JF Ptak Science Books Quick Post
George J. Romanes1, “Sense of Humour and Reason in Animals” (from Nature, volume 12, 1875, p 66) [With a few added annotations]
“IN the recently published edition of the Descent of Man there is some additional matter concerning the above subjects, and as the following illustrative cases fell under my own observation, I think it is worth while to publish them as supplementary to those adduced by Mr. Darwin.
Several years ago I used to watch carefully the young Orang Outang at the Zoological Gardens, and I am quite sure that she manifested a sense of the ludicrous. One example will suffice. Her feeding tin was of a somewhat peculiar shape, and when it was empty she used sometimes used invert it on her head. The tin then presented a comical resemblance to a bonnet, and as its wearer would generally favour the spectators with a broad grin at the lime of putting it on, she never failed to raise a laugh from them. Her success in this respect was evidently attended with no small gratification on her part.
I once had a Skye terrier2 which, like all of his kind, was very intelligent. When in good humour he had several tricks, which I know to have been self-taught, and the sole object of which was evidently to excite laughter. For instance, while lying upon one side and violently grinning,* he would hold one leg in his mouth. Under such circumstances nothing pleased him much as having his joke duly appreciated, while if no notice was taken of him he would become sulky. On the oilier hand, nothing that could happen displeased him so much as being laughed at when he did not intend to be ridiculous.
Mr. Darwin says:—’Several observers have stated that monkeys certainly dislike being laughed at’ (p. 71)3. There can be little or no doubt that this is true of monkeys; but I never knew of a really good case among dogs save this one, and here the signs of dislike were un-equivocal. To give one instance. He used to be very fond of catching flies upon the window-panes, and if ridiculed when un-successful, was evidently much annoyed. On one occasion, in order to see what he would do, I purposely laughed immoderately every time he failed. It so happened that lie did so several times in succession—partly, I believe, in consequence of my laughing—and eventually he became so distressed that he positively pretended to catch the fly, going through all the appropriate actions with his lips and tongue, and afterwards rubbing the ground with his neck as if to kill the victim : he then looked up at me with a triumphant air of success. So well was the whole process simulated, that I should have been quite deceived, had I not seen that the fly was still upon the window. Accordingly I drew his attention to that fact, as well as to the absence of anything upon the floor; and when he saw that his hypocrisy had been detected, he slunk away under some furniture, evidently very much ashamed of himself.”
Notes:
Romanes (1848-1894) was an interesting man, an evolutionary biologist and physiologist, and one of the founders of comparative psychology who wrote broadly on the intelligence and emotions of animals and the connections of animal intelligence and that of humans. He also was the first to use the term of “anthropomorphism”. He was a good and life-long friend of Darwin, and spent the years between Darwin’s death (1882) and his own defending and arguing Darwin’s ideas.
Skye Terrier. I had to look this up, so aI reproduce the info from the American Kennel Club: “Long, low, and level, this unique earthdog is among the AKC’s most distinctive-looking breeds. Skyes stand 9 or 10 inches high and feature a long, flat-lying coat and peekaboo hairdo. They’re known for big, feathery ears that stand up like bat wings, but Skyes can also have “drop ears,” which lie flat against the large, long head. Beneath the profuse coat are short, muscular legs and a deep chest. When seen in profile, these elegant but substantial terriers are twice as long as they are high.”
Darwin, Charles. The Descent of Man, and Selection in Relation to Sex, first printed in 1871.
The note in Nature says “p.71”, but actually appears on page 42. Page 70 begins the interesting second half of a chapter on “Comparison of the Mental Powers of Man and the Lower Animals the difference in mental power between the highest ape and the lowest savage, immense…” which could have led to the confusion. In any event, the quote:
“Most of the more complex emotions are common to the higher animals and ourselves. Every one has seen how jealous a dog is of his master’s affection, if lavished on any other creature; and I have observed the same fact with monkeys. This shews that animals not only love, but have the desire to be loved. Animals manifestly feel emulation. They love approbation or praise; and a dog carrying a basket for his master exhibits in a high degree self-complacency or pride. There can, I think, be no doubt that a dog feels shame, as distinct from fear, and something very like modesty when begging too often for food. A great dog scorns the snarling of a little dog, and this may be called magnanimity. Several observers have stated that monkeys certainly dislike being laughed at; and they sometimes invent imaginary offences. In the Zoological Gardens I saw a baboon who always got into a furious rage when his keeper took out a letter or book and read it aloud to him; and his rage was so violent that, as I witnessed on one occasion, he bit his own leg till the blood flowed.”
Over on my blog I’ve made a number of posts on “Found Poetry”–phrases and constructions of interesting structural images that when removed from a narrative form and subjected to a different display find a sort of light art form in themselves. The phrases and sentence are in their original order—spacing and delineation have changed a bit to focus their attractiveness. There have been posts on “Found Poetry” in the (sometimes very extended) titles of Renaissance books, recipes and instructions on cooking dainty sardines, a disintegrating machine from 1877, descriptions of clouds from 1726, and well, you get the picture. “Found art is where you don’t find it”, as M. Duchamp didn’t say—sometimes the found poetry is pretty obvious, sometimes not. Today’s entry has a terrific title, though the text lets us down a little, but then closes up very strong in the last paragraph. And so, from Nature, 4 January 1930, volume 125, no. 3140, the last sentences of the last paragraph:
