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 austoben, der Hafer sticht ihn”; “He must sow his wild oats”; “Il n’a pas encore jeté sa gourme.” All these sayings 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 recreation 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 and mental 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 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 energy.[646] Schiller was its first exponent in Germany, when he accounted for play by calling it an aimless expenditure of exuberant strength, which is its own excuse for action. But Herbert Spencer, in his Principles of Psychology, 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 imitation 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 determines the channels for overflowing energy. The former supposition might be tenable on the supposition that the child’s first experimentation is not playful but intentional 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 in my earlier work, can be applied with assurance to but one department of play, and consequently the origin of special forms must find some other explanation. Imitation, 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 actions imitated in play are exactly those which are important in the subsequent career of the animal, and when in pursuance of this idea he refers to the robbing and destroying 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 inborn 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 ebullient 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 business 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 supplement the creature’s inborn impulses, only long inactivity of stored-up energies would lead to play; but, as there 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 favourable but not an indispensable one, and therefore I regard 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 different thing from the view whose validity we are contesting. 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 impulses, repressed during his work at the desk. So it is the same act that on the one hand disposes of his superfluous energy, and on the other restores his lost powers.” So far as this is the case this theory is a valuable supplement 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 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, varying the direction of our efforts, a slight change in the psychophysical attitude, are often sufficient 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.[647] Recreation may even be achieved by changing from one scientific book which wearies us to another, perhaps quite as abstruse, but dealing with different phases of the subject; and after an interval the first may be taken up again with renewed interest. Steinthal is right when he says that change of occupation, involving the use of the same limbs, rests them.[648] The mountain-climber who has toiled up steeps, gains new strength, or at least loses his fatigue, by walking 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 swimming for a long time in the usual position rests himself by taking a few strokes on his back, and so on.[649]
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 process; but if he feels inclined to participate in some game involving the use of his mental powers alone, the recreation idea is noticeably predominant. A principle is operative here which may go far to fill the gap to which we have referred. While the theory of surplus energy accounts for play in thousands of cases, especially in childhood, 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 intelligible 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 inexplicable 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 significance 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 tendency of reactions to renew the stimuli, Baldwin calls them “circular reactions.” Perhaps the child first produces 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 examples; some forms of mental disease are marked by continual repetition of some exclamation or act. One woman murmured constantly all day long, “O Jesus, O Jesus!” while another patient ladled nothing indefatigably from an empty dish; and a third scratched himself so persistently in the same spot that serious wounds resulted. To the same category belong the automatic and persistent movements of hypnotic subjects. If the arm of one of them is forcibly stretched out, he shows a disposition to repeat the movement, and often keeps on doing it, as children do, for some time after a positive command to the contrary.[650] 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.[651] The intoxication 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.