\ ALBERT R. MANN LIBRARY AT CORNELL UNTVBHSITY CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 3 1924 055 469 252 The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924055469252 THE PLAY OF MAN BY KARL GROOS PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF BASEL AUTHOR OF THE PLAY OF ANIMALS TRANSLATED WITH THE AUTHOR'S CO-OPERATION By ELIZABETH L. BALDWIN WITH A PREFACE BY J. MARK BALDWIN, Ph.D., hon. D. So. (Oxon.) PROFESSOR IN PRINCETON UNIVERSITY NEW YORK AND LONDON D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 1919 COPTKIOHT, 1901, By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. Printed in the United States of America EDITOE'S PREFACE The present writer contributed a somewhat lengthy preface and also an appendix to the translation of the author's earlier volume, The Play of Animals, mainly because — apart from the expressed wish of Professor Groos — ^he wanted to say something about the book. It is a pleasure to him now to have the justification for it which comes from the adoption by Professor Groos in this volume of the suggestions made in the translation of the earlier one. The main points have .all been accepted and used by the author (see pp. 265, 3Y6, 395, of this volume, for example), and further discussions of them have been brought out. This is said in view of the opin- ion of many that " introductions " are always out of place. A notable thing about the present volume, considered in relation to the Play of Animals, is the modification of the theory of play as respects its criteria — a point fully explained by the author in his Introduction (see especially p. 5). The present writer's editorial function has been con- fined to the insertion of various notes, and the suggest- ing to the translator of certain renderings; both mainly of a terminological sort (see pp. 5, 122, 133, 264, for ex- amples). In this connection it has been found possible to anticipate and follow the recommendations made in the present writer's Dictionary of Philosophy and Psy- chology (now in press), seeing that Professor Groos is in active co-operation with the committee engaged upon the German-English equivalents of that work, in so far adopted here. A particular case is the group of render- ings: "Preparation" (Voriibung), "Habituation" (Einli- ir THE PLAT OF MAN bung), "Exercise" (Ausiibung), all terms of the "Prac- tice " (Uebung) theory of play. Another case is the set of terms applied to the various reactions of " Shyness "-pe. g., " Bashf ulness " (Sohiichternheit), "Coyness" (Sprodig- keit), "Modesty" (Bescheidenheit), "Shame" (Scham), etc. Biologists will note the adoption of " Rudiment " for Anlage in its biological sense. Intrinsically the work will be found a worthy com- panion to The Play of Animals, a book which has already become famous. J. Mark Baldwin. AUTHOR'S PREFACE In this work my aim is to present the anthropological aspects of the same subject treated of in my psychological investigation of animal play, published in 1896, which may be said to have been a pioneer attempt in its depart- ment. In the discussion of human play, however, I am supported by valuable philosophical works, among which I acknowledge myself especially indebted to those of Schaller, Lazarus, and Colozza. In regard to the stand- point from which I approach the general problem of play, it is hardly necessary for me to speak at length here. It is the same practice theory on which I intrenched myself in the earlier work. The difficulties in its way, arising from our as yet imperfect understanding of human im- pulse life, are fuUy allowed for in the introduction to the first section, and I ana. convinced that the results attained by its adoption will, on the whole, justify the method of treatment which I have chosen. Since it was my interest in aesthetics which first in- duced me to turn my attention to the subject of play, it is natural that the assthetic phase of the question should be conspicuous in this volume. Still, I wish it to be dis- tinctly understood that my inquiry has not been con- ducted solely in obedience to such leadings, nor should it. be judged exclusively by aesthetic criteria. I have inten- tionally left many questions open for more mature con- sideration, at some future time, when I can give to them more thought than was possible in the year's study which I have devoted to play phenomena. Kael Geoos. CONTENTS Editor's Preface . Author's Preface .... The System of Plat— Introduction PAGE iii T 1 PART I PLAYFUL EXPERIMENTATION ^ I. Playful Activity of the Sensory Apparatus . . 7 1. Sensations of contact 7 2. Sensations of temperature 14 3. Sensations of taste 14 4. Sensations of smell 16 5. Sensations of hearing 18 (a) Eeceptive sound-play ...... 19 (6) Productive sound-play ..... 31 6. Sensations of sight 48 (a) Sensations of brightness 50 (6) The perception of colour 54 (c) Perception of form ...... 60 {3) Perception of movement 67 II. Playful Use of the Motor Apparatus ... 74 A. Playful movement of the bodily organs . . . 75 B. Playful movement of foreign bodies ... 95 1. Hustling things about P5 3. liestructive (analytic) movement-play . . 97 3. Constructive (synthetic) movement-play . . 09 4, Playful exercise of endurance .... 101 viii THE PLAY OF MAN PASS 5. Throwing plays 103 (a) Simple throwing 105 (&) Throwing with the help of a stroke or blow . 107 (c) Rolling, spinning, shoving, and skipping foreign bodies 110 (d) Throwing at a mark .... 114 6. Catching . . 118 III. Platfdl Use of the Higher Mental Powers . . 131 A. Experimentation with the mental powers , . 123 1. Memory 133 (a) Recognition 133 (6) Reflective memory 138 2. Imagination 131 (a) Playful illusion 131 (6) Playful transformation of the memory- content 135 3. Attention 144 4. Reason 153 B. Experimentation with the feelings .... 158 1. Physical pain 159 3. Mental suffering 160 3. Surprise 163 4. Pear 166 C. Experimentation with the will .... 169 PAET II TETE PLAYFUL EXERCISE OF IMPULSES OF TEE SECOND OB SO CIO NO MIC ORDER I. Fighting- Play 173 1. Direct physical fighting play 174 3. Direct mental- contests 186 3. Physical rivalry 197 4. Mental rivalry 201 5. The destructive impulse 217 6. Teasing 320 7. Enjoyment of the comic 233 8. Hunting play 237 9. Witnessing fights and fighting plays. The tragic . 344 CONTENTS ix PAOS II. Love Plat 352 1. Natural courtship play 2o4 2. Love play in art 368 3. Sex in the comic 378 III. Imitative Play 380 1. Playful imitation of simple movements . . , 391 (a) Optical percepts 291 (5) Playful imitation of acoustic percepts . . 394 3. Dramatic imitation in play 300 [3. Plastic or constructive imitative play . . . 318 4. Inner imitation 823 IV. Social Plat 384 PAET III TSE TEEOBT OF PLAT 1. The physiological standpoint ....•! 361 2. The biological standpoint 369 3. The psychological standpoint 379 4. The aesthetic standpoint 389 5. The sociological standpoint 395 6. The pedagogical standpoint 398 Index 407 THE PLAT OF MAN THE SYSTEM OF PLAT Introduction While many have uiidertaken, by various methods, to classify human play satisfactorily, in no single case has the result been entirely fortunate. Grasberger remarked, a quarter of a century ago, that a permanent classification of play had not up to that time been achieved,* and in my opinion the present decade finds the situation essentially unchanged. Under these circumstances, I can hardly hope that my own classification will satisfy all demands, but I reassure myself with the reflection that absolute systematization is and must remain, in the vast majority of cases, a mere logical ideal. Yet even an imperfect classification may justify itself in two ways : it may be very comprehensive and practical, or its aptly chosen grounds of distinction may serve to open at once to the reader the inmost core of the subject under discussion. My special effort has been directed to the second of these uses, adopting as I do the conception of impulse life as a starting point; how far I may have attained to the first as well is for others to judge. I consider the governing force of instinct as having been fully established in the study of animal play. In the book f which deals with this subject I reached 4he conclusion that among higher animals certain instincts * 1. Grasberger, Erziehung und Dnterricht im klassisohen Alterthum, Wilrzhurg, 1864, vol. i, p. 28. See also Colozza's oompilation II Guooo nella Psicologia e nella Pedagogia, Turin, 1895, p. 36. + Die Spiele der Thiere, Jena, 1896. English translation by E. L. Baldwin. 1). Appleton and Company, New York, 1898. 1 2 THE PLAY OF MAN are present which, especially in youth, but also in matu- rity, produce activity that is without serious intent, and so give rise to the various phenomena which we include m the word " play." I shall treat of the biological signifi- cance of this fact in the second, the theoretical section of this book. Here I confine myself to remarking briefly that in child's play (which, according to one theory of our subject, is of the utmost importance) opportunity is given to the animal, through the esercise of inborn dispositions, ,to strengthen and increase his inheritance in the acquisi- tion of adaptations to his complicated environment, an achievement which would be unattainable by mere me- chanical instinct alone. The fact that youth is par excel- lence the period of play is in thorough harmony with this theory. An analogous position is tenable in the treatment of human play, although the word instinct, while generally applicable, is not universally so — a difficulty which is much more conspicuous here than in the classification of ani- mal play. We lack a comprehensive and yet specific term for those unacquired tendencies which are grounded in our psycho-physical organism as such. The word instinct does not cover the ground with its commonly accepted definition as inherited association between stimuli and particular bodily reactions. Even the imitative impulse, which is responsible for the important group of imitative plays, is not easily included in this idea, because no spe- cific reaction characterizes it.* It is safer, therefore, to speak of such play as the product of " natural or heredi- tary impulse," although even that is not entirely satis- factory, since many psychologists connect the idea of impulse with a tendency to physical movement. There are undoubtedly deep-rooted requirements of our nature which this definition does not include, and which must be given due weight in our study of play. Thus, as Jodl, in agreement with Beaunis and others, maintains, every sensory tract has not only the ability to receive and act upon certain stimuli, but betrays itself originally through * This is a modification of my former view. For particulars, see the section on Imitative Play. INTRODUCTION 3 desire for their realization.* And if we keep in mind the tension toward special sensation, always present even in a state of comparative rest and distraction of the sense organ, as well as those external movements which are no longer the particular object of desire, we find ourselves still further from the narrow idea of instinct in relation to psycho-physical processes. In this dilemma we can only hold fast to the fact of the primal need for activity, which, while it can not, any more than the other, be in- cluded in the narrower use of the terms, has neverthe- less an unmistakable relation to the life of impulse and in- stinct. And while it is true that mere intellectual fiat is not adequate to the establishment of such causal con- nections, one might be tempted, under the stress of dire need, to coin some such term as " central instinct," did not any added burden threaten to plunge the already over-weighted term into a very chaos of obscurity. The case is much the same, too, with other mental attributes. Who is to decide whether it is lawful to assume a uni- versal " impulse to activity " (Kibot approaches such an assumption) f which may, according to circumstances, be- come now effort after emotional excitement, now desire for logical expression and the like? Or who shall pass on the legitimacy of a revival of the hereditary central- impulse theory which directs attention not to external physical movement, but exclusively to such internal dis- positions as are dependent on the psycho-physical organ- ization? Should this latter view prevail, biological psy- chology will have before it the task of linking an ancient idea — it was developed in TJlrici's Leib und Seele in 1866 — to the body of modem science. As it is likely to be some time yet before scientific ter- minology shall have attained such clearness and perfec- tion in a sphere by no means easily accessible, that we may count on banishing all obscurity, I must content myself ^.__ ^ ...195) of an instinctive Imputse ^' i depenser un superflu d'activit^." Iif,"a8 1 believe, this does not mean actual superfluity (Spencer's "surplus" energy), tiien it must refer to our natural impulse to seek action and experience. See also Paolo Lombroso, Piacere di esplioare la propria activita. (Saggi di Psioologia del Bambino, Turin, 1894, p. 117.) 4 THE PLAY OF MAN ■with the term "natural or inherited impulse"* as the hasis of my classification. In far the greater number of cases it is equivalent to simple instinct. But in the imitative im- pulse we have something which is analogous only to in- stinct, and in reference to the higher mental disposi- tions to activity, the term " impulse " must be expanded beyond its usual significance. I am well aware that my classification lacks precision, but I venture to think that ' it affords deeper insight into the problem than may be had by other means and that some aspects of the subject, not evident from other standpoints, may be brought out by this method of treatment. The first important distinction made is that between the impulses by which the individual wins supremacy over his own psycho-physical organism without regard to other individuals prominent in his environment, and such other impulses as are directly concerned with his relations to others. To the first group belong all the manifold impulses which issue in human activity, those controlling his sensory and motor apparatus f as well as the higher mental dispositions which impel him to corresponding acts. To the second group we assign the fighting and sex- ual impulses, imitation, and the social dispositions closely connected with these. Each of these manifests its own peculiar play activity. Unfortunately, an adequate ter- minology here, too, is wanting, and as the opposites " ego- tism and altruism," '" individualism and socialism," are not admissible in our classification, it is difficult to desig- nate the two groups with propriety. While awaiting bet- ter names for them, I am forced to the very unsatisfactory expedient of calling them impulses of the first order and impulses of the second order.J To denote the playful ex- ercise of the first order of impulses, I shall use the expres- sion " playful experimentation," which is already adopted in child-psychology, and also, by myself at least, in ani- mal psychology. * Acquired impulses are all developed from natural ones. t In Kibot's claesiiication these impulses become instincts belonginff to the second group (Psychologie des Sentiments, p. 194). J The terms " private " and " public " (or " social ") are used by Bald- win, Social and Ethical Interpretations, section 30, to cover a similar distinction. The terms " autonomic " and " sooionomio " impulses would possibly answer. — Ed. INTRODUCTION 5 As all further subdivisions will be effected without difficulty in the course of our investigation, I add here only a brief note on the general characteristics of the playful exercise of these impulses. The biological cri- terion of play is that it shall deal not with the serious exercise of the special instinct, but with practice pre- paratory to it. Such practice always responds to definite, needs, and is accompanied by pleasurable feelings. The^, psychological criterion corresponds with it; thus, when an act is performed solely because of the pleasure it affords, there is play. Yet, the consciousness of engaging in sham occupation is not a universal criterion of play. PART I PLAYFUL EXPERIMENTATION I. Playful Activity of the Sensory Apparatus 1. Sensations of Contact The newborn infant is susceptible to touch sensations. Movements and loud cries can be induced directly after it has for the first time become quiet, by pinching the skin or slapping the thigh* Experiments with the hands and mouth are most satisfactory, as these organs are ex- tremely sensitive from the first. During its first week the child makes many purely automatic motions with its hands, and frequently touches its face. When contact is had in this way with the lips, they react with gentle suck- ing movements, and later follows the playful sucking of the fingers so common among children. It is, of course, difficult to say when such movements are conscious or when they are the result of taste stimuli.f According to Perez, a two-months-old babe enjoys being stroked softly, and from that moment it is possible- that it may seek, by its ovrai movements, to provide touch stimuli for itself. Here play begins. " Touch now controls. At three months the child begins to reach out for the purpose of grasping with his hand ; he handles like an amateur con- noisseur, and the tendency to seek and to test muscular sensations develops in him from day to day." $ a. We will first notice grasping with the hand as it is connected with taste stimuli. The merely instinctive * W. Preyer, Die Seele des Kindea, i" Auf., Leipsio, 1895, p. 64. + See the writinfrs of J. Mark Baldwin on the importance of repetition for development. They are frequently cited in what follows. t B. Perez, Ses trois premieres ann^es de I'enfant, fifth edition, Pari^ 1892, pp. 38, 45. 2 7 8 THE PLAY OF MAN movements of the first few days are multiplied and fixed, by means of inherited adaptation, progressively from the beginning of the second quarter year. The child begins by handling every object which comes within his reach, even his own body, and especially his feet, and one hand with the other* In all this not only the motor element, of which we will speak later, but also the sensor stimulus becomes an object of interest, as Preyer's observation shows. " In the eighteenth week, whenever the effort to grasp was unsuccessful its fingers were attentively re- garded. Evidently the child expected the sensation of con- tact, and when it was not forthcoming wondered at the ab- sence of the feeling."! This practice in grasping promotes the opposition of the thumb, which first appears toward the end of the first quarter, and from that time the refine- ment of the sense of contact progresses rapidly. At eight months Striimpell's little daughter took great pleasure in picking up very small objects, like bread crumbs or pearls.^ This illustrates the familiar fact that play leads up from what is easy to more difficult tasks, since only deliberate conquest can produce the feeling of pleas- ure in success. At about this time, too, the child's ex- plorations of its own body are extended, and their con- clusions confirmed by the recognition of constant local signs. " As soon as she discovered her ear," says Striim- pell of his now ten-months-old daughter, " she seized upon it as if she wished to tear it off." In her third year Marie G found on the back of her ear two little pro- jections of cartilage, which she examined with the great- est interest, calling them balls, and wanting everybody to feel them. The nose, too, is repeatedly investigated. Although it is seldom large enough to be grasped, still, as Stanley Hall says, it is handled with unmistakable signs of curiosity, and often pulled or rubbed " in an investigating way." * The value of the sense of touch for the earliest mental * See G. Stanley Hall, Some Aspects of the Early Sense of Self. American Journal of Psychology, vol. ix, No. 3, 1898. + Of, at., -p. 162. t L. Striimpell, Psychologische Padagogik, Leipsio, 1880, pp. 359, 360. * Op. cit., p. 357. SENSATIONS OF CONTACT 9 development is testified to by the fact that the child, like doubting Thomas, trusts more to it than to his sight. Sikorski says : " At tea I turn to my eleven-months baby, point to the cracker jar, which she knows, and ask her to give me one. I open the empty jar and the child looks in, but, not satisfied with that, sticks her hand in and explores. The evidence of her eyes does not convince her of the absence of what she wants." * In Wolfdietrich one verse runs: " Die Augen in ihren (der Wolfe) Hauptem, die brannten wie ein Lioht, Der Knabe war nooh thSricht und zagt vor Feinden nioht. Es ging zu einem jeden und griff ihm mit der Hand, Wo er die lichten Augen in ihren Kopfen fand." t Older children lose the habit of playful investigation quite as little as any of the other manifestations of ex- perimentation, even when the sensations encountered are not particularly agreeable. Richard Wagner liked to handle satin, and Sacher Masoch delighted in soft fur. In later life as well, Perez continues, all the senses strive for satisfaction; when the adult is not forced by neces- sity to put all his faculties at the service of " attention utile " he becomes a child again. He easily falls back into the habit of gazing instead of looking, of listening in- stead of hearing, of handling instead of touching, of moving about merely for the sake of sensations agree- able or even indifferent which are produced by these automatic acts.t We all know how hard it is for school children to keep their hands still during recitation. " I knew a little girl," says Compayre, " who would under- take to recite only on condition that she be allowed to * Dr. Sikorski, L'^volution physique de I'enfant, Kevue Philoaophique six (1885), p. 418. f " The wolves' eyes burned in their heads 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. I Les trois premieres ann^es, etc., p. 46. In regard to the words " sen- sations agreeable or even indifferent," I would say that this distinction between pleasure in sensation as such, and pleasure in agreeable sensa- tion, recurs again and again. In the most advanced play, aesthetic enjoy- ment, it appears as the difference between assthetio effect and beauty. 10 THE PLAT OF MAN use her fingers at the same time, and she would sew and thread her needle while she was spelling." * The knitting of women while they listen is perhaps of the same nature. Wolfflin remarks : " We all know that many people, espe- cially students, in order to think clearly need a sharp- pointed pencil, which they pass back and forth through the fingers, sharpening their wits by the sensation of contact." t Then, too, there are the innumerable toying movements of adults, such as rolling bread crumbs and the like, all of which serves to introduce a short ethno- logical digression. "In the year 1881," relates the bril- liant W. Joest, " when I was travelling through Siberia, ... I noticed that many of the men, requiring some oc- cupation for their nervous hands during leisure hours, played absently with walnuts, which had become highly polished from constant use." He saw stones, brass and iron balls, and the Turkish tespi, whose original use is devotional, employed for the same purpose; indeed, Le- vantines, who are not Mohanunedans, often regard these latter as special instruments of gaming and vice.f Carrying a walking-stick is another playful satisfac- tion in which the hand's sensation of contact has a part, while the lead pencil, small as it is, will sometimes satisfy the demand for " something in the hand." This is a genuine craving, which betrays itself in all sorts of awk- ward movements if we try to deny its indulgence. Car- rying a cane is a remarkably widespread custom, and some think that the very small stone hatchets so common in ethnological museums as relics of a prehistoric time were used as cane handles in the stone age. Joest says, in the article cited above, that walking-sticks are used in mil- lions of forms, on every continent and island of our earth. The naked KafiSr uses a slender, fragile cane of unusual length, and, according to P. Eeichard,* his ideal of peace and prosperity is embodied in " going to walk with a * G. Compayrd, L'4volution intelleotuelle et morale de I'eufant, Paris, 1893. t H. Wolfflin, Prolegomena zu einer Payohologie der Arohitektur, Munich, 1886, p. i1. t W. Joest, AUerlei Spielzeug, Internationales Arohiv fQr Ethnogra- phie, vol. vi (18931. * Deutsche Colonialzeitung, 1889, No. 11. SENSATIONS OP CONTACT H cane," since this implies freedom from the necessity of bearing arms. I close this digression with an instance which borders on the pathological. Sheridan was waiting for the celebrated Samuel Johnson, well known to be eccentric, to dine with him, and saw the doctor approach- ing from a distance, " walking along with a peculiar solemnity of deportment and an awkward sort of meas- ured step. At that time the broad flagging at each side of the streets was not universally adopted, and stone posts were in use to prevent the annoying of carriages. Upon every post, as he passed along, I could observe he deliberately laid his hand, but, missing one of them, when he had got at some distance he seemed suddenly to recol- lect himself, and, immediately returning back, carefully performed the accustomed ceremony and resumed his former course, not omitting one till he gained the cross- ing. This, Mr. Sheridan assured me, however odd it might appear, was his constant practice." * i. The mouth of an infant is, of course, very sensitive to touch stimuli, and the lips and tongue are especially so. When Preyer put the end of an ivory pencil into the mouth of a child whose head only was born as yet, it began to suck, opened its eyes and seemed, to judge from its countenance, " to be very agreeably affected." t It happens very soon that automatic arm movements acci- dentally bring the fingers near the mouth, and such auto- matic sucking results. From it the familiar habit of thumb sucking is formed, as well as the practice of carry- ing every possible object to the mouth. " Your finger, a scrap of cloth, a bottle, fruit, flowers, insects, vases, objects large and small, attractive or repulsive, all seek the same goal." t I think Compayre is right when he says that it is not merely a case of duped appetite which Preyer points out. "The child enjoys the mere contact; it gives him pleasure to test with his lips everything that offers an oc- casion for the use of his nerves and muscles." * We find that in later life many persons like to play about the lips * Croker'B Boswell's Johnson, p. 215. t Op. cit., p. 65. X Perez, Les trois premieres ann^es, p. 16. # Op. dt., p. 87. 12 THE PLAY OF MAN with fingers, penholder, etc. Many, too, who have out- grown the fascinations of thumb sucking, still lay a finger lightly on the lips when going to sleep or when half awake. The pleasure derived from smoking is due perhaps more than we realize to this instinct, and the common habit of holding in the mouth a broken twig, a leaf, a stalk of grass or hay, so far as it is not practice in chewing, be- longs here. In K. E. Edler's romance. Die neue Herrin (Berlin, 189 Y, p. 137), portraits of the extinct species of young lady are described. " In this one the lips pressed a cigarette, while in other pictures a rose stalk, the head of a riding crop, or some other object, not excluding her own dainty finger, was held against them, showing that in those days the mouth must have something to do as well as the hands, feet, eyes, and all the rest of the body." Finally, it must be remembered that much of the en- joyment of delicate food is due to the sense of contact. When certain viands are consumed without hunger, be- cause " they slip down so easily," we have play with touch sensations. This has something to do with the popular- ity of oysters and of effervescing drinks. " It tastes like your foot's asleep," said a small maiden on being allowed to taste something of the kind^a proof of the close con- nection with touch stimuli. t I A few words may suffice in regard to playful use of touch sensations in other parts of the body. We have seen that an infant enjoys being softly stroked, and we may assume that a soft bed is appreciated early in life. The question is, whether the child or the adult voluntarily produces such sensations for the sake of the pleasure they afford. Perhaps this is why we like to roll about on a soft bed, and more unmistakably playful is the fondness of children for throwing themselves repeatedly into a well-filled feather bed or on piles of hay, to feel them- selves sink into the elastic mass. Violent contact is in- dulged in in many dances. In the Siederstanz, which I myself learned in the Gymnasium, the thighs were beaten with the hands. Somewhat similar, but decidedly more * Compayrd, indeed, maintains that kissing is no more than a " res- souvenir " of the lip movements on the maternal breast. SENSATIONS OF CONTACT 13 violent, is the Haxenschlagen of the Bavarian dances, and the ancients practised the padmrvyiCeiv, an alternate strik- ing of the foot soles on the back. A verse is preserved, written in praise of a Spartan maiden who succeeded in keeping this up longer than any one else — one thousand times.* Water afEords delightful sensations of touch; in the bath, of course, enjoyment of the movements and tem.- perature is more conspicuous, but the soothing gentleness of tMl moist element is not to be despised. For con- firmation I will cite Morike's beautiful verses: " Fluss, mein FIubb im Morgen- " stream, my stream in the strahl ! morning beam 1 Empfange nun, empfange Eeoeive me now, receive Den sehnsuchtvollen Leib einmal Me thrilling, longing as I am, tJnd kllBse Brust und Wange ! And kiss my breast and cheek ; Er filhlt mir schon her auf die I feel already in my breast Brust, The cooling, soothing influence Er klihlt mit Liebessohauerlust Of fresh, delicious showers Und jauchzeudem Gesange. And joyous, rippling song. [" Es sohlllpft der goldne Sonnenschein " The golden sunshine rains on ma In Tropfen an mir wider. In glittering drops. Soft waves Die Woge wieget aus und ein Caress my yielding limbs. Die hingegebnen Glieder ; My outstretched arms receive Die Arme hab' ioh ausgespannt, them Sie kommt auf mich herzugerannt. As they hasten up to clasp Sie fasst und lasst mich wieder." And then release me." Here, as in all specialized pleasures, intensive emotion betrays itself. In sea bathing the principal stimulus is found in the sharp blow from the waves as they break repeatedly over one. Last of all, we notice the sensation of movement in the air. We take ofE our hats to let the wind play with our hair, and fanning is not always in- dulged in merely for the sake of cooling off, but also for the sake of the touch stimuli excited by the soft contact with waves of air. * L. Grasberger, m>. cU., Part I, p. 35. Fig. 282 in Maurice Emman- uel's book, La danse Grecque antique (Paris, 1896), furnishes a pictorial representation of this movement. 14: THE PLAY OF MAN 2. Sensations of Temperature There is a scarcity of material under this head, since the occasions to produce such sensations, except for the serious purposes of cooling or warming ourselves, are comparatively rare. Among the few that may safely be called playful, the most prominent is the seeking for strong stimuli for their very intensities' sake, and because like all powerful excitation, they give us the feeling of "heightened reality" (Lessing). When we court the etinging cold of a winter day, or sit in spring sunshine to get " baked through for once," * we are as much playing, I think, as when watching rippling water, or gazing at heaven's blue dome.f Cool air has the same refreshing effect as a cold bath, while even in a warm bath the pleas- antness of the temperature sensation is a satisfaction quite apart from its cleansing and sanitary effects, and most bathers will stretch themselves out to enjoy it for a little while after soap and sponge have done their duty. Among the refinements of the sense of taste, too, the stimulus of heat and cold is conspicuous, as ices and pep- permint, hot grog, spices, and spirits witness. 3. Sensations of Taste Brevity of treatment is accorded to this class of sen- sations as well, though in this case from no lack of data. Kussmaul's investigations :]: Show that, as a rule, the child prefers sweets from its birth, and will reject any- thing bitter, sour, or salt, although, until the later devel- oped sense of smell is perfected, it is incapable of more * Miss Eomanes's account of the eapuohin 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. + " Un aveugle, voulant exprimer la volupt^ que lui oausait cette chaleur du soleil invisible pour lui, disait quil croyait entendre le soleil comme une harmonic " (M. Guyan, Les problemes de I'esth^tique contem- poraine, third edition, p. 61). X A. Kussmaul, Untersuohungen liber das Seelenleben des neugebore- nen Mermchen, 1859, p. 16. SENSATIONS OF TASTE 15 delicate taste distmctions.* On the whole, we find that with children such distinctions are less varied than among adults, the sweet of candy and the acid of fruits furnish- ing the staple material for their playful use of the sense. It is true that the pleasure which they derive from these is extreme. I well remember what unheard-of quantities of these viands were consimied at our birthday fetes at school in Heidelberg, by children from six to nine years of age, not at all because they were hungry, but from, mere pleasure in the taste. For we find even in children that enjoyment of eating is no more confined to the satis- faction of hunger than is aesthetic pleasure limited to the contemplation of the beautiful. When Marie G was barely three years old she displayed an unmistakable preference for piquant flavours; even those which were evidently disagreeable in themselves she enjoyed, trying them again and again for the sake of the stimulus they afforded — a taste which is much more common among adults than with children. A review of the pleasures and practices of the table at various periods and among various peoples is an allur- ing but here impracticable undertaking. Let it suffice to cite one example from the ancients, that most cele- brated of all descriptions of revelry at the board, the coena Trimalchionis of Petronius, which W. A. Becker has made use of in his Gallus. The following will serve as a characteristic ethnological instance of the enjosrtnent of flavours, which are, to put it mildly, decidedly equivocal. In Java the durian tree bears green prickly fruit, about the size of cocoanuts and with a flavour which, according to Wallace, furnishes a new sensation well worth journey- ing to the Orient for. The smell of it is something frightful — a cross between musk and garlic, with sugges- tions of carrion and " overripe " cheese. The taste is aro- matic, satisfying, and nutty, like a combination of cream cheese, onion sauce, and burnt sherry. This fruit is rig- idly excluded from the hotels, as its odour would instan- * Les yeux et las narines ^tant fermfe, dit Longet, on ne distinjruera pas une cr^me k la vanille d'line creme au caf^ ; elles ne produiront qu'une sensation commune de saveur douce et suorfo (Perez, Les trois ann^es, etc., p. 14). 16 THE PLAY OP MAN taneously pervade every room, but it is sought elsewhere by the guests and eaten with avidity. Semon says of it : " This fruit, like our strong, rich cheeses, is detested by those who are not fond of it." * What various associa- tions are connected with the pleasures of the palate is shown by the epitheta ornantia of a wine list, such as strong, fiery, soft, fresh, lovely, sharp, elegant, hard, spicy, fruity, and smooth. Huysmans, in his novel A Eebours, gives a pathological example of amusement derived from taste association in the following passage. After describ- ing the life of the nervously diseased Des Esseintes, he goes on : " In his dining room was a closet containing miniature casks on dainty sandalwood stands, each one fitted with a silver cock. Des Esseintes called this col- lection his mouth organ. A rod connected all the cocks, and they could be turned with a single movement answer- ing to the pressure of a knob concealed in the woodwork, filling all the little glasses at once. The organ was stand- ing open, the register with the inscriptions of flute, cor, voix celeste, etc, displayed, and all was ready for use. Des Esseintes sipped here and there a few drops, playing an inner symphony and deriving from the sensations of his palate pleasure like that produced on the ear by music." 4. Sensations of Smell The ability to distinguish the character of odours seems to be a later development than taste differentia- tion. At least this is the case with regard to the enjoy- ment of agreeable smells. Among children of various ages experimented on by Perez, one of ten months showed some appreciation of the perfume of a rose,t but most children are probably first rendered susceptible to pleas- ure from scents by their association with flavours. Girls, however, seem to enjoy sweet smells as such more than boys do, though M. Guyan relates that he recalls vividly the emotion penetrante which he experienced on inhaling for the first time the perfume of a lily-t * E. Semon, Im australisolien Busoli imd an den Kusten des Korallen- meeres, Leipsic, 1896, p. 512. + Op. dt., p. 18. J Op. cit., p. 66. SENSATIONS OF SMELL 17 With reference to adults, the same writer may be cited : " In spite of its relative incompleteness, the sense of smell has much to do with our enjoyment of landscape, whether actually viewed or vividly portrayed. No por- trayal of Italy is complete without the softened atmos- phere which recalls the perfume of its oranges, nor of Brittany or Gascony without the crisp sea air which Victor Hugo has so justly celebrated, nor of pine forests without suggestions of its aroma." " The passion for smoking," says Pilo (I give this to show how complicated our apparently simple enjoyments may be), " is so general because almost all the senses are flattered impartially by it; visceral, muscular, and taste sensations are involved in the use of the lungs which it calls for, the lips, tongue, teeth, and salivary glands through feelings of tempera- ture; the senses of taste and smell through the piquant, aromatic flavour; hearing, in a very direct and intimate way, through the crackling of the leaves and the rhythmic inhaling and exhaling of the breath; and, finally, the sense of sight in gazing at the glowing cigar and soft, gray ashes and curling smoke which winds and glides upward in a fantastic spiral ; while the brain, under the soothing influence of the narcotic, enjoys a repose enlivened by dreams and visions." * Complete as this description ap- pears, it yet misses one point — ^namely, the sucking move- ments which, from the recollections of the earliest months of life, we associate with pleasurable feeling. We may find the Des Esseintes of Huysmans's romance useful once more. " Wishing now to enjoy a beautiful and varied landscape, he began to play full, sonorous chords, which at once called up before the vision a perspective of bound- less prairie lands. By means of his vaporizer, the room was filled with an essence skilfully compounded by an artist hand and well deserving of its name — ^Extract of the Flowery Plain. . . . Having completed his back- ground, which now stretched itself before his closed eyes in bold lines, he breathed over it all a light spray of essences, . . . such as powdered and painted ladies- use — stephanotis, ayapapa, opoponax, chypre, champaka, * Mario Pilo, La psyohologie de beau et de Part, Paris, 1895, p. 15. 18 THE PLAY OF MAN sarkanthus — and added a suspicion of lilac, to lend to this artificial life a touch of natural bloom and warmth of genuine sunshine. Soon, however, he threw open a ventilator, and allowed these waves of heavy odour to pass out, retaining only the fragrance of the fields, whose accent and rhythmical recurrence emphasized the harmony like a ritornelle in poetry. The ladies vanished instantly, the landscape alone remained; after an inter- val, low roofs appeared along the horizon with tall chim- neys silhouetted against the sky, an odour of chemicals and of factory smoke was borne on the breeze his fans now produced, yet Nature's sweet perfumes penetrated even this heavily weighted atmosphere." 5. Sensations of Hearing* In the consideration of this important sphere of play activity we encounter one of the special problems of our subject. Since Darwin's time it has been customary to explain the art of tone and the musical element in poetry as an effect of sexual, selection. But while I am con^ vinced that these arts do on one side bear the very closest relation to sexual life, yet I believe that Spencer is right in warning us that the exclusive reference of such phe- nomena to sexual selection is hardly warranted. The courtship arts of birds, it is true, are sufficiently striking, yet we must remember, aside from the fact that promi- nent investigators have raised serious objections to the application of the theory even to them, that birds have but a distant kinship to man. As regards our closer rela- tives in the. animal world, Darwin himself says, " With mammals the male appears to win the female much more through the law of battle than through the display of his charms." f And among mammals, again, monkeys are not distinguished by any special arts of courtship. The acoustic phenomena cited by Darwin are summed up in the cry of the howling ape and the musical notes of the species of Gibbon from Borneo and the Sumatran ape described by * This section has been published vinder the title Ueber HSr-Spiele, in the Vierteljahreschrift f. wiss. Philos., xxii. + Descent of Man, vol. ii, p. 228. SENSATIONS OF HEARING I9 Selenka* Of other such arts, only one is noteworthy in monkeys as being also practised by man, and even that not directly in connection with love-making — namely, the disposition to display the back. It has not yet been proved that the monkey's wonderful dexterity serves him especially in courtship. The supposition has much in its favour, it is true, but finds little support from what we know of his sexual life. Brehm covers the ground pretty well when he says, " Knightly courtesy serves him little with the weaker sex; he must take by force the rewards of love." Ethnology shows us, too, that an exclusive or even a preferential reference of music and poetry to sex- uality can not be assumed among primitive races. Hav- ing thus stated the doubts in advance, it may be interest- ing to glance once more over the psychology of play, with a view to discovering which arts and aesthetic pleasures may have arisen independently of sex. In such a review of hearing plays we are likely to find much which tends to expand and also to limit the Darwinian theory — ^noth- ing which will refute it. Hearing plays may serve merely as a means for the satisfaction of acoustic impulses, or to give necessary exercise to motor apparatus, and, while this whole inquiry can not be said to penetrate further than to the ante- chamber of aesthetic perception and artistic production, an obvious distinction at once becomes apparent — namely, that between the receptive or hearing function and the production of sounds and tones. From the suckling's de- light in his own guttural gurglings to the most refined enjoyment of a concert-goer, from the uncouth efforts of the small child to produce all sorts of sounds, to the crea- tive impulse which controls the musical genius, there is, in the light of history, a progressive and consistent de- velopment. (a) Receptive Sound-Play Pleasure in listening to tones and noises shows itself remarkably early, although, as is well known, the child is • E. and L. Selenka, Soninge Welt, Wiestaden, 1896, p. 55. The cry is said to be less like a melody than a sort of exultinfr call. One of the Swiss hunters in the expedition said thatthe itpejodeled back to him. 20 THE PLAY OF MAN born deaf. Infants but two or three days old will stop crying in response to a loud whistle, and Perez has noted signs of enjoyment of vocal and instrumental music dur- ing the first month. Preyer reports of the seventh and eighth weeks : " There seems to be a marked sensitiveness to tone, and perhaps to melody as well, for an expression of the most lively satisfaction is discernible on the child's face when its mother soothes it with luUabys softly sung. Even when it is crying from hunger a gentle sing-song will cause a cessation such as spoken words can not effect. In the eighth week the baby heard music for the first time — that is, piano playing. Unusual intentness of expression appeared in his eyes, while vigorous movements of his arms and legs and laughter at every loud note testified to his satisfaction in this new sensation. The higher and softer notes, however, made no such impression." * The little boy in Sully's Extracts from a Father's Diary manifested displeasure at first on hearing piano playing, but soon be- came reconciled to it, and his mother noticed that while his father was playing the child became heavier in her lap, " as if all his muscles were relaxed in a delicious self- abandonment." •)• Perez relates of a child six months old, on a visit to two aunts : " As the first of the young women began to sing he listened with evident delight, and when the other one joined in with a rich and melodious voice the child turned toward her, his face expressing the ut- most pleasure, mingled with wonder and astonishment." J This seems to indicate that agreeable tones and variety of movement are at first more appreciated than is the actual beauty of the melody. According to Gumey, ap- preciation of melody-as such first appears in the fourth or fifth year.* It is otherwise with rhythm. Just as ethnology shows us that from the first inception of music rhythm was more prominent than melody, so it seems that the child too, as a rule, is sensitive to rhythmical cadence even when the beauty of melody is lost upon him. The * W. Preyer, Die Seele des Kindes, p. 56. See Miss Shinn's Notes on the Development of the Child, p. 115. + J. Sully, Studies of Childhood, London, 1896, p. 409. X B. Perez, Ses troia premieres annefe des enfant, p. 34. * E. Gumey, The Power of Sound, London, 1880, p. 102. RECEPTIVE SOUND-PLAY £1 regular ticking of a watch excites lively interest in the merest infant. Sigismund says: "I have often seen three- and four-year-old children skip about when they heard enlivening band music, as if they wished to catch the time of the rhythmic movement, an impulse which indeed affects adults as. well,* as all well know," Here we have inner imitation, the central fact of aesthetic en- joyment, displayed by the veriest babes. Children show their enjoyment of rhythm, too, in their preference for strongly accented poetry.i" Even half-grown boys and girls take but little note of sense, compared with the in- terest which they bestow on rhythm and rhyme. That a normally endowed girl could interpret the words of a poem. Singing on its Way to the Sea, as Singing on its Waiter, etc., without having her curiosity aroused, can only be explained by this iaot.^ Is it not a frequent ex- perience of full-grown men to be suddenly struck with the profound truth hidden in some epigrammatic form of ex- pression whose euphony has a hundred times delighted them? They have actually failed up to that time to grasp the clear, logical meaning of the verse or passage. Indifference to the words of their songs is most marked among primitive peoples, while with children an instinct- ive demand for some employment of their organs of hear- ing has much to do with their pleasure in harmony and rhythm. The following facts justify this statement: The disposition toward acoustic expression is particu- larly susceptible to satisfaction from sensuously agree- able stimuli, such as are responsive to harmony, melody, and rhythm, partly on known and paitly on unknown grounds. Here Fechner's principle of co-operation is ap- plicable — ^namely, that two pleasure-exciting causes work- ing together produce a result which is greater than their sum — and is so strong, in fact, as to extend the sphere of sound-play far beyond that of the sensuously agreeable. Absolute silence makes us uncomfortable, and, when it is * B. Sigismund, Kind und Welt, 1897, p. 60. t Miss Shinn's small niece displayed very little appreciation for rhythm. Loe. eit., 120. I This instance is substituted for a parallel one of Professor Groos'a, as the point of the latter would of course vanish in the attempt to translate it.— Tb. 22 THE PLAT OF MAN lasting, conveys to the mind a special quality of emotion, as in optics there is a positive feeling of blackness. So it happens that we take pleasure in noise as such even when it is not agreeable. This applies especially to chil- dren. "Les bruits choquants, aigus, glappissants, gron- dant," says Perez, "ne leur sont pas desagreable de la meme maniere qu-aux grandes personnes." Marie G manifested in her third year the liveliest joy in the grind- ing and squeaking of an iron ring in her swing. To small boys it is a treat to hear a teamster crack his whip. My brother-in-law when a boy cherished for years the ambition to make all the electric clocks in our house chime in concert with a great musical clock. A sense of discomfort is produced sooner, however, by a variety of discordant sounds to which we are passively listening, than when the din is self-produced — a distinction which extends into the domain of art, as testifies many a piano virtuoso. Among adults it is probably true that sound-play is either entirely or in part connected with the pleasure we derive from ringing and resonance, subject to much the same limitations as we have applied to children. Under- lying it all we find, though it is not always easily recog- nisable, enjoyment of the stimulus as such. I would instance the cheery crackling of flames in a fireplace, the frou-frou of silken garments, the singing of caged birds, the soimd of wind, howling of storms, rolling of thunder, rustling of leaves, splashing of brooks, seething of waves, etc. Most of these, it is true, contain elements of intel- lectual pleasure as well, and so through association link themselves to genuine aesthetic enjoyments. Yet the sat- isfaction in mere sound as such is also unmistakably pres- ent, being most evident perhaps where strong stimuli are involved, since these have a directly exciting effect, while weaker ones, on the contrary, are soothing. Edler's ro- mance, Die neue Herrin, gives a good instance of this emotional sensibility abnormally exaggerated. " Thoma- aine was exactly like a child in her dread of silence, and spared no effort to enjoy pleasant sounds, whether pro- duced by herself or from other sources. . . . When her birds were silent she resorted to the music room, with its RECEPTIVE SOUND-PLAY 23 musical box and two grand pianos." This seems to con- firm the idea that mere desire for sound as such is an important element in the attention given to music. The art of primitive races illustrates this as well as our own marches, dances, etc. Gurney distinguishes two methods of listening to music: the one accompanied by intelli- gent appreciation, the other " the indefinite way of hear- ing music," which is only cognizant of the agreeable jingle or harmony. I think there is a form of the satis- faction still more crude ; when we note the indifference of many habitual concert-goers to fine chamber music we must infer that the power of stimulus is the principal source of their apparently absorbed enjoyment. Gur- ney, too, seems to recognise this elementary factor when he says : " While it is natural to consider as unmusical those persons in whom a musical ear is lacking or is only imperfectly developed, and who therefore can not at all reproduce or perhaps recognise melodies, such per- sons often derive extreme pleasure of a vague kind from fine sound, more especially when it rushes through the ear in large masses." * Not to penetrate too far into the realm of sesthetics, we will attempt to answer but two of its more obvious questions, which, however, are by no means simple ones. Whence is derived the strong emotional effect (1) of rhythm and (2) of melody? (Some thoughts on the acoustic effects of poetry will be presented in the next section.) Rhythm may be regarded as the most salient quality of music, and seems to have antedated melody considerably among primitive peoples. While nothing is easier than to recognise the pleasure it affords, the deri- vation of its exciting effect on the emotions is most diflS- cult to trace. Widely diverse theories have been ad- vanced in the various attempts to solve this riddle. Rhythm is a conspicuous instance of the unity in variety which characterizes beauty. It satisfies the intellect, and is calculated to rivet the attention by exciting expecta- tion. It answers to our own organization; the step, the heart-beat, breathing, the natural physical processes, are * See Gurney, crp. dt., pp. 35, 306. 24 THE PLAY OF MAN all rhythmic, as well as the alternation of waste and repair in the nervous system. But while these facts undoubt- edly contribute to our enjoyment of rhythm, they can hardly account adequately for its intense emotional effects. At this point the Darwinist comes to the rescue, and says that its employment in courtship sufficiently explains these effects, taking into account their hereditary asso- ciation. He dwells on the sexual excitation which quiv- ers in the purest enjoyment of music, and is "likely to excite in us in a vague and indefinite manner the strong emotions of a long-past age." * Far be it from me to discard this hypothesis hastily, particularly as I have no better one to offer, but since it appears to afford but a meagre chance of solving the problem, we may ven- ture to seek enlightenment in another supposition. It is to be found in Souriau's system of aesthetics, which in my opinion is not yet fully appreciated. As Nietzsche has said, " As in art, so with any aesthetic fact or ap- pearance, a physiological condition of transport is essen- tial," t so, too, Souriau insists that art employs every possible means to induce in us a semi-trance or hypnotic state, and through it renders us approachable to a de- gree which would be impossible when we are normally alert.t Now, rhythm is to the last degree such a transporting agency, owing to its strong hold on the attention. Wein- hold and Heidenhain have induced hypnosis by means of the ticking of a watch, and in so doing have only employed an agency which has similar uses the world over. Just as most of the inhabitants of the earth have learned the use * Darwin, op. cit., vol. ii, p. 321. + Streifzilpe eines Unzeil^emassen, vol. viii, p. 122. j P. Souriau, La Suggestion dans I'art, Paris, 189S. 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 hetter, as Mantegazza has figured it : Ecstasy. Hypnosis. Narcosis. RECEPTIVE SOUND-PLAY 25 of narcotics, so too are they eager to adapt such an in- toxicant as rhythm proves to be* We may read numberless statements of hypnotic con- ditions being turned to account for religious and magical ends. Next to measured movements of one's own body, Tve find that listening to rhythmic sounds and the monot- onous repetition of incantations is the surest key to this state of dreamy consciousness.f In Salvation Army methods the catchy, swinging songs are an indispensable means of eliciting the ecstatic condition, though, through the power of auto-suggestion, the expectation of the state is also strongly influential. It is the singing, how- ever, as Souriau says, which throws the hearer into a state of mild hypnosis and renders him accessible to any suggestion.^ When the end in view is a religious one, the ecstatic subject sees all sorts of visions, and can swear to the appearance of saints or gods. When the measure is martial in its suggestions, the subject becomes belligerent; when it excites sexual feeling, he responds in that direction; in short, his soul, being entirely under the influence of the hypnotist, will reflect, and involim- tarily respond to, every suggestion. We see, then, that these intense emotional effects are only in part attrib- utable to sound as such; rhythm is not entirely respon- sible for them, but figures rather as a contingent cause through which suitable suggestions act as the immediate cause of emotional disturbances. " Hypnotism," says Souriau, " is but a means, never an end. Art employs this means the better to control our minds and keep our imagination in the limits prescribed by her suggestions. What we owe to her is not sleep, but the dream." * This view seems to correspond with the facts. When * Karl Buohner's pregnant hypothesis is that acquaintance with rhythm is chiefly derived from physical labour (Arbeit und Ehythmus, Leipsio, 1896). t See B. O. Stoll, Suggestion und Hypnose in der Volkerpsychologie, and J. Lippert, Kulturgeschiohte der Menschheit, vol. i, p. 632, where this idea is set forth with great clearness. t Schopenhauer says, Khythm fand 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." * Op. (fit., p. 67. 26 THE PLAT OF MAN •we drum a familiar air with the fingers the regular time- beat is not at all stirring, indeed it is sometimes quite the contrary. When, however, agreeable or interesting associations are connected with it the rhythm at once induces in us a condition of the utmost susceptibility to suggestion. Any change in intensity or time then calls forth our capacity for " embodiment " (Einfuhlung) or inner imitation in such force and completeness as would be altogether unattainable without this deep-seated pro- pensity of ours for measured rhythm. In many cities it is customary, when fire breaks out, to ring a church bell in quicker time than its usual stroke, and by reason of the indirect factor— namely, their significance as a warn- ing — the uniform sounds produce the most profound effect on sesthetically sensitive persons. Even those who would be unaffected by the announcement that another part of the city was in flames are deeply moved on hear- ing the tolling bell. The harmless tones become appall- ing. They seem to proclaim the destruction of the world, and the imagination dwells on the idea that nothing will be left in existence but these terrific, all-pervading waves of sound. The intense feeling aroused by drum-beats is similar to this. Since every loud sound is calculated to arouse our involuntary attention, a rhythmical succes- sion of loud sounds irresistibly holds our consciousness, and, in the case of martial or festive music, association aids in casting the spell and, with the acoustic pulsations, forms a strong combination to which for the moment our whole being is subjected. It is, however, when rhythm develops into melody that we experience the utmost force of its suggestive power.* It is interesting to see how well Hanslick describes this preliminary condition of musical enjoyment — this trance- like state — only to censure it. " The elements of music, sound, and movement hold many emotional music lovers willing captives. It is surprising how large the number is of those who hear, or rather feel, music in this way. * According to R. 'WallaBchek, 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 tne interval (Frimitive Music, Lon- don, 1893, p. 232). RECEPTIVE SOUND-PLAY 27 Since they are susceptible only to what is elementary, they attain but a vague supersensuous and yet sensuous excitement, answering to the commonplace character of the music which appeals to them. Lounging half asleep in the boxes, they yield themselves to the swing of the melody without taking note of the exalted passages which may swell, yearn, jubikte, and throb with increasing ap- peal. These people, sitting in a state of undefined ecstasy, form the body of ' the appreciative public,' and do more than any other class to discredit what is best in music. Science can now supply these hearers who are void of spir- ituality and seek only the effects of rhythm in music with what they need, by means of an agency which far sur- passes art in this effect — namely, chloroform. It will plunge the whole organism into a lethargy pervaded by lovely dreams, and, without the vulgarity of drinking, ■will produce an intoxication which is not unlike its effect."* Hanslick is quite right in one respect: the trance condition as such is not confined to musical enjoy- ment; but he overlooks what Nietzsche makes so clear, that it is an indispensable' physiological condition of the most intense form of aesthetic pleasure. His position is more that of the critic than that of the pleasure Seeker. His saying that " the laity ' feel ' music most and the cul- tivated artist least " shows this. First and foremost to him is his " intellectual satisfaction in following and anticipating the motive of the composition, in be- ing confirmed in his judgment here or agreeably dis- appointed there." t The element of aesthetic enjoyment in this I have characterized, in my Einleitung in die Aesthetik (p. 187), as internal imitative creation. But the purest, highest, and most spontaneous pleasure is that in which we have no thought for the artist, but yield ourselves whole-heartedly to the beautiful object. Here is the essence of the problem, and here the condition of transport becomes most prominent, though it is never entirely wanting, even in the outer circles of aesthetics, where it becomes comparatively unimportant, as, for in- * E. Hanslick, Vom Musikalisch-Schonen, Leipsic, 1896, p. 153. i Op. dt., pp. 168, 171. 28 THE PLAY OF MAN stance, in the satisfaction afforded us by the happy- arrangement of the heads of a discourse. In trying to find out just what it is that rhythm sug- gests to us in simple tones that succeed one another at agreeable intervals we may advance the hypothesis — to use a somewhat strained expression — namely, that it makes the impression of a dancing voice. By this I mean that in the enjoyment of melody there is a mental fusion of two kinds of association, one the analogue of pleasing movement in space, and the other the analogue of vocal expression of mental and emotional processes. The two are so incorporated as to produce a new entity which, as a whole, is unlike any other. The fact that we represent tone-beats by up-and-down motion in space has never been satisfactorily explained, although the greatest variety of reasons has been advanced.* Tet it is imquestionable that we do, and that the act is one of our most cherished mental recreations; to use Schopenhauer's expression, nothing else produces the " idea of movement " in such purity and freedom as do tone-beats. A series of tones more or less rapid, says Siebeck, can adequately reproduce the rhythm of movement "without a visible physical basis, which, by reason of its relation to other associated images, would tend to destroy the impression of movement considered purely as such." t On this, too, depends the extraordi- nary facility of tone movement, of which Kostlin says that it " glides, turns, twists, hops, leaps, jumps up and down, dances, bows, sways, climbs, quivers, blusters, and storms, all with equal ease, while in order to reproduce it in the physical world a man would have to dash himself to pieces or in some way become imponderable." ^ All this goes to prove that our pleasure in the realization of movement is never more perfectly ministered to than in music. Spellbound by the magic of rhythm, our con- sciousness repeats, voluntarily and persistently, the vary- * Stumpf has treated the question most exhaustively (Tonpsvoholoeie. vol. i^. 202). ^ ■' ® ' t H. Siebeck, Das Wesen der Aesthetischen Ansohauimff. Berlin. 1875, p. 153. ^' ^ X KSstlin, Aesthetjk, p. 560. RECEPTIVE SOUND-PLAY 29 ing dance of tones, and, freed from all incumbrances, floats blissfully in boundless space, like Musa in Keller's dance legend. But melody is more than a mere alternation of tone. It is also a kind of language, by means of which the soul's deepest emotions seek expression. While it does suggest up-and-down motion in space, at the same time it stands for the audible expression of our mental life. It would be misleading to attempt to explain this illusion from simple analogies between speech and music, since it is it- self primarily a mode of expression, and we involuntarily make known our feelings and desires by means of it; by such association of tone with voice the former comes to point for us to life and its manifestations. There are, however, many points of resemblance between melody and the verbal expression of feeling. Dubos has devoted some attention to this relation, and, among contemporary writers, Spencer has most clearly set forth the analogy. But he makes the mistake of applying it to the origin of music, rather than as an explanation of our enjoyment of it, and is decidedly at fault in the statement that music originated in passionate and excited speech.* It can attain reflection only by means of the changing time and stress of melodic and rhythmic movement, as well as the appropriation of the numerous sounds and intervals which are hidden in feeling speech, and which take effect on the listener. Yet even this statement must not be interpreted too literally. Just as scen- ery often owes its impressiveness to vague suggestions of human interest, just as thunder sounds like an angry voice without being an exact copy of it, so the analogy between music and speech may be very real without their becoming identical at any point. The song of birds will perhaps best illustrate my meaning. Why does the nightingale's note seem plaintive and that of other birds cheerful or bold? Certainly not because we know the bird's feelings, but because there is an indefinable likeness * " Primitive music can not have grown out of the voice modulation in excited speech, because in many cases it has no modulation of tone, but is simply rhythmic movement iii a single tone " (Wallaschek, Primitive Music, p. 252). 30 .THE PLAY OP MAN between our own vocal expression of emotion and the bird's song, which, in spite of its vagueness, calls forth in us the most direct response. And it is exactly so in the other case. We can not expect to change an emotional declamation into the same kind of melody simply by fixing the pitch and regulating the intervals, for melody has its own laws, to which speech is not amenable. We see, then, that though the analogy is a real one and a constant, it must not be carried too far. How far variation of stress is concerned with emotional expression is interestingly shown in Wundt's attempt to classify temperament on this basis: Strong. Weak. Fast Choleric. Melancholic. Sanguine. Slow Phlegmatic. With regard to intervals, let any one attempt a mourn- ful " O dear! " and a jubilant "All right! " in the major and minor thirds, and he will not remain in doubt for a moment as to which is the suitable one for each occasion. Gumey's experiments with children resulted in the same «niotional effects when the piano was very much out of tune as when it was correct,* and the attempt of Helm- lioltz to find a physical explanation signally failed. All these facts point to the independence of the musical interval. In concluding, I repeat that these two analogies are •capable of fusion, as my figure of " dancing voice " im- plies.f If we try, for instance, to determine what con- stitutes the masculine, almost harsh, quality of Bach's melodies, we will find on inspection that his best arias have a variety of formal qualities of which it is difficult to say whether they pertain more to movement in space or * Op. dt., p. 272. t 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 ereat difference in form between Chinese'music and «ur own, the similarity of emotional effect is astonishing. PEODUCTIVB SOUND-PLAT 31 ■to voice expression. There is pre-eminently a fulness of accent which imparts even to the weaker notes a certain impetus {BereiU dich Zion). Moreover, his propensity to hegin with two strong accents directly contiguous (Mein gUuhiges Seize, In Deine Hiinde), which impart to the whole a massive character from the very first, as well as the many repetitions abruptly introduced in a different pitch, and the strongly accented final syllables where again two frequently come together; all these are characteristics which tell in two directions. Here is mel- ody governed by the laws of harmony in its forceful, clear, and irresistibly progressive movement, as well as in the expression which it gives to a purely masculine personality, fuU of earnest purpose and sure of himself and his aims. Only by the fusion of these two lines of association do we get at the fuU significance of the piece. (5) Productive Sound-Play An embarrassing copiousness of material greets us when we turn to the subject of sounds and tones spon- taneously produced. In them too we recognise the be- ginnings of, or rather the introduction to, art. Adher- ence to facts requires our classification to distinguish be- tween vocal and instrumental music, and we will first consider voice practice and afterward the production of acoustic effects by means of other agencies, both in their playful aspects. The child's first voic^ practice consists in screaming. So far as it is a merely reflex expression of discomfort it does not concern us, but it is probable that the crying of children becomes practice for the organs of speech. Discomfort may still be its first occasion, but the con- tinuation of the cry is playful. " L'enf ant qui crie," says Compayre, " a souvent plaiser a crier." * Children of two and three years show this very plainly; the howl begun in earnest is often prolonged from playful experimenta- tion.f And the same is probably true of the customary * Compayr^, op. dt., p. 41. + H. Gutzmann (Das Kindes Spraoh und Sprachfehler, 1894, p. 7) shows that crying is good practice for talking, because, in contrast to the habitual method of breathing, a short, deep inhalation is followed by lin- gering exhalation, as in speech. 32 THE PLAT OF MAN moaning wail of women over their dead. O. Ludwig says somewhere that a woman subdues pain when ahe can not escape it by means of the sensuous relief which she finds in noisy moaning. More important than crying are the babbling, chatter- ing, and gurgling of infants, which begin about the middle of the first three months. This instinctive tend- ency to motor discharge produces movements of the lar- ynx, mouth, and tongue muscles, and the child that at- tains now to the voluntary production of tone is fairly launched in experimentation. Without this playful prac- tice he could not become master of his voice, and the imperative impulse to imitation which is developed later would lack its most essential foundation. From among the numerous reports of the first efforts of infants in the direction of speech we will select Preyer's very sat- isfactory observations: "At first, when the lall-mono- logue begins the mouth assumes an almost infinite variety of forms. The lips, the tongue, lower jaw, and larynx are all active, and more variously so than in later life; at the same time the breath is expelled loudly, so that now one, now another sound is accidentally produced. The child hears these new sounds, hears his own voice, and delights in niaking a noise as he enjoys moving his limbs in the bath.* ... On the forty-third day I heard the first consonants. The child, being comfortably seated, gave utterance to numerous incoherent sounds, but at last said clearly am-ma. Of the vowels, only a and o could be distinguished then, but on the following day the baby astonished us by pronouncing the syllables ia-hu with per- fect clearness. On the forty-sixth day I heard go, orb, and five days later ara. On the sixty-fifth day a-omb sounded in his babbling, and on the seventy-first, at a time when he was most contented, the combination ra-a-ao. On the seventy-eighth day, with unmistakable signs of satisfac- tion, hdbu was pronounced. At five months he said ogo, ma-d-S, h&, 6, ho, ich. The rare i (English e) was clearer here than in the third month, and at about this time * Loc. dt., p. 368. It is, of course, difficult to say at what moment the automatic 'babblmg attains the dignity of speech. • PRODUCTIVE SOUND-PLAY 33 began the loud crowing as an expression of delight. The unusually loud breathing and the clearly voiced h in con- nection with the labial r in irrr-hd are specially indica- tive of pleasure, as are also the aja, orrg'6 a-a-i od sounds which, toward the end of the first half year, a child lying comfortably, indulges in. To this list, too, should be added the constantly repeated eu and oeu of the French heure and cmur, and the German modified vowels a and o. It often happens that the mouth is partly or entirely closed by the various movements of the tongue, causing the imprisoned breath to seek any possible outlet and giving rise to many sounds that are not employed in our speech, such as a clearly sounded consonant between b and p or i and d, and also the labial hrr and m, all of which evidently please the child. It is noteworthy that without exception these sounds are expiratory, and I have never known any attempt to produce similar inspiratory ones.* In the eleventh month the child began to whis- per; he also produced strong, high, and full notes of varying tone, as if he were speaking in a language strange to us. In his monologue a vowel sound would be re- peated, sometimes alone, sometimes in a syllable, as many as five times without a pause, but usually three or four times.")- The mechanical repetition of the same syllable such as papapa, occurs oftener than alternation with another, as pata, and the child will frequently stop short when he notices in the midst of his complicated lip and tongue movements and the expansion and contraction of his mouth that such a variation of acoustic effects is being produced. He actually appears to take pleasure in systematically exercising himself in all sorts of sym- metric and asymmetric mouth movements, both silently and vocally." i * 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 anal- ogy between child-language and that of the lower races, see H. Gutzmann, Die Sprachlaute des Kindes und der Naturvolker, Westermann's Monat- shefte, December, 1895. t Lubbock and Tylor have pointed out that reduplication is used much more in the speech of savasos than in that of civilized peoples. t Ojp. oit., p. 311. These citations are somewhat curtailed. — Tb. 34 THE PLAY OF MAN "Not to prolong this section unduly, I devote only cur- sory notice to the various voice plays of older children and adults, which may be said to correspond with the lall-monologue of infants and give expression to delight by shouting, whistling, yelling, crowing, humming, smack- ing, clicking, and the like. An example from the an- cients is the " stloppus " : " C'est un amusement qui con- siste a enfler ses joues et a les faire crever avec explosion en les f rappant avec les mains." * Another example, which, however, distorts the idea of play and makes it border on the pathological, is given in Boswell's Life of Johnson: "In the intervals of articu- lating he made various sounds with his mouth, . . . some- times making his tongue play backward from the roof of his mouth, as if clucking like a hen, and sometimes pro- truding it against his upper gums in front, as if pro- nouncing quickly, under his breath, loo, too, too; all this accompanied sometimes with a thoughtful look, but more frequently with a smile. Generally, when he had con- cluded a period in the course of a dispute by which he was a good deal exhausted by violence and vociferation, he used to blow out his breath like a whale." t Two specially interesting motives are operative in pro- ducing playful voice practice — ^namely, the stimulus of what is agreeable and the stimulus of difficulty — and these we will find introducing us to the formal side of poetry. The pleasurable stimulus here takes the form of enjoy- ment of the repetition of like and similar sounds of a particular stress. This pleasure in repetition is a re- markable thing from many points of view ; on the motor side there is a tendency to use the original sound as a model for the new one (Baldwin's circular reaction), while in listening to self-originated tones and sounds primary memory is employed, that lingering of what has been heard in the consciousness which makes it possible to secure harmony of the new note with the previous one. The rhythm which we have been investigating is a simple form of such repetition, and a child will enjoy * L. Becq de Fouquiferes, Les jeus des anciens, Paris, 1869, p. 2T8. + Croker'a Boswell's Johnson, p. 215. PRODUCTIVE SOUND-PLAY 35 it in poetry as much as in music. At about the beginning of the fourth year children are often observed to make the attempt to talk in measure and assume the role of the productive artist. In general, the result is a senseless succession of words and syllables arranged rhythmically.* Marie G frequently pretended to read such jingles to her dolls. The measure most popular with children seems to be the trochaicf This partiality still earlier takes in whole groups of sounds, as the mechanically measured repetition of the lall-monologue bears witness. Perez gives two good examples. " A little girl," he says, ■" repeated from morning till night, for fourteen days, ioro, toro, toro, or else rapapi, rapapi, rapapi, and took great delight in the monotonous rhythm. Another child, nearly three years old, kept up these refrains in speaking or crying, and would take a great deal of trouble to use them in answering questions, although his parents made every effort to rid him of this vagary. For three months this little parrot continued to repeat in a loud voice the syllables, unintelligible to himself or any one else,t ta- l)ille, tahille, tabille." E. M. Meyer, who sees in the mean- ingless refrain the germ of poetry, will find in such ex- traordinary persistence a confirmation of his view.* It is difficult to say whether there is not an inherited tend- •ency connected with courtship in the instinctive impulse toward the gratification of such motor and sensor appa- Tatus as is involved in this. Be that as it may, it is undeniable that the repetition of meaningless rhymes, as well as of reasonable words and passages, is important to poetry as a whole. I would refer in this connection to Grosse's Beginnings of Art, and for my own part confine myself to selecting a few in- teresting examples. The first is the chain rhyme, such as * See K. Buoher, Arbeit und Ehythmus, p. 75. t 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, TJntersuchungen zur Psyohologie und Aesthetik des Ehyth- mus (Philos. Studien, vol. x, p. 286). t IjOC. cit., p. 301. « E. M. Meyer, Ueber den Eefrain, Zeitsohrift f. vgl. Litt.-Gesch., i, 1887, p. 34. Marie G , for example, sang in her seventh year, wheQ first awakened, woUa, ihblla, budscha, incessantly and melodiously. 36 THE PLAY OF MAN always delights a child. The following is from a favour- ite song of theirs : " Eeben tragt der Weinstock ; " Vines bear grapes ; Horner hat der Ziegenbook ; Billy-goats have horns ; Die Ziegenbook hat Homer ; Horns has the billy-goat ; Im Wald der waohsen Dorner, In the woods grow thorns, Dorner wachsen im Wald. Thorns grow in the woods. Im Winter ist ea kalt, In winter it is cold, Kalt ist's im Winter," etc. It is cold in winter," etc. A negative form is: « Bin, zwei, drei, " One, two, three, Alt ist nioht neu, Old is not new, Heu ist nioht alt, New is not old, Warm ist nioht kalt. Warm is not cold, Kalt ist nioht warm, Cold is not warm, Eeioh ist nioht arm, Eioh is not poor, Arm ist nioht reioh," etc. Poor is not rich," etc. A chain rhyme which dates back to the fourteenth cen- tury has this same echoing effect, and, as Zingerle re- marks, " affords a striking proof that the children's verses of that period had the same form as our own." * A striking analogue of this is found in many poems of the Molukken dwellers. They consist of four-lined strophes, whose first and third lines form the second and fourth of each preceding one. This often results in abso- lutely inconsequent insertions, whose only office is to pro- mote the echo effect and onward t swing, yet sometime* the thought is well sustained. Here is an instance : " Jene taube mit ausgebreiteten Flttgeln, "The dove with wide-spread Sie fliegt in sohrager Luge naoh dem wings Fluss. Flies along the winding stream, loh bin ein Fremder, I am a stranger, IchkommehierherindieVerbannung. I come an exile here. " Sie fliegt in sohrager Lage naoh dem " She flies along the winding Fluss. stream Tot wird sie mitten im Meere aufge- And is drawn up dead from the fisoht. sea. * Loc. ei(., p. 62. t "Le rythme . . . vant surtout par son effet d'entralnement," Sou- riau, La suggestion dans I'art, p. 47. PRODUCTIVE SOUND-PLAT 37 loh komme hierher in die Verbannung, I come an exile here, "Weil ioh es wegeu meiner elenden Since that is my bitter fate. Lage BO -will. " Tot wird sie mitten im Meere aufge- " She is drawn up dead from the flsoht,"etc.* sea," etc. While the genuine refrain originated in the chiming in of the chorus with the other singers, this chain singing must have begun from new voices taking up the verse whfere others dropped it."- For a last word on the subject, take this exquisite poem of Goethe's, which combines the chain repetition with the charm of a refrain: " O gieb vom weichen Pfahle " O from that soft couch Traumend ein halb Gehor I Dreamily lend an ear ! Bei meinem Saitenspiele Lulled by my violin's music Schlafel Was willst du mehr 1 Sleep I What do you wish for more ? " Bei meinem Saitenspiele " Lulled by my violin's music Segnet der Steme Heer Like the spell of the starry skies, Die ewigen Geftlhle. A sense of the infinite moves you. Schlafel Was willst du mehr ? Sleep! What do you wish for more ? " Die ewigen Gefllhle " A sense of the infinite moves you Heben mich hoch und hehr And me to loftier heights, Aus irdischem Gewuhle. Away from earth's striving tumult, Schlafe 1 Was willst du mehr 1 Sleep I What do you wish for more ? " Vom irdischem Gewilhle," etc. " Away from earth's striving tumult," etc. When the repetition is of single letters and syllables, instead of whole sentences, we call it alliteration and rhyme. A few examples will suffice to show that both are as important to the sound plays of children as to the poetry of adults. The alliteration may be mere repeti- tion, as even the babbling babe loves to duplicate sounds, and while sometimes logical connectit>n of ideas is con- veyed as well (Haus und Hof, hearth and home), children enjoy meaningless sound-play quite as well. " Hinter s' Hanse Hinterhaus Haut Haas Holderholz Hetzt Hund und Huhnerhund Hart hinter'm Hase her." * W. Joest, Maylayisohe Lieder und Tfinze aus.Ambon und den Uliaso (Molukken), Internat Arch. f. Ethnogr., v, 1892, p. 23. 38 THE PLAY OP MAN " Meiner Mutter Magd maeht mir mein mus mit meiner Mutter MeU." " Konnen Kaiser Karls' Koch Kalbskopf und Kabiskopf koohen » " " Eound the rugged riven rock the ragged rascal rapid ran." " Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers." " Didon dlna, dit-on, du dos d'un dodu dindon." As an example of original production, take this com- position of Willie F 's, whicli he liked to recite as he pushed his wagon about the room: " Wein, wein, wein, wein, wein, wein, warn, "Wein, wein, wein, wein, wein, wein, warn," etc. The verse of Ennius, " O Tyte, tuti Tati, tibi tanta, -tyranne tulisti," shows that adults, too, enjoy such alliter- ation, not only as' a promoter of poetic beauty, but also for the mere play of sound. Ehyme is often mere reduplication,* its agreeableness heing due to the actual musical quality to which identity and variety contribute, to repetition as such, and to its unifying effect on the two words or lines concerned. Children show enjoyment of rhyme at a very early age, and as soon as they can talk often amuse themselves with such combinations as Enuna-bemma, Mutter-Butter, Wagon-Pagon, Hester-pester, and the like.f And there are many counting out rhymes where the original mean- ing of the words is lost, and only the jingle remains, as : " Ane-Kane, Hacke-Packe, " Wonary, uary, icary, Ann, Kelle-Belle, Kadli-Bagli, Philison, folison, Nicholas, John, Zinke-Pinke, Uff-Puff : Quimoy, quatnbyjVirgin Mary, Das fule, futze Galgevogeli Stringulum, strangulum, Buck ! " Hocket hinten utf. " Eindli-Beindli, Drittmann-!Eindli, Silberhauke, Finggefauke, Parli, puff, Bettel duas." * 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. t Miss Shinn, loc. «<., p. 1.34. With the mentally deranged the string- ing of senseless rhymes is very common. One patient wrote on a sheet of paper, " Nelke, welke, Helge : Hilde, Tilde, Milde ; Hand, Wand, Sand." Krapelin, Psychiatrie, Leipaic, 1896, p. 599. PKODUCx.VB SOUND-PLAT 39 " Anige hanige, Sarege-sirige, Eipeti-pipeti-knoU ! " * To regard these rhymes as the direct inventions of the children themselves would be as mistaken as to at- tribute folk poetry to the masses. Most songs for chil- dren originate with grown people, yet they are child- ish and contain only what children can appreciate, for the principle of selection decides their fate. At the same time, original artistic production is exhibited by children in alliteration and rhythm as well as in rhyme. Thus, I noticed in Marie G , when she was about three years old, a disposition to sportive variation of familiar rhymes appearing simultaneously with the rhythmic ar- rangement of words. The first rhyme evolved entirely from the profundities of her own genius came to light at the beginning of her fourth year, in the shape of this strange couplet, which she repeated untiringly : " Haseweis vom "Wasser weg Welches da liegt nocli mehr Dreok." Another child, Eudolf F , also in his fourth year, declaimed persistently this original poem: " Hennemas'olie, Weideidas'ohe, Sind ja lauter iiasebas'ohe." Pleasure in overcoming difficulties is an essential fea- ture of all play. The determined onset against opposi- tion, which is so conspicuous in play, shows how impor- tant is the fighting instinct, so deeply rooted in us all. Even in the lall-monologue, when the child accidentally produces a new sound by means of some unusual muscu- lar effort, he intentionally repeats it (Baldwin's persistent imitation f)- Older children playfully cultivate dexterity of articulation by repeating rapidly difficult combinations of sounds. The commonest are those where the difficulty is mainly physiological, as Wachs-Maske, Mess-Wechsel ; * Eocliholz, Alemanniaohes Kinderlied und Kinderspiel, Leipsic, 1857, p. 124. t J. Mark Baldwin, Mental Development in the Child and the Kaoe, 1895, p. 132. 4 40 THE PLAY OF MAN Der Postkutscher putzt den Postkutschkasten ; L'origine ne se desoriginalisera jamais de son originalite; Si six Bcies scient six cypres ; She stood at the door of Burgess's fish-sauce shop welcoming him in; If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, where is the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked? And many similar ones. Others require quickness of wits as well, as in these " This is the key to the gate Where the beautiful maidens wut. The first is called Binka, The second Bibiabinka, The third Senkkrenkknokiabibiabinka. Binka took a stone, And for Senkkrenkknokiabibiabinka broke a bone, So that Senkkrenkknokiabibiabinka began to moan." * Occasionally some obscurity in the language used in- volves a comic element, as — " Basanneli, Basanneli, Schlag 'uff und stand a Lioht Es geht a Haus im Geist herum, Ich greif, er filrcht mich an. Zilnd's Kiihele an, zuuda Kllhele an, S'Lauternle will a Kalble han, Und wie der Teig am Himmel steht, Da sohiesst der Tag in Ofa." + A. Bastian relates of the Siamese children that they delight in repeating difS.cult sentences and alter their meaning while speaking rapidly, as Pho Pu Khiin Me Pu (The grandfather near the grandmother) is changed to Pho Ku Khiin Me Ku (My father near me, his mother), or Pit Patu Thot, Pit Patu Thot (Shut the door. Shut the temple door). Mo Loi Ma Ha Phe, Phe Loi Pai Ha Mo (The floating pot bumped against the boat, and vice versa), etc.^ " Negro mothers on the Loango coast," says * Rather a free translation of the verse in J. D. Georgens's Mutter Buchlein, p. ITO. + F. M. Bohme, Deutsohea Kinderlied und Kinderspiel, 1897, p. 302. j A. Bastian, Die Volker des ostliohen Asien, vol. iii, 1867, p. 227. PRODUCTIVE SOUND-PLAY 41 Pechnel-Loesche, " teach their children verses which trip the tongue when spoken rapidly." * A similar sport for adults is afforded by the students' song, Der Abt von Philippsbronn, in which the syllable "bronn" must be repeated four times. After the first time there is a " Pst ! " sound, after the second a " Pf iff ! " after the third a " Click ! " and after the fourth a snore, all given as rapidly as possible. The accelerated tempo in the country song in Don Juan and in the wedding feast of the dwarfs in Goethe's Hochzeitslied are of the same character. Other instruments besides the human voice are em- ployed in sound-play. Even parrots and monkeys have found pleasure in other noises than the practice of their own voices. The young gorilla, in his exuberance of spirits, drums on his own breast, or, with even more satis- faction, on any available hollow object, such as a bowl, a cask, etc. The child's first auditory satisfaction derived from any act of his own is probably the splashing of water; another is tie rustling of paper. Preyer says: "The first sound produced by himself which gave the child evident satisfaction was the rattling of paper. He often indulged in this, especially in his nineteenth week." t Striimpell noticed the same thing at six months, and also that it gave his little daughter pleasure to pat the table with the palm of her hand t (rhythmic repeti- tion again). The boy observed by Sully was in the be- ginning of his eighth month when he one day accidentally dropped a spoon from the table where he was playing with it. " He iromediately repeated the action, now, no doubt, with the purpose of gaining the agreeable shock for his ear. After this, when the spoon was put into his hand he deliberately dropped it. 'Not only so, like a true artist, he went on improving on the first effect, raising the spoon higher and higher, so as to get more sound, and at last using force in dashiijg and banging it down." * At nine months Preyer's child beat twelve * See H. PloBB, Das Kind in Brauoh und Sitte der Volker, 1882, vol. ii, p. 285. + Op. eit., p. 57. t L. Strumpell, PsyohologiBohe Padagogik, p. 358. # Sully, loc. eit., p. 415. 42 THE PLAY OF MAN times on the stopper of a large carafie with increasing force. " On the three hundred and nineteenth day," he goes on, " occurred a notable acoustic experiment which denoted much intellectual progress. He struck the spoon on his tray just as his other hand accidentally moved it. The sound was deadened, and the child noticed the differ- ence. He took the spoon in his other hand and struck the tray, deadening the sound intentionally, and so on repeatedly. In the evening the experiment was repeated, with the same result." * Possibly Preyer is right in re- garding this as a sort of scientific experiment on the part of the child to investigate the causes of the deadening of the sound, but Perez thinks the child's action is ac- counted for by his desire to feel in both hands alternately the effect of the blow and of the shock.t However that may be, we are forced to agree with the German student entirely when, from these observations, he finally draws the conclusion : " The restless experimentation of little children and of infants in their first attempts at accom- modation, and even their apparently insignificant acts (such as the rattling of paper in the second quarter), are not only useful for the development of their intelligence, but are indispensable as a means of determining reality in a literal sense. We can never estimate how much of the common knowledge of mankind is attained in this way." t Without pausing to enumerate the various instrumen- talities employed in childish sound-play, we will leave the infant and pass on to consider the insatiate demands of our sensory organism. It seems that, in order to main- tain our present life, an incessant rain of outer stimuli must beat upon us, like that atomic storm which many helieve pours constantly upon the heavenly bodies and accounts for gravitation. Indeed, the opinion has been advanced, and apparently supported by some pathological phenomena, that the cessation of all peripheral stimuli marks the dissolution of psychic existence. Certainly the sense of hearing has large claims to notice in this connection — ^we all know the gruesomeness of absolute * Op. cit., p. 58. t Op. cit., p. 33. » J Op. cit., p. 212. PKODUCTIVE SOUND-PLAY 43 silence. This may be why children are so indefatigable in making noises, patting their hands, cracking their knuckles,* snapping and drumming with the fingers, stamping and beating with the feet, dragging sticks about, creaking and slamming doors, beating hollow objects, blowing in keys, banging on waiters, clinking glasses, snapping whips, and, in short, delighting in tearing and smashing noises generally.f And adults are not much behind them. These same sounds in other forms please us too, as, for example, the clinking of spurs, snapping a riding whip, rattling sabres, the tinkling of tassels and fringe, the rustle of flowing draperies. The versatile walking cane, too, comes in for a thousand uses here — in striking, beating, and whistling through the air. Go- ing for a walk one winter day, I fell behind two worthy scholars who were deep in an earnest discussion. We came to a place where the drain beside the road was filled with beautiful milk-white ice. Crack! went the older man's cane through the inviting crust, in the very midst of his learned disquisition. The student everywhere is a past master in such sport, as his unfortunate neigh- bours find out to their sorrow in the watches of the night. The measured hand clapping, which the child learns so early, occurs in the dances of the people. I have men- tioned the maddening rapidity of the Haxenschlagen. Enjoyment of crushing or rending destructible objects is characteristic of every age. I will cite as an example Goethe's famed boyish exploit. After throwing from a window and smashing all his own store of breakable ware, incited by the appreciative cheers of the neighbours, he descended to the kitchen and seizing first upon a platter found that it made such a delightful crash that he must needs try another. He continued the entertainment until he had demolished all the dishes within his reach. In * "Craokinff the fingers," writes Sohellong from Kaiserwilhelmsland, "is a familiar practice with the little Papuan." Zeitschnft filr Ethnolo- ^%^Q A Colozia does not sufficiently consider this versatility when he says in his interesting book on play, " I giocattoli dei barabmi poveri non sono Che delle pietre ; esse si divertono non poeo nel sentire il ruraore che si h a hattendo pietra contra pietra." II Gienooo nella Psychologia e nella Pedagogia, p. 70. 44: THE PLAT OF MAN such a case, of course, enjoyment of the sound is not the only source of pleasure. Joy in being a cause is con- spicuous when the clatter is self-originated, and some- times renders even Unpleasant sounds attractive, like scratching with a slate pencil, for instance. Besides, there is the satisfaction of impulses to movement, and often, too, the destructive impulse like that for overcom- ing diiRculties is closely related to the propensity for fighting. In all this we have not yet touched 'on the subject of acoustic playthings, and it is so large that I can only throw out a few suggestions as to the likeness between primitive musical instruments and the noise-producing toys of children. We have seen that even the ape has dis- covered the principle of instrumental music, and puts it to practice by pounding with his hand on a stick or some hollow object. A baby does the same thing, and will take great delight in beating persistently and with a certain regularity on a table with his hand, on the floor with a stick, or on his tray with a spoon. If we regard these sounds thus playfully produced by beating on some foreign object, together with some notion of time, as affording probably the first suggestion of a musical instrument, we are met by two possibilities : either the stick itself is con- sidered as the source of the noise or else the object it strikes is so regarded. In the simple instruments of sav- ages both possibilities are realized. The Australian bell is a thick, bottle-shaped club of hard wood which, on being struck, gives forth a peculiar long note, and the drum with which the women accompany the dancing of the men is only a tightly stretched opossum skin, which they have been wearing on their shoulders.* Stringed instruments were derived from the bow ; Homer sang of the clear sound which Odysseus drew from the tightly strung bow, and Heraclitus uses a complex figure of speech involving the bow and the lyre. The South African "gora" is only a modified form of this trusty weapon of the Bushman. The modification consists in introducing on one side, be- tween the end of the cord and the bow, a trimmed, leaf- * E. Grosse, Die Anlange der Kunst, 1894, pp. 275, 277. PUODUCTIVE SOUND-PLAY 45 shaped, and flattened quill, wHch is placed upon the lips of the performer and set in motion by his breath. How can we explain these inventions otherwise than as the results of indefatigable experimentation on the part of either children or adults? Wind instruments no doubt arose from contracting the lips and blowing through the fist or from playful investigation of the prop- erties of arrows and the hollow ornaments worn on the neck, while vibratory ones, like the gora, no doubt find their prototype in the blowing on leaves and grass blades, which children are so fond of. Where there is no such thing as scientific experimentation, playful experimenta- tion becomes the mother of invention and of discovery. While it is thus not improbable on the whole that child's play has had much to do with the origination of primitive instruments, we find, too, that children have borrowed many of their toys from the grown people. Things which, from the crudest beginnings, have been brought to a high degree of perfection are reproduced in miniature and simplified form for the little ones. In- stances of this are too conunon and familiar to require illustration here. Even in remote ages it was the custom to give children little bows, wagons, dolls, etc., as well as copies of musical instruments. In the province of Saxony queer clay drums, shaped like an hourglass, have been unearthed; they must belong to the stone age, and among them is a tiny specimen, which can hardly be anything else than a toy.* It often happens that instru- ments which have entirely gone out of use among adults continue to be playthings for the children for thousands of years. This is the case with the rattles which are now the merest plaything, having no interest for grown people, except as a means of quieting an infant, yet their origi- nal connection with it was probably much closer, as our * G. Eeischel, Am alien Welttheilen, 1896, No. 2. Wallasohck did not believe that the drum is a primitive instrument chiefly because of our failure to find them among prehistoric relies, 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. 46 THE PLAY OF MAN progenitors used such instruments at dances, feasts, etc., for the pious purpose of driving off evil spirits.* There is a widespread custom among savage tribes of frighten- ing away the enemies of the stars by noisy demonstra- tions, especially during the absence of the moon. As these observances gradually become obsolete, the rattling instruments are saved from oblivion by being handed down as toys to the hospitable little people, without, however, entirely losing the glamour of their religious office. Becq, de Fouquieres says, in speaking of the many religious practices that are connected with children's toys : " Sea premiers joujoux dont en quelque sorte des talismans et des amulettes."t Many rattles have been found in the graves of prehistoric children, together with clay figures of animals, marbles, etc. Schliemann found a child's rattle, ornamented with bits of metal, in the "third city " at Hissarlik, and Squier found a snail shell filled with tiny pebbles, with the mummy of a child, in Peru.^: Amaranthes, in the beginning of the eighteenth century, in his remarkable Woman's Lexigon, defines a child's rattle as " a hollow instrument made of silver, lead, wood, or wire, trimmed with bright coral and with little bells either inclosed in it or attached to the outside.* Older boys make a rattle of a dried bladder, with peas in it. As I have dwelt on the probability of the invention of the first musical instruments by means of playful experi- mentation, I will now touch briefly upon another view. Karl Biicher, in his admirable treatise on Arbeit und Ehythmus, develops the hypothesis that rhythmic art is derived from physical labour. Physical labour which em- ploys the limbs with perhaps some simple implement as- stLmes spontaneously a rhythmical character, since this tends to conserve psychic as well as physical force. The sounds arising as the work proceeds suggest the germ idea of instrumental music and lead to involuntary vocal imi- tation. Thus, poetry and music are engendered in the * Our bells, too, may be derived from the rattle, t Les jeux des anciens, pp. 6, 12. j See Kich. Andree, Ethnog. Parallellen und Vergleiohen, 1889, p. 86. # Alwin Sobultz, AlltagBlebeu einer deutsohen Fran zu Anfang des 18. Jahrhundert, 1890, p. 207. PRODUCTIVE SOUND-PLAY 47 very midst of toil, and only later, -when they attain to independent existence, are dance motions substituted for the movements of physical labour, and frequently become adaptations of them (as in pantomime dances, for in- stance). Convinced as I am that this theory contains a genuine though perhaps one-sided *• contribution to the proper explanation of rhythmical art, I am unable to concur in -what Biicher regards as its logical consequence — ^namely, that musical instruments are adaptations of the labourer's tools. " We kno-w," he says, " that labour rhythmically carried on has a musical quality, and since savages, hav- ing no appreciation of pitch or harmony,t value rhythm alone, it is only necessary to strengthen and purify the tone produced by the implement and to complicate the ihythm, in order, to produce -what is in their estimation high art. Naturally, to accomplish this the tools -were differentiated; varying conditions, as they arose in their labours, became the occasion of further efforts for the perfecting of tone and timbre, and the art instinct, strug- gling for expression, first found it in such rude music. So originated musical instruments from these tools of manual labour, and it is a noteworthy fact that beaten instruments -were the first to appear, and are to-day the favourites of savages. We find among them the drum, gong, and tam-tam, -while -with many tribes the only in- strument is the kettledrum, -which clearly proclaims its ori- gin, being in many cases nothing more than a skin tightly stretched across the grain mortar or a suitable pot or kettle. Primitive stringed instruments also were struck, like the Greek pleptron, the tone of a violin and of the strings themselves being a later discovery. Wind instru- ments, too, are of very ancient origin, the commonest * A formidable objection seems to me to lie in the fact that manual labour is almost entirely wantinfr among the tribes who aubsiat by the chase, and that what little they have is conducted by the women, while it is the men who indulge in the song and dance. Grosse, moreover, assures me that even their swimming and marching are not calculated to support this theory. It should be added that Buoher has now consider- ably modified his view by deriving work itself from play (Die Ent- stehung der Volkswirtsohaft. 1898, p. 32). " The order formerly laid down must be directly reversed ; play is older than work, art older than pro- duction for utility." i This is too baldly stated. 48 THE PLAT OF MAN being the flute and reed pipe, both of which are rhythmic. The ancient Greeks used them first to mark time and as accompanying instruments." * I hardly think that this view will meet with general acceptance. The wind instrument, whose importance to primitive peoples Biicher somewhat underestimates, did indeed serve the purposes of rhythm principally, but it would be difficult to trace its derivation from any manual tool. Nor does it follow that rattles and flappers came from the use of hammers; while the drum, whose proto- type he finds in the grain mortar, is in use by tribes who have no mortars. I conclude, therefore, that musical in- struments can, with more probability, be accounted for as the result of instinctive sound-play and the experi- mentation with noise-producing implements, which ac- companies it. 6. Sensations of Sight Turning his face toward the light is about the only manifestation of sight sensation displayed by the infant during his first few days. Many young animals find themselves very much at home in the outer world as soon as they are bom, but such is not the case with a child. He must attain to a clear perception of external objects by toilsome experimentation, which commonly requires about five months for its completion, though the fifth week as well as the fifth month marks an epoch in the practice of sight. " The average time is about the fifth week," says Eaehlmann, " when the capacity to ' fix ' an object is attained — that is, to take cognizance of the retinal picture of what comes within the line of his vision, as it is thrown on the macula lutea. About this time, too, the eye movements, which till then are not defi- nitely co-ordinated, becomp regulated, while associated movements, such as elevating and depressing the line of vision (the latter somewhat later than the former), also appear. . . . But movements for the purpose of directly subjecting to fixation objects which lie in the periphery of the field of visiop are entirely wanting at this period. The second epoch, that at five months, is marked by the * Op. cU., p. 91. SENSATIONS OF SIGHT 4^ development of orientation in the field of vision. At this time begin actual glancing movements, which shift the line of vision and bring peripheral retinal images on to the macula lutea. Contemporaneously with this, a definite system of innervations is established, especially for those muscles which are employed in shifting the line of vision. Secondly, the winking reflex is perfected by the approach of objects from the periphery of the field of vision. Thirdly, at this time the first experiments in touch controlled by sight are instituted, and serve to bring tactile perceptions into relation with those of sight. The interval between birth and the fifth week, as well as that from this time to the fifth month, is employed in the acquirement of such sense perceptions as react collec- tively on the organ and commit it to special uses and control. So, on the authority of repeated experience, whatever is unsuitable is gradually excluded, and only those eye movements are retained which further the proper convergence of the two retinal images." * Of course, the power of vision is by no means completely developed at five months, though the technique of the function, so to speak, is by that time essentially per- fected. Now begin the real tasks of visual practice: acquiring familiarity with external objects, imprinting the visual images on the mind, and widening the scope of association. On entelring the subject of child's play which is connected with vision it is evident that there are four points for us to keep in mind — ^brightness, colour, form, and movement. The inner images and concepts, which go hand in hand with such perception (especially with the notion of movement), do not, so far as I can see, form part of our study, since while an effect of the highest importance they do not constitute one of the objects of play.t * E. Eaehlmann, Physiol.-pavohol. Studien tiber die Entwiokelimg der Gesichtswahrnehmungen bei Kmdem und bei operirten Blindgeborenen. Zeitsoh. far Psychol, und Physiol, der Sinnesorgane, vol. ii (1891), P. 69. Eaehlmann maintains in this article that those who are bom blind and attain the power of vision by operation pass through a process of devel- ment quite like that of the child. + It is otherwise with those bom blind. Johann Enben, who was nineteen when operated on, at once made distance the subject of his in-vestigation. " For example, he pulled off his boot and threw it soma 50 THE PLAY OF MAN (o) Sensations of Brightness Sensations of brilliance seem to arouse feelings of pleasure at a remarkably early period. Thus Preyer says: " Long before the close of the first day the facial expres- sion of the babe held facing the window changed sud- denly when I shaded his eyes with my hand. . . . The darkened face looked mucli less satisfied." * Toward the end of the first week the child turned his face toward the window when he had been placed otherwise, and seenied pleased to see it again. During the second week a child will sometimes cry when taken into the dark, and can only be quieted by having the sensation of brightness restored. Thus, we see that in the very first week there is at least a premonition of experimentation. In his 'Sec- ond month the infant will break out into joyful cries at the sight of gilded picture frames or lighted lamps, illu- minated Christmas trees or shining mirrors. Even in Wolfdietrich the delight of children in bright and shin- ing things is recorded : " Do vergaz es sines frostes nnd spielte mit den ringeu sin. also daz kleine Kindel siner sorgen gar vergaz, do greif ez on die ringe und sprach : waz ist daz ? des Halsperges sohoene daz Kindel nie verdroz." + And it seems to grow with his growth in other direc- tions. The following are some of Sigismund's notes on his daughter's third quarter : " The child is now passion- ately fond of light, and in the evening, when the darken- ing room is lighted up, she regularly shouts aloud and dances for joy. . . . This coincides with the fact that artificial illumination stimulates adults also to a genuine and boisterous gaiety. Our feasts and dances are always held at night, and indeed it is difficult to attain the requi- distance, and then tried to estimate how far oif it was. He walked some steps toward it, and tried to pick it up ; finding that he could not reach it he went a little farther, until he finally got it." Eaehlmann, ibid., p. 81. * Die Seele des Kindea, p. 4. + " Then he forgot how cold he was, and played with the ring. The little child forgot all his woe. He seized upon the ring and said, ' What is this ? ' " — Zingerle, p. 51. SENSATIONS OF BRIGHTNESS 51 site dithyrambic pitch in the daytime.* Nansen wrote, when the electric light blazed for the first time on the f rozen-in Fram : " What a tremendous influence light has on the spirits of men! This light enlivened us like a draught of good wine." f To what degree this feeling is universal is shown by the fact that bright and shining objects are highly prized the world over. The school child, the savage, the cul- tured man, display the same preference ; there is no essen- tial difference whether it is a scrap of glass for wffich the negro gives a generous portion of his worldly goods, or the blazing diamond coronet for which the lady in society parts with hers. That our^coins are made -of gold and silver is attributable to the high polish which they take, and which won great favour for them in prehistoric times. Poets of all ages have celebrated the brightness of the human eye, and because light makes us cheerful we speak of the brilliancy of an entertainment, the beam- ing joyousness of the golden day. The strongest light effects are produced by flame and by the heavenly bodies. The strange attraction which flame exerts on insects, flsh, and birds is familiar to all. Romanes's sister relates in the journal which she kept, about a capuchin ape, that the clever little fellow rolled strips of newspaper into lamplighters and stuck the end into the fire, to amuse himself watching the flame.t Primitive men must have experimented with fire in the same way when they came in contact with it in lightning strokes and volcanic phe- nomena, and in their earliest use of it for boring their stone hatchets. Without playful experimentation, this most important acquisition of mankind, the mastery of fire, could hardly have been attained. The little ones in our homes would find playing with fire one of their favourite diversions if we did not use every means to prevent it, on account of the danger. In spite of all warnings, the untoward fate of little Polly Flinders of * Kind nnd Welt, pp. 58, 61. t In Nacht und Eis, vol. i, p. 222. t J. G. Eomanes, Animal Intelligence, p. 493. See, too, EUendorf s beautiful description of the monkey playing with matches, Gartenlaube, 1862, p. 300. 52 THE PLAY OF MAN nursery memory is daily becoming the experience of num- berless children. With grown people the light and glow of fire are of the first importance in both religious and secular fes- tivities. I need only refer once more to Sigismund's say- ing, quoted above. The charm of moonlit and starlit nights is one of the deepest joys that Nature affords us, which only the regal splendour of sunshine can surpass. Perhaps it has never been more worthily sung than in these verses of Morike's, which the very spirit of Shake- speare seems to have dictated: " Dort, sieh, am Horizont lilpft sioli der Vorhang Bchon 1 Eb traumt der Tag, nun sei die Nacht entfloh'n ; Die Purperlippe, die gesohlossen lag, Haucht, halbgeoffnet, susse Athemztige ; Auf einmal blitzt das Aug' und wie ein Gott, der Tag Beginnt im Sprung die konigliohen Flllge ! " * The human longing for light is so strong that it be- comes for him the natural symbol for divinity, a fact on which we have not time to dwell, except to note the sig- nificance of the heavenly bodies and of fire in religion. The self-devised Nature worship of young Goethe, who greeted the rising sun with an offering, is interesting, and still more so is the statement of the deaf-mute Bal- lard that, as a boy of eight years, he arrived by his own ■unaided efforts at some sort of metaphysical and religious thought, and felt a kind of reverence for the sun and moon.f This is the effect of light which has so great a part in the mythology of all peoples. Even in the Old Testament account of the creation light is the first thing which God called out of chaos. " And God saw that the light was good." We find brightness of aspect especially affected in the industrial arts and in painting, and the employment of * " There, see. the curtain dark already rolls away ! The nieht muRt fly, now dreams the glorious day ; The crimson lips that lay fa.«t closed so long, Breatlie now, half ope'd, a sweet, low song ; Once ri'ore' the eye gleams bright, and, like a god, the day Bounds fnrwiird to beErin a^ain his royal way." t W, Jame.<, Pnri'jiples of Psychology, vol. i, p. 268. SENSATIONS OF BRIGHTNESS 53 shining and glowing substances in decoration is too fa- miliar to need comment. They are found in the orna- ments of the Stone period, such as necklaces of animals' teeth, bits of ivory and shells, as well as among savage tribes of the present day. Grosse says : " The ornaments of these people may be called brilliant not in a figurative, but in a literal sense, and there is hardly any quality which contributes so much to the decorative effect of an object in savage estimation as brightness. The natives of Fire Island frequently hang fragments of a glass bottle on their neck band, considering them very superior adorn- ments, and Bushmen are happy when they are made the proud possessors of iron or brass rings. However, they are by no means dependent on suck windfalls from a higher race, and when the ornaments of civilized man and barbarian are both wanting and precious stones are not available they betake themselves to Nature, who can well supply their needs. The sea tosses up polished shells upon the beach, vegetation furnishes bright seeds and shining stalks, and animals give their shining teeth, as well as fur and feathers." * In painting, light effects in connection with colour are of the greatest importance, and are skilfully man- aged by many masters of the art. Rembrandt may be said to possess the highest genius for their treatment. Without going into particulars of technique, I may note that the pleasure which we derive from light effects in painting may be referred to two opposite extremes. We know that it is out of the question for the painter to transfer to his canvas Nature's extremes of light and shade, only about half of the eight hundred ascertained degrees of brilliancy being available to him.f Helm- holtz has shown in an interesting manner how the artist may triumph over this difficulty. It proves to be a spe- cial case for the application of Weber's law; the adjust- ment of intensities is not in proportion to the actual force of the stimuli, but to their relative force. Thus, when the painter tempers the brilliance of Nature he * Die AnfUnee der Kunst, p. 99. t O. Kalpe, Grundriss der Psyohologie, 1893, p. 126. 54 THE PLAY OF MAN actually gives a more faithful representation, because the toned-down light against the deepened shadows of a pic- ture produces the same efFect on the senses as the clear beams of sunlight in contrast with its luminous shadows.* This so-called normal technique is objected to on diamet- rically opposite grounds. Some painters, refusing to darken and falsify Nature, seek to make their shadows as bright as are those in the diffused light of day. As it is impossible, however, to represent the actual inten- sity of the light, their attempt to reproduce the actual is only half realized. The true contrast between light and dark fails, and the result is the faded, obscure, hazy ap- pearance which characterizes the work of extremists of this school. In the other direction the attempt is some- times made to darken the shadows so excessively as actu- ally to make the difference between light and shade greater than it is in Nature. Caravaggio and Ribera, Lenbach and Samberger, furnish examples of this kind of painting. Their work is done on the principle of dark- ening the shade, in order to bring out the light more sharply; eyes, brow, and hands in their pictures seem to surpass the clearness of Nature because of this difference, which is greater than that of reality. These artists are true lovers of light. (6) The Perception of Colour The exact period in a child's life when susceptibility to colour impressions arises has not been determined. Preyer's son seemed interested in a rose-coloured curtain, with the sun shining on it, on his twenty-third day,t but who knows whether it was the colour that pleased him or only the brightness? And the same doubt hangs over a hundred other observations taken in the first months of life, as, for example, this of Sully's: "Like other chil- * " Shade," says Schelling, "is the painter's stock in trade, the body into which he must try to breathe the fleeting soul of light ; and even the mechanics of his art show him that the black which is at his service comes far nearer to the effect of darkness than does white to that of light." Leonardo da Vinci has said, " Painter, if you desire the brilliance of fame, do not shrink from the gloom of shadow." Sammtl Werke, vol. V, p. 533. + Die Seele des Kindes, p. 6. THE PERCEPTION OP COLOUR 55 dren, he waa greatly attracted by brightly coloured ob- jects. When just seven weeks old he acquired a fondness for a cheap, showy card, with crudely brilliant colouring and gilded border. When carried to the place where it hung, ... he would look up to it and greet his first love in the world of art with a pretty smile."* Since we can not be certain that it was not the mere brilliancy which produced this effect. Sully is quite right when he says: "The first delight in coloured objects is hardly distinguishable from the primordial delight in bright- ness." t Eaehlmann thinks, however, judging from the child's positions and actions, that one can — though not till considerably later than the fifth week — ^be sure that it perceives a difference between objects of similar form and complementary colour.:]: And it is probably quite safe to assume that there is pleasure in gay colours by the end of the first three months. Here we are met at once by the question. Does the child prefer any particular colours ? Most observers agree that the child displays more interest in the warm colours — red and yellow — than in the colder ones.* Baldwin, on the contrary, found from his experiments vnth a baby nine months old (not using yellow, however) that blue was chosen oftenest.|| Although Preyer denies the valid- ity of Baldwin's experiment, it seems to me quite possible that here, as weU as elsewhere, there is room for the manifestation of individual preference.^ The choice of yellow and red can hardly be a necessary one. For exam- ple, I find Grosse's rule, that children will always empty the vermilion cup in a paint box first and will, when al- lowed to choose, always take a fiaming red, by no means invariable. Marie G (five years old) turns oftener to the blue in her paint box than to the red. She herself pointed out lilac as her favourite colour, and weeks be- * Studies in Childhood, pp. 402, 800. + Ibid. t Op. retherlands,t advances the opinion that progress and development in art are the direct result, psychologically speaking, of dissatisfaction with contemporary art and its productions with which the people Jiave become satiated. As concerns the evolu- tion of form, the common process seems to be that, by a naturalism more or less fortunate, something like style is first acquired by means of the mastery of straight lines. From this point development is in the direction of over- coming their stiffness and angularity. The representa- tion of form ia constantly more free, reaching thus a high * Die Anfange der Kunst, p. 111. t Vierteljahraaohr. fiir wissensoh. Philos., vol. xx (1896). PERCEPTION OF FORM 65 degree of beauty, but passing on through a period of ex- travagant exaltation of circles, spirals, swells, and curves to final and inevitable decadence. In following out this succession of styles it becomes apparent that separation from the direct is, sesthetically speaking, separation from xepose (as well as from stiffness). So Wolfflin says, in pointing out emotional analogies as they bear on form: " A line composed of short, delicate curves is commonly called tremulous, while one with wider and shallower vibrations indicates dull humming or buzzing. A zigzag rustles and splashes like falling water, and when very pointed sounds shrill like whistling. The straight line is quite' still; in architecture it suggests the quiet sim- plicity of the antique." * It is a most interesting study to note the almost illimitable force of this effect of the straight line in an art which, having reached the pinnacle of its development, allows full swing to the tendency toward rounded forms as well. During the most flour- ishing period of the Italian renaissance there was scarcely a single master who gloried more in the pride of sensuous loveliness, than did Titian, yet even in the midst of his intoxicating triumphs he attained something of that quiet grandeur which, according to Winckelmann, formed the basis of Greek art. How can we account for this? In my opinion it was accomplished, in part at least, though not entirely, by the use of the short straight line which characterizes Titian's style, and is repeated in the work of many of his imitators — 1 mean the line that is formed by the peculiar inclination of the head. It is found in the wonderful Madonna of the house of Pesaro, in the riora of the Uffizi, the Laura de Dianti in the Louvre, in the so-called "Loves" and other works of the master. Their chief common characteristic is a certain command- ing dignity impossible to describe. Among those artists influenced by Titian, Moretto has followed him most successfully. This same line may become almost unpleasing when the figure is too much in profile and the head bends for- ward, as does Mary Magdalene's in Titian's Dresden Ma- * Op. cit., p. 14. 66 THE PLAY OF MAN donna. I mention this because it is repeated in the Medea by Feuerbach, who is very faithful to Titian's ideal. He is, moreover, one of the vanguard of German artists who are leading the way to the new idealism — a thing as yet more hoped for than realized. And just here I have a word to say. An essential of ideal art is that, as op- posed to naturalistic reproduction, it plays with conven- tionalized form and subordinates reality to it. While at the height of the renaissance marvellous effects were achieved by mingled and contrasted curves, such as aston- ish us in the work of Eaphael and sometimes of Rubens, of our modem idealism we may say: if we are justified at all in calling its developments new, it is because, from the standpoint of form, it does possess one unique and original characteristic — namely, that in it for the first time straight lines, and especially the perpendicular, are dominant in a well-mastered technique, which is no longer primitive. There are many traces of this principle in Feuerbach's work, and it is still more strikingly shown in that of Bocklin, who has close kinship with the Vene- tians. The tensely upstretched necks of the swans in the ' Island of the Blest is a perfect example of the new style. It comes out again in the stiff little trees of his spring landscape, in the abrupt lines of the drapery of a Muse at the Arethusan spring, in the perpendicular line extending from the shoulder of the musical shepherd boy quite to his foot, and in many other pictures. Max Klinger is partial to the horizontal, and much of the characteristic power of his Pieta is due to his employment of these lines; three stone steps, the outstretched body of the Redeemer, the stretch of a wall in the background, the straight lines of a thick wood, in contrast to these the upright half figures of John and Mary. Many of our modem idealistic painters have unfortunately abandoned the use of this " line of Praxiteles," which imparts so finely poised a posi- tion to the head and body and that peculiar mysterious dignity and air of detachment to the whole figure — "schone, stille Menschen." In the industrial arts this preference for straight lines is most conspicuous in what we wish to appear as new and original, and even in the newest styles for men it gives us the creased trousers. PERCEPTION OP MOVEMENT 67 the waistless coat, and the stiff, high hat. These phe- nomena, however, we will not presume to attribute to the influence of ideal art. (d) Perception of Movement When sight is the medium of perception movement plays are at the same time visual plays, otherwise con- sciousness is reached through the sense of touch. We will here give special attention to experimental exercise of the motor apparatus, as actual movement play is treated of in detail in another section. After some gen- eral remarks, a few cases will be cited whose most impor- tant feature is the pleasure derived from the contempla- tion of the movement, as is especially the case when it is not self-produced. The powerful attraction which movement has for us is well grounded biologically, for evidently it is of the utmost importance in the struggle for existence that attention should be at once and instinc- tively aroused by any stir or change in the environment.* But perception of movement by means of the eye alone, and consequently the instinct of keeping absolutely mo- tionless, is of great importance to the pursued animal. Thus Edinger says: "I have repeatedly seen a hungry snake pause in the midst of his pursuit of a fleeing mouse, when it crouched down and was quiet. I have seen it recoil from the frog, which it was trying to catch, as soon as the creature kept still." f Even our own involuntary attention to motion has some analogy to instinct, and re- calls the violent and sudden reaction with which we respond to an unexpected touch on the bare back.t As a matter of psychological fact, there is associated with movement, as with sensations of hearing, a strong emotional effect. * See 6. H. Schneider. Why do we notice things which are moving Tegularly more easily than those at rest? Vierteljahrsaohr. fur wissen- schaft. Philos., vol. i'i (1818), p. 377. t L. Edinger, Die Entwietelunfr der Gehimbahnen in der Thierreihe, Allgemeine medioinisohe Central-Zeitun?, 6.5. Jahrgang (189B). X The most thrillingr ghost stories are those in which a cold hand rests on the back of the neck, or where the victim sees in a mirror the ghost behind him. Doga, too, who are quietly lying down react with greater excitement to light touches on the hair of their backs. The opposite to this feeling is the pleasure we feel in bestowing our backs in a safe cor- ner — of a restaurant, etc. 68 THE PLAT OF MAN It is no wonder, therefore, that all his life long man shows a peculiar interest in movement, and acquires the capacity to detect its intimations very early in life. In- deed, this capacity is oiie of the first to be developed, and depends, apart from skin stimuli and the so-called after images which reveal objective movement to the eye at rest, principally on the ability to follow the moving object with the glance. Practice is necessary for the mastery of this capacity. The eyes accompany, in addition to the regular objective motion, a constantly renewed backward movement as well, by means of which we again grasp the escaping object, an effort requiring the simultaneous exer- cise of volition and attention. " This process requiring continuous and constantly renewed attention," says L. W. Stern, " this lying in wait that the object may not give us the slip (for any laxity would at once be avenged by an increased difficulty in fixing the object), bears wit- ness to a condition and teaches us that the object with which we are carrying on this game of * catcher ' is in motion." * This explains why little children so easily lose sight of a moving object which they wish to follow with the eye. Here again we find that playful experimentation is essential, and, according to Raehlmann, it commonly ap- pears toward the end of the fifth week, rarely earlier.t That Preyer's boy on the twenty-third day followed with his eyes a slowly moving light was probably an instance of forced development, as a result of much experiment- ing. On the twenty-ninth day the same child crowed aloud at the sight of a swaying tassel. On the sixty- second day he gazed at a swinging lamp with constant manifestations of delight for nearly half an hour, but his eyes did not follow the swing of the pendulum; they moved, it is true, now left, now right, but not in time with the lamp. " On the one hundred and first day a pendulum making forty complete swings in a minute was for the first time followed with mechanical exact- * L. William Stem, Die Walimehinung von Bewegangen vermittelat des Auges, Zeiteohr. fur Psychol, u. Physiol, d. Sinuesorgane, vol. vii (1894), p. 373. + Ov. cit; p. 64. PERCEPTION OF MOVEMENT 69 Eess by his glance." * As his capacity for following the movement increased, the greater his interest in it be- came. A dog racing away or leaping about the child, the fast horse, the hopping toad, the crawling worm or gliding snake, running water, leaping flame, a rolling wagon, and, more than all, the fast-rushing train, with its cloud of steam — all these excite a really passionate sympathy. The smoke of a cigar, too, gives great satis- faction, and if a father knows how to make the beautiful blue rings he must at once renounce his peaceful con- templative enjoyment of his own play, for the youngster will demand a very different tempo in the repetition than is agreeable to him. In enumerating instances of ani- mal motion I omitted one because it deserves more ex- tended notice — namely, the flight of insects, in which chil- dren take such lively interest. The common illusion that an insect which has been caught can be induced to fly away by the recital of a form of words is highly inter- esting, in itself considered as well as in view of its prob- able origin. May not such poetic formulae be traceable to a religious or at least superstitious origin? The com- monest of these rhymes are those addressed to the lady- bird (Coccinella septempunctata) and the June bug. Eochholz has made a collection of the names of the for- mer, and found that in India it was sacred to the god Indra, and among the old Germans to Frega. I give two German forms of the verse : " Muttergotteshilhle, Mllokenstlllile, " Marienkaferclien, wann wird Sonne Fliege auf, fliege auf ! Wohl uber sein? die Bussenberg, Morgen oder heut ? Dass es besser Wetter wird." Flieg weg in den Himmel 1 " An English one is : " Ladybird, ladybird, Fly away home ; If you'll be quick, The sunshine will come." * Die Seele des Kindea, p. 27. Of. Baldwin's remarks on the child's interest in movement in Mental Development in the Child and the Bade, p. 336.— Tb. 70 THE PLAY OF MAN All are familiar with the adjuration to the June bug. Trench children sing : " Hanneton, vole, vole ! Ton mari est a I'eoole, II a dit qu'si tu volais, Tu auraia d'la soupe au lalt U a dit qu'si tu n' volais pas, Tu aurais la t4te en bas." To the butterfly, which is not so easily caught, the invitation is to alight : " Molketewer sett di, Kommt e Pogg de frett di I " And in Scotch : " Le, la, let. My bonnie pet 1 " The snail, too, is addressed in a rhyme which favours the illusion that he will put out his horns to order : " Schneck' im Haus, kreich heraus, Strecke deine vier Horner heraus I Sonst werf ioh dich in Graben, Freasen dich die Kaben." " Snail, snail, put out your horn, Or I'll kill your father and mother the morn." * As a final example, I will mention the gruesome cus- tom which, according to Papasliotis, obtains in modem Greece, and especially in Crete, of attaching a small lighted taper to a beetle and releasing it amid the accla- mations of excited children. A passage in Aristophanes gives the impression that the children of ancient Greece also indulged in this cruel sport.f ■ The eye of the adult, too, delights in movement; ab- solute immobility is as disturbing as absolute stillness. Here, as elsewhere, in considering the playful indulgence of sensuous perceptions, we must distinguish between pleasure in movement as such and pleasure in sensuously agreeable movement. Even children seem to exhibit this * See Ploss, Das Kind, etc., vol. ii, p. 313. f Grasberger, vol. i, p. 75. PERCEPTION OF MOVEMENT 71 difference. Some weeks after the experiments in form described above I drew irregular zigzags and some even, wavy lines in the air before Marie G — ■ — , then five years old, and asked which she liked better. She chose the lat- ter, though the others were calculated to produce a much more exciting impression, giving as her reason that the wavy lines were " straighter " ; evidently meaning, as in the case of the figures, that these were more regular. In adults susceptibility to sensuously agreeable movement is doubtless still stronger, yet with them, too, there is a wide margin of pleasure in movement as such. From the multiplicity of available examples of this I select first the observation of street scenes, which I have already noticed in the case of animals,* especially the dog. The- pleasure which we find in gazing out of our own windows or from behind the plate glass of a cafe at the bustle and swarm of a city's traffic detaches itself from all intellectual or even imaginative associations, and is gradually merged into a dreamy consciousness of a sensation of movement, mingled with mild enjoyment of its contrast with our own repose. With similar sensations we observe the stir of an ant-hill, the swarming of gnats in the evening glow, the confusion of snowflakes, and the whirling of leaves in a wind. A special interest attaches to the witnessing of skilful acrobatics where the feeling of inner imitation is strongly excited, and well does the juggler know how to turn this interest to account. The dexterous leaps which Amaranthus records at the beginning of the eight- eenth century furnishes us an historical example : " Many are the leaps by which the jugglers cause the money of the spectators to jump into their own purses, and they have names as strange as they are ridiculous. There is the monkey jump, which throws one backward, landing him on both feet; the trout leap, which does the same thing twice in quick succession and with the legs crossed ; twenty- two monkey jumps without stopping; a great variety of table and board jumps ; the goat and hare leaps ; the leap through eight rings, one from floor to ceiling, over chairs, etc. " f * The Flay of Animals, p. 225. t Alwin Sohultz, op cif., p. 169. 6 Y2 THE PLAT OF MAN The enjoyment is of course strengthened when the already interesting motion becomes sensuously agreeable ; a low degree of such pleasure is experienced in witness- ing regular motion in a single direction, such as that of a rushing stream or of clouds sailing across the heav- ens. In one of his verses Gottfried Keller calls these latter the " friendly companions of the dwellers on earth." " As they wander on they attract and distract the bur- dened soul of him who observes them with wonder, and keep him amused all through the weary hours." Gurgling springs add to their upward gushing motion the soft un- derground murmur of their waters, while the beauty of circling motion is perhaps never more effectively shown than in the majestic floating of birds of prey. Darwin says in his Voyage of the Beagle round the World: " When the condors are wheeling in a flock round and round any spot their flight is beautiful. Except when rising from the ground, I do not recollect ever having seen one of these birds flap its wings. Near Lima I watched several for nearly half an hour, without once taking off my eyes. They moved in large curves, sweep- ing in circles, descending and ascending, without giving a single flap." Perhaps our pleasure is even greater in wave motions, as they roll over the ocean or are pro- duced by the wind on a field of grain, or surge in the cur- rent of a rapid stream. These noble verses of Morike's on the Ehine falls bear witness to the power of the aesthetic feeling so aroused : " Halte dein Herz, o 'Wanderer, feat in gewaltigen Handen ! Mir entstilrzte vor Lust zittemd das meinige fast. Eastlos donnernde Massen auf donnernde Massen geworfen, Ohr vind Auge wohin retten sie sioh im Tumult ? . . . Sosse der Gotter, im Soliwung, eins uber den Euoken des ander Sturmen herunter und streu'n silbeme Mahnen umher; Herrliohe Leiber, unzahlbare, folgen sich, nimmer dieselben, Ewig dieselbigen — ^wer wartet das Ende wohl aus ? " * * " Stay now thine heart, wanderer, held fast in powerful hands I Mine own breaks forth in trembling joy. Thundering masses roll, on thundering masses hurled, How can the eye and ear escape the tumultuous roar ? PBKCEPTION OF MOVEMENT 73 Finally, we will notice dancing movements. It is not only among birds that the courted female gazes with in- terest at the dancing of the male; we see it in all public dancing. This is one of the instances where visual play is as important as the movement, for even among the par- ticipants pleasure is heightened by the exciting spectacle of the other dancers,* and it is true the world over that spectators of a dance always become as passionately aroused as do the performers themselves. The piercing trills with which the women of some negro tribes at in- tervals accompany the dance of the males are surely not merely invitations to the latter, but indications as well of their own excitement. For this reason many onlookers are impelled to keep time with the rhythmic dance by clicking the tongue or .clapping the hands. "The feeling of pleasure which is kindled in the performer," says Grosse, " sheds its rays on the beholder as well. ... In this way both become passionately excited, intoxicated by the sounds and movements; the transport constantly increasing, swells at last to veritable madness, which often results in violent outbreaks." t The solo dances of primi- tive peoples presuppose an onlooking public more than mass dances do. Among Bushmen and Eskimos the men dance alone, while, according to Eyre, Australian women do it sometimes alone and sometimes in companies to arouse the men.f Among the civilized people of the Orient professional dancing girls perform in the pres- ence of men, in which case the spectators alone can be said to play. And the same is true of our ballet, which, indeed, except for its direct sexual effect, possesses but little pleasurable quality.* War horses of the gods at play, leaping over one another, Dashing downward and strewing to the winds their silver manes ; Exquisite forms unnumbered follow them, never the same, Ever the same— who can wait till the end shall be ? " * This is the case with our round dances, and is, perhaps, the greatest objection to them. + Die AnSnge der Kunst, pp. 202, 215. t Itid. ^ . . * Perhaps the world-wide demand for some sort of mtoxrcant is another kind of sensory play, since it is calculated to excite and inten- sify the social feelings. Kraepelin says (Psychiatric, p. 3fil1 that there is scarcely a single people which does not possess some popular agency for 74 THE PLAY OF MAN II. Playful Use of the Motor Apparatus In this new section we by no means cut loose from ■what is sensory in a subjective sense, for of course we become conscious of our own movements only through the sensory paths of sight and what is collectively called touch, chiefly sensations of contact, and tendon and joint sensations. Yet from an objective standpoint we must enter upon the investigation of an entirely new province, where we shall be concerned not so much with the senses as with the manifold co-ordinated muscular movements of which our bodies are capable, and which are neces- sary or at least useful for the accomplishment of the tasks of life. Since these movements are progressively acquired, the child's first efforts can hardly be said to be voluntary. Many that are instinctive and automatic must be repeated over and over before voluntary ones come, for will im- plies an image which is a memory picture of the move- ment to be made. Preyer thinks that no intentional movements are made before the end of the first quarter.* Vierordt, indeed, says that their development is gradually progressive. " All indications point to the arm as first becoming obedient to volition, and the sucking move- getting rid of the petty cares of life, and that the variety of these poison- ous springs of pleasure is surprisingly great, I will note only alcoholism and the morphine hahit. Mild intoxication by the former creates in the subieot pleasant internal temperature sensations, combined with greater facility m all motor exertion. We become freer, gayer, and braver, and feel that life has no cares or anxieties for us, our strength and ability seem enhanced, and we behave and speak with candour and commonly without caution. The efieot of morphine, on the contrary, seems to be rather a pleasant deadening of the motor impulses and a quickening of the intellect and imagination. In Paris there are said to be at least fifty thousand morphine takers, and the manufacture of gold hypodermic syringes of elegant design has become an important branch of the gold- smith's business. That this intoxication is indulged in like play is shown by Kraepelin's statement that in a Eussian regiment, to which a young friend of his belonged, nearly all the officers used the syringe. A stifl more evident play with the social feelings is displayed by many hysteri- cal subjects, who take a certain satisfaction in imagineii or real bodily sufferings. These become the central fact in their" lives, and are even regarded with a sort of pride as an absorbing topic of conversation (Kraepelin, Psychiatric, p. 732). These extravagances go to show that men m a normal state also play with their social emotions, even when these are in a way dista.iteful. » Die See!? d«= Kindes, pp. 211, 216. PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OF THE BODILY ORGANS 75 ments, too, seem early to lose their reflex character. Then follow intentional movements of the head and neck and some groups of face muscles, and finally those of the lower limbs, which as late as the sixth month still move in the most haphazard manner."* Playful experiment then promotes this acquisition of control over the bodily movements by the will, and strengthens and renders it permanent after it has been acquired. Playful movements naturally fall into two great sub- divisions, namely, those belonging to the organs as such and those directed toward other objects in connection with such organs — a distinction already familiar to us in our study of the production of noises and tones. We will now consider the first of these divisions, the most important phenomenon of which is locomotion. A. PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OP THE BODILY ORGANS i In other connections we have touched upon many movement plays, such as voice practice and the produc- tion of sounds by means of various bodily organs, ex- perimentation with tactile stimuli, and watching moving objects. This sort of exercise often combines motor with sensor play, as has been frequently pointed out. There- fore, to avoid repetition, I will in this section, after a few preliminary remarks suggested by such bearings of the subject as I conceive to be essential, proceed at once to consider the most important and obvious of all move- ment-plays — ^namely, those connected with change of place. In voice practice experiments with the larynx, tongue, lips, and breathing muscles are involved. When children whisper, for example, their enjoyment must be due as much to the lip movements as to the slight sounds pro- duced. The fact that the blind deaf-mute Laura Bridg- mant playfully ' indulged in the production of various sounds seems to confirm this, and the principle is appli- cable too to other noises. The child who claps his hands, * Karl Vierordt, Physiologie des Kindesalters, Gerhardt's Handbuch der Kinderbrankheiten, vol. 1, p. 181. + Preyer, Die Seele des Kindes, p. 139. 76 ' THE PLAY OF MAN splashes in the water, bangs on the table with his fist, or puffs out his cheeks to blow a horn; the grown man who shuffles his feet, drums on the table or window pane, the noisy dancer, and even the piano or violin player who indulges in movements now loud, now soft, now slow, now quick — all derive a considerable part of their pleasure in the sport from the motor discharge which is involved. 1^0 exhaustive demonstration is needed to prove that the same conditions prevail in experimentation with touch stimuli and the observation of motion, which is so often connected with it. " In the first year," says Preyer, in speaking of the manifold and apparently aimless move- ments of the infant, " exercise of the muscles is the raison d'etre of all this activity which appears to be aim- less. An adult lying on his back could not repeat the conunonest movements of a seven to twelve months child without extreme fatigue." * In arm movements the de- velopment of right-handedness is of especial interest. Formerly it was attributed to the mother's or nurse's method of carrying the child, to the greater weight of one side of the body, and similar pretexts; but Baldwin's investigations show that such extraneous influences have little to do with it, for he found on excluding such agencies a marked preference for the right hand in the seventh and eighth nionths, displayed first in strenuous grasping movements.f An entirely satisfactory explanation has not yet been offered, though Sticker's theory is perhaps most probable — namely, that the left brain hemisphere has a better blood supply than the right.:t When there is some difficulty to overcome, some opportunity to dis- play dexterity, there are heightened stimulus and greater directness in the movements of arms and hands. Older children delight to set themselves such tasks as, for in- stance, clasping the hands behind the back, so that one * Preyer, Die Seele des Kindes, p. 139. t Mental Development, etc., chap, iv, the Origin of Eight-handedneas See, too, Vierordt, Physiologie des Kindesalters, p. 187. [Baldwin ex- plains it genetically as an " expressive function " which afterward cul- minates in speech, which is located in an adjacent, centre in the same hemisphere. — Te]. t See O. Behaghel, Etwaa vom Zuknopfen, Frankfurter Zeitung, 1897, No. 329. PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OP THE BODILY ORGANS Y7 arm crosses the shoulder, or placing the open hand on a table and raising the ring finger without any of the others, or laying the fingers over one another, etc. When such efforts are overlooked and directed by parents and teachers, we have the beginning of gymnastics, which remains a play so long as the subject enjoys it. Tree-hand movements, exercises with dumb-bells and weights and the like, so far as the interest is not centred in the for- eign body, all belong here. The intense desire for move- ment in many forms of mental disease should also be noted in this connection, since they have an indirect playful character, and by their very exaggeration are cal- culated to throw sonae light on the conduct of normal humanity. 'No psychic derangement shows this more clearly than does mania. The voice of such patients, says Kraepelin, " is usually high-pitched. . . . They are con- tented, feel inclined to all sorts of fun, and teasing, sing- ing, and joking," yet all this is invariably followed by a sudden plunge into the contrary mood. " That grave symptom of derangement, strong propensity to move- ment seems to stand in the closest connection with live- liness of spirits. The patient fairly revels in emotion; he is uneasy, can not long lie or sit still, stirs about, skips, runs, dances. He gesticulates wildly, claps his hands, makes faces, scribbles and rubs on the ground, walls, and windows, beats and drums on the floor, strips off his clothes, tears them to ribbons, etc." * Since movement and its opposite are closely connected, the question arises whether the strange rigidity of body manifested in cata- lepsy is not referable to the same cause. There is cer- tainly often a certain designedness about it. "When any attempt is made to change the position of the patient every muscle is found to be tense. If the head is forced aside by pressure, it flies back to its former position when released. To support the head hardly requires more than the weight of a .finger. We are best acquainted with the psychic organ of this stubborn resistance in the common cases where the patient responds contrarily to speech suggestions. He can be made to go forward by being * Op. cit., pp. 444, 600. 78 THE PLAT OF MAN ordered back, and vice versa, will take a seat when told not to, stand still wten commanded to go on, etc. Finally, before going on to our principal subject, we should glance at the instinctive chewing motions which were mentioned among tactile plays. When a full-grown man going for a walk sticks a twig in his mouth and gnaws it the movements of his own jaw are of more interest to him than is the stick, except as it promotes sensations of contact. We take genuine pleasure in crunching toast and gnawing on a bone, and the unfor- tunate habit of biting the finger nails is one form of such play. Many smokers soon chew up the mouth pieces of their pipes and cigar holders, and others constantly bite pencil or penholder, and are unhappy when such indul- gence is denied them. Betel-chewing, which, it is true, has the attraction of a narcotic, is indulged in, accord- ing to Von Bibra, by one hundred million human beings.f New-Zealanders use hauri, the resin of a certain tree. " In the northern part of Sweden resin obtained from the trunk of a pine tree is very generally chewed." X Ameri- cans who twenty-five years ago chewed prepared resin have adopted the chewing-gum habit. Material for it is brought chiefly from Mexico ; in 1895 four million pounds of chicle gum was imported for this purpose. Jules Xegras says of Eussia : " Gnawing sunflower seeds is the favourite amusement of children and of the poorer classes. The streets are full of shops where the beloved grain is sold, and the common people stufi their pockets with it. They skilfully split open the husk with the front teeth, discard it, and mechanically chew the kernel. It is a national habit, inexplicable to an outsider, for the seeds are tasteless; but the jaws are kept busy, and their mo- tion forms an accompaniment to the vague dreaming of the poor people." ** Turning now to our subject proper — ^namely, playful locomotion or change of place — ^we find the biological significance of play, the elaboration of certain imperfect * Op. cit., pp. 444, 600. + Die Narcotic Genussmittel und der Mensch, preface, and p. 378. X Ihid. * Jules Legraa, Au pays Kusse, Paris, 1895, p. 18. PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OP THE BODILY OBGAKS 79 instincts, brought out with marked distinctness. The child's first practice in the direction of future walking is found in the alternative kicking, which is so essential to muscular development.* Further progress is marked by raising the body and learning to sit, efforts marking the beginning of the struggle with weights which Souriau re- gards as the leading stimulus to movement-play. So long as this struggle to retain his equilibrium lasts, the child's behaviour betrays the direct intention of the play. Preyer says : " In his fourteenth week my sturdy boy easily made his first attempt to sit, having his back well propped. In his twenty-second week the child could raise himself in the effort to reach my face, but not till the thirty-ninth week could he sit alone, and still preferred a back. In his carriage it was necessary for him to hold on even in the fortieth and forty-first weeks. But when for a su- preme moment he did manage to sit up unassisted he was evidently delighted, and made the greatest efforts to preserve his equilibrium." t Creeping is an imperfect though genuine sort of loco- motion preparatory to walking. "It is a treat," says Sigismund, "to watch a creeping child. The tiny crea- ture, seated on the floor, longs for something beyond his reach; straining to get it, he loses his balance and falls over. In that position he still stretches his hand out, and notices that he is nearer the object of his desire, and that a few more such forward motions would attain it. Soon he becomes more active, sure, and courageous, and learns to maintain his centre of gravity on three supports while he lifts the fourth member for his next step for- ward, for at first the child raises but one limb at a time, though he soon learns to use the right hand and left foot together. I have never seen one so use the hand and foot on the same side. Sometimes the child crawls backward like a crab, even when there is nothing before him which he wishes to shun." t Fouquieres gives two beautiful an- * " The reprehensible oonfininff of the child's legs," says Vierordt, in reference to kicking, " retards the development of the muscles not a little." Psychologic des Kindesalters, p. 186. + Op. cii.,-p. T7i. X Kind und "Welt, p. TO. Sigismund tries to explain the backward 80 THE PLAT OF MAN cient representations of creeping children, the first going toward some fruit which lies on a footstool, and the other gazing at a vase on the ground* Children who have a lively desire to roam before they are able to walk invent many expedients which af- ford them great satisfaction; for example, a little boy, Werner H , has acquired remarkable skill in getting about by stifEening his arms as he stretches them down at his sides and swinging himself forward as if on crutches, as we sometimes see the unfortunates do who have had both legs amputated. Learning to stand is an essential step preliminary to walking, and causes a child the liveliest satisfaction, giv- ing him further control over his own body, and respond- ing as it does to an inborn impulse. Sigismund places the first efforts in this direction in the eighteenth or twenr tieth week. " If the nurse holds up a child of this age on her lap, supporting it under the arms, it will dance, hop, and spring perpetually like a hooked fish, bound like a grasshopper, draw up his legs like a closed pocket knife, and twist his head and neck — in short, he will ex- hibit the same mercurial exuberance of motion which pleases us in young goats, lambs, and kittens. The child's movements, however, are naturally in the direction of the normal human attitude, and he will make desperate at- tempts to pull himself up by his nurse's dress or the edge of a chair or his bath tub, and when by the exertion of his utmost strength he succeeds he commonly breaks out into loud cries of joy." t The playful quality so clearly recognised here appears also in Preyer's remark that his boy in the fortieth week preferred to be exercised in standing rather than in sitting, although the former was more difficult.^ This fact no doubt, enhanced the pleas- oreepine as due to the fact that the child gets on its dress and is impeded by it. But it is noteworthy that Baldwin's little daughter, who for a time preferred to creep backward, had previously exhibited the reverse of natural walking movements — namely, such as would carry her backward — when held over a table so that she could just feel it with her soles. Mental Development, etc., p. 82. * Les jeux des anciens, pp. 16, 21. t Sigismund, op. Ht., pp. 56, 74. j Die Seele des Kindes, p. 175. PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OP THE BODILY ORGANS 81 Tire. At the end of the first year or beginning of the second the child is usually far enough on to stand entirely alone. " He is amazed at his own daring, standing anxiously with feet wide apart, and at last letting himself down rather abruptly." * Coming now to actual walking, it is uncertain whether the alternating kicks of the infant point to special in- stinctive impulses, but we may be sure that when a child pushes forward on being held with the feet touching the floor he feels the stirrings of instinct. " Champney's child," says Preyer, " was held upright for the first time at the end of the nineteenth week, so that his feet rested on the floor, and he was moved forward; his legs worked with regularity, and each step was taken accurately and without hesitation or wavering even when the feet were lifted too high. Only in this case was the alternation interrupted, and he made another effort to take the step with his feet in the air. Resting the body sideways on one foot seemed to transfer the stimulus to the other. These observations ground my belief that walking is an instinctive act." f This happens somewhat later if the child is not moved forward on being held up ; thus Bald- win, whose experiment included no such motion, fovmd that the "native walking reflex" suddenly appeared in the ninth month, while previous to that only a single alternation appeared, which might well be ascribed to chance.t Independent experimentation begins when, hav- ing drawn himself up by a chair, the child walks around it with the help of his hands, all the time resting on the seat, in which progress the achievement of a corner is as critical a movement as the rounding of a jutting crag in the path of a mountain climber. Soon after this ar- rives the crucial test — ^the terrible risk of the first step alone, which, when successfully accomplished, throws both parent and child into a transport of joy. The apprecia- tive Sigismund gives a beautiful description of this too: " Forward steps having been practised while the hands cling to some fixed object, he is prepared to venture alone. * Sifcismund, op. cit., pp. 56, 74. t Die Seele des Klndes, p. 179. X Mental Development, etc., p. 81. 82 THE PLAY OF MAN This first step alone of a little child makes one involun- tarily hold his breath at the sight. The small face re- veals a conflict between the bold resolve to venture all and the cautious counsels of conservatism. Suddenly one little foot is shoved forward rather than lifted, and one hand at last stretched out as a balance. Sometimes that one step is all, and the little Icarus sinks down again. But often the child to whom the effort is particularly difficult makes, like a boy learning to skate or a man walking a rope, several steps in one direction, especially when the haven of safety is near at hand. Many children make no further attempts for weeks after the first ; others, again, follow it up at once. Very gradually, walking loses its anxious, doubtful character, and becomes an easy habit not requiring attention." Froebel has well de- scribed the pleasure in success which, together with the gratification of instinctive impulse, makes learning to walk such a satisfaction. " The fact is well established," he says, " that walking, and especially the first steps, give the child pleasure merely as a demonstration of his strength, although this is soon followed by other elements of enjoyment, such as the realization that it is means of arriving and of obtaining." * As it becomes mechanical, walking, of course, loses its playful character. Pleasure in simple locomotion is experienced by adults, as a rule, only when the discharge of their motor impulses has been hindered by a sedentary life, and even then motion is not the chief source of satisfaction. The regular rhythm of walking acts like a narcotic on an excited mind, which reacts to it unconsciously. I remember that Ibsen's John Gabriel Borkmann paced up and down like a sick wolf before the door of the wife from whom he was separated; and we find a fearful reminder of the restless walking back and forth of caged animals in the deep-worn foot- prints of the prisoner of Chillon. We find, though, for all ages games whose object is the conquest of some diffi- culty, great or small. We frequently see small dogs keep one leg up in the air without any apparent reason and run along on three, and in the same way children try all * Padagogisohe Sohriften, 1883, vol. ii, p. 333. PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OF THE BODILY ORGANS 83 sorts of experiments in walking. Now one of them is lame in one foot, now one small leg is stiff, now he drags his feet, now walks with a jerk or on tiptoe. Many of these movements are turned to account in elementary- gymnastics, and those pathological subjects whose mania takes a playful turn show quite similar peculiarities in walking.* Almost as soon as the child has learned to preserve his equilibrium in ordinary walking he proceeds to complicate the problem by trying to walk on curb- stones, in a rut, on a beam, on a balustrade or narrow wall. Unusual facility in these leads on to rope walking, and afterward turns out to be of great service to the mountain climber on narrow ridges and snow-covered ledges. A famous architect was so foolhardy as to walk round the narrow leads of the Konigstuhl tower in Hei- delberg, and it is recorded of the ancient Norse king Olav Tryggvason that he possessed the accomplishment, among others, of being able to run across the oars of a boat while the men were rowing. Another form of self- imposed difficulty and consequent conversion of loco- motion into play is the attempt to step on all the cracks in the pavement or floor or on certain figures in a carpet. Something of this kind must have led to the game of Paradieshiipfen in Germany, hop-scotch in Eng- land, la Marelle in Prance, in which certain spaces are marked out in the sand or on a floor, on whose outlines the foot must not be set. Running games will form our next subject, and we find that the child's earliest efforts for locomotion are as much like running as walking. His, first steps alone are, it is true, most hesitatingly made, but the nearer the goal, especially if it happens to be his mother kneeling with outstretched arms, the more rapid are his movements. Gradually the distinction between running and walking becomes more marked. For an example of genuine practice for a quick run Prayer's observations may again be cited. He says that on the four hundred and fifty-ninth day the boy stopped short several times in his rapid course and stamped. In his seventy-seventh week this child ran * Kraepelin, Psyohiatrie, p. 445. 84 THE PLAY OP MAN nineteen times without stopping around a large table, calling out " mama," and " bwa, bwa, bwa," * the while. This simple running soon loses its charm, and is not much used later in play until it is transformed into a contest and acquires a new and higher meaning, of which we shall speak presently. Yet there are many running games whose attraction consists in the difficulties to be overcome, and very rapid running is a delight in itself, throwing us into a sort of transport and exciting in us " je ne sais quelle idee d'infini, de d^sir sans mesure, de vie surabondante et folle, je ne sais quel dedain de I'Ih- dividualite quel besoin de se sentir aller sans se retenir, de SB perdre dans le tout." f Eunning down a smooth slope is a diversion which eas- ily tempts even grown people, and boys at least find some- thing like it in their game of snapping the whip, in which game a chain is made with the strongest boy in front. He has the task of moving the whole line in curves, so that the end ones are obliged to run in dizzy haste. In both cases natural forces, coming to the aid of the indi- vidual's own efforts, add to the enjoyment. Overcom- ing difficulties is prominent in the Hellenic nmAi^fiv, which it seems consisted in running on the tips of the toes, as well as in the equally ancient eWXc^ptfeu', which was a peculiar varied running, without curves, in a straight line back and forth, the line growing shorter and shorter till a central point was reached, where, as only one step remained, the runner came to a standstill.:^ Hopping and skipping are also to be classed with run- ning plays; the body is suspended in the air for an in- stant in all these movements, though in hopping and skipping the motion is more vertical. They belong in the same category with the vagaries of locomotion which I have pointed out, and any lively child finds it hard to dispense with them when out for a walk, just as lambs and kids do. In the ordinary skip one foot at a time * Op. cit., p. 182. t M. Guyau, Lea Problemea de I'Esth^tiqvie oontemporaine, p. 48. t L. Grasberger, Erziehung und Unterrioht im klasaiBohen Alterthum, pp. 32, 319. PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OP THE BODILY ORGANS 85 comes with a slight shoving motion on the ground and gives us the beginning of a galop and the principle of the waltz, while hopping forms the foundation for the polka. This hop on one foot is utilized in many plays, such as the hopscotch already mentioned, and in chas- ing and fighting games, like "Cock Fight" (German Hahnenkampf ), " Fox in his Hole," etc. In Greece the d(rKa\id^ei.v was a popular game, and Grasberger says that their hopping was the same as ours, and in some games he who accomplished the task with tl\e fewest hops won the prize. In a catching game the contest- ants hopped on a circular line and attempted to touch one another with the free foot. Finally, the drollest and most popular form of the game, which never failed to excite laughter in all beholders, was the genuine Askoliasmos. A skin well oiled on the outside and filled with air was stepped on by the player, who at- tempted to stand on it while he went through various dancing and hopping motions. The favourite circus trick of running on a rolling cannon ball is a modem form of this. Children begin to jump by leaping downward. Before the little experimentor has halfway learned to go down steps he likes to reach the ground by a jump fronx the last one, at first a difficult enough exploit. But soon this palls, and something harder is at once undertaken, just as the habitual drunkard attains to stronger and stronger potations. The three-year-old can take two or three steps or boldly leap from a chair on which he has laboriously clambered with this intent. When some large stone pil- lars intended for a garden gate lay in the street before my house all the children in the neighbourhood collected to enjoy the pleasure of jumping off of them. Psycho- logically this pleasure is derived not merely from the agreeable flying motion, but from the stimulus of diffi- culty to be overcome and a feeling of pride in encounter- ing risks. Chamberlain tells of two small Americans who had in their familiar speech a word for " the feeling you , have just before you jump, don't you know, when you mean to jump and want to do it and are just a little bit afraid to do it," and another for " the way you feel when 86 THE PLAT OF MAN you have just jumped and are awfully proud of it. Perhaps the liveliest feeling of pleasure is caused by the leap into water, because the soft, yielding, and yet re- sisting element furnishes an unusually long trajectory. Many South Sea islanders have cultivated this art to an astonishing degree. The pleasure of snowshoeing, too, consists chiefly in the circumstance that the path ends suddenly in an abrupt slope, over which the skilful sports- man flies in a tremendous leap amid a whir of soft snow. " To see," says Nansen in his book on Greenland, " how the practised runner makes his leap into the air is one of the finest spectacles in the world. To see him whiz- zing boldly down the mountain, collect himself in a few steps before the spring, pause and take position, and then like a sea gull glide through the air, striking the ground at a distance of twenty to twenty-five metres immersed in a cloud of flying snow — all this sends a thrill of sym- pathetic pleasure through one's frame." Later, children learn high and long-distance jumps, the doorstep, a tiny stream and narrow ditch affording opportunity for the first practice, and an older boy leaps gaily over a low hedge, a wide brook, or his comrade's back in leap-frog. The element of danger exists here and some combative- ness, as though it were a sort of conquest of the object; these features are especially prominent when the vault is made over a blazing fire, as in the custom with some mountaineers' games. It is first heard of in the Palilia, a herdsman's game of ancient Eome, commemorative of the founding of the city, and the people of the Nicobar Islands believe that leaping through fire is a sure cure for colds, fevers, etc.f The salto mortale marked the highest degree of difficulty and danger- — a Greek vase shows it as a somersault in the midst of the liigh jump. Norwegian youths can spring up so high as to touch the ceiling with one foot and agilely regain their up- right position. The Greeks used weights of stone or lead, which they swung violently to intensify the force of the * A. F. Chamberlain, The Child and Childhood in Folk-Thought, p. 263. + See W. Seoboda, Die Bewohner des Nikobar-Arohipels. Inter. Arch, filr Eth., vol. vi (1893), p. 32. PLAYFUL MOVEMENT OF THE BODILY ORGANS 87 leap, tlie springboard being apparently unknown to them. Grasberger regards the statement that Phayllos of Crete could cover from fifty to fifty-five feet * as well authen- ticated, but it was certainly a prodigious leap. Similar incredible feats are reported of the ancient Germans, one being that of the Viking Halfdan, who jumped over a gorge thirty yards wide.f From this is but a step to the world-famed contest between Brunhilde and Gunther, in. which Brunhilde hurled a mighty stone and then leaped after it as far as or farther than the stone went, and Siegfried performed the same feat, carrying Gunther with him. Climbing is probably the outcome of a special in- stinct. The striking fact that a newborn infant is at once able to cling with his hands certainly points to this. It has been shown by Robinson that infants may cling fast enough to a stick to be lifted from the ground and held suspended in midair. The first attempts at actual climbing occur in the second year in conjunction with creeping, and are usually efforts to go upstairs. Young animals whose future life demands skill in climbing also manifest this upward tendency. Where Lenz says that the two-weeks-old kid enjoys neck- breaking adventures and makes remarkable leaps, that he always wants to go upon piles of wood or stone, on walls and rocks, and that climbing upstairs is his chief delight,^ he gives at the same time a faithful picture of dawning human impulses. Little George K , a year and a half old, made his way in an unguarded moment from the garden to the third story of his father's house. Number- less accidents have resulted from the climbing upon chairs and tables, which is so indefatigably persisted in, and there are few plays which afford so much pleasure to older children as climbing trees. It is probable that, in spite of the danger of the situation, there is an instinctive feeling of security and comfort when they are cosily settled among the branches. We naturally attribute this to the habits of their progenitors, but a simpler explana- * Grasberger, op. .7iX.o\6vSri or /xi^XoXavSi;. Gold beetles were attached to cords three yards long, with pieces of wood on the end, and unmercifully pulled about in the air — veritable "hustling" indeed.t Children sometimes treat little birds in the same way. "When a boy catches a sparrow," says Geiler von Kaisersberg, " he ties a thread one or two ells long to it, letting the bird fly while he holds the cord in his hand. If it darts off and tries to get away the boy jerks the string, and the poor little creature falls down again." $ Paper kites in the form of birds and animals afford similar entertainment, and have a remarkably lifelike ap- pearance as they sail aloft. They impart to their owners a pleasant sense of a widely extended sphere of control. This fine sport originated in China, where it is the na- tional game. Bastian saw Siamese children* playing with kites, and the Berlin Museum has paper ones from the Soudan. They are iij use also in the South Sea Islands as far down as New Zealand. In concluding, I remark it was this faculty of busying one's self with all sorts of objects in this kind of play which first suggested to me the term experimentation •which I have found useful in a much wider sense. 2. Destructive (Analytic) Movement-Play The simplest and earliest handling of external objects exhibits the fundamental principle which differentiates the forms of our conscious activity, showing them to be such as make for division or for concentration. Play which separates or analyzes easily acquires a special ehar- * TJnter den Naturvolkern Centralbrasiliens, p. 88 t Grasberger, vol. i, p. 74. t Kochholz, p. 464. * Die Volker des oatliohen Asien,-vol. m, p. 323. 98 THE PLAY OF MAN acter which allies it with the fighting instincts and con- verts it into wild destructiveness. The veriest infant shows its beginnings in his desire to tear paper, pull the heads ofF of flowers, rummage in boxes, and the like ; and as the child grows older he displays more clearly this analytic impulse — ^boys as a rule more than girls, be it noted. They are constantly taking their toys to pieces, dissecting tools, weapons, clocks, toys, etc.; and since the child, like the savage, has not our clear perception of the difference between what is living and the lifeless, he will pull to pieces a beetle, a fly, or a bird with the same seren- ity which accompanies his demolition of a flower. Perez tells this of a child hardly ten months old. " His nurse put him on the grass and gave him a turtle to play with, and as he seemed to be absorbed in watching it, left him for a moment. When she came back one of the creature's legs was torn half off, and the zealous investigator was applying his powers to another." * As far back as Fisch- art's time this was known to be different from actual cruelty, and Keller in his Eomeo und Julia auf dem Dorfe gives us a classic instance. The boy and girl were playing together with a doll which he suddenly jerked away from the little girl and mischievously tossed up in the air. The doll came to grief in his hands, for a little hole appeared in one of her knees and some bran was escaping. The little girl did not seem to notice the hole, so the boy kept quite still busily making it larger with his finger and increasing the flow of bran. His silence at last aroused her suspicion, and she came closer and beheld his wickedness with horror. " Just look at that ! " he cried, holding the leg so that some bran fell in her face; and when she tried to reach the doll, he leaped away, and would not stop until the whole leg hung limp and empty as a husk. Then follows a description of how the offended child was finally won over to join the boy in the work of destruction, helping to bore hole after hole in the body of the martyr. Other examples of the workings of the destructive impulse will be adduced under fighting plays. * Les trois premieres amines, p. 84. CONSTRUCTIVE (SYNTHETIC) MOVEMENT-PLAY 99 3. Constructive {Synthetic) Movement-Play Constructive play bears about the same relation to imitation that analytic play bears to the fighting instinct. Circumstances under which this relation can not be traced are comparatively rare and very primitive. However, it is important to bear in mind that back of the ^I'j"''?''''', in which Aristotle finds the essence of artistic effort, and back of the overflow of dammed-up energies which the new psychology emphasizes, there is still something pri- meval. Eibot calls it " Le besoin de creer," or a demand for some external result of our instinctive movements, which is, after all, but a specialized form of joy in being a cause.* Pleasure in the work of our own hands, which takes a negative form in destructive sport, here becomes positive creation, the instinct for building, for uniting scattered elements into a new whole. Its simplest form is found in the child's moulding new forms from some suit- able material, their chief charm being their newness. Moist sand is heaped up or dug away, snow tunnelled through or rolled into a great ball, sticks of wood piled, water collected in a pond, etc. Such things are always going on where there are children. "I have a boy in mind," says Michelet, "hardly eighteen months old, who claps his hands joyously when he succeeds in laying one little stick upon another. He admires his work, and, like a small creator, seems to say : ' See that ? It is very good.' " t Marie G affords the following pretty in- stance : One day, when she was about three, she sat on the floor in great distress, with tears pouring down her cheeks. Soon she noticed that the drops rolled down like silver balls on her woollen dress, and at once began to collect the transparent pearls in a fold, and so accumulated as she sobbed a little " heap of woe " in her lap. We readily see how imitation brings about great va- riety in the manifestations of the constructive tendency. The fun is not at its height until the sand is converted into mountains, tunnels, moats, and walls, the snow into the figure of a man, the mud to a similitude of dolls, * Psyohologie des Sentiments, p. 323. t Compayr^, p. 271. 100 THE PLAY OF MAN the woodpile to buildings, water to lakes, streams to waterfalls, etc. Arranging the same or similar objects in rows is a more advanced and yet primitive kind of constructiveness. Preyer reports such arrangement of shells, pebbles, and buttons in the twenty-first month* Where this is not imitation of elders it may be regarded as the forerunner of that preference for regular succes- sion which is so prominent in decoration. Closely connected with all this is the disposition to make collections. The disposition to appropriate and cling to whatever attracts the attention (James t makes it a special instinct, which he calls appropriation or ac- quisitiveness) is a feature of constructive activity. Ani- mals as well as children try to accumulate whatever pleases them. Viscachas, woodrats, various members of the crow family, and many other birds, have the habit of hoarding especially bright objects. The inclination, first shows itself in children in their collecting in one place various things of only ordinary interest, as in the pockets of a small boy,t or a girl's bureau drawers; and adults too often retain this habit. Gr. Keller, whose me- tier for the grotesque is well known,* gives exaggerated instances of the mania for collecting, as in the case of the lacquered cabinet belonging to Ziis Biinzlin, one of his heroines. It contained a gilded and painted Easter egg, a half dozen silver teaspoons, the Lord's Prayer printed in gold on a red transparent substance which she said was human skin, a cherry stone on which a crucifix was carved, a broken ivory box lined with red silk and containing a small mirror and a thimble, another cherry stone inside of which a rainiature game of skittles was going on, a nut with a Madonna in it under glass and a silver heart inside, and so on. But the passion for collecting reaches its height only when some particular kind of thing forms its object. It is natural to us all to get together as many things as we can of a kind which especially attracts us. When the four-year-old girl who never tires of picking * Die Seele des Kindes, p. 383. t W. James, The Principles of Psychology, vol. ii, p. 422. t See Compayr^, p. 191. 5 See Baecntold, Gottfried Keller's Leben, vol. iii, p. 273. »JUi>IOJ.llUUliVJi (SYJNTJUiTlt!) MUVJliMENT-PLAT 101 flowers ties those she had plucked into a bouquet to carry home, we have the beginning of discriminating col- lection ; when she searches for and hoards shells or coloured pebbles of unusually perfect shape, she is really within the charmed circle. Munkacsy tells us of his childhood: " Strange as it may seem, my chief enioyment was in gath- ering stones on the street, and many a box on the ear has the habit earned for me. I stuffed my pockets so full that the integrity of my trousers was seriously threatened; and besides, my father had frequently for- bidden it." * Boys will collect anything, says James, which they see other boys collect, " from pieces of chalk and peach pits up to books and photographs." f Of the hundred students whom he questioned, only four or five had never collected anything. The words "which they see other boys collect " intimate that imitation and rivalry have much to do with this impulse. Any boy is admired and envied who has very rare butterflies, beetles, eggs, stamps, etc., or a large number of them; as indeed is any man, for the same principle applies to adults. There are other manifestations, too, of the combative emidative spirit which is active in almost all play. The search for more specimens often leads to contests which place even those who are otherwise honourable in an atti- tude of open hostility, and admits the practice of deceit, treachery, and robbery. Kleptomania is frequently noth- ing else than an overwhelming and imperative impulse for collecting. Tet the fact that adults collect things which have no intrinsic value shows that imitation and the com- bative spirit are here only incidental, in spite of their seeming weight. In impulsive insanity the patient care- fully saves the refuse from his own body, hair that has been cut off, finger nails, bits of skin, and even more un- pleasant things. This must have its origin in a deep- rooted demand for synthetic activity. 4. Playful Exercise of Endurance The play which we have been considering gains, as other kinds do, a further charm when difficulties are * Michael Munkacsy, Eriuuerungen, Berlin, 1897, p. 4. t Op. dt., vol. ii, p. i23. 102 THE PLAY OF MAN associated with it, and it becomes more like fighting play. When Striimpell's little daughter learned to grasp easily she was no longer satisfied with holding ordinary things, and took to picking up objects so small as to be difiicult to get hold of * When she was two and a half years old she enjoyed opening the door of a little clock, and never tired of fitting the small snap into its slot ; she could also thread the finest needle. Animals, too, seem to enjoy overcoming diificulties. Parrots like to take out screws, and Miss Romanes says that her monkey tried with inde- fatigable perseverance to put back the handle on a hearth brush which he had taken apart, and turned away from it at once as soon as he succeeded.! There are all sorts of puzzles which indulge this fancy, such as untying ap- parently fast knots with a single jerk, disentangling in- tertwined rings, taking balls or rings off an endless cord, taking two corks, held between the thumb and forefinger of one hand, with the thumb and forefinger of the other without leaving the hands joined, and many such things. The Greek x"^""''/^''* is explained for the first time by Becker in the fifth scene of his Charikles: "It was an attempt to bring a coin spinning on its edge to a stand- still by touching it from above with the finger." Eoch- holz thus describes the Swiss " Fadmen " : "A boy sitting in a basket which is swung to and fro in the air gets a prize if he succeeds in threading a needle during the process. ... In Aargau the contestants sit on a stout bottle with their feet crossed." t Strutt gives two Eng- lish examples from the fourteenth century. A youth standing on a light flexible pole stretched over water, attempted to put out one candle with another.* The familiar Chinese game which we call jackstraws was men- tioned by Amaranthus in 1Y15.|| The Berlin Museum has many such puzzles from remote parts of the world. O. Finsch mentions two (probably imported) much used in India: the Chut-jueh-mudra, in which a cube is put together from tiny bits, and the " five-horse game," where two wooden rings strung on a cord are to be removed * Op. dt., p. 9. * Op. Hi., p. 103. t The Play of Animals, p. 93. | Alwin Schultz, op. pavia a-^aipa the ball was thrown as high as pos- sible, and the contest was over who should catch it, or, if only two were playing, in the agility of the leap for it, * A peculiar and difficult game of catching is played by the Gilbert Islanders. A light feather ornament is loosely attached to a stick which is thrown into the air. As the stick descends the ornament floats away, and the players' task is to fish for it, as it were, with a stone fastened to a long line and bring it down. This game is called " Tabama." JK. Par- kinson, Beitrage zur Ethnologic der Gilbert Insulaner. t See Ernst Meier, Deutsche Kinderreime und Kinderspiele aua Swaben, p. 145. X K. Parkinson, op. dt. 9 120 THE PLAY OF MAN as in the Odyssey. The victor must throw the ball aloft again before his feet touch the earth. A game practised by the Indians is apparently of a similar character. " The beginner of the game holds a rather hard ball in his hand, throws it directly up, and attempts to catch it. This is by no means an easy task, for around him stands an eager circle each with hands outstretched to seize the ball. The successful one rushes to an appointed goal, while the others try to hinder him." * The game in which one boy rides on another's back to throw the ball is illustrated in an Egyptian wall picture, and Bastian saw it also in Burmah. In this, imitation becomes prominent, as does the element of rivalry, where the boys vie with one an- other in clapping, kneeling, and going through various motions before catching the ball. In most games where the ball is struck the contest develops after it is caught. In playing trapball, the ball is placed on a springboard and sent aloft. All try to catch it, and the victor must bounce the ball until he is supplanted by another. In England, trapball can be traced back to the fourteenth century. Strutt gives an illustration of the spoon-shaped board then used.f In closing these remarks on movement-play we will notice briefly the distinction implied in our use of the word " sport,'' since many of the games which we have been considering are so designated and practised by adults. What is it that converts play into sport? Pre- eminently the seriousness, the stress of earnestness with which it is pursued. Yet this statement is too general, for children too, as every one knows, are deeply earnest about their play, which does not on that account become a sport ; and a man may play billiards or chess with such perseverance and zeal that his game becomes the principal event of his daily life, and yet he is not called a sports- man. We must evidently find a more specific definition. The fact that in the merest play all sorts of acts and achievements are involved which are not, as such, playful, "but rather preparatory for play, may help us to this. In the eyes of adults the interest of a game lies in the * H. Wagner, lUustrirteB Spielbuch fur Knaberi, p. 92. t Op. eit., p. 111. PLAYFUL USE OF HIGHER MENTAL POWERS 121 construction of a theory for it; they husy themselves with perfection of form in play, with the rules of the game, with practice and training, with the proper outfit and suitable costume, etc. Only he who does so assidu- ously busy himself is a genuine sportsman, according to this theory. We may then define sport as play pursued reflectively, scientifically. This accounts for the fact that children are never sportsmen, despite the immense im- portance of their play to them, and that the mountain climber whose highest ideal is to conquer the heights, or the chess player who devotes all his spare time to the game, is still not a sportsman. III. Pla-sTful Use of the Higher Mental Powers Eousseau, who dwells upon the fact that a man's edu- cation begins at his birth, illustrates clearly, if somewhat exaggeratedly (being under the influence of Oondillac), the threefold biological significance of youth when he says in the first volume of Emile that if man came into the world full grown he would be " un parf ait imbecile, un automate, une statue immobile et presque insensible." These words exactly fit into our subject and its classifica- tion. Having treated of the sensor and motor aspects of experimentation, we now proceed to examine its value to the higher mental life, where by its help man is rescued from the danger of remaining " un parf ait imbecile." The influence of experimentation is felt in the activ- ity of intellect, feeling, and will alike. Of course all play, including the limited group which we have been considering, is of great importance to the whole mental make-up, since it acts in all directions, sharpening the intellect, exercising the will, and furnishing occasion for the discharge of emotion. But the special aim of the present discussion lies in the investigation of how far these powers of the mind are themselves the subjects of experimental play, and accordingly in what follows we shall not inquire as to the advantageous effect of play on attention, imagination, reason, etc., but will examine cases where these capacities are directly experimented with. 122 THE PLAT OF MAN A. EXPERIMENTATION WITH THE MENTAL POWERS If we ask ourselves what aspects of intellectual activ- ity are most conspicuously subjects of playful experi- mentation we naturally turn to memory, imagination, attention, and reason. Our first subject for consideration, then, is memory, where again we must distinguish be- tween simple recognition and reflective recollection. 1. Memory (a) Recognition Eecognition is the link which connects the present with what we have known in the past. The new psy- chology repudiates the common idea that the present im- pression is compared with a memory picture of the past and the two recognised as identical, since it is not borne out by the facts. ISTeither the emergence of a genuine memory picture nor its comparison with the present ob- ject is demonstrable. When I select my own from a num- ber of hats I simply recognise it, and can tell no more about it. But a careful study of cases in which the rec- ognition is hesitating clearly distinguishes the two fol- lowing stages. First there is the simple knowledge: I have seen this before, the recognition having been ac- complished by the " Ooefflcient of Eecognition " * (HojBE- ding) without our necessarily knowing why we recognise the object. It is difficult to say what grounds this feel- ing. Physiologically there may be special reasons for the accompanying nervous processes. Speaking psychologic- ally, there seem to be certain shadowy feelings of warmth and intimacy. In any case the content of the memory picture is genuine, though it does not stand alone, but blends with the impression of the moment by the process of assimilation.! A second stage is reached through the fact that we are able to place the object suitably; we know that we have had something to do with it, and this is often facilitated by a hasty reversion to its earlier psychic milieu of space and time relations, as well as of word * See Baldwin, Mental Development, etc., p. 315. Baldwin uses the term " coelBcient of recognition." t Ibid., p. 308, where the motor process is emphasized in connection ■with attention. RECOGNITION 123 and idea connections. Wten not too meehanical, as some- times when dressing we put on everything in its right relation but without attention, recognition is pre-emi- nently pleasurable. Even the mere coefficient of rec- ognition is accompanied with a mild satisfaction such as Faust experienced when after a foreign sojourn he found himself once more in his study. " Ah, when in one's own narrow cell the friendly lamp is burning." But much more intense is the effect of the second stage, for here comes in joy in accomplishing a task, in overcoming some difficulty, however slight. A short time ago I found on my table a fragment of porcelain decorated with gold. I knew it at once; the pattern was one I had often seen, but where? My glance accidentally fell on the curtain cord, and immediately I felt that the scrap must be from one of the porcelain knobs which it was looped on. The result was lively, almost triumphant satisfaction. The act of recognition being so pleasurable, we would natu- rally expect man to make use of it for its own sake — that is, experimentally. Aristotle, indeed, grounds ap- preciation of art in pleasurable recognition, and, while not going to that length, we must admit that the idea deserves consideration. We have already spoken of visual recognition, which is a prominent division, and will now consider play con- nected with it. The earliest manifestations of pleasure in the perception of form recorded by child psychologists are no other than acts of recognition. In its second quar- ter the infant begins to recognise its mother and nurse. There is nothing playful about this, of course, but very soon experimentation becomes prominent as the same form appears in changed conditions with consequent un- certainty involving the stimulus of difficulty to be over- come. At six months Preyer's baby saw his father's re- flection in a mirror, and made a sudden motion toward it.* The little girl observed by Pollock at thirteen months recognised pictures in a newspaper, calling out ■" Wah, wah " to the animals, trees, etct In Sully's beau- tiful experiment, made in the seventeenth month, the * Die Seele des Kindes, p. 38. + F. Pollock, An Infant's Progress in Language. Mind, vol. iii, 1878. 12i THE PLAY OF MAN playful character is more evident. " The young thinker," he says in the diary, " achieved his first success in geo- metric abstraction, or the consideration of pure form, when just seventeen months old. He had learned the name of his rubber ball. Having securely grasped this, he went on calling oranges ' Bo.' This left the father in some doubt whether the child was attending exclusively to form, as a geometrician should, for he was wont to make a toy of an orange, as when rolling it on the floor. This uncertainty was, however, soon removed. One day C was sitting at table beside his sire, while the latter was pouring out a glass of beer. Instantly the ready namer of things pointed to the bubbles on the surface, and exclaimed ' Bo ! ' This was repeated on many subse- quent occasions. As the child made no attempt to handle the bubbles, it was evident that he did not view them as possible playthings. As he got lost in contemplation, muttering ' Bo, bo ! ' his father tells us that he had the satisfaction of feeling sure that the young mind was already learning to turn away from the coarseness of matter and fix itself on the refined attribute of form." * At this time, too, the child begins to enjoy recognising things from their mere outline. Sigismuad records progress in this direction at about the end of the second year. " They already know many things by the simple outline. My boy, who, by the way, has seen few pictures, recognised my shadow in his twenty-first month, being frightened for the first moment, then clearly delighted, calling out ' Papa ! ' and has probably not been afraid of any shadow since. On the contrary, he, like other children of his age, likes to watch shadow pictures.f especially moving. ones." They soon learn to know the outlines of their own. How deeply must the essence of individuality be impressed upon them when these meagre, outlines of a * Sully, Studies in Childhood, p. 421. See also Sikorski's report on his eight-months-old child, who recoprnised the orescent shape of the holes in a pigeon house as connected with the moon (p. 414). t The French animal psychologist, E. Alix, says the same thing of an Arabian dog which he owned (see The Play of Animals, p. 91). Play with shadows hy adults might he dwelt upon. With us it is hardly more than trivial amusement for an idle company, but among other peoples it becomes much more important, as witness the highly interesting silhou- ettes hanging in the Berlin Museum. See, further, P. v. Sumasoh, Das tilrkisohe Schattenspiel, Internat. Archiv fur Ethnographic, vol. ii, p. 1. RECOGNITION 125 figure which they are accustomed to seeing filled out are sufficient for recognition! Perhaps for children who do not see pictures early, shadows serve to introduce the lat- ter and explain them, just as, according to the Greek fable, they led to the art of drawing. Children are so fond of looking at pictures that they often enjoy the representa- tion more than the reality. "A house!" exclaims the little picture gazer delightedly when he comes to one, while he would hardly notice the real thing. Does this pleasure arise from the solving of a riddle, as Aristotle seems to say ? * This would make the enjoyment of recognition identical with that derived from overcoming difficulties, and there can be no doubt that this is an important ele- ment in all art appreciation, if it be not, indeed, the very kernel of aesthetic enjoyment. In the enjoyment of a landscape, it is safe to say that for nine tenths of the ob- servers the chief satisfaction comes from recognising the various peaks, villages, castles, etc., in the panorama. There is one more point. As soon as anything like a con- test is involved, a stronger shock, a sturdier resistance to the act of recognition, a comic colouring is given to the enjoyment. Marie G , who from the time she was two years old had a veritable passion for having things drawn for her, considered it a great joke when she could not make out what was meant without some effort. For older children and adults puzzle pictures are skilfully prepared with a view to rendering recognition difficult, and success is followed by triiunphant laughter. Finally, it may be added that primitive folk are sometimes unable to see the meaning of photographs and other pictures,t a fact which makes their early recognition by children the more wonderful. On the other hand, I recall Charles de La- hitte's observation of an imprisoned Guayake, a little- known and utterly uncivilized tribe of southern Para- guay) which proves that the very lowest savage may rec- ognise a photograph and be overjoyed with it. "He rec- ognised his picture after some instruction, and broke out with expressions of pleasure and astonishment, crying re- * Kind und Welt, p. 169. See Miss Shinn, op. cit, p. 71. t K. V. d. Steinen, Bteinzeit-Indianer in Paraguay. Globus, vol. Ixvii, 1895, p. 249. 126 THE PLAY OF MAN peatedly as he slapped his body, ' Gon, gon ! ' whkh equals ' me ! ' " * Acoustic recognition, too, is more important and sig- nificant for art than one might at first suppose. We find even in children who repeat a simple melody indefatigably that pleasure in repetition forms a psychological basis for a physiological impulse, and in the musical pleasures of adults this feeling is much stronger.f The playful feature is emphasized when acoustic conditions vary, as in changed pitch or some other modification, so that overcoming difficulty enters. Potpourri and variations are instances. In Wagner's music there is a peculiar sat- isfaction in the emergence of a leading motive from the overwhelming mass of tones; like a friendly island rising in the midst of surging seas. All modern music, indeed, is evolved from the intricacies and modifications of such acoustic play; to follow them and identify the uaity in variety is a pleasure which grows with the hearer's technical appreciation, until at last, in fuguelike move- ments, actual beauty is subordinated to the artfully or- dered formal features of the composition. In poetry, playful repetition takes manifold forms,^ such as rhyme, alliteration, and that chainlike reiteration of words referred to earlier. But still more ingenious and charming is the device of bringing the repetition so close on its own heels that the first impression still dwells in the mind when the second demands attention. Pure enjoyment of repetition as such is simplest when the same or similar forms are separated by a long interval, allowing the first impression to sink below the threshold of consciousness before its analogue appears. A passage of this kind occurs in Goethe's poem quoted above, " O gieb vom weichen Pfuhle," etc., and is still better illus- trated by tlie similarity of the second and eighth verses of a triolet. Take this of Gleims : * K. Andr^e, Ethnographisohe Parallelen und Vergleiohe, p. 57. + We may perhaps find the moving "Qualitat der Bekauntheit" in the recurrence of the keynote of a melody. t Zola frequently applies the Wagnerian leading-motive method to the characterization of some figure in his novels, often with wearisome per- sistence, yet a not uninteresting study might be made of the subject. RECOGNITION 127 " Ein Triolet soil ich ihr singen ? Ein Triolet ist viel zu klein, Ihr grosses Lob hineinzubringen. Ein Triolet soil ich ihr singen ? Wie sollt ich mit der Kleinheit ringen, Es luilsst' ein grosser Hymnus sein ! Ein Triolet soil ich ihr singen 3 Ein Triolet ist viel zu klein I " * It is but a step from this to the familiar and primitive refrain.f To serve this purpose, interjections, single sounds, words, and sentences are repeated after so long an interval that there can be no question of sensuous enjoy- ment ; it becomes mere repetition. As the soothing satis- faction of a melody is produced by dwelling on the key- note, so with the refrain. This principle is even more strongly brought out in the turn, which is so prominent a feature in much lyric poetry, and also in the form origi- nating in Spain and Portugal in which a single verse of a familiar stanza is made the keynote of a new poem. This is play to the producer and hearers as well. Such analogy of lyric form to musical variation as is shown in the " f reien Glosse " actually deserves to be called variation itself.:]: In the imitation of particular sounds poetry offers further indulgence to the enjoyment of repetition, to the amusement of adults and delight of children. This is really imitative play and as such belongs to a later divi- sion of our subject ; yet for the listener it is also an exer- cise in repetition, and is conspicuous in many refrains. Minor says : " The imitation of musical instruments by means of articulate or nondescript sounds is common in folk songs. The shepherd's pipe, the horn, trimipet, and * See Fr. Kaufmann, Die Deutsche Metrik nach ihrer gesohichtlichen Entwiokelung, Marburg, 1897, p. 224. We may find a fine English exam- ple in a triolet of Walter Crane's : " In the light, in the shade, Hope is bom, and not made, This is time and life's measure ; And the heart finds its treasure With a heart unafraid In the light, in the shade ; In the light, in the shade. This is time and life's measure." — Tb. + K. M. Meyer regards the refrain as a survival from the first begin- ning of poetry. Ueber die Kefrain, Zeitsohr. f. vgl. Literaturgeschiohte, vol. i (1887), p. 44. t See Minor, Neuhochdeutsohe Metrik, pp. 393, 460. 128 THE PLAY OF MAN drum are introduced in pastoral, hunting, and military pieces." * Children are especially partial to the mimicry of animals, and some of the formulse have become tradi- tional. The German robin sings, it seems, " Buble witt witt witt, I will dir e Kriii-zerrle gean." The sparrow says " Twitter, twitter " ; the quail " Bob White, peas ripe ? " the cackling hen in English, " Cut, cut, cadahcut," and in German " Duck di duck Alii Stuck Unter mi Ruck." Finally, we must not forget a very popular game founded on recognition. A whole company will dance around a blindfolded person until he hits on the floor with a stick, whereupon they all stand still, and he touches one and attempts to identify him by the sound of his voice, having three trials. Sometimes the sense of touch is allowed to assist the recognition, as in blind- man's-bufE and the Greek (/.vCvSa-i (b) Reflective Memory Playful exercise of the recoUective faculty, dependent on the enjojrment of reproduction as such rather than on any quality of the memory picture, is confined almost exclusively to children, and indeed to those not yet of the school age. From about the third year $ to the end of the sixth, when enforced mental exercise is begun, we find in children outspoken satisfaction in the voluntary exercise of reproduction. During this time mental feats almost unachievable by adults are performed, such as learning by heart thick books of nursery rhymes, long poems, interminable stories — acquirements which stir the proud parents with hope and mistaken conclusions as to the extraordinary mental endowments of their offspring. That children of this age often burden their minds with * See Minor, Neuhoohdeutsohe Metrilc, pp. 393, 460. t Grasberger, p. 46. For other forms of this game see Gutsmuths, p. 877. J " The third year," says Sully, " is epooh-raakipg in the history of memory. It is now that impressions begin to work themselves into the young consciousness so deeply and firmly that they become a part of the permanent stock iu trade of the mind."— Studies of Childhood, p. 437. REFLECTIVE MEMORY 129 lists of Tineonnected and meaningless words and take pride in reciting them, proves that enjoyment of the mere ability to do it is the chief incentive. Thus, when she was in her sixth year, Marie G- learned to count in French from one to one hundred, and enjoyed going over the numbers when she supposed herself to be unob- served, as when lying in bed in the morning. Carl Stumpf's report of the prodigy Otto Poehler,* who at two years of age had learned to read fluently without teaching, is highly interesting in this connection. Stumpf says of the boy, then four years old and in other respects normal, having, indeed, a decided disinclination for systematic education when others tried to impose it on him : " Reading is his greatest passion, and the most important thing in his life. He knows the birth and death year of every German Kaiser from Charles the Great, as well as of many poets, philosophers, etc., and can tell the birthday and place of most of them. Besides, he knows the capitals of most countries, and the rivers on which they are situated, etc. He knows all about the Thirty Tears' War from beginning to end, with the lead- ing battles of this and other wars. According to his mother's statement, he has acquired all this without aid, and by diligent study of a patriotic almanac and similar literature about the house, and from deciphering monu- mental inscriptions in the city, an amusement which he dotes on. I myself can witness to the lasting impression which such facts make on his mind. At the Seminary I showed him pictures of Fechner, Lotze, and Helmholtz, mentioning their full names. Of each he asked at once when and where he was bom and died, and some days later could give not only name and surname of every one, but the full date of birth and death, mentioning day, month, year, and place." Since Stumpf tells us that there was no trace of vanity or a desire to show off, we must explain these accomplishments as the result of the child's desire to experiment playfully with his own mental powers. In assigning such play chiefly to the period between * Sonntagsbeilage zur Voasisohen Zeitung, January 10, 1897. 130 THE PLAY OP MAN the third and sixth years, I did not by any means intend to imply that it is suspended thereafter. It is, indeed, often seriously impeded by the compulsory methods com- mon in our schools, yet it does not entirely vanish. Leasing is a brilliant example of the scholar by whom even erudition may be turned to playful account, and who is able to assimilate every kind of pabulum that falls in the way of his omnivorous brain. When the teacher is able to direct his pupils to the discharge of their tasks with interest and pleasure, there may still be something play- ful about the mental exercise of school work. Subordina- tion to authority does not exclude play so long as the obedience is voluntary. Children never submit so abso- lutely to any one else as to a leader among their play- fellows. Fenelon was not far wrong when he said : " The common way of educating is very mistaken — to place everything that is pleasant on one side and all that is disagreeable on the other, connecting the latter with in- dustry and study and regarding the former as waste of time. How can we expect anything else than that the child will grow impatient of the restraint and run to his play with the greatest eagerness ? " * Those who, on the other hand, protest against making play of instruc- tion are mistaken in supposing that it is thereby turned into a jest, for we well know that play can be prosecuted with great zeal and earnestness. Yet they are not alto- gether wrong, for it is most important to impress the necessity for doing what is repugnant to us, and for this merely playful study, even if it accomplished all else that we want, would always be inadequate. Finally, with re- gard to the adult: it does occasionally happen even in our rushing times that some one commits a poem to mem- ory with the avowed intention of giving exercise to his mind. Were this practical end the only one, play, indeed^ would not be involved ; but, as a rule, pleasure in acquisi- tion as such is combined with the other motive. Such exercise was formerly much more common, and at a time when few could read surprising feats were performed. A * Die Erziehung der Tochter, wie solohe Herr von Fteflon, Erz- bischoff von Cambray besohrieben, aus dem Franzosisohen llbersetzt. Lubeok, 1740, p. 36. IMAGINATION 131 survival of this may be found now in the Balkan coun- tries, where the heroic songs are still orally preserved. In mental exercise of this kind it is difficult to draw the line between the emotions aroused by the content of the piece and what pleasure is derived from the act of learning, and ■we will not here go into that phase of the subject, only mentioning, in closing the section, that conjuring up one's own past is another form of memory-play with the feel- ings. 2. Imagination The phenomena which the exigencies of language com- pel us to include under the words imagination or fantasy naturally fall into two quite clearly differentiated groups, namely, illusion, either playful or serious, and the vol- untary or involuntary transformation of our mental con- tent. Considerable controversy has arisen as to which of these groups shall be taken as the basis of a definition, and it is in opposition to the prevailing view that I have designated the capacity for illusion as my choice for that purpose. Yet on reflection I consider it more pru- dent not to attempt a comprehensive definition, but rather to keep separate the two distinct departments of mental life which the usages of language too closely- associate, and "which, while they are closely interwoven in some of their aspects, are yet of so heterogeneous a character that we may hope to distinguish between them in all esseijtials. (a) Playful Illusion This heading includes all those manifold cases in ■which mental presentation is accepted as actual, whether they are concerned with genuine memory pictures or merely some mental content worked up for the occasion. When a fever patient sees an absent friend bodily before iim, we call this imagination as well as when he seems to see absurd or grotesque things. The distinguishing fea- ture is whether the illusion appears as a substitute for reality, as in dreams, delirium, hypnosis, and insanity, or as the product of conscious self-deception (K. Lange's "bewusste Selbsttauschung," P. Souriau's "illusion vo- lontaire"), where the knowledge that we have ourselves produced the illusion prevents actual substitution, as in 132 THE PLAT OF MAN play and art. Transition from one to the other of these states is easy. The dreamer or fever patient may have the feeling that the fantasy in which he lives and suffers is, after all, an unreal thing ; and, on the other hand, illu- sion is often so strong for playing children and artists that it forms a perfect substitute for reality. Just now we are concerned with conscious illusion only. In in- quiring how far experimentation is involved in it we must bear in mind that there are two sides to all illu- sion, one which has reference to an internal image, and the other blending with external phenomena. It is a dis- tinction similar to that between hallucination and illu- sion in the narrower pathological sense. The illusion which depends on internal images can, as we have seen, elevate actual memories as well as con- vertible mental contents to the appearance of reality. So we see that the two kinds of mental activity included under the name imagination are intimately and variously related, while neither alone covers the entire ground. Enjoyment of play with memory pictures which are more than ordinarily faithful to fact is practised almost ex- clusively by adults, and more especially by the aged. The psychological condition of this is that by means of strong concentration of attention on the mental picture (we are reminded again of hypnosis) the actual present is thrown very much into the background, and the past thus con- jured up loses many of the usual characteristics of a past, since the memory picture, from lacking the usual projec- tion, assumes the expression of reality. The following is a beautiful example of this distinction between mere reflective memory and playful illusion where the differ- entiation was gradually built up. When Goethe as a ma- ture man took up his Faust manuscript, he said to him- self, " I thought over this subject a great deal ten years ago ; but that would be only a memory." Yet as he lost himself in the joyful or painful memories connected with that period, he came to ignore the fact that they were long past, and more and more substituted them for the present, which in its turn became gradually submerged. These words reveal the play of his imag- ination : PLAYFUL ILLUSION I33 " My pulses thrill, tears flow without control, A tender mood my steadfast heart o'ersways ; What I possess as from afar I see, What I have lost is the reality to me." Miss SwanwicTc's translation. _ A Strange characteristic of these playful reminiscences IS that what displeased us at" the time of its occurrence may give pleasure when revived by memory. When, for instance, a traveller recounts his adventures on a moun- tain tour he takes pleasure in dwelling on the hardships which he endured. Is this entirely due to the knowledge that it is all over now? I think not. First comes self- congratulation on having borne such grievous difficulties, i. e., the feeling of power which we find to be the chief source of satisfaction in almost all play. Playful pretence * that the personified and elaborated mental contents are real is psychologically important to productive artists, and still more so to the enjoyment of poetic creations. Artists often refer to their as yet un- embodied conceptions as to very real things, and fre- quently these assume the role of relentless taskmasters or of veritable demoniacal possessions. Then, of course, they cease to be playful. A. Feuerbach writes: "If it were not for this Gastmahl I would be happy ; but it per- vades everything and gets in my way. It haunts my thoughts. It feeds on my heart's blood and saps my in- most life." t Yet the artist often exults in the fact that he has a self -created world all his own — he plays with the illusion. " It would concern the reader little, perhaps," says Dickens about his David Copperfield, " to know how sorrowfully the pen is laid down at the close of a two years' imaginative task; or how an author feels as if he were dismissing some portion of himself into the shadowy world when a crowd of the creatures of his own brain are going from him forever. Yet I have nothing else to tell, unless, indeed, I were to confess (which might be of less * Fur wirklich halten : It is recommended hy the authorities of Bald- win's Dictionary of Philosophy that the term "semblance" be used as the equivalent of the German "shein " or illusion — that which is "taken for real " — in this field of the aesthetic and play functions.— Ed. + See A. Oelzelt-Nevin, Ueber Phantasie-Vorstellungen. Graz, 1889, p. 42. 134 THE PLAY OP MAN moment still) that no one can ever believe this narrative, in the reading, more than I have believed it in the writ- ing." This sort of illusion is essential to aesthetic enjoy- ment in hearing or reading poetic creations. The child ■who listens absorbedly to a fairy story,* the boy for whom the entire external world sinks and vanishes while he is lost in a tale of adventure, or the adult who follows with breathless attention the development of a captivating ro- mance; all allow the authors' creations to get possession of their consciousness to the exclusion of reality, and yet not as an actual substitute for it. In a second kind of conscious illusion the mental con- tent blends with actual external phenomena and shares in their reality. Here, according to Wundt's terminology, we have a kind of simultaneous association which is very like the imagination that transforms reality. Each of our ordinary concepts is a mixture of sensuous impression ■with its associated memory picture, and it first becomes illusion when the association assumes the character of hallucination, and is susceptible of correction by an ap- peal to common experience. When a white spot dimly re- vealed by the moonlight appears to me as unmistakably a towel, I see more than sense-perception warrants; but when I firmly believe that it is a white-robed figure, then I have fallen into an illusion, and, as they say, my im- agination has played me a trick. Yet there are degrees of difference between serious illusion and the playful kind which concerns us here. When I had fever, as a boy, I saw on the bright coverlet the most marvellous feast spread out, and at the same time had an amused con- sciousness that it was all an illusion caused by my illness. Von Bibra's experiences from hasheesh-smoking were quite similar to this, as he tells us in his book previously cited. In this are two distinct kinds of play, first the substitu- tion of an image for its original, and second the lending. ■* It may often be observed that the child's eyes lose their oonvergenoe as their interest is absorbed— a means of detachment from surrounding reality. Even in half-grown children the power of detachment is much greater than in adults. The great modern poets are at a disadvantage in that their appeal is to an audience whose power of imagination is on the wane. It was otherwise with less cultured people when, first, the adults were less literal and, second, the poets themselves less intellectualized. ■TRANSFORMATION OF THE MEMORY-CONTENT 135 as it were, of our own personality. The first has been treated exhaustively by K. Langs in his study of conscious illusion. Not only the little girl who, makes a favourite baby of a knotted handkerchief or some other formless object, and the boy who tails a stick a horse, a pile of sand a mountain, a collection of chairs a railroad train, etc., but also the adult in his enjoyment of plastic art and scenic effect, using his own mental content to verify the appearance, is making playful use of his capacity for illusion, and he, too, takes pleasure in so doing. Lend- ing one's own personality reveals illusion as operative in another direction; here we impart our own mental states to the object under consideration; we "lend" to it the emotions which we conceive would be ours under like con- ditions (the shoe is made to fit the last). From our feeling of sympathy or inner imitation we then experi- ence all the resulting states of mind, cheerfulness and brightness from what is attractive, or solemnity from the sublime. In speaking of imitation we shall have occasion to refer to this again. (b) Playful Transformation of the Memory-Content Simple recoUective processes by no means give an adequate picture of reality. In the tenth chapter of his book on illusions Sully gives such a list and description of important mental illusions as is calculated to shake our faith in the trustworthiness of memory. It seems that our recollections are often mere fragments of a formerly well-known whole (we may recall, for example, only one or two features of an acquaintance), and as a result of this analytic process we are prone to make new combinations of the detached elements. Thus, a short time ago I thought that I could clearly picture to my- self the house of my brother-in-law by the power of asso- ciation, but I afterward discovered that I had conceived the bricks to be far too bright a red, and had evidently substituted the colour of some other house. What we call constructive imagination then turns out to be constantly renewed manipulation of previously verified impressions. We need not here touch upon the wide field of involuntary productive imagination, since it is only play directed byj 10 136 THE PLAT OP MAN the will that is engaging us; yet before going on to con- crete cases, it should be stated that in constructive im- agination as well the pictures formed are to a consid- erable extent involuntary, the will aiding more by its in- fluence in concentrating the attention on the trend of the internal processes and in discriminating between them, than in forming the picture itself. This is why the efforts of great artists are so often like inspirations. Building air castles is the simplest exercise of con- structive imagination.* It most commonly manifests itself as voluntary playful forming of cheerful and am- bitious images of ourselves or our friends amid the most fortunate surroundings.f We may see how it is done by watching little children who have enjoyed a new kind of treat at a birthday party or some such occasion — how they will remember and repeat it in their future plays. All the details will be copied sometimes just as in the model, sometimes in new combinations, or turned into a joke. The inestimable value of such play for making life worth living is self-evident. It veils the sordidness of everyday existence with a double illusion, the first being our con- ception of the air castle as a reality, and so getting im- mediate possession of this radiant dream (here the two kinds of imagination converge). Such illusion supplies the psychological interest in Faust's bargain; he enjoys the " schonsten Augenblick," although his present satis- faction is merely premonitory. The second illusion is exemplified in our implicit trust that the future will verify our hope,t that buoyant and vivifying emotion which accompanies us all through life. Conjuring up all sorts of hindrances, diiEculties, and dangers is a modification of this castle building, and gives more play to the intellectual faculties as we weigh the varying possibilities of success or failure, develop the probable consequences of a proposed step, and try to find * See Baldwin's Handbook of Psychology, vol. 1, p. 227. + That some temperaments play with dreams of an unhappy future there is no doubt. We shall encounter such phenomena later in noticing enjoyment of pain. X Games of chance which keep the participants long in suspense are amonj5 the special forms of adult play which make use of such picturing of the future. TRANSFORMATION OF THE MEMORY-CONTENT 137 the best and easiest road to success. By such processes the crude picture is moulded into shape. Here, again, the capacity for illusion is of importance in connection with imaginative combination, since each possibility that is considered has the appearance of reality in its turn, but such mental activity is playful only when the com- binations as such are enjoyable. Every creative artist, statesman, writer, or scholar must often work on an im- aginative basis which he knows he can never verify. Many persons like to take, with the help of a Baedeker, long journeys which they can never hope to indulge in in any other way, and to solve complicated problems based on hypothetical games of chess. Leaving castle building, let us see what other forms of constructive fantasy can be practiced playfully. In speaking of illusions we have noticed the blending of memories with external phenomena, which is so con- spicuous in child play and in sesthetic enjoyment. The process of " assimilation " which grounds playful self- deception is so closely related to constructive imagina- tion that it is difficult to locate the boundary between them. The psychic process which transforms a splinter into a (ioll's milk-bottle, a few chips stuck up into men and trees, a cloud * into the greatest variety of faces, animals, etc., which endows lifeless objects with our own spiritual capacities of desire, emotion, and teiiiper — all this is synthetic activity which may quite as well be called assimilation as constructive imagination. Its pleasurable quality is inherent,t especially where a per- fect imitation of reality would give us so little room for the exercise of imagination as to be on the whole less satisfactory. Constructiveness which is concerned purely with ideas, not blending them with external objects, is quite as important. One of its uses, though one not , clearly defined, may be to direct the attention, when there exists but a vague idea of the completed picture, to a choice * Even the serious Lucca Sifrnorelli was not ashamed to place two clouds, which, showing distinct faces, back of the Christ in his Cruoiflxion. t See in this connection the more thorough treatment in the section on inner imitation. 138 THE PLAY OF MAN among the multifarioiis internal images which make up the material supplied by memory. This process is of the greatest importance in the origination of artistic com- positions, but its relatively simple beginnings may be clearly traced in the play of children. While we may not hope to follow the imaginative process into all its rami- fications and refinements, nor to account for individual variations in memory content, visual, motor, etc., three general, constantly recurring forms of its constructive activity are distinguishable: 1. The conjunction of con- cepts which are not connected, or not so connected in reality. 2. The abstraction of certain elements from a complex and their transference to other combinations. 3. Exaggeration and depreciation. It will be readily seen that these three forms of imaginative activity are useful for playful experimentation as well as in actual artistic production, which, however, rarely makes playful use of fantasy. The first of these activities is often so capricious in children that it can hardly be called experimentation; it seems a mere disconnected succession of fancies and self- originated images, very much as in the case of mania and other abnormal states. Striimpell's little daughter, aged one and a half years, is responsible for the following: " Go gramma aqd buy a pretty doll gramma for me under the bed for me to play the piano. Bring papa golden sheep; take mamma's white sheep too. Go on, there, driver, gramma is going. Get up, Klinglingling. Gramma comes up the steps. Oh, oh, ah, ah, lying on the floor, all tied up, no cap on. Theodosia [her doll] lie on the bed, bring yellow sheep to Theodosia. Eun, tap, tap, tap for Lina. Strawberries, gramma, wolf lie on bed. Go to sleep, darling Theodosia, you are my dearest; everybody is fast asleep. May makes the trees green — let me — on the brook violets are blooming — I want to go to walk. A cat came in here, mamma caught it, it had feet and black boots on — short cap, band on it. Papa ran — the sky— gramma gone — grampa resting," etc.* In * Strilmpell, Psychologisohe Padagogik, p. 364. The child, of course, spoke a haby German. This effort at translation serves only to show the versatility of her imagination and its dieiointed. expression. — Tr. •" For example of amentia, see Kraepeliu, Psyohiatrie, p. 331. TRANSFORMATION OF THE MEMORY-CONTENT 139 this, attention seems to be entirely lacking, so that there can not be said to be any aim, however indefinite. Genu- ine constructive imagination is more apparent in the at- tempts of small children to tell stories. I have the fol- lowing note on Marie G , made at the age of three years and one month. She insisted that I must lie on the lounge after she had gone through the motions of " mak- ing the bed." Then the little mother warmed the gruel in a heavy cigar cutter, made me drink at the peril of my teeth, and ordered me to shut my eyes. Then she seated herself, pretended to sew, and told a story to put me to sleep : " The other day I went down town. There were beautiful shops and there were flowers. Anna [her doll] wanted to pick one, and a bear came up. All my six children were dreadfully scared and hid in the bath- room stove, and I locked the door and took out the key, and the bear went away; and I was so frightened! " It was evidently her intention to make a connected story, although the first situation, the scene down tovm, was transferred to a different one without any proper transi- tion. Tet the various processes are easily traced in spite of their complexity. First, the idea of the city where the romancer takes her doll, as she was often taken by her mother. The memory picture of the florists' shops which led to an overweening desire on the part of the doU to take a flower. Then judicial wrath appears in the frightful shape of the bear, and at once the whole situation is changed; there are now the six children of the familiar tale, who hide. But where? In our bathroom stove (an improvement on the tale), which develops a lock and key for the occasion (confusion with the attributes of a closet door). Here, then, are divisions 1 and 2 clearly defined — ^namely, the combining of complex presentations, and the detachment and transposition of some features. Analogy with artistic methods is too obvious to need en- larging upon.* An interesting example of the inventive- ness of an older child endowed with genius is the volumi- * While StrQmpell's example was suggestive of the wanderings of a diseased mind, this one recalls the tales told by savages. Compare it, for example, with the Bushman's story of the grasshopper in Katzel's Volker- kunde (vol. i, p. 75). Of course, we do not know whether there may not be some closer connection of ideas than we can trace. 140 THE PLAY OF MAK nous romance which the young Goethe used to tell again and again to his playmates, and has transcribed in his biography. It will be seen that the imaginative process is much less easily traced in it than in the earlier in- stance.* One important branch of imaginative composition is the picturing of the fantastic creatures of mythology, such as animals with human heads, mermaids, and the gro- tesque blending of animal and vegetable life, yet with the essential features taken from Nature. As Dickens says of his characters, that, being made up of many people, they were composite,! so with these creations. The fol- lowing dialogue of Marie G with her doll near the end of her fifth year will illustrate the use of this faculty in the case of concepts which transcend the limits of actu- ality. " So, little sister Olga, you have come in from your walk. Tell me about everything that you saw. A little lamb, a cow, a dog, a horse. Yes, and what else? Blue bells and green primroses and red leaves — ^but that can not be ; you are fibbing, ray little sister." Such play- ful and grotesque combinations are often introduced in art, but they no longer appeal to superstitious fear. In the temptations of St. Anthony, in Oriental tales of strangely deformed men, in the taste for grotesque gar- goyles and other ornaments, we find instances. In some fantastic creations the imagination is given unbridled license, with the result that the production acquires more of the characteristics of play.:|: The third division of constructive fantasy, compris- ing exaggeration and depreciation, is also an object of playful activity. All children delight in giants and dwarfs, whether because they excite pleasurable emo- tions by their disproportionateness, which appeals to the comic sense, or whether it is the strong stimulus of what X They diverge from play, first, in that an end outside of the sphere of play is added to that of satisfaction in production for its own sake ; and, second, that much of the artist's effort is spent in improving, altering, and being otherwise occupied with technical conditions, etc., and not engaged in for the pleasure which it affords. We may compare what was said above in regard to sport. TRANSFORMATION OF THE MEMORY-CONTENT 141 is unusual that accounts for the attraction. Marie G- improvised a rare tale when she was five and a half years old, which well illustrates exaggeration, as well as con- scious illusion and imaginative combination. The child was lying in bed in the early morning with a copy of Grimm's tales, and pretended to be reading from it. " Once upon a time there was a king who had a little daughter. She lay in the cradle. He came in and knew it was his daughter, and they both had a wedding. As they sat at the table the king said, ' Please draw me some beer in a big glass.' Then they brought a glass that was thirty yards high, and went to sleep ; only the king stayed up as a watchman. And if they are not dead they are living there yet." Of course the child had no clear idea of how high this glass would be, but she evidently pictured one whose size far transcended the limits of reality — of this I subsequently satisfied myself. Adults are constantly using this sort of imaginative exercise in a playful way in verbal exaggeration. The talk of students and of girls abounds in superlatives, and they are employed by satir- ists with telling effect — so much so that the recounter himself is sometimes deceived by his own extravagance. Schneegans says in his interesting book : " The grotesque satirist is often carried away by his own work, and gradually loses sight of his original aim; . . . and finally the conclusion is forced upon us that the writer has yielded to his passion for gross exaggeration." This is certainly true of Rabelais, when he says that Pantagruel had but to put out his tongue to protect his whole army from the rain, or that his arrows were as large as the beams of the bridge at Nantes, and yet with one of them he could shoot an oyster from its shell without break- ing the latter; or when he describes the people who needed no tailor, since one of their ears served as hose, doublet, and vest, while the other was used like a Spanish mantle. This last morsel recalls some of the folk tales which have amused the masses for more than two thou- sand years. While we may not lightly affirm that the grotesque extravagance of some of these stories is always due to imaginative play, yet we can trace it in such of them as the Greenland myth of little Kagsagsuk, whom 142 THE PLAY OF MAN the men lifted by tlie nostrils until they grew enor- mous, while the rest of his poorly fed body remained as small as ever, and in the account of his subsequent marvellous strength. Kagsagsuk divided the mob as though it had been made of little fishes, and ran so vigorously that his heels hit the back of his neck, and the snow flying up around him made shining rain- bows.* Playful lying should be mentioned along with other forms of exaggeration. Children's lies have been studied carefully of late years, and the conclusion is general that they are usually plasdful. Untruthfulness must be playful when it is indulged in merely to tease others or to get amusement from their credulity, or to heighten the re- counter's sense of the marvellous.f Only such examples are useful for our purpose as find their chief incentive in the enjoyment of invention. Compayre rightly calls this experimentation, and says that children play with words as they do with sand or blocks.^ The real stimulus which lying affords to imaginative activity is best demonstrated in the progressive lie: "I have thirty marbles; no, fifty; no, a hundred ; no, a thousand ! " or " Je viens de voir un papillon grand comme le chat, grand comme la maison." * One of my nephews, Heinrich, was a great romancer, and the same peculiar, almost divergent fixing of his eyes characterized him then as when listening to a marvellous tale. At three and a half years north Berlin was the scene || of his inventions, a name which the little Stuttgarter had in some way picked up. There he had seen fish resembling sharks with boots on their feet. On one occasion he related the following: "In north Ber- lin hares and hounds are on the roofs; they climb up on ladders and play together, and then — and then — comes a telephone, a long wire, you know, and on that they come * Groese, op. cit., p. 250. t When Daudet was thirteen years old he took an independent voyage on a ship with some soldiers on their way home from the Crimea. " With my southern power of imagination," he writes in Gaalois, " I made myself out an important personage." t Op. cit., p. 309. See Gnyan, Education et H4r^dit6, p. 148. * Perez, Les trois premieres ann^es, etc., p. 121. 1 Like ancient and modem wonder tales, whose occurrences always take place in distant and almost inaccessihle lands. TRANSFORMATION OP THE MEMORY -CONTENT 143 to Stuttgart. That's the way they get here." * It is easy to see the connection between this and rudimentary artistic production. Guyan says : f " The lying of chil- dren is usually the first exercise of their imagination, the first evidence of the germ of art." Such playful experi- mentation is, of course, quite different from actual de- ception. Perhaps nowhere is finer discrimination in this direction shown than in Goethe's remarks on his boyish story-telling: "It greatly rejoiced the other children when I was the hero of my own story. They werfe de- lighted to know that such wonderful things could befall one of their playfellows, and yet they did not seem to marvel that I could play such tricks with time and space as these adventures implied, for they were well aware of iny goings and comings and how I was occupied all day long. If one the less I must choose the scenes of these adventures, if not in another world, at least in a distant place, and yet tell all as having taken place to-day or yesterday. They therefore made for themselves greater illusions than any I could have palmed off on them. If I iad not gradually learned from my natural bent to work Tip these visions and conceits into artistic forms, such a vainglorious beginning could not have been without injurious consequences to me." Even when the playful lie becomes artistic production there is always a leaning toward genuine deception. Goethe says : " I took good care not to alter the circumstances much, and by the uni- formity of my narrative I converted the fable into reality in the minds of my auditors. Yet," he adds — and this is proof that the deceit was playful — "I was averse to falsehood and dissimulation, and would by no means lightly indulge in them." t The same remarks apply to the corresponding amusements of adults, such as fishing and hunting stories, and Munchausen tales generally. In concluding this subject the temptation is strong to go into some of the special forms of fantasy, such as, for instance, the association of sensuous impressions with * The close of this recalls the numerous efforts of primitive folk to account for natural phenomena, t Op. oit., p. 148. j See, too, Sully's Studies of Childhood, p. 254. 144 THE PLAY OF MAN abstract ideas. Poetry has the task of justifying such combination, and this quatrain affords a simple instance: " Woher kommt der Blutegel ? " Whence comes the leech, then 3 Aus der Keisfeld treibt er in deu Out of the rice field it turns to the Fluss. , stream. Woher kommt die Liebe ? Whence eomes love, then 1 Aus dem Auge senkt sie sich in's From the eye it sinks down to the Herz." heart." From this doggerel to "Warte nur, balde ruhest du auch," suggested by a view of wooded hills standing in evening quiet, is but a matter of development. Meta- phor ensues when abstract form is superseded by sensuous impression. The designer and novelist Topffer gives a beautiful instance of such materializing of the spiritual in this interesting contribution to child psychology when he tells us how he always conceived of conscience in the form of his teacher. " For a long time I did not distin- guish between the inner voice of conscience and the ad- monitions of my instructor. When I felt the stirrings of the former I pictured the latter before me in his black robes, with his scholarly air, and his spectacles on his nose." * 3. Attention As I have attempted to set forth in former efforts,t attention is probably in its earliest manifestations rather a means for the furtherance of the struggle for life than a so-called faculty of the mind. The instinct of lying in wait (by which we must understand not merely holding one's self in readiness to seize prey, but also a prepared- ness for ilight) is, as I conceive, the elementary form of attention. Some sense-perception called forth by the prey or the enemy, as the case may be, warns the animal to brace his organism for the utmost swiftness and accu- racy of aim in view of what is coming ; secondly, to hold his muscles tense and ready for lightning-quick reaction to the approaching stimulus; and, thirdly, to keep such restraint on his whole body as to repress all soimds and * B. Perez, L'enfant de trois i sept ans, Paris, 1894, p. 239. t The Play of Animals, p. 214. Zum Problem der unbewussten Zeit- Bchatzung, Zeitsohr. f. Psycholog. u. Physiol, d. Sinneaorgane, vol. ix. ATTENTION 145 movements which might betray him. Among the higher animals, and especially man, " theoretic " attention has developed from this motor attention, which reacts to the anticipated stimulus with special external movements. In the former the reaction is an internal, brain process, not involving the second of the steps given above; it is suf- ficient to seize and master the object — to lie in wait apperceptively, as it were. The characteristic holding of the powers in check seems to argue the derivation of this sort of attention from the motor, thus grounding both on instinct. Expectancy is not then a variation, but rather a fundamental form of attention, and concentra- tion on an object present before it results from a suc- cession of constantly renewed expectations. Both forms of attention are of real importance in the world of play, but we will note only those cases in which the effort of attending is itself the subject of playful ex- ercise. Sikorski has asserted forcibly that children fre- quently make use in their play of the expectation of a familiar impression whose memory picture is already present in the mind; what Lewes calls " preperception," and Sikorski " reproduction preparatoire." He says : " It is very interesting to notice how children use atten- tion in their play. It is one of the most salient features of all the mental operations of children in all their busy- ness and destructiveness. It may be called a sort of mental auxiliary which gives variety to play." * He goes on to instance Preyer's son, who opened and closed the cover of a can seventy-nine times in succession, and evinced the closest attention all the while.f The expecta- tion of a resulting sound is no doubt an essential part of such play as this. Alternate stress and relaxation of attention account for the charm of hide and seek. Dar- win says that his son on the one hundred and tenth day was delighted when a handkerchief was put over his face or his playfellows and then suddenly withdrawn.^ While surprise was probably the principal cause of this delight at first, on its repetition expectation and the sudden reve- * Op. cit., pp. 418, 545. •I- IHe Seele des Kindea, p. 212. .. .io*.tn o=n i A Biographical Sketch of an Infant, Mind, vu (1877), p. 289. 146 THE PLAY OF MAN lation must play a part. When a child throws stones in water or at a mark, batters an old pot, awaits the tossed- up ball or watches a rolling one, we must reckon with the pleasure which is derived from the exercise of close at- tention, as well as that in movement as such, and in this kind of play the comparison of memory pictures with present reality. "In all such play," says Sikorski, after instancing several examples, "a particular result is ex- pected and awaited as something desirable. The sound of the stone striking the water, the direction taken by the soap bubble the moment it is tossed off,* all such consequences are pictured in advance, and the essence of the enjoyment consists in the coincidence of reality with the mental image." t At this point we may again take up the process of recollection which is attended with some difficulty. The progressive power of rhythmical repetition, especially ■when musical or poetic, to whose chains we are such will- ing captives, is nothing else than attention fixed on what is to come. Still stronger is the tense expectation aroused by artistic productions which require time for their pres- entation. In the drama and recitation especially must we ascribe value to continuity, for here true art consists not so much in taking the hearer or reader by surprise — indeed, this is an insignificant element — as in contriv- ing to make him suspect the coming situation and await it with intense concentration. On this depends not only the effectiveness of tragedy (O. Hamack has compared Ibsen's Ghosts in this respect with the antique CEdipus), but in large measure that of aU narrative poetry. " The poor satisfaction of a surprise ! " exclaims Lessing. " I am far from thinking that the enjojTtnent we get from the work of a great artist is due to concealment of the de- nouement. I believe, moreover, that it would not tran- scend my powers to create a work in which the climax shall be revealed in the first scene, and from that very circumstance derive its strongest interest." Finally, we must notice the interesting phenomena of attention in its connection with gambling, for the tremendous effects * See Stern's remark quoted above on watching movement, t Op. cit, p. 418. ATTENTION 147 of which many diverse causes must conspire. Eii)ot says of it, " C'est la complexite qui produit I'intensite." * The tension of interest in gaming depends on the two possibilities, winning and losing. It must be one thing or the other, and this fact differentiates it from our pre- vious examples. Hope of winning usually looms large in the foreground, the possibility of losing assuming more the character of an auxiliary, adding intensity to the pro- cess. " Gambling," says Lazarus justly, " has ruined many, enriched few, yet every player expects to be of the minority." f As games of chance will come up for more exhaustive treatment later, I merely mention here that the effort of attention is one ground of their strong effect. We now take up playful apperception of new impres- sions. The deep-rooted impulse to bring everjrthing within the sphere of our own powers is especially powerful in the presence of novelty, of what is unfamiliar. We experience an almost irresistible desire to examine closely any strange object and make ourselves acquainted with its properties. Curiosity is the name given to the play- ful manifestation of attention which results from this tendency. Since I introduced it among the plays in my work on animals I have been told that curiosity is no play; but if we keep to our principle that the exercise of an impulse merely for the sake of the pleasure we derive from it is to be called play, then I am unable to see why curiosity should form an exception. It stands midway between two kinds of perception as applied to what is new, but is identical with neither. On one side is the impulse to inquire into the practical use of the unfamiliar object, whether it is beneficial or injurious; on the other side is thirst for knowledge, not entirely with a view to appro- priation, but more concerned with placing the object properly in our system of things known. But curiosity, while it does depend on the stimulus $ of novelty, con- cerns itself primarily neither with the practical value of the thing nor with its theoretic significance. It simply * La psyehologie des sentiments, p. 322. •(• Die Keize des Spiels, Berlin, 1883, p. 61. X James says that the stimuli of scientific curiosity " are not ohjeota, but ways of conceiving objects." Principles of Psychology, vol. ii, p. 430. 148 THE PLAT OF MAN enjoys thfe agreeable emotional effects which arise when a new concept does not readily adjust itself to the beaten track of the habitual, and requires paths at least partially new to be opened before it. The interest attaching to scientific investigation is logical and formal, but that excited by curiosity may be said to be material. The freshness of the untried belongs to this new mental heri- tage, and is as exhilarating as the mountain climber's dis- covery of a new path to some coveted summit. Where such pleasure becomes the ground of activity, that activ- ity is play. For illustrative purposes let us suppose a landslide. Practical interest would at once apply to the proper authorities to find out the extent of damage caused by the catastrophe; scientific and learned curi- osity would investigate the causes ; while the simply curi- ous would run from all directions just to see what was happening, using their powers of attention playfully. In The Play of Animals I have presented quite a col- lection of examples, and I insert another here, which was not at that time available. When Nansen was on his north polar expedition a valuable gun accidentally fell into the sea. As the water at that place was but ten metres deep an attempt was made to recover the weapon. " While we were so engaged a bearded seal constantly swam around us, regarding us wonderingly, stretching his great head now to this side and now to that side of us, and drawing nearer and nearer as if he were making efforts to discern in what sort of nocturnal labour we were engaged." * When we read such reports and see how widespread these phenomena are in the animal world, we naturally expect to find them universal among men. Tet it has been maintained by some that the lowest orders of savages have extremely little or no curiosity at all. Spencer has published a note in his Data of Sociology to the effect that it is entirely wanting among such peoples : " Where curiosity exists we find it among races of not so low a grade." f I do not think that this can be sub- stantiated. The numerous reports of travellers which * Fr. Nansen, In Nacht und Eis, Leipsio, 1897, vol. i, p. 151. + H. Spencer, The Principles of Sociology, vol. i, p. 86. ATTENTION 149 seem to give colour to it can, I believe, be explained in two ways: First, the savage is too suspicious to show his curiosity; and, secondly, many reporters in speaking of the lack of curiosity refer rather to scientific curiosity, or thirst for knowledge. The Bakairi of central Brazil, who are certainly primitive enough, displayed, according to K. von den Steinen, lively curiosity, while they had absolutely no desire for knowledge. " Our clothes," he says, "were as strange to these good people as their nakedness was to us. I was escorted to the bath by both men and women, and it was amusing to see with what interest my clothes were examined. It never seemed to occur to them that I might resent the inspection. They showed some interest in my Polynesian tattooing, but were evidently disappointed not to find something mar- vellous concealed under all this careful and unheard-of wrapping." * Just as curiously they investigated the con- tents of his pockets; admired his watch, which they called "moon," because it did not sleep at night. A genuine desire for knowledge was nowhere shown, only a playful curiosity. K. von den Steinen has also recog- nised this distinction. " Nothing could be more mis- taken," he says, " than to suppose that frank curiosity is a genuine desire for knowledge or a longing to under- stand the cause of things." f He is a firm upholder of the other view, having lived for some time alone among the Bakairi, and says that much which he had observed as characteristic of them vanished when the larger com- pany arrived; the perfect naivete disappeared, and their manner became more and more that of the savage as usually described to us.:^ That the higher standing races are extremely curious is a familiar fact, admitted and illustrated by Spencer himself. I instance only Semon's humorous account of the Ambonese. A committee from the village made visits lasting for hours on the ship where he was busy with his men. All hints that they might be needed on shore were unavailing, and for two days I bore it uncomplainingly when they crowded into my tiny cabin. On the third day I thought it best to * Unter den Naturvolkern CentralbraBiliens, pp. 69, 67, 79. t Ibid. t Ibid. 150 THE PLAY OF MAN speak to them plainly, and asked them in Malay to sit before the cabin door. . . . And the rest were just as curious, although they did not come on board ship. My morning dip in the sea was a treat to the whole village. A crowd of spectators gathered to witness the show, ob- serving every detail, and not scrupling to express their criticisms." * , In children, curiosity is useful as an antidote to in- stinctive shyness in the presence of what is new and strange, and as an introduction to the general desire for knowledge. It is stimulated by surprise, but can be called true curiosity only when the perception of what is un- usual has a directly pleasurable effect, as, for example, when an infant six months old regards a veiled face with close attention and signs of delight. Tiedemann reports as early as the end of the second month : " He makes more and more unmistakable efforts to add to his store of ideas, for new objects never seen before are followed longer with the eye." f " All little children," says Preyer, " make in- effective sympathetic movements of various kinds when they hear new sounds, music or songs. They like to move their arms up and down. The child, on hearing, seeing, or tasting something new, directs his attention toward it, and experiences a pleasant sensation of gratified curiosity which induces motor discharge." t Sully regards curiosity as the best offset to fear in children, and considers it a fortunate circumstance that the commonest causes of fear — namely, new and strange phenomena — are also the originators of a feeling such as curiosity, with its attend- ant impulses to follow and to examine. It would indeed be detrimental to intellectual development if new things roused feelings of fear exclusively. Yet in spite of these differences, fear and curiosity are probably closely related, since the caution and suspicion which characterize fear may be the point of departure for curiosity. Caution impels the animal to examine with careful attention every unusual object which makes its way into his environment, * Im Australisohen Busch, etc., p. 526. + Dietrich Tiedemann, Beobaontungen ilber die Entwickelung der Seelenfahig:keiteu bei Kindem, Altenburg, 1897, p. 14; t Die Seele dee Kindes, p. 140. ATTENTION 151 ■with an eye to its possible injurious or useful cha^racter. Assuming that this impulse is emancipated gradually from its double practical aim, we see it converted, into curiosity before our eyes, while ontogenetically it is the antecedent of the thirst for knowledge, just as the prac- tical aim precedes it phylogenetically. Perez has de- scribed this evolution beautifully. Playful exercise of the sensor and motor apparatus, which is at first mere ob- scure impulse toward sensation and movement, achieves more and more the clearness of intellectual activity as it becomes associated with curiosity. Yet all this results "not so much from the necessity for knowing what things are and what they can do, as from the demand for new and fresh impressions." * Veritable thirst for knowledge, with its unappeasable questioning, gradually develops from this, naaking without difficulty the transi- tion from the realm of play to that of genuine scientific investigation. This demand for novelty plays a conspicuous role in the life of an adult as well. The masculine half of the race exhibits a praiseworthy self-denial in ascribing this quality to the other sex exclusively, but the women are about right when they say that men are quite as curious as themselves. Without going into the merits of this con- troversy, we will confine our discussion to the province of curiosity in aesthetic enjoyment. It is no doubt true that the highest and most complete aesthetic pleasure is independent of the stimulus of novelty, as is proved by the fact that our appreciation of a work of art is un- diminished by repeated examination, and it remains "herrlich wie am ersten Tag." Yet there is a peculiar charm attaching to a first view of even the most perfect work of genius, which E. von Hartmann has likened to that of the first kiss, and which must be at least in part due to novelty. This advantage depends not entirely on the diminishing of the satisfaction by use, but also on a positive, independent pleasure in the apperception of a new thing, and new, original, in the sense of being a revelation, are the productions of genius. In the develop- * Les trois premieres annfies, etc., p. 117. 11 152 THE PLAY OF MAN ment of art, too, a disinclination to get into ruts, to- gether with positive enjoyment of original work, is a de- cidedly progressive force, as opposed to the multiplication of reproductions and imitations. Before the revolution caused by a new thing has become an accomplished fact, behold ! it is no longer new, and the danger is of achieving only the pre-classical, as it were, and not the classical. Of following the prophets, perhaps, but not the Messiah. 4. Reason We need no chain of reasoning to prove that the logical faculty is involved in very many plays, even those of simple movement; but now, as heretofore, we will strictly exclude all uses of it except those in which it is the very object of the play, those in which it is play- fully experimented with. Two bearings of the subject will engage our attention: first, causality; and, second, inherence. Both are prominent in the playful use of reason, while some special forms involve the use of judg- ment as well, as in the play of wit, for instance. How far the gratification afforded by play is depend- ent on causality is strikingly shown by the fact that there is not a single form of it which does not exhibit in one shape or another the joy of being a cause as the germ of its attractiveness. It is true that this universal fact directs the attention more to the feeling of being a cause than to the logical idea of causal connection, yet we find enjoyment of logical activity prominent in the categories which we have designated as " hustling things about," and as destructive and constructive movement play. The tendency toward such play was chosen for our point of departure, and the indications are that it is of the first importance to the child, and that only through frequent repetitions of the post hoc does independent in- terest in the propter hoc gradually arise. Still, it can not be denied that the true characteristics of play are in inverse ratio to the intensity of the desire for knowl- edge, and it should be clearly stated that we are now on the frontier territory of play and earnest. The steps by which we have reached this point can be clearly traced by every reader of what goes before; therefore, without REASON 163 stopping to recapitulate, I cite this striking remark of Preyer's as a fitting climax. He says in reference to the evolution of a feeling of individuality : " Another impor- tant factor is the perception of change brought about by his own activity, in the familiar objects tjy which he is surrounded, and, psychologically speaking, or, indeed, from any standpoint, a red-letter day in the infant's life is the one on which he first grasps the connection between his own movements and the sense-perceptions caused by them. The sound produced by tearing and crumpling paper was still unrecognised by this child till in his fifth month he discovered that it gave him a new sensation, and he repeated the experiment day after day most ener- getically until the stimulus of novelty wore away. Still, there was no clear apprehension of causality, but the child had now had the experience of being an originator, and of combined sight and sound perceptions, regular in so far that when he tore paper it became smaller for one thing, and sound resulted for , another. Other such amusements were shaking keys on a ring, opening and shutting a box or purse (thirteen months), repeatedly filling and emptying a table drawer, piling up and scat- tering sand and gravel, rustling the pages of a book (thirteenth to nineteenth month), digging in sand, pull- ing footstools back and forth, laying stones, shells, and buttons in rows (twenty-one months), pouring water in and out of bottles, cups, and cans (thirty-first to thirty^ third month) and throwing stones in water."* Miss Shinn also gives a pretty example in the case of her little niece: "In the twentieth month (five hundred and ninetieth day) I saw her outdoors, especially when driv- ing, cover her eyes several times with her hands. I thought the sunlight might be too brilliant, but it is more likely that she was experimenting, for in the fol- lowing weeks she would often cover her eyes with her hands, and take them away, hide her face in a cushion or on her own arms, often saying ' Dark,' then look up, ' Light now.' " t Tormenting animals is another direc- * Die Seele dea Kindea, p. S83. t M. W. Shinn, Notes on the Development of a Child, p. 11. 154 THE PLAY OF MAN tion in which the quest for a causal connection is evident. When Andree Theuriet was a four-year-old boy he threw a newborn puppy in the water just " pour voir," and then wept bitterly because he could not rescue it.* Aa these demands of reason become prominent we can clearly see that we are approaching the limits of play. There are other cases, however, where the search for a causal connection can more assuredly be called playful. An essential feature of the enjoyment derived from men- tal contests is the calculation of the result. Several pos- sibilities are before the player, and he enjoys the intel- lectual effort of testing each and using the most advan- tageous. In the solution of whist and chess problems and such like, rivalry becomes an insignificant feature, and logical experimentation forms the central interest. Just so with the common and often ancient mechanical and mathematical puzzles. Pleasure in conquering their log- ical difficulties is derived from the gratification of a " general impulse or general instinct to exercise the in- telligence as such." t Causality plays a prominent part in poetry, too, since we require it to reveal to us the inner relations of the events set forth and to exhibit cause and effect in clearer and more orderly sequence than the com- plexities of reality admit of .$ Especially is this the case with tragedy. In my Einleitung in die Aesthetik I ex- pressed the opinion that the treatment of tragical cli- maxes as logical necessities is an important means of * CompayrS, op. cit., p. 308. t Ernest H. Lmdley, A Study of Puzzles. Amer. Jour, of Psychol., viii (1897), p. 436. X The amusing rhymes illustrating cause and effect which children are so fond of, are in point — for instance, The House that Jack Built— and this one in German : " Der Teufel holt den Henker nun, Der Henker hangt den Schlachter nun, Der Schlachter schlagt den Ochsen nun, Der Ochse lauft das Wasser nun, Das Wasser loscht das Feuer nun. Das Feuer brennt den Prugel nun, Der Prugel sohlagt den Pudel nun, Der Pudel beiast den Jockel nun, Der Jockel schneidet den Hafer nun, TJnd kommt auch gleich nach Haus." See the similar Hebrew verse about the kid in Tylor's Anfange der Culture, vol. i, p. 86. EEASON 155 bracing us for the increasingly painful inner imitation which is so essential, without weakening or modifying its effect. " When the course of the tragic tale is so far de- veloped as to suggest that a catastrophe is imminent, it should also appear inevitable. Stern necessity must urge the hero toward the fearful goal so persistently that escape shall be unthinkable, a logical impossibility. This feeling of necessity is calculated to fix the aesthetic illu- sion, and consequently help on the effect by rendering more strenuous the mental tension and directing it so forcibly toward the climax that consciousness is a captive to inner imitation until the tragedy has culminated. In other words, fear of the catastrophe is so absorbing as to create the illusion that the apprehended event is just at hand, and consequently all sense of the painfulness of the situation is merged in the stress of this illusion, since it alone is competent to relieve the tension." * I might have continued to the effect that such manifestations of the law of cause afford us a positive logical satisfaction, and in spite of the impression forced upon us by the crushing blows of Fate, weave some threads into the in- tricate texture of aesthetic enjoyment, because in them we recognise a proof of the existence of a universal causal nexus. A glance over the sphere of inherence, too, will help lis to a proper orientation for this inquiry. By the word inherence we signify the relation of a thing to its quali- ties, or, abstractly speaking, the relation of a concept to its characteristics. A common and well-nigh universal form of play depends on this principle — namely, the mak- ing and solving of riddles. The large majority of them involve an effort to find the concept whose characteristics are given, and the task is intentionally rendered difficult, -with the result that the solution is attended with a proud sense of success. The exercise easily leads to a contest, but it is grounded in experimentation with the logical faculty, and many persons enjoy the amusement for this reason alone.f Children as young as four years sometimes indulge * Op. cit., p. 353. + Emest Lindley, loc. cit, p. 455. 156 THE PLAY OF MAN in a sort of preliminary exercise in riddle solving, such as the simple game in which one child, noticing the pecul- iar colour of some object in the room, says, " I see some- thing you don't see, and iji's yellow," and his comrade must guess it. The play here is connected with sense perception by the relations of things to their qualities, and there are many games for large companies much like it. In a genuine riddle the enumeration of charac- teristics must be imperfect or in some way misleading to render the solution troublesome, and still sufficiently complete to make it possible; many are made sufficient- ly puzzling by the lack of logical opibKos without the introduction of other means of mystification; such, for example, as — " Drufg'soMoh, Ufg' deokt, Usse g'no, Dra gsohmockt, Und dann wiederum versteckt." (Tabakdose.) " Inside whole, Outside full of many holes." (Thimble.) " Two legs sits on three legs And milks four legs." (Milkmaid.) " Oben spitz und unten breit Durch und durch voU Siissigkeit." (Zuokerhut.) " First white as snow, Then green as clover, Then red as blood, They taste to all children good." (Cherries.) The play is more genuine, however, when the char- acteristics are more veiled, as in (1) metaphor and (2) ap- parent contradiction. The riddles which follow are evi- dently calculated to put one on the wrong scent. On the coast of Malabar two familiar riddles are " Little man, strong voice," and "A little pig in the woods." The REASON 157 answer to the former is Grasshopper, and to the latter Pediculus cervicalis. " There is a little man With a stomach of stone ; He has a red cloak And a black cap on." (Haw.) " S'itzt etwas amme Eainle, Es waokelt ihm sein Beinle ; Tor Angst und Noth Wird ihm sein Kopfie feuerroth." (Erdbeere.) " An iron steed with silken reins, The faster runs the horse the shorter grow the reins." (Needle and thread.) Apparent contradiction is a favourite means of mys- tification, as in the questions " What teaches without speaking ? " A book. " What two things are together early and late, and yet never touch each other ? " Parallel lines. The East African Schamlala have a riddle which is metaphorical. " My grandfather's cattle low when they are driven away, and are quiet coming home." This re- fers to the water gourds carried by the women, which clatter when taken away empty, and are silent as they come back filled.* A German riddle of this kind is : " loh haV einen Eileken und kann nioht liegen ; Ich hab zwei Flugel und kann nioht fliegen ; Ich hab ein Bein und kann nicht stehen ; Ich kann wohl laufen, aber nioht gehen." (Nase.) I can not here examine other forms of logical experi- mentation with the exception of the phenomena of wit, which are too important to be omitted from our review. * A. Seidel, Gesohichten und Lieder der Africaner, Berlin, 1896, pp. 176, 309. Similar riddles used for the amusement of children are given by Tylor. Op. eit., vol. i, p. 91. Words used in a double or, multiple sense (homonyms) are paitioularly effective. 158 THE PLAY OP MAN Primarily wit should be classed with the comic, of which we shall speak in another connection, but at times it over- reaches these limits, and more general grounds must be assigned for it in logical experimentation. When wit is free from sarcasm and assumes the form of playful judgment, as Kuno Fischer says, then its most natural expression is in the riddle and the proverb. The evolu- , tion of such serious wit as Jean Paul's is possible only to a highly cultured people, and Metzsche, the most brilliant German exponent of modem witticism, displays a certain tendency to proverb. " To be stiff to his inferiors is wis- dom for the hedgehog " has the true flavour of the terse sayings found among all primitive people. The satisfac- tion afforded by true wit is due to the playful conquest of logical difficulties; some statement is made which con- fuses by its unusual conjunction of ideas, and we hail as a victory the sudden emergence of the hidden meaning. Therefore it would be a mistake to call the pleasure pro- duced by wit exclusively a play with reason, since con- structive imagination and the formulation of the abstract are also involved. When the negro produces this — " God keeps the flies off the ox that has no tail " — he gives us an expression of wit illustrating abstract judgment which may be accompanied by the stronger emotion. B. EXPERIMENTATION WITH THE FEELINGS That a man may play with his emotions is a well- known fact, but one which has not to my knowledge been adequately investigated in all its ramifications. While the " luxury of grief " is often referred to, the interesting distinction of its varying degrees has not been gone into. It can not be labelled, I think, simple play with pleasur- able sensations, partly because the concentration of atten- tion on the feeling itself instead of on the accompanying sensations and ideas tends to weaken the very feeling in question, and also because the division of consciousness which attends such a survey of one's own emotional life is less operative in the sphere of pleasure.* There must * Annoyance over one's own enjoyment is, of course, not play. PHYSICAL PAIN 159 te a distinct recognition that it is genuine pain which we are enjoying before the sense of being a spectator arises, and we can become conscious that we are playing with our emotions. The various feelings which may be in- volved in this process are physical pain, mental sujBfer- ing, surprise, and fear. Besides these four, the mixed feeling of suspension between pain and pleasure might be mentioned, but as it has already been referred to it will be included in our treatment of surprise. 1. Physical Pain I have frequently had occasion to note that we com- monly enjoy stimuli whose effect is distinctly disagreeable because they are calculated to satisfy our craving for in- tense impressions. A sensitive tooth is constantly visited by the tongue, a stiff neck is constantly experimented with, any slight wound is repeatedly pressed and rubbed, etc. Hall* and Allin testify that this is especially the ease in childhood. We have already noticed the shock of a cold bath and the sting of sharp drinks. The pleasure which we derive from eating pungent horseradish, which brings tears to the eyes, is a relative, distant and humble it is true, but still unmistakably a relative of our enjoy- ment of tragedy. Our satisfaction in strong, self-pro- duced excitement is so intense as to make physical pain to a great extent enjoyable. It is true that while these phenomena are so far quite normal, secret but direct paths connect them with the realm of pathology. While some individuals display this in a somewhat anomalous desire for taste stimuli, in others pleasure in petty self- torture develops into a sort of sport, having as its ob- ject not merely a test of their power of endurance (of that we shall speak in the section on will) but some ob- scure delight in actual suffering as well. Cardanus con- fesses in his autobiography to a diseased condition which could not dispense with pain, so that if he found himself perfectly comfortable he was at once moved by an irresisti- ble impulse to torture his body until tears came. Mante- * The Psychology of Tickling, Laughing, and the Comic. Amer. Jour, of PsyohoL, vol. ix. 160 THE PLAY OF MAN gazza tells of a veteran who took a strange delight in scratching the inflamed edges of an old wound in his leg.* In some forms of insanity the patient maltreats his per- son, inflicting the most frightful wounds and mutilations, which would be incredible if his sensibilities were not to a great degree blunted. In the attempt to explain these phe- nomena some have thought them an exception to the rule that pleasure accompanies only what is in some way useful, but it seems to me that a sufficient explanation of normal cases is found in the utility of the experi- mental impulse, which in seeking strong stimuli takes a certain amount of pain with the rest. So long as pleasure predominates over pain in the experience, play is possible. In pathological cases sexual excitement is often aroused sufficiently to neutralize the suffering, and where this is not the case we must suppose a perverse directing of the fighting instinct against one's own body, furthered by the deadening of sensibility to pain. - 2. Mental Suffering Psychologists have given special attention to the en- joyment which is derived from contemplating unpleasant images and subjects. Perhaps the most familiar passage on the subject is that of Spencer's on the luxury of grief, yet, as he himself admits, his idea of self-pity does not clear it up, and he goes on : " It seems possible that the sentiment which makes a sufferer wish to be alone with his grief, and makes him resist all distraction from it, may arise from dwelling on the contrast between his own worth as he conceives it, and the treatment he has re- ceived — either from his fellow-beings or from a power which he is prone to think of anthropomorphically. If he feels that he has deserved much while he has received little, and still more if instead of good there has come evil, the consciousness of this evil is qualified by the con- sciousness of worth, made pleasurably dominant by the contrast. . . . That this explanation is the true one, I feel by no means clear. I throw it out simply as a sug- gestion, confessing that this is a peculiar emotion which * See Eibot, Psychologie des sentiments, p. 64. MENTAL SUFFERING 161 neither analysis nor synthesis enables me to under- stand."* This is indeed an Tinsatisfactory explanation, and the play idea seems to bring us nearer to one, for here, as in the case of physical pain, it is the deep-rooted need of our nature for intense stimuli which enables us to enjoy our own suffering. That unassuageable longing of Faust which had exhausted the meagre emotional recourses of study, and now dragged him out in search of life and ex- perience, was a longing for both pleasure and pain, since both could stir up life's deep sea, which now lay stagnant : ' " Sturzen wer una in das EauBohen der Zeit, Ins EoUen der Begebenheit I Da mag denn Sohmerz und Genuss, Gelingen und Verdruss Hit einander wechseln, me es kann Nur raselos bethatigt sioh der Mann." Contemplative natures, not given to activity, have a tendency to play with their suffering, and by a strange division of consciousness stand as on some rocky height, beholding with pleased appreciation the foaming torrent of their own feelings. In the closing chapter of my Play of Animals I treated the subject of divided consciousness at some length, and will not here repeat what is said there. i"or a specific instance we need only point to the artist who brings a tragic tale to a close with real regret, and, in spite of the suffering it has caused him, is filled with the joy in being a cause, in his power to create. When Kleist finished Penthesilia in Dresden he went to his friend Pf uel in tears. " She is dead ! " he wailed, and yet, in spite of his deep and genuine grief over the death of his heroine, in the depths of his soul he was conscious of joy in his creation. This is a good example of play with mental suffering, and Marie Bashkirtseff fur- nishes another illustration which I have cited in my earlier work. " Can one believe it ? " she writes in her journal, at the age of thirteen; "I find everything good and beautiful, even tears and pain. I love to weep, I love to despair, I love to be sad. I love life in spite of all; I wish to live. I must be happy, and am happy to * Principles of Psychology, vol. ii, p. 590. 162 THE PLAT OF MAN be miserable. My body weeps and moans, but sometbingf in me that is above me enjoys it all." By these words sbe reveals most clearly tbat division of consciousness in whicb, behind the suffering I, another seems to stand, which has the power to change the grief to bliss. Goethe, too, seems often to have felt the same. His Werther blames himself because he is prone to cower before petty ills. Further than this there is such a thing as emotional pessimism founded on temperament. For Schopenhauer it was an evident satisfaction to work himself up to a condition of the utmost indignation over the evils of the world. Kuno Fischer has sharply exposed this plajrful characteristic of his pessimism. It is true, he says, that Schopenhauer takes a serious and even tragic view of the world, but, after all, it is only a view, a spectacle, a picture. "The world tragedy is played in a theatre; he sits in the audience on a comfortable divan commanding the stage, using his opera glass with discretion. Many of the spectators forget the suffering world at the buffet, none follow the tragedy with such close attention, such deep earnestness, such a comprehensive glance as his. Then, deeply moved and soul-satisfied, he goes home and writes down what he has seen." * Melancholy, too, in the ordinary sense, not the pathological, belongs here, the melancholy of lovers, poets, and artists, the condition typified by the phrase "degustation complaisante de la tristesse." t Finally, pleasure in the tragic, of which we have spoken in another connection, should be mentioned here. Augustine, the great prober into the problems of the soul, has set forth this question with inimitable clearness in' the third book of his Confessions. "Why," says he, " should a man sadden himself by voluntarily witnessing what is painful? The spectator does undeniably feel sad, and the very sadness is a pleasure. How can we explain this sympathy with unreal, theatrical sorrows ? The hope of ultimate rescue is not the only thing that appeals to him — it is the actual accumulation of misery as well, and he praises the play in proportion as it moves him. Whed * Kuno Fischer, Arthur Schopenhauer, Heidelberg, 1893, p. 125. t Eibot, La Psychologic des sentiments, p. 64. MENTAL SUFFERING 163 common woes are so represented as not to affect the iearer, he goes away dissatisfied and complaining. If he is affected, on the contrary, he listens attentively, and -weeps with delight." If I understand Augustine aright, he finds the solution of the puzzle in the idea of a sort of sympathy which he distinguishes from real or moral sympathy, and which is at bottom nothing else than the play of inner imitation, that esthetic feeling of fellowship ■of which we shall hear more later. He puts his finger on the real reason why fellow-feeling for the sufferer has a apecial charm when he admits that tragic representation affected him with sharp, creepy sensations, like the scratching of a finger nail. Thus he concludes, as we have done, that the foundation of enjoyment of tragedy is the result of intensive stimuli. As Du Bos* remarks, we take the pain accompanying the emotion in the bar- gain because we like the emotion, the agitation of feel- ing, so well. This recalls the Aristotelian dogma of the catharsis, but the objection to this theory lies, as its name implies, in the fact that it seeks a practical end for the play of aesthetic pleasure. For Aristotle the ques- tion is to establish the purifying effects of a thunder- storm, not the enjoyment of its grandeur, and for this leason the doctrine of the catharsis, however clear it may he, does not directly answer our question. Delight in the "tragic element is not concerned with the lull after the storm, but only with the surging might of the tempest itself, in which we are playfully involved. Weil and Bernays seem to me to have the right idea when they •speak of the need for violent emotional play, and of enjoyment of ecstatic conditions. And Lessing also, when he says that strong passion gives more reality to feeling. But it is doubtful whether Aristotle considered this side lof the question in forming his theory. 3. Surprise Surprise is connected with fear, and for this reason, is in itself a disagreeable sensation ; yet, on account of its * See Hubert Eotteken's interesting article, Ueber asthetisobe Kritik .bei Dichtungen (Beilage zur Allgem. Zeit., 1897, Nos. 114, 115). Volkelt (Aesthetic des Tragisohen, p. S89) seems to me to undervalue this point. 164: THE PLAY OF MAN strong psychophysical effect — namely, the shock which it produces — it becomes highly enjoyable in play, and dis- plays, perhaps more clearly than any of the other cases, the charm of strong stimuli. Children indulge very early in play involving the shock of surprise, and its effective- ness as a means of giving pleasure becomes more and more intense. Darwin relates that his son, from the one hundred and tenth day, was wildly delighted when a handkerchief was laid over his face and then suddenly withdrawn, or when his father's face was hidden and revealed in this way. "He then uttered a little noise, which was an incipient laugh." I referred to this in speak- ing of expectancy, which, indeed, goes hand in hand with surprise, however opposed they may appear, since sur- prise which is entirely unexpected is of course no part of play. There is always playful experimentation with the shock when we expect it, but do not know when or in what form it will appear. It is just this combination which makes the emotional effect of surprise greater than it would otherwise be. When, for example, we hold a lighted match over a lamp, we are the more startled by the slight explosion because we have attentively awaited it; and there are many games for children in which the combined effect of expectation and surprise furnish an essential part of the pleasure, such as those where persons or objects are hidden. The excitement, too, which is caused by loud and sudden sounds is of the same char- acter. M. Eeischle, in his fine paper on child's play, dis- tinguishes a special group of expectation and surprise games, and points out that the little ones peek while their comrades are hiding, and yet are overjoyed to find them, and apparently surprised. In many throwing and catch- ing games both elements are influential in heightening the stimulus, and special plays grow out of them, such as " Hide-and-Seek," "Blind-Man's Buff," "Drop the Handkerchief," as well as many games of chance. Indeed, in the last named the stimulus of surprise is often of spe- cial importance,* and one of the chief sources of pleasure * Max Eeiaohle, Das Spielen der Kinder in seinem Erziehungawerth, Gottingen, 1897, p. 17. OUXtX-XtlOJll 165 is the tension of expectancy followed by tlie sudden deci- sion on the fall of dice. Yet more interesting is the significance of surprise in relation to the comic. While the latter is more than a play with surprise, this feature becomes a factor that should by no means be overlooked in studying comic effects, especially when we reflect that previous efforts to explain this modification of aesthetic enjoyment have proved abortive, possibly through failure to give due weight to this very element. E. Hecker advances the theory, it is true, that laughter from tickling accounts for the origin of enjoyment of the comic, but in this purely physiological explanation he seems to overlook the fact that as a rule we laugh only when we are tickled, not when we tickle ourselves — that is to say, that contact with finger tips becomes tickling only when the hand is a strange one. Even in physical tickling, then, there must be some psychic factors, of which surprise may be one, even though it is inadequate alone to explain the phenomena. The fact that si^rprise not carried far enough to frighten is one of the first causes of laughter in children gives colour to this idea. Zeising has shown conclusively that there is a double surprise in the comic, the first being the intuitive start at something unusual, and contrasted with what is normal and typic, be it occasioned by some anomaly in the object itself or depending only on the momentary milieu — such, for instance, as the ridiculous appearance of a tiny cottage in a row of palatial residences.* This first shock is followed by a moment of suspense. " When the entirely unexpected happens," says Goethe in Tasso, " the mind stands still for a moment," which again is interrupted by the new surprise of finding the first one negatived or reversed.f Here we have the counter shock, whose pleasureable effect is strong enough to more than neutralize the first, and render their combined result agreeable.^ As Kant, with his unrivalled penetration, has * Lipps gives special attention in his Psyehologie der Komik to this point (JPhilosph. Monatshefte, 24 and 25). 1 1 shall not here discuss the relative importance of the two. X Even the first shook is not entirely unpleasant, since we usually have a premonition of the approaching counter shock. 166 THE PLAY OP MAN lemarked, we play with the error as with a ball, tossing it back and forth and looking after it each time; in this way we are hurried through a succession of tensions and relaxations. While this illustration shows clearly how the essence <3f comicality is due to the peculiar character of the double shock, yet it remains true that even in this case surprise as such is pleasurable, and plays its part in the complicated effect. 4. Fear That even fear, the most abject of all affections, may become the object of playful experimentation is one of the riddles of soul life. Here, too, we can only apply the theory of pleasure in intense stimulus to that of divided consciousness. When Lukrez dwells upon the pleasure of gazing on a stormy sea from the vantage ground of a. rocky crag he illustrates this state, only here the soul is both in the midst of the storm and on the rocks as well. Apart from and above the terror-stricken personality stands another, safe and free, and enjoying the fascina- tion of painful excitement. For the power of fear is fascinating, even benumbing in its effect. Souriau says: " I remember, as a child, seeing a snake, cut in two by a spade, convulsively writhing on the garden walk. The sight filled me with terror, which rooted me to the spot. Fascinated, I stood perfectly still, my eyes following the agonized twisting of the creature while I felt waves of pain surging through my own body." * Of course, such a condition can be playful only in case of an aesthetic illu- sion when the fear is but apparent, and may be dispelled at will, and when pleasure is stronger than pain in the ex- perience. Nevertheless, there are transitions between real and apparent fear which are particularly Operative when curiosity becomes the counter irritant. Every one's child- hood will furnish an example of this. George Sand tells ' us how she as a little girl tried with a playmate to get a glimpse into the spirit world by means of mystic oaths and incantations. The children waited long in fear and trembling, for blue flames, protruding devil's horns, etc. * La Suggestion dans I'art, p. 39. FEAR 167 This was only a play, "but a play that set our hearts beating." * Although fear in this instance has more the character of a necessary accompaniment than of an ob- ject of play, real delight in the gruesome is undeniably evident in the world of art. In the first place, there are legends and stories with horrible fantasies. The child is wrapped in breathless interest in accounts of ghosts, wicked magicians, werewolves, etc., and while safe in his own home enjoys the terrors which these ideas excite. As a small boy I listened with nameless horror to the crude account of the fate of Faust secretly read to me by our gardener out of a popular book. I remember how, when the devil led Faust through the ceiling, his skull was broken and his brains spattered on the wall. For some time after that I was afraid to pass shady places in the garden, even in the daytime. With older boys descrip- tions of battles and adventures, and, above all, Indian stories, take the place of fairy tales. The Leather Stock- ing Tales were my chief delight, especially The Path- finder, and I can still recall the rapt attention with which I followed the frightful perils which threatened my hero, whenever I could get a quarter of an hour off. How meagre is our capacity for aesthetic enjoyment in later years compared •with the absolute, unconditional sur- render to it of a youthful soul! Adults enjoy the grue- some in poetic creations such as those of Hoffman and Victor Hugo. When we read of the struggle with the polypus in Toilers of the Sea the strong stimulus im- parted by fear is certainly the chief source of pleasure. My grandfather in extreme old age liked nothing better than to read such thrilling tales of hairbreadth escapes, and the strong preference for detective stories evinced by the masses is based on the same grounds. Savages, too, like children, always prefer tales which deal with demons and magic. Finally, we must notice an aesthetic phase which is Telated to fear — namely, exaltation. Since Kant's thor- oughgoing elucidation the principle is fixed that exalta- tion is the result of a rebound from fear. First depres- * See Sully, Studies in Childhood, p. 301. 12 168 THE PLAY OF MAN sion, then exaltation. At first, the object of our reverence oppresses us, and for a moment we are painfully conscious of our impotence and nothingness; then conies a reaction; we throw off the oppression and begin to study the revered object with serious pleasure. In my Einleitung in die Aesthetik I did not attribute the first part of this process to aesthetic pleasure, because I found that inner imita- tion on which I based my investigation only in the sec- ond stage.* While I still regard it as the highest and most important element in aesthetics, yet I am aware that my view as there presented was somewhat one-sided, as is almost unavoidably the case if one attempts to carry out a theory systematically. As I shall return to this point, let it suffice to say here that probably the depression itself is pleasurable, and so forms a part of the aesthetic satisfaction. It is characteristic of our complex natures that along with our demand to control our surroundings we also feel the need of the domination of a higher power. When we encounter an incontestably overpowering force we gladly surrender unconditionally, and take pleasure in acknowledging that we are insignificant and helpless. The significance of this spirit for religion is apparent. Schiller has designated awe as the noblest human trait, and Schleiermacher found the springs of religion in the feeling of dependence. The first stage in the satisfaction derived from exaltation is akin to this when we enjoy our self-abasement in order to render more conspicuous the subsequent expansion of an individuality, in the sec- ond stage when by the exercise of inner imitation we identify ourselves with the revered object, thus partaking of the greatness which at first overawed us. While it is true that only the second part of this process attains the summit of enjoyment, the first, too, is playful. "How felt I myself so small — so great? " asks Faust, and attributes both sentiments to the selfsame moment. This play with depression is facilitated by repeating the whole process frequently. The mind is not only attracted to the * " The first stage, depression, is in itself considered entirely extra- sesthetic. For as soon as inner imitation comes into play — that is, as soon as the Eesthetic aspect is assumed — the projection of the I into the object begins and depression gives place to exaltation." Op. cit., p. 336. EXPERIMENTATION WITH THE WILL 169 object, but alternately repelled from it, and in this pro- cess of repetition depression assumes more and more the character of play. C. EXPEEIMENTATION WITH THE WILL Since our inquiry in this closing section is not as to the general use of the will in play, but rather into playful experimentation with the will itself, we must direct our attention to the control of movement. Play requires that those movements which depend on both inherited and ac- quired brain paths shall be under voluntary control. The pleasure accompanying this control is founded on the feeling of freedom and of mastery over self; and it is to be specially noted that almost all the related phenomena take the form of contests and appeal to the fighting in- stincts. The majority of cases require the suppression of emotional expression or of such reflexes as are connected with them. Thus, for example, winking is not an ex- pression of emotion in the ordinary sense, and yet when it follows closely on the sudden presentation of some ob- ject before the eyes it seems to indicate that the person is startled or even terrified. Children often play with this refractory reflex, one moving his hand rapidly before the eyes of another, who makes desperate efforts to keep them open, and a forfeit game is played as follows : Two persons sit or stand opposite one another; one moves his hand close to the other's eyes while the following col- loquy takes place: "Are you going in the woods?" " Yes." " Going to take some bread with you ? " " Tes." "And you want some salt on it?" "Yes." "Are you afraid of the wolf?" If he holds his eyes open all the time he is not afraid, but if he winks he must pay a forfeit.* The attempt is often made, too, to resist the impulse to laugh while two persons gaze into each other's eyes. Indeed, such games are too numerous to mention. The effort to repress the expression of pain is still more interesting. Self-control during the suffering of phys- ical pain is everywhere regarded as a proof of manliness, and is earnestly cultivated by savages as by our own boys. * Herman Wagner, Spielbuch fiir Knaben, p. 572. 170 THE PLAY OF MAN The quiet submission to painful tattooing, the endurance displayed by Indian children often in gruesome ways, the effort of our schoolboys to bear corporal punishment unflinchingly, the self-control of students who joke while their wounds are being sewed, and — to carry the struggle against self-betrayal into the field of mental suffering as well — the apparent indifference of gamblers to the re- verses of fortune; while all of these can by no means be called playful, still the cases are sufficiently nimaerous in which there is actual playful experimentation with the powers of endurance. For example, Rochholz describes this test : Two persons strike the knuckles oi the doubled- up fists together, and measure their will power by the length of time that they can endure the pain. Another is to strike the first and middle fingers against those of the other person. A friend of mine told me that as a boy (probably after reading some Indian tales) he once wagered with a comrade as to how long they could hold lighted matches in their fingers. He won the bet, but had to go with a bandaged hand for a long time. A playful exercise of the will which suppresses not only every admission of suffering, but the fighting in- stinct as well, is related by Goethe of his youth. After remarking that " very many sports of youth depend on a rivalry in such endurance, as, for example, when they strike with two fingers or the whole hand until the limbs are numb," he goes on: "As I made a sort of boast of this endurance, the others were piqued, and as rude bar- barity knows no limits, they managed to push me be- yond my bounds. Let one instance serve to illustrate. It happened one morning that the teacher did not appear at the hour of recitation. As long as all the children were together we entertained ourselves very well, but when my friends left after waiting the usual time, the others took it into their heads to torment and shame me and to drive me away. Leaving the room for a moment, they came back with switches from a broom. I saw what they meant to do, and, supposing the end of the hour to be near, I at once resolved to resist them until the clock struck. They lashed my legs unmercifully, and in a way that was actu- ally cruel. I did not stir, but soon found that I had EXPERIMENTATION WITH THE WILL 171 miscalculated the time, and that pain greatly lengthened the minutes. My rage swelled the more I endured, and at the first stroke of the clock I grasped my most unsus- pecting assailant by the hair, hurled him to the floor in an instant, pressing my knee upon his back. The sec- ond, who was younger and weaker, and who attacked me in the rear, I held with his head under my arm. The last, and not the weakest, remained, and only my left hand was free, but I caught hold of his clothes, and by a dexterous twist on my part and an awkward slip on his, I brought him down too, striking his face on the floor." Another impulse whose suppression is sometimes an end in play is imitation. Perhaps the most familiar game illustrating it is " All Birds Fly," in which one of the children says " Pigeons fly, ducks fly, bears fly," etc., and raises her hands in the air each time, while the others must follow her example only when a bird is mentioned. The Mufti-comme-ga described by Wagner is similar. All stand in a circle except the one who is in the centre making various motions. WheA he calls out " Mufti," all stand still ; but when he continues " comme ga," they imitate him. In the English " Simon says," the players make all the gestures that he commands, regardless of those which he may be making.* All these examples are concerned with the repression of inborn reflexes, expresssive movements, and instincts, but acquired habits are no less difficult to withstand. Many games are founded on the assumption that the abil- ity to do so is a proof of will power, and emphasizes the freedom and self-control of the subject. It is particularly well illustrated in vocal exercises. To omit a particular syllable in a familiar rhythmic verse, or possibly several verses, requires a sudden check to the accustomed move- ments. A well-known German example is the song — " Europa hat Euhe, Europa hat Euh', Und wenn Europa Euhe hat, So hat Europa Euh' "— * H. Wagner, Spielbuoh filr Knaben, p. 542. 172 THE PLAY OF MAN in which the first, second, or third syllable of the word Europa, or even the word or all the other words, are omitted. Kreis mentions a similar play for children. It consists simply in substituting other meanings for the words (stretching for bending, for example), so that when the order is given " Bend," the arm is stretched out, etc.* There is such a thing, too, as playful resistance of old habits. How many smokers resolve as a sort of jest to do without cigars for a week! It is the merest playful experimentation; they want to see if they are really absolute slaves of the pleasant vice, or whether the habit is still under the control of their will. If the ex- periment succeeds, they contentedly go back to their cigars; it is not at all a serious effort to reform. Many frivolous persons play thus with their habits, and take a childish delight in the little conquests achieved by their ■will, yet without permanently or seriously altering their manner of living. * I. von Kreis, Ueber die Natur gewisser Gehiruzustande. Zeitsohrift f. Psyoh. u. Phys. d. Sinnesorgane, viii (1894), p. 9. PART II TEE PLAYFUL EXERCISE OF IMPULSES OF THE SECOND OR SOCIONOMIC* ORDER I. Fighting Plat Our conception of experimentation includes a large number of phenomena having the common tendency to bring into action the manifold inborn predispositions of the organism, but without reference to those instincts by means of which the relation of the individual to other liv- ing creatures is regulated. In experimentation only the more general needs, such as are indubitably grounded in the nature of the organism, are allowed expression, in such a manner as to bring into action the sensor and motor apparatus as well as the higher mental faculties. The individual would exhibit similar qualities in isola- tion ; he plays with himself, not with his relations to oth- ers, and even when association exists, as, for instance, in ball-catching, he recognises at the same time that experi- mental play is involved. Now, however, we enter on the consideration of such play as is intentionally directed toward other beings, and first on our list is the inborn im- pulse to fight. Walther von der Vogelweide has shown the power of this instinct in the impressive lines: " Des Stromes Wellen rauBchten " The stream's waves nmmmred kuhl ; coolly ; loh sah darin der Fisohe Spiel. I saw the fishes playing there ; loh sah, was ringsum in der I saw all that was in the whole Welt ; round world ; Den Wald, das Laub, Eohr, Gras In wood, and bower, and marsh und Feld, and mead, and field, Und was da alles krieoht und fliegt All things which creep and fly, Und seine Bein' 2ur Erde biegt. And put a foot to earth. Dis sah ich, und ich sag' Euch das All these I saw, and say to you, Keins lebt von ihnen ohne Hass." That nothing lives among them without hate." * See p. 4, note 3. 173 174 THE PLAY OF MAN In our common speech, too, life is referred to as a tattle, and is in reality too often a general struggle for money or power. It is but natural, then, to find the fighting impulse developed early in childhood and prac- tised in play. Indeed, the demand for its esercise is so strong that there is scarcely any form of play which ma,y not take on the character of a contest. Especially is this the case when there is any difficulty to overcome or dan- ger to be encountered. " Both danger and difficulty," says Lazarus, "appear as incarnated opponents over whom it is possible to gain a victory." * In the same way play with lifeless objects is easily converted into a con- test by the force of sesthetic illusion. As numerous ex- amples of such intensive stimulation of the fighting im- pulse have already been given, I shall here mention only the mountain climber's struggle with lofty peaks. In this chapter such collateral themes must be avoided, as we shall find our immediate problem very wide. In order to discriminate as to the relative importance of the vari- ous fighting plays the following division of the subject will prove convenient: First, there are direct fighting plays in which the contestants immediately measure their strength, whether mental or physical. The second group is composed of indirect fighting plays where the victory is sought through means of conducting the con- test. Among the mental phases of this we find betting and gambling. In the third group we place merely offen- sive sports in which no defence is possible or availing, such as playful destructiveness, teasing, and the enjoy- ment of the comic (so far as it is connected with fighting at all). After disposing of all these, two subdivisions yet remain: first, playful chasing, fleeing, and hiding (hunt- ing plays) ; and, second, the enjoyment of witnessing a contest. 1. Direct Physical Fighting Play Any one who takes the hand of a two-year-old child and strikes himself with it, pretending to be m.uch hurt, can not doubt after seeing the delight displayed by the little creature, the pleasurable effect of the discharge * Die Seize dea Spiels, p. 131. DIRECT PHYSICAL FIGHTING PLAY 175 of this impulse so deeply seated in human nature. Yet the fighting instinct seems to be comparatively late in as- suming the form of regular independent playful contests. Unprovoked tussling merely for the fun of the thing sel- dom appears earlier than the third year, while young bears, dogs, and other animals begin such play almost at once. In this youthful tussling the chief aim is to throw one's opponent to the ground and to hold him in this helpless position. So far as my observation goes in this little-investigated sphere, very small boys sel- dom stand for their combats. Usually one already seated seizes his comrade, who may be standing near, by the foot, pulls him down, and they fight, rolling over on the floor, and each seeking to keep the upper hand. The effort is constantly made to keep the enemy's head down, a position so distasteful to the party concerned that the scene threatens to end in noisy and serious strife. As the children grow older they gradually for- mulate rules for their contests partly through imita- tion of their elders and partly as the result of their own experience. As with adults, the proper 'grip of the op- ponent's body is an important point. " He caught him by the waist, where he was weakest " is quoted as far back as the Hildebrandslied. For throwing, it is often necessary to slip the hand through the other's arms and give him a sudden twist, or to place one arm on his neck and push him backward. The legs, too, have their part to do. Sometimes a boy is thrown across a projected knee, or a leg is thrust outward to check the fall when the attempt is made to throw sideways by lifting. Or the method adopted by Odysseus in an extremity may be employed — a sudden blow dealt at the bend of his opponent's knee being the cause of his overthrow. Usually the fight ends at this point,* but sometimes the tussling is continued on the ground, as described above, and the playful charac- ter is very apt to be lost. Sometimes it happens, on the contrary, that the fight is over before either contestant is thrown. I saw two boys wrestling, when one of them * I remember a serious fight between two boys of about fifteen, in "which the stronger was content to throw the other over and over again, and quietly let him regain his feet. 176 THE PLAY OF MAN was lucky enough to get a good grip on his opponent's body, but the latter could bend his head back, where- upon they desisted and called it a tie. There is often an effort to take the enemy unawares, as when a boy leaps unexpectedly on his opponent's back, gives him a violent push, or runs against him forcibly. Suddenly dousing one another with water is another favourite if not very pleasant youthful sport. Prize fighting by adults seems to have been generally practised in Europe as well as in other parts of the world from remote antiquity. The ancient Egyptians were zealous wrestlers. Among the Greeks, where the art was extraordinarily developed, it often became brutal; breaking the fingers and throttling were allowed, and a familiar sculptured group shows a cruel twisting of the arms to hold down the thrown wrestler. Eing fighting was practised by both boys and men among early Ger- mans, as numerous ethnological remains demonstrate. In Japan, prize fighting is as much a national sport as is bull baiting in Spain. Bastian saw it in Burma, Eatzel among the Eskimos, Indians, Hawaiians, etc., and other observers in remote parts of the earth. Among the Bra- zilian Bororo friendly contests are governed by the fol- lowing rules : " To seize a man by his right wrist is a challenge. The two contestants face one another, and each places his hands on the other's shoulders or on the stnall of the back. In this position they must stand with bodies perfectly erect,* their feet wide apart, and each looking toward the other's back. They maintain a good- humoured silence for some time, and then suddenly be- come very much in earnest, and make desperate efforts to throw one another by tripping. One usually opens the at- tack by thrusting one of his heels into the knee hollow of his opponent and trying to bend it, but the other is pre- pared, and sets his sturdy leg so far back that the effort is fruitless. Attack and resistance on both sides follow in rapid succession until one of the contestants falls."t * In the fight between Odysseus and Ajax the position of the contest- ants was compared to the sidewise posture of two sparring dogs. + Von den Steinen, Unter den Naturvolken Central-Brasiliens, ppi 127, 383. DIRECT PHYSICAL FIGHTING PLAT 177 Here, too, is opportunity for the application of the wiles practised by Odysseus when the mighty Ajax lifted him off his feet. "... Still his craft not deserted Odysseus : He dealt a blow from the back and loosened the joint of his knee So that backward he fell and Odysseus sank down above him Kight on his broad chest. And the people around were amazed." In von den Steinen's description of the Brazilian cus-« toms, the effort to pull down the head, mentioned above in connection with childish wrestling, is dwelt upon as the chief aim instead of the grip on the waist. " The con- testants, representatives of different tribes, come forward in pairs, their bodies smeared with yellowish red uruJcu, and with black. They stoop, catch up a handful of sand, and in a crouching position, with hands hanging down, they rapidly circle round each other, casting angry glances at their opponents, and calling out threateningly, ' Huuha ! huuha ! ' Then one touches his right hand to his adversary's left, and at this signal they all leap to the attack, springing up and down as fast as possible on the same spot, not unlike angry apes, each seeking to seize and bend down the other's head. This violent exercise goes on for some time without any direct attempt to throw one another. They are very friendly after it is over, and may be seen walking about with their arms around each other's shoulders." As a last example I quote Berlepsch's graphic descrip- tion of the Schwingen as practised in the Swiss Alps. Shirt and trunks are the only articles of clothing allowed, and the latter expose half the thigh, and must be made of stout, strong drilling. Every man grasps with his right hand the waistband of his opponent, and with his left the roUed-up trouser leg, and now begin, either standing or kneeling, violent efforts to overthrow one another. For a complete conquest this must be accomplished twice.* The struggle is especially exciting when the contestants, represent different valleys, and on them rests the respon- sibility of maintaining the honour of their native place. * Among the Greeks throwing three times was the rule. 178 THE PLAY OP MAN " As soon as the two athletes have taken the proper grip they sink on their right knees and withdraw the lower part of the body as far as a good hold will permit. If one has reason to fear that he is about to be lifted, he lies flat down on his stomach and the other must follow suit. In this unnatural position they torment one another for half an hour at a time, writhing on the ground like snakes, and stretching sinews and muscles until their faces grow dark with the strain. If neither can manage to overcome his opponent by endurance, superior strength, or strategy, they at last voluntarily abandon the conflict, utterly exhausted, and shake hands on their prowess, but neither can claim a victory." * So-called tests of strength are similar to this.f In pulling contests the attempt is made to draw the opponent toward one, sometimes by the hands — in the Bavarian mountains it is done by hook- ing the middle fingers together — sometimes by seizing a stick at its ends or across, sometimes with a rope, as the Greek boys did, sometimes by a band around the neck, which serves to strengthen the muscles of the back,t and sometimes by hooking one knee of each together, so that the contestants can only hop about on one foot ■until the contest is decided. Another test of strength is the pushing which children usually take up of themselves, as many schoolroom benches could testify. In Japanese contests pushing across a line seems to be a leading fea- ture. Zettler gives the following description of it: " Japanese prize fighters are trained to their profession through centuries of inheritance from father to son, and by every conceivable means calculated to produce perfect specimens of their kind. In stature they are veritable giants, not only in height but in the development of all the limbs and masses of fat, which would not lead one to expect special adroitness or muscular force. In their ring contests the effort is made either to throw or to push one another off the arena, which is an elevated circular platform thickly strewn with sand and surrounded with * H. A. Berlepsoh, Die Alpen, p. 417. + Some of the succeeding examples are taken from M. Zettler's article on prize fighting in Euler's enoykl. Handbd. gos. Tumwesens. I In Switzerland this play is called Katzenstriegel. Grown boys try to pull each other over thresholds in this way. DIRECT PHYSICAL FiaHTINQ PLAY 1Y9 a double ring of straw. Whoever makes one step over the edge is lost. Weight is of great use in this contest." Children frequently make use of a combination of pull- ing and pushing, which is really imitative play. One child, for instance, takes his position on a sand heap and defends himself against another who represents the enemy storming his castle. From the well-nigh innu- merable tests of strength we may select the following as typical: The players stand with outstretched arms oppo- site one another, seize hands and pull, or one stands firm with stiffened arms while the other tries to stir him, or they sit in such a way that the knees of one are caught between those of the other, and the effort is made to force the legs apart; or sometimes it is to open the roUed-up fist, etc.* Fighting with fists leads the way to fighting with weapons, though the rolled-up fist is used by the angry child as a weapon earlier than the open hand. In play- ful fighting, however, the blow with the fist is not much used. Sometimes a little playful boxing is indulged in, but it is difficult to keep within the bounds of play in a fisticuff. Gjrmnastic exercises of this kind as practised by the Greeks and English are more important. Among the former blows were aimed at the head, and, " to strengthen the blow," says Fedde, "the fist and forearm were wrapped with thongs of oxhide, which left the fingers free to double up the fist. Later a strip or ring of hard leather was added, which, as it was held around the ball of the fist, inflicted severe wounds, being sometimes studded with nails or lead knobs. The soft leather thongs of earlier times were called friends (fteiKiytu), while the dangerous knobs in later use received the name of bul- lets (aipai) , and a specially cruel kind of gloves were ants (iiipiiriKes).\ That not only practised athletes used these, and that they were donned in the playful contests of mere boys, is proved by the speech of Lucien's Scythian, * When Milon, of Croton, held an apple in his fingers, it was said to he impossible to get the fruit away from him, or to hend even his little finger. t Fr. Fedde's article Grieohenland, in C. Euler's enoykl. Handb. d. ges. Tumwesens. 180 THE PLAT OF MAN Anacharsis. "And those standing so straight there," he says as he is observing the youthful sports, " beat one an- other and kick with the feet. There is one who has been hit on the chin, and his mouth is full of blood and sand, and his teeth almost knocked out, poor fellow, and yet the archon does not separate them and end the strife. On the contrary, he urges them on and praises the one who gives the blow." * Raydt says of English boxing : " An English specialty in physical exercise is boxing, practised methodically and with all possible skill. The fists are incased in thickly wadded gloves, which render the blows harmless, and a distinction is made between extreme severity and lighter strokes, the tactics admitting of fell- ing an opponent by the former or exhausting him with the latter. The boxing which I have seen was carried on in an orderly and decorous manner, and still I was con- vinced that it is a very severe exercise, and should not be introduced into the schools." f Regular boxing matches, requiring seconds and an umpire, as they are given by the students, are fought either to settle some dispute — " Fighting with fists is the natural and English way for English boys to settle their quarrels," is said in Tom Brown's School Days — or as a spectacle for a large audience to witness. In both cases it is fighting play only v?hen the belligerent instinct as such forms the chief mo- tive, and when, too, the quarrel in one case, or the prize offered and desire for self-display in the other, gives oc- casion for the exercise of the fighting instinct. There can be no doubt that this is often the case. Like our own students, English youths often fight, not because they have any quarrel, but because they seek one, because they want to fight, and the struggle thus becomes not the means but actually the end. The case is frequently the same with prize fighting. Professional boxers at the be- ginning of the nineteenth century were to a great extent rough fellows, who were only after money, or at best notoriety. But Oonan Doyle has recently given us in his Rodney Stone a masterly description of a blacksmith * W. Riohter, Die Spiele deT Griechen und Eomer, p. 38. t H. Raydt, Ein gesunder Geist in einem gesunder Korper, Hanover, 1899, p. 102. DIRECT PHYSICAL FIGHTING PLAY 181 ■who was a good husband and a skilful workman, yet even in his old age could not resist an invitation to take part in a public prize fight. What primarily influenced this man was a deep-rooted manly enjoyment of fighting for the fight's sake, and many Greek and English athletes have felt as he did. Another primitive method of fighting is by throwing missiles; even monkeys throw stones, dry branches, and fruit. Miss Romanes's ape was very sensitive to ridicule. One day the tailoress came into the room, and a nut was given to the monkey to open with his hammer, as he knew how to do. The nut proved to be empty, and the woman could not help laughing at the monkey's blank expression. "He then became very angry, and threw at her everything he could lay his hands on — ^first the nut, then the hammer, then a coffee-pot, which he seized out of the grate, and lastly all his own shawls. He threw things with great force and precision by hold- ing them in both hands and extending his long arms well back over his head before projecting the missile, standing erect the while." * The child begins very early to throw things to the ground, as we have seen, and seems to delight in watching their motion as well as in the noise. Later the child turns the skill thus acquired to the account of his fighting in- stinct, and in this way genuine offensive throwing begins as soon as he is able to tumble about alone. The en- joyment is doubled when it becomes not only a question of hitting the enemy, but of dodging his missiles as well. The prettiest and most harmless form of such sport is snowballing; but also fruit, cherry stones, clods of earth, pebbles, hay in the meadows, pillows from the beds, etc., all serve the same purpose. Some games of ball, too, are of a similar character. K. Weinhold tells us how he as a boy played against his comrades with a six-pound cannon ball. The wonder is that no bones were broken. "Less fortunate," he continues, "were the islanders who in- dulged in this mad folly, for in their case it was pun- ished. On a holiday the contest between boatmen and * G. J. Komanes, Animal Intelligence, p. 485. 182 THE PLAT OF MAN landsmen was begun, and after several days the latter re- tired as victors. The boatmen, stung by the taunts of their conquerors, took counsel with their friend Hard Grimkelssohn, who advised them to make balls of horn and challenge the shore people to another game. That evening six of the latter lay dead, while the boatmen lost not a single man." * In many ball games, however, the players do not themselves catch the ball, which is sent to a base or home, as in the English game of football. Be- hind each party is a base consisting of two upright posts and a connecting rod, and each side endeavours to get the ball over the other's base or to prevent such a result when it threatens their own. This is a specialized form of reciprocal mass contest, since the enemy is not at- tacked in person, but the effort is made to wrest from him a symbolic stronghold, as is common in mental con- tests. There are many similar ball games — for instance, baseball — where the ball is thrown by hand and its ana- logue found among the Worth American Indians; and cricket, where a single player, armed with a bat, defends the easily approached wicket. The idea is carried fur- ther when the ball which is thrown becomes the goal as well, so that the same instrument is at once weapon and symbol of the enemy. Playful pelting is indulged in in carnival times, when berries and confetti are thrown about promiscuously; in former times there were many occasions for this lively sort of play. Travellers experi- ence the primitive impulse which makes it hard for them to resist the temptation to throw when in midsummer they stand in a little snow field, and students are univer- sally given to throwing beer mugs, in spite of its being occasionally dangerous. The principle of returning offen- sive missiles is not much applied in play, and yet I re- member that as a boy I enjoyed shooting with bow and arrow at another boy similarly armed. We stood about fifteen feet apart and tried to hit each other with light and harmless cane arrows. A still more innocent battle was fought with popgun and berries. It is doubtful whether children really play with * Altuordisohes Leben, p. 294. DIRECT PHYSICAL FIGHTING PLAY 183 thrusting weapons; they rather exercise than fight with their wooden swords and spears, but when it comes to an offensive use of the weapons play turns to earnest, and, as with the young Goethe, ends disastrously in quarrelling and blows. Boys who are much older engage in actual fighting plays with such weapons, but it is left to the students' duels to exhibit 'its highly developed form. Some years ago the half-grown sons of a professor in a university town went to a fencing hall and fought out a regular contest in a perfectly friendly spirit, although it was by no means bloodless. Many readers will no doubt recall such incidents. Such contests between boys and young men are very interesting, and in Germany we dis- tinguish between them and real duels in that they are playful, while the latter are brought about by some seri- ' ous offence. That serious wounds sometimes result from these fencing matches is no argument against their play- ful character, for many games are dangerous, and these contests certainly come within our definition of a play, the satisfaction afforded by them being not in conquest but in fighting as such. When, indeed, one student pro- vokes another intentionally from dislike or anger, the fighting which results is not a play; but the elaborately arranged appointments and the fencing matches which result from some remarks made, perhaps, in all courtesy, though it may end in injury to one or both parties, undoubtedly is of this character.* In the same way must have been managed the jousts and tourneys of the middle ages, the knightly combats of ancient Teutons, and youthful trials at arms and many similar contests as prac- tised by various peoples f where, so long as there is no evidence of a quarrel, but only a natural demand to sat- isfy an inborn impulse to fight, it is all playful. We must not forget, however, that the desire for self-exhi- bition, to display one's skill and courage, is also con- spicuous. This subject brings us to a question which I touched * See E. V. Hartmann, Tagesfragen, Leipsio, 1896, p. 135. + A very interesting example from ethnology is contained in the arti- cle by W. Svoboda, Die Bewohner des Nikobaren-Archipels. Intern. Arch. f. Ethnogr., vi, 1893, p. 6. 13 184 THE PLAT OF MAN upon in The Play of Animals. In reviewing the fight- ing plays of animals we found that many mammals and birds fight hotly in youth who seldom beard an enemy in later life, habitually taking to flight when attacked. The supposition in such cases must be that fighting play serves as practice for the mating contest, since even the peaceful ruminants engage in bitter combat with rivals. This supposition granted, we may further assume that the fighting plays of the fiercer animals are also connected with the sexual life, and may it not be true with men as well? It is indisputable, of course, that human com- bat with wild beasts and other enemies is often a struggle for food and ownership, and accordingly, in considering play as preparatory for serious fighting, its aim must be considered as only partially sexual. Still, the connection is sufficiently close to deserve a few words of mention.* A great difference is observable in the tussling of boys as they approach maturity. While the games of six-year- olds are uniformly harmless, and proceed amid laughter and fun, as the age of puberty approaches fighting play assumes a much more serious character, and even when only play is intended the whole bearing of the partici- pants is greatly modified. Genuine make-believe, the in- nocent measuring of strength, is no longer practised; the youth desires to prove that he can play with danger, too; -he assumes an ofiensive and boastful air, and re- gards each of his contemporaries as a rival. The inward restlessness which characterizes this time of life is di- rected by instinct toward belligerence, and every oppor- tunity to fight is welcomed. It is at this time that the weapons, properly blunted or otherwise rendered less effective, may still be dangerous, for youths of all vigor- ous peoples will engage in some kind of spirited combat. Take, for example, the description of London boys, by Fitz Stephen, who lived in the time of Henry II. We find not only the nobility, but the merchant class as well, exercising themselves at all times of the year in armed contests, which, in spite of their playful character, often had serious results. In the dead of winter, often on ice, * We shall return to this subject in the consideration of love plays. DIRECT PHYSICAL FIGHTIN& PLAY 185 they assembled for this purpose, with staves for lances, held jousts " from which they did not always escape un- injured, for many were the legs and arms broken in the fray. But the youths, in their desire for glory, delighted in such practice, which served as a preparation for the time when they should go to war." * While we are obliged to attribute a very general sig- nificance to such dangerous indulgence of daring warlike spirit, still we can not fail to trace its connection with sexual life. Without the youth's necessarily knowing it, there is something similar to the bellicose tendency ex- hibited by animals in their pairing season, in the feeling of rivalry which possesses him at this time. The same thing is shown in the spirit of adventure, which at first is only a general desire for change, and delight in struggle and risk, but in its manifestations that are most closely connected with play appears in many mediaeval knights in close conjunction with courtship. " The heroic deeds of adventurous knights," says Alwin Schultz, " should be included in the category of fighting plays. Thus Ulrich von Lichtenstein, in his open letter to all knights, prom- ised to every knight who would break a lance with him on his homeward journey from Venice to Bohemia a gold ring for his sweetheart, and to any one who should un- horse him the steed on which he rode; while in case he himself came out conqueror all he required was that the vanquished knight should pay homage to his lady." Another knight, Waltman von Lattelstedt, took with him on a ride from Merseberg to Eisenach a damsel on a palfrey, having with her a sparrowhawk and a hunting dog. " Waltman proclaimed that on his arrival at Eisen- ach he would be ready to fight all comers, and that who- ever should overcome him could have the girl, the palfrey, the sparrowhawk, and even the dog and harness, but must permit the girl to ransom herself if she chose with a guilder and a gold ring. Whomsoever he should overthrow must give to him, as well as to the maiden, a ring of equal value. When she came back from Eisenach this young girl had gold rings enough to bestow one on every * Strutt, op. oit., p. 8. 186 THE PLAY OF MAN maid of high degree in all the town of Merseberg."* Such contests were more formidable with the North Ger- mans. Among these warriors it was common for a hero to travel to a distant land, and when a woman there pleased him, to demand her surrender from husband or father or brother in two weeks' time, the demand to be supported in the lists.f And finally it may be mentioned that the tourney, which was at first practised chiefly as preparatory for war, became later as often a contest for a woman. In one English tilt the king promised the kiss of an eight- year-old girl as the reward of success, and Eastern tour- neys were often instituted to win the hand of a princess.^ What was there done with intention may often uncon- sciously ground the various contests of young men. 2. Direct Mental Contests The impulse to opposition is a quality which is usually regarded as a very unpleasant disposition of mind, but which is in reality, when kept within proper bounds, the very leaven of human life. We shall see later that rivalry taken in connection with the imitative impulse is one of the mainsprings of advance of culture, and the opposi- tional force connected with the fighting instinct is also necessary for the mental development of mankind. The great newcomers in the various departments of learning are almost invariably either friendly or bitter opponents of long standing authorities, and any project which meets with no opposition sinks to sleep. For the individual, too, it is quite as important, since a man without it would be entirely too hospitable to suggestion; indeed, ab- normal suggestibility rests finally on the suspension of this instinct. Children early show a playful as well as an earnest resistance to authority. While Sully is right when he says that an attitude of absolute hostility to law on the part of the child would make education impossible, still he admits that the best childrei;i — from a biological * Alwin Sohultz, Das hofisohe Leben znr Zeit der Minnesinger, Leip- Bio, 1889, vol. ii, p. 118. i K. Weinhold, Altnordisehes Leben, p. 297. j K. Weinhold, Geschiohte der naensciilichen Elie, Jena, 1893, v- 15& DIRECT MENTAL CONTESTS 187 etandpoint — tave "most of the rebel" in them.* The sweetness of forbidden fruit is imparted largely by the combative instinct. Such a spirit is manifested play- fully, not when disobedience is attended with cries and struggles or sulky behaviour, but when it is enjoyed for its own sake, as a source of triumphant satisfaction. When a two-year-old child who has been told not to throw his spoon under the table repeats the action, not in anger but with twinkling eyes, he is acting playfully. Some of their speeches, however, exhibit this spirit most clearly. For instance, a small boy who had been rather rough with his younger brother and was remonstrated with by his mother, asked, "Is he not my own brother?" and then cried triimiphantly, when his mother admitted the undeniable fact, "Well, then, you said I could do what I please with my own things ! " f Another child of three years and nine months answered his nurse who called him: "I can't come; I have to look for a flea!" and pretended to be doing so while he broke out in a roguish laugh.t A three-year-old Italian girl said to her grandmother under similar circumstances, " Non posso venire, la piccolina [her doU] mi succhia ! " * With children of school age, playful resistance to au- thority is naturally directed chiefly against the teacher. As an example I regretfully recall a piece of mischief of which I myself was guilty. I had looked back during a recitation to speak to the boy behind me, when the teacher called out to me to turn around. At that I turned around so completely as to be able to continue my conversation from thfr other side. The indulgent teacher was so amused at my impudence that he did not punish me as I deserved. Hans Hoffman has shown in his Ivan the Ter- rible how ill-mannered schoolboys can take advantage of a teacher who does not possess the secret of command; and Carl Vogt says of his school days at the gymnasium: " Study and work were for the majority secondary con- siderations. Most of the boys staid there for the purpose of tormenting their fellow-students and enraging their teachers. By studying the peculiarities of character pos- * Studies in Childhood, pp. 268, 269, 271, 274 + Ibid. t Ibid. * Paolo Lombroso, op. at., p. 126. 188 THE PLAY OP MAN sessed by our tyrants we soon found a weak side to each of them and tried sucli experiments with these weaknesses as their owners could not avenge by punishment. Thus the whole school was leagued against the professoriat, and now single combat or skirmishing, now slyly precon- certed mass operations were for the time in favour, and there were occasional truces, but no lasting peace." * E. Eckstein's humorous sketches, too, are especially popular because of their celebration of this warfare against the teachers. We have yet to notice adult opposition to political, scientific, artistic, social, and religious authority. It is of course usually serious, and yet it seems to me that in spite of its practical side there is often something play- ful in it, something of enjoyment of the conflict for its own sake. The obstructionist in legislation, the oppo- nents of time-honoured regulations, customs, doctrines, rules of art and dogmas, all take, if they are born fighters, a peculiar pleasure in the excitement of resistance to au- thority. They like to blend their voices in the war cries of spiritual combat. It is one of the pleasures of life. Contradiction is another form of opposition. I once snapped the fingers of my four-year-old nephew, Heinrich K., for some misbehaviour. After he had been quiet for a while, as was his habit, this dialogue passed between us, evidently soon becoming playful to the child : " Uncle, I'll shut you up in a room so you can never get out." " Oh, I'll climb out of a window." " Then I will shut the blinds." " But I will open them." " But I'll nail them shut." « Then I'll saw a hole in the door." " But I'll have an iron door, very strong." " Then I'll make a hole in the floor." " But I will go underneath and make iron walls to the whole house." And so it went on until I gave up the straggle with childish inventiveness. En- joyment of such playful dispute often lasts a lifetime. As a fourteen-year-old boy I once argued for hours with a friend as to whether the beauty of colour was relative or absolute. One of us contended that a blue embroid- ered chair might be positively ugly, however attractive * Carl Vogt, AuB meinem Leten, Stuttgart, 1896, pp. 70, 98. DIRECT MENTAL^ CONTESTS 189 the colour, while the other maintained that the beauty of the blue would make the chair admirable. I mention this trivial example only because it shows so plainly the play- ful character of such talk, for without any personal in- terest in the matter we waxed warm over our respective views and presented them with great energy. The heated discussion gave us quite as much satisfaction as solving the problem could have done; in fact, the charm of con- versation is largely to be attributed to the enjoyment of disputation. On examining closely into what constitutes the attraction of such entertainment for us we find that besides relating and listening to anecdotes and gossip about acquaintances (this is also play) our chief pleasure is in more or less playful combating of opposite opinion. People who have no interest or talent for these three things are at a loss in society. We now take up such intellectual contests as are com- monly included in the lists of fighting plays, including the solution of riddles, to which we alluded under experi- mentation. The measuring of mental readiness between individuals when the problem is given orally by a third person, and this is the original and natural method, is a genuine intellectual duel. It was a favourite entertain- ment of the ancient Germans which Eiickert has cele- brated in his beautiful poem. Another form is the put- ting of difficult questions alternately to opposed parties, as in our modern spelling bee. There are examples of this in the Eddas, such as the intellectual duels between Odin and a giant, and between Thor and the dwarf Alvis. Eomantic troubadour songs belong here too. Uhland and Eiickert once engaged in a metrical debate as to whether it is worse to find one's lover dead or faithless. Uhland preferred death, while Euckert attempted to sus- tain the thesis " better false than dead." * Eivalry is conspicuous in such contests, as we shall have occasion to note later. In our common forfeit games, too, mental contest * See E. M. 'Wemer, Lyrik und Lyriker, Hamburg, 1890, p. 220. Eiiokert and Uhland engaged in another beautiful contest in which they carried on a narrative alternately and in such a manner that each stanza was intended to make the next one difficult. 190 THE PLAY OP MAN often forms the basis of the fun. For instance, it is a distinct attack and parry when a handkerchief is thrown to a player and a word pronounced to which he must find a rhyme. In English, where the spoken and written words are so unlike, the spelling of unfamiliar words is turned into a game; and another idea is to introduce into a story some object or incident suggesting the name of one of the players, whereupon he must continue the re- cital, passing it on to another in the same way. Or a passage from some great author may be cited and his name guessed, and many similar devices. Finally, we mention the important group of plays for which the stimulus is partly intellectual experimentation, but is primarily attributable to the combative instinct, such as board and card games, both of which are symbolic of physical contests in which the players appear as leaders of opposing forces and originators of strategic operations. A genuine battle ground is afforded by the board, and the great object is to have the right man in the right place at the right time. In cards strategy is exhausted in the choice of the right champion at the right moment, but is rendered much more difficult by the fact that the former contestants have disappeared from view, while the reserve is concealed. Thus it results that board games afford opportunity for the display of skill in arrangement and card games especially cultivate memory, while both are important promoters of the logical faculty and of imaginative foresight.* An important distinction be- tween them is that in board games the strength of the contestants is exactly equal at the start, and the material chances are identical, while in cards inequality is the rule. Board plays (the name is not very fortunate, for the battlefield is by no means always a board) are older and more generally distributed than the others. When Laza- rus points out reasoning games in distinction from games of chance as indicative of a higher state of culture f he can not be referring to board games in general, since some of the lowest and most savage tribes indulge in them. There are three distinct varieties of these plays. In the * See Lazarus, Die Eeize des Spiels, pp. 88, 89. + Ibid. DIRECT MENTAL CONTESTS 191 \ / X X X X / \ first kind one, or possibly two, stand opposed to a large party, but the conditions are equalized by the rule that all the party must act together while the smaller side is rendered more formidable by various advantages, such as greater freedom of motion and capacity for lying in wait and taking prisoners. The object is to dislodge the single fighter from his stronghold and cut off his retreat, or to surround him in the open field and take him captive. The prototype of the former is the beleaguered fortress, and of the latter combats with dangerous beasts of prey. The Malay Eiman-Eiman, or Tiger-play, is a good example of the latter. The arena is somewhat ci this form and appearance, the figure being simply traced on the sand, or stamped with red and white on boards or cloth. The single player has twenty-four stones, the men, orang-orang. The other players have a single large one or sometinies two, the tiger, riman. The tiger is gov- erned by fixed rules, and the men seek to pen him up so that he can not move.* In the second kind the parties, being numerically equal, stand opposed as in checkers, where a hot struggle goes on to get three men in a row — at least this is one of the simplest forms of the game as described by Ovid. Among German antiquities there is a representation of two men with a board set with stones. Schuster at least considers this a game similar to checkers.^ And besides, there are groups engaged in the Damen-Spiele, which was probably known to the ancient Egyptians as well as the Greeks and Romans, although we can not be certain as to the rules of these ancient games, iroKis, ludus latrun- culorum. In mediaeval times elaborately ornamented boards were used for this game. " Especially notewor- thy," says Weinhold, " is one that is used as a reliquary on the altar at Asschaffenburg. It is set with jasper and beryl crystals, beneath which various figures are inlaid in * K. Plischke, Kurze Mittheilnng tiber zwei maylayisohe Spiela Intern. Arch. f. Ethnogr., iii (1890). t H. M. Schuster, Das Spiel, p. 2. 192 THE PLAT OF MAN the Roman manner on a gold ground." * Biittikof er brougkt with him from Liberia a very interesting ethno- logical specim.en, almost unique in character. The game played in that region does not require a board or other flat surface, but wooden cases into which rods are inserted like arrows in a quiver. This represents the placing of the men on a board. Each player has ten rods, of which only four are placed at the begin- ning of the game. The dots in the cut show their position. The object is to get into the enemy's country by judicious jumping, the reserve ammunition being placed as occasion requires until the supply is exhausted.! Another form of this kind of game is the Oriental Mangale, which is now be- coming quite general.:|: In Damascus, where, according to Petermann, it is constantly played in all the coffee houses, a board two feet by six inches is used. It is over an inch thick and has in its upper side two parallel rows of holes, seven in number in Damascus; other places have six, eight, or nine. In these holes tiny pebbles, gathered in a particular valley by pilgrims to Mecca, are laid ; usually seven in each. The player removes the stones from the first depression on his right, and throws them one by one toward the left and into the holes on his opponent's side. This play is kept up under certain rules and conditions, of course, and with the aid of much counting* of win- nings, and whoever gets the most stones has the game.|| In concluding we must not fail to notice the noblest of all board games, chess, which, on account of the great variety of men employed and their complicated moves, is the most difficult of games, as well as the most entertain- * K. Weinhold, Die deutsohen Frauen im Mittelalter, vol. i, p. 115. t J. Bilttikofer, Einiges ilber die Eingeboren von Liberia. Intern. Arch. f. Ethnogr., i (1888). t According to Andr^e it is played in Arabia and a large part of Africa. The Berlin Museum has such boards from various African dis- tricts, notably one from central Africa, with two rows of six holes and a carved head on the end. * See E. Andr^e, Ethnog. Parall. u. Verg. Neue Folge, p. 102. Peter- mann's description, which T have not fully transcribed, seems to me to b& deficient in that it does not make clear liow the r While on one side teasing is an expression of the fighting impulse, on the other it seems to be of consider- able value as a promoter of sociability-. The educational quality of school comradeships and students' clubs de- pends in no small degree on the hardening of the super- sensitive by teasing, and thus preparing them for the * Carl Sittl, Die Gebardeu der Griechen und Eomer, Leipsio, 1890, p. 90. t Ibid. t Early History of Mankind, second edition, 1870, p. 45. See the anal- ogous behaviour of the Dakotas in Darwin's The Expression of the Emo- tions, p. 267. « See Sittl, p. 99. 16 232 THE PLAY OF MAN future buffetings of fortune. It is useful, too, in stirring- up heavy and phlegmatic natures. Bastian writes from Siam : " When a boy misses his aim and stands like a ■whipped poodle, his comrades mock him with ' Kui, kui,' which is very provoking. Some poor fellows are so sen- sitive to this blame and jeering, and so emulous of praise that they are quite beside themselves, and beat their heads against a wall. They are then said to be * Ba-Jo,' or mad from shame. When, on the contrary, they meet such scorn with indifference, they are regarded as fearless." * 7. Enjoyment of the Comic There are two theories of the comic — that of the feel- ing of superiority and that of contradiction; the one being more subject to the will and the other to reasoning processes. That which Hobbes sets forth and which is per- petuated in modem psychology by Bain, Kirchmann, Ife- berhorst, and others, emphasizes the connection between laughter and ridicule. As the latter is a pleasure, " orta ex eo, quod aliquid, quod contemnimus in re quam odimus ei jnesse imaginamu" (Spinoza), so too our appreciation of the comic is derived from our own powers of exaggera- tion over and above the contradictions inherent in the ob- ject of our depreciation. Erdmann says that we never think of Christ's laughing, because we have an innate feeling that there is something malicious in unrestrained laugh- ter.f The other theory, which also has many supporters, lays most stress on the intellectual side of the phenom- enon, on the idea of contradiction, of inconsequence, of incongruity as displayed by the comic object. This startles us at first by its unexpectedness, and then appeals agreeably to our sense of the ridiculous. These two theories are by no means exclusive the one of the other, and are only opposed in that each accuses the other of failure to cover all the facts. Sully and Eibot % attempt to unite them by deriving the more refined sense of incon- gruity from the first exaggeration, progressively exclud- * Die Volker des ostliohen Asien, vol. iii, p. 222. t Emste Spiele, p. 10. t The Human Mind, vol. ii, p. 148. Psyehologie des sentiments, p. 342. ENJOYMENT OP THE COMIC 233 ing the latter by mental play with contraries. We will be satisfied with the undeniable fact that pleasure de- rived from the comic is usually not only experimenta- tion with attention, the shock of surprise, and a more or less logical enjoyment of the incongruities involved, but also an agreeable pharisaical feeling of being supe- rior to the occasion. So far, then, as such pleasure can be referred at all to reason it does consist in this sense of superiority, and belongs in the category of fighting plays. It is a familiar remark that we find something not altogether disagreeable in hearing of the misfortunes of even our best friends. From the standpoint of social sci- ence it is evident that humanity is not entirely dominated by the social and sympathetic instincts since even when these are most strongly manifested there is always a rem- nant of the fighting impulse in ambush, which greets with joy any damage to a friend as to a foe. This is the principle of competition. We know that untutored savages make violent demonstrations of joy over the mis- fortunes of an enemy, their fiendish laugh of triumph has been often described, and childhood recollections fur- nish most of us with striking data in the same line. " A ten-year-old boy who had daubed a comrade with filthy mud from the street danced around his victim and screamed with laughter." * Sometimes scornful and con- temptuous laughter serves as a weapon, for it is not always a mere expression of feeling, being frequently used to infuriate an opponent much as a provoking man- ner is employed. We find, too, that in numerous cases it originates in a triumphant feeling, as when the teasing we have been considering is successful, and also when spectators applaud such success. Then, too; there is laughter at the artistic representation of such scenes, pic- torial, plastic, and poetic. Yet we are far from exhaust- ing the list. As a result of the struggle for life, every in- feriority calls forth a triumphant feeling in the observer, be it in physical or mental fitness or in opportunity or * See Hall and Allin, op. cit. The remark of a little girl who danced about the grave of her friend and rejoiced thus, " How glad I am that she is dead and that I'm alive I " is in the same line. 234 THE PLAT OF MAN ability. Thence comes, too, the opposition among gre- garious anim.als to anythiilg which menaces the social norm or its usages, anything which is too small or too great to be reduced to the general average, provided the greatness is not sufficient to inspire awe or fear. And inferiority, too, in the courtship contest is often subject for ridicule. In all these cases, embracing as they do a large proportion of things comic, the instinct for fighting enjoys a triumph, and this enjoyment forms a large part of the general sense of satisfaction. Yet we rightly hesitate to identify enjoyment of the comic with mere maliciousness. There is evidently some- thing more. But what? Is Aristotle's explanation, that the misfortune to another which excites our mirth is really a harmless thing, sufficient ? By no means. While this may be quite true considered subjectively, it does not bear on our special question. It is at this point, I think, that the other theory becomes applicable, especially in a connection which has not been sufficiently brought forward. In all the relations of the comic with which we have so far had to do, only a small part of the stimulus of contrast has come from the object itself and from the relief of tension. By far the most significant feature of the process is the fact that the observer alternates be- tween aesthetic feeling or inner imitation and the ex- ternal sense of triumph. Hereby alone does the comic win the right to a place in the sphere of aesthetics. It is a psychological law that sufficient observation of any object stirs the imitative impulse to such a degree as to cause us inwardly to sympathize with the object, and the law holds good with regard to what we consider inferior if it impresses us as amusing as well. Our feeling, then, is so far from being pure malice that we actually spend an interval in inward participation in the inferiority, though at the next moment, it is true, exulting triumphantly in our own superiority. All this is a play grounded on the instinctive indulgence of our fighting impulse, aided and enlarged by the idea of contrast, the two together constituting appreciation of the comic. Mere mischief is not assthetic, and the mere idea of contrast does not necessarily produce laughter; but, then, synthesis does ENJOYMENT OP THE COMIC £35 call forth this characteristic effect of the comic* The mischievous factor is sometimes of much less impor- tance, and the laugh not at all like ridicule, yet in the vast majority of cases the idea of resistance min- gles, if for nothing else, then to overcome the shock which is apt to stagger us at first, but is finally conquered. I proceed now to adduce some instances to which, in spite of their diversity, this explanation is applicable. We have seen that surprise is one of the first causes for laughter in children. They thoroughly enjoy the moment of recog- nition of a picture which has puzzled them, and adults have the same feeling when they have wrestled with almost ^ illegible handwriting and at last decipher it. There is a slight shock of it, too, when we hear a child express precocious sentiments or see an animal act like a man. Then arises what Kries calls a state of false psychic disposition, from which we escape in the next instant. We may test this sensation by turning from a comic sheet to some serious reading. We are apt to con- ceive of the first sentences as if they were meant to be ironical, and find the recognition and correction of the misapprehension a pleasure in itself. Such a stimulus is also mildly operative in the amusement we derive from masquerades and other pretences. The charm of jug- gling and sleight-of-hand tricks is dependent on the un- expected performance of an apparently impossible task or the solution of an apparently insurmountable difficulty. As an instance of the surprise whose conquest forms a part of our amusement and which at first gives us a shock which has something of superstition in it, I will mention that which I felt on receiving " in the very nick of time," as it were, the article of Hall and Allin's, to which I have so often referred, just as I was about to begin my attempt to analyze the comic. Punning, the introductory step to wit, is enjoyed by children too young to appreciate true wit. It consists in * In my Einleitung in die Esthetic I have tried to show how the feel- ing of superiority is gradually supplanted by inner imitation. In the humorous contemplation of inferiority Erdmann's " maliciousness " need have no place, and we can conceive of a God as laughing in this way. As Keller's poem has it, "Der Herr, der duroh die Wandlung geht, Er laohelt auf dem Wege." 236 THE PLAT OF MAN an incongruous association of ideas which at first amazes und then delights. Wit presents ideas in unexpected asso- ciations full of suggestion which prove either to be illu- sory or to conceal some jesting or serious meaning. JTinally, we may include in his list some lying tales and extravagances which are too grotesque to represent any intention to deceive. In all these instances we can trace the combination of fighting play with the contrast of ideas. The former, however, possesses here a deeper and more subjective sig- nificance, since it is no longer inspired by external inferi- ority, but by the necessity for overcoming the shock which at the first blush staggers and overwhelms us, but which it enables us to shake off immediately. We can thus speak of an offensive and a defensive triumph; in the former the laugh has something of the character of an attack, while in the latter we are warding off sur- prise. Tet the contrast of ideas coming in here makes it difficult to maintain this distinction clearly. Inner imitation falls in many cases into the background or en- tirely out of view, indicating that we are no longer deal- ing with aesthetic enjoyment. In the simpler cases con- trast between stressed attention and its sudden imex- pected release becomes the most prominent feature, while in others it is the contrast of opposing qualities which the object really possesses or has ascribed to it. Summing up now the important data we find that en- joyment of the comic depends in the large majority of cases, though not in all, on the union of fighting play with the idea of contrast. This kind of fighting play naturally falls into two distinct groups, involving every- thing comic. The one is essentially composed of aggres- sive fighting plays, and makes prominent the contrast be- tween inner imitation and the triumphant feeling of su- periority. In the other group we find more defensive fighting play, and the idea of contrast takes the form pri- marily of sudden relaxation of the stressed attention and the impresion of contradiction. That the first group rep- resents an earlier stage of development from which the second is evolved, as Sully and Eibot intimate, is not easily proved. Children exhibit both very early. ENJOYMENT OP THE COMIC 237 Are there cases which do not exhibit fighting play in any form? I do not deny the possibility, though up to this time I have not been able to discover any such. The first diiSculty to surmount in trying to establish this pos- sibility would, it seems to me, be the laughter of chil- dren when they mimic anything (for example, the cries or movements of animals), which is not in itself amusing, nor is their intention mischievous. Can this be a case -where the idea of contrast works alone and there is no fighting play? I think not, for I am convinced that the child's first impression of the comic depends on his aes- thetic sympathy with the model and on his conscious shaking off of this feeling; and, furthermore, the idea of contrast is in this instance connected with the conquest of difficulty, an association which always indicates an approach to fighting play, and is especially significant in this case, since mimicry singles out the salient and indi- vidual characteristics of the model.* 8. Hunting Flay Having learned to recognise the three principal groups of fighting plays we turn now to a special application of the fighting instinct. The name "hunting play" will include, for the sake of brevity, playful pursuit, flight, and hiding. The chase is, in connection with the collecting of fruits, the oldest and most primitive method of obtain- ing a food supply known to us. It is not impossible that in some more primitive stage than that of modem sav- ages human beings subsisted entirely (with the excep- tion of some insects, young birds, and eggs) on vegetable food, as monkeys do. But we have no definite knowledge of this, and, however it may be, the facts justify the de- duction that the impulse to pursue a fleeing creature, or, on the other hand, to flee and hide from approaching danger, is as much an inborn instinct in man as in the ■ lower animals. It is true, indeed, that the arts of the * The fact that the humorous temperament is so much more rare in Tvomen artists than in men supports the theory of its involving the fight- ing impulse. (See Mario Pilo, La psyehologie du beau et de I'art, Paris, 1895, p. 145.) 238 THE PLAT OF MAN cliase are of vast service to evolution in other ways than in the pursuit of and escape from wild beasts, for it ia often enough his fellow-man from whom the fugitive flees and must escape by speed or guile. In the case of ani- ■ mals the instinctiveness of the impulse is proved by their play. The kitten treats a ball of yarn exactly as an adult carnivorous animal does its prey, and that before she takes note of a living mouse; and young dogs show their wolfish nature in their chasing of one another when there is no real game to pursue. In the life of man, too, phenomena are not wanting which point to an instinctive basis for the hunting instinct, and they all belong to the sphere of play. First, then, we must consider actual hunting of ani- mals, which is not for the purpose of securing food. Small children display a disposition to chase animals. G-. H. Schneider considers that this fact points directly to the inheritance of the habits of primitive man, but it is not necessary to call in the principle of inheritance of acquired characters, since simple succeeding to inborn in- stincts is sufficient to produce this result. " In the same way," says Schneider, "the impulse for hunting, fishing, slaughtering animals and plundering birds' nests in so cruel a manner is inherited, and is to-day quite common in young men accustomed to an outdoor life. The boy never eats the butterflies, beetles, flies, and other insects which he eagerly pursues and possibly dismembers, nor does he suck the eggs which he gets from nests in high trees, often at the risk of his life. But the sight of these creatures awakens in him a strong impulse to plunder, hunt, and kill, apparently because his savage ancestors obtained their food chiefly by such acts." * Schneider goes too far, I think, in assuming that there is a special connection between the sight of a certain animal and the inherited impulse, yet it is quite probable that there is a general tendency to seek and pursue moving living crea- tures over and above what can be accounted for by fear. And perhaps the children of savages possess this tendency in a higher degree than do our own. Semon tells us of * G. H. Solineider, Der Menschliohe Wille, Berlin, 1882, p. 62. HUNTING PLAY 239 young Australians : " Any one who observes the children, and especially the boys, will see how in their play all the exercise is directed to the perfection of their skiU in the chase. They are constantly occupied with throwing pieces of wood and little clubs at any possible target, killing squirrels and bringing down birds and small animals with these missiles. On the march, while the women and girls carry the baggage, the boys amuse themselves with vari- ous throwing plays." The cylindrical nests of Australian birds are favourite hiding places of poisonous snakes, " and children who give promise of becoming zealous sci- entific investigators are often, as well as their elders, bitten in this way. My little friends in Coonambula were eager collectors of all sorts of insects and every creeping thing, and I have to thank them, for many of my choicest specimens." * The chase as practised for sport by adults also argues for an instinctive basis of such play. Civilized man, who no longer makes hunting a direct means of replenishing his larder, still feels the force of this powerful impulse, and playfully reverts to the practices of his progenitors. The passion which this sport excites in its votaries is so strong as to leave little doubt that the impulse is an in- herited one. " In our time," says Johann von Salisbury in the twelfth century, " the chase is regarded by the no- bility as the most honourable of employments, and its pursuit the highest virtue. They consider it the summit of earthly bliss to excel in this exercise, and consequently they ride to the chase with greater pomp and pageantry than to war. From pursuing habitually this manner of life they lose their humanity to a great degree, and be- come almost as savage as the beasts they hunt. Peasants peacefully tending their flocks are torn from their well- tilled fields, their meadows, and pastures, in order that V7ild beasts may take possession." f King Edward III had such a passion for hunting that he took a large pack of dogs with him when he was making war on France, and on French soil and every day he fol- lowed the chase in some form. The priestly Nimrods * Semon, Im Anstralisohen Busoh, pp. 168, 197. + Strutt, op. ait., p. 62. 240 THE PLAY OF MAN ■whose tastes belie their calling have been subjects of de- rision from the time of Chaucer to C. F. Meyer's Shots from the Chancel, and the opposite extreme is found in Sebastian Brant's Narrenschiff, where he accuses his con- temporaries of disturbing the worship of God by bring- ing their dogs and falcons into the churches. In modem times the passion for hunting is strongest in mountain- eers, whose free outdoor life affords every opportunity to indulge the taste. No one who has seen the face of an old mountaineer as he catches sight of a likely goat has any further doubt that inherited instinct is at the bottom of the hunting impulse. Bismarck well described the charm of field sports at the time (18Y8) when, his health being threatened, he left the business of his oflSce to younger diplomats, and refused to be consulted except on the most vital questions. Rudolf Lindau has given, too, in a parliamentary speech of Bismarck a half-hmnorous and yet striking picture of a tired hunter : " When a man starts off on a hunt in the morning he is quite willing to tramp over miles of heavy ground to get a shot at birds. But after he has wandered about all day, has his game bag full, and is about ready to go home, being tired, hungry, and covered with mud, he shakes his head if the game- keeper says that there are partridges in the next field. * I have enough,' he says. But if a messenger comes with the news that there is a wild boar in the woods below, this tired man with hunter's blood in his veins forgets his fatigue, and hastens to the woods, not satisfied until he has found the game and captured it." The most rigidly conducted chase has something of the character of play, and there is a whole cycle of games in which flight and pursuit are the main features. To be- gin with the pursuit of our own kind: suppose one tak- ing a two-year-old child in his arms and springing toward another person, who runs away in pretended fright. The child will manifest delight, which is much too strong to be attributed to mere pleasure in the movement, and must be connected with the hunting impulse. It is shown, too, quite as plainly by boys playing on the street. James is right when he says, " A boy can no more help running after another' boy who runs provokingly near him than HUNTING PLAY 241 a kitten can help running after a rolling ball." * In 1894 I had an opportunity to observe a scene which displayed the power of this instinct in a manner which was almost terrible; the boys irresistibly reminded me of dogs or woItcs pursuing their prey in a hot chase. At that time a racer came to Giessen, and to attract attention ran through the streets at midday attired in rose-coloured tights, fantastically decorated, and carrying a large bell in his hand. He moved with incredible rapidity, now disappearing round some corner, and now emerging from a side street. When school was out a crowd of homeward- bound boys filled the streets, and, catching sight of the runner, chased after him, so that soon a mob of from fifty to one hundred children were on his heels, chasing him like a pack of hounds with the wildest excitement and loud cries. The man carried a whip which he laid about him well, otherwise the children would doubtless have tried to catch and beat him. The number of plays which employ such chasing is- extraordinarily great, and I will confine myself to a few examples which display the characteristic points of differ- ence. One of the simplest forms of it is the " Zeck," which is described in a seventeenth century collection.. Another is the Greek dcrT/oa/ctvSa, for which the boys used bits of pottery or a shell, one side of which was smeared with pitch and called night, while the other side was day. The children were divided into parties of the day and night, and the token thrown up in the air. The side lying uppermost on its fall determined which party should flee and which pursue. Whoever was caught was called a donkey f and must sit on the ground to await the end of the game. This may have been the origin of our coin tossing. In most chasing plays there are special pre- arranged conditions which avert danger from the fugi- tive and facilitate bringing the play to a close, and most of these conditions can be traced to some ancient super- stition. In one game the pursued is safe while standing on or touching iron, and in another sudden stooping makes him immune, while others again appoint bases as * The Principles of Psychology, vol. ii, p. 427. + Grasberger, pp. 52, 57. 242 THE PLAY OF MAN cities of refuge. These were used by the Greeks, and a great variety of designation indicates how general they are among the Germans. In the Greek a-xoivoi\ivSa the participants formed in a circle, around which one went with a stick which he secretly hid behind one of the players, who has the privilege of chasing the depositor; or, in case he fails to discover in time what an honour has been conferred upon him, he must run around the circle exposed to the blows of all its numbers.* It is like our "Drop the Handkerchief," and also the game where the boy, whose cap the ball falls in, must throw it after the others. Finally, I will mention two games in which this element has developed into complex imitation of genuine combat. " Fox chasing " furnishes a perfect picture of battle. Two hostile parties stand opposed and attempt to conquer one another and to free their impris- oned allies, and yet, since each capture is made by pursuit and not by fighting, the principle of the chase is the con- trolling one. " Hare and Hounds " is another imitation of the chase. Adults usually play it on horseback, though there is a notice in Ueber Land und Meer (1880, Ifo. 27) of such a chase on foot, in America. Two specially good runners are given fiiteen minutes' start, and the rest of the company take the part of hounds. But it is not essential that the thing pursued shall be a living creature. Just as kittens and puppies chase lifeless objects, such as rolling balls, sticks, etc., so do human beings also find substitutes for the proper objects of their sportiveness. Catching a swiftly moving ball is sometimes of this nature; there is attending it a feeling of triumphant mastery much the same as that which ex- cites the boy who seizes and holds a fleeing comrade or the clown who obstructs the course of a scorching wheel- man. This is especially the ease with professional ball players, who allow the ball to pass their hands and then seize it by a quick ^movement as it is about to touch the ground. There are other games in which the ball is not caught in the air, but is allowed to fall to the ground and roll away while the players must pursue and catch it. * Grasterger. pp. 52, 57. HUNTING PLAY 243 Football and cricket are examples of this, and conse- quently can be classed either with chase or fighting plays, though they have more of the characteristics of the latter. Another form of hunting play which should not be overlooked is the seeking for hidden persons or things. H. Lemming refers to a process belonging to the child's first quarter as a kind of hiding play. " The child's aunt had him on her lap, his little head resting on her right shoulder, while she played hide with him. ' Where is he ? ' she would cry while she hid his head between her arm and breast ; then, as she suddenly drew the arm away, ' There he is.' She had not done it many times before the little fellow understood perfectly. As soon as his aunt made the motion he turned his head in the right direction and laughed softly. Several days passed, and the game had been repeated two or three times, when one morning early, as he was lying on my bed, I smiled at him and he laughed back; then his face took on a roguish expres- sion, and he buried his head in the pillow for an instant and suddenly raised^^at with the same mischievous look. He repeated this several times."* Becq de Fouquieres restores a beautiful antique picture of a Greek hiding play. One little fellow presses his eyes shut while two others hurry to hide themselves. In Siam "Hide-and- Seek" is called "Looking for the Axe," and is oftenest played in the twilight because dark, impenetrable comers are more abundant then.f There is added weirdness, too, in the half light, and the shock of surprise on suddenly coming upon the hidden object is stronger, bringing the players more in touch with the emotional life. The ob- jects to be hidden are of various kinds. This is a use to which cMldren love to put Easter eggs, and much in- terest is added to the search by the cries of "Cold," "Freez- ing," "Getting warm," "Hot, hot, burning," etc. Very common, too, are games like "Button, button, who's got the button? " where a small object is passed from hand to hand and kept concealed. A curious forfeit game like this was very popular in former years, and is thus de- * Das Kind, second edition, Leipsio, 1896, p. 53. + Bastian, Die Volker des ostliocen Asien, vol. iii, p. 325. 24:4 THE PLAY OF MAN scribed by Amaranthes : " The whole company sit close together in a circle on the ground while a shoe belong- ing to one of them is slipped along and hidden beneath their legs, while one person tries to find it." * Fleeing and hiding occur in all hunting plays, but are specially prominent in some forms — in games like " Going to Jeru- salem," for instance, where many attempt to make use of the same chair, " Stagecoach," " Change Kitchen Furni- ture," " Cats and Mice," etc. In many the pursuers are re- stricted by certain conditions and prohibitions which are in favour of the fleeing ones, and furnish occasion for eva- ■sions and all sorts of byplay. For one thing the " catcher " may be hooded or blindfold. Bastian saw a game played in Siam in which the bandage over his eyes was so ar- ranged that it hung down like an elephant's trunk.f An- other handicap is to require the pursuer to hop on one ioot and hit those whom he overtakes with his knotted landkerchief. When in his excitement he changes to the other foot they all cry out aad beat him with theirs. The Greek do-KuXtoo-fids was apparent^^|mch like this. d. Witnessing Fights and Fighting Plays. The Tragic Esthetic observation belongs more properly to imita- tive play, but we have been compelled to notice it already in several connections and must not overlook its influ- ence on fighting play. Thanks to inner imitation we can take part in fights without objective participation, and actually enjoy attacks and defence, strategy and risk, vic- tory and defeat as if they were our veritable experience. As we found in games of rivalry, this internal sympa- thetic fighting has a great advantage over objective fight- ing in the more varied and lasting excitement which it effects (for example, the tension of expectation which in one's own quarrels soon vanishes) ; yet, on the other hand, it lacks the element of pleasure peculiarly associated with one's own achievements. In considering the observation of actual fighting we jnust distinguish between combat with an enemy and the * Alwin Schultz, ATltafrsleben einer deutsohen Frau, etc., p. 8. + Die Volker des oatliohen Asien, vol. iii, p. 325. WITNESSING FIGHTS AND FIGHTING PLAYS 245 conquest of difficulty. Inner imitation is prominent in both. When we see a company of labourers trying to lift a heavy stone or beam with pulleys, or driving piles in the water, or a man pulling his boat up on the beach, or a smith beating the hot iron with heavy blows of his iammer, or a hunter scaling mountain crags to reach an eagle's nest, we take part in the struggle with diffi- culty and enjoy success as if it were our own. The sym- pathetic interest is even greater in witnessing a fight be- -frWeen two combatants; indeed, it can be playful only when the onlooker can restrain his emotions and regard the struggle going on before him as a theatrical repre- sentation, as is often enough the case. When two boys are tussling, when adults quarrel with high words, when a rider attempts to control his .vicious horse, when a man defends himself with a stick against a brutal dog, when the champions of opposing parties fight in the pres- ence of their backers, the spectators may take such imper- sonal interest in the combat. Much more to OMM^urpose, however, is the witnessing of playful figbfc'^^re the contestants engage merely for amusement or to test their prowess, whether or not they are in playful mood. In this case, overcoming difficulties is the leading feature. Then, too, there are myriad forms of juggling, contortionism, prestidigitating, etc., in which the spectator, at least in part, inwardly joins; and the wild excitement of animal and ring fights, bull bait- ing, fencing matches, racing on foot, wheel, and horse. Even for the fighting plays which are not intended as an exhibition, such as football and cricket games, there is usually collected a crowd of intensely sympathetic spec- tators, and the players themselves, when not in action, are entirely out of the game, yet they still take part through inner imitation which has frequent outward manifestations. Moreover, whoever sees a difficult piece of work accomplished feels a desire to test his own skill with a like task. The merest onlooker at a prize fight will assume belligerent postures, as Defregger says, and sav- ages are often so wrought upon by witnessing a war dance that serious brawls ensue. These facts lead us insensibly to the realm of art, of 24:6 THE PLAY OF MAN ■which I merely remark in passing that certain echoes o£ the fray may be detected in architecture and music, and that the representative arts and especially painting de- vote a wide field to combat, but that the real domain of internal fighting play is found in poetry. Fighting and love plays * contribute most largely to the enjoyable ele- ment in poetry, and the latter is less effective when divorced from combat. Even in lyrics, which would seem to afford the least opportunity for exploiting such themes, the tourney is a fruitful inspiration, and the triumphant note of victory is conspicuous. A verse of Heyse's illus- trates in mocking wise, and perhaps more forcibly than any other, how great is the importance to the poetic art of its connection with the fighting instinct. In dilating upon the literary status of the abode of bliss he says: " Filr Drame, Lustspiel und novelle " For drama, stage play, and novel 1st leider hier Kein gunst'ner There is, alas I no public here ; Boden -, These things are practised down in Die kultivirt man in der HoUe. hell. Hir giebt es Hymnen nur und Heiftjiffimns and odes are de Oden." ngueur."* In studying epic poetry we are struck by the fre- quency with which the excitement of fighting furnishes the motive. This is the case with almost the whole cycle of primitive epics and folk stories, down to our modem romance ; and when an epic is produced, like the Messias, for example, without such stimulus to interest, it falls ir- retrievably under the reproach of dulness. In the drama war is all-important. A short time ago an unnamed au- thor published an article on dramatic conflict to which I fully subscribe.! Since the time of Aristotle the idea of acting has been prominent % in any conception of the drama, though there have been some writers like Lenz, Otto Ludwig, and lately Gartelmann, who have stressed the delineation of character. Both theories easily lead to a one-sided view. " Not character as such, but char- acter in conflict it is which lays claim to our interest in * They do not, of course, form the essence of poetic enjoyment. t Der dramatische Konflikt, Grenzboten, 1897, No. 39. X Volkett, Aesthetik des Tragisohen, Miinohen, 1897, pp. 83, 87. WITNBSSINa FIGHTS AND FIGHTING PLAYS 247 the drama, and only such acting is dramatic as reveals the conflict. . . . The essence of the dramatic consists in the presence of an overwhelming catastrophe which forms the central point of the poem, and its cnlmination is the ■writer's chief task." It strikes me that this is incontest- able, though it may be urged that the conflict is only a means of bringing out the essential features of the char- acter. Thus Wetz strikingly says : " If a poet wishes to portray his hero realistically, then must his environment contrast with his character. He must be put in trying circumstances, and thus be brought out of himself and reveal his utmost depths. Comedy as well as tragedy fur- nishes such situations; where the amusing complications or fatal passion -have once been intimated they must be pursued to their final consequences." * For refined con- noisseurs it may be true that in perfect drama f conflict is but a means of unveiling character, yet even their in- terest is deepened by psychological considerations. With naive spectators, who are to me the more important, it is quite otherwise. The conflict itself is the important thing to them, and the fact that it may afford insight into char- acter is only noteworthy as making the fight more inter- esting. In any case we are safe in averring that the pleas- ure afforded by the drama has one very essential feature in common with ring contests, animal fights, races, etc. — namely, that of observing a struggle in which we may inwardly participate. Tragedy is the highest poetic representation of a con- test which is pursued to the bitter end, usually violent defeat.t Here we again encounter the question of en- joyment in relation to what is tragic. Volkelt explains it as a result of (1) the exalted character of the ex- citement; (2) sympathy; (3) strong stimuli; and (4) ap- preciation of artistic form. The third point, which is also one of ours, he considers subordinate. His first point, however, is not universally applicable, and his sec- » W. Wetz, Ueber das Verhaltniss der Diohtung zur Wirkliolikeit UBd Gesohiohte. Zeitsehr. f. vgl. Litt.-Gesoh., vol. ix, p. 161. He admits in the sequel that in Corneille'a Cid, for instance, there is no such working out of fiayohioal individuality. t Volkett, Aesthetik des Tragischen, Munchen, 1897, pp. 83, 87. 17 24:8 THE PLAY OP MAN ond is limited to those cases in. which, the sufferer is re- garded as worthy, and even then pain predominates and only serves to weigh the balance further down on that side. Thus only the last two points remain for universal application. While we grant that appreciation of artistic form is an element in the explanation, the third point, pleasure in intense stimuli, seems to me more important. Yolkelt's view is not a little influenced by Vischu's con- tention that " a general disturbance of the emotions con- stitutes a satisfaction for barbaric crudeness and ennui." We have already had occasion to show that the enjoy- ment of strong stimuli is of great significance in all departments of play, but I fail to see anything barbaric about it, and consider this word unworthy to be applied to sesthetic pleasure. Is it not a noble pleasure to stand on a mountain summit or a ship's prow and watch an approaching storm? And how much more elevated stiU is the storm of effects which tragedy awakens in us ! In considering fighting play in this connection we must notice a further point which is a corollary to those which have gone before, and is illustrated by some of the examples already given. The man standing on a ship and contemplating the force of a storm (I do not refer to his struggle with it) enjoys more than mere excitement. His soul partakes of the raging of the elements, the seething waves which break on the vessel's prow, the furious gusts of wind, all this outward strife is inwardly imitated by him, and he is filled with jubilant delight in exercising all his fighting instincts. So also with tragedy. Not only joy in the storm of emotions, but also joy in the con- test, is an important means of subduing what is unavoid- ably painful. While this relation, too, has been appre- ciated in other spheres, its application to the tragic has not hitherto been made. Indeed, this instinct is usually referred to in a narrow sense as a sort of bloodthirsti- ness, an idea not always far wrong. Eibot has formulated the following progression: "Pleasure in manslaughter, pleasure in judicial execution, pleasure in witnessing death (murder, gladiatorial combat, and the like) pleasure in seeing the blood of animals gush out (bull and cock fights) pleasure in witnessing violent and gory melo- WITNESSma FIGHTS AND FIGHTING PLAYS 249 drama [this is only imitation, since the illusion of reality- is but momentary], and finally, pleasure in reading bloody romances and following imaginary murder trials." * We can hardly deny that even the cultured spectator feels something of the murderous impulse when, for instance, Hamlet springs with the agility of a tiger toward the king to fix him with a dagger. Yet as a whole this exposition of the theory of tragedy is defective even if we make the murderous impulse cover every variety of injurious .conduct. The impulse to inflict injury has nothing to do with the final overthrow of the hero of our sjrmpathies (and we do sympathize often with the very criminals in tragedy), and in the instances cited by Eibot it is usually less the bloodiness of the episode than its character as a fight which attracts us. The feeling of power in combat, not the cruelty of destructiveness, is most prominent. The reason that spectators of an animal fight are not satisfied until one of the fighters is either killed or dis- abled is surely not because they delight in injury as such, but because the fight can not be decisive until some in- jury is done. While, then, we can not adopt this theory of the de- structive impulse, yet we can learn from it, especially on one point to which we have given too little attention. We do take a certain pleasure in the catastrophe involv- ing the personages of a drama which differs from our satisfaction in a fighting play; we sympathize with the sufferer, and yet experience feelings of pleasure. So long as the crisis delays, the ease is indistinguishable from all other fighting plays; but how can we take part by inner imitation in the general collapse and yet enjoy the spectacle? In answer to this I must say that I am ex- tremely doubtful whether the moment of the catastrophe is always enjoyable; I am inclined to think that quite often the sources of pleasure are insufficient to outweigh genuine grief. In this case inner imitation persists be- cause the spectator is hypnotized by the extraordinary tension, and is unable to desist. I think, for example, that no one experiences lively feelings of delight while * Psychologie des sentimentB, p. 225, 250 THE PLAT OF MAN Wallenstein is being murdered behind the scenes, in spite of the intense stimulus, importance of the interests in- volved, etc. It is not essential that every instant of aesthetic contemplation should be filled with unadulter- ated pleasure. On the other hand, there are undoubtedly instances in which the catastrophe is actually enjoyed; and since we are not prepared to accept the explanation of this given above, let us inquire whether we can find one more satisfactory from the standpoint which we have adopted — namely, that of fighting play strictly speaking. An example will make my view clear, and one which may be explained in two ways. Let us picture to ourselves a Eoman amphitheatre with the spectators assembled to witness a fight between a " bestarius " and a lion, and suppose that the man, in spite of wonderful agility, re- ceives more and more serious wounds and is finally slain by the maddened brute. Suppose, further, that inner imitation on the part of the spectators is engaged by the man, as is natural, so that their pleasure can not be re- ferred to triumph in the lion's victory. To us the most conspicuous feature of the whole thing is the cruelty and bloodthirstiness of the spectators, and reading modem descriptions of these old Roman customs only strengthens this idea. The barbarity was. undoubtedly there, but was it the ground of their enjoyment? I think not, for thou- sands of the breathless spectators. On the contrary, that which moves these people is one of the strongest and most stirring stimuli known to us, sympathy with the courage and persistence of fighters to the death. For the best and probably the most of the spectators the satisfaction is not in mere witnessing cruel horrors, but first in the in- vincible courage which is undaunted in their presence, or in case of the hero's defeat it consists in a victory over their own sympathetic terror. How clearly this passage from Cicero indicates this ! " When you see the boys in Sparta, the lads in Olympia, or barbarians in the arena suflFer the severest blows and bear them silently, will you wail like a woman when you feel pain? Boxers never lament when they are beaten from the ring, and what wounds they get ! Can you not put up with a single hurt from the bufEetings of life? What fighter, even an ordi- WITNESSING FIGHTS AND FIGHTING PLATS 251 nary one, ever sighs or groans or goes about with a down- cast face? Which of them has tamely submitted to death?" In a similar way the sight of misfortune in tragedy may give pleasure because the outward undoing of the hero is calculated to awaken in us a feeling of triumph in which imitation gives us a part. As I have said, I do not believe that this is always the case, but rather that while the tragedy as a whole gives pleasure the supreme moment may be painful; and in still other circumstances the storm of emotion, one of all-conquering Fate, etc., may cause feelings of satisfaction when there is no inner victory. It is never so intense, however, as when this is present — a proof of the importance of fighting play. The ntmost triumph for a fighter is the victory over his fear of defeat, and such victory is afforded by our playful sym- pathy with a tragic incident. Then fighting play becomes a source of such pleasure as is attributed ordinarily to ex- alted influences. Such side lights on a subject are seldom without important significance, and our problem is now thrown into somewhat this form. Tragedy most perfectly represents combat when it is pursued to a catastrophe. Since we habitually sympathize with the human element, the contradiction ensues of our experiencing pleasure in the suffering which we deplore and are involved in. We explain this apparent contradiction by assuming that the catastrophe becomes the foundation for an inner victory which converts it into a triumph. An examination of the various elevating effects which Volkelt's analysis dis- closes reveals much that is irrelevant from our stand- point. The most salient of these points is his tragic opposition, whereas we have found that the catastrophe is in itself enjoyable only when exultation in the triumph of desolation is based on dread of that very thing. When the exhilaration depends merely on the overwhelming na- ture of Fate or when a moment of respite is snatched for the doomed hero, the poignancy of our sympathy with the final suffering is softened. Independent satisfaction in the catastrophe is present only where there is an ele- ment of fighting play, and herein lies the essence of our theory — ^that is, when inner imitation transforms defeat 252 THE PLAT OF MAN into victory. " Courage and self-possession in the pres- ence of a powerful enemy, of threatened danger or calam- ity, or of difficult and anxious questions — this is what the tragic artist displays. All that is martial in us holds saturnalia in the presence of tragedy." * The study of fighting play has thus led us from its rough and cruel manifestations to the culminating point of tragedy. What Volkelt says in a general way of the supreme moment we may apply to our own position: "Even in suffering and grief, in fear and defeat, must the tragic personage, if he would not fall below the re- quirements of his art, always appear great. When a man quails in the hour of extreme suffering or wavers before the severest test, however superior he may have appeared previously, there is an end of tragic effect. But let him display greatness of soul at the crucial moment, he then makes an elevating impression which is subverting to pes- simism and encouraging to the idea that the severest and most outrageous attacks of Fortune can not make a man small, that the human spirit bears within itself a principle of growth and of supremacy which is able to cope with the might of Fate itself.f I close with the remark that this study of the tragic is advanced with a full sense of its inadequacy. My main intention is to indicate the scope of my conception of fighting play. The general idea of play has been devel- oped by others and applied advantageously in the treat- ment of contrast of ideas in the tragic. Tragedy, like all other sources of higher fflsthetic pleasure, extends beyond the sphere of play because, to put it briefly in the words of Schiller, we can descry through the veil of beauty the majestic form of truth. II. Love Play Is there such a thing as playful application of the sexual impulse? Views of this subject differ widely, and the remarks on it of animal observers show that many hesitate to use the term "play" in this connection. * Nietzsche, Gotzendammerung, p. 136. I I shall return later to the discussion of Wundt'a use of imitation. iiuvji i-juAY 253 Wundt says : " The distinction has been made between, fighting play and love play, and such actions and ex- pressions as, for instance, the cooing of doves, the calls of singing birds, etc., have been interpreted as wooings. But these wooings are quite seriously intended by the bird, and I do not think that we can regard them as in any sense playful."* On the other hand, others can be cited who assure us that most observers agree in ascrib- ing to singing birds, besides their regular courtship arts of song and flight, actions which have all the marks by which Wundt himself characterizes play — namely, en- joyment, repetition, and pretence. However, we shall find that it is in man that play with the function in ques- tion is most clearly exhibited, and, as its connection with art has already been referred to, it will be suflicient to dwell on one aspect of it here — namely, its relation to poetry. However derogatory it may be considered to condition poetic art on such stimuli, the fact is incontestable that, . deprived of their influence, the tree of poetry would be stripped of its verdant living dress. On the other hand, we must avoid the older and more common error of speaking about the " sweet sportiveness of love" without distinguishing between what is really playful and what is quite seriously meant. It is true that such popular usages of speech have not become gen- eral without some foundation in fact, and it may prove interesting to inquire how this one arose. We find the element of truth in the popular feeling by comparing the subject under discussion with eating and drinking, which are also sensuous pleasures. Why do we not hear so much of play in their exercise ? Evidently there is a difference. While in eating and drinking, so far as directed by hun- ger, the real end, the preservation of life, is always in view, while the real end of lovers' dalliance, namely, the preservation of the species, is far in the background. It is true that we sometimes eat and drink for the enjoy- ment it gives, as well as to satisfy himger and renew our strength, yet the practical bearing of the act is so closely * Vorles. Ub. d. Mensohen-u. Thieraeele, third edition, 1897, p. 405. 254 THE PLAY OF MAN and inseparably connected with it that only under very special circumstances can we speak of it as playful. It is quite otherwise with the caresses and the traiSc of love. Here the practical results are so far removed and the things in themselves are so enjoyable that such language is quite justified. Still, while there is analogy there is not perfect iden- tity with play, and we must carefully inspect various aspects of the subject to select those which are unmis- takably of this character. The subjoined examples are therefore selected advisedly and with care, in view of possibly unexpected readers of this chapter. A glance over the field discloses the following suitable divisions: 1, Natural courtship play; 2, sex and art; 3, sex and the comic. 1. Natural Courtship Play Birds have many familiar courtship arts which are hereditary (the isolated adult bird displays almost as much capacity in this direction as does one reared with his kind), but mammals exhibit much less of it. In rela- tion to man there is a theory that sex grounds all art (of this we shall speak later), but a scientific system of comparative courtship of the various human races does not exist ; nor, indeed, have we systematic observations of any one people. It is therefore impossible to affirm whether there are such things as instinctive gestures, expressions, caresses, etc., which all human beings recognise as sexual stimuli. From the little that is known it seems probable that the number of such tokens is not great — even the kiss is by no means general! We can only be sure of a universal tendency to approach and to touch one an- other, and of a disposition to self-exhibition and co- quetry as probably instinctive and of the special forms which these tendencies take under the influence of imita- tion and tradition as secondary causes. Caressing con- tact may then be regarded as a play when it is an end in itself, which is possible under two conditions: First, when the pursuance of the instinctive movements to their legitimate end is prevented by incapacity or ignorance; and, second, when it is prevented by an act of will on NATURAL COURTSHIP PLAY 255 the part of the participants. Children exhibit the first case, adults often enough the second. It is generally known that children are frequently very early susceptible to sexual excitement, and show a desire for contact with others as well as enjojrment of it, with- out having the least suspicion of its meaning. Keller gives a beautiful and touching example of this in his Komeo und Julia auf dem Dorfe : " On a tiny plot of ground all covered with green herbs the little lass lay down upon her back, for she was tired, and began to croon some words in a monotonous way, while the boy sat near her and joined in the song, almost wishing to follow her example, so weary and languid he felt. The sun shone into the open mouth of the singing girl, gleaming on her teeth so dazzlingly white and shining through the full red lips. The boy noticed this, and taking her head in his hands he examined the little teeth curiously and cried, ' Guess how many teeth you have ? ' She reflected for a moment, as though making a careful calculation, and then said with conviction, ' A hundred.' ' No ; thirty-two,' he answered; 'but wait till I count again.' Then he counted aloud, but as he did not make thirty-two he had to begin over several times. The little girl kept still for some time, but as the zealous enumerator seemed never to get any nearer the end of his task she shook him off at last and cried, ' I will count yours.' So the boy stretched himself on the grass with the girl above him, throwing his head back while she counted 1, 2, 7, 5, 2; but the task was too hard for the little beauty, and the boy had to teach and correct her, so she too had to begin over and over again. This play seemed to please them better than any they had had that day. But at last the little girl slid down by the side of her small instructor, and the children slept together in the bright sunshine." From such tender, unconscious premonitions we pass to more strongly marked love plays, for which the services of a special instructor are usually necessary, as in the somewhat peculiar relation of the boy Eousseau to the little Goton who played the part of teacher in their private interviews : " EUe se permettait avec moi les plus grandes privautes, sans jamais m'en permettre aucune 256 THE PLAT OF MAN avec elle; elle me traitait exaetement en enfant: ce qui me fait croire, on qu'elle avait deja cesse de I'etre ou qu'au contraire elle I'etait encore assez elle-meme pour ne Toir qu'un jeu dans le peril auquel elle s'exposait." Often, too, children show the same sort of preference, all unconscious of its import, toward particular favourites among their grown-up friends, enjoying the pleasure of contact for its own sake. " The pretty girl," says Mante- gazza, "whom Nature has endowed with the power to awaken longings and sighs at her every step, often does not realize that in the swarm of her admirers there are boys scarcely yet past their childhood, who secretly kiss any flower on which she may chance to look, who are happy if they may steal like a thief into the room where the beauty has slept and may kiss the carpet that her foot has pressed; . . . and how seldom does she suspect, as her fingers play with the locks of the little fellow whose head rests on her knee, that his heart is beating audibly under her caressing touch ! " * Perez cites Valle's account of a ten-year-old boy who was in love with his older cousin. " Elle vient quelquefois m'agacer le cou, me menacer les cotes de ses doigts longs. Elle rit, me carSsse, m'embrasse ; je la serre en me defendant et je I'ai mordue une fois. Elle m'a crie: Petit mechant! en me donnant une tape sur la joue un peu fort, etc." t This feeling may be involved in some of the positions and movements of tussling boys. Schaeffer has remarked in a short paper that in the belligerent plays of boys, espe- cially ring fighting,t " the fundamental impulse of sexual life for the utmost extensive and intensive contact, with a more or less clearly defined idea of conquest underlying it," plays a most conspicuous part. I do not believe that this is the rule, yet I am convinced that SchaefFer's view is more often correct than would appear at a first glance, and especially so when the contestants are on the ground and laughingly struggle together. Lastly, we must notice the absorbing friendships be- * The Psychology of Love, p. 53. + L'enfant de trois k sept ans, p. 2?3. j Zeitsohr. f. Psychol, u. Physiol, d. Sinnesorgane, vol. ii (1891), p. 128. NATURAL COURTSHIP PLAY 257 tween children of the same sex. Here, too, the instinct, robbed of its proper aim, may assume a sportive, playful air. Even among students, friendships are not rare in which the unsatisfied impulse plays its part all unknown to the subjects. I content myself in this connection with the citation of a little-known passage of the highest poetic beauty, and evidently inspired by personal reminiscence. In it a light touch of sexuality is imparted with a deli- cacy equal to that of Keller. Wilhelm Meister writes to Natalie of his suddenly formed and tragically ended friendship with a village lad. The two boys, who had just become acquainted, were fishing together on the river bank. " As we sat there leaning together he seemed to grow tired, and called my attention to a flat rock which projected into the water from one side of the stream. It made the loveliest place to bathe. Pretty soon he sprang up, declaring that he could no longer withstand it, and before I knew it he was down there undressed and in the water. As he was a good swimmer he soon left the ehallows, yielding his form to the water and coming to- ward me. I too began to be interested. Grasshoppers danced around me, ants swarmed about, bright-coloured insects hung from the boughs overhead, and gold gleaming sunbeams floated and glanced fantastically at my feet, and just then a huge crab pushed up between the roots to his old stand whence he had been driven by the necessity of hiding from the fishers. It was so warm and damp that one longed to get out of the sun into the shade, and then from the cool shade to the cooler water. So it was easy for my companion to lure me in with him. I found a mild invitation irresistible and, notwithstanding some fear of parental displeasure, and a vague terror of the unknown element, I was soon making active preparations. Quickly undressing on the rock I cautiously stepped into the water, but did not go far from the gen;tljf sloping bank. Here my friend let me linger, going off by himself in the buoyant waves. When he came back he stood upright to dry his body in the warm sunshine. I thought the glory of the sun was eclipsed by th'e noble manly figure which I had never seen nude before. He too seemed to regard me with equal 258 THE PLAT OF MAN attention. Though quickly dressed again, we now stood forever revealed to one another, and with the warmest kisses we swore eternal friendship." I suppose the general playfulness of the foregoing in- stances might be called in question on the ground that there is no consciousness that it is all a play, no sham activity. Yet we refer complacently enough to other things which display quite as little of such subconscious- ness as play. Indeed, the rule is that it is absent from mental play, and, moreover, this is a case that more closely concerns the emotions. The plays which involve subjective sham activity overlap to a great extent the sphere of the objective ones where the man or animal takes pleasure in action which has no necessary actual aim, yet without being conscious of having turned aside from the life of cause and effect. If we admit that the boy careering aimlessly about is playing because he en- joys the movement for its own sake, or that gourmands who eat without hunger, and merely to tickle their palates, are playing, then we must also call it play when the child takes pleasure in the sexual sensations arising from touch stimuli without knowing that his activity, on account of the exclusion of their proper end, is all a sham. From a purely biological standpoint the concep- tion of play goes much deeper, as we shall see later on. I have purposely selected such examples as (with the ex- ception of the last citation) exhibit the sexual impulse in conjunction with other activity that is unmistakably playful,' believing that this conjunction would strengthen the probability of its being playful in those cases which if given alone might appear doubtful. With adults the subjective side of play is more promi- nent, especially when the proper end of the instinctive impulse for contact is held in abeyance by the will of the participants. Here belongs the dalliance of engaged couples. It is no play, of course, when the lovers, on the first revelation of their common feeling or after a long separation, indulge in a passionate embrace. But when in their daily intercourse that manifold trifling begins which is too familiar to need description, I see no reason why it should not be called play with touch stimuli. The more NATURAL COURTSHIP PLAY 259 naive the period or social class the more common this is. In the free intercourse of the sexes in mediaeval baths the jesting caresses must often have been quite rough. While many of the pictorial representations of such bath- ing scenes are doubtless exaggerated, still they could not have been pure inventions. The description by the Flor- entine Poggio (141Y) of Swiss bathing customs bears them out. He expressly says : " It is remarkable to see how innocent they are; how unsuspiciously men will look on while their wives are handled by strangers, . . . "while they gambol and romp with each other and some- times without other company; yet the husbands are not disturbed nor surprised at anything because they know that it is all done in an innocent, harmless way." In feudal times it was the custom for noble gentlemen to be served in the bath by young women, to be washed by them, and afterward rubbed. At the spinning fetes the young couples " played," as a Christmas piece has it, with all sorts of hand clasping and stroking. But the most re- markable proceeding of this kind was the " lovers' night of continence," observed in various countries, including France, Italy, and Germany, by knightly devotees whose lady permitted them to pass one night at her side, trust- ing to their oath and honour not to take advantage of her kindness. This strange custom, so shocking to our ideas of propriety, was doubtless derived from similar practices of very ancient origin among the peasantry, the chastity of whose girls was rarely violated in spite of the utmost intimacies. It is interesting to find an ethno- logical analogue to this among the Zulus. According to Frifsch, the custom of Uku-hlobonga obtains there, "in which the young bachelors join the maidens of the neigh- bourhood, and these latter choose their mates,' each ac- cording to her pleasure. The rejected swains have to bear the scorn of the whole company, while the chosen ones recline with their sweethearts, and an imitation of the sexual function is gone through with. Yet, as a Tule, the girl by force and threats prevents anything more serious ! " * * Fritsoh, Die Eingeborenen Sild-Afrikas, p. 140. 260 THE PLAT OF MAN Self-exMbition will occupy us only so far as it does not relate to art. Every lover desires to present himself in the most favourable light to the object of his affections, and to this end he plays a part, to a certain extent; he " does as though " he were braver, stronger, more skilful, handsomer, of finer feeling, and more intelligence than he actually and habitually is. Fliegende Blatter said once, "A lover always tries to be as lovable as he can, and is therefore always ridiculous." Such self-display is not necessarily plajrful, but it becomes so as soon as the lover's vanity is involved, and he aims not only at the desired effect on his mistress, but also enjoys for its own sake the exploitation of his charms. Here, as in so many psychic phenomena, the complexity of the field is im- portant. We are able to see ourselves over our own shoulders, and behind the wooing I stands a higher con-, sciousness which looks on with satisfaction at the dis- play of its own attractions. Hence arise the frequent cases where a sort of tacit understanding between a man and woman prohibits all serious intercourse, so that they can have only such relations as depend on the sexual stimulus (flirting). As the first form of courtship by self -exhibition I men- tion those fighting plays in which the combatants engage in the ladies' presence. I have noticed incidentally that human combat, as well as that between animals, is often connected with the sexual life, but now we will consider the subject from its proper standpoint. That a martial bearing is a means not only of terrifying enemies, but also of delighting females, all experience goes to show, and war paint and feathers become adornments as well. Here as with animals, says Colin A. Scott, the terrible ap- proaches the beautiful, and as modesty in women has a pecidiar charm to the other sex, so does a warlike spirit appeal to the feminine nature. " In some tribes a man dare not marry, and indeed no woman would have him, until he has slain a certain number of foes." * The con- quest of rivals then becomes a means of self -exhibition before the loved one. Westermarck, in his history of * Colin A. Scott, Sex and Art, Am. Jour, of PByohol., vol. vii, p. 182. NATURAL COURTSHIP PLAY 261 human marriage, gives numerous instances of such court- ship contests, from which I shall borrow. Heame states that " it is a universal custom among the North American Indians for the men who are wooing a woman to fight for her, and naturally the strongest among them gets the prize. This practice prevails among all their tribes, and is the occasion of passionate rivalry among their youths, who from childhood, and on every possible occasion, make a point of displaying their strength and skill in fighting." Lumholtz writes from North Queensland: "If a woman is beautiful all the men want her, and the strongest and most influential is usually the lucky man. Consequently, the younger men must wait a long time to get a wife, especially if they are not brave enough to risk a fight with one stronger than themselves. Among the West Vic- torian tribes described by Dawson a young chief who can not find a wife for himself and is inclined to an- other man's, may, if the latter has more than two wives, challenge the husband to combat, and if victorious make the lady of his choice his lawful spouse. In New Zealand when a girl has two suitors of equal merit a contest is arranged in which the damsel is dragged by the arms in different directions by the wooers, and the stronger car- ries off the bride." Arthur Young tells of a strange cus- tom which was at one time general in the Arran Islands. "A number of the poorer village folk confer together respecting some young girl who according to their opin- ion ought to be married, and select an eligible peasant. This settled, they send a message to the fair one that next Sunday she will be 'beritten gemacht ' — that is, carried on the men's shoulders. She then prepares burned wine and cider for the feast, and after mass all pay her a visit to watch the sling contest. After she is ' beritten gemacht ' the rivalry begins, and general attention is skilfully directed toward the chosen swain. If he is victor he surely marries the maiden ; but if another over- comes him he loses her, for she is the prize of the cham- pion." * There is surely something playful about such contests, at least in the preparation and in the awards, * Westermarok, op. cit., p. 166. 262 THE PLAY OF MAN if not in the struggle itself. But it is not always by combat with other suitors that the lover displays his cour- age, strength, and dexterity. By boldly taking risks and engaging in tests of strength and trials of skill which have so strong an attraction for the young, he claims the attention and admiration which women bestow on such acts. I do not assert that such exhibitions would never take place without feminine spectators, but as a rule they would be pursued with much less enthusiasm if the only onlookers were to be men. Most herdsmen would be in- different to the Edelweiss growing on the almost inacces- sible rocks did not a sprig of it in their hats advertise them to the village beauties as men fearless of danger. We have seen that the adventurous knight's readiness for the fray and hearty welcome to danger in any form were usually prompted by his wish to lay the trophies of his victories at his lady's feet. Nowhere is this sort of court- ship more naively expressed than in Walter Scott's Ivan- hoe, where Richard Cceur de Lion sings beneath his lady's ■window : " Joy to the fair ! My name unknown, Each deed and all its praise thine own ; Then, oh, unbar this churlish gate ! The night dew falls, the hour is late. Inured to Syria's glowing hreath, I feel the north breeze chill as death ; Let grateful love quell maiden shame, And grant him bliss who brings thee fame." We should further note the display of physical charms so far as it can be separated from art, which, indeed, is no easy task, as the boundary line is sometimes almost indistinguishable. Yet it does exist, and we may be able to detect it most readily in the conduct of our budding youths. As a rule, when the other sex begins to interest them they are impelled to make the most of every out- ward advantage. The boy begins to be neat, to care for his teeth and nails, arrange his hair more carefully, to consider the fit of his clothes, and to indulge in boots and gloves which are too small for him; he puts on high collars and makes a great display of his cuffs, and impa- tiently awaits the premonitions of a mustache. It is NATURAL COURTSHIP PLAY 263 altogether unlikely that he is clear as to the meaning of all this, and in that case he is playing with his per- sonal charms. Such special attention is given to the hair by youths of all classes as to suggest a particular signifi- cance for that form of adornment, and the care of the beard naturally goes with it. There are, however, less innocent modes of self -exhibi- tion and some which more unmistakably point to the end which they are intended to serve. The girdle decorations of savages, for instance, are now considered to have a significance quite different from that formerly attributed to them. Their original intention was in all probability to attract attention, not to conceal. Of their ornamental use we are not now speaking, but I confess that I have my doubts of the universal applicability of the explana- tion just indicated, in spite of the opinion of many com- petent investigators. Forster speaks of the leaves of a certain species of ginger plant which the male inhabit- ants of some of the New Hebrides bind to their breech cloths, as outraging in their appearance every law of decency, and Barrow makes the same remark about the Hottentots.* Many scholars, too, are disposed to attrib- ute the origin of circum.cision to some such beginnings, as there is much against its explanation on religious or sanitary grounds. It is rather surprising that no one has adduced, in support of the modern view of the pur- poses of courtship served by the articles suspended from the girdle, the strange fashion of projecting front flaps introduced in the fifteenth century. Eabelais's famous chapter on this subject is merely an exaggeration, not an invention. The reality was certainly bad enough,-)- and as little calculated as are the savage decorations to serve the purposes of modesty. Yet in neither case am I prepared to assert that they belong exclusively to the category of sexual stimuli. The higher the culture of a people the more prominent becomes the display of mental qualities in conjunction with physical advantages. We have seen that the op- * Westennarok, of. dt., p. 192. I- Kudeck, Gesohiohte der offentliohen Sittliohkeit in Beutschland, Jena, 1897, p. 45. 18 264: THE PLAY OF MAN portunity to speak in public is often the leading stimulus in the mental fighting play of argument, and in the in- tercourse of the sexes the decorous display of one's intel- lectual advantages appears as a further play, be it whether the man simply wishes to show his powers to their best advantage in the presence of beautiful women, or whether he intends his gallantry as a direct attack on the femi- nine heart. Every one knows how common this is as a mere play, apart from any serious intention, and, indeed, that it is the habit of man to play the gallant even when he is not especially " laying himself out " to be attractive. The much-decried unseemly haste of men in society to seek refuge in the smoking room after dinner is due cer- tainly in part to their fatigue after keeping up the play so long and trying to appear superior to their ordinary selves. But earnest courtship, too, easily assumes a playful character, because the pleasure in self-exhibition and the satisfaction of vanity easily become ends in themselves. The stilted and flowery epistolary style common a few generations ago doubtless grew up in this way, and the old letters published as models for lovers are good in- stances of this sort of extravagance. Coquetry in the other sex is allied to self-exhibi- tion in the male, but it is of so complicated a character that a special section is devoted to its treatment. Usually the word conveys the idea of a heartless use and enjoy- ment of a woman's power over men, but it really has a much wider meaning which is of great biological im- portance. Not only among human beings, but in the animal world as well, peculiar behaviour is noticeable on the part of females, which is based on the antagonism of two in- stincts — namely, the sexual impulse and inborn coyness. Hence arises that, alternate seeking and fleeing for which I know no better name than coquetry, which is thus seen to be often quite different from mere heartless play. A simple illustration is that of the doe followed by an ardent buck; she flees, but it is always in a circle. If we find the cause of such coquetry in inborn mod- esty which is directly opposed to the sexual impulse the NATURAL COURTSHIP PLAY 265 question is at once asked. Of what use is this mod- esty? The answer which is attempted in The Play of Animals involves an essential modification of the theory of natural selection. Darwin has referred animal arts of courtship to aesthetic taste on the part of the female, who is said always to choose the handsomest and best equipped of her wooers. But it is by no means certain that such choice from a number is always the case; in- deed, some observers directly contradict the theory of courtship arts at all. The Miiller brothers have definitely established the fact that birds pair long before the breed- ing season, so that such arts can only be for the purpose of ■' overcoming feminine reluctance to sexual union." And H. E. Ziegler remarks, in a notice of my book, that courtship plays are indulged in repeatedly by monoga- mous birds long after their permanent choice has been made. "With these facts then as premises, I have reached the following conclusion: Since the sex impulse must necessarily have extraordinary strength, the interests of the preservation of species are best served by a long pre- liminary condition of excitement and by some checks to its discharge. The instinctive coyness of the female serves this purpose. The question is not, in my opinion, which of many males she will choose, but rather which male possesses the qualities necessary for overcoming the reluctance of the female whom he selects and besieges, and for maintaining at the same time the proper state of excitation. " The female is not then the awarder of a prize, but is rather a hunted creature; and just as the beast of prey must possess special instincts for securing his victim, so must the ardent male be equipped with special instincts for subduing the coyness of his mate." Thus the phenomena of courtship are directly referable to a biological end, and the great importance of coyness is explained.* * Altum, one of the highest authorities on birds, confirms this view (Der Vogel nnd sein Leben, fifth edition, Miinster, ]875, p. IST). I liave to thank Baldwin, too, for the reference to Guyau, who considers that the innate modesty may be '' necessaire k ia femme pour arriver. sans so donner, iusqu'au oomplet d^veloppement de son organisme." [See also HavelooK Ellis, Gesohlechtstrieb und Schamcrefilhl, p. 10. Tliis view was worked out in some detail- it seems, together with a view of sexual 266 THE PLAY OF MAN But this peculiarly feminine instinct has a salient psychological significance as well, as I have hinted in the preface to my former work : " Just as in the beast of prey instincts of ravenous pursuit are refined into the various arts of the chase, so from such crude efforts at wooing that courtship has finally developed in which sexual pas- sion is psychologically sublimated into love." We must suppose that the evident refinement and depth of the mar- riage relation among birds is largely to be ascribed to the fact that the male does not simply excite and control his mate, but seeks to win her in a less abrupt manner by the display of his charms and capabilities; and the same is true with ourselves. Without the modesty of women, which as a rule only yields to the power of love, the sexual relation would hardly be a poet's theme, while now love is regarded as the highest flight of the human soul. " La pudeur," says Guyau, " a civilise I'amour." This coyness, of course, can only constitute a love play when it is manifested in the struggle with sexual instinct — that is, when it becomes coquetry or flirting. As in the female spider, this impulse is cbnverted into rage which endangers the life of the wooing male, so there are among women Brunhild natures for whom the pro- cess of courtship can never be playful. But the effect is different when repulsion is so balanced by attraction that there is alternate motion to and from, approach and then flight; though this alone does not constitute it a play, as the conflict of opposed instincts may be very serious. When, however, women enjoy the varying moods for their own sake, playful exercise of instinct easily en- sues, and is somewhat akin to the fighting and hunting play, yet clearly differentiated from them. "In Para- guay," says Mantegazza, "where intercourse between the sexes is very free, an impatient youth who has good grounds to believe that he is regarded favourably repeats in all possible variations of tone, now tender, now pas- sionate, now beseeching, now wrathful, the one word. selection similar to Professor Groos's, by Him, in a chapter on Animal Display in a Swedish work in 1896 ; it is now reproduced in that author's Origins of Art (1900), chap, xiv; cf. also the preface to the same work. — J. M. B.] NATURAL COURTSHIP PLAY 26T ' To-day ! ' and the lovely creole who has never heard of Darwin answers laughingly: 'No, indeed; not to-day 1 Tou have only known me ten days! Perhaps in two months.'"* Here the natural shyness has so little of fear or anger that the young girl actually enjoys con- trolling her lover and putting him ofi, and yet such co- quetry as this is far from being the heartless behaviour so commonly designated by that word. Even this latter I regard as a love play, however, for we must suppose the genuine coquette to be heart whole. She finds her chief pleasure in her relations with the other sex, even the satisfaction of her vanity being of another quality from that which has no such connection. If we inquire what are some of the special forms of this playful coquetry we find them parallel with self-exhibition in men, except that the display is constantly held in check and veiled by modesty. While man makes much of his courage and strength in the presence of women, women are apt to take occasion to parade their weakness and helplessness. Genuine love involves, as I have occasion to remark, a combination of the sexual and fostering instincts; there- fore woman's need of his help is a strong attraction to a man, which is quickly recognised and turned to ac- count by the female. A young girl is usually very much alive to the fact when one of her rivals makes a display of her timidity or delicacy to make herself interesting. On the other hand, women too like to show where their capabilities lie, and they exploit their housewifely quali- ties. This is amusingly shown among the company col- lected in one of the mountain clubhouses where all must go to strengthen and refresh the inner man. Great zeal is displayed by the women, aforetime so weary, in get- ting out the dishes, laying the table, cooking and serving the meal, and then in clearing away and tidying up. It is all done vnth laughter and jest, for the very novelty makes it a delight, but would their interest be so great if there were no masculine spectators in the hut ? Of all the modes of self-exhibition, there is none so important to a woman as the display of her physical * Op. ait., p. 87. 268 THE PLAY OP MAN charms, and the difference between the sexes is plainly- shown here as elsewhere. Man in his wooing makes straight for the goal; woman's efforts are veiled, but not hidden, under a show of modesty. The man says, " Look, I am thus and so " ; the woman, " I, too, am thus and so, but don't look." The alluring glance which turns away if it is noticed, but not unless it is, is a purely feminine love play, and so is the smile which is not visibly directed toward the man for whom it is intended ; with them, too, attention to the hair is conspicuous. It is amazing to see what importance even a three-year-old girl will attach to it, and with what jealous interest the hair of other children is observed. A doll with real hair is their chief desire. But an enumeration of woman's peculiarities in this respect is summed up in their toilet for full dress; the decollete gown tells the whole story. Klopstock has the idea when he speaks in his ode (Die Braut) " of the quickening breast which so softly swells, not wishing to be seen, but sure of being seen." It would be impossible for men to carry off such an exhibition as women do. They would either not do it at all, or else openly recog- nise the object of it. Women, on the contrary, would, if asked, indignantly protest against such an implication. As a rule, however, they show little disposition to exhibit their charms for one another's benefit. This principle extends, too, to the display of their mental graces. When the talk between a man and a woman becomes a love play, she usually tries to conceal her discovery of their congeniality with defensive trifling. She leads him on with mocking words, makes a direct attack, then pretends to discourage himy or intrenches herself in incredulity. 2. Love Play in Art Before going on to consider this branch of the subject a few remarks are in order in regard to the Darwinian theory, which has been so often referred to. According to it the arts are considered as directly derived from the relations of the sexes in much the same manner as' the well-known phenomena in the bird world are known as courtship arts. Far be it from me to deny the sexual in- LOVE PLAT IN ART 269 stinct its part in the beginnings of art, yet I certainly consider this view entirely too one-sided. The attempt has been made, too, to refer the conception of beauty to this instinct. Grant Allen, in particular, is a latter-day exponent of this view; proceeding from sexual selection he reasons that for man mankind is the first of aesthetic objects. All misshapen, abnormal, feeble, unnatural, and incapable creatures are repugnant to us, while those are beautiful which can boast of health, vigour, perfect de- velopment, and parental soundness. Consequently our first ideas of beauty are purely " anthropinistic," having their origin and centre in man and what immediately concerns him, his weapons, garments, and dwellings.* The value placed on bright-coloured shells, Stones, feathers, etc., comes from their use as personal adorn- ments. While this view certainly has much in its favour, yet its first premise is doubtful. Can we assert with assurance that the perfect human form was the first object of aesthetic admiration? If there ever were primitive men who knew no sort of personal adornment, was the well-built, vigorous, and youthful body beautiful to them ? Did they first derive their intense delight in coloured stones, feathers, shells, etc., from the fact that these things could be used as bodily adornments? Such an affirmation is by no means self-evident. We find pleasure in gay or shining objects a much earlier feeling in chil- dren than is admiration of the human form, and, more- over, it must be borne in mind that the attraction in- stinctively felt for the normal and vigorous youthful form is not ordinarily due to aesthetic appreciation. May it not be possible that the shining stones and gay feathers were the earliest objects of aesthetic observation, and that from them the eye first received its education and learned to admire the human figure. Or if this is too radical, is it not more prudent to assume that sensuous pleasure as such has its place in conjunction with sexual stimuli in the development of aesthetic appreciation? The personal adornments of primitive peoples seem to me to indicate clearly that men at first had very little regard * Mind, October, 1880. .: 270 THE PLAT OP MAN for perfect physical beauty; therefore, proceeding cau- tiously, we are led to the conclusion that the original use of cosmetics is on the whole a detraction from racial beauty, though some painted or tattooed designs do em- phasize even for our eyes the symmetry and eurythmy of the nude figure, and whitened teeth do bring out the colour effects of a dark skin. Yet there are so many forms of would-be decoration which have a contrary effect by reason of their lack of harmony with the racial norm, so to speak, that we are forced to doubt whether the natural man has much feeling for simple physical beauty in itself. Take this brief description of Scott's : " Teeth were extracted or filed to points, the head shaved, beard and eyebrows pulled out, skull compressed, feet bandaged and lengthened or deformed by turning the four smaller toes under, nose and lips weighted with rings and sticks, ear lobes dragged down until they touch the shoulders, the breasts cut off or made unnaturally prominent, the skin scarred, seamed, or bruised as well as painted, stained, and tattooed." * Is it not natural to infer from this that to the savage the body is beautiful only when what we think its most beautiful and characteristic features are marred or destroyed? It proves to be very questionable, then, how far the idea of beauty is connected with the sexual instinct, though none can doubt that the use of ornaments plays an important role in seK-exhibition before the opposite sex. It would be hazardous to state, however, that court- ship is their only end, since there are terrifying decora- tions which would not be useful in that capacity unless, indeed, as a means of frightening away rivals, which is hardly probable. There is the social aim to be consid- ered, and the simple pleasure in possessing beautiful, un- usual, or valuable things (we put such things in our pockets, but the savage has to attach them externally).! Hardly any primitive method of decoration can be ad- duced as directly strengthening Darwin's theory; the imi- * Colin A. Scott, op. cit., p. 181. + We may compare, too, our watch charms. They, like the trophies, and tribal symbols of savages, show much more the desire for ownership- than the principle of self-exhibition. LOVE PLAY IN ART 271 tative principle controls the beginnings of plastic art, courtship is not the exclusive aim in savage dancing, and as for the music and poetry which go vyith the dancing, they rarely deal with such subjects. It may be demurred that such arts have gradually been divorced from their original intention, but the facts do not point to it. Though some scholars regard other ornamenta- tion as of later origin than the use of cosmetics, there is nothing to prove that this is a fact.* Moreover, in the de- velopment of the special arts a noteworthy fact becomes prominent — namely, that the sexual element appears stronger in the later stages, while at first other elements are quite as important or even far more so. Thus love is a conspicuous theme in the lyrics of civilized peoples, but of primitive races Grosse declares : " It can not be ascertained that the Australian tribes . . . have pro- duced a single love song; and Rink, their most faithful student, says that the Eskimos hardly show any appre- ciation of the sentiment of love." t In. our dancing the two sexes unite in a movement-play, and Orientals have beautiful girls to dance before them. Among savages, on the contrary, imitative dances are much more common, which have no connection with sex relations. Indeed, we often find rules which confine daiicing to certain places of resort where women are excluded. We can say of personal adornment too that civilized peoples apply them much more to the uses of courtship than do savages. These things being true, it is well to use caution in applying the Darwinian theory to the origin of art ; while uses of courtship very often accompany the appearance and development of art, we must still cling to our con- ception of play as its principal source. Delight in sen- suous pleasure and in regularity, the charm of rhythm, enjoyment of imitation and of illusion, the demand for intense stimuli, the attraction of attempting what is dif- ficult — all are elements in the principle which we have repeatedly found and shall find more and more, connect- ing the spheres of play and art without necessarily touch- * The examples of decoration by animals applies to their dwellings rather than to their peraons. t Grosse, p. 233. 272 THE PLAY OF MAN ing at all on the question of sex. Even self-exhibition itself may depend as much on the social as on the sexual instinct. I am convinced, then, that Schiller was in the main right in deriving art from play, while Darwin's theory must be relegated to the position of a secondary or partial explanation. Having made this critical review of the subject, I may give my undivided attention to the effort to prove that art, in its last analysis, does include the sexual element along with all else that appeals to the feelings, and so is often converted into a love play. But we must distin- guish such play as it is manifested in artistic production and that which appears in aesthetic enjoyment. We often, find courtship carried on by means of the former, while the latter is concerned only with the playful enjoyment of sexual excitement, unconnected with any serious aim. Courtship by means of artistic production is a subject which has been pretty thoroughly canvassed and will have but brief mention here. It exhibits a playful character, such as the above-mentioned forms of self-display when the wooer enjoys the mere act of unfolding his charms. Among savages it is usually confined to the use of pig- ments and dancing. Westermarck and Grosse have re- cently enumerated the principal uses of the former. But, as I have said, such decoration is not exclusively for courtship purposes; the desire to outshine other tribes is often a powerful motive. The psychological aspect of this sort of thing is interesting. The later development of fashion teaches us that mere delight in finery and orna- ment is a very small part of it ; there is a complication of relations. When we see an elegant old gentleman at a watering place with a flower in his buttonhole, we attribute his state of mind to a belated feeling of youth- fulness; and so the adornments of savages and the co- quette's toilet owe their effect less to a direct appeal to the senses than to their symbolic meaning. They betray the demand for ornament, and this demand again dis- closes the adaptability of ornamentation to sexual pur- poses. Our peasant youths at the fairs put labels in their hats announcing to the interested public that they are in the matrimonial market, and all decoration for LOVE PLAY IN ART 273 courtship purposes says tte same thing in effect. Their suggestiveness is not so much in the external appearance as in their symbolism,* and this may explain the fact that what is merely striking is as effective in primitive and sometimes in modern decoration as what is really beau- tiful. Savage danced sometimes serve the purposes of court- ship, and, of course, the wild intoxication of move- ment which they lead to is itself calculated to produce sexual excitement. Notes on obscene dances may be found in the works of Waitz-Gerland (Australian), Tur- ner (Samoan), Ehrenreich (Brazilian), Powers (Cali- fornian), Fritsch (Zulu), and others. When such dances serve the purposes of courtship they are not uninterest- ing. When they consist of a wild melee in which partici- pators and spectators are thrown into a condition of ecstasy, the idea of discriminating choice on the part of the women is difficult to apply. There is, however, no such difficulty in the way of my theory that violent ex- citement is a necessary preliminary. I give two examples from the bird world : " The black-headed ibis of Patagonia, which is almost as large as a turkey, carries on a strange wild game in the evening. A whole flock seems to be suddenly crazed; sometimes they fly up in the air with startling suddenness, move about in a most erratic way, and as they near the ground start up again and so re- peat the game, while the air for kilometres around vibrates with their harsh, metallic cries. Most ducks confine their play to mock battles on the water, but the beautiful whistling duck of the La Plata conducts them on the wing ■as well. From ten to twenty of them rise in the air imtil they appear like a tiny speck, or entirely disappear. At this great height they often remain for hours in one place, slowly separating and coming together again while the high, clear whistle of the male blends admirably with the female's deeper, measured note, and when they ap- proach they strike one another so powerfully with their wings that the sound, which is like hand-clapping, remains * In an article on Sex and Art, Scott has developed Similar Ideas, and has rightly connected the vagaries of fetichism -with the abnormal sexual excitement produced by special materials, such as fur, velvet, etc. 274 THE PLAY OF MAN audible when tlie birds are out of sight." * In cases where this sort of orgy, indulged in by flocks of birds, serves sexual purposes, as it probably often does, my theory proves to be more explanatory than Darwin's, and the same may be said of our general dance with its direct ap- peal to such stimuli. It is much less likely that some of the dancers will single out special partners than that par- ticipant and spectators alike will be thrown into an ecstatic State in which all restraints are cast off. In considering such dances the question must be met whether they, like the courtship arts of birds, are refer- able to instinctive tendencies. It may be inferred from the introductory part of this section that I am somewhat sceptical as to that. I do, indeed, doubt whether human dancing should be attributed exclusively to courtship, and I think we can hardly emphasize too much the fact that while man possesses the full complement of instincts, they are subordinated in his case in favour of intellectual adaptations. Of birds we know with comparative cer- tainty that they must learn and practise their courtship arts practically without teachers; but no one will affirm that individual man without tradition or example would turn to ornament and dancing on the awakening of sexual impulse. Only a general disposition toward self-display is instinctive, the how and when being left to invention and tradition. Perhaps some particularly significant movements are specializations of this disposition, as, for instance, the hip movement, which is accentuated in the waltz and which has influenced plastic art since the time of Praxiteles. There must be much more thorough in- vestigation of the subject before we can affirm even the possibilities respecting it. Of the other arts, that of lyric poetry is about the only one which we need to consider in relation to courtship, and this more especially in its connection with music. Among primitive races dancing invariably accompanies the recital of such poetry. The troubadour is the product of a higher social condition. The lyric, too, played an important part as an instrument of courtship in Mo- * The Play of Animals,' p. 211. LOVE PLAT IN ART 275 iammedan civilization during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, as is apparent from the Thousand and One Mghts Tales. " The ear often loves before the eye," to quote from one of them which deals with the winning power of beautiful verse. In the story of Hajat Alnufus and Ardschir the amorous prince, who is disguised as a merchant, seeks to awaken the love of the proud princess by means of passionate verse, and the description is fine of how a tender interest is aroused in the coy and high- spirited beauty toward the persistent wooer, though it de- velops, it is true, into genuine love only under his gaze. " Hajat Alnufus," runs one of these love poems, " make happy with thy presence a lover whona absence' is undoing. My life was surrounded with joy and bliss, but now the nights find me raving and mad with love. Must I always- sigh and moan, always be cast down and hopeless? All night long sleep shuns me, and I gaze wearily at the stars. Oh, have pity on a dismayed and suffering lover whose heart is sad and his eyes weary with watching ! " In the story of Hasan of Bassrah we have a feminine counterpart of this which deserves to be numbered among the finest pearls of Oriental lyrical poetry. Hasan's lady is so re- joiced to see him after a long separation that she breaks forth in the following rhapsody : " I breathe in the air which wafts from your land and refreshes you in the morning. I ask the wind about you whenever it blows from that way; I think of no one but you." More common are the instances which, while not di- rected toward a special wooing, yet have the character of play with the sexual emotions which is pleasurable in itself, and involve the question of the connection of such stimuli with aesthetic enjoyment. I maintain that this element is much more conspicuous in the use of cos- metics and in dancing than is actual courtship, and even in the ornamentation which seems far from the sphere of sex, and in architecture itself love play is not entirely lack- ing at any stage of its development. Von den Steinen has told us what pleasure the Brazilian tribes take in decorating their tools with conventionalized uluri, which are triangular pieces of bark such as the women are fond of wearing. It is very conspicuous in all the adornments 276 THE PLAT OF MAN of these people, who make no secret of their fondness for it. This feeling, too, is at the foundation of the em- ployment of nude female figures for decorative purposes in renaissance art. Obscene exaggerations of the mascu- line figure are not uncoiamon in plastic representation, and are no doubt due as much to sexuality as to any re- ligious significance (such as the exaltation of the idea of productiveness, etc.). Nor is love play lacking in the art of cultured peoples, though here we are not con- fronted with the crude sensuality, which is of compara- tively little psychological interest, but ^ith that more subtile effect of the instinct, that tender, moving, melting sensation which must be felt to be understood, for it can not be described. In my Einleitung in die Aesthetik * I have set forth the grounds on which the philosopher Stockl objects to representations of the nude. " As a result of original sin," he says " mankind is susceptible to evil passions which are aroused at the sight of naked- ness, and the will is incited to connivance in the sinful lust. Of original sin and its consequences, it is true, most advocates of the nude in art are quite ignorant theoret- ically, and yet it is a truth testified to by the experience of every man, even though he be a student of sesthetics, that there is in us a law which is at variance with spir- itual law, and that we ought to avoid everything that tends to bring us under its power, to which things naked- ness in art belongs." f Whatever protest can be made against this in the name of art, and however it may be insisted that there is such a thing as chaste nudity, still I am convinced that in the extraordinary attractiveness of the work of Praxiteles and Canova, for example, subtile emotions connected with the sexual life are involved. I have noticed that for the uneducated person Oanova's Cupid and Psyche is regarded as embodying the acme of sculptured beauty without the observer having the re- motest suspicion of the source of much of his intensity of admiration. The higher the aesthetic culture, however, the less as a rule (not always) is this force operative, and „sV6. t A. ^tocM, Lehrbuch der Aesthetik, second edition, Mainz, 1889, p. 229. LOVE PLAY IN ART 277 therefore directly in the interests of chastity the answer may be made to Stockl's challenge, that an artist may experience a purely aesthetic enjoyment of form in the nude figure which is hardly possible to the uncultivated person. It is hardly necessary to dilate on the influence of the instinct in question in the sphere of painting. Here, too, it is more evident to the average man, with his naive en- joyment of materiality, than to the connoisseur. Andree tells us that many tribes of men cherish indecent pictures and statues which have no religious symbolism, and we all know how common is the habit of drawing such things on fences and walls. But more significant than such grossness is the popular preference for sentimentally sug- gestive pictures. The passionate admiration of some neuropathic persons for the flat illustrations of a fashion paper is but a pathological exaggeration and distortion of the amazing popularity of some insipid, wide-eyed, sim- pering feminine figure, and the almost worse blond hero of many so-called artists. It is not necessary to call names, but a student of psychological sesthetics should not shrink from stating sine ira the true (though often unconscious) grounds for the admiration bestowed on such things, nor ignore its significance. While music comes in the province of our inquiry only when the accompanying words, situation, and explana- tions, or the subjective temper of the hearer lends to the tone movements a sexual meaning,* poetry, on the con- .traiy, as has been said, plays a very large part in the business of love, and even more so among civilized than among primitive people. Besides love lyrics, which have been sufliciently illustrated, there are narrative descrip- tions of love scenes and processes — not only the numer- ous poetic lucubrations which deserve to be designated as erotic, which means in plain English indecent, but the whole immeasurable sea of novels and romances whose leading interest depends on this theme. Many can read such tales only in their youth (boys are especially liable to this passion for romance immediately after the subsi- * Wagner and Liszt are especially strong iii such effects. 278 THE PLAY OF MAN dence to their attack of Indian tales), but the maiority retain their capacity for inward sympathy with the trials of lovers; and here, too, the taste of the general public is as opposed to that of connoisseurs as in the case of pictures. The ability to cater to this taste is possessed pre-eminently by women, because the false idealism which abounds in such works accompanies a certain ignorance of the facts of life which women retain of tener and longer than men. The study of some of the better class of these romances — notably those of E. Marlitt — is not without psychological interest. One of our comic papers not long since quoted this passage, ostensibly from a novel: "In an adjoining room sounded a bearded masculine voice"; and the sentence might serve as a motto for the title- page of a treatise on the yellow-covered romance of tne type which is so highly prized by hundreds of thousands of readers of both sexes. A favourite theme is to follow the fortunes of a young married couple who are estranged at first, as in Marlitt's Zweiter Frau, Werner's Gliick auf, and Ohnett's Hiittenbesitzer. It is, of course, psy- chologically and sesthetically interesting to follow the conversion from real or pretended aversion to attachment, a process from which, Spinoza tells us, deeper love results " quam si odium non prsecessisset." But the extraordi- nary attractive power of this novel specific for bringing about the desired result arises from a special stimulus not difficult to identify from our point of view, and inherent in the situation. 3. The Comic of Sex, This subject offers a difficult problem. The fact that all mankind, adult and child, the refined, cultured person as well as the primitive savage, the latest representative of centuries of civilization and his remotest ancestor, alike show a propensity to take pleasure in things relat- ing to this subject, is one which we may deplore and yet can not characterize as entirely inexplicable. But we may ask why it is considered comical. It frequently happens that the comic impression is heterogeneous, as in the ribaldry which perverts wit from its proper sphere and makes the offence against good man- THE COMIC OF SEX 219 ners take the form of a social blunder, wMle uninten- tioned indecency may raise a laugh at the expense of the perpetrator. Yet it can not be denied that the mere in- troduction of the sexual element is an independent source of amusement and one which requires some special ex- planation. The common solution as set forth by Vischer and Zeising is to the eflfect that this stimulus is identical with that of any other impropriety, the laugh being at the outrage to conventionality.* But white this explains some cases there are others which it does not touch. Civilized man who is prohibited by strict rules of pro- priety any reference to such subjects may experience a feeling of triumph when he boldly bursts the bonds of custom, but with children and savages the case is quite different, and they exhibit a peculiar enjoyment of such things which is not identical with their relish of for- bidden fruit. Von den Steinen tells us that the Bakairi consider it a shameful thing to be seen eating, but do not regard the broadest reference to things sexual as the least breach of good manners.f Yet they too find them comic. " It is true," says the famous and learned trav- eller, " that things which would seem indecent to us afforded the Bakaifri, both men and women, evident en- joyment, and if any delving pedant who considers modesty in our sense an inborn inheritance of mankind could follow the rising tide of gaiety which would have offended a member of our degenerate race, he would be obliged to admit that their hearty laugh is not shameless in our sense, nor is it an effort to conceal embarrassment. Yet it is undeniably erotic in a mild way, and resembles as; much as the difference in circumstances and conditions will allow the laughter over games with us in which the two sexes are thrown together." $ What, then, is the true source of this? Possibly the following considerations may serve to throw some light on it: First, it may be premised that allusion to sexual subjects has some association with the idea of phj^sical * Vischer, Aesthetic, sec. 189. Hall and AUin, op. ait., p. 31. t E. J. Dodge, Modem Indians of the Far West, pp. 146, 164. t Op. cit., p. 68. 19 280 THE PLAY OP MAN ticklisliness. "The sexual parts have a ticklishness as unique as their function, and as keen as their importance. The faintest suggestion of them has great power oyer the risibilities of children." * . More important still are two other points which make the sexual comic a special case of offensive and defensive fighting play, such as we consid- ered in the previous chapter. The former may be inferred from the fact that this passion throws men and animals into a state of ecstasy which robs them of self-control, and, like intoxication, temporarily " disables them in the struggle for life." f As a result of this the man who by word or deed actually places himself in any relation to this side of life calls forth in us a feeling of superiority which pleases us and excites our laughter. This applies especially to the amusement which all displays of amor- ousness induce, whether they are modest or bold — the one so long as it does not move, and the other so long as it does not disgust us. In other cases the fighting play becomes defensive, and this side of the question seems to me to ex- hibit more delicate psychological distinctions, since it con- cerns the thrill of sexual emotion which is excited in the hearer or spectator, and which, while it is agreeable, yet, coming as it does from without and therefore not under his own control, he laughingly repels it. Kant notices that amusement is generally caused by what is momenta- rily deceptive. If we accept the purely intellectual con- ception of deception — namely, that it is a shock or a slight confusion — then we may regard its conquest as a genuine triumph. Such a triumph we experience when we repel the incipient stimulation, and the contrast of ideas thus called up gives the finishing touch to the comic effect. JII. Imitative Plays The Tschwi negroes have a proverb to the effect that " no one teaches the smith's son his trade ; when he is ready to work God shows him how " ; and I. G. Ohristaller obtained the following explanation from one of the * Op. cit., p. 14. Hall and Allin. + According to E. .1. Dodge, who is a thorough student of Indian life, among those of the far West it is a polite fiction not to observe the wooing lover, " because they consider love a weakness." IMITATIVE PLATS 281 aborigines : " If you have a trade, and a son who watches you at work, he easily leams it. God has implanted in children the faculty of observing and imitating, and when the son does what he has seen his father do so often it is as if he knew of himself. It is, indeed, God who teaches him ! " And this childlike elucidation is not a bad one of the significance of playful imitation in life. The in- born impulse enables a child to learn alone what he either could not do at all or only after painful and wearisome teaching. Imitation is the connecting link between instinctive and intelligent conduct. Thanks to it we can add much to our accomplishments without other instruction, and in a manner agreeable to ourselves, for enjojTtnent of its exercise is natural, so that, to use the language of the African, it is indeed God who teaches us. The earlier psychologists gave too little attention to imitation. The work of Tarde* and Baldwin t has first brought to many the knowledge that it is probably des- tined to win a prominent place in biological psychology, similar to that accorded to the idea of association in the older theories. At any rate these investigators have cer- tainly expanded the common acceptation of the term. Tarde says of a man who unconsciously and involuntarily reflects the bearing of others or accepts outside sugges- tion, that he is imitating, and he regards such magnified imitation as a special case of the great cosmic law of repe- tition (ondulation, generation, and imitation are the three forms of " repetition universelle ")• Baldwin calls stimu- lus-repeating repetition in general imitation (so far as it is produced by the organism itself), and so includes the alternate expansion and contraction in the lowest organic forms. According to him, the essence of imita- tion lies in the fact that when movement follows a stim- ulus, the stimulus is renewed, giving rise to what may be called " circular " reaction. Imitation of the acts of an- other individual, from the perception of which a dupli- cate act results, is a specialized form of this circular * a. Tai-de, Les lois de I'imitation. Second edition, Paris, 1895. + J. M. Baldwin. Mental Derclopment, and Social and Ethical Inter- pretations. 282 THE PLAY OF MAN reaction. Baldwin has tried to prove that the accommoda- tion of an organism to its environment is a phenomenon of " organic imitation," and he grounds his new theory of " organic selection " on this principle. I can not her© dwell longer on it than to say that it undertakes to mediate in the strife between neo-Darwinism and neo- Lamarckianism, since the survival of the individual with the necessary adaptibility gives selection tim.e to pro- duce hereditary adaptations with the same general trend (selection among coincident variations). Our purpose is best served by confining ourselves to the ordinary use of the term imitation, namely, " The repetition of the acts of one individual by another,"* as Lloyd Morgan has de- fined it. Even this is of the greatest biological and psychologi- cal import, since it is responsible for what Baldwin calls " social heredity " ; the psychic heritage or " tradition," independent of physical heredity, t which hands down ac- quired habits from generation to generation. In using the word tradition, indeed, one naturally thinks more of habits acquired by their owner, who by precept and exam- ple imparts them to others, so that emphasis is laid first on the acts of the originator, though the inclination to im- part would be fruitless without imitation on the part of the pupil. On close examination we find this literal use of the term far from satisfactory; as a rule, the acquisition of the habits of others depends entirely on the imitator, without intentional assistance from the model, a distinc- tion which finds expression in the common proverb that example is better than precept. The operation of this principle is apparent among the higher animals. Wallace lays great stress on it, though in a somewhat partial way. Weismann employs the word in its wider sense when he says : " A young finch which grows up alone sings un- taught the song of its kind, though never so beautifully nor so perfectly as when an older bird which is a fine singer is given him as a teacher " (teacher is here not to be understood literally). " He is largely influenced by tradi- * Habit and Instinct. London and New York. IRHfi. p. IfiR. + Baldwin's further distinction between tradition and social heredity" aeems true enough, but not especially practical. IMITATIVE PLAYS 283 tion, though, the fundamental principle of the finch's song is already implanted in his organization." * Indeed, the data of animal psychology give us a sort of experimental proof of the importance of the imitative impulse, since animals reared away from their own kind but with some other species are often strongly influenced by the alien models, in spite of their inborn instincts. An attempt to formulate satisfactorily the biological significance of imitation results somewhat as follows : To the higher ani- mals imitation of their own species is an important ad- junct to instinct. The young finch has, indeed, an inborn instinctive capacity for producing the note characteristic of his kind, but even with the assistance of experimenta- tion this instinct is not adequate to his needs until imi- tation of practised singers rounds out, so to speak, the inherited capacity by means of acquired adaptations. It is evident that there are two ways of regarding this con- ception of imitation. The one which Baldwin develops is implied in Weismann's " already " when he says that the fundamental principle of the finch's song is " already " im- planted in his organism, thus implying that imitation is an essential factor in the growth of his instinctive equip- ment. When the more intelligent individuals of a species have by means of independent accommodations made new life conditions for themselves they can manage to keep afloat by the aid of imitation until " natural selection, by favoring and furthering" coincident variations (those tending in the same direction), can substitute the lifeboat heredity for the life-preserver tradition. The other view, as I have presented it in The Play of Animals, takes just the opposite ground — namely, that imitation enables the animal to dispense with instinct to a much greater degree than would otherwise be possible, and so gives free play to the evolution of intelligent con- trol. Here we find imitation tending to relegate instinct to the category of things rudimentary, while, according to the hypothesis analyzed above, it favours the growth of instinct. " It is through instinct," says Baldwin in a * Gedanken ilber Musik bei Thiereu und beim Menschen. Deutsche Kundsohau, October, 1889. 284: THE PLAY OF MAN notice of my earlier work, "that instincts both rise and decay." For our purpose the second view is evidently the more serviceable, since it is undeniable that in man at least, the transition from fixed instincts to more plastic tendencies, with their partial supplanting by acquired adaptations, has been the general course of phylogenetic evolution, and to this process imitation is of extraordi- nary value.* Finally, in pursuance of the same line of thought, it seems that imitation, at least in man, goes far beyond instinct; for by his untrammelled relations to the ex- ternal world man has been enabled to climb beyond the ground floor of ISTature to a higher plane of culture. Yet of all his means of improvement none to speak of are physically inherited. Thus we see the idea of imita- tion expanded not only to supply the deficiencies of in- stinct " not yet " or " no longer " adequate, but to such an extent that on it depends the " social " heritage of cul- ture from generation to generation. This powerful im- pulse, without which there could be no teaching, no hand- ing down of anything to posterity, thus becomes the in- dispensable medium of continuity, and therefore the necessary postulate of a ciunulative human culture, as opposed to one constantly recommencing ah ovo. But the further question arises, May we not be justified in calling the imitative impulse itself an instinct? Once granted the fact of instinct at all, and an affirmative answer seems imperative to one who is familiar with the workings of this impulse in men and animals. On these grounds I have committed myself in my former work to the designation of imitation as an inborn in- stinct, and yet I must admit the logical inconsistency of this, since the very conception of instinct dispenses with the use of imitation. As commonly understood, instinct may be defined as a hereditary and clearly de- fined motor reaction to a given stimulus. In imitation, on the contrary, we have a thousand varying reactions, for as the stimulus (the model) varies the whole char- * See Baldwin's A New Factor In Evolution, in The American Natu- ralist, June, July, 1896. IMITATIVE PLAYS 285 acter of the reaction follows suit. What becomes of the fixed hereditary orbit if at each repetition entirely new moYements, sounds unconnected with the foregoing ones, etc., are produced? "To assert that imitation is instinc- tive," says Bain, " is to maintain the existence of an in- finity of pre-existing associations between sensations and actions." * This appears to me to be the one insur- mountable objection among the inany which he and others have brought against the conception of imitative instinct, and it is serious enough to cause me to modify my former position. As a point of departure, suppose we take the assump- tion that, with certain limitations, a psychophysical ad- justment, not in the ordinary sense instinctive, accounts for the genesis of imitation. This adjustment depends on the fact that in conscious activity a necessary connec- tion exists between the movement produced and the an- tecedent coneept of the movement. On the one hand, then, a movement is said to be voluntary only when the motor act is accompanied with such an idea of movement, while the other view implies that the idea itself is the thing which urges its own fulfilment.f If this is so, the mere concept of the movement performed by another impels us to perform it as well, and hence arises imitation. Al- though the difficulty is to establish the correctness of this assumption,:}: yet we may be pretty sure that the concept of a possible movement, if not crippled by antagonistic motives, does induce a certain readiness for fulfilment.* This analysis, it is true, acquaints us with a necessary condition of imitation, but as little accounts for the amaz- ing force of the impulse as the mere conception of move- ment accounts for voluntary activity. While every con- cept may impel to the corresponding motor act, we know * The Senses and the Intellect, p. 408. t James Mill, Analysis of the Phenomena of the Human Mmd, vol. u, chap. xxiv. Tiedemann's remarks on the subject, too, are clear and brief. ^'XSee^A. Pfander, Das Bewusstsein des WoUens. Zeitsohr. f. Psych, u. Phvs. d. Sin., vols, x and xvii. # The strong emphasis of imitation in hypnosis seems to support this, for there we have a decided narrowing of the consciousness, so that the antagonistic motive has little showing compared with the idea of move- ment. 286 THE PLAY OF MAN from experience that such tendencies to form hahits are checked and aborted by all sorts of hindrances, mere in- ertia being sufficient in many cases to coimteract the motive power of such concepts. There must be special reasons, then, which lend to the perception of a move- ment performed by another such extraordinary motive power. We have still to meet the question whether there may not be an inherited relation developed on the founda- tion and presupposition of the " readiness " described above. The thousand sensory motor paths involved in it can not be determined by heredity, since they presuppose acquired experience (as in learning to speak, first crude experimentation, then imitation). But the strength of the pleasurable quality in the reproduction of a move- ment accomplished first by another, the strenuousness of the effort which presses for expression, as well as the seri- ousness of the disappointment in cases of failure, are direct results of selection and the developmental factors connected with it. In support of this proposition we may Tefer to the social instincts, the simplest of which is the associativeness of members of the same race, tribe, or faction. Its demands lead to a kind of imitation, at least in movement impulses (Hudson assures us that the young pampas sheep runs the instant it is bom after its rapidly running mother), and the impulse to answer a warning or alluring call. Pleasure in satisfying this genuine in- stinct is especially evident where one of the participants (they.being usually of the same species) accompanies the signal with appropriate movements. I permit myself no judgment of the value of this hypothesis, but I believe its adequacy to meet the case is incontrovertible. Bain, too, in the fourth edition of his -work cited above, has made a suggestion looking in the same direction, by which the use of the word instinct gains a certain justification. Nor should it be forgotten that to strengthen this "readiness" a whole series of other requirements may be present, which for convenience in this analysis I may call iiistinctive. Perhaps an illus- tration of a movement concept which is not imitative in the ordinary sense will make this clear. If we think in- tentionally and definitely of the movements involved in IMITATIVE PLAYS 287 -whistling, we are likely to feel a mild inclination t» ■whistle, which, however, is conmionly easy enough to over- come. Therefore we call it a certain " readiness " in. preference to a stronger term, such as " impulse." But let this mental process take place in church during serv- ice ; the corresponding action, it is true, is not performed, because of the influence of contrary motives, but the im- pulse may nevertheless be so strong that their subject suf- fers great annoyance. Why is this ? Probably because the idea of not whistling excites the instinctive impulse to- ward activity of the movement apparatus (experimenta- tion) as well as the fighting instinct,* which resents such constraint and lends itself as a powerful auxiliary to the movement impulse. It is just in this way that the percep- tion of movement made by another arouses special in- stinctive emotions, and illustrates the power of the imita- tive impulse. This, then, is a brief explanation of the grounds of the theory developed above, according to which imitation serves as a complement to instincts which have been weakened in favour of intellectual development or are, for whatever reason, inadequate to the individual's life tasks. Thus we know that a child has the impulse to make use of his motor apparatus, but this impulse is strength- ened when another person makes a movement which attracts the child's attention. The concept as such pro- duces a mild inclination and the natural impulse to move weighs down the scale. The little girl inherits an in- stinct for nursing; alone, it would probably not be strong enough to originate nursing play, and quite as little would the idea of the movements involved which the child acquires from watching her mother have that re- sult (as witness, the boy). The two together produce the familiar result. In the same way the boy's fighting in- stinct impels him to imitate all warlike demonstrations. We may say that the " what " of the subject is answered by the movement idea and the " that " predominantly by the corresponding instinct, though acquired neces- * An attempt to explain the charm of what is forbidden, not by means of the fighting impulse but on the ground of psychic inhibition may b« found in Lipps'e Grundthatsaohen des Seelenleben, pp. 634, 641. 288 THE PLAY OF MAN sity of course may do the same thing. Moreover, imita- tion has a special affinity for curiosity and the fight- ing instinct. The former asks concerning an unusual movement by another, " How does he do it ? " and an effort to experiment at once ensues, while the fighting instinct is on the alert at the perception of a difficulty, and loses no time in overcoming it in order to enjoy the " I can, too," of success. This success may be a triumph over the model, since if no superiority is proved we arro- gate to ourselves a capacity which up to this time has been the property of another.* It may, however, be mere pleasure in overcoming the difficulty, as when we try to imitate qualities which we admire in another, adding to the' combative impulse the desire to make one's self agreeable or to subordinate others. But so far as con- scious playful imitation is directly concerned, the strug- gle with difficulties is still in the foreground. We must remember, too, that with many of the higher kinds of imitation — pre-eminently so with that which may be called constructive, since its material is invariably appro- priated from foreign sources — the pleasure which is de- rived from recognition and from illusion adds to its play the powerful charm of imagination. Although I have presented here only a few of the lead- ing features which an analysis of the imitative processes reveals, enough has been said to show how complicated and difficult the problem is, and to render advisable a general summing up in more compact form of the results of these somewhat rambling observations. It will not do to call imitation instinct and leave it at that, since it is not a specific but quite an involved reaction. More- over, the condition of imitation, namely, the tendency of moveinent ideas to produce corresponding movements, is not itself instinctive; but we have seen that this tendency alone does not explain all that we include under the name of imitation. This tendency of the movement ideas must have special grounds furnished by organic needs, and especially those which are instinctive; when * In this triumph we find a means of explanation for the exhilarating effect of simple — that is neither mischievous nor mocking — imitation. IMITATIVE PLAYS 289 the general idea of movement is coincident with, one of these the impulse toward discharge hecomes very strong. We cited in illustration of this the general movement-impulse, nursing, curiosity (how is it done?), fcelligerence (not only as regards distinctly hostile move- ments, but sensation as well), recognition, and illusion. If there is nothing else, then imitation taken alone is no instinct; it is only in very close connection to instinct, as our biological point of view has shown. It is, however, probable that these limits are not reached by the simplest imitation, such as coughing, gaping, etc., and use may be made of the hypothesis of transference (loi de transferf) from specific social instincts, which are themselves the result of a certain degree of imitativeness of the move- ment idea (agreement, answering, and the like) to move- ment itself in cases involving the movements belonging to a species. By this means natural selection of whatever developmental factor is employed acquires an essential impetus. Whoever regards such collaboration as probable will consider imitation as a phenomenon at least similar to instinct. Thirdly — and this point will be quickly disposed of — when is imitation to be regarded as play? Evidently we must apply the psychological criterion; imitation is a play when it is enjoyed for its own sake.* Imita- tion transcends play at its highest and lowest limits. Simple reflex reactions, such as gaping when another gapes, fleeing because another has fled, etc., can not be called play in a psychological sense, nor is the child's first reproduction of sounds playful. Only when he re- peats the performance from enjoyment of his success can we be sure of the thing from a psychological standpoint.f The limit is passed in the other direction by rendering the movements mechanical, so that the imitation is per- formed involuntarily, no longer affording enjoyment of the * The biological criterion of practice of the impulse is not very well applicable to imitation. We do not copy plaj^fully in order to be able to copy seriously, and, moreover, playful imitation itself accomplishes the purpose. Yet the practice theory is of course indebted to the contribu- tions of imitation in the highest degree. t The question as to whether play may not be more extensive from a purely biological standpoint is touched upon in the theoretical division. 290 THE PLAY OF MAN act itself, as it is now directed toward the external aim. Here belong imitative teaching (so far as it is not in itself enjoyable) and the imitation of an exemplary per- sonality or ideal which is so important to ethics. In the latter, however, a suggestipn of playfulness is sometimes present, though it would seem that nothing could be fur- ther from the proper sphere of ethics ; when poetic figures serve as models, however, it is sometimes hard to mark the limit between the serious and the playful.* In conclusion, I would remark that imitation is almost never merely that; it is creation as well, production as well as reproduction. Close on the heels of imitation comes imagination, and that in the double meaning of the word which we have learned to know. Imagination ex- pands the copy into a full likeness of the original, and then creates the illusion that it is the original. How- ever, imitation may actually be new creation. As Bald- win lucidly puts it, the child's persistent imitation calls into the arena with the satisfactory copy a host of new combinations which may be non-essential to this special aim, but which claim the child's attention and interest as discoveries of his own. He is often so interested in these unexpected combinations as to lose sight of his original purpose, and runs to his parents or comrades to show what he can do.f In turning to the consideration of imitative plays I prefer to divide them into the following groups for the sake of convenience. Pirst, I shall speak of playful imi- tation of simple movements, which are preparatory to more complicated processes, distinguishing between op- tical and acoustic percepts. Then follow two important specialized groups, namely, the dramatic and. plastic or constructive imitation; and finally I shall t^eat inner imitation as a fourth kind of play. * " 1 looked for great men," said Nietzsche once, " and found them only aping their ideals." "Vol. viii, p. 66. + Social and Ethical Interpretations, p. lOS. OPTICAL PEECBPTS 291 1. Playful Imitation of Simple Movements (a) Optical Percepts According to Tracy * there are few points so generally accepted without question by child psychologists in general as that of the beginning of imitation in the second half year. Yet this agreement is not so universal as might be wished. Thus Baldwin says that experiment with his own children has left him utterly unable to confirm the results reported by Preyer, who thought that he could establish the presence of imitation in the third or fourth month. Baldwin, like Egger, could not be sure of it before the ninth month.t Striimpell, on the other hand, thought lie recognised the beginnings of it in the twelfth week. " Careful observation assured me that the child was sym- pathetically excited by the movements of adults in speak- ing. When any one was talking to him he watched the mouth instead of the eyes, as formerly; and as he watched, his own mouth moved softly, the lips assuming different positions, which undoubtedly resulted from movements in the inner part of the mouth." t Baldwin may be right in regarding such very early observations as frequently misleading, since the correspondence with a model is apt to be accidental, though I do not think that this supposition explains away all cases. However, en- joyment of imitation and consequently play with it is undoubtedly of later origin. This observation of Preyer may be called playful. "In the tenth month correct ■copies of various movements are constantly produced, and that with full consciousness. In the often repeated hand and arm movement of ' shaking ta-ta ' the child gazes earnestly at the person showing him the signal, and suddenly repeats it correctly."* This is not the uncon- scious or involuntary copying of strange models which is * Fr. Tracy, The Psychology of Childhood, fourth edition, Boston, 1897, p. 104. „ .r , , + Mental Development, etc., p. 123. Egger, Le developpement de I'intelligence et du lans^age chez les enfants, p. 10. t Op. cit., p. 354. See Perez CLes trois premieres ann^es, etc., p. 124), who assumes involuntary imitation in the second month. * Die Seele des Kind'es, p. 186. 292 THE PLAY OF MAN so common with young and old. The question no doubt arises in the child's mind, " How is that done ? " and when followed by the successful accomplishment of the task, is further succeeded by the joyful feeling of " I can, too," and playful use of the imitative faculty. The same is the case with the following instances : " As I, with the intention of amusing the child, waved my right hand ta and fro before him, he suddenly began to move his own right hand in the same way, and from that time imitation slowly but surely progressed. On the day following, he was much quicker in repeating the attempt, and evidently wondering at the novelty of his experience, watched at- tentively now my hand and now his own. ... At fifteen months the child learned to put out a candle flame. He blew six or seven times in vain, and kept grasping at the flame, laughing when it eluded him, and straining after it, while puffing and blowing with distended cheeks and lips unnecessarily protruded. ... A large ring which I slowly laid on his head and took off again the child seized and unhesitatingly set it on his own head (sixteen months)."* Sigismund says: "The child learns all his little arts from his nurse : shaking good-bye, patting, kiss- ing his hand, bowing, dancing, etc. But he copies of his own accord niovements and attitudes which strike and please him. He walks with his father's stick, tries to smoke a pipe, puts wood on the fire, scribbles with a pencil, and, in short, imitates whatever he sees done about him." t From a psychological standpoint there are various dis- tinctions to be made in these instances. Sometimes it is the movement itself which forms the centre of interest, while again the result of the movement is the thing aimed at, making the muscular exertion only a means to the end (as in blowing out the light).:!: It is significant that the pleasure derived from imitation is more conspicuous in the first case; and another important question is, whether more of curiosity or more of pleasure in com- petition is involved, since the one likens imitative activ- * Preyer, op. cit., p. 188. + Kind nnd Welt, p. 129. t Lloyd Morgan calls one imitation and the other copying (Habit and Instinct, p. 171). OPTICAL PERCEPTS 293 ity to intellectual experimentation, and the other assimi- lates it to rivalry. In the one case the child's attention is fixed on the question, " How is that done ? " He is in- terested in the modus operandi as in the solution of a riddle. In the latter case the movement made in his pres- ence arouses him like a challenge : " Tou can't do that ! " And his whole effort is directed to the proof that he can. The two factors do not necessarily exclude one another; they may work together. The exhilarating effect is heightened by strong 'emphasis of the fighting element; the stronger the consciousness that the task was difficult, though now achieved, the more will both child and adult enjoy the imitation — another support to our theory of the comic. In later life, at least among civilized people, the im- pulse to playful imitation of the movements of others is not so strong,* except in the case of teasing mimicry. Most adult imitation is either of the character of invol- untary adaptation, or for some specific end, and is thus partly within and partly without the sphere of play. When, for instance, the southerner who goes north to live, gradually controls his lively gesticulation, it is done unconsciously and involuntarily, unless he assists in the process because he does not wish to appear ridiculous. There may be some imitative play in the indulgence of air-castle building, founded on external models, though careful discrimination would be needed to detect it always. Then there is the callow youth who copies a leader of fashion in his manner of walking, talking, and acting, and finds sufficient satisfaction in the success of his efforts without any further aim. Sometimes, too, that imitation founded on serious effort is manifested in trifling ways. I do not know whether such amusement is now dispensed with in teaching writing; my experience was that the higher classes at school as well as the chil- dren tried to model their hand after that of some ad- mired student, teacher, or friend. Sully's remark that imitation is sometimes " the highest form of flattery " is applicable here. » Op. cit., p. 188. 294 THE PLAY OF MAN (J) Playful Imitation of Acoustic Percepts A group occupying a position midway between the foregoing and that which is now to be treated of consists of such imitations as find their antecedent in movement ■which appeals to the eye and yet whose real efEect is in the repetition of acoustic impressions. Preyer records the following unsuccessful effort at the end of the first year : " At this period, if any one struck with a salt spoon on a glass, making it sound, my child would take up the spoon and attempt to hit the glass in the same way, but he •could not get the tone." * Quite similar is Baldwin's ob- servation : " H 's first clear imitation was on May 24th (beginning of ninth month) in knocking a bunch of keys against a vase as she saw me do it, in order to produce the bell-like sound. This she repeated over and over again, and tried to reproduce it a week later when, from lapse of time, she had partly forgotten how to use the keys." * This sort of imitation, where, as in putting out the light, the result is more important than the movement itself, is more enduring than simple movement imitation, because the end attained is itself a source of pleasure. The most important phase of acoustic imitation is that "which aids in the child's acquirement of speech. In study- ing experimentation we found that voice practice is an indispensable antecedent of learning to talk. Add to this the imitative impulse and the equipment is complete for acquiring a mother tongue. The child imitates all the kinds of sound that he hears — the howling of the wind, animal calls, coughing and sneezing — but of course he hears most constantly the sounds of his native language, and so it naturally follows that he gives it particular attention, which constantly increases as he becomes aware of his parents' delight in his acquirements and as he perceives their practical use. Sigismund has asked whether imitation of singing may not serve as an introduction to language lessons. He says : " The first real imitation which I observed in my boy was not repetition of articulate speech, but of a musical tone. When he was fourteen months old and * Op. dt., p. 88. t Mental Development, p. 123. PLAYFUL IMITATION OF ACOUSTIC PBECBPTS 295 Lad as yet imitated nothing (?), I occasionally sang to lim a popular song whose melody began with a down- ward quarter (F-0), which interval recurred frequently and forcibly in the song. I was greatly surprised when the child, though very drowsy, sang this measure correctly, an octave higher. The following day the same thing happened, and this time without any example. ... Is it the rule or the exception that the infant sings imitatively before he speaks so? Many mothers whom I have ques- tioned were uncertain whether such singing had occurred at all, but they had probably simply failed to notice it. The result of my own investigations and observation points to the probability that children, like birds, more easily comprehend and repeat singing tones than speech." * Ufer justly replies to this that while children do indeed often sing before they can talk, we have no reason to affirm that this is the rule. The child ob- served by Miss Shinn, for example, first made feeble efforts to imitate singing in its fortieth month.f It is always unsafe to attach too much importance to isolated cases. It is characteristic of man that many of his in- herited capacities are left afloat, as it were, and must be anchored by individual experience, thus affording op- portunity for the development of varied individuality. Consequently, it is hardly possible to be too cautious in drawing conclusions for phylogenetic evolution from ontogenetic development. It is self-evident that not all the sound imitations which underlie the acquirement of speech are playful in a psychological sense. Words are often babbled mechan- ically without any special enjoyment. Moreover, as soon as the child has overcome the difficulties of the first stage of his language study and knows how to express his wants, he often makes use of expressions whose model exists only in his memory, without any playful intention. Still, a considerable part of the effort to learn to speak is properly imitative play. Preyer's description shows us how the child put his whole soul in the attempt to under- stand the lip movements, and in another place (fifteen * Op. cit., p. 88. + Notes on the Development of a Child, p. 112. 20 296' THE PLAY OF MAN months) he says, " If he hears a new word, ' cold,' for example, which he can not repeat he is angry or turns his head away and cries." * This demonstrates the presence of fighting play ; when the effort to be able to say " I can, too," fails in its aim, consciousness of defeat is betrayed by ill humour. Older children, too, often obtain new acquisitions in speech in a playful fashion. I kept a series of notes on Marie G in this connection, ex- tending from the third to the seventh year, and they show this unmistakably. While she lived in Giessen she mimicked the dialect of the servants and many of the peculiarities of Hessian speech, and enjoyed copying the expressions of her playmates in talking to her dolls. In one note, which records the observations of a single day, I find four distinct efforts of this kind, and for many months she adopted the rather forward manner of speak- ing, practised by a boy of whom she was thrown with for a while. Hardly had we become settled in Basel before she made a rhyme illustrating the local accent here. The child's effort, on the whole, is directed toward at- taining likeness to his model, whatever may be the diffi- culty, otherwise he would remain satisfied with his first effort when he found it understood. "Persistent imita- tion " constantly urges him on to improvement by repeti- tion, constantly striving for betterment. Thus the power is gained to acquire new territory. The child's enjoyment, too, of recognition constantly furnishes him with allur- ing models. This progressive method is directly opposed to natural inertia and indolence, which are so strong in some children that we occasionally find them not only satisfied with slipshod methods, but actually going back, after learning better, to the faulty pronunciation. This retrogression, too, is often playful. We have space but for one illustration from the many which this subject affords; it relates to inventiveness in language imitation. We have already seen that the ex- perimental play of infants (especially in reduplication) furnishes material for a science of language. The easily articulated syllables papa, mamma, baba, fafa, dada, etc., * Op. ait., pp. 314, 321. PLAYFUL IMITATION OF ACOUSTIC PERCEPTS 297 are sufficiently explained in the case of parents, who take them into their own vocabulary and thus confirm the child in their use. Many expressive words have originated in. this way.* Darwin's child said " mum " to signify eating or wanting to eat, and Striimpell's daughter at ten months called all the birds that she saw from the window " tibu." t Older children, too, often indulge in such playful experi- mental coining of words,^ as we shall see later. At pres- ent we are more concerned with the word building founded on acoustic imitation. Preyer thinks that the only kind of word creation practised by children is the imitation of sounds which they have heard and their repe- tition in the form of interjections. I quote from him: " When the listener first imitates a word and then makes independent use of it depends with normal children prin- cipally on whether much effort is made to instruct them. More important psychogenetically . . . are observations on the creation of words with a special sense before the beginning of genuine speech. These are not to be re- garded as mistaken, imperfect, or onomatopoeic imitations, . . . but rather as original interjections. In all my obser- vations and studies directed especially to their investi- gation, I have been able to discover nothing tending to establish a connection of the hearer's concepts with articu- late sounds and syllables. . . . S. S. Haldemann has in his notes on the invention of words, which include a small boy's discoveries in that line, citations from Taine, Holden, myself, and others. This boy called a cow " m," a bell " tin-tin " (Holden's boy said " ling-dong-mang " for a church bell), a locomotive " tschu-tschu," the splash of something falling in water " boom," and applied the same word to throwing, striking, falling, shooting, etc., with- out regard to the quality of the sound, though always with reference to some sound. In weighing the fact that a sound repeated to him, such as a trumpet call, was fitted with a word suggestive of the sound seems to show that * See, on the other hand, Preyer's conclusion given below. Op. dt., p. S69. + See Ufer's article on Sigismund's Kind und Welt. ± JodI calls the root word, which he and others refer neither to inter- jeotional nor imitative origin, ideal roots ; I prefer to call them experi- ' mental roots. 298 THE PLAY OF MAN an intelligent child attempts to imitate and repeat what he hears, despite the objection of a Max Miiller, and until a better hypothesis is offered affords an object lesson in the study of the origin of language." Yet this theory is decidedly partial, for among primi- tive people, besides mamma, papa, adda, etc., other sounds depending on neither interjections nor imitation, but purely the result of experimentation, get a meaning from the simple relation of mother and child, and so attain at least a place in their vocabulary and surely form one of the. grounds for the explanation of the growth of language. It is not maintained that the child first learns the art of imitating sound from his elders, for without doubt he is often the originator, as in the case of mamma and papa, which he has taught them. For us the inter- esting question here is that of recognition which we find again the object of playful activity. The "Bow-wow" theory sounds perhaps improbable, or even ridiculous when we think of its being used by adults,* but when con- fined to children all this is changed. It works somewhat in this way: The child learns through imitation to pro- duce all sorts of sounds — the crash of falling objects, the rumble of rolling ones, cries of animals, the gurgling of water. His mother's play with him adds to the value of Buch imitations, since in their play the imitative , sound comes to stand for its object just as symbolism arises from the effort to express qualities. Imitation makes this intelligible, since every copy is a symbol of the thing copied. Even the interjection and the experimental sound can only be elements of speech by imitation or repetition. Thus Jodl rightly says (following Marty) of the imitation of sound, " As soon as their power of ad- justment, their reason, is sufficiently developed, they de- rive from free play the means consciously employed for the acquisition of varied experience." f Therefore I maintain that imitation is an indispensable condition in the explanation of the origin of language, its objects * It should be remembered that the appearance of an imitative speech is quite natural in connection with gesture language. We do not know certainly, however, which preceded the other. t Lehrbuch der Psyohologie, p. 570. PLAYFUL IMITATION OF ACOUSTIC PERCEPTS 299 being threefold : (1) All the acoustic models afforded by the environment; (2) interjectional sounds ^ (3) experi- mental sounds. It is as assured a fact that children prac- tise the first as that they playfully repeat their own ex- periments. Playful imitation of interjection is not to my knowledge indulged in by very young children, but using the sound to signify the thing from which it proceeds is natural enough. On the whole, then, it seems that while imitation plays an important part in the origin of lan- guage, as many investigators testify, to make it the only factor would be an act of presumption. As this impulse for acoustic repetition is weaker in. adults than in children, I need only mention the playful use of it in poetry where it is agreeable to all. I have already had occasion to remark that poetry written for children is especially rich in such imitation. Animal cries and bird notes figure largely. Eiickert's poem Aus- der lugendheit makes use of a very common metre to imitate the whirring call of the swallow, thus: " Wenn ioh weggeh', : , : " When I go away Hab ioli Kisten und Kasten vol! ; I have trunks and hoxes full ; ■Wenn ich -wiederkomm', : , ; When I come hack again Hab ioh kein Fadohen Zwir — r — n." * I haven't a rag to my name." This interpretative imitation which lends to unintel- ligible sounds a special meaning is applied to other things than animal cries, such as the clatter of arms, the ringing of bells, the splashing of water, the roaring of wind, etc. For adults it is expressed in the refrain, which, however, does not as a rule convey any special meaning. A rather crude form of it is found in Biirger's Lednore. A more subtile use of it is illustrated in efforts to make the sound of the words convey a faint resemblance to the acoustic effect which is being described. A familiar and celebrated instance of this is found in this passage from Faust : " Und wenn der Sturm im Walde braust und knarrt, Die Eieseufiohte sturzend Naohbaraste Und Naohbarstamme quetaohend niederstreift, Und ihrem Fall dumpf hohl der Hilgel donnert. . . ." t * See Franz Magnus Boehme, op. cit., p. 218. t " The howling blast through the groaning wood Wrenching the giant pine, which, in its fall, 300 THE PLAY OF MAN Music, too, is notably richer in imitation of the latter sort than in the much less valuable tone-painting. As we have, however, touched on its analogy with and relation to speech movements, which is its most important feature, the subject will not be opened further here. 2. Dramatic Imitation in Play In the playful imitation which we have considered up to this point, illusion was as a rule not involved, of the kind which seems to convert the copy into the original. In dramatic or imitative play involving the reproduction of actions it is almost invariably present, and essentially difEerentiates such play. Imitation is still the foundation and also the source of pleasure not only in the feeling of emulation, but in putting one's self in the place of an- other, in the play of imagination and in the enjoyment of aesthetic effect. There can be no doubt that this refinement of the process by which the external act of imitation be- comes at the same time inward sympathy is of great impor- tance to human progress. Konrad Lange has shown in his stimulating article * that with the higher animals at least, play without the contributory zest of illusion or conscious self-deception would probably be much leas attractive and consequently fail of its biological purpose, since this fea- ture of it contributes essentially to the advance of intelli- gence. Even when the child merely copies for the sake of copying he learns an astonishing amount, and acquires a host of psychic adaptations. But mental elasticity, adaptability, and mobility are first acquired when the mi- gratory instincts of the soul, so to speak, are awakened, and the child enters into the life of his model. Veritable participation in the mental states of another individual, objective appraisal of what he feels and strives for, would scarcely be possible without such practice. In the dramatic imitative play of children important distinctions are apparent which are not noticeable in the . i_ Crashing sweeps down its neighbouring trunks and boughs, While with the hollow noise the hills resound." Miss Swanwich's translation. * Gedanken zu einer Aesthetik auf entwiokelungsgesohichtlioher Grundlage. Zeitsohr. f. Psyoh. u. Phys. d. Sinnesorgane, vol. xiv (1897). DRAMATIC IMITATION IN PLAT 301 dramatic art of adults. The play may be so conducted that the player's own body appears as the exclusive object of the mimic production, or in such a manner that the pretended object serves, either on the ground of an actual resemblance or by sheer force of imagination, as a sub- stitute for the thing represented, or, lastly, in a way that includes both. We have an instance of the first when the boy pretends to be a soldier, of the second when he marches his tin soldiers to battle, and of the third when he himself takes part in the combat, or when a little girl plays that her doll is a real baby and she herself the mother. Since we have reason to believe that dramatic art has developed from the play of children by way of the mimic dance we may be sure that its progress has been eelective, and that there is good reason for the perfection of the first of these forms. The second, indeed, appears in the marionette farces which are still much enjoyed by the uneducated classes among ourselves and are in great favour in the East. The third kind, in which the player places himself in direct dramatic relation with the puppet (taking the word in its widest sense), has no analogy in our art, but is most prominent in the fetich cult. And the reason why is easily traced. A fundamental distinc- tion between mimic play and mimic art consists in the fact that the player imitates simply for his own amuse- ment, the artist for the pleasure of others. His is not real play, but exhibition. Bearing this distinction in mind, we see that the third form of play is not applicable to art. In our short review of dramatic imitative play we will not adhere too closely to the three distinctions, but simply inquire what it is that the child imitates. And first we glance at the strange fact that his impersonating impulse extends even to inanimate objects ; the child acts without any feeling of limitation, like the labourers in Midsum- mer-lSTight's Dream, who were ready to take the part of the Wall or the Moon indifferently. During a long and complicated play some child will be a door post, a tree, a seat, a wagon, and a locomotive, and endeavour by his motions and carriage to support these bold illusions. This exhibition of versatility on the part of the child is interesting in its analogy to the expansion of the 302 THE PLAT OF MAN imitative impulse in Eesthetic perception. Such exter- nal personification of lifeless objects corresponds to inner imitation which is itself a kind of personifying. A higher object of dramatic imitation is found in the actions. of animals which, as we have seen, are apt to lead to strongly marked comic effects. They are a source of the liveliest amusement to children, who will crawl like a snake, grunt like a pig, fly like a bird, swim like a fish^ seize and devour prey, make grimaces, wear animal masks^ make shadow pictures, notice and laugh at animals, and perhaps even mimic their movenients.* This last propen- sity has given name and character to many complicated traditional games, such as " Cat and Mouse," " Wolf im Garten," "Fox Chase," "Hen and Hawk," "Fox and Chickens," etc. This manifestation of the child's deep in- terest in the animal world is analogous to animal imitation, in primitive art and animal veneration in primitive reli- gion. In the former connection the animal dance is most conspicuous, being extremely widespread. Masks repre- senting the different animals are commonly worn, and the mo'^^ements of domestic animals, especially the dog, as well as of wild beasts, are reproduced in rhythmic order,t nor are the dancers daunted by swimming and flying. Prob- ably the masking in Greek and Japanese dances is attributable to such an origin, as also the unnaturally placed tails on ancient figures of fauns, for in these dances animal tails were hung in the belt.ij: Hall and Allin, in their valuable treatise so fre- quently cited, attempt to assign a reason for the very special interest which children take in animals. They find my practice and preparation theory in this case " obviously wrong." As a partial explanation they de- velop the view that use of a rudiment produces to a cer- tain degree its atrophy, and that consequently childish imitation of animals "marks the harmless development * Hall and Allin, Psychology of Tickling, Laughing, etc., pp. 15-17. t Miss Shinn reports a kind of animal dance by a child m its third year (op. cit., p. 12T). t Among the varied decorations which the natives of British New Guinea wear at their holiday dances is the bushy tail, which is placed quite as high as on the antique fauns. See A. C. Haddon, Intern. Arcb. t. Ethnogr., vol. xi (1893). DRAMATIC IMITATION IN PLAY 303 of rudimentary animal instincts as they pass to their needed maximal growth, till the next higher powers that control and subordinate them are unfolded, thus recapitu- lating with immense rapidity a very long stage in the evo- lution of the human out of the animal psyche."* It strikes me that this is one of the numerous cases of the too bold application of the seductive but dangerous phylo- genetic theory. Entirely apart from the fact that the idea of weakening as a result of practice seenls improb- able in regard to the imitation of animals as well as in the catharsis theory on which the author seems to base his, it is noteworthy that the child has to make an effort to reproduce the movements, actions, and calls of animals, and this at a time when it has already progressed very far in the acquirement of human capabilities. Therefore, I am unable to subscribe to the theory advanced by these gentlemen. None will deny that the imitative impulse is of great biological importance as practice, and I do not see that any special explanation is needed for its exten- sion to animal actions. If, however, such explanation is required, my theory readily supplies it, for few things are more useful to primitive man than a thorough knowledge of animal life, and playful imitation afforded a much surer means of acquiring this than did mere receptive observation. We now pass to human activities which are chosen as models by children still more than are the activities of animals. It may be stated in general that there is scarcely anything which engages the energy of man which is not made the object of childish imitation. Children of savages naturally have a much smaller repertoire than those of civilized people, but as far as the fact of imi- tation is concerned, and as it appears in child's play, it usually strikes travellers most forcibly, since they are not as a rule alive to the less salient phenomena of experi- mentation. Livingstone says that in central Africa it is remarkable how few playthings the children have; their life seems to be already a serious one, and their only amusement consists in imitating their elders while they * Hall and Allin, Psychology of Tickling, Laughing, etc., pp. 15-17. 304: THE PLAY OP MAN build huts, lay out gardens, or make bows, arrows, shields, and spears. In other places, he says, giving a beautiful instance of childish invention and illusion, many bright children are found who have plenty of attractive toys. They shoot birds with their little bows, and teach cap- tive ones to sing. They are very skilful in setting traps and snares for small birds, as in the preparation and spreading of birdlime. The boys make toy guns out of reeds and shoot grasshoppers.* Many other witnesses confirm all this, though their reports are usually less full and lucid, and we may conclude that the games and sports of adults are also early acquired by the children by means of imitation. Among the "wild men" exhibited in Eu- rope, quite small children are often found who perform the dances of their elders with astonishing accuracy, and travellers tell us that they do the same thing in their homes. Captain Jacobsen once attended a regular Indian child's party, for which the little people painted their faces and stuck feathers in their hair in regulation style. " It was really comical to see little tots of three and four gotten up in this fashion and dancing about with leaps and bounds while older ones beat the wooden drum." f Children of civilized peoples still retain among their plays many heathenish customs which have not been practised by adults within the memory of man. An interesting example will accomplish the transition from savagery, dealing as it does with the powerful influence of the imi- tation of the uncultured on European children. Signe Eink tells of her childhood spent in Greenland : " Like all European children in the country my brothers and sisters and I had a genuine passion for everything per- taining to Greenland; and accordingly, as soon as the door was shut on our elders we tried in every possible way and by all sorts of mimicry to identify ourselves with our playmates. My brother got himself up as a seal hunter from head to foot, and I became an Eskimo woman with waddling gait, who was sternly forbidden to leave the house." And of her play in an Eskimo hut and with * Livingstone's last Journals from Central Africa, t Captain Jacobsen's Eeise an der NordweatkUste Amerikas, 1881-'83, Leipsic, 1884, p. 85. DRAMATIC IMITATION IN PLAY 305 a Greenlandic girl she gives the following delightful de- scription : " We took off our shoes and sat on the warm, comfortable, half -dark part of the couch behind the backs of the grown people. Wherever I was there was Anna, my best friend among the Greenland children. . . . We made quite free with pincushions, dishes, and timepieces! We brought mussel shells and bleached seal bones and made a playhouse in the comer. We took cushions from the great pile and made beds for the puppies. We made mural decorations from coloured chips. Over our heads hung boots, hose, skins, trousers, and timiaks (under- jackets) to dry in the warmth of the lamp or to be out of the way. All these surroundings formed elements in our play. In imagination we had sent our husbands off on a seal hunt, and with thimbles on our first fingers, the Greenland custom, we sewed round flaps for the boot soles of the absent ones." * One can not read such a descrip- tion as this without being impressed with the incalculable influence of imitation on the whole psychic life of the child, not only in relation to externals, but also as affect- ing their deeply rooted sympathies and antipathies, habits and convictions, all of which are deeply influential on the developing character. Baldwin says: "It is not only likely — it is inevitable — that he makes up his personality, under limitation of heredity by imitation, out of the * copy ' set in the actions, temper, emotions of the people who build around him the social inclosure of his child- hood. It is only necessary to watch a two-year-old closely to see what members of the family are giving him his per- sonal ' copy ' — to find out whether he sees his mother constantly and his father seldom; whether he plays much with other children, and what their dispositions are to a degree; whether he is growing to be a person of sub- jection, equality, or tyranny; whether he is assimilating the elements of some low, unorganized social content from his foreign nurse. For, in Leibnitz's phrase, the boy or girl is a social monad, a little world, which reflects the whole system of influences coming to stir its sensibilities. * Signe Eink, Aua dem Leben der Kuropaer in Gronland, Ausland. vol. Ixvi (1893), p. 762. 306 THE PLAY OF MAN And just as far as his sensibilities are stirred lie imi- tates, and forms habits of imitating. And habits? — they are character." * There is hardly any limit to the role playing of civi- lized children. Under normal conditions they naturally take their own parents as models, and even in societies not governed by caste considerations this must have a con- servative influence. But the occupations of others, too, appeal strongly to the imitative impulse, and it is alto- gether probable that such tests of various possibilities often exert an influence on the later choice of a life's call- ing, for play develops predispositions and antipathies. When Schiller was eight or nine years old he was taken to see the magnificent ducal opera house in Ludwigsburg, and was forthwith inspired to produce a similar work; so he built a little theatre of books, and had paper figures to act in it. Soon afterward he got up private theatricals among his sisters and schoolmates. His enjoyment of preaching, too, was shown in his being able, like young Fichte, to repeat, when a child, whole sermons verbatim whose lofty spiritual pathos confirmed his natural inclina- tion toward the priestly calling. Before proceeding to the consideration of special forms of the imitative impulse, I will make a limited selection from a series of observations calculated to illus- trate the variety of childish imitation. The carrier's wagon, the street car, the railroad are as well represented by his own body as by external objects, though the silver knife-rests on our table seems especially adapted for the last, being hitched together and pushed about the table, passing through tunnels, stopping at stations, etc. An old servant who comes to our house daily to see if anything is wanted from the library or post office, regu- larly gets letters which the child has placed in old en- velopes. Another play is for the child to knock at the front door and say to the maid who opens it, " I am an old letter carrier." When asked if she has any letters she answers, "Here is some money for you," and spits in the girl's hand. She comes with a pile of old papers, and * Mental Development, p. 357. DRAMATIC IMITATION IN PLAT 307 asks if we want to buy one. She travels to Coburg be- tween the house and garden, and visits a friend, saying, when she comes back, " I have told Emmy that she must come here soon." For months after a visit to a swimming pool she practises swimming in the garden; standing on a chair holding her nose she jumps in the grass, where she tries to copy the movements of swimmers. She said, wien. five years old, to her doll: "Lisa, in an hour you go to Frau Schneider, and when she asks you, * What is, the sky is blue ? ' you must say, ' Le ciel est bleu ' ; and when she asks, * What is, the tree is green ? ' you must say, ' L'arbre est vert.' " At six and a half she gave her doll writing and piano lessons. In the latter she grasped the doll so that by means of pressure on the hidden mechanism she elicited from it accompanying wails, at regular intervals and in good time. The capacity for illusion is always the most interest- ing feature of such play. The same child varies greatly in this respect: sometimes he seems entirely given up to self-deception ; he will offer you a meal of candy in which one bit represents the meat, another the vegetables, etc., and is quite hurt if you are guilty of confusing" these dishbs. Sometimes, too, when he has concocted various dainties out of mud, he can not resist the temptation to bite into the brown mass, although in his calmer mo- ments he well knows that mud is not edible. On the other hand, the waking consciousness seems to be unshaken through it all. If you warn the playing child not to hurt his rocking horse, he will answer that it is only a wooden horse, without, however, abating his zeal in the play. Then, again, the whole thing is laid out before- hand, as in this case. Marie : " Then let's play that I am a thief, and there is a whole roomful of cakes, and the door is shut, and I cut a hole in it and take all the cakes away, and you are the policeman and run after me and get all the cakes back again." Frieda : " And I will take them to my child. Or shall we play birthday?" When choice is thus offered between various possibilities there is, of course, much variation in the strength of the illusion, and the sudden transitions of the imagination are o'f ten very striking. For instance, one small dramatist 308 THE PLAY OP MAN called two combs -which he held together a biscuit, and said it had an excellent taste, and the next moment was locking them to sleep with tender solicitude. We have already noticed the child's extraordinary capacity for supplying any deficiencies in the object of his fantasy; he has no difficulty in accepting two upright pencils as towers, an umbrella for a baby, with grass stalks at- tached to it for flowing locks. At the risk of giving too much space to this phase of the subject I will describe a baptismal festival in 1896, which was participated in by half a dozen children from five to fourteen years old, at our house. For the adults ■chairs were provided and placed in regular rows, and they were required to bring tickets of admission which a duly accredited doorkeeper received. All the children were deeply affected during the official parts of the ceremony, especially the young mother, who showed as she brought the doll infant forward a really pallid face, and the four- teen-year-old minister was so moved by his solemn office that he lost his place after the first sentence. On the cer- tificate of baptism was the proverb : " Ihm ruhen nooh im Zeitensohoose Die sohwarzen und die heitern Loose " ; * and the programme, whose second part seems to throw some doubt on the lofty idealism of the children, was as follows: PEOGEAMME FOB THE.OHEISTENIKO OF ILSE, ELIZABETH, AND EBIEA BOHMB I. Baptism. 1. Sermon. II. LCNOH. First course, pastry. Second course, ham and asparagus. Third course, fish and potatoes. Fourth course, tongue and cabbage. Fifth cfnirse, beefsteak with sauce. Sixth coiu-se. poultry and salad. Seventh course, roast pork and chestnuts. * " Time's pas^aere sliall unfold for him Fortune bright and fortune dim." DRAMATIC IMITATION IN PLAY 309 ; Eighth course, venison and compote. Ninth course, pies. Tenth course, ices. Eleventh course, cheese and pumpernickel. Hi. CONCLDSION. 1. Convei-aation. 2. Games. 3. Domino party, 4. Dancing. Amid the bewildering variety of childish dramatic play two specialized groups seem to be particularly promi- nent. As stated in the general introduction the imitative impulse IS often aroused by an intensive stimulus calcu- lated to call into play other stimuli as well, one of the most prominent being the fighting instinct— playful imi- tations of all sorts of contests— as vigorously practised by boys, for, however much education may be said to foster it, their inborn nature sets the pace. The old story of Achilles's choice of a sword, though he had been brought up like a girl, is well founded. Among savages the chase and manly contests are the constant models for playing boys, while among ourselves, besides playing soldier, many such sports are kept alive solely through tradition. This is the case, too, with less cultured peo- ples, the bow and arrow being used as toys long after they are abandoned for serious warfare.* Since so many of these plays have been enumerated with the other fighting plays, I will not here single them out, but rather confine myself to a notable example from eth- nology. Just as our children chase each other, take prisoners and execute them, so do the little ones of the Seram Islands play at decapitation. "A favourite game of young and old," says Joest, "is that of cutting off heads, for vrhich the children are armed with light wooden swords. A cocoanut is hidden in the shrubbery, and their naked bodies wind like snakes through the grass and thicket in search of it. An arrow or lance is hurled into the air when the nut is found, and a couple of well- directed blows with the sword sends it bounding away, * W. Svoboda, Die Bewohner das Nikobaren-Archipels. Intern. Arch. f. Ethnogr., vol. v (1892). 310 THE PLAY OF MAN \ severed from its stem. The victor, holding his boot;^ in his left hand and exulting in his triumph, runs off :^t a gallop, pursued by the entire crowd, shouting and '^;rali- dishing their weapons." * / The nursing or fostering instinct which is so x/iromi- nent in the imitative play of little girls deserves more attention. A special section is devoted to such play among animals in my former work, but I admit that I am myself somewhat sceptical in regard to sona?* of the ex- amples quoted there, though I was most ■jareful to get the testimony of trustworthy investigators. Among ani- mals, moreover, some sorts of nursing play are wanting, such, for instance, as that in which a lifeless object is treated as a veritable infant.f The feeding of young birds of a second brood by their older brothers and sisters seems to me entitled to be called a nursing play, and Naumann observed this in the case of water wagtails. Altum reports the same behaviour by canary birds, and vouches for having seen young water wagtails who were still wearing their first feathers feed young cuckoos.t That this is a play can scarcely be questioned, and it must be imitative since the parent birds are taken as models, but whether it is dramatic illusion play is an- other question and a doubtful one, for there is always actual feeding with actual food; not, as with children, a mere pretence. Tet I am very doubtful whether there would be any nursing plays among children without pa- rental models, and for that reason it has been included among imitative plays in this book instead of being given a separate section. We then conclude that the maternal instinct is present in little girls, but first attains expres- sion in play on the rise of ,the imitative impulse. We have a direct analogue to the bird examples when an older child assumes the role of toother to a younger with purely playful and imitative motives. Dramatic illusion first comes in when sham activity is involved, as may be the case with dolls, other children, or even * W". Joest, Weltfahrten, Berlin, 1895, vol. ii, p. 162. t Peohuel-Loesche's report of a monkey's play witli a doll shows that it was mere experimentation (The Play of Animals, p. 169). t B. Altnm, Der Vogel und sein Leben, Milnster, 1895, pp. 188, 189. DRAMATIC IMITATION IN PLAY 311 adults as the subjects. We must conclude, then, that the imitative impulse is fully developed only when imagina- tion supplements the copy. Baldwin gives a particularly pretty instance of dramatic nursing play where the older sister takes the part of mother to the younger.* As regards the use of dolls it would be interesting to know whether the child would of its own accord so treat any beloved object if it had never seen a real doll made by adults, but the artificial doll is always provided so early that there is no opportunity to make the experi- ment. In the slums of a great city a proper subject might perhaps be found. However, we know that the child's powers of illusion are amazing. A cushion, a stick, a building block, an umbrella, a dust brush, or a footstool, a table cover, a slipper, a fork, in short, any- thing portable, is liable to become a beloved and zealously nurtured baby, and every detail is quickly arranged to suit the picture.f Finally, a few words as to the origin of this toy. Its use is well-nigh universal, and one of the sights most worth seeing in an ethnological museimi is a collection of dolls from all over the world. They are made of clay, of edible earth, of wax, of wood, of bark, of cloth, of porcelain, etc., and imitations of the human figure blend with those of animals, of household furni- ture and utensils, of arms and implements of different sorts in motley variety.t They serve to illustrate human progress. In mediasval Europe, in ancient Home, in Greece — everywhere the doll was at home. The old mu- seum in Berlin, for example, possesses a wooden doll from the Egyptian excavations, which has movable legs, and a crocodile whose jaws can open and shut. Since these images of men and animals were probably the earliest form of toys, the conclusion is natural that they probably originated with idols which from religious feeling may have lain in the cradles and thus appealed to the children as playthings. Other customs and the testimony of * Mental Development, p. 362 (omitted from the German version). t Thus, to mention one example, Marie G had no sooner adopted a small thermometer as a haby than she spied the tassel which it hung up by, and called everybody's attention to its lovely head. X The Japanese collection in the Berlin Museum is the finest that I have ever seen. 21 312 THE PLAY OP MAN travellers give colour to ttis idea, though it is difficult to draw the line between the idol and the doll.* Through the kindness of my former colleague, Sticker, at Giessen, I myself own an old Indian wooden doll, which appears suited to be both a protection from evil spirits and a toy for children. Still, we must not allow to pass unchal- lenged any manifestation of the disposition which used to be so common, to refer everything to a religious origin. It is quite possible that simple pleasure in plastic repre- sentation for its own sake is responsible for the manufac- ture of these toys. Von den Steinen tells us, "Dolls a span long, made of straw, served as children's toys, and were also stuck in a pole on the roof of their places of festivity as a sign that some frolic was in' progress, and everybody spread the news." f There is nothing here to hint at a religious significance. Of dramatic imitation play by adults we find only a few remnants among civilized people, aside from mimicry on the one hand and the borders of art on the other, where imitation is not exhibited as an end in itself, but rather in relation to its effect on the spectators, and there- fore is no longer a genuine play. Professional actors " play " only in particularly happy hours. The case is quite otherwise, however, with savages, whose imitative dances, while conducted in the presence of spectators, it is true, are unmistakably for the enjoyment of the par- ticipants first, somewhat as are our amateur theatricals. We have already described animal and erotic dances, which are also imitative, of course, and all interesting, comic, and exciting elements of their life are repeated in various dramatic dances, fighting scenes being favourite subjects. I choose an example whose details most strongly recall the capacity for illusion possessed by children. It is a woman's dance which K. Semper saw in the Palau Islands : " We could already hear the rustling of their leafy garments, which swung in time with the dancers' movements as they stood in a long row. Their aprons * See J. Walter Fewkes, Dolls of the Tusayan Indians. Int. Arch. f. Ethnogr., vol. vii (1894). Fewkes is very careful about committing him- iself on this point. t Op. dt, p. 254. DRAMATIC IMITATION IN PLAY 313 were of the briefest, their naked bodies were fantastically painted in gay colours. In one hand they carried short wooden instruments which seemed to be weapons, and in the other a staff covered with a skilfully made tuft of white shavings, tipped with red. They marched in a row on to the raised platform whose roof sheltered them from the sun, and now the dance began. The beginner sang a verse without moving, then all repeated it as a chorus with accompanying rustling of the leafy gowns and beckoning movements of the arms. Soon they became more active, and apparently wished to express joy and greeting. Each seized her wooden instrument — a neigh- bour told me that they represented weapons — and made light swinging movements before her. During this war dance they gradually removed from the starting point. A sudden loud cry, wild movements of the arms and whole body, excited singing and blazing eyes betokened the ex- pectation of approaching battle. . . . The dancers' move- ments became wilder, they stamped their feet, their hands dealt blows in time with the song — here to strike a fallen foe, there to sever a head. At last victory is won. They grasp the wands bearing the gay tufts and raise them aloft, then lower them diagonally to the ground. ' What does that mean, Frau Ebadul ? ' I ask. ' That is the battle of the Inglises against Aibukit, whom they are besieg- ing; now they are firing the villages — ^the yellow tufts are flanies to light the huts with.' " Aside from the rhythmical movement which is needed to complete the power of illusion for adults, this is very like the dramatic imitative play of children. 3. Plastic or Constructive Imitative Play Under this heading are grouped external representa- tions of two or three dimensions, thus including draw- ing as well as the moulding commonly understood as plastic. Here it is more difficult to distinguish between play and art than in dramatic imitation, since, while the child nursing her doll, or putting his tin soldiers through a drill, thinks not at all of spectators, and how they will be affected; even an infant artist is always eager to show what he can do. It can, however, be generally prevised 314 THE PLAY OF MAN that pictorial imitation is a play only when pure joy in the act of production fills the soul of the copyist. I begin with imitative drawing, which seems to be widely practised, not only by children but by primitive people as well, and will therefore claim most of our atten- tion. Its origin is not clearly determined, though von den Steinen's observations make out the case pretty clearly for their connection with language of gesture. " The simplest drawings," he says, " are those connected with gesture. When a savage repeats the cry of an animal in one of his spirited dramatic tales and wishes to make the effect more forcible, he also imitates the creature's bearing, gait, and movements, and pictures special pecul- iarities, such as long ears, trunk, horns, etc., in the- air with his hand. Such actions for the eye form a parallel to the voice imitation for the ear, but when they still do not suffice, drawings are made on the sand. In the absence of word equivalents for communicating with them I myself have often taken refuge in such sand writ- ing." * He goes on to say that he thinks, although his observation has been confined to Indian tribes, the further development of drawing followed for the purposes of com- munication after the idea of making pictures was once grasped; and that finally they were made without such practical aim, efforts were made to improve the technique, and all sorts of natural objects were represented in inter- esting and novel aspects.f I know of nothing that should hinder us from accept- ing this luminous explanation and applying it to the origin of all drawing but for one point, which does offer some difficulty. That a primitive hunter should imitate animal bearing, gait, and movement is easily accounted for by the instinct for dramatic imitation, but it takes us no nearer to our goal; and, moreover, how does it happen that he adds the outline of ears, trunk, or horns in the air to complete the picture ? On this point the whole question depends. Would this mode of suggesting con- tour ever occur to a man who had never seen drawing? Does not the former presuppose the latter, instead of ac- * Unter den Naturvcilkern Central-Brasiliens, p. 230. f Ibid. t PLASTIC OR CONSTJBUCTIVB IMITATIVE PLAT 315 counting for it? I do not presume to judge of the force of this objection, but feel that we can not afford to ignore it. If it is a just one, von den Steinen's explanation of course falls to the ground, and there is apparently nothing left but to refer the whole subject to playful experimenta- tion. In this case we would best proceed from the sand drawing, since it is probable that the child or adult play- fully marking on the sand accidentally produces some semblance to a natural object and adopts it as his own. Thus the child observed by Miss Shinn accidentally produced (110th week) a triangle in the midst of aim- less scribbling, and repeated it afterward with conscious intent.* While absolute certainty is unattainable in such instances, it would still be valuable to make observations on a child who had never seen a pencil used for drawing or writing. Should such a one go on from scribbling to drawing, our play idea would receive valuable confirma- tion. Another question is how far drawing, however ac- quired, may be regarded as a play. The finished produc- tion of the artist's pencil is not always so, by any means, for in modem times his art requires all a man's energies, and becomes his life calling and his means of support. Productions of dilettantes belong more to our sphere. But how is it with primitive folk? Here, too, the play idea is often excluded, for the reason that their drawings serve religious purposes, or are used as picture writing; yet, according to the views of recent ethnologists, it would be misleading to refer such drawing exclusively to these ends. "We are convinced," says Grosse, "that in the drawings of savage people, with comparatively few ex- ceptions, neither a religious nor any other serious pur- pose is involved. We are perfectly right in trusting the numerous witnesses who assure us that such drawings are made simply for the pleasure of making them."t This establishes the pre-eminently playful character of primi- tive drawing and sculpture, and the efforts of children are still more obviously so. Imitative and imaginative play here join hands, the former making the point of depart- » Op. dt., p. 98. See also Sully's Studies, p. 333. t Op. dt., p. 198. 316 THE PLAY OP MAN ure while the expanding and illuminating power of the latter is needed to complete the satisfaction in the fin- ished product. As I am unfortunately unable to go into details,* I close the subject with some general remarks on the char- acter of such drawing. For the child and for the savage the chief object of representation is one of the most dif- ficult of all, namely, living animals. Miss Shinn's niece, who began with mathematical figures, is an exception ac- counted for by the fact that she was intentionally directed toward abstract form. Even the geometrical patterns in primitive ornamentation may often be traced to the imi- tation of animals, and a distinction between the work of these people and that of children lies in the fact that they prefer such figures while children incline to the human figure, which is rarely represented by savages. The ex- planation of this is that for the hunter the animals which he pursues form the chief objects of his imagination, as any sportsman among ourselves who begins to draw will illustrate. A third view is presented when we ask what is the psychological antecedent of imitation. In civilized art it is as a rule conscious perception of the actual ob- ject, as genuine artists rarely paint from memory. But it is quite otherwise with children; they object to draw- ing from Nature, as H. T. Lukens points out.f They prefer to make the absent present by their art, and their passion for drawing is considerably dampened by the practice in observation which school discipline requires. The child's model is commonly a mental image, a fact which explains many of his particularities. The savage, too, from what we know of his art, seems to produce it not directly from the object, but from his impression of it, and thus it happens that he represents effects of things which are not visible to the beholder now, though * See on this point Grosse's Anfange der Kunst and the chapter on The Young Draughtsman in Sully's Studies of Childhood. If space allowed I could give similar particulars of my nephew Max K 's work. In this boy the artistic impulse all turned to the representation of ani- mals, in which he hecame a master. He took the great scissors and cut away almost without looking, and with every turn of the shears he turned his body too (an instance of the outer effects of inner imitation). t H. T. Lukens, Die Entwiokelung beim Zeiohnen, Die Kinder- fehler, ii (1897). PLASTIC OR CONSTRUCTIVE IMITATIVE PLAY 317 they may have been elements of the scene which he recol- lects, and explains, too, in part his almost incredible errors in proportion and in the relative position of things, such as placing the mustache of a European above the eyes, or even on top of the head* This suggests the distinc- tion which Grosse makes between childish and primitive art.. He thinks it strange that the two are even con- sidered to be on a par, since children seldom show a trace of the hunter's close observation. The art of savages is, as a rule, naturalistic, that of children symbolic; the only actual resemblance being the lack of perspective in both. This view certainly contains an important germ of truth, but the statement is extreme. It is true that many drawings of primitive man display a remarkable truth to ISTature, impossible to a child, and, as Grosse rightly says, resulting from trained powers of observation joined to the dexterity acquired in the manipulation of weapons and tools. But this wider knowledge and greater skill seem to me to be the sole grounds of difference, and the sharp distinction of naturalistic and symbolic unwar- ranted. Of course, drawing is in itself to a great degree symbolic, but the symbolism displayed by children, surpris- ing as it often is, does not betoken any special preference for symbolism, but often results partly from incapacity and partly from the exigencies of the subject being repre- sented. When full representation is unattainable they are satisfied to make their meaning intelligible, and sav- ages, too, often resort to similar expedients. Grosse him- self gives us some Australian dravdngs on wood where the human face is represented without a mouth, just as often happens in childish efforts. In these figures the fingers are symbolized by m^re lines. In his valuable chapter on drawing among the Bakairi, von den Steinen points out still closer analogy with children's work. He says, for' example, that, as a rule, only three fingers and toes are indicated, to serve as a suggestion for the rest. It seems to me that it is then rather a question of more or less than any real difference. Our next topic is the question of beauty, and here, too, * Von den Steinen, Unter den Naturvolkern, p. 235. 318 THE PLAY OF MAN the child and the savage are close parallels. Both have a certain interest in the introduction of colour which ap- peals to them, both object to carrying out the full type, both probably draw from memory, and both lack almost totally the appreciation of beautiful form. The savage, indeed, does introduce the simpler elements of beautiful form in his ornamentation, but in his representations of human and animal figures there is little effort to preserve such outlines. This bears out our former conclusion that savages have little appreciation for physical beauty as such, and with children it is much the same. Some chil- dren, it is true, make a general distinction between people who are beautiful and those who are ugly, but in draw- ing not only the ability but often the intention as well is wanting, to produce beautiful faces. When they do attempt something definite in the way of expression it is much more likely to be caricature of homeliness than beauty. It is known also that this tendency is especially displayed in periods of highly developed art, and more particularly by the Germans. A final observation refers to children alone. I have already noted that imitative play, in which the player ap- pears in dramatic relation to the puppet, while common enough with children, is not found in adult art unless at the most a partial analogy is traceable in some religious connections ; these same principles apply to drawing. The child plays with the figures he has drawn as with dolls, and gives us a most attractive picture of his capacity for illusion. Marie G , when four and a half years old, wanted to draw a holy family. First came a kneeling figure, whose position was most precarious — ^his knees would not bend properly, and for reverently folded hands there was a confusion of crossing lines. The little artist cried with annoyance : " The naughty child doesn't want to kneel. Joseph will be angry with him because he won't kneel down and say his prayers ; he is stamping and scold- ing. — Tou naughty child, won't you kneel down now and pray? " In the meantime she made Joseph (asking if he wore trousers), with his foot raised to stamp on the ground, and then came the kneeling figure — a good child now, at last. A little of this capacity for illusion is PLASTIC OR CONSTRUCTIVE IMITATIVE PLAY 319 sometimes found among full-grown artists, and especially among the naive religious painters who are conscious of the divine indwelling as they make their representations of religious subjects. The consideration of plastic imitative play in its nar- rower sense will occupy us but a short time. Von den Steinen's explanation of drawing, given above, will hardly apply here. The probable starting point for such figures was the accidental resemblance of some outline to weapons, implements, or ornaments. The child's ready capacity for illusion which is as likely to call a circular outline an umbrella as a human head is not wanting in adults as well, and especially so among primitive people. When he makes a dagger handle out of a reindeer horn, or a necklace of various small objects, or adorns a clay vessel with impressions, and enjoys doing these things, his hands thus rendered skilful need but little help to make other images. Another possible origin is in experimenta- tion with plastic material, such as clay or wax, which would naturally lead to moulding. The first hypothesis is well illustrated by von den Steinen's description of the chain figures of the Bakairi; He says, " As the rhyme often suggests the thought, so an outline already familiar may suggest a motive " ; the meagre suggestions which satisfy savages in such cases " is evident in most of the figures which adorn their neck- laces, strung between seeds, shells, and nuts. It matters not what is the material — a bit of the spiral of a rose- coloured snail shell with an irregular outline does duty as a crab; from the shell of the Caramujo hranco {Orthali- cus melanostornus) they cut birds and fishes; . . . bits of green and black mottled stone are fishes when flat and birds when rounded, and sometimes Nature is assisted in carrying out these resemblances. Fruit, too, was used which bore an accidental resemblance to some sort of bird." * But Brazilian plastic art includes the other type as well; they mould figures in wax and in the edible clay which furnished their forefathers with food. As a man * Unter den Naturvolkem, etc., p. 251. 320 THE PLAY OF MAN held a lump of clay in his hand the impulse may have heen aroused by some accidental resemblance, and thus give rise in a purely playful manner to the custom which von den Steinen has called " only a skilful method of storing the material. . . . Black wax was most beautifully moulded by the Mehinaku into excellent animal forms and suspended around the neck or laid away in a basket until wanted." * That this was a playful habit is proved by the maize figures of the same tribe. These were usually bird forms almost as large as turkeys, and hung from the roof on long ropes, " A strange spectacle to the traveller who thinks at once of idols or fetiches, but these fine birds are in reality nothing but well-filled ears of corn in the natural husks/' f We can not here go into the higher forms of primitive sculpture, but it may be mentioned in passing that even such aboriginal tribes as the Indians of central Brazil often make use of their plastic skill for symbolic decoration. Thus the Mehinaku adorn the upper end of their wooden spades with the carved head of a mud wasp, because they too dig in the ground and throw up the dirt as the Indian does with his tool.t We must pass still more hurriedly over the plastic efforts of children, which are of much less importance than their drawings, though among the children of sav- ages the disposition to attempt a rude sort of sculpture is much more common than with us. Nachtigal relates that the negro children of Runga formed rhinoceroses and ele- plants out of the beautiful red clay which abounds there.* There are individual instances of a similar kind among civilized children. Eicci has taken some trouble to make a collection of such work by Italian children, and finds it differs less from the efforts of savages than their draw- ing does. II On the whole, however, this branch of art * Dnter deu Naturvolkem, pp. 251, 254, 255, 257. i Ibid. X Ibid. * G. Naohtigal, Sahara und Sudan, Leipsie, 1889, vol. iii, p. 133. See, too, Knabenspiele im dunlieln Welttheil, Deutsche Kolomalzeitung, 1898, No. 42. I Conrada Klooi, L'arte dei Bambini, Bologna, 188T. The young Canova, when a liitchen boy, betrayed his talent as a sculptor by mould- ing a lion in butter. PLASTIC OR CONSTRUCTIVE IMITATIVE PLAY 321 aeems to be comparatively little prized or pursued with the exception of making snow men and some caricatures in wax, dough fruits, and the fashioning in sand of gar- dens, streets, cities, tunnels, and forts which are all about as much imitative play as production. In conclusion I offer a few general remarks on imita- tion in connection with representative art, where three forms of it can be distinguished — objective, artistic, and subjective imitation. The first consists, as we have seen, in repetition founded on sense-perception and simple memory, while the last permits considerable deviation from reality. The child and probably the savage prefers to produce from memory. Artistic imitation may be defined as the influence of copies produced by other artists. It plays in art the same role as that which falls to tradition in general cul- ture, for without it the artistic genius would have lit- tle advantage over the gifted savage; indeed, even with him artistic imitation is of great importance. It is not alone the wish to do what others have attained ; it is also the via regia to the higher evolution of art. A stimulat- ing task is to trace in history how originality was won by copying. Baldwin's little girl began to build a church from blocks after a picture. When she has laid the foun- dation, suddenly her face lights up and she begins to de- part from the model. On being reminded by her father that churches are not built in that way she answers, " Oh, no; I am making an animal with a head and a tail and four legs," and, full of pride in her new discovery, she returns to her work of art, which is no longer a church, but has been turned into an animal.* We see here, as in a magnifying glass, the law of progress. Not in random discharges but from real action comes the new; and the action that leads to the new is not original, but must be imitative.f This imitative action must not only always have an- other artist's work as its model; here may enter our prin- ciple of subjective or self-imitation, which, indeed, is more a physiological than a psychological principle since * Social and Ethical Interpretations, p. 106. t Ibid. pp. 94 ff. 322 THE PLAT OF MAN it is no other than all-powerful habit in its spontaneous form, the impulse to repeat. Children best illustrate it, but the familiar saying that genius consists in an infinite capacity for taking pains is a popular expression of the fact that progress de- pends on indefatigable perseverance. It is Baldwin's persistent imitation again. And self -imitation is as indispensable to progress as is the imitation of others, acting in conjunction with the law of habit, accord- ing to which the frequent use of an act tends to make it easy. The conservative principle of imitation fur- nishes a basis for higher development by supplying an incentive for the mechanical effort required by the first laborious accomplishment of the task, as well as for the introduction of new details and the application of effect- ive variations. Here, too, an example from child psy- chology clearly shows the coupling of new with old habits. A child observed by Perez had learned to draw a loco- motive, and was so charmed with the accomplishment that he did not want to draw anything else. One day his grandmother wanted him to make a portrait of her, and what did the boy do but draw a locomotive with a first- class carriage attached, and his grandmother's head pro- truding from one of the windows ! * In similar way the painting of landscape began in history with little pieces of background piping out of figure pictures. 4. Inner Imitation The conviction has long prevailed t among German students of sesthetics that one of the weightiest problems of their science is offered by that familiar process by which we put ourselves into the object observed, and thus attain a sort of inward sympathy with it. In France the same problem has been treated in a notable manner by Jouffroy, who says, " Imiter en soi I'etat exterieurement * B. Perez, L'art et la po&ie chez I'eufant, Paris, 1888, p. 200. The self-evident truth that forces the contrary of imitation are also operative in the progress of art is not the proper subject of this investigation. t J. Volkelt, Der Symbol-Be.irriff in der neuesten Aesthetik, Jena, 1876 ; and P. Stem, Einfadlung und Association in der neueren Aes- thetik, Hamburg and Leipsio, 1898. INNER IMITATION 323 manifeste de la nature vivante, o'est ressentir I'effet esthetique f ondamental." * In this very complicated process we can distinguish these leading characteristics: la. The mind conceives of the experience of the other individual as if it were its own. lb. We live through the psychic states which a lifeless object would experience if it possessed a mental life like our own. 2a. We in- wardly participate in the movements of an external ob- ject. 2&. We also conceive of the motions which a body at rest might make if the powers which we attribute to it were actual (the fluidity of form). 3. We transfer the temper, which is the result of our own inward sympathy, to the object and speak of the solemnity of the sublime, the gaiety of beauty, etc. By including all these under the rather inadequate name of aesthetic sympathy, and bearing in mind what we learned in the review of sesthetic pleasure, we can not fall into the error of supposing that they include the whole field ; yet at the same time we must see that their explana- tion involves not only its most difficult but also its most important problem. Why is this? The attempt might be made to answer this question entirely in terms of the psychology of association, only we should then be forced to designate processes as associ- ational which do not at all come under the original defini- tion of the word — namely, processes of fusing or blending, which is not the bringing of a succession of disparate ideas into special relations, but rather a unifying process, in which the after-effect of past experience and the pres- ent perception blends to an inseparable synthesis. I select, then, as an example, the latest utterance of Xipps on the impression produced by a Doric column, cit- ing only those points which seem to meet our purpose. He speaks first of the mechanical method of regarding the column and then continues: "But another element follows this naturally. Mechanical events external to us are not the only things in the world. There are events lying nearer to us in every sense of the word since they place within us ; and these are similar or analogous to the * Jouffroy, Cours d'esthetique, Paris, 1845, p. 256. 324 THE PLAY OF MAN external events. Moreover, we have the disposition to re- gard similar things from the same point of view, and this point of view is determined preferably by the nearest object. Therefore we compare what happens externally with what happens in or to ourselves and judge of it ac- cording to the analogy of our own experience." After remarking that such a method of observation is implied in such expressions as " strength," " aspiration," etc., as ap- plied to a column, Lipps goes on : " Our satisfaction is not of the general kind which applies to the universal idea of strength, effort, activity. Every mechanical event has its special character or its special manner of fulfilment. This may be easier, more untrammelled, or more difficult, and requiring the overcoming of more serious obstacles; it may require greater or less expenditure of ' force.' All this reminds us of our own inner processes and evokes those, not indeed identical in character, but analogous. It presents to us an image of similar effort on our own part, and with it the peculiar personal sensations which accompany the act. The mechanical event which seems to fulfil itself ' with ease ' incites us to an equally simple and expeditious act; the violent expenditure of vigorous mechanical energy, to an exertion of our own will power, to which is added the feeling of lightness and freedom proper to a self-originated act, and in other cases the not less agreeable feeling of our own strength." Omitting what intervenes I add the conclusion of the treatise: " From the conditions indicated there results not, indeed, the entire aesthetic impression produced by a Doric col- umn, but a considerable part of it. The vigorous curves and spring of such a pillar afford me joy by reminding me of those qualities in myself and of the pleasure I derive from seeing them in another. I sympathize with the column's manner of holding itself and attribute to it qualities of life because I recognise in it proportions and other relations agreeable to me. Thus all enjoyment of form, and indeed all aesthetic enjoyment whatsoever, re- solves itself into an agreeable feeling of sympathy." * * Dr. Lipps, Rannasthetik und geometrisohe-optische Tausohungen, Leipsio, 1897, p. 6. INNER IMITATION 325 Here we encounter the diflS.culty mentioned above. It is evident from these extracts that this is a case of succes- sive associations. We are " reminded " of similar subjec- tive processes, and the " idea " of similar acts of our own is " evoked," be they facile or strenuous. But successive associations are not available as an element in sesthetic enjoyment, as Lipps * goes on to say : " Moreover, aU this takes place without reflection. Just as we do not first see the pillar and subsequently work out its mechanical interpretation, so the second, personal interpretation, can not be said to follow the other. The being of the column, as I perceive it, is necessitated by mechanical causes which themselves appear to me to be from the stand- point of human action." t Then we have not a true image of our own deeds before us; we are not actually " reminded," for the process is one of simultaneous fu- sion, in which the consequences of earlier experience unite with sense-perception to effect a direct harmony. From this direct blending at the instant of perception we see why, to the observer, the pillar seems to hold itself " as I do when I brace myself and stand up straight." Assuming that this simple presentation of the psy- chology of inner sympathy furnishes the elements of an explanation, still, in my opinion, the state of sesthetic enjoyment is not yet sufficiently accounted for. The fu- sion processes described form part of a general psycho- logical fact, and it is impossible to complete an act of apperception without such synthesis. The question must be answered as to how sesthetic perception is differentiated as a particular satisfaction from general apperception; and the answer brings us directly to the idea of play. Take thunder, for example. On the ground of the syn- thetic process, its roar makes, universally and naturally, the impression of a mighty voice raised in anger. The child has that impression when it frightens him; so has the savage man when he regards it with religious awe. But neither feeling is on that account sesthetic ; that comes only when the hearer enjoys the emotional effect of the phenomenon as such, rendered possible by the process of fu- * See P. Stern, op. dt., p. 46. * Op. cit., p. 7. 326 THE PLAY OF MAN sion ; when he has an independent, self-centred pleasure in this result — that is to say, when he plays. The same re- marks apply to the column. It is self-evident that we can not think of its upward spring without calling in our ear- lier experiences, but it seems to me to be just as apparent that in sesthetic perception the impression is intentionally lingered over only for the sake of its pleasure-giving qualities, i. e., playfully. Further, I think it is certain that there is in the play of sesthetic enjoyment a condition of consciousness analo- gous to that underlying a special class of plays — namely, the experimental. The force of this analogy has impelled various students of various lands, independently of one another, to this common goal. It is, of course, only a rela- tionship of conditions of consciousness, not genuine iden- tity; but we may affirm this much — namely, that inner sympathy is at least as closely connected with dramatic imitation as the latter is with plastic imitation. If the dramatic begins with a mere motor reaction, which tends more and more to identify itself with self -transference into the condition of another being, then inner imitation appears as but a further step toward spiritualizing the imitative impulse. When, therefore, I designate aBsthetic sympathy as a play of inner imitation I believe I have correctly characterized the psychic attitude of sesthetic enjoyment as far as it is based on the fusion processes. But I must go a step further. So far we have had in mind only past acts and their effects as the psychological precedent of such sjrmpathy, and herein lies, in my opin- ion, the inadequacy of the whole associative method. The sympathy of an aesthetic nature possesses such warmth and intimacy, and such progressive force, that the effects of former experience, however indispensable, are not suffi- cient, as Volkelt, Dilthey, Th. Ziegler, and A. Biese have justly remarked. Mere echoes of the past can not bring about what I understand as the play of inner imitation. On the strength of my experience I hold fast to inner imi- tation as an actuality, and one connected with motor pro- cesses, which bring it into much closer touch with external imitation than the foregoing dissertation would indicate. I have intentionally made use of the qualifications " in. INNER IMITATION 327 , » ti 1 my opinion, m my experienoe," etc. For, theoretically at least, I must admit the possibility that persons may exist for whom aesthetic enjoyment does not get beyond the stage here indicated. All that follows relates to those only in whose sesthetic pleasures motor accompani- ments are apparent, whether subjects of consciousness or inaccessible to the self-examiner. In attempting to develop the main points of this fuller conception of inner imitation, I first take up the analogy between the child's dramatic imitation and esthetic sym- pathy.* The child playing with a doll raises the lifeless thing temporarily to the place of a symbol of life. He lends the doll his own soul whenever he answers a ques- tion for it; he lends to it his feelings, conceptions, and aspirations; he gives to it the pretence of mobility by posing it in a manner that implies movement, or by his simple fiat when he asserts that it has nodded, or beck- oned, or opened its mouth. Here the resemblance to sesthetic sympathy is already strong, and is still further augmented by the use of the child's own body as the in- strument of his mimic play. His attitudes and positions are then symbolic. The boy who with the paltry aid of a paper helmet and a stick to stride can identify himself with the cavalry oflScer whom he imitates has the soul of a fighter, ^nd he can extend this power of symbolic imi- tation to inanimate things as well; kneeling with his hands on the floor, he is a bench which easily turns into a locomotive as soon as forward motion and the puffing sound suggest it. We have here illustrated the power of illusion to convert a mere symbol into the thing symbol- ized, entering fully into the pretence and yet not confus- ing itself with reality, just as in sesthetic sympathy. Thus imitation proves itself to be the author of the symbol. This external imitation proclaims the inner. "What, then, constitutes the difference between the two, and how are we to define inner imitation in the fuller sense in which it is used here ? We have seen that external imita- * I have dwelt on this point both in my Einleitung in die Aesthetik and in the Spiele der Thiere. Further treatment of it may be found in. K. Lange's Kunstlerisoher Erziehung der deutschen Jugend. 23 328 THE PLAY OF MAN tion is at the same time inner sympathy, and the external bodily movements are chiefly directed toward further- ance of this and of the transference of self which accom- panies it. But how ,is it when external visible imitative movements are wanting? Is inner sympathy to be con- ceived of as merely a brain process in which only the recollection of past movements, attitudes, etc., is blended with sense perception? By no means. There is still activity, and that in the common sense of the word as it relates to motor processes. It is manifested in various movements whose imitative character may not be per- ceptible to others. In this instantaneous perception of the movements actually in progress I find the central fact with which blend, on the one hand, imitation of past expe- riences, and on the other the perceptions of sense. Inquiry concerning the complex movements of inner imitation is not yet past its opening stages, but so much seems to be established — namely, that by it are called forth movement and postural sensations (especially those of equilibrium), light muscular innervation, together with visual and respiratory movement, all of which are of great importance. Movements of the eyes have been given special attention by E. Vischer,* sensations of rest by Oouturat.f Wundt has made eye movements of gen- eral psychological interest, and S. Strieker t has attempted to do the same for the muscular sensations called forth by the central impulses (at the present stage, including principally tactile sensations of the skin, as well as mus- cular and joint sensations). Intensely interesting is the article by Vernon Lee and Anstruther-Thomson on beauty and its contrary,* which quotes a number of ob- servers who, as much from practice as from the posses- sion of exceptional gifts, far transcend the limits attained by the average man in self-observation. Couturat and Strieker advance the idea that such movement processes, so far as they depend on mild muscular contraction, are due to the imitative impulse. * Ueber das optisohe Formgefilhl, Stuttgart, 1873. i La Beauts plastique. Eevue philosophique, vol. xxxv (1893). X Rtudieti tibnr die Bewepunesvor.'itelluncrcn, Wien. 1882. * Beauty and Ugliness. Contemporary Eeview, 1897. INNER IMITATION 329 Before adducing some examples, I must venture on one more observation. It is not, of course, to be assumed that such external movements are necessarily genuine copies of sense-perceptions. In the psychological treat- ment of eye movements, for example, sufficient caution has not been exercised, and consequently a false standard has arisen, transcending the facts. Here we shall find a comparison -with external dramatic imitation play of great value, bearing in mind that the result of the latter is a symbol, not a counterpart. When a boy has to cut off his comrade's head in dramatic play, a very soft blow with a stick is sufficient to indicate execution with the sword of justice, and in the same way and degree the movement of which we are speaking may be symbolic. Suppose a man fancying a huge spiral imprinted on the wall in front of him. If he remembers the motor pro- cesses he can reproduce them, at will; little movements of the eyes, little tensions of the neck muscles and in the throat, together with breathing movements, are use- ful and (at least in my own case) even indispensable, and yet there is no really spiral motion — the symbol is suf- ficient.* I now present a few examples. First, as regards the optical perception of movement. "When I am in good physical condition," says Strieker, " and take my stand at some distance from an exercise ground so that I can watch the company with ease but not catch the word of command, I feel certain muscular sensations quite as strongly as if I stood under the command and attempted to follow it. When the troop marches, I keep time with them in the sensations of my lower limbs; when they go through the arm exercise, I have quite intense muscular feelings in my upper arm; when they turn, I feel the same in my back."* The following passage shows that the same individual can experience also other symbolic sensations of movement: "From the exercise ground I went to the theatre to see the gymnasts, and first watched one using a springboard. At the moment when he leaped * A oonflrmation of this, which is especially valuable_ because it is not intended as a contribution to aesthetics, is found in Strieker, op. oif., pp.. 16, 21, 26. 830 THE PLAY OP MAN from it I had a distinct sensation in my chest, and the feeling, too, of motion in the muscles of my eyes." * In poetic art inner imitation of movements must also he given due weight.f Lessing's requirements for a poet de- pend largely on this, for on its subjective side poetic en- joyment is connected with memory pictures, and move- ment is conspicuous in these4 ' All this is true in a higher degree of the enjoyment of musical movement. Herder said once : " The passionate part of our nature (to 6vfuK6v) rises and falls, it throbs or glides softly, l^ow it sv^eeps us along, now holds us back; it is now weak, now strong; its own movement, its step, as it were, varies with every modulation, with every strong accent and vanishes as the tone varies. Music strikes a chord in our innermost nature." ** In all this we find not only the effect of association, but actual motor processes in our own bodies, which extend from the rhyth- mical movements, visible for others, to the most deli- cate (and invisible) associations in the inner part of our body. The process which I tried to characterize in the sec- tion on hearing-play is with me connected with breathing movements and tensions of the throat and mouth muscles, and is thus symbolic in both directions. Those who play much on some instrument commonly find that with them the tension is of those muscles which they most use — this is apt to be especially the ease in recalling a remembered melody. We must avoid a too free assumption of " in- ternal song," as well as of throat movements. Baldwin says, II " I am able with the greatest ease to hold aloud an a sound at c', say, and at the same time cause a whole tune — say Yankee Doodle — to run its course ' in my ear.' " I, too, can do this, though not with ease; the remembered tune is literally " in the head " — that is to say, I have * Strieker, op. dt., p. 23. The application to the ohBervation of danc- ing is self-evident. t See Hubert Eoetteken, Zur Lehre von den Darstellungsmitteln in der Poesie. t See Kulpe, Grundriss zur Psychologie, p. 149. Killpe is of the opinion that possihly voluntary recollection is never unaooompanied by movement. « Kallifrone, Leipsio, 1800, vol. i, p. 116. II Mental Development, p. 40T. INNER IMITATION 331 the sensations of movement which represent this melody clearly in my mind, where they are difficult to locate, but are actual sensations, not mere memories. I can observe this process to better advantage by holding my breath and drumming on the table, hearing a melody in the rhythmic movement. These instances, however, do not clear up the undeniable contrast between an acoustic and a motor melody, particularly as in the first, motor accompani- ments are entirely wanting. This is probably the case in a much higher degree for sesthetic enjoyment than for mere recollection. • I pass finally to the consideration of the aesthetic im- pression of objects at rest, giving first two examples from the article already cited, by Vernon Lee and Anstruther- Thomson, who seem to stand aside altogether from the conflict raging among our own students of aesthetics and psychology at present devoting themselves to this subject. They are more under the influence of the Lange-James sensation theory, in the pursuance of which they have little in common with the theory of symbolism as ad- vanced here, and do not even make use of the term inner imitation. Yet the fact of it leads them to the expression " to mime " in attempting to characterize aesthetic per- ception. * Their observations undoubtedly transcend the normal (particularly in motor types), and in some in- stances practice comes to the aid of natural endowment, while auto-suggestion occasionally plays a part. These extreme cases, however, may serve to call the reader's attention to the normal conditions, which are not so obvious. The first example relates to the inspection of a jar. " Here is a jar equally common in antiquity and in mod- em peasant ware. Looking at this jar one has a specific sense of a whole. One's bodily sensations are extraordi- narily composed, balanced, correlated in their diversity. To begin with, the feet press on the ground, while the eyes fix the base of the jar. Then one accompanies the lift up, so to speak, of the body of the jar by a lift up of one's own body; and one accompanies by a slight sense of downward pressure of the head the downward pres- sure of the widened rim on the jar's top. Meanwhile, the 332 THE PLAY OF MAN jar's equal sides bring both lungs into equal play; the curve outward of the jar's two sides is simultaneously followed by an inspiration as the eyes move up to the jar's widest point. Then expiration begins, and the lungs seem closely to collapse as the curve inward is followed by the eyes, till, the narrow part of the neck being reached, the ocular following of the widened-out top provokes a short inspiration. Moreover, the shape of the jar provokes movement of balance, the left curve a shifting on to the left foot, and vice versa. A complete and equally distributed set of bodily adjustments has accom- panied the ocular side of the jar; this totality of move- ments and harmony of movements in ourselves answers to the intellectual fact, of finding that the jar is a har- monious whole." * Now an example of the influence of attention in the observation of plastic form: "We can not satisfactorily focus a stooping figure like the Medicean Venus if we stand before it bolt upright and with tense muscles, nor a very erect and braced figure like the Apoxyomenos if we stand before it humped up and with slackened muscles. In such cases the statue seems to evade our eye, and it is impossible to realize its form thoroughly; whereas, when we adjust our muscles in imitation of the tenseness or slackness of the statue's attitude, the statue immediately becomes a reality to us." f It is easy to turn such passages into ridicule (and there are some much stranger in the article), but the fact is that they are only extreme expressions of actual elements in all the motor forms of sesthetic enjoyment. But the authors have not grasped the fact of symbolism, and they stress too much the sensations of movement, just as Sergi, for example, has done in his Dolera e Piacere. When the scholar in Eiehl's Burg Neideck, on his first sight of an extended plain, had the feeling of being himself widened out, this effect was in all probability due to sensations produced by breathing movements. Yet this is not in itself the whole satisfaction, but rather a mere motor symbol which satisfies the imitative impulse, just as the * Op. df., pp. 554, 677. + Ibid. INNER IMITATION 333 external suggestion is responded to by dramatic imitation, or the little motions of the body in the phantastic visions of the dream. To answer the question of how this play of inner imi- tation originates, it must be borne in mind that voluntary external imitation must always be preceded by a stadium of adjustment (or "Einstellung"). So it is especially in childhood, where this prodromal stage is often of long duration. And what are here the objects of the" child's imitation ? — sounds, gestures, attitudes. Now sounds, ges- tures, and attitudes are also the very objects of inner imi- tation in aesthetic pleasure. In concluding, we are confronted by the question whether this faculty of inner imitation belongs exclu- sively to a special group of individuals — namely, the dis- tinctly motor type. If this is so, then a very important part of the aesthetic satisfaction is confined to a fraction of the human race. One hesitates to affirm that we of the motor type labour \mder the disadvantage of taking in- tense pleasure in a state which is lacking in physical reso- nance, so to speak ; and yet, if this is the case, we still can boast that fusion with past processes which after all leaves the plus sign in our favour. I am convinced, however, that no such sharp distinction of types is warranted by the facts, the difference being as a rule one of quantity or de- gree of individual endowment. Ability to observe such movements in one's self is no criterion. There may be in- dividuals with very strong inner imitative movements who are unable to separate the motor element from the tout en- semble. To illustrate the difficulty: A man who glances suddenly to the right imparts to surrounding objects an apparent motion to the left (this may help to account for the "fluidity of form"), yet to many it is impossible to get a clear perception of this, even under the most favourable conditions. In the same way there are prob- ably many who deserve to be reckoned with the motors in aesthetic enjoyment who are yet unable to make their own movements a matter of observation. 334 THE PLAT OF MAN IV. Social Plays Much discrimination is required in the attempt to single out a special group of social plays proper to our subject. I am, however, well aware that it is an essen- tial feature in any system of play, and that Baldwin is quite right when he says in his valuable preface to The Play of Animals, " Finally, I should like to suggest that a possible category of ' Social Plays ' might be added to Groos's classification." The great difficulty is that it is well-nigh impossible to make separate observations on them as a distinct class, for as a rule the social impulse furnishes the incentive to the special games which we have considered. To take a familiar example : Society chat is a social play par excellence, and yet the indulgence in this element of it appeals to consciousness as but a vague and undefined satisfaction compared with the influence of the impulses to combat and to courtship. For this reason the present section must be of a somewhat different character from the foregoing ones. It must be theoretic, and thus form a connecting link with the second part of the book. In the sphere of social play we still find ourselves in close touch with imitation. Though Tarde's formula, " La societe c'est I'imitation," has the one-sidedness character- istic of an epigram, it is an unquestionable fact that this impulse is of fundamental significance in the origination and preservation of social conditions. Uniformity of conduct and sentiment, without which social co-operation woTjld be impossible, is preserved mainly by imitation, and, what is more, by its involuntary form, as illustrated in the infectiousness of such simple acts as coughing and gaping. But, before going into this, I must emphasize some phases of the social impulse which are not identical with imitation, and whose value to play is easily demon- strated. It may be recalled that in our inquiry into the origin of the imitative impulse the question was raised whether its resemblance to instinct might not be explained by its relation to the genuine instincts of race affinity and the production of calls and warning cries. The physical and mental association common to men and gregarious ani- SOCIAL PLATS 335 mals seems to me to depend largely on these two rela- tively simple instincts, those of physical association and communication. Both are extremely important for the establishment of the family, and the view that the social factor has nothing to do with the family is, in my opinion, far too extreme. Ants and bees may serve them for illus- trations, but in the life of herds and tribes the primal relation between mother and child seems to me the start- ing point from which the need of association and com- munication has extended.* Our inquiry then will proceed from need of bodily as- sociation or the herding instinct as a starting point. However this impulse may have developed phylogenet- ically, ontogenetically the child's associative needs are at first satisfied by the family, and almost entirely by the mother; he is, as a rule, relatively late in turning his attention to a social sphere. " Before the third or fourth year," says Madame ITecker de Saussure, with some exaggeration, " the child is happy only with his elders. His needs, his pleasures, and the certainty with which he counts on our protection are all in our keep- ing. Other children interest him for a time, but soon tire him, and their little tempers excite his own. In his inability to cope with such situations he turns again to the grown people." f Although this is put too strongly, t its essential truth is well known; indeed, Curt- mann and Flashar for that very reason deprecate the extension of the child's social circle at too early an age, and Franz Kiibel says, in Siiddeutschen Schulboten (1875) : " Because the life of an eremite, be he scholar, aesthetic, or what not, is a mistake, why should all of life necessarily be social? Why should the bud be forced to open too early? Why should the sphere of individual life be so soon widened to take in love for all? It seems * For the bearing of this on the doctrine of promisouity, see the ■works of Staroke, Westermarok, and Grosse ; also P. and Fr. Sarasin, Ergebnisse naturwissensehaftlioher Forsohungen auf Ceylon, vol. ui, Wiesbaden, 1892-'93, pp. 363, 458. „ , , . , ,.,. r. t See G. F. Pfisterer, Fadagogische Psyohologie, second edition, Gu- tersloh, 1889, p. 146. . . w j ^ ii^^ I A Kohler (Der Kindergarten in semem Wesen dargestellt) says, however, that the child's longing to associate with others of its own age is 80 strong as to require daily satisfaction (Pfisterer, op. cit., p. 145). 336 THE PLAY OF MAN to me indisputable that the early education of a child should be carried on in the family circle, and also that there is a dangerous tendency to arouse social impulses too early." * Indeed, we must admit that experimenta- tion can not have its due effect if the child is introduced too early to a wider circle, and that the strong stimulus of social life tends to overshadow and interfere with the development of family life when allowed to exert its full force on the very young. Just as with children who are kept too much at home, overweening family feeling inter- feres with their progress in society and hampers them through life, so, on the other hand, too much society weakens the parental relation. There should be a cer- tain equilibrium of influence, as in all other departments of culture, to supply the most favourable conditions in the struggle for existence. Eeturning from this digression, we remark first that there can be no doubt of the value of social games in pre- paring incipient men and women for later life. " Le societa infantile," says Colozza, " sono societa di guoco." f The demand for identification with some social group finds its satisfaction in this way, and this satisfaction rests, as we have seen, on the broad foundation underly- ing other instincts, especially those relating to combat- iveness. I merely mention the direct effect of the im- pulse for association, the agreeable consciousness of being " in the swim." Among animals this feeling is manifested rather as a reaction from the annoyance of separation from the herd, yet the gregarious animal pasturing with its kind or carrying food to them may be filled with a cheer- ing sense of security such as we experience when estab- lished in a cosy comer at the club. Be that as it may, the child at any rate, as soon as it is old enough to make the acquaintance of other children, is filled with eager desire to be wherever ' his comrades are assembled for whatever purpose. I need only hint at his rage and despair when he sees through a window that the " other fellows " are collecting, while he for some reason can not go out. * PfiBterer, op. eit., p. 147. t Op. cit., p. 65. SOCIAL PLAYS 33Y These early manifestations of the social instinct are too simple to require much illustration. We all recognise them, and they are frequently displayed by adults as well. Holidays spent in simple playful indulgence of the gre- garious instinct are of the. greatest value for the collec- tive social life of mankind. Here as elsewhere the prac- tice theory is applicable to adults, as two extremely di- verse instances will illustrate most satisfactorily. One is the difficulty of keeping up religious community life when the festival character is allowed to lapse ; even when there remains enough association of the votaries them- selves to constitute a gratification of the associative im- pulse, yet the abandonment of holiday festivities un- doubtedly has a marked effect. The tamer a religious observance becomes the larger the proportions of luke- warm adherents. Many sects have a clear perception of this, and it accounts for the fact that some of them employ methods not far removed from the practices of savages. This brings us to the second instance — namely, the im- portance of festive gatherings to savage peoples. If our owners, our own peasantry, scattered in families through the rural districts, are in danger of losing their social feel- ings when deprived of religious or secular festivals, the necessity is yet much greater with primitive men. Apart • from warfare, this is about their only means of associa- tion as tribes or clans. It is valuable, too, in connec- tion with and preparatory to their fights. Among the Weddas of Ceylon, who "have not yet acquired the art of war," and are very undeveloped socially, we find only feeble suggestions of the festival. From our noble cathedrals, our concert halls and theatres, and other places of amusement, converging lines lead directly back to the festal huts of savages. From these, however, women are as a rule strictly excluded. Finally, I remark that a playful motive is often dis- cernible in the formation of the multifarious clubs for the advancement of some worthy object in this age of abounding culture. "We all know persons for whom an absorbing interest in the ostensible object of the club would be out of the question but for the good company. The mere fact of being one of a group is satisfaction 338 THE PLAY OF MAN enough to the gregarious instinct, and tlie playfulness of this condition can scarcely be questioned. Turning now to the wider social impulses to which these simple manifestations are related, we must first no- tice the voluntary subordination of the individual which is so essential a feature. In the relation of parent and child there could hardly be any training, and certainly no such thing as education, without this element. After dwell- ing on the child's spirit of opposition, Sully gives in his Studies in Childhood the contrary picture in a series of incidents designed to show that there is yet in the child- ish soul something " on the side of law," and" goes on to remark that " it is worth while asking whether, if the child were naturally disposed to look on authority as something wholly hostile, he would get morally trained at all." * While this is true, still the contrary, rebellious spirit is developed by the parental relation, and we may see voluntary subordination much better illustrated by going on the street with the child and noticing his be- haviour with his playmates. The blind obedience accorded the leader of a little band is calculated to fill parents and teachers with envy. Here the social impulse is supreme in the demand for association and classification which governs and directs society. The same relation exists among animals between the herd and its leader, and no orderly association of men could exist without it. As simple compulsion is not enough with children, so with adults discipline is insuf&cient. The leader's command must be met by an inward disposition to obey in the in- terests of the whole. The heads of political parties who thunder invectives against the " slaves " and " dumb cat- tle" in other parties are yet considerably disconcerted when their own followers display too little of the disposi- tion for subordination. The common fighting plays of children markedly ex- hibit this voluntary submission to a leader, less known, I think, in regulation games than in the many contests which a crowd of children will naturally fall into when a few belligerent spirits are present; when there is a trick * Studies in Childhood, p. 268. SOCIAL PLATS 339 to be played on schoolmates or janitor, an orchard to plunder, some unpopular person to annoy by breaking his windows or otherwise damaging his property — in these escapades the leader's word has absolute authority, and the most docile children will commit deeds in blind obedi- ence which fill their parents with amazement and horror. The influence of example is a factor not to be overlooked, but it is not by any means all ; more influential still is the esprit de corps after the plot is once hatched. Formerly, when children were given more freedom in this direction, schoolboy leagues were of great importance, but even now their associations for contest play a weighty part in youthful life; there they learn to see how common peril strengthens the bond of union and enjoins submission to the leader. It is an illustration in miniature of the in- fluence of war on the evolution of society. This leads to the observation that play is instrumental in teaching children submission to law as well as to a leader. Thus H. Schiller says very truly of gymnastic ex- ercises : " They promote not only presence of mind, dex- terity, skill, and readiness, but furnish as well valuable training for society. Law and limitation are here self- imposed by the players, and he finds them again in the bounds which he strives to transcend." * Since gymnastic and belligerent games afford exercise chiefly to males, we trace here an interesting distinction between the sexes. It seems that those manifestations of the social impulse relating to subordination are not pursued by women so energetically nor in the same way as with men. Woman is the guardian of good form, but as a rule she will not subordinate herself to rigorous law. I think any cus- toms agent will bear me out in this statement from his observation of the behaviour of travellers. This prob- ably results from a difference in the instinctive equip- ment of the sexes ; fighting impulses, which are strongly developed in the males, further the social^ ones by reason of their imperative requirement of association. This is apparent in the exercises referred to by Schiller, and is materially advanced by the practice which play affords. * Handbuoh der praktisohen Padagogikj^p. 699. 340 THE PLAY OP MAN The success of American women in their movement for emancipation is largely furthered by their participation with men in various sports and the consequent better de- velopment of their social capacities. I conclude these remarks on voluntary subordination with some refemce to the origin of punishment. It is commonly referred to the principle of vengeance, but, though feelings of personal grievance and revenge may be closely involved in its origin and development, they can not entirely account for the institution of punishment. Even the play of children clearly distinguishes between personal revenge and social chastisement. The infrac- tion of the unwritten laws of our familiar games arouses a spontaneous and general sentiment against the offender which does indeed resemble the demand for vengeance, but stresses more the idea of social injury. What urges to the chastisement of the liar, the coward, and the betrayer is a righteous indignation which results from outraged social feelings, and the desire to expel the offender from the group. This was apparent in the early tribes from which all civilized peoples have developed. Justice is as old as social humanity, and if it can be derived at all from personal revenge this could have been possible only as far as offences between man and man were regarded as offences against the community as a whole. Social sympathy next demands our attention as con- nected with the demand for association, and for the sake of brevity I include in the term not merely the inward sentiment, but also the emotion tendre and the readi- ness to lend a helping hand to other members of the same group. It is perhaps best defined by the expression " good fellowship," which is everywhere current. Play has a significant part in it as well with children as with adults. I introduced a passage in The Play of Animals on the actions of some young foxes who amused themselves play- ing together until some occasion arose for strife. Then, one of them being bitten so that blood flowed, the others fell upon and devoured him; and I then remarked that "the good comradeship of young animals is first of all a play comradeship. It exists in play when aside from the conditions of the play there is little sympathetic SOCIAL PLATS 341 feeling." This is to a great degree applicable to humanity as well. Apart from relations of actual friendship which are deeper than simple comradeship, we find among indi- viduals very little genuine interest and kindliness. It is only when people are .members of the same social group that they learn to regard one another with the friendly feeling which is necessary for effective association. So- cial sympathy is apt to be but a wider egoism, and the identification of the individual I with the social whole a slightly more circuitous route to self-advancement. When party lines are obliterated the interest subsides, as many have discovered who counted on personal friend- ship as a result of social sympathy. Further considera- tion of the value of this comradeship, however, shows it to be indispensable to the formation and maintenance of society, and that the school in which it is developed is furnished by play. Children scarcely manifest it in any other connection; as they grow older they may form friendships independently of their common play, but as a rule their comradeship is that of play. With adults the case is not very different, for even when they associate for a serious purpose banquets and other plajrful features are considered indispensable for strengthening the bond. These festivities, it is true, have their root in the com- mon need for amusement, but their practical value con- sists in the impetus they give to social sympathy, and their indirect furtherance of effective association. As the associative impulse which we have made our starting point primarily promotes external connections, but is attended with various far-reaching consequences, and finally results in the demand for communication, so this last, from serving first the narrow unit of the family, brings about the inner spiritual union of the social group. The chief means which serves this impulse of humanity is language.* Although this communication does serve a practical purpose from its very inception, there are still many playful manifestations of it. Oompayre offers an * A. Marty finds, as does 'Whitney, the impulse for communication an essential for the origin of the so much more varied langruage of men than of animals. Deber Spraohreflex, Nativismus und absichtliche Spraohbil- dung. Vierteyahreaohr. f. wissensoh. Philos., vol. xiv (1890), p. 66. 342 THE PLAT OP MAN observation which may be regarded as a prelingual illus- tration of this. It records a sort of dialogue between a child, still unable to speak, and his elder brother. " Pen- dant quelques minutes c'est une alternance in-inter rompue, la de mots et de phrases nettement artieules, ici de petits cris confus." * Older children, too, often show the same thing in their play with dolls and other toys as well as toward persons and animals. We sometimes sigh for a limit to the unmeaning gabble which the child ap- parently enjoys for its own sake. Similar observations have been made on adults, though here as with children it is difficult to draw the line be- tween play and earnest. So far as the object is to in- struct others or make a good impression and thus im- prove one's own social standing, the act is serious, but it oftener wears the aspect of merely playful self-exhibition. And, finally, when an unimportant piece of news is passed about and talked over " just for something to say," we have an instance of pure playfulness, since a satisfaction of the social impulse is sought without serious aim and purely for its own sake. The teas and Kaffeeklatzohen so afiected by women are of a similar character. Without attempting to analyze too closely the style of conversation prevailing on such occasions, we venture to say that a universal desire for expression is conspicuous. This is certainly the fact in the social gatherings of men and of society in general. Ordinary society chat is a social play. There are other phases of conversational intercourse, however, which are more germane to oUr present purpose, such, for example, as the invention of special forms of speech which are selections from tentative efforts by the process of exclusion. The great social importance of a common language thus finds expression in play. Refer- ence has already been made to the fact that children coin words — that is, they make use of sounds independently discovered by experimentation. Sometimes several chil- dren will construct a sort of secret language in this way. The remarkable case referred to by H. Hale of a pair of devoted twins who did not learn first the language spoken ■^ Op. cU., p. 228. SOCIAL PLATS 343 around them, but one all their own, in which they con- versed with ease and fluency, is not, however, an instance in point, since there was evidently no play about it. Yet children do form such a secret system sometimes in play. Colonel Higginson mentions two girls about thirteen years old who made a language for their own amusement. They wrote about two hundred words of it in a book. Thus "Bojiwassis" denoted the half-anxious, half -reso- lute feeling that precedes taking a leap, and " Spygri " the pride in having accomplished it. " Pippadolify " ex- pressed the stiff manner of walking of the young officers in Washington.* This well illustrates childish versatility in word coinage. Von Martins, Peschel, and others at- tribute the rapid transformations in the language of sav- ages to the influence of children, whose faulty reproduc- tion of words learned from their parents is adopted by the latter.f Also original creations arise in the inter- course of parent and child. We have already spoken of the imitative sounds that come into a language in this, way, and childish experimentation may be equally influ- ential. "Papa" and "mamma" are evidences that this is sometimes true, and many other words may have had a similar origin. But, turning again to our subject proper, we find that the tendency of a social group to distinguish itself by its manner of speaking is widespread among adults.^: It can not always be called playful, however, as some serious aim is often had in view, as in the code of criminals and the passwords of secret societies, but the technicalities of special callings and professions are often clearly playful, and are especially affected by the newcomer who is im- pressed with the advantages of belonging to the set. With what zeal does the newly initiated sportsman set himself to learn the vocabulary of the chase ! With what unction does the freshman repeat the latest student's slang! Conan Doyle, in his Rodney Stone, has given us an admirable picture of the affected speech of the Eng- lish dandy at the beginning of the nineteenth century, * Chamberlain, op. cit., pp. 260, 263. + Ibid. X See F. S. Krauss, Geheime Spraohweisen. Am. Urquell, vol. ii-vi; P. Sartori, Sonderspraohen, ibid., vol. v. 23 344 THE PLAY OF MAN and the euphuism of Shakespeare's time is another in- stance. Pleasure and pride in belonging to a certain class or set are often manifested in such peculiarities. But impulse for communication may assume other forms, as in the cases when we found it cif so great value in courtship under the form of self-exhibition. And it has also, as Baldwin* points out, a more general social significance. While our personal peculiarities are first brought out in our intercourse with others, we at once become conscious, on the other hand, of an impulse to display them in order to gain influence. Satisfaction with one's own achievements is attained only when these have gained social recognition. Self-exhibition plays an important part, too, in the pleasure we derive from col- lective games. The rivalry which we have studied from the standpoint of the fighting instinct takes a more pacific form, as the pleasure of finding one's importance testified to by imitation on the part of others. This is not mere exultation in victory over others, but takes higher ground, since the sense of superiority which it en- genders is dependent on their support. When the display of one's excellences thus transcends verbal expression it results from the highest forms of social intercourse, from that devotion of time and en- ergy to society which constitutes the vocation of the social leader. It is the very opposite to that voluntary subordi- nation to a leader of which we have spoken, and yet true social leadership also is founded on just such subordi- nation. The aspirant for its honours must so merge him- self in the society that its aggrandizement shall mean his own — a signal proof of the force of the social impulse. Whether the task is great or small, the ruling of an em- pire or the leadership of a club, the principle is the same, and consequently the social plays of children are enlight- ening. Even here, forceful, active, inventive natures quickly attain the mastery and the difference is apparent between the merely violent, who think only of their own advancement, and the born leader who makes the interests of society his own, who is ready to answer for the crowd, * Social and Ethical Interpretations, p. 148. SOCIAL PLATS 345 and is found in the front line in times of danger and will suffer no injustice to any of his following. Such leadership is possible only where there is the capacity for identifying his own will and conviction with those of the rest, thus effectuating the groups' subordination. The " magnetism " of those who succeed as leaders depends on the presence and force of this faculty ; they must have not mere strength of will, but the kind of will adapted for fusion with the common will for the attainment of its social ends. In concluding these observations on the associative principle, I must notice the social side of artistic activ- ity. It may be said in general that artistic production fulfils an important function in giving universal pleas- ure. H. Rutgers Marshall tries to establish the existence of " the blind instinct to produce art works." * The at- tempt, however, to analyze the social tendencies operative in the creative artist will disclose the two last-mentioned forms of the communication impulse. The artist longs to set forth with all his power that which fi.lls his soul, and to make objective representation of it for his own benefit and that of others, and at the same time win, by this un- folding of his nature, influence over the souls of others — giving that he may gain. This motive is not equally strong in all art, yet to a certain degree Richepin's pas- sionate words apply to any such work : " C'est tout moi qui ruissela dans ce livre. . . . Voici mon sang et ma chair, bois et mange ! " and every great artist strives for mastery over the emotions of others. The genius may, it is true, create only for himself or a choice few, or when his work is finished he may conceive a distaste for it or not concern himself at all about it, yet on the whole it can not be denied that the controlling motive (half conscious, it may be) is the desire to gain mastery by means of his art. Gildemeister rightly says: " Publicity is the breath of art. Dilettantism may be confined to the studio or the salon, art must speak to the people." + Since it is directly through these social aims, however, that aesthetic produc- tion diverges from play, we need not linger on the subject. * ^Bthetio PrinoipleB, New York, 1895, p. 63. t Essays, vol. ii, p. 41. 346 THE PLAY OF MAN We now take up the last of tlie social influences which we had to consider, the powerful agency of imitation, and more especially such involuntary imitation as is mani- fested in the infectiousness of coughing, gaping, etc. Its influence is universal. Espinas, Souriau, Tarda, Si- ghele, Le Bon, and others have treated the problem of such mass suggestion, and Baldwin contributes a valu- able chapter full of critical acumen on the Theory of Mob Action, in his Social and Ethical Interpretations. To introduce the subject I give two examples, one from ani- mal psychology, the other from anthropology, illustrat- ing the extreme phenomena of mass suggestion. Hudson gives us the f olowing : " This was on the southern pampas at a place called Gualicho, where I had ridden for an hour before sunset over a marshy plain where there was still much standing water in rushy pools, though it was at the height of the dry season. This whole plain was covered with an endless flock of chakars, not in close order, but scattered about in pairs and small groups. In this desolate spot I found a small rancho, inhabited by a gaucho and his family, and I spent the night with them. About nine o'clock we were eating our supper in the rancho when suddenly the entire multitude of birds covering the marsh for miles around burst forth into a tremendous evening song. If is impossible to describe the effect of this mighty rush of sound. . . . One peculiarity was that in this mighty noise, which sounded louder than the sea thundering on a rocky coast, I seemed to be able to distinguish hundreds, even thousands, of individual voices. Forgetting my supper, I sat motionless and over- come with astonishment while the air and even the frail rancho seemed to be trembling in that tempest of sound. When it ceased, my host remarked with a smile : ' We are accustomed to this, seiior; every evening we have this concert.' * It is well worth the ride of a hundred miles to hear this demonstration." Mediaeval dancing may fur- nish an example from human life. At Freiburg in Switzerland, in 1346, before the castle of Graf Greyerz, a dance was practised whioh began with simple move- * The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 227. SOCIAL PLAYS 347 ments. They gathered strength, however, like an ava- lanche, and spread through the entire country. Uhland has made this dance the subject of a poem, vrhich may be paraphrased as foUows: " The youngest maiden, slender as a stalk of maize, Seized the count's hand and drew him in the ring. They danced through the village, where file succeeded file, They danced across the meadows, they danced through the wood. To where, far across the mountains, the silvery sounds rang out." Marrentam. These, as I have said, are extreme manifestations of mass suggestion, and should not be given too much -weight in explaining social development. " The loss of identity and social continence," says Baldwin, " on the part of the individual, when he is carried away by a popular movement, is well struck off by the common say- ing that he has 'lost his head.' This is true; but then he regains his head and is ashamed that he lost it. His normal place in society is determined- by the events of that part of his life in which he keeps his head. And the same is true of the events in the life of the social group as a whole." * Yet these forms of suggestion which border on the pathological are but exaggerations of social qualities indispensable to the race. Had we not the in- born impulse to imitate movements which sweep through a mob, great occasions would never find us ready with great actions. The magic power of mass suggestion is the indispensable complement of the social leader's tal- ents, and consequently is closely related to our familiar Tolimtary subordination. Tarde even regards obedience as a special case of imitation, and to strengthen his position reminds us that command begins with example. With monkeys, horses, dogs, etc., the leader sets the example by performing the particular act, and the others imitate Lim.t Yet I am quite confident that voluntary subordi- nation is not identical with imitation. Even with ani- mals the leader is the strongest, most skilful, and gener- ally the most intelligent of the herd, and obedience ap- * Social and Ethical Interpretations, p. 238. t La Logique sociale. Preface, p. vii. Les Lois de Limitation, second edition, p. 215. 348 THE PLAT OP MAN pears as imitation perhaps, but not of the ordinary kind; rather of one who by means of the force of his individual- ity compels subjection through fear, respect, and love, or the compounding of these. The need of the weak to lean on the strong does indeed lead to imitation; but is not identical with it. Moreover, it seems to me that an explanation of mass suggestion can not be arrived at by means of the imita- tive impulse without the assumption that voluntary sub- ordination works with it; that blending of fear, respect, and attraction is not necessarily confined to a single leader, but may be directed to the whole group, and, in- deed, without such a sentiment the leader's influence would be much crippled. Those whose minds are made up not to go with the herd (the partisans of another faction, for instance) wiU display little imitative inclina- tion so long, at least, as this determination is clearly de- fined. But when the personality of the leader and the imposing and alluring aspects of the mass combine their effects, the imitative impulse assumes its full force. The result is quite similar to that obtained in hypnosis, with which it is often compared, and in the manifestations of which, in spite of the important role played by imitatiouj voluntary subordination is indispensable for the opera- tion of suggestion. If now we inquire as to how these processes take effect in play, we find the practice theory applicable to adults in a greater degree even than to children; for we are at once confronted by the importance of festivals as men- tioned above and again impressing itself upon us here. For the further division of our subject I distinguish be- tween general acts and general inner imitation, in the former of which motor and in the latter emotional sug- gestion is conspicuous. The desire to act in conjunction with the social group finds manifold expression in the play of children. " Any one who watches the games of a set of boys in the school yard or in the streets," says Baldwin, " will see that it is only a small part of the moves of the game which are provided for with any consistent or well-planned plot or scheme. The game is begun, and then becomes, in great SOCIAL PLATS 349 measure, the carrying out of a series of coups et contre- coups on the part of the leaders among the players; the remainder following the dictation and example of the few. When the leader whoops, the crowd also whoop; when he fights, they fight. All this social practice is most valuable as discipline in serious social business." * Such effects of general imitation are prominent in most social fighting plays, but we shall confine ourselves to some children's games in which acting in common seems to be itself the principal aim. Here we are met by the fact that in its last analysis such play is referable to adult imitation — that is to say, they are handed down to the children. A simple kind of play, which clearly reveals a social character, is that in which the children imitate all sorts of movements made by the leader. For example, take the familiar one in which the children dance around, hand in hand, singing: " Adam had seven bous, seven sons had Adam, They ate not, they drank not, they looked in his face And did just so " ; t whereupon they all stop, the leader stepping to the cen- tre of the circle and making all sorts of motions — clapping hands, bowing, bending, lifting his arms, sawing, scrub- bing, fiddling, sneezing, coughing, laughing, crying, etc. — all of which are repeated by the other children. This same song was probably sung by adults in the Easter pro- cessions which were derived from the mediaeval pest dances, but even so their origin is not yet reached. The following description by Svoboda strongly recalls the play of children: "Dancing is the greatest pleasure of the Nikobars; it is very solemn and slow. A place is cleared for it among the huts ; the leader steps out, and first of all marks a great circle, while each man lays his hand on his neighbour's shoulder. The leader raises the tune, mak- ing a step, now left, now right, swinging his free leg. All keep their eyes fixed on him and mimic what he does, sinking on their knees, sitting on their heels, and then making a grotesque leap, or stepping backward and for- * Social and Ethical Interpretations, p. 243. t Gutsmuths, p. 251. 350 THE PLAY OF MAN ■ward. All this is repeated stiffly, mechanically, and with- out any spirit, but constantly accompanied by a nasal song, until late in the night." * Further we may notice dancing games of children ac- companied by song. In looking through a collection of them like that of Bohme, one is astonished at their variety as well as the remarkable and often apparently meaning- less songs that accompany them. Many are of the opin- ion that they date from the middle ages, while others trace them back to the old German religious dances along with a. cycle of songs in celebration of the goddess Freija. As a rule, proofs are wanting in both directions, and there is a choice of opinions between them. If, for example, the common stooping at the end of a stanza appears to be a survival of some religious ceremony, it may just as probably be the duck, duck, duck of animal dances of pre- historic times. Eochholz has actually derived a Swiss form of the song from such mimicry of animals. The obscurity of many verses is caused by the frequent introduction of new subjects. In one case the ceremony of taking the veil is dramatically gone through with, and J. Bolle states that this originated in a thoroughly frivolous dance of adults. Indeed, the intermeddling of adults is constantly to be reckoned with, as in the case of a shepherd's song, where " Adam " is substituted for " Amor " with evident ironical intent. In regard to such games of children the following question is a pertinent one : How does it happen that the social plays whose models are formed in the dancing of men or of both sexes are practised chiefly by girls? If we think back to our own childhood we shall find that while little fellows do take part in such games, older boys regard them as unmanly and unworthy of them. I sus- pect that in earlier times, when the men indulged in them, the boys gladly followed suit, as is quite generally the case among savages now. A final word on children's festivals, in which the social significance of *pla.j is most clearly displayed. Take the most familiar example, the school picnic: if only a * Svoboda, Die Bewohner dea NUcobaren Archipels, p. 29. SOCIAL PLAYS 351 handful of children go for an outing with a teacher they are not particularly delighted, but when the whole school goes their pleasure is increased more than proportionately to their numbers. They are excited and joyous, and every expression of pleasure seems multiplied by a many-voiced echo, and, until they grow tired, all show a readiness to obey the spirit of good comradeship. Such an occasion, bears all the essential marks of a genuine festa, with its feeling of belonging to the social group, subordination to- the good of the whole and to the leader who represents it, sympathetic participation, and satisfaction of the asso- ciative impulse in its various forms, the attraction which belongs to actions and enjoyments in common with others, and finally the festal board which makes a play of eating and drinking. Some of the festivals of children, too, have been handed down from the sports of adults. A Swabian dance that was formerly performed by the salt refiners now belongs to the children, who dress for it in the cos- tume of the craft. But most such holidays have a much earlier origin in pagan feasts, as in the case of Easter, Mayday, Whitsuntide, midsummer, etc. I take as my solitary example the Heidelberg Sonomiertagsfest, in which a portable pyramid of straw represents conquered winter, and one bedecked with fresh green is triumphant sum- mer. The attendant children carry wands trimmed with eggs, pretzels, and gay streamers, and sing as they go : " Strieh, Strah, Stroh, Summerdag Stab aus, Der Sommerdag is do. Blost dem Winter die Auge aus. Der Sommer un der Winder, Strieh, Strah, Stroh, Des Sinn Geschwisterkinder. Der Sommerdag is do." This ancient mythological festival, which survives with wonderful vitality among children in the Palatinate ' and some other localities, threatened to become extinct in Heidelberg until some one seriously undertook its res- toration. It is an inspiriting sight when the fine old streets are the scenes of the processions of nunierous. summer and winter pyramids, and thousands of children in holiday attire, carrying the gay wands and merrily singing the old song. It can not be questioned that feel- ings of fellowship and attachment to home are height- ened and deepened by the practice of such customs. 352 THE PLAY OP MAN Turning now to adults, whose festivals furnish the models for these childish ones, I can not better illustrate the importance of imitation on such occasions than by repeating the striking passage quoted from James in the Play of Animals. In concluding a passage on play he says : " There is another sort of human play, into which higher aesthetic feelings enter. I refer to the love of festivities, ceremonies, and ordeals, etc., which seems to be universal in our species. The lowest savages have their dances, more or less formally conducted. The various re- ligions have their solemn rites and exercises, and civic and military powers symbolize their grandeur by proces- sions and celebrations of divers sorts. We have our operas and parties and masquerades. An element common to aU these ceremonial games, as they are called, is the ex- citement of concerted action, as one of an organized crowd. The same acts, performed with a crowd, seem to mean vastly more than when performed alone. A walk ■with the people on a holiday afternoon, an excursion to drink beer or coffee at a popular ' resort,' or an ordi- nary ballroom, are examples of this. Not only are we amused at seeing so many strangers, but there is a dis- tinct stimulation at feeling our share in their collective life. The perception of them is the stimulus, and our reaction upon it is our tendency to join them and do what they are doing, and our unwillingness to be the first to leave off or go home alone." * As we can not possibly review the whole field of so- ciety, a few general remarks must suffice to supplement what has already been said. While there was at one time a tendency to relegate this, like so many other sociological problems, to a religious origin, such a proceeding is now regarded with some degree of skepticism. The Austra- lians celebrate all important events by dances — the har- vest, the opening of the fishing season, the coming of age of youths, a meeting with friendly tribes, setting out to battle or the chase, and success in these. " Among the pacific Bakairi on the Eio 'Noyo," says von den Steinen, ''the principal festival is in April. I, with my civilized * W. James, The Principles of Psyohology, vol. ii, p. 428. SOCIAL PLAYS 353 ideas, clung to the supposition of a thanksgiving celebra- tion, and wondered what friendly power was the recipient of all this praise and gratitude. I tried to get something definite out of Antonio, but he was unresponsive to my suggestion. ' We have the feast at harvest time,' he said, 'because we have something to feast on then; in the dry season we have to scrimp, and in the wet season every- thing is afloat.' Materialistic, if you will, but eminently practical." * It seems then that the origin at least of the festival is referable to general social needs whose important stimuli arouse a general excitation, and thus attain their most effective expression. The essentials to primitive festivals were the feast and the dance, both being conducted with the intemperance characteristic of mass suggestion. Here we find again that playful satisfaction of the sense of taste which claimed our attention in the beginning of this discussion, and this is its clearest manifestation, since here the play is a social one. As the child may be led to perform incredible feats in the consumption of cakes, candy, and other dainties at a party, so the adult, when not hampered by anxiety about his digestion or compunc- tions as to such impositions on hospitality (and these considerations are usually as far from the mind of a sav- age as that of a child), can accomplish quite as much on festive occasions. This effect is furthered by the free use of alcohol, which, in spite of its many bad qualities, is not to be despised as a promoter of sociability. We hear so much of the fights and brawls to which the unlicensed indulgence in spirituous drinks gives rise that we forget that mild intoxication puts. the majority of men in a cheerful and friendly humour, and is calculated to pro- mote the good fellowship of the company. Without the least intention of denying the danger incurred in the use of alcohol as a beverage, I still think it only fair to show the other side of the picture — ^namely, the damper it puts on anxiety and care, and its promotion of social sympathy, of the associative impulses and the capacity for enthusiasm in all directions. * Unter den Naturvolkern, etc., p. 267. 354 THE PLAY OP MAN Dancing, -which next to feasting is the most primitive form of festivity, is kept up to an incredible duration, the expenditure of strength being constantly renewed. In the sagas of the Bakairi, it is said of Keri, the founder of the tribe : " Keri called all his followers together, and in the evening they danced on the village green. Keri stopped to drink while the dance costumes floated in the air about him. He called to Kame [the ancestor of another tribe]. Many of the people came, and Keri was lord of the dance. They danced the whole day, and only rested toward evening; after dark they began again and danced the whole night. Early in the morning they went to the river and bathed ; then they came back to the house and began again and danced all that day and night. Then the holiday was over." * The intoxication of motion, which, as we have before seen, is probably the chief stimu- lus in dancing, is universally enjoyed on such occasions, and enhances the social impulses. It is a sort of ecstatic state apart from the narrow individual sphere, and fa- vourable to social affiliation. Indeed, among primitive people it is often the indispensable condition of an alli- ance, as there is a widespread custom for several neigh- bouring tribes to collect for some high feast. "No one has given a better description of the importance of the dance for the promotion of sociability than has Grosse. " The warmth of the dance," he says, " fuses the distinct indi- vidualities to a unified essence moved and governed by a single emotion. During its progress the participants find themselves in a condition of social completeness, the dif- ferent groups feeling and acting like members of a unified organism. This is the most important effect of primitive dancing. It takes a number of men who, in their de- tached, unsettled condition of varying individual needs and desires, are living unregulated lives, and teaches them to act with one impidse, one meaning, and to one end. It makes for order and cohesion in the hunting tribes whose way of life tends to separate them. After war it is perhaps the one factor which makes the interdependence of individuals of savage tribes apparent to themselves, and * J. von d. Steinen, Unter den Naturvolkern, p. 267. SOCIAL PLAYS 355 incidentally it is one of the best means of preparing for ■war, for gymnastic exercises prefigure military tactics in more ways than one."* In studying the festal and social customs of highly civilized peoples, while we find much that is new, many things are reminiscent of savage life. Eating is still the principal feature, but the common impulse to activity is no longer expressed in forms so specialized as the savage dance, for the modern social dance is of compara- tively little importance in this connection. Entertain- ment by means of vocal and instrumental music and rhythmic elocution, displays of physical prowess and sing- ing contests almost complete the list of plays applicable here, being concerned as they all are with collective life. I may mention one other phenomenon, however, which illustrates the analogy with primitive customs — naniely, the societies formed for social enjoyment. They prove the need felt by civilized men to form within the limits of their more extended social sphere smaller circles which by their exclusiveness enhance the feeling of sympathy. Formerly, when special well-organized groups arose in the burgher guilds, they were partly of a social character, as J. Schaller points out,t and we yet have labour unions, merchants' clubs, and artists' leagues, though in many of them the trade or calling is no longer stressed; on the contrary, versatility is the chief desideratum in the mem- bership, and no strict exclusiveness prevails. Such de- tails are commonly determined by the general degree of cultivation prevalent. Moreover, there is apt to be a cer- tain ritual belonging to such organizations, with written statutes and unwritten traditions, all more or less playful, and quickly developed among savages into a sort of cultus. I am not aware whether a monograph exists treating this subject in detail, though one would certainly be of interest. Secret societies recall the usages of savages, especially in one particular — namely, in excluding females. The implication in the use of the word savage, usually unjust, is quite fair here, since the men are pledged to inflict * Op. cit, p. 219. t Das Spiel rmd die Spiele, p. 328. 356 THE PLAY OF MAN instant death on the woman whose curiosity should pene- trate to the secrets of their club. And while among civi- lized men the protest is less vigorously applied, still the exclusion is enforced. Von den Steinen thinks that among the Bakairi the regulation is due to their objection to having their women seen by strangers, and representa- tives of several tribes usually take part in the dance. Their other festivities are special hunting feasts, which are regarded as altogether unsuitable for the participation of women.* Quite as influential, if not more so, seems to me the natural feeling that the presence of women de- stroys the company's sense of unity. Savages especially, who regard women with open contempt, would feel ill at ease if their festivities were invaded by the other sex. When we see how little boys, as soon as they are out of their infancy, spontaneously refuse to take little girls for their playmates,! 'we must ascribe some serious meaning to this essential distinction between the sexes. It is this, I think, which forms the chief ground for the exclusion of women from the sports of civilized men, and perhaps the same desire to be left to themselves is a considerable factor in masculine opposition to the woman's movement. In any remarks on general inner imitation we must , be particularly careful to keep well within its proper defi- nition, or we are sure to find ourselves launching out into the vast domain of aesthetics. How inner sympathy is conditioned on the effects of past experience; how it is raised to the level of aesthetic emotion only through the fact that the beholder or hearer enjoys the fusion process for its own sake; and how, finally, this inner imitation consists, at least with motor individuals, and perhaps with all who are capable of aesthetic perception, in actual movement on their own part in conjunction with this fu- sion — all this has been set forth in a former section. Here we are considering merely the social aspects of such play, and we find its manifestations well marked. As a * Op. ait., p. 268. t In an inquiry as to children's preferences in the matter of playmates. Will S. Monroe found 835 boys who wanted male against 20 who asked for female comrades ; 328 girls preferred their own sex and only 28 the other. (Development of the Social Consciousness of Children. The northwestern Monthly, September, 1898.) BUUlAlj rjUAlO 357 rule, the child, like the adult, -when in the presence of any soul-stirring spectacle, longs for a companion to feel it with him, and when a whole social group unite in a common imitation, the emotional efiect is vastly aug- mented. The social effect of such collective enjoyment is usually marked by an increased sense of fellowship, but beyond this there is an appreciable difference of quality which under favourable conditions directly furthers the social feeling. Let us begin by observing the dancing of savages again, where we find besides the pleasure of par- ticipation the equally strong effect of seeing and hear- ing the other dancers — a fact that is reiterated again and again in the descriptions of such occasions. The facile transition from real imitation to inner sympathy is one indication of their close kinship. The spectator is impelled to accompany the rhythmic movement of the dance music by all sorts of motions on his own part. Millendorf gives us the following description : " Soon the dance became heated, the movements turned to hops and leaps, the whole body being involved and the face in- flamed ; the cries grew constantly more ecstatic, the clap- ping wilder, and the few garments were finally thrown off. All present seemed seized with a frenzy; a few attempted to withstand it for a while, but soon began to move the head involuntarily, now left, now right, keeping time, and then suddenly, as if bursting some invisible bonds, they leaped among the dancers, widening the circle."* As soon as external imitation begins, aesthetic enjoyment ac- companies it, but there is no doubt that _ to bring this about there must be intense inner imitation before the overt act becomes irresistibly attractive. As has already been pointed out, the general social im- portance of inner imitation depends on its enhancing effect on the feeling of fellowship, as is illustrated even in the dancing of savages. As to the part played by self- exhibition in this effect, we may mention that gymnastics and war dances, which are performed before spectators, afford opportunities for the display of physical advan- * O. StoU, Suggestion und Hypnotismus in der Volkerpsyohologie, Leipsio, 1894, p. 24. 358 THE PLAY OF MAN tages and martial prowess. Among the lowest tribes known to us, however, the accompanying song seems to have, hardly any other than a musical significance, con- sisting as it does in the mere repetition of meaningless «oundSj and can not, therefore, be considered as influ- ential in the sense that the dramatic poetry of higher standing peoples is so. But the war dance which pictures forth the enemy's defeat may be said to have something of the effect of our patriotic drama. Some tribes, indeed, give the dramatic representation without rhythmic dance music, more after the manner of civilized acting. Lange describes an Australian play in the last scene of which a £ght between white men and natives is introduced. " The third scene opened with the sound of horses tramping through the woods — horses are indispensable to the repre- sentation of whites. The men's faces were stained a brownish white, their bodies blue or red to represent the bright-coloured uniforms. In lieu of gaiters their calves were bound with rice straw. These white men galloped straight for the blacks, firing among them and driving them back. The latter quickly rallied, however, and now began a mock battle in which the natives overcarae their foes and drove them away. The whites bit off their car- tridges, set the trigger, and, in short, correctly went through all the motions of loading and firing. As often as a black man fell the spectators groaned, but when a white man bit the dust they cheered loudly. When, finally, all the whites took to ignominious flight, the delight of the ■audience was unbounded ; they were so wrought up that a feather's weight would have turned the sham fight into a real one." The drama, of course, at once suggests itself as the civilized man's substitute for such scenes as this, since its social significance is incontestable, yet with limitations such as we found operative in the dance. As among sav- ages the inspiriting war dance and those whose effects are comic or sexual occupy a large place, so in our theatre the effort to transform the drama into an exclusively social and moral agent is impracticable. The complaint that our stage, instead of being the exponent of lofty ethical standards, caters too much to frivolous tastes, and SOCIAL PLAYS 359 tickles too much, the popular palate for comic effects, is just as applicable to the savage and his dance, if it were intelligible to him. The dual purpose of dramatic art — setting before the eyes a complete ethical and social standard, and at the same time not scorning to supply amusement pure and simple — ^will be better understood as time goes by, and is not likely to alter, despite all cavils. Yet there is truth in the warning, and the ideal side of the drama does need to be fostered and empha- sized at present, since in much of the material now offered it can not be said to assert itself (omnia prseclara tam difficilia, quam rara sunt). But civilized people have besides the drama a number of other displays, whose so- cial effect is by no means to be despised. I need only sug- gest the universal testimony of historians to the enor- mous influence exerted by the Greek games on their na- tional sentiment, to the effect on the populace of public processions culminating in the Eoman triumphs, and the patriotic significance of our own gymnastic and song ■festivals and competitive contests. The study of epic poetry reveals a somewhat differ- ent picture. While with us, for adults at least, enjoyment of an epic is conditioned on its perusal, inferior peoples have access to it only through the medium of a reeounter, whose words and gestures are followed by the crowd with the greatest interest. Eenowned deeds of hunters and warriors, tales and sagas celebrating the strength and skill of ancestors, relating animal adventures, and dwell- ing on the triumph of strategy over brute force, form for a large percentage of the human race the essence of the recounter's art. And without pedagogic aids a clear ideal of the social excellence proper to his tribe is brought be- fore the hearer's imagination, and exerts an incalculable influence on his thoughts and volitions. This powerful effect of epic poetry grows with culture and with the con- solidation of the treasury of tribal tradition into such forms, as witness the Homeric poems in their influence on the Hellenes. Among modems, however, the recital of poetry has ceased almost entirely to be a form of social play since the introduction of printing, yet its social effect is decidedly augmented, for under present condi- 24 360 THE PLAY OF MAN tions a hundred thousand readers at once experience the same feelings and respond to the same ideals. Yet the en- joyment is not simultaneous and en masse, so to speak, and therefore transcends our subject. Finally, we must touch cursorily on the contribution of the other arts to the social order, so far as they make use of inner imitation. Music was mentioned in connec- tion with dancing, and earlier still with the intoxicating effect of rhythmic succession of tones. It is not a matter of surprise, then, to find that a festive gathering of social groups is almost unthinkable without the inspiration of music in some form, or that even on serious occasions, yes, even on the battlefield itself, the inspiriting exuberant charm of this art is appropriated for every sort of social purpose. Of the other arts, architecture is most applicable to our subject. It is true that from a social point of view the influence of sculpture and painting is well worthy of consideration, but both these arts are most effective when subservient to architecture. The massive arch is so familiar as an impressive symbol of social unity that a mere mention of it is sufficient — the more as in it the playful character of aesthetic observation is to a great degree subordinate. PART III THE THEORY OF PLAY Having reviewed the extensive field of play and its sys- tems, the task now remains of collecting the results and important conclusions thence resulting. To this end the conception of play must be viewed from different stand- points: on the one hand that of physiology, biology, and psychology, and on the other a more definitely aesthetic, sociological, and pedagogical view. 1. The Physiological Standpoint In the attempt to find a " common-sense " explanation of play we are confronted by three distinct views, none of which science should neglect. The first says: When a man is " quite fit," and does not know just what to do with his strength, he begins to sing and shout, to dance and caper, to tease and scuffle. " Jugend muss aus- toben, der Hafer sticht ihn"; "He must sow his wild oats " ; " n n'a pas encore jete sa gourme." All these say-^ ings recognise the necessity for some discharge of such superabundant vigour. The second view is diametrically opposed to this one, regarding play as it does in the light of an opportunity afforded for the relaxation and recrea- tion of exhausted powers. As the strings of a zither and the cord of a bow should not always be taut if the instrument is to retain its usefulness, so do men need the relaxation of play. The third view emphasizes the teleological significance of play. Observation of men and animals forces us to recognise its great importance in the physical jtmTinental development of the individual — that it is, in short, preparatory to the tasks of life. Every effort made to arouse and foster a feeling for play among 361 362 THE PLAY OF MAN our people is based on the conviction, pro patria est, dum ludere videmur. The physiological theory of play is derived mainly from the first of these views — namely, that of surplus en- ergy.* Schiller was its first exponent in Germany, when he accounted for play by calling it an aimless expendi- ture of exuberant strength, which is its own excuse for action. But Herbert Spencer, in his Principles of Psy- chology, first attempted a scientific formulation of the theory. It is characteristic of nerve processes, he says, that the superfluous integration of ganglion cells should be accompanied by an inherited readiness to discharge. As a result of the advanced development of man and the higher animals they have, first, more force than is needed in the struggle for existence; and, second, are able to allow some of their powers longer periods of rest while others are being exercised, and thus results the aimless activity which we call play, and which is agreeable to the individual producing it. A further question, which is not sufficiently provided for in Spencer's elucidation, depends on the physiology of this theory. Since we find that each species of higher animal has a kind of play peculiar to itself, we must try also to explain the origin of such varied forms of activity, all serving to relieve the tension of superfluous energy. Spencer does indeed attempt to make his theory of imita- tion cover all this, but a close examination proves it to be inadequate to the task. His idea is that imitation of one's own acts or of those of adults of the race deter- mines the channels for overflowing energy. The former supposition might be tenable on the supposition that the child's first experimentation is not playful but inten- tional repetition, which is not the commonly accepted meaning of imitation. Spencer himself, however, seems to find imitation of models more general among children, since he expressly says that their play, as they nurse their dolls, give tea parties, etc., is a distinct dramatization of the acts of adults. This view, as I have tried to prove * A more thorough account of this theory may be found in The Play of Animals. The recreation theory, on the contrary, is peouliarjy appli- cable in this connection. • ; THE PHYSIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 363 in my earlier work, can be applied -with assurance to 6ut one department of play, and consequently the origin of special forms must find some other explanation. Imita- >tion, then, in its ordinary sense, can not be the universal criterion of play. The question, therefore, as to the origin of special forms of play must be answered in some other way, and Spencer himself points it out when he says that the ac- tions imitated in play are exactly those which are impor- tant in the subsequent career of the animal, and when in pursuance of this idea he refers to the robbing and de- stroying instincts which play satisfies in a manner more or less ideal. Here we meet again with the thought which has, indeed, hardly ever been absent in this inquiry, and which I regard as a most fruitful one. Not imitation, but the life of impulse and instinct alone, can make special forms of play comprehensible to us. The surplus-energy theory assumes in the higher forms of life a series of in- born impulses for whose serious activity there is often for a long time no opportunity of discharge, with the result that a reserve of exuberant strength collects and presses imperatively for employment, thus calling forth an ideal' satisfaction of the impulse, or play. A wide range can not be denied to the theory thus set forth, especially when we consider youthful play with its ebuUieat vigour which has scarcely any other outlet. The movements of imprisoned animals, too, may be cited in its support, as well as the actions of men whose busi- ness does not give them enough physical exercise. Yet I think experience teaches us that superfluous energy, as Spencer conceives it, is no more a universal criterion of play than is imitation, since in many cases^ the inherited impulse toward prescribed reactions in certain brain tracts seems to be in itself a sufficient cause for play without the necessary accompaniment of superfluous energy. When a ball of cord is rolled toward a kitten, nothing more is needed to set her claws in motion than in the case of a full-grown cat that starts up at the sight of a mouse. And the same is true of a child whose imitative and fighting instincts are excited by whatever cause. When there is absolutely no external stimulus to supple- 364 THE PLAY OP MAN ment the creature's inborn impulses, only long inactivity of stored-up energies would lead to play; but, as tbere are thousands of such stimuli always at work, the Schiller- Spencer superfluous energy seems not to be a necessary or universal condition of play. It is of course a favour- able but not an indispensable one, and therefore I re- gard not this but the inborn impulse as the keystone of an adequate system of play. It is true that we must' assume in that case a flood tide in the affected tract as a result of the external stimulus, but this is quite a dif- ferent thing from the view whose validity we are con- testing. If, then, a condition of superfluous energy is' a favourable though not indispensable one for play, we must endeavour to find its supplement, and this brings us to the second popular idea, which under the name of the theory of recreation has found its most scientific champion in Lazarus. Its fundamental principles are quite simple. When we are tired of mental or physical labour and still do not wish to sleep or rest, we gladly welcome the active recreation afforded by play. At first blush it seems to lead to a conclusion directly opposite to Spencer's, according to which play squanders superfluous energy, while here it appears as the conserver of it; there it is an irresponsible spendthrift, here the provident householder. Yet, as I have pointed out in my earlier book, this opposition is more apparent than real; that, indeed, the recreation theory is often supplementary to the Spencerian. " When, for example, a student goes to have a game of tenpins in the evening, he thus tones up his relaxed mental powers at the same time that he finds a means of relieving his accumulated motor im- pulses, repressed during his work at the desk. So it is the same act that on the one hand disposes of his super- fluous energy, and on the other restores his lost powers." So far as this is the case this theory is a valuable sup- plement to the Schiller-Spencer idea, but is, of course, incompetent to explain play which transcends its limits. Close inspection, however, will show that even this statement has its limitations, and that the recreative theory has, after all, an independent sphere of activity. When, for instance, the conditions point to an active THE PHYSIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 365 recreation, superfluous energy pressing for discharge seems no longer indispensable; a moderate normal energy is quite adequate for its demands. It is a striking fact that the new recreative activity is often closely related to the work of which we are weary. Fresh objects, vary- ing the direction of our efforts, a slight change in the pychophysical attitude, are often suflacient to dispel the sense of fatigue. Thus, while it may be futile to direct the memory, worn out with prolonged service on some difficult subject, to other objects, yet turning it toward new circumstances connected with the same subject may restore it to its original vigour.* Kecreation may even be achieved by changing from one scientific book which wearies us to another, perhaps quite as abstruse, but deal- ing with different phases of the subject; and after an interval the first may be taken up again with renewed in- terest. Steinthal is right when he says that change of occupation, involving the use of the same limbs, rests them.f The mountain-climber who has toiled up steeps, gains new strength, or at least loses his fatigue, by walk- ing on a level. The acrobat who has tired his arms by difficult exercise on a bar tries pitching as a change, and presently returns to the first with comparative freshness. The swimmer who has been swimnling for a l6ng time in the usual position rests himself by taking a few strokes on his back, and so on.$ We occasionally find, too, that the recreation theory is very useful in determining the status of a play to which the Spencerian theory is inapplicable. With the student playing skittles in the evening the two theories represent the negative and positive sides, of one and the same pro- cess; but if he feels inclined to participate in some game involving the use of his mental powers alone, the recrea- tion idea is noticeably predominant. A principle is opera- tive here which may go far to fill the gap to which we have referred. While the theory of surplus energy ac- * 0. Kulpe, Grundriss der Psyohologie, Leipsio, 1893, p. 216. t H. Steinthal, Zu Bibel und Eeligionsphilosophie, Berlin, 1895, p. 249. X The foregoing observations are somewhat modified by Kraepelin's view that active recreation oonqueia the feeling of fatigue rather than fatigue itself. 366 THE PLAY OF MAN counts for play in thousands of eases, especially in child- hood, when there is no need for recreation, this need may also produce play where there is no surplus energy. This is chiefly illustrated by adults. Although we are still a long way from a satisfactory explanation of play, a step toward rendering it intel- ligible is gained in the fact that play is often begun in the absence of superabundant energy. But we find on further examination that a game once begun is apt to be carried on to the utmost limit of exhaustion — a fact which it is superfluous to illustrate, and which is inex- plicable by either of the theories in question. An appeal in this dilemma to the physiological standpoint reveals two possibilities. Let us recall first the tremendous sig- nificance of involuntary repetition to all animal life, for just as the simplest organisms in alternate expansion and contraction, and the higher ones in heart beats and breathing, are pervaded by waves of movement, so also in the sphere of voluntary activity there is a well-nigh irresistible tendency to repetition. Because of this tend- ency of reactions to renew the stimuli, Baldwin calls, them "circular reactions." Perhaps the child first pro-, duces them quite accidentally, then he repeats his own act, and the sensuous effect of the repetition furnishes the stimulus for renewed effort. When prohibition breaks this chain it does not as a rule effect complete cessation at once. In our busy life, occupied as it is with the" struggle for existence, we see substantial aims before us which we wish to realize as soon as possible, and we have not time to yield to this impulse to repetition; but we realize its power when a man steps aside from his strenuous business life. Psychiatry, too, furnishes us with pathological ex- amples ; some forms of mental disease are marked by con- tinual repetition of some exclamation or act. One woman murmured constantly all day long, " O Jesus, O Jesus ! " while another patient ladled nothing indef ati- gably frona an empty dish; and a third scratched himself so persistently in the same spot that serious wounds re- sulted. To the same category belong the automatic and persistent movements of hypnotic subjects. If the arm THE PHYSIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 367 of one of them is forcibly stretched out, he shows a dis- position to repeat the movement, and often keeps on doing it, as children do, for some time after a positive command to the contrary.* Something similar to this occurs when a great grief or a great joy separates us for a time from our everyday life, and we mechanically repeat a single exclamation or trivial act.f The intoxica- tion of love among birds is a very clear and beautiful illustration of this phenomenon. Bell birds are said to repeat their wooing call so long and so ardently that they have been known to fall dead from exhaustion. Play, too, furnishes a similar distraction from the commonplace world, 'and after this inquiry we are able to understand why it is persist^ in to the point of ex- haustion. Especially is this the case with children, who more readily and completely lose themselves in present enjoyment.^ Every one who has had much to do with these little people will recall with feelings of not un- mixed pleasure how everlastingly the small tyrants insist on hearing the same story over and over, and playing the same games. Fighting and movement games are invari- ably begun again as soon as the children can get their hreath, and some kinds of experimentation are even more faithfully repeated. " When a child strikes the combina- tion required," says Baldwin, " he is never tired working it. H found endless delight in putting the rubber on a pencil and off again, each act being a new stimulus to the eye. This is specially noticeable in children's early efforts at speech. They react all wrong when they first attack a new word, but gradually get it moderately well, and then sound it over and over in endless monot- ony."* This impulse toward repetition is doubtless the physio- logical reason for carrying on play to the utmost limit of strength. The second point to be noticed is the trance- like state resulting from such repetition of some move- * A. Moll, Der Hypnotismus, third edition, Berlin, 1895. p. 63. + The principle of repetition in poetry, too, is sometimes like this. See von Biedermann, Die Wiederholung als tTrform der Dichtung bei Ooethe. Zeitsohrift f. vgl. Literat-Gesch., vol. iv (1891). J Games of chance pre-eminently have this power over adults. « Mentil Development, p. 132. 368 THE PLAY OF MAN ments.and sometimes with the added influence of rhythm* The child jvho leaps and hops about or runs with all hia might, or scuffles with his companions, is seized with a wild impulse for destruction; the skater and bicyclist, the swimmer sporting in the waves, and, above all, the dancer, whose movements are adjusted in harmony with the rhythmic repetition of pleasant sounds, are all possessed by a kind of temporary madness which compels them to exert their powers to the utmost. It is not an easy mat- ter to determine the physiological basis of this intoxica- tion of movement. Violent muscular contraction is not an essential, for in such passive motion as coasting, for example, the effect is strong, amounting sometimes to a sort of giddiness. Active motion is, of course, of more interest to us, since, in conjunction with the state of trance, the principle of circular reaction is then opera- tive. Dancing is a kind of play calculated to augment this condition to the verge of the pathological. Read, for example, the description of the arrow dance of the Weddas in Sarasin's work and compare it with St. John's picture of the dancing dervishes of Cairo.f The harmless magic of play, however, is as different from such mad excesses as is the exhilarating effect of a glass of wine from the frenzy of drunkenness. We may now sum up: There are two leading prin- ciples which must ground a physiological theory of play — namely, the discharge of surplus energy and recreation for exhausted powers. They may operate simultaneously, since acts supplying recreation to exhausted forces may at the same time call into play other powers and thus afford the needed discharge for them. In many cases, and especially in youth, the first principle seems to act alone, while on the other hand play may be solely recrea- tive, without any dependence on a store of surplus energy. Further, it is important to notice two other considera- tions which throw light on persistence in play to the point of exhaustion. The first is circular reaction, that * Souriau, Le plaiair du mouvement, Eevue Soientiflque, vol. xviii, p. 365. + O. Stoll, Suggestion und Hypnotismus in der Volkerpsyohologle, p. 129. THE PHYSIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 369i self -imitation which in the resultant of one's own activi- ties finds ever anew the model for successive acts and the stimulus to renewed repetition. The second is the trance condition, which so easily ensues from such activity, and which is practically irresistible. The essential thing seems to be the demonstration of a theory of play entirely from a physiological standpoint, and not involving hereditary impulses. No more compre- hensive explanation is known to me, and yet, in looking back over the ground covered, while it must be admitted that ■v^e have reached an advantageous point of view, still, on the other hand, the feeling naturally arises that these principles, loosely strung together as they are, do not in- clude the whole subject. Think of the play of children too young to go to school, for in such spontaneous activ- ity, not yet enriched by invention or tradition, we have the kernel of the whole question. For a series of years we find life virtually controlled by play. Before systematic education begins, the child's whole existence, except the time devoted to sleeping and eating, is occupied with play, which thus becomes the single, absorbing aim of his life. Can we then be content to apply to a phenomenon so strik- ing as this a physiological principle confessedly inade- quate to cover it, although admirably adapted for applica- tion to some features of it? Does not its peculiar and in- herent nearness to the springs of life and life's realities demand a complete explanation grounded on a general principle which is applicable at once to youth and to the play which lasts all through life? To answer this question an appeal must be made to the third popular conception of play, for^ biological investigation alone can reveal the sources of human impulse. 2. The Biological Standpoint In considering play from the biological Standpoint we find two tasks prepared for us: first, a genetic explana- tion of play, and second, the appraisal of its biological value. The theory of descent whose scientific formula bears Darwin's name will be most useful to us in both un- dertakings. There is a steady and constantly increasing current against his teaching, and the opposition has taken 370 THE PLAY OF MAN a witty form, if not one dictated by good taste, in the say- ing that it is high time that biology recovered from its "Englische Krankheit." I think that this exaggerated depreciation is grounded in the just opinion that Darwin- ism does not unlock all the secrets of evolution. Scien- tific theories which explain everything they should ex- plain are comparatively rare, particularly in the sphere of organic life, and I regard it as more than probable that an X and a y still remain to be calculated after Darwin's principle of evolution has done its best. But whether we shall soon find a better working principle is another ques- tion. It may even now be ripe or it may yet linger for centuries ; perhaps it may never come in terms of thought now known to us. Por the present we have only the choice among metaphysics, Darwinism, and resignation. I, for one, then, regard the cavalier treatment of the Darwinian doctrine as a mistake, and still prefer to test special prob- lems according to its light. Its two fundamental ideas are, first, evolution by means of the inheritance of ac- quired characters ; and, second, evolution by means of sur- vival of the fittest in the struggle for existence. The essence of the first (Lamarckian) principle is denied by many Darwinians, but, assuming that its influence is as strong as its advocates claim, we should then be forced to hold that the activity of ancestors wrought in the child hereditary predispositions. These ancestors, having made use of their sensory and motor apparatus all through their lives in every possible way, must have fought out many battles, conducted the chase, and connected themselves with social groiips. Accordingly, we find in their de- scendants the impulses to experimentation, to fighting, chasing, hiding, social, and other plays. Schneider be- lieves that the boy's strong propensity for catching but- terflies, beetles, flies, and other insects, as well as that for robbing birds' nests, is attributable to the fact that his savage ancestors obtained their food supply by such means ; * and Hudson says, in speaking of heredity in con- nection with certain bird dances, that if at first the habit had been found of expressing feelings of gladness by * G. H. Sclineider, Der mensohliohe Wille, Berlin, 1882, p. 68. THE BIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 371 means of minuet steps, men as well as birds would be said to have an instinct for dancing the minuet.* It is just along these lines that we may hope to esti- mate the biological value of play, and subsequently de- velop it in relation to our own view. But the assumption of the heredity of acquired characters and its wide appli- cation introduce a new element. It is difficult to under- stand, for example, how a habit originates whose physio- logical basis is confined to the acquisition of specified traits in the nervous system, which in their turn bring about changes in the germ substance of the organism, and appear in the ofEspring as hereditary paths f or ihe^tend- ency to repeat the same sorts of acts. If such a process is possible at all, it must be in the period of youth, when the organism still possesses great plasticity. Thus A. E. Ormann says, in an appendix to his German translation of Baldwin's Mental Development': " The last objection [the neo-Darwinistic], that organic structures, such as bones, horns, teeth, etc., are fixed and unmodifiable, I am not prepared to admit. I do not believe that these struc- tures change in adult animals just as I do not believe that bionomic influences can effect important accommoda- tions in them. Tet change and accommodation in these very orders are quite possible in the case of young animals still in the developmental period, and I am convinced that the majority of effective accommodations do origi- nate at this very time, and that the possibility of their appearing diminishes as maturity is approached." t If this should prove to be the fact, play would then have the task of maintaining a countless mass of hereditary impressions important to the preservation of life, and also of supplying a means for individual adaptation of the example of adults which through imitation and direct transmission gradually become hereditary possessions of the race. But interesting as this point of view is, we find grave reason for doubting its reconcilability with the facts that we have already ascertained. First, there is the questionableness of the inheritance of acquired char- * The Naturalist in La Plata, p. 281. t Op. dt., p. 464. 372 THE PLAY OF MAN acters at all. Gotter said long ago that commoii experi- ence is all against it,* and Galton, too, is very skeptical in regard to it, if he does not flatly deny the possibility.f A. Weismann is, however, its chief opponent, and is therefore regarded as the leader of the neo-Darwinian school. How the inheritance of acquired characters can be entirely excluded from the struggle for existence is yet undemonstrated, but Spengel i has recently pointed out a notable series of adaptations which are independent of it. Indeed, in regard to the instincts which chiefly claim our notice, such a competent critic of neo-Darwinism as Romanes * is forced to admit that some quite complicated ones have attained per- fection without the aid of the Lamarckian principle. These facts warn us not to attach too much weight to it. Under these circumstances we must attempt an inde- pendent basis for our biological theory of play, since, if the Lamarckian principle is ruled out, only natural selec- tion remains of the scientific hypotheses. To this as well just and weighty objections have been raised, and I may mention that selection in the Darwinian sense does not account for the origin of structures which are at first useless, nor how it comes about that the right selection ■occurs in the right place. To meet these objections Bald- win has advanced his Organic Selection and Weismann his Germinal Selection.|| According to the former, the inheritance of acquired accommodations is unnecessary, their task being sufficiently accomplished if they keep the creature afloat in its natural environment until selection has time through favouring accidental variations tending in the same direction (coincident variations) to build up * See F. V. Wagner, Das Problem der Vererbung. Die Aula, 1895. + The muoh-disoussed question of telegony seems to me out of place in this connection, for if it actually existe at all it must be effected by some intricate modification in the germ substance itself, and does not concern the inheritance of somatogenic qualities, I J. W. Spengel, Zweckmassigkeit und Anpassung, Giessener Eeoto- latarede, 1898. * a. E. Eomanea, Darwin and after Darwin, vol. ii. II Baldwin, Organic Selection. Amer. Naturalist, June, July, 1896, and Biolog. Centralblatt, vol. xvii (1897), p. 385. Weismann, Ueber Ger- minal Selection, Jena. 1896. (Also in English translation.) THE BIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 373 hereditary adaptations* Osbom and Lloyd Morgan have reached a similar standpoint independently of Baldwin. Weismann, who in a surprising change of base abandons his former position on the all-sufficiency of Darwin's indi- vidual selection, extends the selective principle to the germ substance, which, in his view, does not consist of similar life-units, but possesses a sort of structure, the elements of which (the "determinants") already repre- sent the respective parts of the future individual. Each " determinant " struggles for sustenance against its neighbours, so producing a sort of germinal selection, in that the stronger among them has its development furthered at the expense of the weaker, transmits the force so acquired to the offspring, furnishes them in the very beginning of their career with a favourable footing in the struggle for life, and insures further progress in the same direction. Here, then, is the possibility of a special- ly determined variation grounded in the very existence of the germ substance,i- and through the interaction of indi- vidual and germinal selection much is accomplished which the former could not alone achieve.^ The future must finally judge between these rival efforts to improve the old theory. Baldwin's organic selection, which has now been accepted by Wallace Poul- ton and others, may possibly be applicable to all cases of adaptation, though it has not yet been so widely developed * Baldwin calls this directing influence of organic selection ortho- plasy ; he attempts to replace Elmer's " orthogenesis " by means of a prin- ciple which does not involve the inheritance of acquired characters. [A recent exposition of organic selection is by Conn (Method of Evolution, 1900). See also Baldwm's Diet, of Philos. and Psychol., sub verba. — Tb.] + The process is, of course, reversed in degeneration. i Weismann insists that individual selection must give the impetus to such specially directed evolution of the germ substance ; but it seems to me that his theory can not escape the objection that it lacks proper grounds for selection unless the specially directed variations in the germ substance arise independently of individual selection. It may then be said that even in a quite constant species there are, as a result of germinal selection, dispositions to specially directed variations (the lower jaw of the Hapsburgs, for instance, or the appearance of a specialized genius in a talented family), which, so long as the environment remains constant, very soon meet the opposition of individual selection. But when outer conditions are changed, the useful variations arise again, encounter and finally overcome individual selection. Whether the struggle for exist- ence really plays such a role in the germ substance, however, it is diffi- cult to assert with assuranoa. 374 THE PLAT OF MAN by its author. The chief value of Weismann's new hy- pothesis is perhaps its luminous portrayal of the interac- tion of individual selection with special developmental tendencies in the germ substance, but the explanation of these tendencies themselves by means of a struggle for sustenance seems to find little confirmation. Here is prob- ably an X, or possibly several unknown values. Yet the important part which selection plays in this exceedingly complicated process should not be underestimated, l^ageli has likened selection to a gardener who cuts away the su- perfluous growth of a tree, which then by its own inner pro- cesses forms its crown. But when we consider, for exam- ple, the wonderful mimicry, for whose striking external re- semblances "inner" developmental tendencies could hardly suffice (whether with metaphysical hypotheses of pre-es- tablished harmony or of unity of will or consciousness), the skill and power of this " gardener " appear to be sufficient. In the attempt to form a biological estimate of play independently of the Lamarckian principle we must con- stantly bear in mind the value and origin of youthful play, and therefore we must begin with instinct in its more limited sense. We find in all creatures a number of innate capacities which are essential for the preserva- tion of species. In many animals these capacities appear as finely developed refiexes and instincts, needing but little if any practice for the fulfilment of their function. With the higher animals, and above all with man, it is essentially otherwise. Although the number of his he- reditary instincts is considerable — perhaps larger than with any other creature — ^yet he comes into the world an absolutely helpless and undeveloped being which must grow in every other sense, as well as physiologically, in order to be an individual of independent capabilities. The period of youth renders such growth possible. If it is asked why an arrangement apparently so awkward has arisen, we may reply that instinctive apparatus being in- adequate for his life tasks, a period of parental protection is necessary to enable him to acquire imitatively and ex- perimentally the capacities adapted to his individual needs. The more complicated the life tasks, the more ne- cessary are these preparations; the longer this natural THE BIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 375 education continues, the more vivid do the inherited capa- cities become. Play is the agency employed to develop crade powers and prepare them for life's uses, and from our biological standpoint we can say : From the moment when the intellectual development of a species becomes moreuseful in the " struggle for life " than the most per- fect instinct, will natural selection favour those individ- uals in whom the less elaborated faculties have more chance of being worked out by practice under the pro- tection of parents — that is to say, those individuals that play. Play depends, then, first of all on the elabora- tion of immature capacities to full equality with per- fected instinct, and secondly on the evolution of hered- itary qualities to a degree far transcending this, to a state of adaptability and versatility surpassing the most perfect instinct. Our attention so far has been given mainly to special instincts, and their effects are extraordinarily widespread in both human and animal play. We have dwelt upon in- stinct as it is manifested in fighting, love,* and social plays, and in experimentation with the motor apparatus we are pre-eminently on instinctive ground. In sensory experimentation, however, the practice of inborn reflexes (they are gradually differentiated from instincts) is in the background. Ribot, however, designates both these processes as instinctive. Even in experimentation with the higher mental powers, practice in fixing the attention, which is ah indispensable prerequisite of all experimenta- tion, and indeed of all play, may be regarded as a motor reaction allied to instinct. On the other hand, as I have pointed out in the preface, the narrower conception of instinct is not suited to our purpose, and we therefore took the more comprehensive idea of hereditary impulse as the ground of our classsification. We found the imi- tative impulse especially important here, and its far- reaching biological significance was dwelt upon in the beginning of the section on imitative play, and need merely be recapitulated. The imitative impulse is an inborn faculty resembling •Ibid. 25 376 THE PLAY OF MAN instinct* whose first effect is to supplement instinct by means of individual acquirements; secondly, it preserves those race heritages which survive only through tradition. The first of these functions falls in the biological domain, while the second belongs to social play. The former may be advantageously observed in the world of birds, which learn the characteristic song of their kind by the help of playful experimentation to a great degree, but never get it so perfectly as when they hear the song of older birds as a model. Children, too, exemplify it clearly in the transition from their lall-monologue to speech; in their tussling, where many of the movements are instinctive, but are materially assisted by imitation of older boys; in the nursing of dolls by little girls, who would probably not make any use of the instinct during childhood but for imitation; and in many other cases. Imitation is clearly playful in such instances, so far as it is both unconscious and unpractical. From the biological standpoint, too, imitative play is an important agent in supplementing instincts, usually tending to render them more plastic, and thus further the opening of new paths for the development of intelli- gence. Therefore I believe that a general theory of play should keep this thought in the foreground ; though under some conditions contrary effects ensue, since, under Bald- win's principle, imitation gives selection the opportunity to strengthen the hereditary foundations of the activity imitated. It seems to me that in imitative play of avow- edly social character the impulse probably aids selection in its gradual upbuilding by means of the furtherance of coincident variations. I touch again upon this point (pp. 395 f.), and will only say here that the two views are not necessarily contradictory, since, while a weakening may take place in the details of the activity, there may be a strengthening of the accompanying feelings — these two elements being very different. Besides imitation, many other natural impulses come into play, as we discovered in studying experimentation and the higher mental capacities. That the practice * The previous discusssion of this question need not be repeated here. THE BIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 377 theory, too, is applicable we can plainly see. Practice in Tecognition, in storing up the material collected by mem- ory, in the use of imagination, reason, and the will, to- gether with the ability to surmount feelings of pain, are all of the greatest, indeed of incalculable, value in the struggle for life. There is some difficulty in meeting the question of the relationship of experimental impulse in the higher psychic life, since, as I pointed out in the introduc- tion to the first chapter, it is still a mooted question whether the assujnption should be made of one general im- pidse to action which, according to circumstances, is directed now to this and now to that psychic discharge; or whether, by reviving the faculty theory, to speak of many central impulses, grounded in our psychophysical nature and pressing for expression as instincts do. For my part, I incline to the opinion that such central impulses actually exist, though they are probably but vaguely defined. Long ago the attempt was made, espe- cially by Keimarus and Tetens,* to include the idea of im- pulse among the higher mental processes, and the future may yet see this effort renewed. However that may be, there is unquestionably one such impulse which in its motor expression directly suggests instinct, and which in my opinion is directly derived from it — namely, attention. But attention is an essential factor in all experimental play, and indeed in all play, of whatever character, and can therefore, in conjunction with the causal needs which so much resemble instincts, bring about results which would appear to require especial incentive to activity. Eaising this question brings me to another point which I have touched upon in my earlier work. While Schiller speaks of a single-minded play impulse, my own view is that there is no general impulse to play, but vari- ous instincts are called upon when there is no occasion for their serious exercise, merely for purposes of prac- tice, and more especially preparatory practice, and these instincts thus become special plays. It seems to me un- necessary to suppose a particular play instinct in addi- » B. Sommer, GrundzOge einer Qesohiohte der deutsohen Phys. und Aesth.,' Wflrzburg, 1892, pp. 98, 266. 378 THE PLAY OF MAN tion to all the others, and the fact that selection favours a long period of youth bears this out. When that is as- sured, and special physiological provision is made to secure it, then the merely ordinary instincts and impulses are quite sufficient to account for the phenomena of play. Still, if the demand is made for the same sort of im- pulses for all play, I point to attention and causality as expounded by Sikorski, and familiar to us in the joy in • being a cause. The actual act of attention is, as before said, very close to instinct, and so-called voluntary atten- tion is not widely different, since we find connected with many instincts phenomena which are influenced by the intelligence and will. Attention, too, is an impulse in that it urges to activity so long as it is not hampered by fatigue. When we complain of being bored, it is not be- cause we have no experiences, but because the experiences are not sufficiently interesting to occupy our attention, and, since it is an active principle in all play, we naturally think of it in connection with the impulse to any sort of activity. Following attention we have pleasure in the production of effects appearing as another element in the general impulse to activity and exhibited more or less clearly in all plays that are connected with external move- ment. 'Not is it wanting either in those which are osten- sibly merely receptive, as we shall see. As the categorical standing of causality depends in all likelihood on heredi- tary capability, and as it first becomes prominent in a motor form — namely, in the active production of effects — we have here a further means of giving to the conception of a general play impulse a concrete form. In conclusion, adult play must be considered from a biological standpoint. That the grown man continues to play long after he has outgrown the childish stimuli to play has been sufficiently shown in the foregoing chapters. Much of his play, and especially the sensorimotor experi- mental kind, is of but slight biological significance, though the practice theory is often applicable even in later life to movement and fighting play, and still more so to social play, since the latter serves not merely as ontogenous practice, but is indispensable as well to phylo- genetic development of the social capacities. Artistic THE BIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 379 enjoyment, too — that highest and most valuable form of adult play — is, as Konrad Lange has demonstrated, ex- tremely influential biologically and socially. " Man's seri- ous activity," he says, "has always a more or less one- sided character. His life consists, as Schiller has shown in his letters on aesthetic education, in a progressive alternation between work and sensuous pleasure. Indeed, in the various occupations of mankind, as a rule, but a limited number of the mental powers are employed, and these not fully so. Innumerable springs of feeling are hidden in the human breast untested and untried. It is plain that this would have a most disastrous effect on the whole race did not art supply the deficiency of stimulus.' . . . Art is the capacity possessed by men of furnishing themselves and others with pleasure based on conscious 6elf-illusion which, by widening and deepening human perception and emotion, tends to preserve and improve the race." * Schiller's famous saying, that a man is fully human only when he plays, thus acquires a definite bio- logical meaning. One word more: If the Lamarckian principle be adopted, the play of adults has a still more specialized sig- nificance, since, as it would be essential to a well-rounded culture, its office as preserver of hereditary race capaci- ties t is obvious, especially as these require a gentle fos- tering, not to hamper individual adaptation, and yet pre- serve the fundamental aim of all adaptation. Since, how- ever, caution forbids our using the Lamarckian principle, I content myself with the mere mention of this possible effect of it. 3. The Psychological Standpoint Here in the first place we are called upon to apply a psychological criterion to plajrful activity. Wundt, in his lectures on the human and animal soul, suggests three such criteria: first, the pleasurable effect; second, the conscious or unconscious copying of' useful activities; and third, the reproduction of the original aim in a play- * Gedanken zu einer Aesthetik auf entwiokelvmgsgeschiohtlioher Grundlage, pp. 270, 278. t A similar view is expressed m Lange's work. 380 THE PLAY OF MAN ful one* As I have said before, I do not regard the sec- ond of these — namely, imitation — as universally a mark of play. Wundt says that an animal can play only when certain memories which are accompanied by pleasurable feeling are renewed, yet under aspects so transformed that all painful effects vanish and only agreeable ones remain ; the simple and spontaneous play of animals being, so to speak, association plays. Thus the dog, at the sight of another dog which displays no unfriendly feeling toward him, just as naturally feels a disposition to the agreeable exercise of his awakened powers as to fight with his fel- lows.f Kittens which for the first time try to catch a moving ball, are not playing according to this view, and only play when the action is repeated for the sake of the pleasure it gives. I shall return to this conception, which includes more than simple imitation in its ordinary sense, I feel that I have not succeeded in conveying all that Wundt means in the passage cited from. However, if I understand him aright, he attempts in the last edition of his published works to explain imitation in quite another way. Thus he gives that name to the play of young dogs, which, without having seen it done, seize a piece of cloth in the teeth and shake it violently, because such play exhibits the playful activity of former generations.^ This is a hardly justifiable use of the word, and I think it better to admit at once that imitation, as commonly un- derstood, is not a criterion of play. The case is entirely different with the " apparent aim " or sham activity. It is xmdeniable that, objectively con- sidered, such play appears to be detached from the real, practically directed life of the individual, and Wundt, too, understands it so. No one plays to attain what is a * Op. mt., pp. 404, 406. t Ibid., p. 411. Here play is called " unoonsoious imitation neeessi- ' tated by hereditary impulseB." In this notice Wundt refers to my views expressed in The Play of Animals as though to me " the playful fights of dops with their young appeared earlier in the evolution of species than genuine fighting among animals." But this is not my meaning. 1 in- sisted on the presence of hereditary impulses, and assumed that these are brought to perfection during a period of youth devoted to play. Play would, on the whole, contribute more to the weakening of existing instincts than to strengthen them or create new ones. t Ibid. THE PSYCHOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 381 Teal object of effort outside of the sphere of play. All the objects of play lie within its own bounds, and even games of chance keep in view the aim to promote strong excitement in the parties to the wager until the decision. Since, then, we must consider sham activity as a genuine projection from earnest life, it becomes a universal cri- terion. This is not contradicted by the fact that playful activity is of great value to the individual, since the value of the play is not the player's motive. The question respecting the illusion-working character of playful activity is much more difficult to meet, if the psychical processes of the playing subject are kept in view, and the inquiry is pressed as to whether the actual sham quality of the play is reflected in his mental states.* Here it must be emphasized that actual consciousness of fulfilling a merely ideal purpose, of being engaged in sham occupation, is not at all essential to imitative play, and is wanting altogether in experimentation and fighting plays. Consequently it too fails as a universal criterion of play. Later we shall inquire whether in much play the objective sham character may not influence the psychic condition of the player in another way. There remain, then, as general psychological criteria of play, but two more of the elements popularly regarded as essential — namely, its pleasurableness, and the actual severance from life's serious aims. Both are included in cally speaking, in activity performed for its own sake. I proceed after this introduction to inquire into the character of the pleasure derived from play. It is the most universal of aU the psychological accompaniments of play, resting as it does on the satisfaction of inborn impulses. The sensorimotor and mental capacities (of the latter, attention pre-eminently) fighting and sexual impulses, imitation, and the social instincts press for discharge, and lead to enjoyment when they find it in play. To this simple statement of fact we must subjoin the not unim- portant consideration which Baldwin has suggested in his preface to The Play of Animals. He distinguishes * I have not made this distinction sufficiently clear in The Play of Animals, as K. Lange rightly points out. 382 THE PLAY OF MAN two distinct kinds of play: one "not psychological at all," and exhibiting only the biological criterion of prac- tice for, not exercise of, the impulse; and the other, which is psychological as well and involves conscious self- deception.* 'The situation, he says, is like that displayed in many other animal and human functions which are at once biologic and instinctive, as well as psychologic and intelligent; for example, sympaliiy, fear, and bashfulness. This last statement is unquestionable, but there is room for doubt whether the previously assumed difference ex- ists. Baldwin's grounds for the distinction seem to m.e to be inconclusive, in that conscious seK-deception is by no means the only nor the most universal psychic accom- paniment of play, the most elementary of them all being the enjoyment derived for the satisfaction of an instinct, which makes play an object for psychology, where con- scious self-deception is out of the question.f But the fur- ther question is suggested whether the biological concep- tion of play has not a still deeper grasp than the psycho- logical, and to this extent the proposed distinction is of value. It may be assumed of young animals, and probably of children, that the first manifestations of what is after- ward experimentation, fighting and imitative play, etc., is rarely conscious, and consequently we can not assert with assurance that it is pleasurable. Therefore the bio- logical but not the psychological germ of play is present. It was in this sense that I intended my previous remarks to the effect that actual imitation was not an indispen- sable condition of play, while repetition possibly could be considered so, since the impulsive movements must be repeated frequently and at last performed for the sake alone of the pleasure derived from them, before play en- sues. This marks the psychological limits of play. To make the relation clearer, let us take the grasping movement as an example. The child at first waves his * See, too, K. Lange, Gedanken zu einer Aesthetik, etc., p. 258. + [By "not psychological at all" wa» meant not psychological sem- blance (Scheinthatigkeit) at all, while still auch from an objective point of view ; so that psychological semblance can not be taken as a univer- sal criterion of play. — J. M. B.] THE PSYCHOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 383 Lands aimlessly, and when his fingers chance to strike a suitable object they clutch at it instinctively. From a purely biological point of view this is practice of an in- stinct, and play has already begun. Psychologically, on the contrary, it is safer to defer calling the movements plaj-ful until through repetition they acquire the char- acter of conscious processes accompanied by attention and enjoyment. This distinction, I think, is a proper one, and it enables the biologist to pursue the idea further than the psychologist would be justified in doing. Therefore I can not recognise any activity as playful in the most complete sense which does not exhibit the psychological criterion as well. Examples of such plays may be found scattered all through the systematic parts of this work, and at the beginning of the section on contact plays. In examining somewhat more closely the nature of the feeling of pleasure which springs from the satisfaction of an inborn instinct we may assume as a general law that it is threefold: first, there is pleasure in the stimulus as such ; then in the agreeableness of the stimulus ; ' and, third, in its intensity. The first is due to the fact that a set of hereditary impulses press for such expression; it is superfluous to attempt to prove that there are special stimuli inherently pleasurable; it is only the third class, then, that need demand our attention, and this we have repeatedly encountered in our excursions into the various departments of play. It would be well worth while to devote a monograph to the investigation of its meaning and grounds in the light of the literature of the past. Probably a variety of causes would be brought to light, among which, however, the influence of habit would be prominent, since attention and enjoyment would need constantly stronger stimuli. The most valuable contribu- tion to the subject seems to me that of Eessing in pur- suance of Du Bos's idea. He says that the violent emo- tion produced by the feeling of heightened reality is the occasion of the pleasurable effect. But whence comes this feeling? Its origin is sufficiently clear in movement-play, where intense stimulus is connected with the violent ex- ertion of physical powers; but how is it with receptive play? In the eighteenth century it was said, on the 384 THE PLAY OF MAN grotmd of Leibnitz's psychology, that what we regard as receptive play was the soul's spontaneous activity. The strong emotion resulting betokened a development of force which is always a satisfaction. This view quite naturally lends itself to modem psychological terms now that we can put our finger on the strong internal motor processes involved ; yet it is limited by observation, which shows that intensive stimuli taking possession of us, so to speak, in spite of ourselves, are not invariably cherished as pleasures. Only when we voluntarily seek the strong feel- ing, and gladly yield ourselves to it so that the emotion it produces is in a measure our own work, do we enjoy the result. The conditions are the same as with the pleasure in power displayed in violent movement plays, and they may be treated together. Among the many inborn necessities which ground our pleasure in play we find again that three is the number emphasized by psychology — namely, the exercise of atten- tion, the demand for an efficient cause, and imagination. As regards attention, I have already said in the biological discussion that it seems calculated to lend a definite meaning to the vague idea of a general need for activity. The examples of practice in attention which were intro- duced in the section on experimentation with the higher mental powers were chosen with a view to illustrating mental tension, and special stress was laid on the fact that, apart from these limitations, attention is of the widest and most comprehensive significance. Indeed, fully developed play in the psychological sense is scarcely conceivable without the simultaneous exercise of motor or theoretic attention. From the first sensory and motor play of infants, straight through to aesthetic enjoyment and artistic production, its tension is felt, and when the opportunity is not afforded for its satisfactory exercise a pitiable condition of boredom ensues, the unendura- bleness of which Schopenhauer has so exhaustively de- scribed. The desire to be an efficient cause also has a motor and a theoretic form. We demand a knowledge of effects and to be ourselves the producers of effects, and it is through this motor form that the theoretic, if not exactly THE PSYCHOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 385 originated, is at least perfected. Hence the root idea of causal connection depends on volition, and Schopenhauer,, in referring force to the will, has but expressed in his metaphysical way an established psychological fact. This motor impulse finds expression in the joy in being a cause, which I regard as so essential to play, and in con- junction with attention is probably the source of the impulse for activity of which I have spoken. We must hear in mind all the forms of pleasure connected with m.ovement, and especially motor experimental play, where, besides the mere enjoyment of motion in itself, there is the satisfaction of being one's self the originator of it, the joy-bringing sense of being a cause. Use of the sen- sory apparatus is a source of the same pleasure, since here, too, a motor condition is involved, and is accompanied with consciousness of its own activity ; and when the inner imitation which we have described is also included, the connection with external movement is of course still closer. And in any case joy in being a cause is well-nigh universal, since in play no purpose is served apart from the act itself as impelled by inner impulse, which thus appears in the character of an independent cause more than in any other form of activity. This joy in being a cause is susceptible of varied modi- fication. In violent movements, and even in the recep- tive enjoyment of intense stimuli, it is converted into pleasure in the mere possession of power, and is propor- tionate to the magnitude of the results. It appears also in the form of emulation when a model is copied, and in imitative competition, the pleasure of surpassing others arises with enjoyment of pure success and victory, which, as we have seen, results as well from overcoming difficul- ties as from the subjugation of foes. All these ideas have been so often encountered in the sytematic part of our work that merely directing them to their natural conclu- sions is all-sufficient here. Of imagination, however, we must speak in greater detail in regard to its illusion-making power, which again brings us to the sham occupation recognised as such by the doer in a partly subjective manner. I am careful to limit this statement because it is evident that only a 386 T&E PLAT OF MAN simple form of the phenomenon, and not its whole con- tent, is present in such reflex forms of consciousness. In many games there is a veritable playing of a role in which the players, like actors, are quite conscious all through the pretence that they are only "making be- lieve." It is a genuine conscious state in which, on the one hand, the illusion is perfect, while on the other there is full knowledge that it is an illusion. Konrad Lange has called this condition one of conscious self-de- ception, a term which most aptly conveys the idea of the strange contradiction of inner processes. He limited the use of the term, however, to plays that depend on the imitative arts, while I have advanced the view in my Play of Animals that it is even more clearly exhibited in such fighting and hunting plays as are conducted independ- ently of models, than in -actual imitative play. But when it comes to human play I am forced to admit that speech discloses conscious self-deception in the imitative play of children where it might be doubtful in the case of animals.* Still, I have other points of controversy with Lange. If imitation includes the conscious repetition of our own previous acts, as it may by an extension of the definition, then we are warranted in assuming conscious self-deception only with it. Thus, in fighting play, for in- stance, clear consciousness of playing a role can ensue only when previous experience has taught the players what are the serious manifestations of the fighting instinct. If, however, the narrower use of the word is adopted, illusion is more extensive than imitation, and, further- more, the latter may exist without the former. When, as I said before, ' there is a clear consciousness of sham activity, we may subscribe essentially to Lange's theory, witb its oscillation between reality and appear- ance, since the enjoyment of illusion does alternate with the impression of reality. His figure of the swinging pen- dulum should not be taken too literally as implying meas- ured regularity in the succession of states.-f- The essence * Children show eonsoious self-illusion very clearly when they play something like this : " Now I am playing that I am papa and have shot a lion," etc. + Note, however, the rhythmic jiction of attention, which frequently admits of "coming to" at relatively regular intervals. THE PSYCHOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 387 of his meaning is that in self -illusion which is conscious, even the moments of most absolute abandon are followed by other moments of readjustment, and this is undeniably the case. Think, for instance, of the laughter of romping boys which serves to reassure the combatants by its im- plication that, in spite of appeamces to the contrary, the fight is only playful. But this does not fully explain the illusion of the players. Just as in assthetic enjoyment w© are for a long time entirely surrendered to the illusion without con- sciously recognising the fact, so we find in play, and espe- cially that 'of children, absorption and self-forgetfulness so complete that no room is left for the idea of oscillation. And when the illusion is so strong and so lasting, as is sometimes the case with little girls nursing their dolls, or with little boys playing soldier or robber, they can no more be said to see through the illusion than to alternate between it and reality. My own contribution to the solu- tion of the problem is set forth in my earlier work in the section on hs^pnotic phenomena, more exhaustively than is possible here, where the points of view are so much more varied. I therefore content myself with the follow- ing partial elucidation: If we may not assume consciousness of the illusion in complete absorption, nor yet any true alternative with reality, we are forced to the conclusion that thie appear- ance produced by play differs essentially from the reality which it represents, and is incapable of producing genu- ine deception. Now this postulate seems to be borne out in a very obvious and striking manner by the fact that sham activity and the pretended object are evidently symbolic, since they are never perfect duplicates of reality. Toward the most perfect imitation the playing child enter- tains feelings quite different from those called forth by a living creature. How, then, is there positive decep- tion? But closer examination shows us that the solu- tion is not so simple. If such external distinctions alone separated playful illusion from actual deception, the force of the former would inevitably decline as this difference increased. But the facts indicate exactly the contrary, as we may see illustrated by the little girl who takes a 388 THE PLAY OP MAN sofa pillow for a doll ; the illusion'is at least quite as great as when the toy is a triumph of imitative art. The child actually approaches the hypnotic state when she says that the pillow is a lady on the sofa, and chats with her. Though there is of course no actual deception, the reason for it must he looked for elsewhere than in any external difference from reality.* I believe its true basis to be the feeling of freedom, which is closely connected with joy in being a cause. Not the clear idea, " This is only pretence," but a subtile con- sciousness of free, voluntary acceptance of the illusion stamps even the deepest absorption in it with the seal ipse feci as a safeguard from error. If we accept E. von Hartman's assthetic principle that to the conscious- ness which is sunk in illusion the apparent I is different from the real I of ordinary waking consciousness, then in illusion play the real I is supplanted by the apparent I. Yet pleasurable feelings which belong properly to the obscured real I may come over into the sphere of the apparent I and lend to it a specific character. As in the contemplation of beauty, enjojrment 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 closed eyes and play with them, but as soon as the wearied consciousness lets slip the sense of being the cause of it all, we shrink from these phantoms, and playful illusion takes a serious turn. Finally, through the feeling of freedom, the recreation theory attains a special psychological significance which * Lipps'B dritten Aesthetischen Litteraturbericlit (p. 480) seems to me to state tne problem clearly, but does not contribute to its solution. THE ESTHETIC STANDPOINT 389 is quite generally recognised. As soon as the individual has progressed far enough to realize the seriousness of life (and this probably happens in an unreflective sort of way to children too young to go to school) the liberty of play signifies to him relief from this pressure. The more earnest is a man's life, the more will he enjoy the refuge afforded by play when he can engage in sham occupations chosen at will, and unencumbered by serious aims. There he is released from the bondage of his work and from all the anxieties of life. 4. The Esthetic 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 aesthetic writings; yet he is far from denying the kinship, and I think that he would have concurred to a great extent in Schiller's view if he could have convinced himself of the biological and sociological importance of play by ade- quate investigation of its phenomena. I at least have been confirmed in my conviction of the close connection between play and aesthetics by the perusal of his book, and there, too, my view stated in the very outset — ^namely, that this connection obtains in a higher degree than does that between play and artistic production — is also sup- ported by his more thoroughgoing investigation of the facts. The following points present themselves as the most general results of our observation of aesthetic enjoy- ment. We have found that all sense organs display nu- merous impulses to activity, and consequently enjoyment of the response to stimuli is a universal basis of play,' varying as to conditions and the quality of the stimuli. iN'ow, since every aesthetic pleasure (except the appre- ciation of poetry) is connected with sense-perception, we find in it a genuine source of enjoyment, depending on the origin and quality of such perception. Observa- tion merely for its own sake is the lowest form of {esthetic enjoyment, and is so far identical with sensuous play. 390 THE PLAY OF MAN On this foundation arises enjoyment of special stimuli. Confining ourselves to sensory play, we can distinguish two groups — ^namely, sensuously agreeable stimuli and in- tensive ones. The former, provided higher aesthetic ob- servation does its work of personification, finds its sole object in beauty. Pleasure in intense stimuli is strong enough to subdue the pain which is commonly associated with it, and forms an introduction to enjoyment of what is grotesque, striking, and tragic. It is especially promi- nent in the trancelike state so common in movement-play as well as in aesthetic fenjoyment. Before going further we must pause to consider the idea so often advanced that such enjoyment is peculiarly the prerogative of the higher senses. Is the pleasure which I feel when I inhale a perfume as much aesthetic as is the perception of beautiful colour? I think the case is like that of the common idea of play. From a psychological standpoint we recognise as such any act that is practised purely for its pleasurable effect, and sham occupation in the higher forms of play may be subjective. Therefore we can affirm that pleasure in perception as such, and not necessarily in agreeable per- ception, grounds it, and to this extent no one can demur if the beautiful colour is classed with the pleasant odour. For the utmost aesthetic satisfaction, however, more than this is requisite — first, definite form, and second, richer spiritual effect — and since these are perceptible only to the higher senses, it becomes their exclusive prerogative to take in the utmost effects of artistic effort. To resume our review, we observe that aesthetic en- joyment is not merely a playful sensor experience, but manifests as well the higher psychic grounds of percep- tion. What we said of the pleasure of recognition, the stimulus of novelty, and the shock of surprise need not here be repeated. Illusion remains the most certain mark of higher aesthetic enjoyment, and the important psycho- logical problem connected with it which was referred to in the preceding section has its application here as in other illusion play. The first thing to notice abovt 't here is that it consists partly in the transference oi THE ESTHETIC STANDPOINT 391 thought from the copy to an original * and that sym- pathy and the borrowing of qualities which are connected with imitation have also their parts to play. Bearing all this in mind, we are in a position to put the question next in order. What is the principal content of illusion? Thus we arrive at a point similar to that reached in our study of sensory plays. As the pleasure in stimulus as such surpasses the pleasure in any particular form of stimulus, so here the subjective activity of inner imita- tion as such is a source of pleasure quite apart from the qualities inherent in the thing copied. Lipps says, in his notice of my Einleitung in die Aesthetik, that for me the sesthetic value of the object under observation and per- sonification is not that it is personified, but that it is I who personify it. Part III of the book proves the injus- tice of this to my general view, yet I do maintain that inner imitation is as such accompanied by pleasurable feelingSjt and consequently that aesthetic satisfaction possibly finds its first limit when any painfulness con- nected with the subject outweighs the enjoyment derived from inner imitation. If, then, the act of inner imitation is in itself pleas- urable, it strikes me as self-evident that the degree of satisfaction attained must be proportional to the value of its object. This is clearly illustrated by the highest character of sesthetic intuition, the impression of vital and mental completeness ; and inner imitation shows this, for it delights to act in response to the functions of move- ment, force, life, and animation. Therefore Lotze is right when he says, after approving the limitations which we have pointed out, " No form is too chaste for the entrance and possession, of our imagination." On the other hand, it is evident that the value of this indwelling depends essen- tially on the peculiarities of the subject. If, for instance, X transform myself into a shellfish and enter into its sole * Lange has treated of the contrary ease where Nature_ is regarded as a work of art. I do not think, however, that it has tie signifloanoe that belongs to the conversion of appearance into reality. t"A 111 vue d'un objet expressif," says Jouffroy, " qui mejette dans un ^tat sympathique de soi-m^me d^sagr^able, il y a en moi irn j>laisir qui r&ulte de oe que je suis dans eet 6ta.V—0j>. cit., 270. 26 392 THE PLAY OF MAN method of enjoyment, opening and shutting Its shell, I experience a far narrower sort of aesthetic satisfaction than when I feel with a mother who is caressing her child. It is just because inner imitation is involved that the value of the aesthetic effect is determined by the qualities of the object. But what are the qualities, it may be asked, which augment or detract from this effect? An ex- haustive and satisfactory answer to this question is im- possible here; such is the extraordinary variety of the contributory factors. It properly belongs, too, to special- ized aesthetics. In general, 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 light- ness and freedom results; in the other no less agreeable sensations of our own vigour." * In other spheres the value of such indwelling seems to me to be chiefly in the two directions which Schiller has indicated in his com- parison of " grace " and " dignity." I would refer again in this connection to what has been said about the im- portance of poetic enjoyment; if we are right' in assign-, ing love and conflict as its chief motives, then here too enjojrment of agreeable and intense stimuli is prominent. If we ask, finally, how aesthetic enjoyment extends its sway beyond the entire sphere of play, we encroach on the ethical bearings of art. With the introduction of an element of moral elevation and profound insight into life, aesthetic satisfaction ceases to be " mere " play and transcends our present subject. But we must be careful to maintain that it is transcendence and not ex- clusion, for even when (as is possible to a Shakespeare and a Schiller) the intent toward moral elevation and * Baumasthetik, p, 6. THE ESTHETIC STANDPOINT 393 profound insight is prominent, our enjoyment remains aesthetic only so long as these effects are developed and set forth in connection with playful sympathy. Our second leading question is that of the relation be- tween play and artistic production. Let us set out by announcing at once that the latter, especially in highly developed art, is further removed from play than is aes- thetic enjoyment. This is implied in the fact that, for the genuine artist, practical application of his aptitude is, as a rule, his life's calling; not necessarily his only means of support, of course, but sufficiently absorbing to force the man of creative ability to devote most of his life to an end which to the mass of mankind seems un- worthy of serious effort. In such a case art ceases to be playful. But this transformation is not unique. That absorption in an apparently useless form of activity which is so incomprehensible to the average man, but which easily lures its votaries to rapt enthusiasm for their art, is displayed in many forms less exalted than the striving for an ideal. Plays not connected with art hold despotic sway over their victims. Many devote their life's best effort to some forms of sport, and others to mental con- tests, such as those of chess, whist, etc. E. Isolani says that when Zuckertort was a medical student in Berlin he accidentally became a witness of a inatch game between two fine chess players, and, although unfamiliar with the rules, he detected a false play. This interested him in the game, and he became a pupil of Anderson. Soon chess instead of medicine became his chief business in life; he thought of nothing but how to improve his play. It kept him awake at night, or, if fatigue overcame him, its problems pursued him in dreams. At twenty-four he was a worn-out man. The demoniac power with which art drives a man so predisposed resides in other games as well ; and in this both activities cease to be pure play. Another basis for our subject is found in the fact that art presupposes a useful field of application for technical skill whose acquirement and improvement are no longer ends in themselves. The acquisition is often a long and painful process, with little that is playful about it. But this is common enough in other play as well when the 394 THE PLAY OF MAN technical side of any sport is made the subject of serious study and effort. Our third ground is to be sought in a very real aim, which is ever beckoning to the artist. It may be desig- nated in a general way as the sympkthetic interest of others, manifested in admiring recognition and apprecia- tion of the powers displayed, or in subscribing to the con- victions, views, and ideals of the artist. In so far as this is an effective motive, art is no play. Strictly artistic temperaments are especially liable to its influence at the beginning of their career. Indifferance, when .sincere, is usually a later development, the product of experience. Having thus fortified our position against miscon- struction, we are jn-epared to proclaim the proper rela- tionship between artistic production and play. It seems to me to be more and more conspicuous as we approach the springs of art. The primitive festival, combining as it did music and poetry with dancing, had indeed a tre- mendous effect on its witnessers, and its manifestations were essentially playful. Skill acquired in childhood through playful practice was playfully exhibited with original variations. The epic art, too, was playfully em- ployed by the primitive recpunter, with no indication of toilsome preparation or serious treatment, and the case is not widely different with what we know of the begin- nings of pictorial art. So long as primitive sculpture served no religious purpose, simple delight in its use was much more prominent, since all inherited the capacity, and none was opposed to the mass as the exponent of a specialty. We meet the same conditions in studying the child's artistic efforts; his poetic and musical efforts as well as those in drawing are essentially playful. The idea of making an impression on others does appear, but it is still very much in the background; enjoyment of his own productive activity predominates in the infantile con- sciousness. Although highly developed art does so tran- scend the sphere of play, it too is rooted in playful ex- perimentation and imitation, and we can detect their later growth of joy in being a cause in the work of full- fledged artists of our own day. Indeed, it is present in all creative activity, gilding earnest work with a sportive THE SOCIOLOGICAL STAJTDPOINT 395 glitter. In artistic production, however, it has the spe- cial office of difEerentiating 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 produqtion, 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 stiU more summary method may be adopted in treat- ing of the social significance of play, since the section already devoted to it is of a more theoretic character. The practice theory, as we have seen, makes youthful play intelligible, but finds no lack of application to adults as well. When we reflect on the unavoidable limitations and mechanical routine of a regidar calling we see how valuable is the cheering and humanizing effect of play, both physical and mental, and especially of those games which are calculated to strengthen the social tie. The practice afforded by these is more important to the adult than to the child, since the latter has always a certain social sphere in his relations with his elders, while the wider demands of an adult are not always so well pro- vided for. Two distinct impulses underlie the foundation of so- ciety — ^namely, the desires for aggregation and for commu- nication. Both are probably derived from the parental relation, which expands as the culture of the group devel- ops. For this reason it is probable that Baldwin's princi- ple of organic selection may take effect in this special case. In general I hold to the view that play makes it possible to dispense to a certain degree with specialized hereditary mechanism by fixing and increasing acquired adaptations. On the social side we find much the same conditions, though we may perhaps assume that comradeship in play has an orthoplastic influence on the intensity of the social impulse. When a society (a primitive race, for example, which is forced by circumstances to wander about a great deal, or to conduct a war) undertakes new tasks which 396 THE PLAT OF MAN lead to stronger and more extended social organization, play alone can supply the necessary conditions. Under its " screening " influence natural selection has time to elimi- nate the variations which are not coincident, to further those which are, and so to strengthen gradually the social impulses. These two original social impulses find satisfaction in the social circle as soon as the individual has out- grown the narrow limits of the family, and the first social group into which he voluntarily enters is that of his playmates. This is the social school for children; here, says Jean Paul, " the first social fetters are woven of flowers," and here, too, does the adult find the perennial spring for renewing the influence of the " socius " * in himself. Where association presents only its more pleas- ing features, the voluntary subordination which is some- times irksome is natural enough both to the recognised leader and to abstract law. Kant's moral requisite that a person shall never be nlade use of as a means is ap- plicable to public life only when individuals voluntarily fit themselves into the social mechanism. In clubs for amusement, social sympathy and good comradeship un- dergo a sort of artificial expansion which society could tardly 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 modem times. The union of early tribes for their dances and feasts made it possible for them to work together for serious purposes, and, to take an illustration from the other extreme, a group of university teachers, in spite of their peaceful calling, is best preserved from disastrous dissension when their good comradeship is promoted by frequent and regularly recurring social gatherings. The effect of ordinary play is supported by social imi- tation. To do what the others do, and so get the advantage of the stimulus which belongs to collective activity; to thrill with the feeling that moves the masses ; to get out of the narrow circle of one's own desires and efforts — these the child learns with his playmates, and the grown * Gf. Baldwin, Social and Ethical Interpretations, p. 146. THE SOCIOLOGICAL STANDPOINT 397 man in aesthetic sports and in festive gatherings. Thus play contributes to the " experimental verification of the benefits and pleasures of united action,"* and such ex- perience must advance the ends of society, since it forms habits which extend beyond the sphere of play. Hence arises, too, the imitation of individuals who are especially prominent in the social group. When among children or grown people some master spirit takes the lead by virtue of his courage, wisdom, presence of mind, or quick adapta- bility, his example is of quite incalculable influence on his fellows. The effects of aesthetic sympathy when the model is one of social excellence takes deep hold on the life around it. In modern poetry, too, we have a pow- erful means of bringing the social and ethical ideal home to each appreciative soul in the privacy of his own home. We have found, too, that the various aspects of the impulse of communication which ground the inner spirit- ual association of the group are also available for play. While in the animal world self -exhibition may serve sex- ual purposes almost exclusively, such is not the case with man. As his personality develops in response to his ever- changing relations to his social environment, he feels the need of finding all that moves him, his joys and sorrows, his strivings and attainments, reflected in the conscious- ness of other men. This is why I have insisted that the various forms of rivalry which are so essential to the pres- ervation of the species are only in part derived from the fighting impulse. The higher motive of proving to one's associates what one is capable of, is also operative, and play which exhibits it not only serves to develop the social impulses, but also assists materially in the struggle for life. Besides giving expression to individual impor- tance, the desire for self-exhibition includes a disposition to depreciate others, and the friction which ensues is a most effectual corrective of the vanity and overweening pride which are so easily associated with it, giving rise at last to a just estimate of the value and limits of our capacities. * Baldwin, op. eit., p. 141. 398 THE PLAT OF MAN The second and higher form of the communication im- pulse also — namely, the desire to influence other wills and to direct and control public action; in short, to become a social leader — finds full scope in play, which affords good preliminary practice of the art of ruling, just as it is the first school for voluntary subordination to social law. Here the masterful mind learns how to control milder spirits and to identify his own with the common interest, and here awakens the feeling of responsibility and the 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 tradi- tion of various departments of culture. Few of our ac- quisitions in that line are due to physical heredity. Time may increase the intensity of the social impulse, and pos- sibly diminish the force of our pugnacious tendencies (although to my mind a comparison with the so-called lower-standing peoples offers little encouragement ta the hope), and iritelligence may be further refined if the limit has not already been reached; still this store of cul- ture must be acquired by each individual anew. Play does much to make its attainment possible, and, above all, dra- matic imitation play. I would refer the reader again to Signe Eink's description of the children brought up in Greenland. If parental interference could have been ob- literated and imitation allowed free play, while the child, it is true, would not have become exactly like a Greenland woman, she would have come very near to it in her thoughts and feeling, and it is doubtful whether any sub- sequent training in European customs could have wholly extinguished this influence. 6. The Pedagogical Standpoint The fact that the natural school of play affords a necessary complement to pedagogics was recognised by educators of old, with some notable exceptions, however. For example, the pietist Tollner uttered this sentiment at a conference : " Play of whatever sort should be for- THE PEDAGOGICAL STANDPOINT 399 bidden in all evangelical schools, and its vanity and folly should be explained to the children with warnings of how It turns the mind away from God and eternal life, and works destruction to their immortal souls."* On the whole, however, the educational value of play has been recognised from the time of Plato to the present day.f It, affords a reaction from the stress and strain of work. It satisfies the natural demand for pleasure so impres- sively set forth by Luther, giving opportunity for free, self-originated activity and practice to the physical and mental capacities.^ A discerning educator could not afford to ignore so important a coadjutor. There are two ways of regarding the relation of play to education. Instruction may take the form of playful activity, or, on the other hand, play may be converted into systematic teaching. Both methods are natural to us, and may be carried to extreme lengths. The history of pedagogics gives much interesting information as to ex- periments with the first'; for example, Joachim Boldicke, inspired by reading Locke and Baratier,** set forth his method in the following programme in 1Y32, as " an at- tempt to educate by the help of games, music, poetry, and other entertainment through which important truths may be imparted." Thanks to the originators of the plan, ten intelligent children, twelve years of age when they began, could understand in their fifteenth year German, Latin, French, Italian, and English, and were well grounded in all useful general knowledge. The writer proceeds to give an example of the riddle games as fol- lows : " I know an animal which eats grass, has two horns on its head, a tail, and four cloven feet. What can it be? When in need of anything, it lows. It has calves, suckles them, and allows itself to be milked." Whereupon the penetrating youth promptly responds in Latin: "ITon est, quod nomen addas; de vacca emin cogitasti, • K. A. Sohmid, Geschiohte der ErzieLung, vol. iv, p. 282. t Colozza's book on play bontains in its second part, II guoco nella Btoria della pedafrogia, a good historical review of this subject. J MoUer on Play, in the Encyklopadie des gesammten Erziehungs- und UnterrichtBwesens. * This Swabian preacher had made a prodigy of his son by this method. 400 THE PLAY OP MAN quae est herbatlca, cormuta, quadrupes, biscula, mugire, vitulos parere, lactari et emulgeri potest."* Against such trifling it is sufficient to repeat the warn- ing that J. G. Schlosser published in 1776. At school one should learn to work, and he who does everything play- fully will always remain a child. Other things being equal, it is most natural and advantageous to distinguish clearly between play and study work.f Among primitive races, where the life work is for the most part guided by natural impulse, at least in the case of males, boys may get sufficient preparation from play for their later life, though even they usually have some instruction at the outset. But with civilized peoples usage to earnest, per- sistent effort that is not dependent on caprice or impulse is an indispensable condition of success in the struggle for life, and for this reason school life should promote a high sense of duty as opposed to mere inclination. Yet this distinction should not be so stringent as to exclude entirely the play impulse. We have repeatedly found in the course of this inquiry that even the most serious work may include a certain playfulness, especially when enjoyment of being a cause and of conquest are prominent.^ Between flippant trifling and conscientious study there is a wide chasm which nothing can bridge; but not all play is such trifling. Who would forbid the teacher's making the effort to induce in his pupils a psychological condition like that of the adult worker, who is not oppressed by the shall and must in the pursuit of his calling, because the very exertion of his physical and mental powers in work involving all his capabilities fills his soul vnth joy? Since play thus approaches work when pleasure in the activity as such, as well as its practical aim, becomes a motive power (as in the gymnastic games of adults), so may work become like play when its real aim is superseded by enjoyment of the activity itself. And it can hardly be doubted that this is the highest and noblest form of work. * K. A. Schmid, Geschiohte des Erziehung, vol. iv, pp. 279, 401. + See Max Eeischle, Das Spielen der Kinder, etc.. p. 82. i I refer not merely to rivalry, but to the aooompUahment of tasks as THE PEDAGOGICAL STANDPOINT 40I Another question is how far the teacher's effort should go in this direction, and to answer this definitely some- thing more than a purely theoretic inquiry is needed, since many points are involved which have more to do with the art than the method of education. On the whole, we must concur with Kraepelin that in view of the dan- ger of overstrain and overfatigue it is probably fortunate that the majority of teachers do not possess the faculty of turning study into an amusement, and that those who do possess it make a great mistake in employing it con- stantly. Yet, while disapproving totally of all trifling in education, we still maintain that the school which is conducted exclusively by an appeal to the stringent sense of duty, with no incentive to the higher form of work in which the deepest earnestness has much -of the free- dom of play — that such a school does not perfectly fulfil its task. In passing to our second question we must touch upon that connecting link between work and play which we call occupation. The hobbies of adults furnish volun- tary activity like play, which is undertaken chiefly from the pleasure it affords, but often has aims outside the sphere of play. Pedagogical occupation is, on the con- trary, playful practice in the line of the child's instruc- tion, and forms an adaptive means of transition from the freedom of the first years of life to school work. Froebel's kindergarten system is most valuable in this way. Its occupations suggest to the children something beyond mere play, and supply definite aims for their activity and study, but they should always be kept near the limits of play; forced occupation against the child's will does not fulfil the purpose of such exercise. Since in what follows I shall be limited to the consideration of actual play, I take occasion to mention here that there is a certain analogy to pedagogic occupation among savages. Brough Smith sends from Australia an account of an old woman's direction of the occupation of young girls: " The old woman herself collected the material, built a skin hut, and taught each of the little ones with great care to make small ones like the large model. She showed them where to get the gum and how to use it. She sent 402 THE PLAT OP MAN the ■ girls to gather rushes, and taught them to weave baskets over round stones, etc." * This is not exactly sys- tematic education like that of our schools, but it may properly be classed with kindergarten work. After this digression we now proceed to our second leading question: How far may a teacher direct play to pedagogic ends without destroying its freedom and genu- ineness ? In this direction, too, many teachers err. Campe thought that the irrepressible tendency to popular sport should be allowed to indulge in only those of its inven- tions which developed the reason, perception, judgment, etc., and even those persons who recognise the value of Froebel's system bring the charge, which for a teacher is a damaging one, that by' his methods, and especially by the songs he uses so much, spontaneity and naivete are almost totally destroyed. Every user of the system should be cautioned against a careless or thoughtless ap- plication of it. Jean Paul says strikingly, " I tremble when any grown-up, hardened hand meddles with these tender buds from childhood's garden, rubbing off the bloom here and marring the delicacy of tint there." Yet it would be unfortunate and in a sense unnatural for the teacher, and even more so for the parent, to leave the playing child entirely to his own devices. Adults have three important tasks in this direction which are im- perative — namely, general incitation to play, encourage- ment of what is good and useful, and discouragement of injurious and improper forms of play. Animals teach their young to play, and for this reason I have said it would be unnatural for parents to be unconcerned about their children's games. While all animals show a greater or less disposition for sportiveness, it is strongest in the mother with her young, and gives rise to some of the most attractive phases of animal life. Love toward the small, helpless creatures manifests itself as well in playing with them as in nursing and caring for them. The mother not only submits to their tumbling all over her and pulling at her as their movement and fighting instincts impel them to do, but she encourages them to * Brough Smith, The AborigineB of Victoria, London, 1878, vol. i, p. 50. THE PEDAGOGICAL STANDPOINT 403 active play. This instinct is much stronger in our own race. Not the mother alone, but every normal woman feels again a child at the sight of children, and the father, too, is conscious of an irresistible drawing toward the nursery in his leisure moments, there to indulge in a short excursion to the lost paradise of childish play. His parents are a child's natural playmates for the first years of his life, since, as has been said, a too early in- troduction to a wider social circle can but have a bane- ful effect. Consequently, it is important that the inward impulse, as well as the outward stimulus, to play should be present, and when it is lacking the after impression of the early home throws a shadow over all the future life. The same remark, with some modifications, applies to teachers, when the child grows older and goes to school. It is, of course, not necessary for a teacher to join in the games of the merry urchins out of doors, yet in the lower grades especially it is a fortunate circumstance when he possesses the faculty of becoming a child again with the children in their plays and walks. He must be able, however, to resume the sceptre firmly when need arises. This naturally opens the way for the second duty of the child's instructor — directing his play toward what is good and useful. The two ends do not necessarily coin- cide, for there is an egotistical sort of playing with chil- dren which is more for the amusement of adults than anything else. Better no play than this. Herbart once said, " Let no man use his child as a plaything." There are numerous ways to direct the child's play to useful purposes. We may provide him with toys and tools which suggest their own use, as animals show us how to do when they bring a living victim to their young as a plaything. The objection that in providing playthings the child's in- ventiveness as well as his enjoyment of illusion is inter- fered with needs but brief notice. Eeischle rightly says that the most ancient tradition justifies the use of toys, and has chosen wisely among them. The physical and mental capacities of children are furthered, too, by the use of many plays which require no tools or toys. Recol- lection of our own childhood and a glance at the condi- 404 THE PLAY OF MAN tions -will aid us in directing their play by advice or ex- ample. Influence in this direction is less apparent at school, but as the population of our cities grows more crowded the need for intelligent direction is becoming evident. City children grow up under unnatural condi- tions, and opportunities for play, especially health-pro- ducing movement-play, should be provided artificially, space devoted to it, needed aids furnished, and the effort made to introduce the most useful and attractive gym- nastic plays to the children. The growing interest of all classes in such efforts encourages the hope that the dam- aging consequences of our modern methods of living may be effectually counteracted in this way. As to the positive ethical development of the child by play, we may premise that play in itself contributes materially to the establishment of ethical individuality. This, as we have before insisted, is properly developed only in the give and take of social intercourse which with children is found almost entirely in play. " Development of ethical character," says Eeischle, " requires on the one hand social influences preparatory for service in human society, and on the other individual culture. Any sup- posed antagonism between these is only apparent. In reality they are the two including poles. Human society reaches its fulness only among well-rounded individuali- ties, since they alone are properly fitted for service to the whole; and be it noted that such characters do not develop in solitude, but in the stress of social life. Play has its uses in both directions. How else can individual qualities be so well brought out and developed as in the free, untrammelled use of all one's powers? Here are brought into contact contemplative, quiet natures with active, forceful ones, the stubborn with the pliant will. Play reveals the breadth or limitation of the child's hori- zon, the independence of his character, or his need of support and direction."* In spite of all this, many are opposed to any attempt on the part of educators to introduce the ethical element into play. It is undoubtedly a mistake to smuggle moral * Eeischle, op. cit., p. 24. THE PEDAGOGICAL STANDPOINT 40"5 Teflections 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 aesthetic 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 dis- tinguish the more salient points by the following method : First, the child should not play too much. In the physio- logical investigation I spoke at some length of the law of repetition, and the trancelike or ecstatic state induced by many plays, together with the fact that they are often pursued to the point of exhaustion. If the instructor in- sists on rest before this comes to pass he would seem to be imposing a proper restriction, which is most valuable to ethical education, for at this point the moral law of temperance can be made most impressive to the child. Second, play which has become or threatens to become vio- lent may be restrained to proper bounds, and the impor- tant ethical lesson of self-control be inculcated. Third, it may be required that everything dangerous to life or health shall be excluded or carefully regulated. Here the teacher must avoid overanxiety, for courage, which is itself of at least equal ethical value, can only be developed in the growing character by the encounter of actual risks and learning to meet them with self-reliance. Fourth, guardians must sometimes interfere when fighting im- pulses are manifested in a rude or ill-natured manner, as 406 THE PLAT OF MAN it is apt to be in the various forms of teasing. Misuse of this valuable impulse may cause deep spiritual injury to both the aggressor and his victim. When children have fallen under the power of a bad, tyrannous, or low-minded leader, they should be interfered with, and if possible by some method which will show up the unworthy leader in his true colours. Fifth, and finally, it should be empha- sized that the beautiful task of play, the development of the individual to full manhood or womanhood by means of an all-round exercise of his or her capacities, is re- tarded by restriction to one particular form of play. The prevalence of daydreaming is an instance of such in- jurious one-sidedness.* When a child becomes absorbed in solitary musing (see the youthful reminiscences of George Sand), he should be aroused by application to useful ocupation or by social stimuli which bring him in every possible way into contact with the external world. Even the noble gift of imagination may from overindul- gence degenerate into a deadly poison. * See Colozza, THE END