Chapter X (2)

From all that I have said in the last chapter, it will be gathered that I am not prepared to credit our dumb companions with a single _sentiment_. A sense of beauty, a sense of the ludicrous, a sense of justice, and a sense of right and wrong,--these abstract emotions or sentiments, _as such_, are certainly impossible to the brute, if, as I have contended, he is incapable of isolation and analysis. But, as we have already seen, even with us these emotions have to be particularized and brought within the perceptual sphere ere they are strongly operative on conduct. We are not roused to indignation by an abstract sense of injustice, but by the particular performance of an unjust deed. Even so, however, the emotional state aroused carries with it in us some of the spirit of the conceptual sphere from which it has descended. The analogous emotions in animals cannot possess, if I am right, any tincture of this conceptual spirit. And since we cannot divest ourselves of our conceptual spirituality, we cannot justly estimate what these emotional states, in dog or ape, are like. Remembering this, let us see what can be said in favour of a perceptual sense of injustice, guilt, the ludicrous, and the beautiful. In evidence of a sense of justice, we have the oft-quoted case of the turnspit-dog reported by Arago the astronomer.[IB] This dog refused, with bared teeth, to enter out of his turn the drum by the revolution of which the spit was rotated. M. Arago, for whom the pullet on the spit was being dressed, requested that the dog's companion, after turning the spit for a short time, should be released. Whereupon the dog who had before been so refractory seemed satisfied that his turn for drudgery had come, and, entering the wheel of his own accord, began without hesitation to turn it as usual. Many will be prepared to maintain that dogs resent unjust chastisement. A gentleman I met near Rio de Janeiro possessed a dog whose sensitiveness was such that, after a reproof, he would leave the house, and sometimes not return for several days. His owner assured me of his belief that in such cases the reproof had always been undeserved; and he told me of one definite instance in which the reproof--never more than verbal--had been for a theft which was afterwards found to have been committed by his garden-boy. On this occasion the dog was away for three days, and returned in a wretched and miserable condition. What shall we say of such cases? Seeing how complex is what we call a sense of justice, I am not prepared to credit the dog therewith; and I am disposed to regard such actions as I have just described as the result of a breach of normal association. Dogs, like men, are creatures of habit; and breaches of normal association--occurrences contrary to expectation--give rise to uneasiness, dissatisfaction, and consequent resentment.

Conversely, many of the cases where dogs and other animals are said to know when they have done wrong, and to suffer the pricks of conscience, may probably be satisfactorily explained by association. When my friend, coming down into his drawing-room, sees Tim's "guilty" look, he suspects that the dog has, contrary to rule, been taking a nap on one of the chairs; and his suspicions are not a little strengthened by the unnatural warmth of the easiest armchair. "Ah! Tim always knows when he has done wrong," says my friend. But not improbably the association in Tim's mind is a direct one between a nap on that chair and his master's displeasure. What Tim knows is, perhaps, not that he _has_ done wrong, but that he will "catch it." It is the expectation of a reproof, or something more, that gives rise to his look of conscious guilt. In the same way, the look of "conscious rectitude" we often see in some dogs may be due to the anticipation of a word of commendation. And, in general, I fancy that the association in an animal's mind is between the performance of a given act and the occurrence of certain consequences. When this association becomes definite it must, I imagine, draw after it a dislike of such actions as have been accompanied by evil consequences, and a delight in such actions as have been accompanied by pleasant consequences. And eventually this dislike or delight is transferred from his own actions to the similar actions of others. Thus dogs punish their puppies for acts of uncleanliness, while cats are even more particular in this respect. A correspondent in _Nature_[IC] gives a case of a cat chastising by a violent blow with her paw her kitten, who was about to enjoy a herring which had been set down before the fire to keep hot. So, too, according to Mr. Darwin,[ID] "when the baboons in Abyssinia plunder a garden, they silently follow their leader, and, if an imprudent young animal makes a noise, he receives a slap from the others to teach him silence and obedience." And Mr. Schaub communicated to Professor Nipher[IE] a case of a black-and-tan terrier bitch, whose pup had stolen a stocking from his bedroom, and who followed the young offender, took the stocking from him, and returned it to the owner. Her action gave evidence, he says, of displeasure at the action of the pup. And Mr. Schaub contrived to have the offence committed on many successive mornings, the same performance being repeated each time.

In this connection I will give two anecdotes of Carlo, communicated to me by Mrs. Mann. "Once I came upon Carlo sitting in the dining-room doorway, Dulceline, the cat, angrily watching him from the stairs, and also evidently having an eye on a leg of mutton half dragged off the dish on the dining-table. Carlo had clearly caught the thief in the act. He was on guard; and he seemed much relieved when higher powers came on the scene. Honesty seemed part of Carlo's nature. In this matter we never had to give him any lessons. Nor could he bear to see dishonesty in others. One Sunday, one of the little girls saw Carlo coming along looking so anxiously at her that she knew he wanted her to come. She therefore followed him, and Carlo took her to the store-room, the door of which her sister had left open. In the doorway Carlo stopped, and looked first up at his mistress and then into the store-room, as much as to say, 'What can we think of this?' And truly there was a certain little black-and-tan terrier, whose principles were by no means of a high order, regaling himself with some cold meat that he had dragged on to the floor. Toby knew he was in the wrong, and tried to flee. But Carlo stopped him as he endeavoured to fly past. And when Toby was thereupon duly slapped, Carlo sat straight up, with a face of conscious rectitude."

These anecdotes, communicated to me by a lady of culture and intelligence, illustrate how, in describing the actions of animals, phraseology only, in strictness, applicable to the psychology of man, is unwittingly and almost unavoidably employed. Toby's "_principles_ were not of a high order," yet he "_knew he was in the wrong_," while Carlo watched him receive his punishment, and "sat straight up, with a face of _conscious rectitude_."

Coming now to a sense of humour or a sense of the ludicrous, Darwin himself said,[IF] "Dogs show what may fairly be called a sense of humour, as distinguished from mere play; if a bit of stick or other such object be thrown to one, he will often carry it away for a short distance; and then, squatting down with it on the ground close before him, will wait until his master comes close to take it away. The dog will seize it and rush away in triumph, repeating the same man[oe]uvre, and evidently enjoying the practical joke." Mr. Romanes had a dog who used to perform certain self-taught tricks, "which clearly had the object of exciting laughter. For instance, while lying on his side and violently grinning, he would hold one leg in his mouth. Under such circumstances, nothing pleased him so much as having his joke duly appreciated, while, if no notice was taken of him, he would become sulky." To these I may add an observation of my own. I used sometimes, when staying at Lancaster with a friend, to take his dog Sambo, a highly intelligent retriever, to the seashore. His chief delight there was to bury small crabs in the sand, and then stand watching till a leg or a claw appeared above the surface, upon which he would race backwards and forwards, giving short barks of keen enjoyment. This I saw him do on many occasions. He always waited till a helpless leg appeared, and then bounded away as if he could not contain the canine laughter that was in him. Who shall say, however, what was passing through the mind of the dog in any of these three cases? The motive of Mr. Darwin's dog may have been to prolong the game, though I expect there was something more than this. Mr. Romanes's dog exemplified, perhaps, the sense of satisfaction at being noticed. Sambo's performance is now, as it was years ago, beyond me. But a sense of humour, involving a delicate appreciation of the minor incongruities of life, is, I imagine, too subtle an emotion for even Sambo.

I pass now to the sense of beauty, and I shall consider this at greater length, because of its bearing on sexual selection and the origin of floral beauty.

The interesting experiments of Sir John Lubbock already alluded to seem to establish the fact that bees have certain colour-preferences. Blue and pink are the most attractive colours; yellow and red are in less favour. No doubt these preferences have arisen in association with the flowers from which the bees obtain their nectar. They have a practical basis of biological value. But there seems no doubt that certain colours are now for them more attractive than others. Bees and other insects are, undoubtedly, attracted by flowers; these flowers excite in us an æsthetic pleasure; the bees are, therefore, supposed to be attracted to the flowers through their possession of an æsthetic sense. Now, this does not necessarily follow. It is the nectar, not the beauty of the flower, that attracts the bee. So long as the flower is sufficiently _conspicuous_ to be rapidly distinguished by the insect, the conditions of the case are met so far as insect psychology is concerned. The fact remains, however, that the flowers thus conspicuous to the insect are fraught with beauty _for us_.

In the case of sexual selection among birds, again, I believe that the gorgeous plumage has its basis of origin in that pre-eminent vitality which Mr. Tylor and Mr. Wallace have insisted on. But, as before indicated, this will not serve to explain its special character for each several species of birds. Here, again, conspicuousness and recognition are unquestionably factors. But that the bright plumage of male birds awakens emotional states in the hens, that it probably also arouses sexual appetence, seems to be shown by the manner in which the finery is displayed by the male before the female. I think it is probable, also, that pleasure, becoming thus associated with bright colours in the mate, is also aroused by bright colours in other associations. Thus the gardener bower-bird, described by Dr. Beccari,[IG] collects in front of its bower flowers and fruits of bright and varied colours. It removes everything unsightly, and strews the ground with moss, among which it places the bright objects from among which the cock bird is said to select daily gifts for his mate's acceptance! Dr. Gould states that certain humming-birds decorate their nests "with the utmost taste," weaving into their structure beautiful pieces of flat lichen. If by crediting birds with a sense of beauty we mean that in them pleasurable emotions may be aroused on sight of objects which we regard as beautiful, I am not prepared to deny them such a sense of beauty, nay, I fully believe that such pleasurable feelings are aroused in them. When, however, it is said that the gorgeous plumage of male birds has been produced by the æsthetic choice of their mates, I am not so ready to agree. A consciously æsthetic motive has not, I believe, been a determining cause. The mate selected has been that which has excited the strongest sexual appetence; his beauty has probably not, as such, been distinctly present to consciousness. Here, then, we have again the question which arose in connection with floral beauty--How is it that the sight of the mates selected by hen birds excites in us, in so many cases, an æsthetic pleasure?

It is clear that this is a matter rather of human than of animal or comparative psychology. As such, except for purposes of illustration, it does not fall within the scope of this work. I can, therefore, say but a few words on the subject. The view that I think erroneous is that either floral beauty or the beauty of secondary sexual characters has been produced on æsthetic grounds, that is to say, for the sake of the beauty they are seen by man to possess. It is, therefore, to the point to draw attention to the fact that many of the objects and scenes which excite in us this æsthetic sense have certainly not been produced for the sake of their beauty. Their beauty is an adjunct, a by-product of rarest excellence, but none the less a by-product.

Nothing can be more beautiful in its way than a well-grown beech or lime tree; and yet it cannot be held to have been produced for its beauty's sake. The leaves of many trees, shrubs, and plants are scarcely less beautiful than the flowers. But _they_ cannot have been produced by the æsthetic choice of insects. From the depth of a mine there may be brought up a specimen of ruby copper ore, or malachite, or a nest of quartz crystals, or an agate, or a piece of veined serpentine, which shall be at once pronounced a delight to the eye. But for the eye it was not evolved. The grandeur of Alpine scenery, the charm of a winding river, the pleasing undulations of a flowing landscape,--no one can say that these were evolved for the sake of their beauty. The fact of their being beautiful is, therefore, no proof that the blue gentian, or the red admiral, or the robin redbreast were evolved for the sake of, or by means of, the beauty that they possess. Again, one leading feature in the beauty of flowers is their symmetry. The beauty is, so to speak, kaleidoscopic beauty. It is not so much the single veined or marbled petal that is so lovely, as the group of similar petals symmetrically arranged. But this symmetry can hardly be said to have been selected for its æsthetic value; it is rather part of the natural symmetry of the plant. Even with butterflies and birds and beasts the symmetrical element is an important one in their beauty.[IH]

I must not attempt to analyze our sense of beauty or endeavour to trace its origin. It appears to involve a pleasurable stimulation of the sense-organs concerned, together with perceptions of symmetry, of diversity and contrast, and of proportion, with a basis of unity. It is rich in suggestions and associations. It is heightened by sympathy. A beautiful scene is doubly enjoyable if a congenial companion is by our side.

"The whole effect of a beautiful object, so far as we can explain it," says Mr. Sully,[II] "is an harmonious confluence of these delights of sense, intellect, and emotion, in a new combination. Thus a beautiful natural object, as a noble tree, delights us by its gradations of light and colour, the combination of variety with symmetry in its contour or form, the adaptation of part to part, or the whole to its surroundings; and, finally, by its effect on the imagination, its suggestions of heroic persistence, of triumph over the adverse forces of wind and storm. Similarly, a beautiful painting delights the eye by supplying a rich variety of light and shade, of colour, and of outline; gratifies the intellect by exhibiting a certain plan of composition, the setting forth of a scene or incident with just the fulness of detail for agreeable apprehension; and, lastly, touches the many-stringed instrument of emotion by an harmonious impression, the several parts or objects being fitted to strengthen and deepen the dominant emotional effect, whether this be grave or pathetic on the one hand, or light and gay on the other. The effect of beauty, then, appears to depend on a simultaneous presentment in a single object of a well-harmonized mass of pleasurable material or pleasurable stimulus for sense, intellect, and emotion."

This, too, is what I understand by an æsthetic sense of beauty; and if a hen bird has her sexual appetence evoked by the bright display of her mate, the emotional state she experiences is something very different from what we know as a sense of beauty. The adjective "æsthetic" should in any case, I think, be resolutely excluded in any discussion of sexual selection.

Æsthetics, like conceptual thought, accompany the suppression or postponement of action. As we have already seen, the normal and primitive series is (1) sense-stimulus; (2) certain nerve-processes in the brain which are associated with perception and emotion; and (3) certain resulting activities. By the suppression of action the mind comes to occupy itself more and more completely with the central processes. Perception blossoms forth into conceptual thought; emotion blossoms forth into æsthetics.

"'Throughout the whole range of sensations, perceptions, and emotions which we do not class as _æsthetic_,'[IJ] says Mr. Herbert Spencer, 'the states of consciousness serve simply as aids and stimuli to guidance and action. They are transitory, or, if they persist in consciousness some time, they do not monopolize the attention; that which monopolizes the attention is something ulterior, to the effecting of which they are instrumental. But in the states of mind we class as æsthetic the opposite attitude is maintained towards the sensations, perceptions, and emotions. These are no longer links in the chain of states which prompt and guide conduct. Instead of being allowed to disappear with merely passing recognition, they are kept in consciousness and dwelt upon, their natures being such that their continued presence in consciousness is agreeable.' The action which is the normal consequent on sensation is here postponed or suppressed; and thus we are enabled to make knowledge or beauty an end to be sought for its own sake; and thus, too, we are able to make progress, otherwise impossible, in science and in art. Sensations and perceptions are the roots from which spring the sturdy trunk of action, the expanded leaves of knowledge, and the fair blossoms of art. The leaves and the flowers are the terminal products along certain lines of development; but the function of the leaves is to minister to the growth of the wood, and the function of the flowers is to minister to the continuance and well-being of the race. So, too, in human affairs. Knowledge and art are justified by their influence on conduct; truth and beauty must ever guide us towards right living; and æsthetics are true or false according as they lead towards a higher or a lower standard of moral life."[IK]

* * * * *

To sum up, then, concerning this difficult subject, the following are the propositions on which I would lay stress: (1) What we term an æsthetic sense of beauty involves a number of complex perceptual, conceptual, and emotional elements. (2) The fact that a natural object excites in us this pleasurable emotion does not carry with it the implication that the object was evolved for the sake of its beauty. (3) Even if we grant, as we fairly may, that brightly coloured flowers, in association with nectar, have been objects of appetence to insects; and that brilliant plumage, in association with sexual vigour, has been a factor in the preferential mating of birds;--this is a very different thing from saying that, either in the selection of flowers by insects, or in the selection of their mates by birds, a consciously æsthetic motive has been a determining cause. (4) In fine, though animals may be incidentally attracted by beautiful objects, they have no æsthetic sense of beauty. A sense of beauty is an abstract emotion. Æsthetics involve ideals; and to ideals, if what has been urged in these pages be valid, no brute can aspire.

What applies thus to æsthetics applies also to ethics. Few, however, will be found to contend that animals can be moral or immoral, or have any moral ideas properly so called. Mr. Romanes does indeed state, in the table he prefixes to his works on Mental Evolution, that the anthropoid apes and dogs are capable of "indefinite morality." He leaves this to be explained, however, in a future work. In the published instalment of "Mental Evolution in Man" he seems to contend,[IL] or, at least, admit, "that the fundamental concepts of morality are of later origin than the names by which they have been baptized." But he says nothing of indefinite morality, which still remains for consideration in another work. In the mean while we may, I think, confidently assume that ethics, like conceptual thought and æsthetics, are beyond the reach of the brute. Morality is essentially a matter of ideals, and these belong to the conceptual sphere.

* * * * *

I have now said enough[IM] to indicate what I mean by advocating the exercise of extreme caution in our inferences concerning the emotional states of animals. We must remember, first, how liable to error are our inferences in these matters; we must remember, next, how complex and essentially human are our own emotions. I do not for one moment deny that in animals are to be found the perceptual germs of even the higher emotional states. Nevertheless, if we employ, in our interpretation of the actions of animals, such terms as "consciousness of guilt," "sense of right and wrong," "idea of justice," "deceitfulness," "revenge," "vindictiveness," "shame," and the rest, we must not forget that these terms stand for human products, that they are saturated with conceptual thought, and that they must be to a large extent emptied of their meaning before they can become applicable to the emotional consciousness of brutes.

NOTES

[HG] "Physiological Æsthetics:" chapter on "Pleasure and Pain."

[HH] All of these, at any rate, satisfy Mr. Herbert Spencer's
definition. Pleasure he describes as a feeling which we seek to
bring into consciousness and retain there; pain, as a feeling
which we seek to get out of consciousness and keep out.

[HI] "Types of Ethical Theory," vol. ii. p. 350.

[HJ] Such consciousness of activity is probably associated with the
innervation of afferent, not efferent, nerves.

[HK] Journal of Marine Biological Association, New Series, vol. i. No.
2, pp. 216, 217.

[HL] "Outlines of Psychology," p. 481.

[HM] Ibid. p. 494.

[HN] Page 70.

[HO] Page 104.

[HP] _Nature_, vol. xxxvii. p. 619.

[HQ] Vol. i. p. 310, under date 1876.

[HR] "Mental Evolution in Animals," p. 318.

[HS] "Descent of Man," pt. i. chap. iii.

[HT] Miss Nellie Maclagan describes how her Newfoundland similarly took
a roll to a hungry pauper-friend (_Nature_, vol. xxviii. p. 150).
Mr. Duncan Stewart gives (_Nature_, vol. xxviii. p. 31) the case
of a cat who used frequently to provide her blind mother with
food. Sir Harry Lumsden states that during the cold autumn of 1878
some tame partridges in Aberdeenshire brought two wild coveys to
be fed near the doorstep of the house. And a case has been
communicated to me by Miss Agnes Tanner, of Clifton, of a thrush
that pulled up worms on the lawn for a lame companion.

[HU] "Animal Intelligence," p. 440.

[HV] "Animal Intelligence," p. 442.

[HW] Ibid. p. 444.

[HX] Ibid. p. 451.

[HY] "Animal Intelligence," p. 387.

[HZ] "Animal Intelligence," p. 486.

[IA] Ibid. p. 141.

[IB] "Animal Intelligence," p. 443.

[IC] Mr. Alexander Mackennal, vol. xxi. p. 397.

[ID] "Descent of Man," pt. i. chap. iii., quoted from Brehm's
"Thierleben."

[IE] _Nature_, vol. xxviii. p. 32.

[IF] "Descent of Man," quoted by Romanes, p. 445.

[IG] _Nature_, vol. xl. p. 327.

[IH] Another example of beauty which can hardly be said to have been
evolved for beauty's sake is to be seen in birds' eggs. Mr. Henry
Seebohm regards the bright colours of some birds' eggs as a
difficulty in the way of the current interpretation of organic
nature. "Few eggs," he says (_Nature_, vol. xxxv. p. 237), "are
more gorgeously coloured [than those of the guillemot], and no
eggs exhibit such a variety of colour. [They are sometimes of a
bluish green, marbled or blotched with full brown or black;
sometimes white streaked with brown; sometimes pale green or
almost white with only the ghosts of blotches and streaks; and
sometimes the reddish brown extends so as to form the ground-tint
which is blotched with deeper brown.] It is impossible to suppose
that protective selection can have produced colours so conspicuous
on the white ledges of chalk cliffs; and sexual selection must
have been equally powerless. It would be too ludicrous a
suggestion to suppose that a cock guillemot fell in love with a
plain-coloured hen because he remembered that last season she laid
a gay-coloured egg."

If we connect colour with metabolic changes, its occurrence in
association with the products of the highly vascular oviduct will
not be surprising. Some _guidance_ is, however, on the principles
advocated in Chapter VI., required to maintain a standard of
coloration. In many cases such guidance is found in protective
selection, as in the plover's eggs in our frontispiece. In the
guillemot's egg such protective selection seems to be absent, and,
as Mr. Seebohm himself says, "no eggs exhibit such a variety of
colour."

In our present connection, however, the point to be noticed is that
many eggs are undoubtedly beautiful. But they cannot have been in
any way selected for the sake of their beauty.

[II] "Outlines of Psychology," p. 537.

[IJ] I should add, "or as _conceptual thought_."

[IK] This paragraph is quoted from the author's "Springs of Conduct,"
p. 263.

[IL] Page 347.

[IM] I have said nothing about the emotions of invertebrates, because I
have nothing special to say. They have, no doubt, emotions
analogous to fear, anger, and so on. But it is difficult to
interpret their actions. The "angry" wasp is, perhaps, a good deal
more frightened than furious. Sir John Lubbock's interesting
experiments seem to show that ants have what is termed the
instinct of play. But this admirable observer has rendered it
probable that sympathy and affection in ants and bees have been
somewhat exaggerated.