Animal Life and Intelligence

by C. Lloyd Morgan

In the dog or the ape the rope is presumably incomparably simpler. But that it is of the nature of a rope we may, perhaps, not improbably surmise. Interest and the attention it commands steady the rope. Animals differ widely in their power of attention, as every one knows who has endeavoured to educate his pets. Darwin tells us that those who buy monkeys from the Zoological Gardens, to teach them to perform, will give a higher price if they are allowed a short time in which to select those in which the power of attention is most developed. And when animals dream, their consciousness-rope is slipping round unsteadily. That they do apparently dream is, so far, evidence of their possessing linked chains of memories.

In speaking of the faculty of attention in animals, it may be well to note that attention is of two kinds—perceptual or direct, and conceptual or indirect. In perceptual attention its motive is directly suggested by the object which stimulates this concentration of the faculties; a menacing dog, for example, stimulates my perceptual attention. In conceptual attention the motive is ulterior and indirect. The concentrated attention which a man devotes to the acquisition of Sanscrit does not arise directly out of the symbols over which he pores; it is of intellectual origin.

In the normal life of animals the attention is of the perceptual order; it is a direct stimulation of the faculties through a perceptual presentation of sense or representation in memory which gives rise to an appetence or aversion. The importance of such a faculty is obvious. As M. Ribot well says, it is no less than a condition of life. The carnivorous animal that had not its attention roused on sight of prey would stand but a poor chance of survival; the prey that had not its attention roused by the approach of its natural enemy would stand but a poor chance of escape. The emperor moth that had not its attention roused by the scent of the virgin female would stand but a poor chance of propagating its species.

We are not, however, at present in a position further to discuss this matter. For there is a factor in the process which we shall have to consider more fully hereafter—the emotional factor. The hungry lion is in a very different position, so far as attention is concerned, from the satiated animal. The force and volume of the attention depends not merely, or even mainly, upon the intensity of the stimulus, but on the emotional state of the recipient organism.

Endeavour to divert the attention of any animal which is intent upon some action connected with the main business of its life—nutrition, self-defence, or the propagation of the species—the force of attention will at once be obvious.

In the training of animals (and young children) artificial associations, pleasurable or painful, have to be established in connection with certain actions. Abnormal appetences and aversions have to be introduced into the mental constitution. In this process much depends on the plasticity of the constitution. In the absence of such plasticity it is impossible to establish new associations.

We have seen that words are arbitrary[GH] symbols, which we associate with objects, or qualities, or actions. Can animals, we may ask, form such arbitrary associations? There can be little question that they can. Many of the higher animals understand perfectly some of our words. The word "cat" or "rats" will suggest a construct to the dog on which he may take very vigorous action. How far they are able to communicate with each other is a somewhat doubtful matter. But the signs by which such communication is effected are probably far less arbitrary. And, in any case, the communication would seem to refer only to the here and the now. A dog may be able to suggest to his companion the fact that he has descried a worriable cat; but can a dog tell his neighbour of the delightful worry he enjoyed the day before yesterday?

I imagine that what a dog can suggest to his neighbour is what we symbolize by the simple expression "Come." But I am fully aware that other observers will interpret the facts in a different way. Here is an anecdote that is communicated to me by Mr. Robert Hall Warren, of Bristol. "My grandfather," he says, "a merchant of this city, or, as Thomas Poole, of Stowey, would have preferred calling him, 'a tradesman,' had two dogs, one a small one and another larger, who, being fierce, rejoiced in the appropriate name of Boxer. On one of his business journeys into Cornwall he took the smaller dog with him, and for some reason left it at an inn in Devonshire, promising to call for him on his return from Cornwall. When he did so, the landlord apologized for the absence of the dog, and said that, some time after my grandfather left, the little dog fought with the landlord's dog, and came off much the worse for the fight. He then disappeared, and some time afterwards returned with another and larger dog, who set upon his enemy, and, I think, killed him. Then the two dogs walked off, and were no more seen. From the description given, my grandfather had no doubt that the larger dog was Boxer, and, on returning home, found that the little dog had come back, and that both dogs had gone away, and, after a time, had returned home, where he found them." Now, some will say that the little dog told Boxer all about it; but I am inclined to believe that the facts may be explained by the communication "Come."

Dogs can also communicate their wishes to us. The action of begging in dogs is a mode of communication with us. Mr. Romanes tells of a dog that was found opposite a rabbit-hutch begging for rabbits. When I was at the Diocesan College near Capetown, a retriever, Scamp, used to come in and sit with the lecturers at supper. He despised bread, but used to get an occasional bone, which he was not, however, allowed to eat in the hall. He took it to the door, and stood there till it was opened for him. On one occasion he heard without the excited barking of the other dogs. He trotted round the hall, picked up a piece of bread which one of the boys had dropped, and stood with it in his mouth at the door. When it was opened, he dropped the bread, and raced off into the darkness to join in the fun. In a similar way, but with less marked intelligence, I have seen a dog begging before a door which he wished opened. My cat has been taught to touch the handle of the door with his paw when he wishes to leave the room. Mr. Arthur Lee, of Bristol, tells me that a favourite cat has a habit of knocking for admittance by raising the door-mat and letting it fall. This is an action similar to those communicated by several observers to Nature, where cats have learnt either to knock for admittance or to ring the bell—an action which, as my friend, Mr. J. Clifton Ward, informed me, was also performed by a dog of his. I think, therefore, that it is unquestionable that the higher animals are able to associate arbitrary signs with certain objects and actions, and to build these signs into the constructs that they form. Sir John Lubbock has tried some experiments with his intelligent black poodle Van, with the object of ascertaining how far the dog could be taught to communicate his wishes by means of printed cards. "I took," he says,[GI] "two pieces of cardboard, about ten inches by three, and on one of them printed in large letters the word 'FOOD,' leaving the other blank. I then placed the two cards over two saucers, and in the one under the 'Food' card put a little bread-and-milk, which Van, after having his attention called to the card, was allowed to eat. This was repeated over and over again till he had had enough. In about ten days he began to distinguish between the two cards. I then put them on the floor, and made him bring them to me, which he did readily enough. When he brought the plain card, I simply threw it back; while, when he brought the 'Food' card, I gave him a piece of bread, and in about a month he had pretty well learned to realize the difference. I then had some other cards printed with the words 'Out,' 'Tea,' 'Bone,' 'Water,' and a certain number also with words to which I did not intend him to attach any significance, such as 'Nought,' 'Plain,' 'Ball,' etc. Van soon learned that bringing a card was a request, and soon learned to distinguish between the plain and printed cards; it took him longer to realize the difference between words, but he gradually got to recognize several, such as 'Food,' 'Out,' 'Bone,' 'Tea,' etc. If he was asked whether he would like to go out for a walk, he would joyfully fish up the 'Out' card, choosing it from several others, and bring it to me or run with it in evident triumph to the door.

"A definite numerical statement always seems to me clearer and more satisfactory than a mere general assertion. I will, therefore, give the actual particulars of certain days. Twelve cards were put on the floor, one marked 'Food' and one 'Tea.' The others had more or less similar words. I may again add that every time a card was brought, another similarly marked was put in its place. Van was not pressed to bring cards, but simply left to do as he pleased.[GJ]