intelligent dogs I ever knew. But the higher animals differ in exactly the
same way in this power of association from those low in the scale, such as
the pike, as well as in that of drawing inferences and of observation.
The promptings of reason, after very short experience, are well shewn by
the following actions of American monkeys, which stand low in their order.
Rengger, a most careful observer, states that when he first gave eggs to
his monkeys in Paraguay, they smashed them, and thus lost much of their
contents; afterwards they gently hit one end against some hard body, and
picked off the bits of shell with their fingers. After cutting themselves
only ONCE with any sharp tool, they would not touch it again, or would
handle it with the greatest caution. Lumps of sugar were often given them
wrapped up in paper; and Rengger sometimes put a live wasp in the paper, so
that in hastily unfolding it they got stung; after this had ONCE happened,
they always first held the packet to their ears to detect any movement
within. (26. Mr. Belt, in his most interesting work, 'The Naturalist in
Nicaragua,' 1874, (p. 119,) likewise describes various actions of a tamed
Cebus, which, I think, clearly shew that this animal possessed some
reasoning power.)
The following cases relate to dogs. Mr. Colquhoun (27. 'The Moor and the
Loch,' p. 45. Col. Hutchinson on 'Dog Breaking,' 1850, p. 46.) winged two
wild-ducks, which fell on the further side of a stream; his retriever tried
to bring over both at once, but could not succeed; she then, though never
before known to ruffle a feather, deliberately killed one, brought over the
other, and returned for the dead bird. Col. Hutchinson relates that two
partridges were shot at once, one being killed, the other wounded; the
latter ran away, and was caught by the retriever, who on her return came
across the dead bird; "she stopped, evidently greatly puzzled, and after
one or two trials, finding she could not take it up without permitting the
escape of the winged bird, she considered a moment, then deliberately
murdered it by giving it a severe crunch, and afterwards brought away both
together. This was the only known instance of her ever having wilfully
injured any game." Here we have reason though not quite perfect, for the
retriever might have brought the wounded bird first and then returned for
the dead one, as in the case of the two wild-ducks. I give the above
cases, as resting on the evidence of two independent witnesses, and because
in both instances the retrievers, after deliberation, broke through a habit
which is inherited by them (that of not killing the game retrieved), and
because they shew how strong their reasoning faculty must have been to
overcome a fixed habit.
I will conclude by quoting a remark by the illustrious Humboldt. (28.
'Personal Narrative,' Eng. translat., vol. iii. p. 106.) "The muleteers in
S. America say, 'I will not give you the mule whose step is easiest, but la
mas racional, - the one that reasons best'"; and; as, he adds, "this popular
expression, dictated by long experience, combats the system of animated
machines, better perhaps than all the arguments of speculative philosophy."
Nevertheless some writers even yet deny that the higher animals possess a
trace of reason; and they endeavour to explain away, by what appears to be
mere verbiage, (29. I am glad to find that so acute a reasoner as Mr.
Leslie Stephen ('Darwinism and Divinity, Essays on Free Thinking,' 1873, p.
80), in speaking of the supposed impassable barrier between the minds of
man and the lower animals, says, "The distinctions, indeed, which have been
drawn, seem to us to rest upon no better foundation than a great many other
metaphysical distinctions; that is, the assumption that because you can
give two things different names, they must therefore have different
natures. It is difficult to understand how anybody who has ever kept a
dog, or seen an elephant, can have any doubt as to an animal's power of
performing the essential processes of reasoning.") all such facts as those
above given.
It has, I think, now been shewn that man and the higher animals, especially
the Primates, have some few instincts in common. All have the same senses,
intuitions, and sensations, - similar passions, affections, and emotions,
even the more complex ones, such as jealousy, suspicion, emulation,
gratitude, and magnanimity; they practise deceit and are revengeful; they
are sometimes susceptible to ridicule, and even have a sense of humour;
they feel wonder and curiosity; they possess the same faculties of
imitation, attention, deliberation, choice, memory, imagination, the
association of ideas, and reason, though in very different degrees. The
individuals of the same species graduate in intellect from absolute
imbecility to high excellence. They are also liable to insanity, though
far less often than in the case of man. (30. See 'Madness in Animals,' by
Dr. W. Lauder Lindsay, in 'Journal of Mental Science,' July 1871.)
Nevertheless, many authors have insisted that man is divided by an
insuperable barrier from all the lower animals in his mental faculties. I
formerly made a collection of above a score of such aphorisms, but they are
almost worthless, as their wide difference and number prove the difficulty,
if not the impossibility, of the attempt. It has been asserted that man
alone is capable of progressive improvement; that he alone makes use of
tools or fire, domesticates other animals, or possesses property; that no
animal has the power of abstraction, or of forming general concepts, is
self-conscious and comprehends itself; that no animal employs language;
that man alone has a sense of beauty, is liable to caprice, has the feeling
of gratitude, mystery, etc.; believes in God, or is endowed with a
conscience. I will hazard a few remarks on the more important and
interesting of these points.
Archbishop Sumner formerly maintained (31. Quoted by Sir C. Lyell,
'Antiquity of Man,' p. 497.) that man alone is capable of progressive
improvement. That he is capable of incomparably greater and more rapid
improvement than is any other animal, admits of no dispute; and this is
mainly due to his power of speaking and handing down his acquired
knowledge. With animals, looking first to the individual, every one who
has had any experience in setting traps, knows that young animals can he
caught much more easily than old ones; and they can be much more easily
approached by an enemy. Even with respect to old animals, it is impossible
to catch many in the same place and in the same kind of trap, or to destroy
them by the same kind of poison; yet it is improbable that all should have
partaken of the poison, and impossible that all should have been caught in
a trap. They must learn caution by seeing their brethren caught or
poisoned. In North America, where the fur-bearing animals have long been
pursued, they exhibit, according to the unanimous testimony of all
observers, an almost incredible amount of sagacity, caution and cunning;
but trapping has been there so long carried on, that inheritance may
possibly have come into play. I have received several accounts that when
telegraphs are first set up in any district, many birds kill themselves by
flying against the wires, but that in the course of a very few years they
learn to avoid this danger, by seeing, as it would appear, their comrades
killed. (32. For additional evidence, with details, see M. Houzeau,
'Etudes sur les Facultes Mentales des Animaux,' tom. ii. 1872, p. 147.)
If we look to successive generations, or to the race, there is no doubt
that birds and other animals gradually both acquire and lose caution in
relation to man or other enemies (33. See, with respect to birds on
oceanic islands, my 'Journal of Researches during the Voyage of the
"Beagle,"' 1845, p. 398. 'Origin of Species,' 5th ed. p. 260.); and this
caution is certainly in chief part an inherited habit or instinct, but in
part the result of individual experience. A good observer, Leroy (34.
'Lettres Phil. sur l'Intelligence des Animaux,' nouvelle edit., 1802, p.
86.), states, that in districts where foxes are much hunted, the young, on
first leaving their burrows, are incontestably much more wary than the old
ones in districts where they are not much disturbed.
Our domestic dogs are descended from wolves and jackals (35. See the
evidence on this head in chap. i. vol. i., 'On the Variation of Animals and
Plants under Domestication.'), and though they may not have gained in
cunning, and may have lost in wariness and suspicion, yet they have
progressed in certain moral qualities, such as in affection, trust-
worthiness, temper, and probably in general intelligence. The common rat
has conquered and beaten several other species throughout Europe, in parts
of North America, New Zealand, and recently in Formosa, as well as on the
mainland of China. Mr. Swinhoe (36. 'Proceedings Zoological Society,'
1864, p. 186.), who describes these two latter cases, attributes the
victory of the common rat over the large Mus coninga to its superior
cunning; and this latter quality may probably be attributed to the habitual
exercise of all its faculties in avoiding extirpation by man, as well as to
nearly all the less cunning or weak-minded rats having been continuously
destroyed by him. It is, however, possible that the success of the common
rat may be due to its having possessed greater cunning than its fellow-
species, before it became associated with man. To maintain, independently
of any direct evidence, that no animal during the course of ages has
progressed in intellect or other mental faculties, is to beg the question
of the evolution of species. We have seen that, according to Lartet,
existing mammals belonging to several orders have larger brains than their
ancient tertiary prototypes.
It has often been said that no animal uses any tool; but the chimpanzee in
a state of nature cracks a native fruit, somewhat like a walnut, with a
stone. (37. Savage and Wyman in 'Boston Journal of Natural History,' vol.
iv. 1843-44, p. 383.) Rengger (38. 'Saugethiere von Paraguay,' 1830, s.
51-56.) easily taught an American monkey thus to break open hard palm-nuts;
and afterwards of its own accord, it used stones to open other kinds of
nuts, as well as boxes. It thus also removed the soft rind of fruit that
had a disagreeable flavour. Another monkey was taught to open the lid of a
large box with a stick, and afterwards it used the stick as a lever to move
heavy bodies; and I have myself seen a young orang put a stick into a
crevice, slip his hand to the other end, and use it in the proper manner as
a lever. The tamed elephants in India are well known to break off branches
of trees and use them to drive away the flies; and this same act has been
observed in an elephant in a state of nature. (39. The Indian Field,
March 4, 1871.) I have seen a young orang, when she thought she was going
to be whipped, cover and protect herself with a blanket or straw. In these
several cases stones and sticks were employed as implements; but they are
likewise used as weapons. Brehm (40. 'Thierleben,' B. i. s. 79, 82.)
states, on the authority of the well-known traveller Schimper, that in
Abyssinia when the baboons belonging to one species (C. gelada) descend in
troops from the mountains to plunder the fields, they sometimes encounter
troops of another species (C. hamadryas), and then a fight ensues. The
Geladas roll down great stones, which the Hamadryas try to avoid, and then
both species, making a great uproar, rush furiously against each other.
Brehm, when accompanying the Duke of Coburg-Gotha, aided in an attack with
fire-arms on a troop of baboons in the pass of Mensa in Abyssinia. The
baboons in return rolled so many stones down the mountain, some as large as
a man's head, that the attackers had to beat a hasty retreat; and the pass
was actually closed for a time against the caravan. It deserves notice
that these baboons thus acted in concert. Mr. Wallace (41. 'The Malay
Archipelago,' vol. i. 1869, p. 87.) on three occasions saw female orangs,
accompanied by their young, "breaking off branches and the great spiny
fruit of the Durian tree, with every appearance of rage; causing such a
shower of missiles as effectually kept us from approaching too near the
tree." As I have repeatedly seen, a chimpanzee will throw any object at
hand at a person who offends him; and the before-mentioned baboon at the
Cape of Good Hope prepared mud for the purpose.
In the Zoological Gardens, a monkey, which had weak teeth, used to break
open nuts with a stone; and I was assured by the keepers that after using
the stone, he hid it in the straw, and would not let any other monkey touch
it. Here, then, we have the idea of property; but this idea is common to
every dog with a bone, and to most or all birds with their nests.
The Duke of Argyll (42. 'Primeval Man,' 1869, pp. 145, 147.) remarks, that
the fashioning of an implement for a special purpose is absolutely peculiar
to man; and he considers that this forms an immeasurable gulf between him
and the brutes. This is no doubt a very important distinction; but there
appears to me much truth in Sir J. Lubbock's suggestion (43. 'Prehistoric
Times,' 1865, p. 473, etc.), that when primeval man first used flint-stones
for any purpose, he would have accidentally splintered them, and would then
have used the sharp fragments. From this step it would be a small one to
break the flints on purpose, and not a very wide step to fashion them
rudely. This latter advance, however, may have taken long ages, if we may
judge by the immense interval of time which elapsed before the men of the
neolithic period took to grinding and polishing their stone tools. In
breaking the flints, as Sir J. Lubbock likewise remarks, sparks would have
been emitted, and in grinding them heat would have been evolved: thus the
two usual methods of "obtaining fire may have originated." The nature of
fire would have been known in the many volcanic regions where lava
occasionally flows through forests. The anthropomorphous apes, guided
probably by instinct, build for themselves temporary platforms; but as many
instincts are largely controlled by reason, the simpler ones, such as this
of building a platform, might readily pass into a voluntary and conscious
act. The orang is known to cover itself at night with the leaves of the
Pandanus; and Brehm states that one of his baboons used to protect itself
from the heat of the sun by throwing a straw-mat over its head. In these
several habits, we probably see the first steps towards some of the simpler
arts, such as rude architecture and dress, as they arose amongst the early
progenitors of man.
ABSTRACTION, GENERAL CONCEPTIONS, SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS, MENTAL INDIVIDUALITY.
It would be very difficult for any one with even much more knowledge than I
possess, to determine how far animals exhibit any traces of these high
mental powers. This difficulty arises from the impossibility of judging
what passes through the mind of an animal; and again, the fact that writers
differ to a great extent in the meaning which they attribute to the above
terms, causes a further difficulty. If one may judge from various articles
which have been published lately, the greatest stress seems to be laid on
the supposed entire absence in animals of the power of abstraction, or of
forming general concepts. But when a dog sees another dog at a distance,
it is often clear that he perceives that it is a dog in the abstract; for
when he gets nearer his whole manner suddenly changes, if the other dog be
a friend. A recent writer remarks, that in all such cases it is a pure
assumption to assert that the mental act is not essentially of the same
nature in the animal as in man. If either refers what he perceives with
his senses to a mental concept, then so do both. (44. Mr. Hookham, in a
letter to Prof. Max Muller, in the 'Birmingham News,' May 1873.) When I
say to my terrier, in an eager voice (and I have made the trial many
times), "Hi, hi, where is it?" she at once takes it as a sign that
something is to be hunted, and generally first looks quickly all around,
and then rushes into the nearest thicket, to scent for any game, but
finding nothing, she looks up into any neighbouring tree for a squirrel.
Now do not these actions clearly shew that she had in her mind a general
idea or concept that some animal is to be discovered and hunted?
It may be freely admitted that no animal is self-conscious, if by this term
it is implied, that he reflects on such points, as whence he comes or
whither he will go, or what is life and death, and so forth. But how can
we feel sure that an old dog with an excellent memory and some power of
imagination, as shewn by his dreams, never reflects on his past pleasures
or pains in the chase? And this would be a form of self-consciousness. On
the other hand, as Buchner (45. 'Conferences sur la Theorie Darwinienne,'
French translat. 1869, p. 132.) has remarked, how little can the hard-
worked wife of a degraded Australian savage, who uses very few abstract
words, and cannot count above four, exert her self-consciousness, or
reflect on the nature of her own existence. It is generally admitted, that
the higher animals possess memory, attention, association, and even some
imagination and reason. If these powers, which differ much in different
animals, are capable of improvement, there seems no great improbability in
more complex faculties, such as the higher forms of abstraction, and self-
consciousness, etc., having been evolved through the development and
combination of the simpler ones. It has been urged against the views here
maintained that it is impossible to say at what point in the ascending
scale animals become capable of abstraction, etc.; but who can say at what
age this occurs in our young children? We see at least that such powers
are developed in children by imperceptible degrees.
That animals retain their mental individuality is unquestionable. When my
voice awakened a train of old associations in the mind of the before-
mentioned dog, he must have retained his mental individuality, although
every atom of his brain had probably undergone change more than once during
the interval of five years. This dog might have brought forward the
argument lately advanced to crush all evolutionists, and said, "I abide
amid all mental moods and all material changes...The teaching that atoms
leave their impressions as legacies to other atoms falling into the places
they have vacated is contradictory of the utterance of consciousness, and
is therefore false; but it is the teaching necessitated by evolutionism,
consequently the hypothesis is a false one." (46. The Rev. Dr. J. M'Cann,
'Anti-Darwinism,' 1869, p. 13.)
LANGUAGE.
This faculty has justly been considered as one of the chief distinctions
between man and the lower animals. But man, as a highly competent judge,
Archbishop Whately remarks, "is not the only animal that can make use of
language to express what is passing in his mind, and can understand, more
or less, what is so expressed by another." (47. Quoted in
'Anthropological Review,' 1864, p. 158.) In Paraguay the Cebus azarae when
excited utters at least six distinct sounds, which excite in other monkeys
similar emotions. (48. Rengger, ibid. s. 45.) The movements of the
features and gestures of monkeys are understood by us, and they partly
understand ours, as Rengger and others declare. It is a more remarkable
fact that the dog, since being domesticated, has learnt to bark (49. See
my 'Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication,' vol. i. p. 27.)
in at least four or five distinct tones. Although barking is a new art, no
doubt the wild parent-species of the dog expressed their feelings by cries
of various kinds. With the domesticated dog we have the bark of eagerness,
as in the chase; that of anger, as well as growling; the yelp or howl of
despair, as when shut up; the baying at night; the bark of joy, as when
starting on a walk with his master; and the very distinct one of demand or
supplication, as when wishing for a door or window to be opened. According
to Houzeau, who paid particular attention to the subject, the domestic fowl
utters at least a dozen significant sounds. (50. 'Facultes Mentales des
Animaux,' tom. ii. 1872, p. 346-349.)
The habitual use of articulate language is, however, peculiar to man; but
he uses, in common with the lower animals, inarticulate cries to express
his meaning, aided by gestures and the movements of the muscles of the
face. (51. See a discussion on this subject in Mr. E.B. Tylor's very
interesting work, 'Researches into the Early History of Mankind,' 1865,
chaps. ii. to iv.) This especially holds good with the more simple and
vivid feelings, which are but little connected with our higher
intelligence. Our cries of pain, fear, surprise, anger, together with
their appropriate actions, and the murmur of a mother to her beloved child
are more expressive than any words. That which distinguishes man from the
lower animals is not the understanding of articulate sounds, for, as every
one knows, dogs understand many words and sentences. In this respect they
are at the same stage of development as infants, between the ages of ten
and twelve months, who understand many words and short sentences, but
cannot yet utter a single word. It is not the mere articulation which is
our distinguishing character, for parrots and other birds possess this
power. Nor is it the mere capacity of connecting definite sounds with
definite ideas; for it is certain that some parrots, which have been taught
to speak, connect unerringly words with things, and persons with events.
(52. I have received several detailed accounts to this effect. Admiral
Sir B.J. Sulivan, whom I know to be a careful observer, assures me that an
African parrot, long kept in his father's house, invariably called certain
persons of the household, as well as visitors, by their names. He said
"good morning" to every one at breakfast, and "good night" to each as they
left the room at night, and never reversed these salutations. To Sir B.J.
Sulivan's father, he used to add to the " good morning" a short sentence,
which was never once repeated after his father's death. He scolded
violently a strange dog which came into the room through the open window;
and he scolded another parrot (saying "you naughty polly") which had got
out of its cage, and was eating apples on the kitchen table. See also, to
the same effect, Houzeau on parrots, 'Facultes Mentales,' tom. ii. p. 309.
Dr. A. Moschkau informs me that he knew a starling which never made a
mistake in saying in German "good morning" to persons arriving, and "good
bye, old fellow," to those departing. I could add several other such
cases.) The lower animals differ from man solely in his almost infinitely
larger power of associating together the most diversified sounds and ideas;
and this obviously depends on the high development of his mental powers.
As Horne Tooke, one of the founders of the noble science of philology,
observes, language is an art, like brewing or baking; but writing would
have been a better simile. It certainly is not a true instinct, for every
language has to be learnt. It differs, however, widely from all ordinary
arts, for man has an instinctive tendency to speak, as we see in the babble
of our young children; whilst no child has an instinctive tendency to brew,
bake, or write. Moreover, no philologist now supposes that any language
has been deliberately invented; it has been slowly and unconsciously
developed by many steps. (53. See some good remarks on this head by Prof.
Whitney, in his 'Oriental and Linguistic Studies,' 1873, p. 354. He
observes that the desire of communication between man is the living force,
which, in the development of language, "works both consciously and
unconsciously; consciously as regards the immediate end to be attained;
unconsciously as regards the further consequences of the act.") The sounds
uttered by birds offer in several respects the nearest analogy to language,
for all the members of the same species utter the same instinctive cries
expressive of their emotions; and all the kinds which sing, exert their
power instinctively; but the actual song, and even the call-notes, are
learnt from their parents or foster-parents. These sounds, as Daines
Barrington (54. Hon. Daines Barrington in 'Philosoph. Transactions,' 1773,