Chapter XXI: Part III: The Theory of Play (2)

But this does not fully explain the illusion of the players. Just as in æsthetic enjoyment we are for a long time entirely surrendered to the illusion without consciously recognising the fact, so we find in play, and especially 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 solution 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 following 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 appearance produced by play differs essentially from the reality which it represents, and is incapable of producing genuine 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 entertains feelings quite different from those called forth by a living creature. How, then, is there positive deception? But closer examination shows us that the solution 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 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.[680]

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 consciousness of free, voluntary acceptance of the illusion stamps even the deepest absorption in it with the seal _ipse feci_ as a safeguard from error. If we accept E. von Hartmann’s æsthetic principle that to the consciousness 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 which 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 dosed 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 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 Æsthetic 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 æsthetic 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 adequate investigation of its phenomena. I at least have been confirmed in my conviction of the close connection between play and æsthetics 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 supported by his more thoroughgoing investigation of the facts.

The following points present themselves as the most general results of our observation of æsthetic enjoyment. We have found that all sense organs display numerous 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 æsthetic pleasure (except the appreciation 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. Observation merely for its own sake is the lowest form of æsthetic enjoyment, and is so far identical with sensuous play.

On this foundation arises enjoyment of special stimuli. Confining ourselves to sensory play, we can distinguish two groups—namely, sensuously agreeable stimuli and intensive ones. The former, provided higher æsthetic observation 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 prominent in the trancelike state so common in movement-play as well as in æsthetic 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 æsthetic 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 affirm that pleasure in perception as such, and not necessarily in agreeable perception, grounds it, and to this extent no one can demur if the beautiful colour is classed with the pleasant odour. For the utmost æsthetic 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 æsthetic enjoyment is not merely a playful sensor experience, but manifests as well the higher psychic grounds of perception. 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 æsthetic enjoyment, and the important psychological 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 thought from the copy to an original,[681] and that sympathy 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 form of stimulus, so here the subjective activity of inner imitation 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 æsthetic value of the object under observation and personification is not that it is personified, but that it is I who personify it. Part III of the book proves the injustice of this to my general view, yet I do maintain that inner imitation is as such accompanied by pleasurable feelings,[682] and consequently that æsthetic satisfaction possibly finds its first limit when any painfulness connected with the subject outweighs the enjoyment derived from inner imitation.

If, then, the act of inner imitation is in itself pleasurable, 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 æsthetic intuition, the impression of vital and mental completeness; and inner imitation shows this, for it delights to act in response to the functions of movement, 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 essentially on the peculiarities of the subject. If, for instance, I transform myself into a shellfish and enter into its sole method of enjoyment, opening end shutting its shell, I experience a far narrower sort of æsthetic 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 æsthetic 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 exhaustive and satisfactory answer to this question is impossible here; such is the extraordinary variety of the contributory factors. It properly belongs, too, to specialized æsthetics. In general, however, 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 which 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 lightness and freedom results; in the other no less agreeable sensations of our own vigour.”[683] In other spheres the value of such indwelling seems to me to be chiefly in the two directions which Schiller has indicated in his comparison of “grace” and “dignity.” I would refer again in this connection to what has been said about the importance of poetic enjoyment; if we are right in assigning love and conflict as its chief motives, then here too enjoyment of agreeable and intense stimuli is prominent.

If we ask, finally, how æsthetic 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, æsthetic satisfaction ceases to be “mere” play and transcends our present subject. But we must be careful to maintain that it is transcendence and not exclusion, for even when (as is possible to a Shakespeare and a Schiller) the intent toward moral elevation and profound insight is prominent, our enjoyment remains æsthetic 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 between 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 æsthetic 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 unworthy 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 contests, 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 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 designated in a general way as the sympathetic interest of others, manifested in admiring recognition and appreciation of the powers displayed, or in subscribing to the convictions, 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. Indifference, when sincere, is usually a later development, the product of experience.

Having thus fortified our position against misconstruction, we are prepared to proclaim the proper relationship 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 tremendous 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 employed 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 beginnings 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 consciousness. Although highly developed art does so transcend the sphere of play, it too is rooted in playful experimentation and imitation, and we can detect their later growth of joy in being a cause in the work of fullfledged artists of our own day. Indeed, it is present in all creative activity, gilding earnest work with a sportive glitter. In artistic production, however, it has the special 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 treating 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 provided for.

Two distinct impulses underlie the foundation of society—namely, the desires for aggregation and for communication. Both are probably derived from the parental relation, which expands as the culture of the group develops. For this reason it is probable that Baldwin’s principle 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 lead to stronger and more extended social organization, play alone can supply the necessary conditions. Under its “screening” influence natural selection has time to eliminate 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 outgrown 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”[684] in himself. Where association presents only its more pleasing features, the voluntary subordination which is sometimes irksome is natural enough both to the recognised leader and to abstract law. Kant’s moral requisite that a person shall never be made use of as a means is applicable to public life only when individuals voluntarily fit themselves into the social mechanism. In clubs for amusement, social sympathy and good comradeship undergo 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 imitation. 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 man in æsthetic sports and in festive gatherings. Thus play contributes to the “experimental verification of the benefits and pleasures of united action,”[685] and such experience 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 adaptability, his example is of quite incalculable influence on his fellows. The effects of æsthetic sympathy when the model is one of social excellence takes deep hold on the life around it. In modern poetry, too, we have a powerful 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 spiritual association of the group are also available for play. While in the animal world self-exhibition may serve sexual purposes almost exclusively, such is not the case with man. As his personality develops in response to his everchanging 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 consciousness of other men. This is why I have insisted that the various forms of rivalry which are so essential to the preservation 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 importance, 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.

The second and higher form of the communication impulse 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 wish 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, we discover that imitation, where not mere collective play, is eminently promotive through tradition of various departments of culture. Few of our acquisitions in that line are due to physical heredity. Time may increase the intensity of the social impulse, and possibly 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 culture must be acquired by each individual anew. Play does much to make its attainment possible, and, above all, dramatic 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 obliterated 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 subsequent 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 forbidden 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.”[686] On the whole, however, the educational value of play has been recognised from the time of Plato to the present day.[687] It affords a reaction from the stress and strain of work. It satisfies the natural demand for pleasure so impressively set forth by Luther, giving opportunity for free, self-originated activity and practice to the physical and mental capacities.[688] 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 experiments with the first; for example, Joachim Böldicke, inspired by reading Locke and Baratier,[689] set forth his method in the following programme in 1732, as “an attempt 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 follows: “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: “Non est, quod nomen addas; de vacca emin cogitasti, quae est herbatica, cornuta, quadrupes, biscula, mugire, vitulos parere, lactari et emulgeri potest.”[690]

Against such trifling it is sufficient to repeat the warning that J. G. Schlosser published in 1776. At school one should learn to work, and he who does everything playfully will always remain a child. Other things being equal, it is most natural and advantageous to distinguish clearly between play and study work.[691] 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, persistent 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.[692] 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.

Another question is how far the teacher’s effort should go in this direction, and to answer this definitely something 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 danger 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 constantly. 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 freedom 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 voluntary 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 contrary, playful practice in the line of the child’s instruction, 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 the girls to gather rushes, and taught them to weave baskets over round stones, etc.”[693] This is not exactly systematic 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 genuineness? 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 inventions 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 _naïveté_ are almost totally destroyed. Every user of the system should be cautioned against a careless or thoughtless application 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 imperative—namely, general incitation to play, encouragement 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 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 introduction to a wider social circle can but have a baneful 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 coincide, for there is an egotistical sort of playing with children which is more for the amusement of adults than anything else. Better no play than this. Herbert 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 inventiveness as well as his enjoyment of illusion is interfered with needs but brief notice. Reischle 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. Recollection of our own childhood and a glance at the conditions will aid us in directing their play by advice or example. 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 conditions, and opportunities for play, especially health-producing movement-play, should be provided artificially, space devoted to it, needed aids furnished, and the effort made to introduce the most useful and attractive gymnastic plays to the children. The growing interest of all classes in such efforts encourages the hope that the damaging 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 supposed antagonism between these is only apparent. In reality they are the two including poles. Human society reaches its fulness only among well-rounded individualities, 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 horizon, the independence of his character, or his need of support and direction.”[694]

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 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 character in play. Those who with me regard æsthetic enjoyment of poetry as a play will recognise in it a wide field for positive influence. From the first nursery rhymes to the reading provided for those nearly grown, a discriminating hand should choose those works which are calculated to supply ethical ideals to the plastic mind. Yet attractiveness should always be considered, and any obscuration of poetic charm with moral 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 distinguish the more salient points by the following method: First, the child should not play too much. In the physiological 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 insists 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 violent may be restrained to proper bounds, and the important 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 impulses are manifested in a rude or ill-natured manner, as 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 emphasized 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 retarded by restriction to one particular form of play. The prevalence of daydreaming is an instance of such injurious one-sidedness.[695] When a child becomes absorbed in solitary musing (see the youthful reminiscences of George Sand), he should be aroused by application to useful occupation 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 overindulgence degenerate into a deadly poison.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] L. Grasberger, Erziehung und Unterricht im klassischen Alterthum, Würzburg, 1864, vol. i, p. 23. See also Colozza’s compilation Il Guioco nella Psicologia e nella Pedagogia, Turin, 1895, p. 36.

[2] Die Spiele der Thiere, Jena, 1896. English translation by E. L. Baldwin. D. Appleton and Company, New York, 1898.

[3] This is a modification of my former view. For particulars, see the section on Imitative Play.

[4] Jodl, Lehrbuch der Psychologie, Stuttgart, 1896, p. 425.

[5] He speaks (Psychology des Sentiments, Paris, 1896, p. 195) of an instinctive impulse “à depenser un superflu d’activité.” If, as I 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 Psicologia del Bambino, Turin, 1894, p. 117.)

[6] Acquired impulses are all developed from natural ones.

[7] In Ribot’s classification these impulses become instincts belonging to the second group (Psychologie des Sentiments, p. 194).

[8] The terms “private” and “public” (or “social”) are used by Baldwin, Social and Ethical Interpretations, section 30, to cover a similar distinction. The terms “autonomic” and “socionomic” impulses would possibly answer.—ED.

[9] W. Preyer. Die Seele dee Kindes, 4^{to} Auf., Leipsic, 1895, p. 64.

[10] See the writings of J. Mark Baldwin on the importance of repetition for development. They are frequently cited in what follows.

[11] B. Perez. Ses trois premières années de l’enfant, fifth edition, Paris, 1892, pp. 38, 45.

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

[13] _Op. cit._, p. 162.

[14] L. Strümpell, Psychologische Pädagogik, Leipsic, 1880, pp. 359, 360.

[15] _Op. cit._, p. 357.

[16] Dr. Sikorski, L’évolution physique de l’enfant, Revue Philosophique xix (1885). p. 418.

[17]

“The wolves’ eyes burned in their heeds like fire,
But the boy in his folly fled 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. Zingerle, Das Deutsche Kinderspiel, second edition, Innsbruck, 1873. p. 51.

[18] Les trois premières années, etc., p. 46. In regard to the words “sensations agreeable or even indifferent,” I would say that this distinction between pleasure in sensation as such, and pleasure in agreeable sensation, recurs again and again. In the most advanced play, æsthetic enjoyment, it appears as the difference between æsthetic effect and beauty.

[19] G. Compayré, L’évolution intellectuelle et morale de l’enfant, Paris, 1893.

[20] H. Wölfflin, Prolegomena zu einer Psychologie der Architektur, Munich, 1886, p. 47.

[21] W. Joest, Allerlei Spielzeug, Internationales Archiv für Ethnographie, vol. vi (1893).

[22] Deutsche Colonialzeitung, 1889, No. 11.

[23] Croker’s Boswell’s Johnson, p. 215.

[24] _Op. cit._, p. 65.

[25] Perez, Les trois premières années, p. 16.

[26] _Op. cit._, p. 87.

[27] Compayré, indeed, maintains that kissing in no more than a “ressouvenir” of the lip movements on the maternal breast.

[28] L. Grasberger, _op. cit._, Part I, p. 35. Fig. 282 in Maurice Emmanuel’s book. La danse Grecque antique (Paris, 1896), furnishes a pictorial representation of this movement.

[29] Miss Romanes’s account of the capuchin ape perhaps furnishes an example from the animal world: “He pulls out hot cinders from the grate, and passes them over his head and chest, evidently enjoying the warmth, but never burning 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.

[30] “Un aveugle, voulant exprimer la volupté que lui causait cette chaleur du soleil invisible pour lui, disait quil croyait entendre le soleil comme une harmonie” (M. Guyan, Les problèmes de l’esthétique contemporaine, third edition, p. 61).

[31] A. Kussmaul, Untersuchungen über das Seelenleben des neugeborenen Menschen, 1859, p. 16.

[32] Les yeux et les narines étant fermés, dit Longet, on ne distinguera pas une crème à la vanille d’une crème au café; elles ne produiront qu’une sensation commune de saveur douce et sucrée (Perez, Les trois années, etc., p. 14).

[33] R. Semon, Im australischen Busch und an den Kusten des Korallenmeeres, Leipsic, 1896, p. 512.

[34] _Op. cit._, p. 18.

[35] _Op. cit._, p. 66.

[36] Mario Pilo, La psychologie de beau et de l’art, Paris, 1895, p. 15.

[37] This section has been published under the title Ueber Hör-Spiele, in the Vierteljahrsschrift f. wiss. Philos., xxii.

[38] Descent of Man, vol. ii, p. 228.

[39] E. and L. Selenka, Soninge Welt, Wiesbaden, 1896, p. 55. The cry is said to be less like a melody than a sort of exulting call. One of the Swiss hunters in the expedition said that the ape _jodeled_ back to him.

[40] W. Preyer, Die Seele des Kindes, p. 56. See Miss Shinn’s Notes on the Development of the Child, p. 115.

[41] J. Sully, Studies of Childhood, London, 1896, p. 409.

[42] B. Perez, Ses trois premières années des enfant, p. 34.

[43] E. Gurney, The Power of Sound, London, 1880, p. 102.

[44] B. Sigismund, Kind und Welt, 1897, p. 60.

[45] Miss Shinn’s small niece displayed very little appreciation for rhythm. _Loc. cit._, 120.

[46] This instance is subsCituted 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.

[47] See Gurney, _op. cit._, pp. 35, 306.

[48] Darwin, _op. cit._, vol. ii. p. 321.

[49] Streifzüge eines Unzeilgemässen, vol. viii, p. 122.

[50] P. Souriau, La Suggestion dans l’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.

[51] Karl Büchner’s pregnant hypothesis is that acquaintance with rhythm is chiefly derived from physical labour (Arbeit und Rhythmus, Leipsic, 1896).

[52] See B. O. Stoll, Suggestion und Hypnose in der Völkerpsychologie, and J. Lippert, Kulturgeschichte der Menschheit, vol. i, p. 632, where this idea is set forth with great clearness.

[53] Schopenhauer says, Rhythm (and rhyme) is “partly a means of keeping our attention—since we gladly follow it—and partly the occasion of a blind unreasoning submission in us to leadership, which by this means attains a certain authoritative and apparently unaccountable power over us.”

[54] _Op. cit._, p. 67.

[55] According 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, London, 1893, p. 232).

[56] E. Hanslick, Vom Musikalisch-Schönen, Leipsic, 1896, p. 153.

[57] _Op. cit._, pp. 168, 171.

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

[59] H. Siebeck, Das Wesen der Aesthetischen Anschauung, Berlin, 1875, p. 153.

[60] Köstlin, Aesthetik, p. 560.

[61] “Primitive music can not have grown 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).

[62] _Op. cit._, p. 272.

[63] In a celebrated Chinese poem the effect of music is thus described: “Now soft as whispered words, now soft and loud together—like pearls falling on marble—now coaxing as the call of birds, now complaining like a brook, and now like a mountain stream bursting its icy bounds.” When we recall the great difference in form between Chinese music and our own, the similarity of emotional effect is astonishing.

[64] Compayré, _op. cit._, p. 41.

[65] H. Gutzmann (Das Kindes Sprach und Sprachfehler, 1894, p. 7) shown that crying is good practice for talking, because, in contrast to the habitual method of breathing, a short, deep inhalation is followed by lingering exhalation, as in speech.

[66] _Loc. cit._, p. 368. It is, of course, difficult to say at what moment the automatic babbling attains the dignity of speech.

[67] Somewhat akin to inspiratory sounds are the clicking noises which 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 analogy between child-language and that of the lower races, see H. Gutzmann, Die Sprachlaute des Kindes und der Naturvölker, Westermann’s Monatshefte, December, 1895.

[68] Lubbock and Tylor have pointed out that reduplication is used much more in the speech of savages than in that of civilized peoples.

[69] _Op. cit._, p. 311. These citations are somewhat curtailed.—TR.

[70] L. Beeq de Fouquières, Les jeus des anciens, Paris, 1869, p. 278.

[71] Croker’s Boswell’s Johnson, p. 215.

[72] See K. Bücher, Arbeit und Rhythmus, p. 75.

[73] In subjective rhythm, a scale which is properly without accent is, as a rule, conceived of as having some tones emphasized to mark time. See E. Meumann, Untersuchungen zur Psychologie und Aesthetik des Rhythmus (Philos. Studien, vol. x, p. 286).

[74] _Loc. cit._, p. 301.

[75] R. M. Meyer, Ueber den Refrain, Zeitschrift f. vgl. Litt-Gesch., i, 1887, p. 34. Marie G——, for example, sang in her seventh year, when first awakened, _wólla_, _wólla_, _budscha_, incessantly and melodiously.

[76] _Loc. cit._, p. 62.

[77] “Le rythme ... vant surtout par son effet d’entrainement,” Souriau, La suggestion dans l’art, p. 47.

[78] W. Joest, Maylayische Lieder und Tänze aus Ambon und den Uliase (Molukken), Internat. Arch. f. Ethnogr., v, 1892, p. 23.

[79] The application of the principle of thirds to rhyme is interesting, since the echo-like ring of the triple rhyme has an effect very similar to that of chain rhymes.

[80] Miss Shinn, _loc. cit._, p. 134. With the mentally deranged the stringing of senseless rhymes is very common. One patient wrote on a sheet of paper. “Nelke, welke, Helge; Hilde, Tilde, Milde; Hand, Wand, Sand.” Kräpelin, Psychiatrie, Leipsic, 1896, p. 599.

[81] Rochholz, Alemannisches Kinderlied und Kinderspiel, Leipsic, 1857, p. 124.

[82] J. Mark Baldwin, Mental Development in the Child and the Race, 1895, p. 132.

[83] Rather a free translation of the verse in J. D. Georgens’s Mutter Büchlein. p. 170.

[84] F. M. Böhme, Deutsches Kinderlied und Kinderspiel, 1897, p. 302.

[85] A. Bastian, Die Völker des östlichen Asien, vol. iii, 1867, p. 227.

[86] See H. Ploss, Das Kind in Brauch and Sitte der Völker, 1882, vol. ii, p. 285.

[87] _Op. cit._, p. 57.

[88] L. Strümpell, Psychologische Pädagogik, p. 358.

[89] Sully, _loc. cit._, p. 415.

[90] _Op. cit._, p. 58.

[91] _Op. cit._, p. 33.

[92] _Op. cit._, p. 212.

[93] “Cracking the fingers,” writes Schellong from Kaiserwilhelmsland, “is a familiar practice with the little Papuan.” Zeitschrift für Ethnologie, xxi (1889), p. 16.

[94] G. A. Colozza does not sufficiently consider this versatility when he says in his interesting hook on play, “I giocattoli dei bambini poveri non sono che delle pietre; esse si divertono non poco nel sentire il rumore che si ha battendo pietra contra pietra.” Il Gienoco nella Psychologia e nella Pedagogia, p. 70.

[95] E. Grosse, Die Anfänge der Kunst, 1894, pp. 275, 277.

[96] G. Reischel, Aus allen Welttheilen, 1896, No. 2. Wallaschek did not believe that the drum is a primitive instrument chiefly because of our failure to find them among prehistoric relics, though the fife is frequently found among those of the stone age. 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 long use. Moreover, as Grosse points out in a letter to me, Wallaschek’s argument is not conclusive, inasmuch as the material used for primitive drums was perishable.

[97] Our bells, too, may be derived from the rattle.

[98] Les jeux des anciens, pp. 6, 12.

[99] See Rich. Andree, Ethnog. Parallellen und Vergleichen, 1889, p. 86.

[100] Alwin Schultz, Alltagsleben einer deutschen Frau zu Anfang des 18 Jahrhundert, 1890, p. 207.