesis. The question must
be answered as to how aesthetic perception is differentiated
as a particular satisfaction from general apperception;
and the answer brings us directly to the idea of play.
Take thunder, for example. On the ground of the syn-
thetic process, its roar makes, universally and naturally,
the impression of a mighty voice raised in anger. The
child has that impression when it frightens him; so has
the savage man when he regards it with religious awe.
But neither feeling is on that account aesthetic ; that comes
only when the hearer enjoys the emotional effect of the
phenomenon as such, rendered possible by the process of fu-

* See P. Stern, op. cit.., p. 46. * Op. cit., p, 7.

326 THE PLAY OF MAN

sion ; when he has an independent, self-centred pleasure in'
this result — that is to say, when he plays. The same re-
marks apply to the column. It is self-evident that we can
not think of its upward spring without calling in our ear-
lier experiences, but it seems to me to be just as apparent
that in aesthetic perception the impression is intentionally
lingered over only for the sake of its pleasure-giving
qualities, i. e., playfully.

Further, I think it is certain that there is in the play
of aesthetic enjoyment a condition of consciousness analo-
gous to that underlying a special class of plays — namely,
the experimental. The force of this analogy has impelled
various students of various lands, independently of one
another, to this common goal. It is, of course, only a rela-
tionship of conditions of consciousness, not genuine iden-
tity; but we may affirm this much — namely, that inner
sympathy is at least as closely connected with dramatic
imitation as the latter is with plastic imitation. If the
dramatic begins with a mere motor reaction, which tends
more and more to identify itself with self-transference
into the condition of another being, then inner imitation
appears as but a further step toward spiritualizing the
imitative impulse. When, therefore, I designate aesthetic
sympathy as a play of inner imitation I believe I have
correctly characterized the psychic attitude of aesthetic
enjoyment as far as it is based on the fusion processes.

But I must go a step further. So far we have had in
mind only past acts and their effects as the psychological
precedent of such sympathy, and herein lies, in my opin-
ion, the inadequacy of the whole associative method. The
sympathy of an aesthetic nature possesses such warmth
and intimacy, and such progressive force, that the effects
of former experience, however indispensable, are not suffi-
cient, as Volkelt, Dilthey, Th. Ziegler, and A. Biese have
justly remarked. Mere echoes of the past can not bring
about what I understand as the play of inner imitation.
On the strength of my experience I hold fast to inner imi-
tation as an actuality, and one connected with motor pro-
cesses, which bring it into much closer touch with external
imitation than the foregoing dissertation would indicate.
I have intentionally made use of the qualifications " in

INNER IMITATION 327

my opinion," " in my experience," etc. For, theoretically
at least, I must admit the possibility that persons may
exist for whom aesthetic enjoyment does not get beyond
the stage here indicated. All that follows relates to
those only in whose aesthetic pleasures motor accompani-
ments are apparent, whether subjects of consciousness or
inaccessible to the self-examiner.

In attempting to develop the main points of this fuller
conception of inner imitation, I first take up the analogy
between the child's dramatic imitation and aesthetic sym-
pathy.* The child playing with a doll raises the lifeless
thing temporarily to the place of a symbol of life. He
lends the doll his own soul whenever he answers a ques-
tion for it; he lends to it his feelings, conceptions, and
aspirations; he gives to it the pretence of mobility by
posing it in a manner that implies movement, or by his
simple fiat when he asserts that it has nodded, or beck-
oned, or opened its mouth. Here the resemblance to
aesthetic sympathy is already strong, and is still further
augmented by the use of the child's own body as the in-
strument of his mimic play. His attitudes and positions
are then symbolic. The boy who with the paltry aid of a
paper helmet and a stick to stride can identify himself
with the cavalry ofiicer whom he imitates has the soul of
a fighter. And he can extend this power of symbolic imi-
tation to inanimate things as well; kneeling with his
hands on the floor, he is a bench which easily turns into
a locomotive as soon as forward motion and the puffing
sound suggest it. We have here illustrated the power of
illusion to convert a mere symbol into the thing symbol-
ized, entering fully into the pretence and yet not confus-
ing itself with reality, just as in aesthetic s;yTnpathy.
Thus imitation proves itself to be the author of the
symbol.

This external imitation proclaims the inner. What,
then, constitutes the difference between the two, and how
are we to define inner imitation in the fuller sense in
which it is used here? We have seen that external imita-

* I have dwelt on this point both in my Eiuleitung in die Aesthetik
and in the Spiele der Thieve. Further treatment of it may be found in
K. Lancre's Kunstlcrischer Erziehung der deutschen Jugend.

328 THE PLAY OF MAN

tion is at the same time inner sympathy, and the external
bodily movements are chiefly directed toward further-
ance of this ^nd of the transference of self which accom-
panies it. But how is it when external visible imitative
movements are wanting? Is inner sympathy to be con-
ceived of as merely a brain process in which only the
recollection of past movements, attitudes, etc., is blended
with sense perception? By no means. There is still
activity, and that in the common sense of the word as it
relates to motor processes. It is manifested in various
movements whose imitative character may not be per-
ceptible to others. In this instantaneous perception of
the movements actually in progress I find the central fact
with which blend, on the one hand, imitation of past expe-
riences, and on the other the perceptions of sense.

Inquiry concerning the complex movements of inner
imitation is not yet past its opening stages, but so much
seems to be established — namely, that by it are called
forth movement and postural sensations (especially those
of equilibrium), light muscular innervation, together with
visual and respiratory movement, all of which are of
great importance. Movements of the eyes have been
given special attention by R. Vischer,* sensations of rest
by Couturat.f Wundt has made eye movements of gen-
eral psychological interest, and S. Strieker X has attempted
to do the same for the muscular sensations called forth
by the central impulses (at the present stage, including
principally tactile sensations of the skin, as well as mus-
cular and joint sensations). Intensely interesting is the
article by Vernon Lee and Anstruther-Thomson on
beauty and its contrary,* which quotes a number of ob-
servers who, as much from practice as from the posses-
sion of exceptional gifts, far transcend the limits attained
by the average man in self-observation. Couturat and
Strieker advance the idea that such movement processes,
so far as they depend on mild muscular contraction, are
due to the imitative impulse.

* Ueber das optische Formofefuhl. Stutterart, 1873.

t La Reaute plastiqiie. Revue pliilosophique. vol. xxxv (1893).
X Stuclien liber die BeweafunffsvorstellunTen. Wien. 1882.

* Beauty and Ugliness, Contemporary Eeview, 1897.

INNER IMITATION 329

Before adducing some examples, I must venture on
one more observation. It is not, of course, to be assumed
that such external movements are necessarily genuine
copies of sense-perceptions. In the psychological treat-
ment of eye movements, for example, sufficient caution
has not been exercised, and consequently a false standard
has arisen, transcending the facts. Here we shall find
a comparison with external dramatic imitation play of
great value, bearing in mind that the result of the latter
is a symbol, not a counterpart. When a boy has to cut
off his comrade's head in dramatic play, a very soft blow
with a stick is sufficient to indicate execution with the
sword of justice, and in the same way and degree the
movement of which we are speaking may be symbolic.
Suppose a man fancying a huge spiral imprinted on the
wall in front of him. If he remembers the motor pro-
cesses he can reproduce them at will; little movements
of the eyes, little tensions of the neck muscles and in
the throat, together with breathing movements, are use-
ful and (at least in my own case) even indispensable, and
yet there is no really spiral motion — the symbol is suf-
ficient.*

I now present a few examples. First, as regards the
optical perception of movement. " When I am in good
physical condition," says Strieker, " and take my stand
at some distance from an exercise ground so that I can
watch the company with ease but not catch the word of
command, I feel certain muscular sensations quite as
strongly as if I stood under the command and attempted
to follow it. When the troop marches, I keep time with
them in the sensations of my lower limbs; when they go
through the arm exercise, I have quite intense muscular
feelings in my upper arm; when they turn, I feel the
same in my back." * The following passage shows that
the same individual can experience also other symbolic
sensations of movement : " From the exercise ground I
went to the theatre to see the gymnasts, and first watched
one using a springboard. At the moment when he leaped

* A confirmation of this, which is especially valuable because it is not
intended as a contribution to aBsthetics, is found in Strieker, op. cit.^ pp.
16, 21, 26.

330 THE PLAY OF MAN

from it I had a distinct sensation in my chest, and the
feeling, too, of motion in the muscles of my eyes." * In
poetic art inner imitation of movements must also be
given due weight.f Lessing's requirements for a poet de-
pend largely on this, for on its subjective side poetic en-
joyment is connected with memory pictures, and move-
ment is conspicuous in these4

All this is true in a higher degree of the enjoyment of
musical movement. Herder said once : " The passionate
part of our nature (to BvfiiKov) rises and falls, it throbs
or glides softly. Now it sweeps us along, now holds us
back; it is now weak, now strong; its own movement, its
step, as it were, varies with every modulation, with every
strong accent and vanishes as the tone varies. Music
strikes a chord in our innermost nature." * In all this
we find not only the effect of association, but actual motor
processes in our own bodies, which extend from the rhyth-
mical movements, visible for others, to the most deli-
cate (and invisible) associations in the inner part of our
body. The process which I tried to characterize in the sec-
tion on hearing-play is with me connected with breathing
movements and tensions of the throat and mouth muscles,
and is thus symbolic in both directions. Those who play
much on some instrument commonly find that with them
the tension is of those muscles which they most use — this
is apt to be especially the case in recalling a remembered
melody. We must avoid a too free assumption of " in-
ternal song," as well as of throat movements. Baldwin
says, II " I am able with the greatest ease to hold aloud an
a sound at c', say, and at the same time cause a whole
tune — say Yankee Doodle — to run its course ' in my ear.' "
I, too, can do this, though not with ease; the remembered
tune is literally " in the head " — that is to say, I have

* Strieker, np. cit., p. 23. The application to the observation of danc-
incr is self-evidont.

+ See Hubert Roetteken, Zur Lehre von den Darstellung.smitteln in
der Poesie.

X See Kixlpe, Grundriss zur Psycholoorie. p. 149. Kiilpe is of the
opinion that possibly voluntary recollection is never unaccompanied by
movement.

* Kalliffone. Leipsic, 1800, vol. i, p. 116.
II Mental Development, p. 407.

INNER IMITATION 331

the sensations of movement which represent this melody
clearly in my mind, where they are diliicult to locate, but
are actual sensations, not mere memories. I can observe
this process to better advantage by holding my breath and
drumming on the table, hearing a melody in the rhythmic
movement. These instances, however, do not clear up
the undeniable contrast between an acoustic and a motor
melody, particularly as in the first, motor accompani-
ments are entirely wanting. This is probably the case
in a m^uch higher degree for aesthetic enjoyment than for
mere recollection.

I pass finally to the consideration of the assthetic im-
pression of objects at rest, giving first two examples from
the article already cited, by Vernon Lee and Anstruther-
Thomson, who seem to stand aside altogether from the
conflict raging among our own students of a3sthetics and
psychology at present devoting themselves to this subject.
They are more under the influence of the Lange-James
sensation theory, in the pursuance of which they have
little in common with the theory of sjTiibolism as ad-
vanced here, and do not even make use of the term inner
imitation. Yet the fact of it leads them to the expression
" to mime " in attempting to characterize aesthetic per-
ception. Their observations undoubtedly transcend the
normal (particularly in motor types), and in some in-
stances practice comes to the aid of natural endowment,
while auto-suggestion occasionally plays a part. These
extreme cases, however, may serve to call the reader's
attention to the normal conditions, which are not so
obvious.

The first example relates to the inspection of a jar.
" Here is a jar equally common in antiquity and in mod-
ern peasant ware. Looking at this jar one has a specific
sense of a whole. One's bodily sensations are extraordi-
narily composed, balanced, correlated in their diversity.
To begin with, the feet press on the ground, while the
eyes fix the base of the jar. Then one accompanies the
lift up, so to speak, of the body of the jar by a lift up
of one's own body; and one accompanies by a slight sense
of downward pressure of the head the downward pres-
sure of the widened rim on the jar's top. Meanwhile, the

332 THE PLAY OF MAN

jar's equal sides bring both lungs into equal play; the
curve outward of the jar's two sides is simultaneously
followed by an inspiration as the eyes move up to the
jar's widest point. Then expiration begins, and the lungs
seem closely to collapse as the curve inward is followed
by the eyes, till, the narrow part of the neck being reached,
the ocular following of the widened-out top provokes
a short inspiration. Moreover, the shape of the jar
provokes movement of balance, the left curve a shifting
on to the left foot, and vice versa. A complete and
equally distributed set of bodily adjustments has accom-
panied the ocular side of the jar; this totality of move-
ments and harmony of movements in ourselves answers
to the intellectual fact, of finding that the jar is a har-
monious whole." *

]Srow an example of the influence of attention in the
observation of plastic form : " We can not satisfactorily
focus a stooping figure like the Medicean Venus if we
stand before it bolt upright and with tense muscles, nor
a very erect and braced figure like the Apoxyomenos if
we stand before it humped up and with slackened muscles.
In such cases the statue seems to evade our eye, and it is
impossible to realize its form thoroughly; whereas, when
we adjust our muscles in imitation of the tenseness or
slackness of the statue's attitude, the statue immediately
becomes a reality to us." f

It is easy to turn such passages into ridicule (and there
are some much stranger in the article), but the fact is
that they are oiily extreme expressions of actual elements
in all the motor forms of aesthetic enjoyment. But the
authors have not grasped the fact of sjTiibolism, and they
stress too much the sensations of movement, just as Sergi,
for example, has done in his Dolera e Piacere. When the
scholar in Riehl's Burg jSTeideck, on his first sight of an
extended plain, had the feeling of being himself widened
out, this effect was in all probability due to sensations
produced by breathing movements. Yet this is not in
itself the whole satisfaction, but rather a mere motor
symbol which satisfies the imitative impulse, just as the

* Ojj. cit., pp. 554, 677. t Ibid.

INNER IMITATION 333

external suggestion is responded to by dramatic imitation,
or the little motions of the body in the phantastic visions
of the dream.

To answer the question of how this play of inner imi-
tation originates, it must be borne in mind that voluntary
external imitation must always be preceded by a stadium
of adjustment (or " Einstellung "). So it is especially
in childhood, where this prodromal stage is often of long
duration. And what are here the objects of the child's
imitation? — sounds, gestures, attitudes. ]^ow sounds, ges-
tures, and attitudes are also the very objects of inner imi-
tation in aesthetic pleasure.

In concluding, we are confronted by the question
whether this faculty of inner imitation belongs exclu-
sively to a special group of individuals — namely, the dis-
tinctly motor type. If this is so, then a very important
part of the assthetic satisfaction is confined to a fraction
of the human race. One hesitates to affirm that we of the
motor type labour under the disadvantage of taking in-
tense pleasure in a state which is lacking in physical reso-
nance, so to speak; and yet, if this is the case, we still can
boast that fusion with past processes which after all leaves
the plus sign in our favour. I am convinced, however, that
no such sharp distinction of types is warranted by the
facts, the diiference being as a rule one of quantity or de-
gree of individual endowment. Ability to observe such
movements in one's self is no criterion. There may be in-
dividuals Avith very strong inner imitative movements who
are unable to separate the motor element from the tout en-
semble. To illustrate the difficulty: A man who glances
suddenly to the right imparts to surrounding objects an
apparent motion to the left (this may help to account
for the "fluidity of form"), yet to many it is impossible
to get a clear perception of this, even under the most
favourable conditions. In the same way there are prob-
ably many who deserve to be reckoned with the motors in
aesthetic enjojanent who are yet unable to make their own
movements a matter of observation.

334 THE PLAY OF MAN

IV. Social Plays

Much discrimination is required in the attempt to
single out a special group of social plays proper to our
subject. I am, however, well aware that it is an essen-
tial feature in any system of play, and that Baldwin is
quite right when he says in his valuable preface to The
Play of Animals, " Finally, I should like to suggest that
a possible category of ' Social Plays ' might be added to
Groos's classification." The great difficulty is that it is
well-nigh impossible to make separate observations on
them as a distinct class, for as a rule the socfal impulse
furnishes the incentive to the special games which we have
considered. To take a familiar example : Society chat is a
social play par excellence, and yet the indulgence in this
element of it appeals to consciousness as but a vague and
undefined satisfaction compared with the influence of the
impulses to combat and to courtship. For this reason the
present section must be of a somewhat different character
from the foregoing ones. It must be theoretic, and thus
form a connecting link with the second part of the book.

In the sphere of social play we still find ourselves in
close touch with imitation. Though Tarde's formula, " La
societe c'est I'imitation," has the one-sidedness character-
istic of an epigram, it is an unquestionable fact that this
impulse is of fundamental significance in the origination
and preservation of social conditions. Uniformity of
conduct and sentiment, without which social co-operation
would be impossible, is preserved mainly hy imitation,
and, what is more, by its involuntary form, as illustrated
in the infectiousness of such simple acts as coughing and
gaping. But, before going into this, I must emphasize
some phases of the social impulse which are not identical
with imitation, and whose value to play is easily demon-
strated.

It may be recalled that in our inquiry into the origin
of the imitative impulse the question was raised whether
its resemblance to instinct might not be explained by its
relation to the genuine instincts of race affinity and the
production of calls and warning cries. The physical and
mental association common to men and gregarious ani-

SOCIAL PLAYS 335

mals seems to me to depend largely on these two rela-
tively simple instincts, those of physical association and
communication. Both are extremely important for the
establishment of the family, and the view that the social
factor has nothing to do with the family is, in my opinion,
far too extreme. Ants and bees may serve them for illus-
trations, but in the life of herds and tribes the primal
relation between mother and child seems to me the start-
ing point from which the need of association and com-
munication has extended.*

Our inquiry then will proceed from need of bodily as-
sociation or the herding instinct as a starting point.
However this impulse may have developed phylogenet-
ically, ontogenetically the child's associative needs are at
first satisfied by the family, and almost entirely by the
mother; he is, as a rule, relatively late in turning his
attention to a social sphere. " Before the third or
fourth year," says Madame Necker de Saussure, with
some exaggeration, " the child is happy only with his
elders. His needs, his pleasures, and the certainty with
which he counts on our protection are all in our keep-
ing. Other children interest him for a time, but soon
tire him, and their little tempers excite his own. In his
inability to cope with such situations he turns again
to the grown people." f Although this is put too
strongly, t its essential truth is well known; indeed, Curt-
mann and Flashar for that very reason deprecate the
extension of the child's social circle at too early an age,
and Franz Kiibel says, in Siiddeutschen Schulboten
(1875) : " Because the life of an eremite, be he scholar,
aesthetic, or what not, is a mistake, why should all of life
necessarily be social? Why should the bud be forced to
open too early? Why should the sphere of individual
life be so soon widened to take in love for all? It seems

* For the bearingr of this on the doctrine of promiscuity, see the
works of Starcke, Westermarck, and Grosse ; also F. and Fr. Sarasin,
Ercrebnisse naturwissenschaftjieher Forschungen auf Ceylon, vol. iii,
Wiesbaden, 1802- '93, pp. 3fi3, 458.

+ See G. F. Pfisterer, Padagogische Psychologic, second edition, Gu-
tersloh, 1889, p. 14fi.

X A. Kohler (Ber Kindergarten in seinem Wesen dargestellt) says,
however, that the child's longing to associate with others of its own age
is so strong as to require daily satisfaction (Pfisterer, op. cit.^ p. 145).

336 THE PLAY OF MAN

to me indisputable that the early education of a child
should be carried on in the family circle, and also that
there is a dangerous tendency to arouse social impulses
too early." ^ Indeed, we must admit that experimenta-
tion can not have its due effect if the child is introduced
too early to a wider circle, and that the strong stimulus
of social life tends to overshadow and interfere with the
development of family life when allowed to exert its full
force on the very young. Just as with children who are
kept too much at home, overweening family feeling inter-
feres with their progress in society and hampers them
through life, so, on the other hand, too much society
weakens the parental relation. There should be a cer-
tain equilibrium of influence, as in all other departments
of culture, to supply the most favourable conditions in
the struggle for existence.

Returning from this digression, we remark first that
there can be no doubt of the value of social games in pre-
paring incipient men and women for later life. " Le
societa infantile," says Colozza, " sono societa di guoco." t
The demand for identification with some social group
finds its satisfaction in this way, and this satisfaction
rests, as we have seen, on the broad foundation underly-
ing other instincts, especially those relating to combat-
iveness. I merely mention the direct effect of the im-
pulse for association, the agreeable consciousness of being
" in the swim." Among animals this feeling is manifested
rather as a reaction from the annoyance of separation
from the herd, yet the gregarious animal pasturing with its
kind or carrying food to them may be filled w^ith a cheer-
ing sense of security such as we experience when estab-
lished in a cosy corner at the club. Be that as it may,
the child at any rate, as soon as it is old enough to make
the acquaintance of other children, is filled with eager
desire to be wherever his comrades are assembled for
whatever purpose. I need only hint at his rage and
despair when he sees through a window that the " other
fellows " are collecting, w^hile he for some reason can not
go out.

* Pfisterer, op. cit., p. 147. + Op. cit., p. 65.

SOCIAL PLAYS 337

These early manifestations of the social instinct are
too simple to require much illustration. We all recognise
them, and they are frequently displayed by adults as well.
Holidays spent in simple playful indulgence of the gre-
garious instinct are of the greatest value for the collec-
tive social life of mankind. Here as elsewhere the prac-
tice theory is applicable to adults, as two extremely di-
verse instances will illustrate most satisfactorily. One
is the difficulty of keeping up religious community life
when the festival character is allowed to lapse ; even when
there remains enough association of the votaries them-
selves to constitute a gratification of the associative im-
pulse, yet the abandonment of holiday festivities un-
doubtedly has a marked eifect. The tamer a religious
observance becomes the larger the proportions of luke-
warm adherents. Many sects have a clear perception of
this, and it accounts for the fact that some of them employ
methods not far removed from the practices of savages.
This brings us to the second instance — namely, the im-
portance of festive gatherings to savage peoples. If our
owners, our own peasantry, scattered in families through
the rural districts, are in danger of losing their social feel-
ings when deprived of religious or secular festivals, the
necessity is yet much greater with primitive men. Apart
from warfare, this is about their only means of associa-
tion as tribes or clans. It is valuable, too, in connec-
tion with and preparatory to their fights. Among the
Weddas of Ceylon, who "have not yet acquired the art
of war," and are very undeveloped socially, we find
only feeble suggestions of the festival. From our noble
cathedrals, our concert halls and theatres, and other places
of amusement, converging lines lead directly back to the
festal huts of savages. From these, however, women are
as a rule strictly excluded.

Finally, I remark that a playful motive is often dis-
cernible in the formation of the multifarious clubs for
the advancement of some worthy object in this age of
abounding culture. We all know persons for whom an
absorbing interest in the ostensible object of the club
would be out of the question but for the good company.
The mere fact of being one of a group is satisfaction

338 THE PLAY OF MAN

enough to the gregarious instinct, and the playfulness of
this condition can scarcely be questioned.

Turning now to the wider social impulses to which
these simple manifestations are related, we must first no-
tice the voluntary subordination of the individual which
is so essential a feature. In the relation of parent and
child there could hardly be any training, and certainly no
such thing as education, without this element. After dwell-
ing on the child's spirit of opposition. Sully gives in his
Studies in Childhood the contrary picture in a series of
incidents designed to show that there is yet in the child-
ish soul something " on the side of law," and goes on
to remark that " it is worth while asking whether, if the
child were naturally disposed to look on authority as
something wholly hostile, he would get morally trained
at all." * While this is true, still the contrary, rebellious
spirit is developed by the parental relation, and we may-
see voluntary subordination much better illustrated by
going on the street with the child and noticing his be-
haviour with his playmates. The blind obedience accorded
the leader of a little band is calculated to fill parents and
teachers with envy. Here the social impulse is supreme
in the demand for association and classification which
governs and directs society. The same relation exists
among animals between the herd and its leader, and no
orderly association of men could exist without it. As
simple compulsion is not enough with children, so with
adults discipline is insufficient. The leader's command
must be met by an inward disposition to obey in the in-
terests of the whole. The heads of political parties who
thunder invectives against the " slaves " and " dumb cat-
tle " in other parties are yet considerably disconcerted
when their own followers display too little of the disposi-
tion for subordination.

The common fighting plays of children markedly ex-
hibit this voluntary submission to a leader, less known,
I think, in regulation games than in the many contests
which a crowd of children will naturally fall into when a
few belligerent spirits are present ; when there is a trick

* Studies in Childhood, p. 268. ,

SOCIAL PLAYS 339

to be played on schoolmates or janitor, an orchard to
plunder, some unpopular person to annoy by breaking his
windows or otherwise damaging his property — in these
escapades the leader's word has absolute authority, and
the most docile children will commit deeds in blind obedi-
ence which fill their parents with amazement and horror.
The influence of example is a factor not to be overlooked,
but it is not by any means all ; more influential still is the
esprit de corps after the plot is once hatched. Formerly,
when children were given more freedom in this direction,
schoolboy leagues were of great importance, but even now
their associations for contest play a weighty part in
youthful life; there they learn to see how common peril
strengthens the bond of union and enjoins submission to
the leader. It is an illustration in miniature of the in-
fluence of war on the evolution of society.

This leads to the observation that play is instrumental
in teaching children submission to law as well as to a
leader. Thus H. Schiller says very truly of gymnastic ex-
ercises : " They promote not only presence of mind, dex-
terity, skill, and readiness, but furnish as well valuable
training for society. Law and limitation are here self-
imposed by the players, and he finds them again in the
bounds which he strives to transcend." * Since gymnastic
and belligerent games afford exercise chiefly to males, we
trace here an interesting distinction between .the sexes.
It seems that those manifestations of the social impulse
relating to subordination are not pursued by women so
energetically nor in the same way as with men. Woman
is the guardian of good form, but as a rule she will not
subordinate herself to rigorous law. I think any cus-
toms agent will bear me out in this statement from his
observation of the behaviour of travellers. This prob-
ably results from a difference in the instinctive equip-
ment of the sexes; fighting impulses, which are strongly
developed in the males, further the social ones by reason
of their imperative requirement of association. This is
apparent in the exercises referred to by Schiller, and is
materially advanced by the practice which play affords.

* Handbuch der pvaktischcn Piidagogik, p. 699.

340 THE PLAY OF MAN

The success of American women in their movement for
emancipation is largely furthered by their participation
with men in various sports and the consequent better de-
velopment of their social capacities.

I conclude these remarks on voluntary subordination
with some refernce to the origin of punishment. It is
commonly referred to the principle of vengeance, but,
though feelings of personal grievance and revenge may be
closely involved in its origin and development, they can
not entirely account for the institution of punishment.
Even the play of children clearly distinguishes between
personal revenge and social chastisement. The infrac-
tion of the unwritten laws of our familiar games arouses
a spontaneous and general sentiment against the offender
which does indeed resemble the demand for vengeance, but
stresses more the idea of social injury. What urges to
the chastisement of the liar, the coward, and the betrayer
is a righteous indignation which results from outraged
social feelings, and the desire to expel the offender from
the group. This was apparent in the early tribes from
which all civilized peoples have developed. Justice is as
old as social humanity, and if it can be derived at all
from personal revenge this could have been possible only
as far as offences between man and man were regarded as
offences against the community as a whole.

Social sympathy next demands our attention as con-
nected with the demand for association, and for the sake
of brevity I include in the term not merely the inward
sentiment, but also the emotion tendre and the readi-
ness to lend a helping hand to other members of the same
group. It is perhaps best defined by the expression " good
fellowship," which is everywhere current. Play has a
significant part in it as well with children as with adults.
I introduced a passage in The Play of Animals on the
actions of some young foxes who amused themselves play-
ing together until some occasion arose for strife. Then,
one of them being bitten so that blood flowed, the others
fell upon and devoured him; and I then remarked that
" the good comradeship of young animals is first of all
a play comradeship. It exists in play when aside from
the conditions of the play there is little sympathetic

SOCIAL PLAYS 341

feeling." This is to a great degree applicable to humanity
as well. Apart from relations of actual friendship which
are deeper than simple comradeship, we find among indi-
viduals very little genuine interest and kindliness. It is
only when people are members of the same social group
that they learn to regard one another with the friendly
feeling which is necessary for effective association. So-
cial sympathy is apt to be but a wider egoism, and the
identification of the individual I w^ith the social whole
a slightly more circuitous route to self-advancement.
When party lines are obliterated the interest subsides,
as many have discovered who counted on personal friend-
ship as a result of social sympathy. Further considera-
tion of the value of this comradeship, however, shows it
to be indispensable to the formation and maintenance of
society, and that the school in which it is developed is
furnished by play. Children scarcely manifest it in any
other connection; as they grow older they may form
friendships independently of their common play, but as a
rule their comradeship is that of play. With adults the
case is not very different, for even when they associate
for a serious purpose banquets and other playful features
are considered indispensable for strengthening the bond.
These festivities, it is true, have their root in the com-
mon need for amusement, but their practical value con-
sists in the impetus they give to social sympathy, and
their indirect furtherance of effective association.

As the associative impulse which we have made our
starting point primarily promotes external connections,
but is attended with various far-reaching consequences,
and finally results in the demand for communication, so
this last, from serving first the narrow unit of the family,
brings about the inner spiritual union of the social group.
The chief means which serves this impulse of humanity is
language.* Although this communication does serve a
practical purpose from its very inception, there are still
many playful manifestations of it. Compayre offers an

* A. Marty finds, as does Whitney, tlie impulse for communication an
essential for the orisrin of the so much more varied lan^uaare of men than
of animals. Ueber Sprachreflex, Nativismus und absichtliche Sprachbil-
dung. Vierteljahreschr, f. wissensch, Fhilos,, vol. xiv (1890), p. 66.

342 THE PLAY OF MAN

observation which may be regarded as a prelingual ilhis-
tration of this. It records a sort of dialogue between a
child, still unable to speak, and his elder brother. " Pen-
dant quelques minutes c'est une alternance in-inter
rompue, la de mots et de phrases nettement articules, ici
de petits cris confus." * Older children, too, often show
the same thing in their play with dolls and other toys as
well as toward persons and animals. We sometimes sigh
for a limit to the unmeaning gabble which the child ap-
parently enjoys for its own sake.

Similar observations have been made on adults, though
here as with children it is difficult to draw the line be-
tween play and earnest. So far as the object is to in-
struct others or make a good impression and thus im-
prove one's own social standing, the act is serious, but it
oftener wears the aspect of merely playful self -exhibition.
And, finally, when an unimportant piece of news is passed
about and talked over " just for something to say," we
have an instance of pure playfulness, since a satisfaction
of the social impulse is sought without serious aim and
purely for its own sake. The teas and Kaffeeklatzchen so
affected by women are of a similar character. Without
attempting to analyze too closely the style of conversation
prevailing on such occasions, we venture to say that a
universal desire for expression is conspicuous. This is
certainly the fact in the social gatherings of men and of
society in general. Ordinary society chat is a social play.

There are other phases of conversational intercour^e,
however, which are more germane to our present purpose,
such, for example, as the invention of special forms of
speech which are selections from tentative efforts by the
process of exclusion. The great social importance of a
common language thus finds expression in play. Refer-
ence has already been made to the fact that children coin
words — that is, they make use of sounds independently
discovered by experimentation. Sometimes several chil-
dren will construct a sort of secret language in this way.
The remarkable case referred to by H. Hale of a pair of
devoted twins who did not learn first the language spoken

* Op. cit., p. 228.

SOCIAL PLAYS 343

around them, but one all their own, in which they con-
versed with ease and fluency, is not, however, an instance
in point, since there was evidently no play about it. Yet
children do form such a secret system sometimes in play.
Colonel Higginson mentions two girls about thirteen
years old who made a language for their own amusement.
They wrote about two hundred words of it in a book.
Thus " Bojiwassis " denoted the half -anxious, half -reso-
lute feeling that precedes taking a leap, and " Spygri "
the pride in having accomplished it. " Pippadolify " ex-
pressed the stiff manner of walking of the young officers
in Washington."^^ This well illustrates childish versatility
in word coinage. Von Martins, Peschel, and others at-
tribute the rapid transformations in the language of sav-
ages to the influence of children, whose faulty reproduc-
tion of words learned from their parents is adopted by
the latter.f Also original creations arise in the inter-
course of parent and child. We have already spoken of
the imitative sounds that come into a language in this
way, and childish experimentation may be equally influ-
ential. " Papa " and " mamma " are evidences that this
is sometimes true, and many other words may have had
a similar origin.

But, turning again to our subject proper, we find that
the tendency of a social group to distinguish itself by its
manner of speaking is widespread among adults.^ It can
not always be called playful, however, as some serious
aim is often had in view, as in the code of criminals and
the passwords of secret societies, but the technicalities of
special callings and professions are often clearly playful,
and are especially affected by the newcomer who is im-
pressed with the advantages of belonging to the set.
With what zeal does the newly initiated sportsman set
himself to learn the vocabulary of the chase ! With what
unction does the freshman repeat the latest student's
slang! Conan Doyle, in his Podney Stone, has given us
an admirable picture of the affected speech of the Eng-
lish dandy at the beginning of the nineteenth century,

* Cliamberlain. op. dt., pp. 2rt0, 203. f Ibid,

t See F. S. Krauss, Gelieiine SprachAveisen. Am. Urquell, vol. ii-vi;
P. Sartori, Sondersprachen, ibid., vol. v.

34:4: THE PLAY OF MAN

and the euphuism of Shakespeare's time is another in-
stance. Pleasure and pride in belonging to a certain class
or set are often manifested in such peculiarities.

But impulse for communication may assume other
forms, as in the cases when we found it of so great
value in courtship under the form of self-exhibition.
And it has also, as Baldwin* points out, a more general
social significance. While our personal peculiarities are
first brought out in our intercourse with others, we at
once become conscious, on the other hand, of an impulse
to display them in order to gain influence. Satisfaction
with one's own achievements is attained only when these
have gained social recognition. Self-exhibition plays an
important part, too, in the pleasure we derive from col-
lective games. The rivalry which we have studied from
the standpoint of the fighting instinct takes a more
pacific form, as the pleasure of finding one's importance
testified to by imitation on the part of others. This is
not mere exultation in victory over others, but takes
higher ground, since the sense of superiority which it en-
genders is dependent on their support.

When the display of one's excellences thus transcends
verbal expression it results from the highest fonns of
social intercourse, from that devotion of time and en-
ergy to society which constitutes the vocation of the social
leader. It is the very opposite to that voluntary subordi-
nation to a leader of which we have spoken, and yet true
social leadership also is founded on just such subordi-
nation. The aspirant for its honours must- so merge him-
self in the society that its aggrandizement shall mean his
own — a signal proof of the force of the social impulse.
Whether the task is great or small, the ruling of an em-
pire or the leadership of a club, the principle is the same,
and consequently the social plays of children are enlight-
ening. Even here, forceful, active, inventive natures
quickly attain the mastery and the difference is apparent
between the merely violent, who think only of their own
advancement, and the born leader who makes the interests
of society his own, who is ready to answer for the crowd,

* Social and Ethical Interpretations, p. 148.

SOCIAL PLAYS 345

and is found in the front line in times of danger and
will suffer no injustice to any of his following. Such
leadership is possible only where there is the capacity for
identifying his own will and conviction with those of the
rest, thus effectuating the groups' subordination. The
" magnetism " of those who succeed as leaders depends
on the presence and force of this faculty ; they must have
not mere strength of will, but the kind of will adapted for
fusion with the common will for the attainment of its
social ends.

In concluding these observations on the associative
principle, I must notice the social side of artistic activ-
ity. It may be said in general that artistic production
fulfils an important function in giving universal pleas-
ure. H. Rutgers Marshall tries to establish the existence
of " the blind instinct to produce art works." * The at-
tempt, however, to analyze the social tendencies operative
in the creative artist will disclose the two last-mentioned
forms of the communication impulse. The artist longs to
set forth with all his power that which fills his soul, and to
make objective representation of it for his own* benefit
and that of others, and at the same time win, by this un-
folding of his nature, influence over the souls of others —
giving that he may gain. This motive is not equally
strong in all art, yet to a certain degree Richepin's pas-
sionate words apply to any such work : " C'est tout moi qui
ruissela dans ce livre. . . . Voici mon sang et ma chair,
bois et mange ! " and every great artist strives for mastery
over the emotions of others. The genius may, it is true,
create only for himself or a choice few, or when his work
is finished he may conceive a distaste for it or not concern
himself at all about it, yet on the whole it can not be
denied that the controlling motive (half conscious, it may
be) is the desire to gain mastery by means of his art.
Gildemeister rightly says : " Publicity is the breath of art.
Dilettantism may be confined to the studio or the salon,
art must speak to the people." f Since it is directly
through these social aims, however, that a3sthetic produc-
tion diverges from play, we need not linger on the subject.

* iEsthetic Principles, New York, 1895, p. 63. t Essays, vol. ii, p. 41.

S4:Q THE PLAY OF MAN

We now take up the last of the social influences which
we had to consider, the powerful agency of imitation, and
more especially such involuntary imitation as is mani-
fested in the infectiousness of coughing, gaping, etc.
Its influence is universal. Espinas, Souriau, Tarde, Si-
ghele, Le Bon, and others have treated the problem of
such mass suggestion, and Baldwin contributes a valu-
able chapter full of critical acumen on the Theory of Mob
Action, in his Social and Ethical Interpretations. To
introduce the subject I give two examples, one from ani-
mal psychology, the other from anthropology, illustrat-
ing the extreme phenomena of mass suggestion. Hudson
gives us the f olowing : " This was on the southern pampas
at a place called Gualicho, where I had ridden for an
hour before sunset over a marshy plain where there was
still much standing water in rushy pools, though it was
at the height of the dry season. This whole plain was
covered with an endless flock of chakars, not in close
order, but scattered about in pairs and small groups. In
this desolate spot I found a small rancho, inhabited by
a gaucho and his family, and I spent the night with
them. About nine o'clock we were eating our supper in
the rancho when suddenly the entire multitude of birds
covering the marsh for miles around burst forth into a
tremendous evening song. It is impossible to describe the
effect of this mighty rush of sound. . . . One peculiarity
was that in this mighty noise, wdiich sounded louder than
the sea thundering on a rocky coast, I seemed to be able
to distinguish hundreds, even thousands, of individual
voices. Forgetting my supper, I sat motionless and over-
come with astonishment while the air and even the frail
rancho seemed to be trembling in that tempest of sound.
When it ceased, my host remarked with a smile : ' We
are accustomed to this, seiior; every evening we have this
concert.' "^ It is well worth the ride of a hundred miles
to hear this demonstration." Mediaeval dancing may fur-
nish an example from human life. At Freiburg in
Switzerland, in 1346, before the castle of Graf Greyerz,
a dance was practised whioh began with simple move-

* The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 227.

SOCIAL PLAYS 347

merits. They gathered strength, however, like an ava-
lanche, and spread through the entire country. Uhland
has made this dance the subject of a poem, which may be
paraphrased as follows:

" The youngest maiden, slender as a stalk of maize,
Seized the count's hand and drew him in the ring.
They danced through the village, where file succeeded tile,
They danced across the meadows, they danced through the wood,
To where, far across the mountains, the silvery sounds rang out."

Marrentanz.

These, as I have said, are extreme manifestations of
mass suggestion, and should not be given too much
weight in explaining social development. " The loss of
identity and social continence," says Baldwin, " on the
part of the individual, when he is carried aw^ay by a
popular movement, is well struck off by the common say-
ing that he has 'lost his head.' This is true; but then
he regains his head and is ashamed that he lost it. His
normal place in society is determined by the events of
that part of his life in which he keeps his head. And
the same is true of the events in the life of the social
group as a whole." * Yet these forms of suggestion which
border on the pathological are but exaggerations of social
qualities indispensable to the race. Had we not the in-
born impulse to imitate movements w^hich sweep through
a mob, great occasions would never find us ready with
great actions. The magic power of mass suggestion is
the indispensable complement of the social leader's tal-
ents, and consequently is closely related to our familiar
voluntary subordination. Tarde even regards obedience as
a special case of imitation, and to strengthen his position
reminds us that command begins with example. With
monkeys, horses, dogs, etc., the leader sets the example
by performing the particular act, and the others imitate
him.f Yet I am quite confident that voluntary subordi-
nation is not identical with imitation. Even with ani-
mals the leader is the strongest, most skilful, and gener-
ally the most intelligent of the herd, and obedience ap-

* Social and Ethical Interpretations, p. 238.

+ La Loffique sociale. Preface, p. vii. Les Lois de Limitation, second
edition, p. 215.

348 THE PLAY OF MAN

pears as imitation perhaps, but not of the ordinary kind;
rather of one who by means of the force of his individual-
ity compels subjection through fear, respect, and love, or
the compounding of these. The need of the weak to lean
on the strong does indeed lead to imitation, but is not
identical with. it.

Moreover, it seems to me that an explanation of mass
suggestion can not be arrived at by means of the imita-
tive impulse without the assumption that voluntary sub-
ordination works with it; that blending of fear, respect,
and attraction is not necessarily confined to a single
leader, but may be directed to the whole group, and, in-
deed, without such a sentiment the leader's influence
would be much crippled. Those whose minds are made
up not to go with the herd (the partisans of another
faction, for instance) will display little imitative inclina-
tion so long, at least, as this determination is clearly de-
fined. But when the personality^ of the leader and the
imposing and alluring aspects of the mass combine their
effects, the imitative impulse assumes its full force. The
result is quite similar to that obtained in hypnosis, with
which it is often compared, and in the manifestations of
which, in spite of the important role played by imitation,
voluntary subordination is indispensable for the opsra-
tion of suggestion.

If now we inquire as to how these processes take effect
in play, we find the practice theory a^Dplicable to adults
in a greater degree even than to children; for we are at
once confronted by the importance of festivals as men-
tioned above and again impressing itself upon us here.
For the further division of our subject I distinguish be-
tween general acts and general inner imitation, in the
former of which motor and in the latter emotional sug-
gestion is conspicuous.

The desire to act in conjunction with the social group
finds manifold expression in the play of children. " Any
one who watches the games of a set of boys in the school
yard or in the streets," says Baldwin, "will see that it
is only a small part of the moves of the game which are
provided for with any consistent or well-planned plot or
scheme. The game is begun, and then becomes, in great

SOCIAL PLAYS 349

measure, the carrying out of a series of coups et contre-
coups on the part of the leaders among the players; the
remainder following the dictation and example of the
few. When the leader whoops, the crowd also whoop;
when he fights, they fight. All this social practice is
most valuable as discipline in serious social business." *
Such eifects of general imitation are prominent in most
social fighting plays, but we shall confine ourselves to
some children's games in which acting in common seems
to be itself the principal aim. Here we are met by the
fact that in its last analysis such play is referable to
adult imitation — that is to say, they are handed down
to the children. A simple kind of play, which clearly
reveals a social character, is that in which the children
imitate all sorts of movements made by the leader. For
example, take the familiar one in which the children
dance around, hand in hand, singing:

" Adam had seven kSous, seven sons had Adam,
They ate not, they drank not, they looked in his face
And did just so"; t

whereupon they all stop, the leader stepping to the cen-
tre of the circle and making all sorts of motions — clapping
hands, bowing, bending, lifting his arms, sawing, scrub-
bing, fiddling, sneezing, coughing, laughing, crying, etc.
— all of which are repeated by the other children. This
same song was probably sung by adults in the Easter pro-
cessions which were derived from the mediaeval pest
dances, but even so their origin is not yet reached. The
following description by Svoboda strongly recalls the play
of children : " Dancing is the greatest pleasure of the
Nikobars; it is very solemn and slow. A place is cleared
for it among the huts ; the leader steps out, and first of all
marks a great circle, while each man lays his hand on his
neighbour's shoulder. The leader raises the tune, mak-
ing a step, now left, now right, swinging his free leg.
All keep their eyes fixed on him and mimic what he does,
sinking on their knees, sitting on their heels, and then
making a grotesque leap, or stepping backvv'ard and for-

*■ Social and Ethical Interpretations, p. 243. f Gutsmuths, p. 251.

350 THE PLAY OF MAN

ward. All this is repeated stiffly, mechanically, and with-
out any spirit, but constantly accompanied by a nasal
song, until late in the night." *

Further we may notice dancing games of children ac-
companied by song. In looking through a collection of
them like that of Bohme, one is astonished at their variety
as well as the remarkable and often apparently meaning-
less songs that accompany them. Many are of the opin-
ion that they date from the middle ages, while others trace
them back to the old German religious dances along with
a cycle of songs in celebration of the goddess Freija. As a
rule, proofs are wanting in both directions, and there is a
choice of opinions between them. If, for example, the
common stooping at the end of a stanza appears to be
a survival of some religious ceremony, it may just as
probably be the duck, duck, duck of animal dances of pre-
historic times. Rochholz has actually derived a Swiss form
of the song from such mimicry of animals. The obscurity
of many verses is caused by the frequent introduction of
new subjects. In one case the ceremony of taking the
veil is dramatically gone through with, and J. Bolle states
that this originated in a thoroughly frivolous dance of
adults. Indeed, the intermeddling of adults is constantly
to be reckoned with, as in the case of a shepherd's song,
where " Adam " is substituted for " Amor " with evident
ironical intent.

In regard to such games of children the following
question is a pertinent one: How does it happen that the
social plays whose models are formed in the dancing of
men or of both sexes are practised chiefly by girls? If
we think back to our own childhood we shall find that
while little fellows do take part in such games, older boys
regard them as unmanly and unworthy of them. I sus-
pect that in earlier times, when the men indulged in them,
the boys gladly followed suit, as is quite generally the
case among savages now.

A final word on children's festivals, in which the
social significance of play is most clearly displayed. Take
the most familiar example, the school picnic: if only a

* Svoboda, Die Bewohner des Kikobaren Archipels, p. 29.

SOCIAL PLAYS 351

handful of children go for an outing with a teacher they
are not particularly delighted, but when the whole school
goes their pleasure is increased more than proportionately
to their numbers. They are excited and joyous, and every
expression of pleasure seems multiplied by a many-voiced
echo, and, until they grow tired, all show a readiness to
obey the spirit of good comradeship. Such an occasion
bears all the essential marks of a genuine festa, with its
feeling of belonging to the social group, subordination to
the good of the whole and to the leader who represents
it, sympathetic participation, and satisfaction of the asso-
ciative impulse in its various forms, the attraction which
belongs to actions and enjojTnents in common with others,
and finally the festal board which makes a play of eating
and drinking. Some of the festivals of children, too, have
been handed down from the sports of adults. A Swabian
dance that was formerly performed by the salt refineis
now belongs to the children, who dress for it in the cos-
tume of the craft. But most such holidays have a much
earlier origin in pagan feasts, as in the case of Easter,
Mayday, Whitsuntide, midsummer, etc. I take as my
solitary example the Heidelberg Sommertagsfest, in which
a portable pyramid of straw represents conquered winter,
and one bedecked with fresh green is triumphant sum-
mer. The attendant children carry wands trimmed with
eggs, pretzels, and gay streamers, and sing as they go :
" Strieh, Strah, Stroh, Summerdag Stab aus,

Der Sommerdag is do. Blost dem Winter die Auge aus.

Der Sommer un der Winder, Strieh, Strah, Stroh,

Des sinn Gesciiwisterkinder, Der Sommerdag is do."

This ancient mythological festival, Avhich sui-vives
with wonderful vitality among children in the Palatinate
and some other localities, threatened to become extinct in
Heidelberg until some one seriously undertook its res-
toration. It is an inspiriting sight when the fine old
streets are the scenes of the processions of numerous
summer and winter pyramids, and thousands of children
in holiday attire, carrying the gay wands and merrily
singing the old song. It can not be questioned that feel-
ings of fellowship and attachment to home are height-
ened and deepened by the practice of such customs.

352 THE PLAY OF MAN

Turning now to adults, whose festivals furnish the
models for these childish ones, I can not better illustrate
the importance of imitation on such occasions than by
repeating the striking passage quoted from James in the
Play of Animals. In concluding a passage on play he
says : " There is another sort of human play, into which
higher aesthetic feelings enter. I refer to the love of
festivities, ceremonies, and ordeals, etc., which seems to
be universal in our species. The lowest savages have their
dances, more or less formally conducted. The various re-
ligions have their solemn rites and exercises, and civic
and military powers symbolize their grandeur by proces-
sions and celebrations of divers sorts. We have our operas
and parties and masquerades. An element common to
all these ceremonial games, as they are called, is the ex-
citement of concerted action, as one of an organized
crowd. The same acts, performed with a crowd, seem to
mean vastly more than when performed alone. A walk
with the people on a holiday afternoon, an excursion to
drink beer or coffee at a popular ^ resort,' or an ordi-
nary ballroom, are examples of this. ISTot only are we
amused at seeing so many strangers, but there is a dis-
tinct stimulation at feeling our share in their collective
life. The perception of them is the stimulus, and our
reaction upon it is our tendency to join them and do
what they are doing, and our unwillingness to be the first
to leave off or go home alone." *

As we can not possibly review the whole field of so-
ciety, a few general remarks must suffice to supplement
what has already been said. While there was at one time
a tendency to relegate this, like so many other sociological
problems, to a religious origin, such a proceeding is now
regarded with some degree of skepticism. The Austra-
lians celebrate all important events by dances — the har-
vest, the opening of the fishing season, the coming of
age of youths, a meeting with friendly tribes, setting out
to battle or the chase, and success in these. " Among the
pacific Bakai'ri on the Rio ISTovo," says von den Steinen,
" the principal festival is in April. I, with my civilized

* W. James, The Principles of Psychology, vol. ii, p. 428.

SOCIAL PLAYS 353

ideas, clung to the supposition of a thanksgiving celebra-
tion, and wondered what friendly power was the recipient
of all this praise and gratitude. I tried to get something
definite out of Antonio, but he was unresponsive to my
suggestion. ' We have the feast at harvest time,' he said,
' because we have something to feast on then ; in the
dry season we have to scrimp, and in the wet season every-
thing is afloat.' Materialistic, if you will, but eminently
practical." ^"

It seems then that the origin at least of the festival is
referable to general social needs whose important stimuli
arouse a general excitation, and thus attain their most
effective expression. The essentials to primitive festivals
were the feast and the dance, both being conducted with
the intemperance characteristic of mass suggestion. Here
we find again that playful satisfaction of the sense of
taste which claimed our attention in the beginning of
this discussion, and this is its clearest manifestation, since
here the play is a social one. As the child may be led
to iDcrform incredible feats in the consumption of cakes,
candy, and other dainties at a party, so the adult, when
not hampered by anxiety about his digestion or compunc-
tions as to such impositions on hospitality (and these
considerations are usually as far from the mind of a sav-
age as that of a child), can accomplish quite as much on
festive occasions. This effect is furthered by the free use
of alcohol, which, in spite of its many bad qualities, is not
to be despised as a promoter of sociability. We hear so
much of the fights and brawls to which the unlicensed
indulgence in spirituous drinks gives rise that we forget
that mild intoxication puts the majority of men in a
cheerful and friendly humour, and is calculated to pro-
mote the good fellowship of the company. Without the
least intention of denying the danger incurred in the
use of alcohol as a beverage, I still think it only fair to
show the other side of the picture — namely, the damper
it puts on anxiety and care, and its promotion of social
sympathy, of the associative impulses and the capacity
for enthusiasm in all directions.

* Unter den Naturvolkern, etc., p. 267.

354 THE PLAY OF MAN

Dancing, which next to feasting is the most primitive
form of festivity, is kept up to an incredible duration, the
expenditure of strength being constantly renewed. In
the sagas of the Bakairi, it is said of Keri, the founder of
the tribe : " Keri called all his followers together, and in
the evening they danced on the village green. Keri
stopped to drink while the dance costumes floated in the
air about him. He called to Kame [the ancestor of
another tribe]. Many of the people came, and Keri was
lord of the dance. They danced the whole day, and only
rested to^vard evening; after dark they began again and
danced the whole night. Early in the morning they went
to the river and bathed; then they came back to the house
and began again and danced all that day and night. Then
the holiday was over." * The intoxication of motion,
which, as we have before seen, is probably the chief stimu-
lus in dancing, is universally enjoyed on such occasions,
and enhances the social impulses. It is a sort of ecstatic
state apart from the narrow individual sphere, and fa-
vourable to social affiliation. Indeed, among primitive
people it is often the indispensable condition of an alli-
ance, as there is a widespread custom for several neigh-
bouring tribes to collect for some high feast. 'No one has
given a better description of the importance of the dance
for the promotion of sociability than has Grosse. " The
warmth of the dance," he says, " fuses the distinct indi-
vidualities to a unified essence moved and governed by a
single emotion. During its progress the participants find
themselves in a condition of social completeness, the dif-
ferent groups feeling and acting like members of a unified
organism. This is the most important effect of primitive
dancing. It takes a number of men who, in their de-
tached, unsettled condition of varying individual needs
and desires, are living unregulated lives, and teaches them
to act with one impulse, one meaning, and to one end.
It makes for order and cohesion in the hunting tribes
whose way of life tends to separate them. After war it
is perhaps the one factor which makes the interdependence
of individuals of savage tribes apparent to themselves, and

* J. von d. Steinen, Unter deu NaturvOlkern, p. 267.

SOCIAL PLAYS 355

incidentally it is one of the best means of preparing for
war, for gymnastic exercises prefigure military tactics in
more ways than one." *

In studying the festal and social customs of highly
civilized peoples, while we find much that is new, many
things are reminiscent of savage life. Eating is still
the principal feature, but the common impulse to activity
is no longer expressed in forms so specialized as the
savage dance, for the modern social dance is of compara-
tively little imf)ortance in this connection. Entertain-
ment by means of vocal and instrumental music and
rhythmic elocution, displays of physical prowess and sing-
ing contests almost comjjlete the list of plays applicable
here, being concerned as they all are with collective life.
I may mention one other phenomenon, however, which
illustrates the analogy with primitive customs — namely,
the societies formed for social enjoyment. They prove
the need felt by civilized men to form within the limits
of their more extended social sphere smaller circles which
by their exclusiveness enhance the feeling of sympathy.
Formerly, when special well-organized groups arose in the
burgher guilds, they were partly of a social character, as
J. Schaller points out,t and we yet have labour unions,
merchants' clubs, and artists' leagues, though in many of
them the trade or calling is no longer stressed; on the
contrary, versatility is the chief desideratum in the mem-
bership, and no strict exclusiveness prevails. Such de-
tails are commonly determined by the general degree of
cultivation prevalent. Moreover, there is apt to be a cer-
tain ritual belonging to such organizations, with written
statutes and unwritten traditions, all more or less playful,
and quickly developed among savages into a sort of
cultus. I am not aware whether a monograph exists
treating this subject in detail, though one would certainly
be of interest.

Secret societies recall the usages of savages, especially
in one particular — namely, in excluding females. The
implication in the use of the word savage, usually unjust,
is quite fair here, since the men are pledged to inflict

* Op. cit.^ p. 219. t Das Spiel unci die Spiele, p. 328.

356 THE PLAY OF MAN

instant death on the woman whose curiosity should pene-
trate to the secrets of their club. And while among civi-
lized men the protest is less vigorously applied, still the
exclusion is enforced. Von den Steinen thinks that
among the Bakairi the regulation is due to their objection
to having their women seen by strangers, and representa-
tives of several tribes usually take part in the dance.
Their other festivities are special hunting feasts, which
are regarded as altogether unsuitable for the participation
of women.* Quite as influential, if not more so, seems
to me the natural feeling that the presence of women de-
stroys the company's sense of unity. Savages especially,
who regard women with open contempt, would feel ill at
ease if thei* festivities were invaded by the other sex.
When we see how little boys, as soon as they are out of
their infancy, spontaneously refuse to take little girls for
their playmates,! we must ascribe some serious meaning
to this essential distinction between the sexes. It is this,
I think, which forms the chief ground for the exclusion
of women from the sports of civilized men, and perhaps
the same desire to be left to themselves is a considerable
factor in masculine opposition to the woman's movement.
In any remarks on general inner imitation we must
be particularly careful to keep well within its proper defi-
nition, or we are sure to find ourselves launching out into
the vast domain of esthetics. How inner sympathy is
conditioned on the effects of past experience; how it is
raised to the level of aesthetic emotion only through the
fact that the beholder or hearer enjoys the fusion process
for its own sake; and how, finally, this inner imitation
consists, at least with motor individuals, and perhaps
with all who are capable of aesthetic perception, in actual
movement on their own part in conjunction with this fu-
sion— all this has been set forth in a former section.
Here we are considering merely the social aspects of such
play, and we find its manifestations well marked. As a

* Op. cit., p. 268.

+ In an inquiry as to children's preferences in the matter of playmates,
Will S. Monroe found 335 boys who wanted male asrainst 20 wlio asked
for female comrades ; 328 giris preferred their own sex and only 2S the
other. (Development of the Social Consciousness of Children. The
Northwestern Monthly, September, 1898.)

SOCIAL PLAYS 357

rule, the child, like the adult, when in the presence of
any soul-stirring spectacle, longs for a companion to feel
it with him, and when a whole social group unite in a
common imitation, the emotional effect is vastly aug-
mented. The social effect of such collective enjoyment is
usually marked by an increased sense of fellowship, but
beyond this there is an appreciable difference of quality
which under favourable conditions directly furthers the
social feeling. Let us begin by observing the dancing of
savages again, where we find besides the pleasure of par-
ticipation the equally strong effect of seeing and hear-
ing the other dancers — a fact that is reiterated again
and again in the descriptions of such occasions. The
facile transition from real imitation to inner sympathy
is one indication of their close kinship. The spectator is
impelled to accompany the rhythmic movement of the
dance music by all sorts of motions on his own part.
Millendorf gives us the following description : " Soon the
dance became heated, the movements turned to hops and
leaps, the whole body being involved and the face in-
flamed ; the cries grew constantly more ecstatic, the clap-
ping wilder, and the few garments were finally thrown off.
All present seemed seized with a frenzy; a few attempted
to withstand it for a while, but soon began to move the
head involuntarily, now left, now right, keeping time, and
then suddenly, as if bursting some invisible bonds, they
leaped among the dancers, widening the circle." " As
soon as external imitation begins, aesthetic enjoyment ac-
companies it, but there is no doubt that to bring this
about there must be intense inner imitation before the
overt act becomes irresistibly attractive.

As has already been pointed out, the general social im-
portance of inner imitation depends on its enhancing
effect on the feeling of fellowship, as is illustrated even
in the dancing of savages. As to the part played by self-
exhibition in this effect, we may mention that gymnastics
and war dances, which are performed before spectators,
afford opportunities for the display of physical advan-

* O. Stoll, Sufforestiori und Hypnotismus in der Volkerpsychologie,
Leipsic, 1894, p. 24^

358 THE PLAY OF MAN

tages and martial prowess. Among the lowest tribes
known to ns, however, the accompanying song seems to
have hardly any other than a musical significance, con-
sisting as it does in the mere repetition of meaningless
sounds, and can not, therefore, be considered as influ-
ential in the sense that the dramatic poetry of higher
standing peoples is so. But the war dance which pictures
forth the enemy's defeat may be said to have something
of the effect of our patriotic drama. Some tribes, indeed,
give the dramatic representation without rhythmic dance
music, more after the manner of civilized acting. Lange
describes an Australian play in the last scene of w^hich a
fight between white men and natives is introduced. " The
third scene opened with the sound of horses tramping
through the woods — horses are indispensable to the repre-
sentation of whites. The men's faces were stained a
brownish white, their bodies blue or red to represent the
bright-coloured uniforms. In lieu of gaiters their calves
were bound with rice straw. These white men galloped
straight for the blacks, firing among them and driving
them back. The latter quickly rallied, however, and now
began a mock battle in which the natives overcame their
foes and drove them away. The whites bit off their car-
tridges, set the trigger, and, in short, correctly went
through all the motions of loading and firing. As often as
a black man fell the spectators groaned, but when a white
man bit the dust they cheered loudly. When, finally, all
the whites took to ignominious flight, the delight of the
audience was unbounded ; they were so wrought up that a
feather's weight would have turned the sham fight into a
real one."

The drama, of course, at once suggests itself as the
civilized man's substitute for such scenes as this, since
its social significance is incontestable, yet with limitations
such as we found operative in the dance. As among sav-
ages the inspiriting war dance and those whose effects
are comic or sexual occupy a large place, so in our theatre
the effort to transform the drama into an exclusively
social and moral agent is impracticable. The complaint
that our stage, instead of being the exponent of lofty
ethical standards, caters too much to frivolous tastes, and

SOCIAL PLAYS 359

tickles too much the popular palate for comic effects, is
just as applicable to the savage and his dance, if it were
intelligible to him. The dual purpose of dramatic art —
setting before the eyes a complete ethical and social
standard, and at the same time not scorning to supply
amusement pure and simple — will be better understood
as time goes by, and is not likely to alter, despite all
cavils. Yet there is truth in the warning, and the ideal
side of the drama does need to be fostered and empha-
sized at present, since in much of the material now
offered it can not be said to assert itself (omnia propclara
tam difficilia, quam rara sunt). But civilized people have
besides the drama a number of other displays, whose so-
cial effect is by no means to be despised. I need only sug-
gest the universal testimony of historians to the enor-
mous influence exerted by the Greek games on their na-
tional sentiment, to the effect on the populace of public
processions culminating in the Roman triumphs, and
the patriotic significance of our own gymnastic and song
festivals and competitive contests.

The study of epic poetry reveals a soniewhat differ-
ent picture. While with us, for adults at least, enjoyment
of an epic is conditioned on its perusal, inferior peoples
have access to it only through the medium of a recounter,
whose words and gestures are followed by the crowd with
the greatest interest. Renowned deeds of hunters and
warriors, tales and sagas celebrating the strength and
skill of ancestors, relating animal adventures, and dwell-
ing on the triumph of strategy over brute force, form for
a large percentage of the human race the essence of the
recounter's art. And without pedagogic aids a clear ideal
of the social excellence proper to his tribe is brought be-
fore the hearer's imagination, and exerts an incalculable
influence on his thoughts and volitions. This powerful
effect of epic poetry grows with culture and with the con-
solidation of the treasury of tribal tradition into such
forms, as witness the Homeric poems in their influence on
the Hellenes. Among moderns, however, the recital of
poetry has ceased almost entirely to be a form of social
play since the introduction of printing, yet its social
effect is decidedly augmented, for under present condi-
24

360 THE PLAY OF MAN

tions a hundred thousand readers at once experience the
same feelings and respond to the same ideals. Yet the en-
joyment is not simultaneous and en masse, so to speak,
and therefore transcends our subject.

Finally, we must touch cursorily on the contribution
of the other arts to the social order, so far as they make
use of inner imitation. Music was mentioned in connec-
tion with dancing, and earlier still with the intoxicating
effect of rhythmic succession of tones. It is not a matter
of surprise, then, to find that a festive gathering of social
groups is almost unthinkable without the inspiration of
music in some form, or that even on serious occasions, yes,
even on the battlefield itself, the inspiriting exuberant
charm of this art is appropriated for every sort of social
purpose. Of the other arts, architecture is most applicable
to our subject. It is true that from a social point of view
the influence of sculpture and painting is well worthy of
consideration, but both these arts are most effective when
subservient to architecture. The massive arch is so
familiar as an impressive symbol of social unity that a
mere mention of it is sufiicient — the more as in it the
playful character of aesthetic observation is to a great
degree subordinate.

PART III
THE THEORY OF PLAY

Having reviewed the extensive field of play and its sys-
tems, the task now remains of collecting the results and
important conclusions thence resulting. To this end the
conception of play must be viewed from different; stand-
points: on the one hand that of physiology, biology, and
psychology, and on the other a more definitely aBsthetic,
sociological, and pedagogical view.

1. The Physiological Standpoint
In the attempt to find a " common-sense " explanation
of play we are confronted by three distinct views, none of
which science should neglect. The first says: When a
man is " quite fit," and does not know just what to do
with his strength, he begins to sing and shout, to dance
and caper, to tease and scuffle. " Jugend muss aus-
toben, der Hafer sticht ihn " ; " He must sow his wild
oats " ; " II n'a pas encore jete sa gourme." All these say-
ings recognise the necessity for some discharge of such
superabundant vigour. The second view is diametrically
opposed to this one, regarding play as it does in the light
of an opportunity afforded for the relaxation and recrea-
tion of exhausted powers. As the strings of a zither
and the cord of a bow should not always be taut if the
instrument is to retain its usefulness, so do men need
the relaxation of play. The third view emphasizes the
teleological significance of play. Observation of men and
animals forces us to recognise its great importance in the
physical and mental development of the individual — that
it is, in short, preparatory to the tasks of life. Every
effort made to arouse and foster a feeling for play among

361

362 THE PLAY OF MAX

our people is based on the conviction, pro patria est, dum
ludere videmur.

The physiological theory of play is derived mainly
from the first of these views — namely, that of surplus en-
ergy/'^ Schiller was its first exponent in Germany, when
he accounted for play by calling it an aimless expendi-
ture of exuberant strength, which is its own excuse for
action. But Herbert Spencer, in his Principles of Psy-
chology, first attempted a scientific formulation of the
theory. It is characteristic of nerve processes, he says,
that the superfluous integration of ganglion cells should
be accompanied by an inherited readiness to discharge.
As a result of the advanced development of man and the
higher animals they have, first, more force than is needed
in the struggle for existence; and, second, are able to
allow some of their powers longer periods of rest while
others are being exercised, and thus results the aimless
activity which we call play, and which is agreeable to
the individual producing it.

A further question, which is not sufficiently provided
for in Spencer's elucidation, depends on the physiology
of this theory. Since we find that each species of higher
animal has a kind of play peculiar to itself, we must try
also to explain the origin of such varied forms of activity,
all serving to relieve the tension of superfluous energy.
Spencer does indeed attempt to make his theory of imita-
tion cover all this, but a close examination proves it
to be inadequate to the task. His idea is that imitation
of one's own acts or of those of adults of the race deter-
mines the channels for overflowing energy. The former
supposition might be tenable on the supposition that the
child's first experimentation is not playful but inten-
tional repetition, which is not the commonly accepted
meaning of imitation. Spencer himself, however, seems
to find imitation of models more general among children,
since he expressly says that their play, as they nurse their
dolls, give tea parties, etc., is a distinct dramatization
of the acts of adults. This view, as I have tried to prove

* A more thorousfli account of this theory may be found in The Play
of Animals. The recreation theory, on the 'contrary, is peculiarly appli-
cable in this connection.

THE PHYSIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 363

in my earlier work, can be applied with assurance to but
one department of play, and consequently the origin of
special forms must find some other explanation. Imita-
tion, then, in its ordinary sense, can not be the universal
criterion of play.

The question, therefore, as to the origin of special
forms of play must be answered in some other way, and
Spencer himself points it out when he says that the ac-
tions imitated in play are exactly those which are impor-
tant in the subsequent career of the animal, and when in
pursuance of this idea he refers to the robbing and de-
stroying instincts which play satisfies in a manner more or
less ideal. Here we meet again with the thought which
has, indeed, hardly ever been absent in this inquiry, and
which I regard as a most fruitful one. JSTot imitation, but
the life of impulse and instinct alone, can make special
forms of play comprehensible to us. The surplus-energy
theory assumes in the higher forms of life a series of in-
born impulses for whose serious activity there is often for
a long time no opportunity of discharge, with the result
that a reserve of exuberant strength collects and presses
imperatively for employment, thus calling forth an ideal
satisfaction of the impulse, or play.

A wide range can not be denied to the theory thus set
forth, especially when we consider youthful play with
its ebullient vigour which has scarcely any other outlet.
The movements of imprisoned animals, too, may be cited
in its support, as well as the actions of men whose busi-
ness does not give them enough physical exercise. Yet I
think experience teaches us that supei-fluous energy, as
Spencer conceives it, is no more a universal criterion of
play than is imitation, since in many cases the inherited
impulse toward prescribed reactions in certain brain tracts
seems to be in itself a sufficient cause for play without
the necessary accompaniment of superfluous energy.
When a ball of cord is rolled toward a kitten, nothing
more is needed to set her claws in motion than in the
case of a full-grown cat that starts up at the sight of a
mouse. And the same is true of a child whose imitative
and fighting instincts are excited by whatever cause.
When there is absolutely no external stimulus to supple-

364 THE PLAY OF MAN

ment the creature's inborn impulses, only long inactivity
of stored-up energies would lead to play ; but, as there are
thousands of such stimuli always at work, the Schiller-
Spencer superfluous energy seems not to be a necessary
or universal condition of play. It is of course a favour-
able but not an indispensable one, and therefore I re-
gard not this but the inborn impulse as the keystone of
an adequate system of play. It is true that we must
assume in that case a flood tide in the affected tract as
a result of the external stimulus, but this is quite a dif-
ferent thing from the view whose validity we are con-
testing. If, then, a condition of superfluous energy is
a favourable though not indispensable one for play, we
must endeavour to find its supplement, and this brings
us to the second popular idea, which under the name of
the theory of recreation has found its most scientific
champion in Lazarus. Its fundamental principles are
quite simple. When we are tired of mental or physical
labour and still do not wish to sleep or rest, we gladly
welcome the active recreation afforded by play. At first
blush it seems to lead to a conclusion directly opposite to
Spencer's, according to which play squanders superfluous
energy, while here it appears as the consei'ver of it; there
it is an irresponsible spendthrift, here the provident
householder. Yet, as I have pointed out in my earlier
book, this opposition is more apparent than real; that,
indeed, the recreation theory is often supplementary to
the Spencerian. " When, for example, a student goes to
have a game of tenpins in the evening, he thus tones
up his relaxed mental powers at the same time that he
finds a means of relieving his accumulated motor im-
pulses, repressed during his work at the desk. So it is
the same act that on the one hand disposes of his super-
fluous energy, and on the other restores his lost powers."
So far as this is the case this theory is a valuable sup-
plement to the Schiller-Spencer idea, but is, of course,
incompetent to explain play which transcends its limits.
Close inspection, however, will show that even this
statement has its limitations, and that the recreative
theory has, after all, an independent sphere of activity.
When, for instance, the conditions point to an active

THE PHYSIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 365

recreation, superfluous energy pressing for discharge
seems no longer indispensable; a moderate normal energy
is quite adequate for its demands. It is a striking fact
that the new recreative activity is often closely related
to the work of which we are weary. Fresh objects, vary-
ing the direction of our efforts, a slight change in the
pychophysical attitude, are often sufficient to dispel the
sense of fatigue. Thus, while it may be futile to direct
the memory, worn out with prolonged service on some
difficult subject, to other objects, yet turning it toward
new circumstances connected with the same subject may
restore it to its original vigour."^ Recreation may even be
achieved by changing from one scientific book which
wearies us to another, perhaps quite as abstruse, but deal-
ing with different phases of the subject ; and after an
interval the first may be taken up again with renewed in-
terest. Steinthal is right when he says that change of
occupation, involving the use of the same limbs, rests
them.t The mountain-climber who has toiled up steeps,
gains new strength, or at least loses his fatigue, by walk-
ing on a level. The acrobat who has tired his arms by
difiicult exercise on a bar tries pitching as a change; and
presently returns to the first with comparative freshness.
The swimmer who has been swimming for a long time
in the usual position rests himself by taking a few strokes
on his back, and so on.:}:

We occasionally find, too, that the recreation theory
is very useful in determining the status of a play to which
the Spencerian theory, is inapplicable. With the student
playing skittles in the evening the two theories represent
the negative and positive sides, of one and the same pro-
cess; but if he feels inclined to participate in some game
involving the use of his mental powers alone, the recrea-
tion idea is noticeably predorninant. A principle is opera-
tive here which may go far to fill the gap to which we
have referred. While the theory of surplus energy ac-

* O. Kiilpe, Grundriss der Psycholoofie, Leipsic, 1893, p. 216.

t H. Steinthal, Zu Bibel und Iieli,^ionsj)hi]osophie, Berlin, 1895, p. 249.

X The forejroino: observations are somewhat modified by Kraepelin's
view that active recreation conquers the feeling of fatigue rather than
fatiarue itself.

366 THE PLAY OF MAN

counts for play in thousands of cases, especially in child-
hood, when there is no need for recreation, this need
may also produce play where there is no surplus energy.
This is chiefly illustrated by adults.

Although we are still a long way from a satisfactory
explanation of play, a step toward rendering it intel-
ligible is gained in the fact that play is often begun in
the absence of superabundant energy. But we find on
further examination that a game once begun is apt to
be carried on to the utmost limit of exhaustion — a fact
which it is superfluous to illustrate, and which is inex-
plicable by either of the theories in question. An appeal
in this dilemma to the physiological standpoint reveals
two possibilities. Let us recall first the tremendous sig-
nificance of involuntary repetition to all animal life, for
just as the simplest organisms in alternate expansion and
contraction, and the higher ones in heart beats and
breathing, are pervaded by waves of movement, so also
in the sphere of voluntary activity there is a well-nigh
irresistible tendency to repetition. Because of this tend-
ency of reactions to renew the stimuli, Baldwin calls
them " circular reactions." Perhaps the child first pro-
duces them quite accidentally, then he repeats his own
act, and the sensuous effect of the repetition furnishes the
stimulus for renewed effort. When prohibition breaks
this chain it does not as a rule effect complete cessation
at once.

In our busy life, occupied as it is with the struggle
for existence, we see substantial aims before us which we
wish to realize as soon as possible, and we have not time
to yield to this impulse to repetition; but we realize its
power when a man steps aside from his strenuous business
life. Psychiatry, too, furnishes us with pathological ex-
amples; some forms of mental disease are marked by con-
tinual repetition of some exclamation or act. One
woman murmured constantly all day long, " O Jesus, O
Jesus ! " while another patient ladled nothing indef ati-
gably from an empty dish; and a third scratched himself
so persistently in the same spot that serious wounds re-
sulted. To the same category belong the automatic and
persistent movements of hypnotic subjects. If the arm

THE PHYSIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 367

of one of them is forcibly stretched out, he shows a dis-
position to repeat the movement, and often keeps on
doing it, as children do, for some time after a positive
command to the contrary.* Something similar to this
occurs when a great grief or a great joy separates us
for a time from our everyday life, and we mechanically
repeat a single exclamation or trivial act.f The intoxica-
tion of love among birds is a very clear and beautiful
illustration of this phenomenon. Bell birds are said to
repeat their wooing call so long and so ardently that
they have been khown to fall dead from exhaustion.

Play, too, furnishes a similar distraction from the
commonplace world, and after this inquiry we are able
to understand why it is persisted in to the point of ex-
haustion. Especially is this the case with children, who
more readily and completely lose themselves in present
enjoyment. t Every one who has had much to do with
these little people will recall with feelings of not un-
mixed pleasure how everlastingly the small tyrants insist
on hearing the same story over and over, and playing the
same games. Fighting and movement games are invari-
ably begun again as soon as the children can get their
breath, and some kinds of experimentation are even more
faithfully repeated. " When a child strikes the combina-
tion required," says Baldwin, " he is never tired working

it. H found endless delight in putting the rubber

on a pencil and off again, each act being a new stimulus
to the eye. This is specially noticeable in children's early
efforts at speech. They react all wrong when they first
attack a new word, but gradually get it moderately
well, and then sound it over and over in endless monot-
ony." *

This impulse toward repetition is doubtless the physio-
logical reason for carrying on play to the utmost limit
of strength. The second point to be noticed is the trance-
like state resulting from such repetition of some move-

* A. Moll. Der Ilypnotismus, third edition, Berlin, 1895. p. 63.

t The principle of repetition in poetry, too, is sometimes like this.
See von Biedermann, Die Wiederholungr als Urform der Dichtung bei
Goethe. Zeitschrift f. vjrl. Literat.-Gesch., vol. iv (1891).

J Games of chance pre-eminently have this power over adults,

# Mental Development, p. 132.

368 THE PLAY OF MAN

ments, and sometimes with the added influence of rhythm.*
The child who leaps and hops about or runs with all his
might, or scufiies with his companions, is seized with -a
wild impulse for destruction; the skater and bicyclist, the
swimmer sporting in the waves, and, above all, the dancer,
whose movements are adjusted in harmony with the
rhythmic repetition of pleasant sounds, are all possessed
by a kind of temporary madness which compels them to
exert their powers to the utmost. It is not an easy mat-
ter to determine the physiological basis of this intoxica-
tion of movement. Violent muscular contraction is not
an essential, for in such passive motion as coasting, for
example, the effect is strong, amounting sometimes to
a sort of giddiness. Active motion is, of course, of more
interest to us, since, in conjunction ,with the state of
trance, the principle of circular reaction is then opera-
tive. Dancing is a kind of play calculated to augment
this condition to the verge of the pathological. Eead,
for example, the description of the arrow dance of the
Weddas in Sarasin's work and compare it with St.
John's picture of the dancing dervishes of Cairo.f The
harmless magic of play, however, is as different from such
mad excesses as is the exhilarating effect of a glass of
wine from the frenzy of drunkenness.

We may now sum up: There are two leading prin-
ciples which must ground a physiological theory of play —
namely, the discharge of surplus energy and recreation
for exhausted powers. They may operate simultaneously,
since acts suppljdng recreation to exhausted forces may
at the same time call into play other powers and thus
afford the needed discharge for them. In many cases,
and especially in youth, the first principle seems to act
alone, while on the other hand play may be solely recrea-
tive, without any dependence on a store of surplus energy*
Further, it is important to notice two other considera-
tions which throw light on persistence in play to the
point of exhaustion. The first is circular reaction, that

* Souriau, Le plaisir du mouvement, Eevue Scientifique, vol. xviii,
p. 36n.

+ O. Stoll, Sugirestion und Hypnotismns in der Volkerpsycbologie,
p. 129.

THE PHYSIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 369

self-imitation which in the resultant of one's own activi-
ties finds ever anew the model for successive acts and the
stimulus to renewed repetition. The second is the trance
condition, which so easily ensues from such activity, and
w^hich is practically irresistible.

The essential thing seems to be the demonstration of
a theory of play entirely from a physiological standpoint,
and not involving hereditary impulses. 'No more compre-
hensive explanation is known to me, and yet, in looking
back over the ground covered, while it must be admitted
that we have reached an advantageous point of view, still,
on the other hand, the feeling naturally arises that these
principles, loosely strung together as they are, do not in-
clude the whole subject. Think of the play of children
too young to go to school, for in such spontaneous activ-
ity, not yet enriched by invention or tradition, we have
the kernel of the whole question. For a series of years we
find life virtually controlled by play. Before systematic
education begins, the child's whole existence, except the
time devoted to sleeping and eating, is occupied with play,
which thus becomes the single, absorbing aim of his life.
Can we then be content to apply to a phenomenon so strik-
ing as this a physiological principle confessedly inade-
quate to cover it, although admirably adapted for applica-
tion to some features of it ? Does not its peculiar and in-
herent nearness to the springs of life and life's realities
demand a complete explanation grounded on a general
principle which is applicable at once to youth and to
the play which lasts all through life? To answer this
question an appeal must be made to the third popular
conception of play, for a biological investigation alone
can reveal the sources of human impulse.

2. The Biological Standpoint
In considering play from the biological standpoint we
find two tasks prepared for us: first, a genetic explana-
tion of play, and second, the appraisal of its biological
value. The theory of descent whose scientific formula
bears Darwin's name will be most useful to us in both un-
dertakings. There is a steady and constantly increasing
current against his teaching, and the opposition has taken

370 THE PLAY OF MAN

a v/itty form, if not one dictated by good taste, in the say-
ing that it is high time that biology recovered from its
"Engiische Krankheit." I think that this exaggerated
depreciation is grounded in the just opinion that Darwin-
ism does not unlock all the secrets of evolution. Scien-
tific theories which explain everything they should ex-
plain are comparatively rare, particularly in the sphere of
organic life, and I regard it as more than probable that
an X and a y still remain to be calculated after Darwin's
principle of evolution has done its best. But whether we
shall soon find a better working principle is another ques-
tion. It may even now be ripe or it may yet linger for
centuries ; perhaps it may never come in terms of thought
now known to us. For the present we have only the choice
among metaphysics, Darwinism, and resignation. I, for
one, then, regard the cavalier treatment of the Darwinian
doctrine as a mistake, and still prefer to test special prob-
lems according to its light. Its two fundamental ideas
are, first, evolution by means of the inheritance of ac-
quired characters ; and, second, evolution by means of sur-
vival of the fittest in the struggle for existence. The
essence of the first (Lamarckian) principle is denied by
many Darwinians, but, assuming that its influence is as
strong as its advocates claim, we should then be forced to
hold that the activity of ancestors wrought in the child
hereditary predispositions. These ancestors, having made
use of their sensory and motor apparatus all through their
lives in every possible way, must have fought out many
battles, conducted the chase, and connected themselves
with social groups. Accordingly, we find in their de-
scendants the impulses to experimentation, to fighting,
chasing, hiding, social, and other plays. Schneider be-
lieves that the boy's strong propensity for catching but-
terflies, beetles, flies, and other insects, as well as that
for robbing birds' nests, is attributable to the fact that
his savage ancestors obtained their food supply by such
means ; * and Hudson says, in speaking of heredity in con-
nection with certain bird dances, that if at first the habit
had been foimd of expressing feelings of gladness by

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

THE BIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT ■ 371

means of minuet steps, men as well as birds would be said
to have an instinct for dancing the minuet.*

It is just along these lines that we may hope to esti-
mate the biological value of play, and subsequently de-
velop it in relation to our own view. But the assumption
of the heredity of acquired characters and its wide appli-
cation introduce a new element. It is difficult to under-
stand, for example, how a habit originates whose physio-
logical basis is confined to the acquisition of specified
traits in the nervous system, which in their turn bring
about changes in the germ substance of the organism, and
appear in the offspring as hereditary paths for the tend-
ency to repeat the same sorts of acts. If such a process
is possible at all, it must be in the period of youth, when
the organism still possesses great plasticity. Thus A. E.
Ormann says, in an appendix to his German translation
of Baldwin's Mental Development : " The last objection
[the neo-Darwinistic], that organic structures, such as
bones, horns, teeth, etc., are fixed and unmodifiable, I am
not prepared to admit. I do not believe that these struc-
tures change in adult animals just as I do not believe thlit
bionomic influences can effect important accommoda-
tions in them. Yet change and accommodation in these
very orders are quite possible in the case of young animals
still in the developmental period, and I am convinced
that the majority of effective accommodations do origi-
nate at this very time, and that the possibility of their
appearing diminishes as maturity is approached." f If
this should prove to be the fact, play would then have
the task of maintaining a countless mass of hereditary
impressions important to the preservation of life, and
also of supplying a means for individual adaptation of
the example of adults which through imitation and direct
transmission gradually become hereditary possessions of
the race.

But interesting as this point of view is, we find
grave reason for doubting its reconcilability with the
facts that we have already ascertained. First, there is
the questionableness of the inheritance of acquired char-

* The Naturalist iu La Plata, p. 281. + Ojp. dt, p. 464.

372 THE PLAY OF MAN

acters at all. Gotter said long ago that common experi-
ence is all against it,* and Galton, too, is very skeptical
in regard to it, if he does not flatly deny the possibility.f
A. Weismann is, however, its chief opponent, and is
therefore regarded as the leader of the neo-Darwinian
school. How the inheritance of acquired characters can
be entirely excluded from the struggle for existence
is yet undemonstrated, but Spengel X has recently
pointed out a notable series of adaptations which are
independent of it. Indeed, in regard to the instincts
which chiefly claim our notice, such a competent critic
of neo-Darwinism as Romanes ** is forced to admit
that some quite complicated ones have attained per-
fection without the aid of the Lamarckian principle.
These facts warn us not to attach too much weight
to it.

Under these circumstances we must attempt an inde-
pendent basis for our biological theory of play, since, if
the Lamarckian principle is ruled out, only natural selec-
tion remains of the scientific hjT)otheses. To this as well
just and weighty objections have been raised, and I may
mention that selection in the Darwinian sense does not
account for the origin of structures which are at first
useless, nor how it comes about that the right selection
occurs in the right place. To meet these objections Bald-
win has advanced his Organic Selection and Weismann
his Germinal Selection.!! According to the former, the
inheritance of acquired accommodations is unnecessary,
their task being sufliciently accomplished if they keep the
creature afloat in its natural environment until selection
has time through favouring accidental variations tending
in the same direction (coincident variations) to build up

* See F. V. Wagner, Das Problem der Vererbunor. Die Aula, 1895.

t The much-discussed question of telesfony seems to me out of place
in this connection, for if it actually exists at all it must be effected by
some intricate modification in the *germ substance itself, and does not
concern the inheritance of somatocrenic qualities

X J. W. Spengel, Zweckmassicrkeit und Anpassung, Giessener Eecto-
ratsrede, 1898.

# G. E. Eomanes, Darwin and after Darwin, vol. ii.

II Baldwin, Organic Selection. Amer. Naturalist, June, July, 1896,
and Biolog. Centralblatt, vol. xvii (1897), p. 385. Weismann, Ueber Ger-
minal Selection, Jena, 1896. (Also in English translation.)

THE BIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 373

hereditary adaptations.* Osborn and Lloyd Morgan have
reached a similar standpoint independently of Baldwin.
Weismann, who in a surprising change of base abandons
his former position on the all-sufficiency of Darwin's indi-
vidual selection, extends the selective principle to the
germ substance, which, in his view, does not consist of
similar life-units, but possesses a sort of structure, the
elements of which (the " determinants ") already repre-
sent the respective parts of the future individual. Each
" determinant " struggles for sustenance against its
neighbours, so producing a sort of germinal selection,
in that the stronger among them has its development
furthered at the expense of the weaker, transmits the force
so acquired to the offspring, furnishes them in the very
beginning of their career with a favourable footing in
the struggle for life, and insures further progress in the
same direction. Here, then, is the possibility of a special-
ly determined variation grounded in the very existence of
the germ substance,t and through the interaction of indi-
vidual and germinal selection much is accomplished which
the former could not alone achieve. t

The future must finally judge between these rival
efforts to improve the old theory. Baldwin's organic
selection, which has now been accepted by Wallace Poul-
ton and others, may possibly be applicable to all cases of
adaptation, though it has not yet been so widely developed

* Baldwin calls this directing influence of organic selection ortho-
plasy : he attempts to replace Eiiner's "orthogenesis" by means of a prin-
ciple which does not involve the inheritance of acquired characters. [A
recent exposition of organic selection is by Conn (Method of Evolution,
1900). See also Baldwin's Diet, of Philos. and Psychol., svh verho.—i:-R.]

t The process is, of course, reversed in desreneration.

j Weismann insists that individual selection must give the impetus to
such specially directed evolution of the germ substance; but it seems to
me that his theory can not escape the objection that it lacks proper
grounds for selection unless the specially directed variations in the germ
substance arise independently of individual selection. It may then be said
that even in a quite constant species there are, as a result of germinal
selection, dispositions to specially directed variations (the lower jaw of
the Hapsburgs, for instance, or the appearance of a specialized genius in
a talented family), which, so long as the environment remains constant,
very soon meet the opposition of individual selection. But when outer
conditions are changed, the useful variations arise again, encounter and
tinally overcome individual selection. Whether the' struirsrle for exist-
ence really plays such a role in the germ substance, however, it is diffi-
cult to assert with assurance.

374 THE PLAY OF MAN

by its author. The chief value of Weismann's new hy-
pothesis is perhaps its luminous portrayal of the interac-
tion of individual selection with special developmental
tendencies in the germ substance, but the explanation of
these tendencies themselves by means of a struggle for
sustenance seems to find little confirmation. Here is prob-
ably an X, or possibly several unknown values. Yet the
important part which selection plays in this exceedingly
complicated process should not be underestimated, ^ageli
has likened selection to a gardener who cuts away the su-
perfluous growth of a tree, which then by its own inner pro-
cesses forms its crown. But when we consider, for exam-
ple, the wonderful mimicry, for whose striking external re-
semblances "inner" developmental tendencies could hardly
sufiice (whether with metaphysical hypotheses of pre-es-
tablished harmony or of unity of will or consciousness), the
sl^ill and power, of this " gardener " appear to be sufficient.
In the attempt to form a biological estimate of play
independently of the Lamarckian principle we must con-
stantly bear in mind the value and origin of youthful
play, and therefore we must begin with instinct in its
more limited sense. We find in all creatures a number
of innate capacities which are essential for the preserva-
tion of species. In many animals these capacities appear
as finely developed reflexes and instincts, needing but
little if any practice for the fulfilment of their function.
With the higher animals, and above all with man, it is
essentially otherwise. Although the number of his he-
reditary instincts is considerable — perhaps larger than
with any other creature — yet he comes into the world an
absolutely helpless and undeveloped being which must
grow in every other sense, as well as physiologically, in
order to be an individual of independent capabilities.
The period of youth renders such growth possible. If it is
asked why an arrangement apparently so awkward has
arisen, we may reply that instinctive apparatus being in-
adequate for his life tasks, a period of parental protection
is necessary to enable him to acquire imitatively and ex-
perimentally the capacities adapted to his individual
needs. The more complicated' the life tasks, the more ne-
cessary are these preparations; the longer this natural

THE BIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 375

education continues, the more vivid do the inherited capa-
cities become. Play is the agency employed to develop
crude powers and prepare them for life's uses, and from
our biological standpoint we can say: From the moment
when the intellectual development of a species becomes
more useful in the " struggle for life " than the most per-
fect instinct, will natural^ selection favour those individ-
uals in whom the n less ^labp^ated facultLeT'^have more\
chance of being worked out by practice under the pro- ]
tection of parents — that is to say,~ those individuals th§Lt^
play. Play depends, then, first of all on the elabora-
tion of immature capacities to full equality with per-
fected instinct, and secondly on the evolution of hered-
itary qualities to a degree far transcending this, to a
state of adaptability and versatility surpassing the most
perfect instinct.

Our attention so far has been given mainly to special
instincts, and their effects are extraordinarily widespread
in both human and animal play. We have dwelt upon in-
stinct as it is manifested in fighting, love,* and social
plays, and in experimentation with the motor apparatus
we are pre-eminently on instinctive ground. In sensory
experimentation, however, the practice of inborn reflexes
(they are gradually differentiated from instincts) is in
the background. Ribot, however, designates both these
processes as instinctive. Even in experimentation with
the higher mental powers, practice in fixing the attention,
which is an indispensable prerequisite of all experimenta-
tion, and indeed of all play, may be regarded as a motor
reaction allied to instinct. On the other hand, as I have
pointed out in the preface, the narrow^er conception of
instinct is not suited to our purpose, and we therefore
took the more comprehensive idea of hereditary impulse
as the ground of our classsification. We found the imi-
tative impulse especially important here, and its far-
reaching biological significance was dwelt upon in the
beginning of the section on imitative play, and need
merely be recapitulated.

The imitative impulse is an inborn faculty resembling

* Ibid.
25

376 THE PLAY OF MAN

instinct * whose first effect is to supplement instinct by
means of individual acquirements; secondly, it preserves
those race heritages which survive only through tradition.
The first of these functions falls in the biological domain,
while the second belongs to social play. The former may
be advantageously observed in the world of birds, which
learn the characteristic song of their kind by the help of
playful experimentation to a great degree, but never get
it so perfectly as when they hear the song of older birds
as a model. Children, too, exemplify it clearly in the
transition from their lall-monologue to speech; in their
tussling, where many of the movements are instinctive,
but are materially assisted by imitation of older boys;
in the nursing of dolls by little girls, who would probably
not make any use of the instinct during childhood but for
imitation; and in many other cases. Imitation is clearly
playful in such instances, so far as it is "both unconscious
and unpractical.

^ From the biological standpoint, too, imitative play is
an important agent in supplementing instincts, usually
tending to render them more plastic, and thus further
the opening of new paths for the development of intelli-
gence. Therefore I believe that a general theory of play
should keep this thought in the foreground ; though under
some conditions contrary effects ensue, since, under Bald-
win's principle, imitation gives selection the opportunity
to strengthen the hereditary foundations of the activity
imitated. It seems to me that in imitative play of avow-
edly social character the impulse probably aids selection
in its gradual upbuilding by means of the furtherance of
coincident variations. I touch again upon this point (pp.
395 /.), and will only say here that the two views are not
necessarily contradictory, since, while a weakening may
take place in the details of the activity, there may be a
strengthening of the accompanying feelings — these two
elements being very different.

Besides imitation, many other natural impulses come
into play, as we discovered in studying experimentation
and the higher mental capacities. That the practice

* The previous discusssion of this question need not be repeated here.

THE BIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 377

theory, too, is applicable we can plainly see. Practice in
recognition, in storing up the material collected by mem-
ory, in the use of imagination, reason, and the will, to-
gether with the ability to surmount feelings of pain, are
all of the greatest, indeed of incalculable, value in the
struggle for life. There is some difficulty in meeting the
question of the relationship of experimental impulse in the
higher psychic life, since, as I pointed out in the introduc-
tion to the first chapter, it is still a mooted question
whether the assumption should be made of one general im-
pulse to action which, according to circumstances, is
directed now to this and now to that psychic discharge;
or whether, by reviving the faculty theory, to speak of
many central impulses, grounded in our psychophysical
nature and pressing for expression as instincts do.

For my part, I incline to the opinion that such central
impulses actually exist, though they are probably but
vaguely defined. Long ago the attempt was made, espe-
cially by Reimarus and Tetens,* to include the idea of im-
pulse among the higher mental processes, and the future
may yet see this effort renewed. However that may be,
there is unquestionably one such impulse which in its
motor expression directly suggests instinct, and which in
my opinion is directly derived from it — namely, attention.
But attention is an essential factor in all experimental
play, and indeed in all play, of whatever character, and
can therefore, in conjunction with the causal needs which
so much resemble instincts, bring about results which
would appear to require especial incentive to activity.

Raising this question brings me to another point
which I have touched upon in my earlier work. While
Schiller speaks of a singlfe-minded play impulse, my own
view is that there is no general impulse to play, but vari-
ous instincts are called upon when there is no occasion
for their serious exercise, merely for purposes of prac-
tice, and more especially preparatory practice, and these
instincts thus become special plays. It seems to me un-
necessary to suppose a particular play instinct in addi-

* E. Soinmer, Grundzliore einer Geschichte der deutschen Phys. und
Aesth., Wtirzburg, 1892, pp. 98, 266.

378 THE PLAY OF MAN

tion to all the others, and the fact that selection favours
a long period of youth bears this out. When that is as-
sured, and special physiological provision is made to
secure it, then the merely ordinary instincts and impulses
are quite sufficient to account for the phenomena of play.
Still, if the demand is made for the same sort of im-
pulses for all play, I point to attention and causality as
expounded by Sikorski, and familiar to us in the joy in
being a cause. The actual act of attention is, as befol-e
said, very close to instinct, and so-called voluntary atten-
tion is not widely different, since we find connected with
many instincts phenomena which are influenced by the
intelligence and will. Attention, too, is an impulse in
that it urges to activity so long as it is not hampered by
fatigue. When we complain of being bored, it is not be-
cause we have no experiences, but because the experiences
are not sufficiently interesting to occupy our attention,
and, since it is an active principle in all play, we naturally
think of it in connection with the impulse to any sort of
activity. Follow^ing attention we have pleasure in the
production of effects appearing as another element in the
general impulse to activity and exhibited more or less
clearly in all plays that are connected with external move-
ment. Nor is it wanting either in those which are osten-
sibly merely receptive, as we shall see. As the categorical
standing of causality depends in all likelihood on heredi-
tary capability, and as it first becomes prominent in a
motor form — namely, in the active production of effects —
we have here a further means of giving to the conception
of a general play impulse a concrete form.

In conclusion, adult play must be considered from a
biological standpoint. That the grown man continues to
play l9ng after he has outgrown the childish stimuli to
play has been sufficiently shown in the foregoing chapters.
Much of his play, and especially the sensorimotor experi-
mental kind, is of but slight biological significance,
though the practice theory is often applicable even in
later life to movement and fighting play, and still more
so to social play, since the latter serves not merely as
ontogenous practice, but is indispensable as well to phylo-
genetic development of the social capacities. Artistic

THE BIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 379

enjoyment, too — that highest and most valuable form of
adult play — is, as Konrad Lange has demonstrated, ex-
tremely influential biologically and socially. " Man's seri-
ous activity," he says, "has always a more or less one-
sided character. His life consists, as Schiller has shown
in his letters on assthetic education, in a progressive
alternation between work and sensuous pleasure. Indeed,
in the various occupations of mankind, as a rule, but a
limited number of the mental powers are employed, and
these not fully so. Innumerable springs of feeling are
hidden in the human breast untested and untried. It is
plain that this would have a most disastrous effect on the
whole race did not art supply the deficiency of stimulus.
. . . Art is the capacity possessed by men of furnishing
themselves and others with pleasure based on conscious
self-illusion which, by widening and deepening human
perception and emotion, tends to preserve and improve
the race." * Schiller's famous saying, that a man is fully
human only when he plays, thus acquires a definite bio-
logical meaning.

One word more: If the Lamarckian principle be
adopted, the play of adults has a still more specialized sig-
nificance, since, as it would be essential to a well-rounded
culture, its office as preserver of hereditary race capaci-
ties f is obvious, especially as these require a gentle fos-
tering, not to hamper individual adaptation, and yet pre-
serve the fundamental aim of all adaptation. Since, how-
ever, caution forbids our using the Lamarckian principle,
I content myself with the mere mention of this possible
eilect of it.

3. The Psychological Standpoint
Here in the first place we are called upon to apply a
psychological criterion to playful activity. Wundt, in his
lectures on the human and animal soul, suggests three
such criteria : first, the pleasurable effect ; second, the
conscious or unconscious copying of useful activities;
and third, the reproduction of the original aim in a play-

* Gedanken zu einer Aesthetik auf entwickelungsgeschichtlicher
Grundlapre. pp. 270, 273.

t A similar view is expressed in Lange's work.

380 THE PLAY OF MAN

ful one.* As I have said before, I do not regard the sec-
ond of these — namely, imitation — as universally a mark
of play. Wundt says that an animal can play only when
certain memories which are accompanied by pleasurable
feeling are renewed, yet under aspects so transformed that
all painful effects vanish and only agreeable ones remain ;
the simple and spontaneous play of animals being, so to
speak, association plays. Thus the dog, at the sight of
another dog which displays no unfriendly feeling toward
him, just as naturally feels a disposition to the agreeable
exercise of his awakened powers as to fight with his fel-
lows.f Kittens which for the first time try to catch a
moving ball, are not playing according to this view, and
only play when the action is repeated for the sake of the
pleasure it gives. I shall return to this conception, which
includes more than simple imitation in its ordinary sense.
I feel that I have not succeeded in conveying all that
Wundt means in the passage cited from. However, if I
understand him aright, he attempts in the last edition of
his published works to explain imitation in quite another
way. Thus he gives that name to the play of young
dogs, which, without having seen it done, seize a piece of
cloth in the teeth and shake it violently, because such play
exhibits the playful activity of former generations.:!: This
is a hardly justifiable use of the word, and I think it
better to admit at once that imitation, as commonly un-
derstood, is not a criterion of play.

The case is entirely different with the " apparent aim "
or sham activity. It is undeniable that, objectively con-
sidered, such play appears to be detached from the real,
practically directed life of the individual, and Wundt,
too, understands it so. 'No one plays to attain what is a

* Op. cit.. pp. 404. 406.

+ Ibid., p. 411. Here play is called "unconscious imitation necessi-
tated by hereditary impulses." In this notice Wundt refers to my views
expressed in The Play of Animals as thoueh to me "•the playful liehts
of doors with their youno: appeared earlier in the evolution of species than
g'enuine ticrhtino: amonsr animals." But this is not my nieaninor. I in-
sisted on the presence of hereditary impulses, and assumed that these are
V)rouL''ht to perfection durinsr a period of youth devoted to play. Play
would, on the whole, contribute more to the weakening of existing
instincts than to strengthen them or create new ones.

X Ibid.

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 381

real object of effort outside of the sphere of play. All
the objects of play lie within its own bounds, and even
games of chance keep in view the aim to promote strong
excitement in the parties to the wager until the decision.
Since, then, we must consider sham activity as a genuine
projection from earnest life, it becomes a universal cri-
terion. This is not contradicted by the fact that playful
activity is of great value to the individual, since the value
of the play is not the player's motive.

The question respecting the illusion-working character
of playful activity is much more difficult to meet, if the
psychical processes of the playing subject are kept in view,
and the inquiry is pressed as to whether the actual sham
quality of the play is reflected in his mental states.*
Here it must be emphasized that actual consciousness of
fulfilling a merely ideal purpose, of being engaged in sham
occupation, is not at all essential to imitative play, and
is w^anting altogether in experimentation and fighting
plays. Consequently it too fails as a universal criterion
of play. Later we shall inquire whether in much play the
objective sham character may not influence the psychic
condition of the player in another way.

There remain, then, as general psychological criteria
of play, but two more of the elements popularly regarded
as essential — namely, its pleasurableness, and the actual
severance from life's serious aims. Both are included in
cally speaking, in activity performed for its own sake.

I proceed after this introduction to inquire into the
character of the pleasure derived from play. It is the most
universal of all the psychological accompaniments of play,
resting as it does on the satisfaction of inborn impulses.
The sensorimotor and mental capacities (of the latter,
attention pre-eminently) fighting and sexual impulses,
imitation, and the social instincts press for discharge, and
lead to enjoyment when they find it in play. To this
simple statement of fact we must subjoin the not unim-
portant consideration which Baldwin has suggested in
his preface to The Play of Animals. He distinguishes

* I have not made this distinction sufficiently clear in The Play of
Animals, as K. Lange rightly points out.

382 THE PLAY OF MAN

two distinct kinds of play: one "not psychological at
all," and exhibiting only the biological criterion of prac-
tice for, not exercise of, the impulse; and the other,
which is psychological as well and involves conscious self-
deception.* The situation, he says, is like that displayed
in many other animal and human functions which are at
once biologic and instinctive, as well as psychologic and
intelligent; for example, sympathy, fear, and bashfulness.
This last statement is unquestionable, but there is room
for doubt whether the previously assumed difference ex-
ists. Baldwin's grounds for the distinction seem to me
to be inconclusive, in that conscious self-deception is by
no means the only nor the most universal psychic accom-
paniment of play, the most elementary of them all being
the enjojTiient derived for the satisfaction of an instinct,
which makes play an object for psychology, where con-
scious self-deception is out of the question.f But the fur-
ther question is suggested whether the biological concep-
tion of play has not a still deeper grasp than the psycho-
logical, and to this extent the proposed distinction is of
value.

It may be assumed of young animals, and probably
of children, that the first manifestations of what is after-
ward experimentation, fighting and imitative play, etc.,
is rarely conscious, and consequently we can not assert
with assurance that it is pleasurable. Therefore the bio-
logical but not the psychological germ of plaj^ is present.
It was in this sense that I intended my previous remarks
to the effect that actual imitation was not an indispen-
sable condition of play, while repetition possibly could
be considered so, since the impulsive movements must be
repeated frequently and at last performed for the sake
alone of the pleasure derived from them., before play en-
sues. This marks the psychological limits of play.

To make the relation clearer, let us take the grasping
movement as an example. The child at first waves his

* See, too, K. Lanere, Gedanken zu einer Aesthetik, etc.. p. 258.

+ [By "not psycholoojical at all" was meant not psych olosrical sem-
blance (Scheinthaticrkeit) at all, while still such from an objective point
of view ; so that psychologrical semblance can not be taken as a univer-
sal criterion of play. — J. M. B.]

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 383

hands aimlessly, and when his fingers chance to strike a
suitable object they clutch at it instinctively. From a
purely biological point of view this is practice of an in-
stinct, and play has already begun. Psychologically, on
the contrary, it is safer to defer calling the movements
playful until through repetition they acquire the char-
acter of conscious processes accompanied by attention and
enjoyment. This distinction, I think, is a proper one, and
it enables the biologist to pursue the idea further than
the psychologist would be justified in doing. Therefore
I can not recognise any activity as playful in the most
complete sense which does not exhibit the psychological
criterion as well. Examples of such plays may be found
scattered all through the systematic parts of this work,
and at the beginning of the section on contact plays.

In examining somewhat more closely the nature of the
feeling of pleasure which springs from the satisfaction
of an inborn instinct we may assume as a general law that
it is threefold : first, there is pleasure in the stimulus as
such; then in the agreeableness of the stimulus; and,
third, in its intensity. The first is due to the fact that a
set of hereditary impulses press for such expression ; it is
superfluous to attempt to prove that there are special
stimuli inherently pleasurable; it is only the third class,
then, that need demand our attention, and this we have
repeatedly encountered in our excursions into the various
departments of play. It would be well worth while to
devote a monograph to the investigation of its meaning
and grounds in the light of the literature of the past.
Probably a variety of causes would be brought to light,
among which, however, the influence of habit would be
prominent, since attention and enjoyment would need
constantly stronger stimuli. The most valuable contribu-
tion to the subject seems to me that of Lessing in pur-
suance of Du Bos's idea. He says that the violent emo-
tion produced by the feeling of heightened reality is the
occasion 'of the pleasurable effect. But whence comes this
feeling? Its origin is sufficiently clear in movement-play,
where intense stimulus is connected with the violent ex-
ertion of physical powers; but how is it with receptive
play? In the eighteenth century it was said, on the

384 THE PLAY OF MAN

ground of Leibnitz's psychology, that what we regard as
receptive play was the soul's spontaneous activity. The
strong emotion resulting betokened a development of
force which is always a satisfaction. This view quite
naturally lends itself to modern psychological terms now
that we can put our finger on the strong internal motor
processes involved; yet it is limited by observation, which
shows that intensive stimuli taking possession of us, so to
speak, in spite of ourselves, are not invariably cherished as
pleasures. Only when we voluntarily seek the strong feel-
ing, and gladly yield ourselves to it so that the emotion it
produces is in a measure our own work, do we enjoy the
result. The conditions are the same as with the pleasure
in power displayed in violent movement plays, and they
may be treated together.

Among the many inborn necessities which ground our
pleasure in play we find again that three is the number
emphasized by psychology — namely, the exercise of atten-
tion, the demand for an efficient cause, and imagination.
As regards attention, I have already said in the biological
discussion that it seems calculated to lend a definite
meaning to the vague idea of a general need for activity.
The examples of practice in attention which were intro-
duced in the section on experimentation with the higher
mental powers were chosen with a view to illustrating
mental tension, and special stress was laid on the fact
that, apart from these limitations, attention is of the
widest and most comprehensive significance. Indeed,
fully developed play in the psychological sense is scarcely
conceivable without the simultaneous exercise of motor
or theoretic attention. From the first sensory and motor
play of infants, straight through to aesthetic enjoyment
and artistic production, its tension is felt, and when the
opportunity is not afforded for its satisfactory exercise
a pitiable condition of boredom ensues, the unendura-
bleness of which Schopenhauer has so exhaustively de-
scribed.

The desire to be an efficient cause also has a motor
and a theoretic form. We demand a knowledge of effects
and to be ourselves the producers of effects, and it is
through this motor form that the theoretic, if not exactly

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 385

originated, is at least perfected. Hence the root idea of
causal connection depends on volition, and Schopenhauer,
in referring force to the will, has but expressed in his
metaphysical way an established psychological fact. This
motor impulse finds expression in the joy in being a
cause, which I regard as so essential to play, and in con-
junction with attention is probably the source of the
impulse for activity of which I have spoken. We must
bear in mind all the forms of pleasure connected with
movement, and especially motor experimental play, where,
besides the mere enjoyment of motion in itself, there is
the satisfaction of being one's self the originator of it,
the joy-bringing sense of being a cause. Use of the sen-
sory apparatus is a source of the same pleasure, since here,
too, a motor condition is involved, and is accompanied
with consciousness of its own activity; and when the inner
imitation which we have described is also included, the
connection with external movement is of course still
closer. And in any case joy in being a cause is well-nigh
universal, since in play no purpose is served apart from
the act itself as impelled by inner impulse, which thus
appears in the character of an independent cause more
than in any other form of activity.

This joy in being a cause is susceptible of varied modi-
fication. In violent movements, and even in the recep-
tive enjoyment of intense stimuli, it is converted into
pleasure in the mere possession of power, and is propor-
tionate to the magnitude of the results. It appears also
in the form of emulation when a model is copied, and in
imitative competition, the pleasure of surpassing others
arises with enjoyment of pure success and victory, which,
as we have seen, results as well from overcoming difficul-
ties as from the subjugation of foes. All these ideas have
been so often encountered in the sytematic part of our
work that merely directing them to their natural conclu-
sions is all-sufiicient here.

Of imagination, however, we must speak in greater
detail in regard to its illusion-making power, which again
brings us to the sham occupation recognised as such by
the doer in a partly subjective manner. I am careful to
limit this statement because it is evident that only a

386 THE PLAY OF MAN

simple foiTQ of the phenomenon, and not its whole con-
tent, is present in such reflex forms of consciousness.

In many games there is a veritable playing of a role
in which the players, like actors, are quite conscious all
through the pretence that they are only " making be-
lieve." It is a genuine conscious state in which, on the
one hand, the illusion is perfect, while on the other
there is full knowledge that it is an illusion. Konrad
Lange has called this condition one of conscious self-de-
ception, a term which most aptly conveys the idea of the
strange contradiction of inner processes. He limited the
use of the term, however, to plays that depend on the
imitative arts, while I have advanced the view in my Play
of Animals that it is even more clearly exhibited in such
fighting and hunting plays as are conducted independ-
ently of models, than in actual imitative play. But when
it comes to human play I am forced to admit that speech
discloses conscious self-deception in the imitative play
of children where it might be doubtful in the case of
animals.* Still, I have other points of controversy with
Lange. If imitation includes the conscious repetition of
our own previous acts, as it may by an extension of the
definition, then we are warranted in assuming conscious
self-deception only with it. Thus, in fighting play, for in-
stance, clear consciousness of playing a role can ensue
only when previous experience has taught the players what
are the serious manifestations of the fighting instinct.
If, however, the narrower use of the word is adopted,
illusion is more extensive than imitation, and, further-
more, the latter may exist without the former.

When, as I said before, there is a clear consciousness
of sham activity, we may subscribe essentially to Lange's
theory, with its oscillation between reality and appear-
ance, since the enjoyment of illusion does alternate with
the impression of reality. His figure of the swinging pen-
dulum should not be taken too literally as implying meas-
ured regularity in the succession of states.f The essence

* Cfiilclren show conscious self-illusion very clearly when they play
somethincr like this : " ^'ow I am playing that I am papa and have shot a
lion," etc'

t Note, however, the rhythmic action of attention, which frequently
admits of " coming to " at relatively regular intervals.

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 387

of his meaning is that in self -illusion which is conscious,
even the moments of most absolute abandon are followed
by other moments of readjustment, and this is undeniably
the case. Think, for instance, of the laughter of romping
boys which serves to reassure the combatants by its im-
plication that, in spite of appearnces to the contrary, the
fight is only playful.

But this does not fully explain the illusion of the
players. Just as in aesthetic enjoyment we are for a
long time entirely surrendered to the illusion without con-
sciously recognising the fact, so we find in play, and espe-
cially that of children, absorption and self-forgetfulness
so complete that no room is left for the idea of oscillation.
And when the illusion is so strong and so lasting, as is
sometimes the case with little girls nursing their dolls,
or with little boys playing soldier or robber, they can no
more be said to see through the illusion than to alternate
between it and reality. My own contribution to the solu-
tion of the problem is set forth in my earlier work in the
section on hypnotic phenomena, more exhaustively than
is possible here, where the points of view are so much
more varied. I therefore content myself with the follow-
ing partial elucidation:

If we may not assume consciousness of the illusion in
complete absorption, nor yet any true alternative with
reality, we are forced to the conclusion that the appear-
ance produced by play differs essentially from the reality
which it represents, and is incapable of producing genu-
ine deception. Now this postulate seems to be borne
out in a very obvious and striking manner by the fact
that sham activity and the pretended object are evidently
symbolic, since they are never perfect duplicates of reality.
Toward the most perfect imitation the playing child enter-
tains feelings quite different from those called forth by
a living creature. How, then, is there positive decep-
tion? But closer examination shows us that the solu-
tion is not so simple. If such external distinctions alone
separated playful illusion from actual deception, the force
of the former would inevitably decline as this difference
increased. But the facts indicate exactly the contrary,
as we may see illustrated by the little girl who takes a

388 THE PLAY OF MAN

sofa pillow for a doll ; the illusion is at least quite as great
as when the toy is a triumph of imitative art. The child
actually approaches the hypnotic state when she says that
the pillow is a lady on the sofa, and chats with her.
Though there is of course no actual deception, the reason
for it must be looked for elsewhere than in any external
difference from reality.*

^ I believe its true basis to be the feeling of freedom
which is closely connected with joy in being a cause. Not
the clear idea, " This is only pretence," but a subtile con-
sciousness of free, voluntary acceptance of the illusion
stamps even the deepest absorption in it with the seal
i'gse feci as a safeguard from error. If we accept E.
von Hartman's aesthetic principle that to the conscious-
ness which is sunk in illusion the apparent I is different
from the real I of ordinary waking consciousness, then in
illusion play the real I is supplanted by the apparent I.
Yet pleasurable feelings which belong properly to the
obscured real I may come over into the sphere of the
apparent I and lend to it a specific character. As in the
contemplation of beauty, enjoyment of sensuous pleasure
passes into the sphere of apparent feeling, and lends to
the object that regal brilliance which characterizes pure
beauty, so in the wider field of illusion play, genuine
pleasure in the voluntary transference to that world of
appearances v.4iich transcends all the external aims of
play, enters into the sham occupation and converts it into
something higher, freer, finer, lighter, which the stress of
objective events can not impair. This effect of the feeling
of freedom may advantageously be made the subject of
personal observation. Before going to sleep at night it is
easy to call up all sorts of faces and forms before the
closed eyes and play with them, but as soon as the wearied
consciousness lets slip the sense of being the cause of it
all, we shrink from these phantoms, and playful illusion
takes a serious turn.

Finally, through the feeling of freedom, the recreation
theory attains a special psychological significance which

* Lipps's dritten Aesthetischen Litteratiirbericht (p. 480) seems to me
to state the problem clearly, but does not contribute to its solution.

THE ESTHETIC STANDPOINT 389

is quite generally recognised. As soon as the individual
has progressed far enough to realize the seriousness of
life (and this probably happens in an unreflective sort
of way to children too young to go to school) the liberty
of play signifies to him relief from this pressure. The
more earnest is a man's life, the more will he enjoy the
refuge afforded by play when he can engage in sham
occupations chosen at will, and unencumbered by serious
aims. There he is released from the bondage of his
work and from all the anxieties of life.

4. The 2Estlietic Standpoint

While it is true that undue emphasis of the overflow
of energy reduces play to self-indulgence, at the same time
it is unfair to art to make too prominent its kinship with
play. This is just the position of Guyau in his a3sthetic
writings; yet he is far from denying the kinship, and I
think that he would have concurred to a great extent
in Schiller's view if he could have convinced himself of
the biological and sociological importance of play by ade-
quate investigation of its phenomena. I at least have
been confirmed in my conviction of the close connection
between play and aesthetics by the perusal of his book, and
there, too, my view stated in the very outset — namely,
that this connection obtains in a higher degree than does
that between play and artistic production — is also sup-
ported by his more thoroughgoing investigation of the
facts.

The following points present themselves as the most
general results of our observation of aesthetic enjoy-
ment. We have found that all sense organs display nu-
merous impulses to activity, and consequently enjoyment
of the response to stimuli is a universal basis of play,
varying as to conditions and the quality of the stimuli.
Now, since every aesthetic pleasure (except the appre-
ciation of poetry) is connected with sense-perception,
we find in it a genuine source of enjoyment, depending
on the origin and quality of such perception. Observa-
tion merely for its own sake is the lowest form of
aesthetic enjoyment, and is so far identical with sensuous
play.

390 THE PLAY OF MAN

On this foundation arises enjoyment of special stimuli.
Confining ourselves to sensory play, we can distinguish
two groups — namely, sensuously agreeable stimuli and in-
tensive ones. The fonner, provided higher aesthetic ob-
servation does its work of personification, finds its sole
object in beauty. Pleasure in intense stimuli is strong
enough to subdue the pain which is commonly associated
with it, and forms an introduction to enjoyment of what
is grotesque, striking, and tragic. It is especially promi-
nent in the trancelike state so common in movement-play
as well as in sesthetic enjoyment.

Before going further we must pause to consider the
idea so often advanced that such enjoyment is peculiarly
the prerogative of the higher senses. Is the pleasure
which I feel when I inhale a perfume as much aesthetic
as is the perception of beautiful colour? I think the
case is like that of the common idea of play. From a
psychological standpoint we recognise as such any act
that is practised purely for its pleasurable effect, and
sham occupation in the higher forms of play may be
subjective. Therefore we can afiSrm that pleasure in
perception as such, and not necessarily in agreeable per-
ception, grounds it, and to this extent no one can demur
if the beautiful colour is classed with the pleasant odour.
For the utmost aesthetic satisfaction, however, more
than this is requisite — first, definite form, and second,
richer spiritual effect — and since these are perceptible
only to the higher senses, it becomes their exclusive
prerogative to take in the utmost effects of artistic
effort.

To resume our review, we observe that aesthetic en-
joyment is not merely a playful sensor experience, but
manifests as well the higher psychic grounds of percep-
tion. What we said of the pleasure of recognition, the
stimulus of novelty, and the shock of surprise need not
here be repeated. Illusion remains the most certain mark
of higher aesthetic enjoyment, and the important psycho-
logical problem connected with it which was referred to
in the preceding section has its application here as in
other illusion play. The first thing to notice about it
here is that it consists partly in the transference of

THE ESTHETIC STANDPOINT 391

thought from the copy to an original,"^ and that sym-
pathy and the borrowing of qualities which are connected
with imitation have also their parts to play. Bearing all
this in mind, we are in a position to put the question
next in order, What is the principal content of illusion?

Thus we arrive at a point similar to that reached in
our study of sensory plays. As the pleasure in stimulus
as such surpasses the pleasure in any particular fonn of
stimulus, so here the subjective activity of inner imita-
tion as such is a source of pleasure quite apart from the
qualities inherent in the thing copied. Lipps says, in his
notice of my Einleitung in die Aesthetik, that for me the
aesthetic value of the object under observation and per-
sonification is not that it is personified, but that it is I
who personify it. Part III of the book proves the injus-
tice of this to my general view, yet I do maintain that
inner imitation is as such accompanied by pleasurable
feelings,! and consequently that aesthetic satisfaction
possibly finds its first limit when any painfulness con-
nected with the subject outweighs the enjoyment derived
from inner imitation.

If, then, the act of inner imitation is in itself pleas-
urable, it strikes me as self-evident that the degree of
satisfaction attained must be proportional to the value
of its object. This is clearly illustrated by the highest
character of aesthetic intuition, the impression of vital
and mental completeness ; and inner imitation shows this,
for it delights to act in response to the functions of move-
ment, force, life, and animation. Therefore Lotze is right
when he says, after approving the limitations which we
have pointed out, " No form is too chaste for the entrance
and possession of our imagination." On the other hand, it
is evident that the value of this indwelling depends essen-
tially on the peculiarities of the subject. If, for instance,
I transform myself into a shellfish and enter into its sole

* Lanere has treated of tlie contrary case where Nature is resrarded as
fl work of art. I do not think, however, that it has the significance that
belongs^to the conversion of appearance into re'ality.

+ " A la vue d'un objet expressif." says Jouffr'oy, "qui me jette dans
un etat sympathique de soi-meme desaarreahle, il y a en moi'un plaisir
qui resulte de ce que je suis dans cet etat."— 6>p. cit.^ 270.
26

392 THE PLAY OF MAN

method of enjoyment, opening and shutting its shell, I
experience a far narrower sort of aesthetic satisfaction
than when I feel with a mother who is caressing her child.
It is just because inner imitation is involved that the
value of the aasthetic effect is determined by the qualities
of the object. But what are the qualities, it may be asked,
which augment or detract from this effect? An ex-
haustive and satisfactory answer to this question is im-
possible here; such is the extraordinary variety of the
contributory factors. It properly" belongs, too, to special-
ized aesthetics. In general, how^ever, it is safe to say that
we enjoy imitating what produces agreeable and intense
feelings, and we thus find again on higher ground the
same conditions w^hich we encountered in sensory play.
This distinction is clearly brought out by Lipps in his
article on the impression made by a Doric column : " The
mechanical effects which are * easily ' attained remind us
of such acts of our own as are accomplished without effort
or impediment, and likewise the powerful expenditure of
active mechanical energy recalls a similar output of our
will power. In the first case a cheerful feeling of light-
ness and freedom results; in the other no less agreeable
sensations of our own vigour." * In other spheres the
value of such indwelling seems to me to be chiefly in the
two directions which Schiller has indicated in his com-
parison of " grace " and " dignity." I would refer again
in this connection to what has been said about the im-
portance of poetic enjoyment; if we are right in assign-
ing love and conflict as its chief motives, then here too
enjoyment of agreeable and intense stimuli is prominent.
If we ask, finally, how aesthetic enjoyment extends its
sway beyond the entire sphere of play, we encroach on the
ethical bearings of art. With the introduction of an
element of moral elevation and profound insight into
life, aesthetic satisfaction ceases to be "mere" play
and transcends our present subject. But we must be
careful to maintain that it is transcendence and not ex-
clusion, for even when (as is possible to a Shakespeare
and a Schiller) the intent toward moral elevation and

* Eaumasthetik, p. 6.

THE ESTHETIC STANDPOINT 393

profound insight is prominent, our enjoyment remains
sesthetic only so long as these effects are developed and
set forth in connection with playful sympathy.

Our second leading question is that of the relation be-
tween play and artistic production. Let us set out by
announcing at once that the latter, especially in highly
developed art, is further removed from play than is a3S-
thetic enjoyment. This is implied in the fact that, for
the genuine artist, practical application of his aptitude
is, as a rule, his life's calling; not necessarily his only
means of support, of course, but sufficiently absorbing to
force the man of creative ability to devote most of his
life to an end which to the mass of mankind seems un-
worthy of serious effort. In such a case art ceases to be
playful. But this transformation is not unique. That
absorption in an apparently useless form of activity which
is so incomprehensible to the average man, but which
easily lures its votaries to rapt enthusiasm for their art,
is displayed in many forms less exalted than the striving
for an ideal. Plays not connected with art hold despotic
sway over their victims. Many devote their life's best
effort to some forms of sport, and others to mental con-
tests, such as those of chess, whist, etc. E. Isolani says
that when Zuckertort was a medical student in Berlin he
accidentally became a witness of a match game between
two fine chess players, and, although unfamiliar with the
rules, he detected a false play. This interested him in the
game, and he became a pupil of Anderson. Soon chess
instead of medicine became his chief business in life;
he thought of nothing but how to improve his play. It
kept him awake at night, or, if fatigue overcame him, its
problems pursued him in dreams. At twenty-four he was
a worn-out man. The demoniac power with which art
drives a man so predisposed resides in other games as well ;
and in this both activities cease to be pure play.

Another basis for our subject is found in the fact that
art presupposes a useful field of application for technical
skill whose acquirement and improvement are no longer
ends in themselves. The acquisition is often a long and
painful process, with little that is playful about it. But
this is common enough in other play as well when the

394 THE PLAY OF MAN

technical side of any sport is made the subject of serious
study and effort.

Our third ground is to be sought in a very real aim,
which is ever beckoning to the artist. It may be desig-
nated in a general way as the sympathetic interest of
others, manifested in admiring recognition and apprecia-
tion of the powers displayed, or in subscribing to the con-
victions, views, and ideals of the artist. In so far as this
is an effective motive, art is no play. Strictly artistic
temperaments are especially liable to its influence at the
beginning of their career. Indifferjnce, when sincere, is
usually a later development, the product of experience.

Having thus fortified our position against miscon-
struction, we are prepared to proclaim the proper rela-
tionship between artistic production and play. It seems
to me to be more and more conspicuous as we approach
the springs of art. The primitive festival, combining as
it did music and poetry with dancing, had indeed a tre-
mendous effect on its witnessers, and its manifestations
were essentially playful. Skill acquired in childhood
through playful practice was playfully exhibited with
original variations. The epic art, too, was playfully em-
ployed by the primitive recounter, with no indication of
toilsome preparation or serious treatment, and the case
is not widely different with what we know of the begin-
nings of pictorial art. So long as primitive sculpture
served no religious purpose, simple delight in its use was
much more prominent, since all inherited the capacity,
and none was opposed to the mass as the exponent of a
specialty. We meet the same conditions in studying the
child's artistic efforts; his poetic and musical efforts as
well as those in drawing are essentially playful. The idea
of making an impression on others does appear, but it is
still very much in the background; enjoyment of his own
productive activity predominates in the infantile con-
sciousness. Although highly developed art does so tran-
scend the sphere of play, it too is rooted in playful ex-
perimentation and imitation, and we can detect their
later growth of joy in being a cause in the work of full-
fledged artists of our own day. Indeed, it is present in all
creative activity, gilding earnest work with a sportive

THE SOCIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 395

glitter. In artistic production, however, it has the spe-
cial office of differentiating it from ordinary toil and
making appreciation of the thing created go hand in hand
with its production. Each new-found harmony of tone
or colour or outline appealing to criticism of its creator
causes him intense enjoyment all through the progress of
its production, and the indifference sometimes felt toward
the finished work results from frequent repetition which
has dulled the edge of appetite.

5. The Sociological Standpoint
A still more summary method may be adopted in treat-
ing of the social significance of play, since the section
already devoted to it is of a more theoretic character.
The practice theory, as we have seen, makes youthful play
intelligible, but finds no lack of application to adults as
well. When we reflect on the unavoidable limitations
and mechanical routine of a regular calling we see how
valuable is the cheering and humanizing effect of play,
both physical and mental, and especially of those games
which are calculated to strengthen the social tie. The
practice afforded by these is more important to the adult
than to the child, since the latter has always a certain
social sphere in his relations with his elders, while the
wider demands of an adult are not always so well pro-
vided for.

Two distinct impulses underlie the foundation of so-
ciety— namely, the desires for aggregation and for commu-
nication. Both are probably derived from the parental
relation, which expands as the culture of the group devel-
ops. For this reason it is probable that Baldwin's princi-
-ple of organic selection may take effect in this special case.
[In general I hold to the view that play makes it possible \^
to dispense to a certain degree with specialized hereditary
mechanism by fixing and increasing acquired adaptations.)
On the social side we find much the same conditions,
though we may perhaps assume that comradeship in play
has an orthoplastic influence on the intensity of the social
impulse. When a society (a primitive race, for example,
which is forced by circumstances to wander about a great
deal, or to conduct a war) undertakes new tasks which

396 THE PLAY OF MAN

lead to stronger and more extended social organization,
play alone can supply the necessary conditions. Under its
" screening " influence natural selection has time to elimi-
nate the variations which are not coincident, to further
those which are, and so to strengthen gradually the social
impulses.

These two original social impulses find satisfaction
in the social circle as soon as the individual has out-
grown the narrow limits of the family, and the first social
group into which he voluntarily enters is that of his
playmates. This is the social school for children; here,
says Jean Paul, " the first social fetters are woven of
flowers," and here, too, does the adult find the perennial
spring for renewing the influence of the " socius " * in
himself. Where association presents only its more pleas-
ing features, the voluntary subordination which is some-
^<' times irksome is natural enough both to the recognised
y^ leader and to abstract law. Kant's moraLrectuisite that
^_a_^perspn shall never be made use of as a means is ap-
y\'^ plicable to public life only when individuals voluntarily
-"'^/^ fit themselves into the social mechanism.* In clubs for
/ amusement, social sympathy and good comradeship un-

dergo a sort of artificial expansion which society could
hardly attain without the games and festivities that
characterize them. This fact is apparent among savages
as well as in the most advanced social group of modern
times. The union of early tribes for their dances and
feasts made it possible for them to work together for
serious purposes, and, to take an illustration from the
other extreme, a group of university teachers, in spite of
their peaceful calling, is best preserved from disastrous
dissension when their good comradeship is promoted by
frequent and regularly recurring social gatherings.

The effect of ordinary play is supported by social imi-
tation. To do what the others do, and so get the advantage
of the stimulus which belongs to collective activity; to
thrill with the feeling that moves the masses ; to get out
of the narrow circle of one's own desires and efforts —
these the child, learns with his playmates, and the grown

* Of. Baldwin, Social and Ethical Interpretations, p. 146.

THE SOCIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 397

man in assthetic sports and in festive gatherings. Thus
play contributes to the " experimental verification of the
benefits and pleasures of united action," * and such ex-
perience must advance the ends of society, since it forms
habits which extend beyond the sphere of play. Hence
arises, too, the imitation of individuals who are especially
prominent in the social group. When among children or
grown people some master spirit takes the lead by virtue
of his courage, wisdom, presence of mind, or quick adapta-
bility, his example is of quite incalculable influence on
his fellows. The effects of aesthetic sympathy when the
model is one of social excellence takes deep hold on the
life around it. In modern poetry, too, we have a pow-
erful means of bringing the social and ethical ideal
home to each appreciative soul in the privacy of his own
home.

We have found, too, that the- various aspects of the
impulse of communication which ground the inner spirit-
ual association of the group are also available for play.
While in the animal world self-exhibition may serve sex-
ual purposes almost exclusively, such is not the case with
man. As his personality develops in response to his ever-
changing relations to his social environment, he feels the
need of finding all that moves him, his joys and sorrows,
his strivings and attainments, reflected in the conscious-
ness of other men. This is why I have insisted that the
various forms of rivalry which are so essential to the pres-
ervation of the species are only in part derived from the
fighting impulse. The higher motive of proving to one's
associates what one is capable of, is also operative, and
play which exhibits it not only serves to develop the
social impulses, but also assists materially in the struggle
for life. Besides giving expression to individual impor-
tance, the desire for self-exhibition includes a disposition
to depreciate others, and the friction which ensues is a
most effectual corrective of the vanity and overweening
pride which are so easily associated with it, giving rise at
last to a just estimate of the value and limits of our
capacities.

* Baldwin, op. cit.., p. 141.

398 THE PLAY OF MAN

The second and higher form of the communication im-
pulse also — namely, the desire to influence other wills and
to direct and control public action; in short, to become
a social leader — finds full scope in play, which affords
good preliminary practice of the art of ruling, just as it
is the first school for voluntary subordination to social
law. Here the masterful mind learns how to control
milder spirits and to identify his own with the common
interest, and here awakens the feeling of responsibility
and the wdsh to become by his example an inspiration to
his fellows. Any form of activity which develops sturdy
independent leaders is to be encouraged, for it is these
that society is most in need of.

Finally, w^e discover that imitation, where not mere
collective play, is eminently promotive through tradi-
tion of various departments of culture. Few of our ac-
quisitions in that line are due to physical heredity. Time
may increase the intensity of the social impulse, and pos-
sibly diminish the force of our pugnacious tendencies
(although to my mind a comparison with the so-called
lower-standing peoples offers little encouragement to the
hope), and intelligence may be further refined if the limit
has not already been reached; still this store of cul-
ture must be acquired by each individual anew. Play does
much to make its attainment possible, and, above all, dra-
matic imitation play. I would refer the reader again to
Signe Rink's description of the children brought up in
Greenland. If parental interference could have been ob-
literated and imitation allowed free play, while the child,
it is true, would not have become exactly like a Greenland
woman, she would have come very near to it in her
thoughts and feeling, and it is doubtful whether any sub-
sequent training in European customs could have wholly
extinguished this influence.

6. The Pedagogical Standpoint
The fact that the natural school of play affords a
necessary complement to pedagogics was recognised by
educators of old, with some notable exceptions, however.
For example, the pietist Tollner uttered this sentiment
at a conference: "Play of whatever sort should be for-

THE PEDAGOGICAL STANDPOINT 399

bidden in all evangelical schools, and its vanity and folly
should be explained to the children with warnings of how
it turns the mind away from God and eternal life, and
works destruction to their immortal souls." ^ On the
whole, however, the educational value of play has been
recognised from the time of Plato to the present day.f
It affords a reaction from the stress and strain of work.
It satisfies the natural demand for pleasure so impres-
sively set forth by Luther, giving opportunity for free,
self-originated activity and practice to the physical and
mental capacities.:}: A discerning educator could not
afford to ignore so important a coadjutor.

There are two ways of regarding the relation of play
to education. Instruction may take the form of playful
activity, or, on the other hand, play may be converted into
systematic teaching. Both methods are natural to us,
and may be carried to extreme lengths. The history of
pedagogics gives much interesting information as to ex-
periments with the first; for example, Joachim Boldicke,
inspired by reading Locke and Baratier,* set forth his
method in the following programme in 1732, as " an at-
tempt to educate by the help of games, music, poetry,
and other entertainment through which important truths
may be imparted." Thanks to the originators of the plan,
ten intelligent children, twelve years of age when they
began, could understand in their fifteenth year German,
Latin, French, Italian, and English, and were well
grounded in all useful general knowledge. The writer
proceeds to give an example of the riddle games as fol-
lows : " I know an animal which eats grass, has two horns
on its head, a tail, and four cloven feet. What can it
be? When in need of anything, it lows. It has calves,
suckles them, and allows itself to be milked." Whereupon
the penetrating youth promptly responds in Latin:
"ISTon est, quod nomen addas; de vacca emin cogitasti,

* K. A. Schmid, Geschichte der Erziehunpr, vol. iv, p. 282.

+ Colozza's book on play coBtains in its second part, ^ II guoco nella
Btoria della pedaeo^ia, a g'ood historical review of this subject.

X Moller on Play, in the Encyklopadie des gesammten Erziehungs-
und Unterrichtswesens.

^ This Swabian preacher had made a prodigy of his son by this
method.

400 THE PLAY OF MAN

quae est lierbatiea, cormuta, quadrupes, biscula, mugire,
vitulos parere, lactari et emulgeri potest." *

Against such trifling it is sufficient to repeat the warn-
ing that J. G. Schlosser published in 1776. At school one
should learn to work, and he who does everything play-
fully will always remain a child. Other things being
equal, it is most natural and advantageous to distinguish
clearly between play and study work.f Among primitive
races, where the life work is for the most part guided by
natural impulse, at least in the case of males, boys may
get sufficient preparation from play for their later life,
though even they usually have some instruction at the
outset. But with civilized peoples usage to earnest, per-
sistent effort that is not dependent on caprice or impulse
is an indispensable condition of success in the struggle
for life, and for this reason school life should promote
a high sense of duty as opposed to mere inclination.

Yet this distinction should not be so stringent as to
exclude entirely the play impulse. We have repeatedly
found in the course of this inquiry that even the most
serious work may include a certain playfulness, especially
when enjoyment of being a cause and of conquest are
prominent.:}: Between flippant trifling and conscientious
study there is a wide chasm which nothing can bridge;
but not all play is such trifling. Who would forbid the
teacher's making the effort to induce in his pupils a
psychological condition like that of the adult worker, who
is not oppressed by the shall and must in the pursuit of
his calling, because the very exertion of his physical and
mental powers in work involving all his capabilities fills
his soul with joy? Since play thus approaches work when
pleasure in the activity as such, as well as its practical
aim, becomes a motive power (as in the gymnastic games
of adults), so may work become like play when its real
aim is superseded by enjoyment of the activity itself.
And it can hardly be doubted that this is the highest and
noblest form of work.

* K. A. Schmid. Gesohichte des Erziehnii£r, vol. iv, pp. 279, 401.
+ See Max Reischle, Das Spielen der Kinder, etc.. p. 32.

wel

1 1 refer not merely to rivalry, but to the accomplishment of tasks as
LI.

THE PEDAGOGICAL STANDPOINT 401

Another question is how far the teacher's effort should
go in this direction, and to answer this definitely some-
thing more than a purely theoretic inquiry is needed,
since many points are involved which have more to do
with the art than the method of education. On the whole,
we must concur with Kraepelin that in view of the dan-
ger of overstrain and overfatigue it is probably fortunate
that the majority of teachers do not possess the faculty
of turning study into an amusement, and that those who
do possess it make a great mistake in employing it con-
stantly. Yet, while disapproving totally of all trifling
in education, we still maintain that the school which is
conducted exclusively by an appeal to the stringent sense
of duty, with no incentive to the higher form of work
in which the deepest earnestness has much of the free-
dom of play — that such a school does not perfectly fulfil
its task.

In passing to our second question we must touch
upon that connecting link between work and play which
we call occupation. The hobbies of adults furnish volun-
tary activity like play, which is undertaken chiefly from
the pleasure it affords, but often has aims outside the
sphere of play. Pedagogical occupation is, on the con-
trary, playful practice in the line of the child's instruc-
tion, and forms an adaptive means of transition from
, the freedom of the first years of life to school work.
Froebel's kindergarten system is most valuable in this
way. Its occupations suggest to the children something
beyond mere play, and supply definite aims for their
activity and study, but they should always be kept near
the limits of play; forced occupation against the child's
will does not fulfil the purpose of such exercise. Since
in what follows I shall be limited to the consideration of
actual play, I take occasion to mention here that there is
a certain analogy to pedagogic occupation among savages.
Brough Smith sends from Australia an account of an
old woman's direction of the occupation of young girls:
" The old woman herself collected the material, built a
skin hut, and taught each of the little ones with great
care to make small ones like the large model. She showed
them where to get the gum and how to use it. She sent

402 THE PLAY OF MAN

the girls to gather rushes, and taught them to weave
baskets over round stones, etc." * This is not exactly sys-
tematic education like that of our schools, but it may
properly be classed with kindergarten work.

After this digression we now proceed to our second
leading question: How far may a teacher direct play to
pedagogic ends without destroying its freedom and genu-
ineness ? In this direction, too, many teachers err. Campe
thought that the irrepressible tendency to popular sport
should be allowed to indulge in only those of its inven-
tions which developed the reason, perception, judgment,
etc., and even those persons who recognise the value of
Froebel's system bring the charge, which for a teacher
is a damaging one, that by his methods, and especially
by the songs he uses so much, spontaneity and naivete
are almost totally destroyed. Every user of the system
should be cautioned against a careless or thoughtless ap-
plication of it. Jean Paul says strikingly, " I tremble
when any grown-up, hardened hand meddles with these
tender buds from childhood's garden, rubbing off the
bloom here and marring the delicacy of tint there."

Yet it would be unfortunate and in a sense unnatural
for the teacher, and even more so for the parent, to leave
the playing child entirely to his own devices. Adults have
three important tasks in this direction which are im-
perative— namely, general incitation to play, encourage-
ment of what is good and useful, and discouragement of
injurious and improper forms of play. Animals teach
their young to play, and for this reason I have said it
would be unnatural for parents to be unconcerned about
their children's games. While all animals show a
greater or less disposition for sportiveness, it is strongest
in the mother with her young, and gives rise to some
of the most attractive phases of animal life. Love toward
the small, helpless creatures manifests itself as well in
playing with them as in nursing and caring for them.
The mother not only submits to their tumbling all over
her and pulling at her as their movement and fighting
instincts impel them to do, but she encourages them to

* Brough Smith, The Aborigines of Victoria, London, 1878, vol. i, p. 50.

THE PEDAGOGICAL STANDPOINT 403

active play. This instinct is much stronger in our own
race. Not the mother alone, but every normal woman
feels again a child at the sight of children, and the father,
too, is conscious of an irresistible drawing toward the
nursery in his leisure moments, there to indulge in a
short excursion to the lost paradise of childish play.

His parents are a child's natural playmates for the first
years of his life, since, as has been said, a too early in-
troduction to a wider social circle can but have a bane-
ful effect. Consequently, it is important that the inward
impulse, as well as the outward stimulus, to play should
be present, and when it is lacking the after impression
of the early home throws a shadow over all the future
life. The same remark, with some modifications, applies
to teachers, when the child grows older and goes to school.
It is, of course, not necessary for a teacher to join in
the games of the merry urchins out of doors, yet in the
lower grades especially it is a fortunate circumstance
when he possesses the faculty of becoming a child again
with the children in their plays and walks. He must be
able, however, to resume the sceptre firmly when need
arises.

This naturally opens the way for the second duty of
the child's instructor — directing his play toward what is
good and useful. The two ends do not necessarily coin-
cide, for there is an egotistical sort of playing with chil-
dren which is more for the amusement of adults than
anything else. Better no play than this. Herbart once
said, " Let no man use his child as a plaything." There
are numerous ways to direct the child's play to useful
purposes. We may provide him with toys and tools which
suggest their own use, as animals show us how to do when
they bring a living victim to their young as a plaything.
The objection that in providing playthings the child's in-
ventiveness as well as his enjoyment of illusion is inter-
fered with needs but brief notice. Eeischle rightly says
that the most ancient tradition justifies the use of toys,
and has chosen wisely among them. The physical and
mental capacities of children are furthered, too, by the
use of many plays which require no tools or toys. Recol-
lection of our own childhood and a glance at the condi-

404 THE PLAY OF MAN

tions will aid us in directing their play by advice or ex-
ample. Influence in this direction is less apparent at
school, but as the population of our cities grows more
crowded the need for intelligent direction is becoming
evident. City children grow up under unnatural condi-
tions, and opportunities for play, especially health-pro-
ducing movement-play, should be provided artificially,
space devoted to it, needed aids furnished, and the effort
made to introduce the most useful and attractive gym-
nastic plays to the children. The growing interest of all
classes in such efforts encourages the hope that the dam-
aging consequences of our modern methods of living may
be effectually counteracted in this way.

As to the positive ethical development of the child by
play, we may premise that play in itself contributes
materially to the establishment of ethical individuality.
This, as we have before insisted, is properly developed
only in the give and take of social intercourse which with
children is found almost entirely in play. " Development
of ethical character," says Reischle, " requires on the one
hand social influences preparatory for service in human
society, and on the other individual culture. Any sup-
posed antagonism between these is only apparent. In
reality they are the two including poles. Human society
reaches its fulness only among well-rounded individuali-
ties, since they alone are properly fitted for service to
the whole; and be it noted that such characters do not
develop in solitude, but in the stress of social life. Play
has its uses in both directions. How else can individual
qualities be so well brought out and developed as in the
free, untrammelled use of all one's powers? Here are
brought into contact contemplative, quiet natures with
active, forceful ones, the stubborn with the pliant will.
Play reveals the breadth or limitation of the child's hori-
zon, the independence of his character, or his need of
support and direction." *

In spite of all this, many are opposed to any attempt
on the part of educators to introduce the ethical element
into play. It is undoubtedly a mistake to smuggle moral

* Keischle, op. cit., p. 24.

THE PEDAGOGICAL STANDPOINT 405

reflections in whatever form into play (songs furnish a
case in point), nor is it wise to single out for praise those
who display skill, courage, self-control, a self-sacrificing
spirit, or any other excellence of character in play. Such
a practice tends to destroy its spontaneity and ideality.
There seems, then, to be but one legitimate— means for
promoting development of ethical characterMn play.
Those who with me regard aesthetic enjoyment of poetry
as a play will recognise in it a wide field for positive
influence^ JFrom the first nursery rhymes to the reading
provided for those nearly grown, a discriminating hand
should choose those works w^hich are calculated to supply
ethical ideals to the plastic mind. Yet attractiveness
should always be considered, and any obscuration of
poetic charm with m^oral reflections be avoided.

Much more obvious is the educational value of the
negative task, the third, which consists in the avoidance
of what is evil, and the effort to check wrong tendencies.
The struggle with open iniquity goes hand in hand with
avoiding more insidious moral danger. Let us try to dis-
tinguish the more salient points by the following method :
First, the child should not play too much. In the physio-
logical investigation I spoke at some length of the law
of repetition, and the trancelike or ecstatic state induced
by many plays, together with the fact that they are often
pursued to the point of exhaustion. If the instructor in-
sists on rest before this comes to pass he would seem to
be imposing a proper restriction, which is most valuable
to ethical education, for at this point the moral law of
temperance can be made most impressive to the child.
Second, play which has become or threatens to become vio-
lent may be restrained to proper bounds, and the impor-
tant ethical lesson of self-control be inculcated. Third, it
may be required that everything dangerous to life or
health shall be excluded or carefully regulated. Here the
teacher must avoid overanxiety, for courage, which is
itself of at least equal ethical value, can only be developed
in the growing character by the encounter of actual risks
and learning to meet them with self-reliance. Fourth,
guardians must sometimes interfere when fighting im-
pulses are manifested in a rude or ill-natured manner, as

406 THE PLAY OF MAN

it is apt to be in the various forms of teasing. Misuse
of this valuable impulse may cause deep spiritual injury
to both the aggressor and his victim. When children have
fallen under the power of a bad, tyrannous, or low-minded
leader, they should be interfered with, and if possible by
some method which will show up the unworthy leader in
his true colours. Fifth, and finally, it should be empha-
sized that the beautiful task of play, the development of
the individual to full manhood or womanhood by means
of an all-round exercise of his or her capacities, is re-
tarded by restriction to one particular form of play. The
prevalence of daydreaming is an instance of such in-
jurious one-sidedness.* When a child becomes absorbed
in solitary musing (see the youthful reminiscences of
George Sand), he should be aroused by application to
useful ocupation or by social stimuli which bring him in
every possible way into contact with the external world.
Even the noble gift of imagination may from overindul-
gence degenerate into a deadly poison.

* See Colozza, op. cit.^ p. 253.

INDEX

Alix, observation of animals, 123.

Allen, Grant, on beauty, 26(i.

Allin. play with physical pain, 159;
teasing, 227 ; the comic, 280 ; imi-
tation of animals, 203.

Altum, on sexual selection, 2G5 ;
nursing play, 310.

Amaranthes, swinging, 71 ; trials of
patience, 102.

Andrea, drumming, 46 ; recognis-
ing pictures, 125 ; wagering, 192 ;
gambling, 210 ; indecent draw-
ings, 277.

Anstruther-Thomson, inner imita-
tion, 328, 331.

Arabians, Avagering, 208.

Aristotle, catharsis, 163.

Astragalus, 209.

Autenrieth, experimental play, 96.

Bain, imitation, 285.

Baldwin, repetition, 6 ; circular re-
action, 34; persistent imitation,
39 ; righthandedness, 76 : recog-
nition, 122 ; • imagination, 136 ;
imitation, 282-291, 305-321 ; nurs-
ing play, 311 ; self-exhibition, 348;
mass suggestion, 367 : orsranic se-
lection, 372 ; kinds of play, 396.
See also the Editor's Preface.

Bashkirtseff. tlie luxury of grief, 161.

Bastian, speech practice, 40 ; kite-
flying, 97 ; throwin<r at a mark,
114; gaminir, 208 ; teasing, 230;
hide-and-seek, 243.

Beauregard^ Egyptian caricature,

227.
Berlepsch, throwing play, 106 ; ring

lighting, 178.
Biederman, repetition in poetry, 367.
Boas, figures in skating, 103.
Bulune, melodies of children's songs,

230 ; sound imitation, 298.
Brehm, teasing, 280.
Bridgman, movement play, 76.
Bucher, work and rhythm, 25;

songs of primitive peoples, 35 ;

origin of instruments, 46.
Buttikofer, plays of women, 192.

Cainc, oracles, 207.

Chamberlain, jumping, 85.

Chinese, effect of music, 30 ; games,
208 ; pitching quoits, 210.

Colozza, hearing plays, 43 ; mental
contests, 201 ; social plays, 335 ;
dangers of the imagination, 406.

Compayre, play with taste, 9 ; kiss-
ing, 12 ; voice practice, 31 ; con-
structive play, 100 ; playful lying,
142 ; play with the reasoning
powers, 154; teasing, 228.

Couturat, imitatation and aesthetic
satisfaction, 328.

Curtmann, social influence, 335.

Darwin, art and sexual selection,
18-24: observation of movement,
164; the comic, 297.

Daudet, playful lying, 142.
407

408

THE PLAY OF MAN

Dickens, imagination, 133.
Dodge, the comic, 279.
Du Bos, intensive stimuli, 103,
383.

Eckstein, fighting play, 190.

Edler, play with taste, 12; hearing
play, 24.

E 11 endorf, sight play, 51.

Erdmann, gaming, 214.

Eskimos, ornamentation, 58 ; figure-
skating, 119.

Eyre, Australian dance, 73.

Fedde, contest in Faust, 179.

Fenelon, play and judgment, 130.

Feuerbach, imagination, 153.

Fewkes, dolls and idols, 312.

Finsch, endurance plays, 102.

Fischart, destructive play, 98 ; ball
play, 109 ; throwing, 114.

Fischer, wit, 158 ; on Schopenhauer,
162.

Flashar, social influence, 335.

Forbes, football, 109 ; goal plays,
114.

Fouquieres, stloppus, 34 ; ancient
drums, 46 ; Athenian feast, 93 ;
throwing play, 107 ; the Gordian
knot, 210 ; teasing, 222-224 ; hide-
and-seek, 243.

Fritsch, love play, 259.

Froebel, learning to walk, 82 ; kin-
dergarten, 402.

G. Marie, touch sensations, 8 ; taste,
15 ; hearing play, 22 ; poetic ef-
forts, 35-39 ; pleasure in colour,
71 : recognition, 125 ; exercise of
reason, 129 ; speech imitation,
296 ; dramatic drawing, 318.

Gildemeister. 345.

Goethe, chain rhymes, 37 ; hearing
plays, 43 ; praying to the light,
52; throwing play, 105; illusion.
132 ; playful lying, 142 ; the lux-

ury of grief, 105; fighting play,
182.

Grasberger, divisions of play, 1-15 ;
play with insects, 85 ; gynmastic
play, 85; hustling things about,
97; ring games, 114; bliud-nianV
butf, 128 ; hunting play, 240.

Grey, 229.

Grosse, primitive poetry, 35 : in-
struments, 44 ; critique of Biicher,
47 ; display in the dance, 73 ;
rliythm, 89 ; stories of Eskimos,
142 ; mental rivalry, 202 ; derisive
songs, 229 ; primitive pictures,
315 ; dance feasts, 354.

Gurney, enjoyment of music in
children, 20 ; hearing play, 23.

Gutsmuth, throwing plays, 107 ;
teasing, 224.

Gutzmann, voice practice among
children, 31-33.

Guyau, pleasure in warmth, 14; in
pleasant odours, 17 : playful ly-
ing, 142 ; theory of play, 388.

Hall, taste, 8 ; play with physical
pain, 159 ; cruelty, 233 ; teasing,
288 ; tlie comic, 2S0 ; imitation of
animals, 203.

Hanslick, pleasure in music, 27.

Ilartmann. endurance play, 103 ; ri-
valry, 182; betting, 206; lottery,
208 ; apparent and real I, 388.

Hecker, the comic, 165.

Hellenes, drumming, 44 ; gymnastic
play, 85 ; Livingston. 93 ; hust-
ling things about, 97 ; board
plays, 204 ; betting, 206.

Helmholtz, 129.

Herbart, the child as a plaything,
403.

Hudson, impulse for contact, 586 ;
mass play by birds, 346 ; La-
marckian principle, 361.

Husro, 17: enjoyment of the gro-
tesque, 167.

INDEX

409

Ibsen, J. G. Borkmann, 82 ; tragedy,

146.
Indian, 182 ; games of chance, 208.

Jacobson, Indian child feast, 304.

James, reverence for light, 52 ; col-
lective impulse, 100 ; desire for
knowledge, 147 ; hunting im-
pulse, 240 ; social piay, 352.

Jeau Paul, social play, 390.

Jodl, sensory impulses, 3 ; teasing,
222 ; decapitation, 309.

Johnson, taste play, 11 ; hearing
play, 34.

Jouflroy, inner imitation, 328.

Kant, colour perception, 60; the
comic, 165.

Kaufmann, recognition in poetry,
127.

Keller, pleasure in colour, 72 ; de-
structive play, 98 ; love play, 255.

Kleist, the luxury of grief, 161.

Klutschak, skating figures, 103.

Kuhler, the social sense in little
children, 335.

Kostlin, tone, 28.

Kraepelin, rhyming, 38 ; sensation
in play, 74.

Kraus, 343.

Kries, practice of the will, 172.

Kiilpe, 365 ; the reasoning powers,
329.

Kussmaul, taste in the infant, 14.

Lange, conscious self-deception,

130; value of illusion, 300; aim

in play, 379.
Lazarus, struggle with danger and

difficulty, 174 ; card games, 195 ;

recreation theory, 364 ; rivalry,

190.
Lee, sesthetic observation, 328.
Legras, movement play, 78.
Lenz, climbing impulse, 87.
Lessing. pleasure in strong excite-

ment, 14 ; pleasure in learning,
130 : effect of the tragic, 163 ; the
task of poetry, 383.

Lewes, attention, 145.

Linde, chess games, 193.

Lindley, logical experimentation,
154.

Lippert, ecstatic condition, 25.

Lipps, tlie comic, 165 ; charm of
forbidden fruit, 287; the Doric
column, 323 ; aesthetic illusion,
388.

Livingstone, imitative play, 304.

Lombroso, imagination, 140 ; im-
pulse to opposition, 187 ; destruc-
tiveness, 218.

Lotze, 129.

Lubbock, reduplication, 33.

Lukens, children's drawings, 316.

Mantegazza, love play, 266.

Marcano, caricature, 227.

Marshall, art instinct, 345.

Marty, si)eech and sympathy, 341.

Meumann, rhythm, 35.

Mexico, 208.

Meyer, E. IL, teasing, 230.

Meyer, R. M., refrain, 35, 127.

Mill, J., imitative impulse, 285.

Minor, imitation, 127.

Morike, touch sensations, 13 ; sight

play, 52.
Moll, repetition in hypnosis, 367.
Moller, on play, 399.
Monroe, comradeship and sex, 356.
Morgan, Lloyd, organic selection,

294.
Munkacsy, collective impulse, 101.

Nachtigal, plastic production by
children, 420.

Nansen, sight play, 51 ; leaping,
85 ; curiosity, 147.

Necker de Saussure, destructive im-
pulse, 218 ; social sense in chil-
dren, 335.

410

THE PLAY OF MAN

2siebuhr, ball play, 113.
Kietzsche, intoxication and art, 24 ;

tragedy, '252 ; low ideals, 90.
Tsordenskiold, throwing play, 115.

Parkinson, swinging, 93 ; throwing
play, 107 ; catching, 119 ; wager-
ing, 206.

Perez, touch sensations, 6-11 ; smell,
15 ; hearing, 20, 22, 41 ; hustling
things about, 96 ; playful lying,
142; curiosity, 157; teasing imi-
tation, 227, 291 ; imitation of self,
322.

Petermann, 192 ; gaming, 209.

Pfander, movement and will, 285.

Piisterer, social sense in children,
335.

Pilo, smoking, 17 ; the comic, 236.

Plischke, reason play, 191.

Ploss, hearing play, 41 ; rocking,
93 ; throwing, 109 ; teasing, 225.

Preyer, touch sensations, 6 ; hearing
play, 41 ; sensations of brightness,
50 ; perception of movement, 75 ;
learning to Avalk. 81 ; dancing,
89 ; constructive play, 100 ; throw-
ing, 103 ; recognition, 123 ; atten-
tion; 147 ; imitation, 291.

Kabelais, throwing play, 145 ; satire,
228.

Kaehlmann, sight play, 48 ; sound-
ing, 50.

Kaydt, boxing, 180.

Keischel, pi'ehistoric drums, 45 ;
play and character building, 400.

Eibot, instinct, 34; gaming, 210;
play with physical pain, 160;
luxury of grief, 162 ; the comic,
230 ; pleasure in the tragic, 248.

Kicci, plastic art among children,
320.

Eiehepin, sympathy between art-
ists, 345.

Kichtcr, A., 114.

Eichter, W., fisticuff, 180 ; gaming,
209. •

Eochholz, children's rhymes, 39 ;
hustling things about, 97 ; throw-
ing play, 114 ; finger play, 170 ;
gaming, 208.

Eutteken, pleasure in strong emo-
tion, 1G3; poetic enjoyment, 329.

Eomanes, play with temperature
sensations, 14, 51 ; endurance
play, 102 ; throwing, 181 ; in-
stinct, 372.

Eousseau, meaning of youth, 121.

Eudeck, self-exhibition, 263.

Euckert, riddle contest, 190.

Sand, fear, 166 ; imaginative play,
406.

Scaino, football, 108.

Schaller, chance games, 193-204 ;
card games, 194; wagering, 213.

Schellong, hearing play, 43.

Schiller, dancing, 89; superfluous
energy, 339 ; courage, 392.

Schliemann, Trojan instruments, 46.

Schneegan, teasing, 222.

Schneider, tJie hunting impulse,
230 ; Lamarckian principle, 370.

Scholz, destructive impulse, 220.

Schopenhauer, effect of rhythm, 25-
28 ; power and will, 384.

Schultz, hearing play, 46 ; fighting
play, 186-201 ; seeking, 244.

Schuster, 204,. 205; gaming, 191-
211.

Schweinfurth, throwing play, 114.

Seidel, riddles, 157 ; animal stories,
205.

Selenka, singing apes, 19 ; rhyth-
mical movement, 89.

Semon, play with taste, 16 ; hunt-
ing play, 238.

Semper, imitative dancing, 312,

Shinn, hearing, 21 ; recognition,
125 ; imitation, 295 ; dancing by
children, 302 ; drawing, 314.

IXDEX

411

Siebeck, musical enjoyment, 28.

Sighele, destructive impulse, 220.

Sigismund, rhythm, 20 ; sight play,
50 ; learning to walk, 80 ; hust-
ling things about, 96 ; throwing,
104 ; recognition, 123 ; teasing,
225 ; imitation, 294.

Sikorski, sense of taste, 9 ; recogni-
tion, 123 ; attention, 145.

Sittl, teasing, 231.

Slatin, cruelty, 225.

Smyth, Brough, 402.

Sommer, 488.

Sourian, aesthetics and suggestion,
24 ; illusion, 131 ; pleasure in
movement, 93, 361 ; throwing,
104 ; fear, 166.

Spencer, superfluous energy, 362;
art and sexual selection, IS ;
rhythm, 89 ; curiosity, 148.

Spengel, Lamarckian principle,
372.

Spinoza, rivalry, 197.

Steinen, v. d,, swinging, 93; hust-
ling tilings about, 97 ; recogni-
tion, 125 ; curiosity, 147 ; ring
fighting, 176 ; the comic, 274 ;
origin of drawing, 314 ; begin-
nings of plastic art, 42 ; dancing,
353 ; exclusion of women from
feasts, 355.

Steinthal, recreation, 365.

Stern, L. W,, perception of move-
ment, 145.

Stern, P., sympathy and associa-
tion. 325.

Sticker, righthandedness, 76.

Stockel, the nude in art, 276.

Stoll, hypnotism, 25 ; dancing der-
vishes, 369.

Strieker, inner imitation, 329.

Striimpell, touch sensations, 8 ;
hearing play, 41 ; endurance
play, 102 ; counting, 136.

Strutt, old English snowshoeing,
95 ; endurance play, 102 ; ball

play, 120 ; fighting play, 185 ;
hunting impulse, 238.

Stumpf, a prodigy, 129.

Sully, hearing play, 20, 41 ; recog-
nition, 123 ; memory, 128 ; play-
ful lying, 142 ; fear, 167 ; opposi-
tion, 186; the comic, 230; volun-
tary submission, 338.

Svoboda, fighting play, 182; play
of children, 397 ; dancing, 350.

Tarde, imitation and repetition, 282 ;
obedience as imitation, 348.

Tiedemann, curiosity, 150.

Toilner, on play, 398.

Tracy, beginnings of imitation, 291.

Tylor, backgammon, 194 ; wager-
ing and soothsaying, 207, 208 ;
counting games, 210 ; drawing by
deaf-mutes, 230.

Vierordt, movement in children,
75 ; righthandedness, 76.

Vischer, 279 ; inner imitation, 328.

Volkett, enjoyment of tragedy, 246 ;
inner sympathy, 322.

Wagner, F. v., Lamarckian prin-
ciple, 372.
Wagner, H., top spinning. 111 ; ball

games, 120 ; experimentation, 169.
Wagner, L., shipwreck, 222 ; April

fool, 225.
Wagner, K., recognition, 126,
Wallaschek, rhythm and melody,

26 ; critique of Spencer, 29.
Weinhold, K., leaping play, 86 ;

dancing, 89 ; snowshoeing, 95 ;

throwing play, 181, 203 ; gaming,

186, 191.
Weismann, germinal selection, 373.
Werner, poetic rivalry, 189.
Westermarck, courtship contest,

263.
Wctz, province of the drama, 247.
Wolliiin, touch sensations, 10.

412

THE PLAY OF MAN

Wlinsche, betting among the Ara-
bians, 208.

Wuudt, love plays, 253 ; eye move-
ments, 323 ; criterion of play, 379.

Zettler, tests of strengtli, ITS.
Zingerle, sense of taste, 9 ; chain

rhymes, 36 ; sight plays, 50.
Zola, 136.

THE END

DATE

DUE

...

CAYLORD

rHINTEOINy.S.A.

BF717,

scni

^ 3 5002 00217 7637

Groos, Karl

The play of man.

BF
717

AUTHOR

Groos.

TITLE

The play

of man.

DATE DUE

BORROWERS NAME

Science

717

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