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Lloyd Morgan, and
the Rise and Fall of "Animal Psychology"
Alan Costall
1
University of Portsmouth, United Kingdom
Whereas Darwin insisted upon the
continuity of human and nonhuman animals, more recent students
of animal behavior have largely assumed discontinuity. Lloyd
Morgan was a pivotal figure in this transformation. His "canon,"
although intended to underpin a psychological approach to
animals, has been persistently misunderstood to be a stark
prohibition of anthropomorphic description. His extension to
animals of the terms "behavior" and "trial-and-error,"
previously restricted to human psychology, again largely
unwittingly, devalued their original meaning and widened the
gulf between animals and humans. His insistence that knowledge
of animal psychology could be trusted solely to "qualified"
observers initiated the exclusion from science of the informal
and intimate knowledge of animals gained by pet owners, animal
trainers, and other scientific outsiders. The presumption,
however, that animals, in contrast to people, are to be
understood solely as "strangers," begs, rather than addresses,
the question of animal-human continuity.
Lloyd Morgan had no bias either towards humanizing or towards
automatizing. The behavioristic trend of animal psychology since
then has diverted attention from those problems of the nature of
an animal's conscious processes in which Lloyd Morgan was so
much interested (Grindley, 1936, p. 2).
Although the climate of opinion seems to be changing (Dawkins,
1993), much of the scientific literature continues to maintain
that the proper description of the activities of animals should
be pitched at the most impoverished mechanistic level. For
example, Kennedy, in his recent book, The New Anthropomorphism
(1992), insists that there is something intrinsically
unscientific about treating animals as psychological beings,
even though his text is exceedingly unclear about why this might
be so: "The scientific study of animal behavior was inevitably
marked from birth by its anthropomorphic parentage and to a
significant extent it still is. It has had to struggle to free
itself from the incubus and the struggle is not over" (Kennedy,
1992, p. 3).
Kennedy puts the case rather dramatically, but his is not an
isolated position. Many scientists continue to find themselves
obliged to conform to it, often despite their better judgment.
Hebb has described his experiences working in the forties at the
Yerkes Primate Research Laboratory, where there had been an
"official" prohibition of anthropomorphic description in the
scientific reports of the research. As Hebb explained, such
clinically detached language was not merely useless but
potentially dangerous in the researchers' everyday dealings with
the chimpanzees:
All that resulted was an almost endless series of specific acts
in which no order or meaning could be found. On the other hand,
by the use of frankly anthropomorphic concepts of emotion and
attitude one could quickly and easily describe the peculiarities
of the individual animals, and with this information a newcomer
to the staff could handle the animals as he could not safely
otherwise. Whatever the anthropomorphic terminology may seem to
imply about conscious states in the chimpanzee, it provides an
intelligible and practical guide to behavior (Hebb, 1946, p.
88).
The upshot was not a shift towards a consistent use of
intentionalist language, however, but an absurd polarization
where, in their practical dealings with the animals, the
researchers found that they just had to treat the chimpanzees as
conscious beings with definite intentions, emotions, and
temperaments. In their scientific reports, however, they
scrupulously eliminated all trace of such psychological terms (Birke
& Smith, 1995; Crocker, 1984; Weider, 1980).
More recently, Goodall provided a vivid account of the
difficulties she faced when writing up a Ph.D. dissertation
based upon her fieldwork with chimpanzees, research
distinguished by, and dependent upon, the close personal
relationships she had established with her "subjects." Her Ph.D.
supervisor, Robert Hinde, did his best to appeal to her
scientific conscience:
[Although] I continued to hold to most of my convictions -- that
animals had personalities; that they could feel happy or sad or
fearful; that they could feel pain; that they could strive
towards planned goals and achieve greater success if they were
highly motivated -- I soon realized that these personal
convictions were, indeed, difficult to prove. It was best to be
circumspect -- at least until I had gained some credentials and
credibility. And Robert gave me wonderful advice on how best to
tie up some of my more rebellious ideas with scientific ribbon.
"You can't know that Fifi was jealous," he admonished on one
occasion. We argued a little. And then: "Why don't you just say
If Fifi were a human child we would say she was jealous." I did.
(Goodall, 1990, p. 13.)
Anyone interested in the impact of Darwin on modern thought will
appreciate the striking contradiction here. How could the
post-Darwinian study of animal behavior have come to be so
resolutely opposed to the treatment of animals as psychological
beings? After all, the continuity between human and nonhuman
animals (one based on the idea of adaptive radiation rather than
the classical notion of a linear scale) was fundamental to
Darwin's thinking. Furthermore, the fact of animal intelligence
and purposiveness figured centrally in Darwin's own accounts of
both sexual and natural selection. According to Darwin, the
process of adaptation was not to be construed exclusively as a
one-sided "fitting" of organisms to a pre-existing and fixed set
of circumstances. Rather animals, through their intelligent
activities, also shape their circumstances. A fine example of
this is to be found in Darwin's last book, The Formation of
Vegetable Mould, through the Action of Worms (1881), since, of
course, the environment of earthworms evolved along with their
activity of drawing leaves into the ground. What is more, this
activity is an intelligent one. Dragging a large leaf into a
tight burrow is a far from simple task, yet, as Darwin
demonstrated in a remarkable series of experiments, earthworms
do not act in an haphazard fashion, but usually tug at the most
appropriate point even, when dealing with unfamiliar leaves or
novel shapes cut out of pieces of paper. Here is Darwin's own
conclusion:
[Earthworms] apparently exhibit some degree of intelligence
instead of a mere blind instinctive impulse, in the manner of
plugging up their burrows. They act in nearly the same manner as
would a man, who had to close a cylindrical tube with different
kinds of leaves, petioles, triangles of paper . . . for they
commonly seize such objects by their pointed ends. (Darwin,
1881, p. 315; Reed, 1982)
The idea that intelligent activity is not simply an outcome but
also a positive factor in the evolutionary process was further
developed at the close of the last century by a small number of
biologists and psychologists. Challenging the lurch within
evolutionary biology towards mechanism and reductionism, which
began shortly after Darwin's death, these theorists insisted
that animal consciousness had to be recognized as having an
active role in the evolutionary process. Lloyd Morgan
(1852-1936) was one of the main proponents of this view. He had
studied with Thomas Henry Huxley in London, but had also been a
close associate of the early student of animal behavior, George
Romanes. Despite being immersed for a large part of his career
in university administration (first as Principal of University
College, Bristol, and then, very briefly, as Vice Chancellor of
the new University of Bristol he had helped to establish), he
continued to be highly productive. The sheer volume and range of
his publications is astonishing (Costall, 1998). His scientific
work was taken very seriously indeed. In 1889, he became the
first psychological researcher ever to be elected as a Fellow of
the Royal Society (Grindley, 1936), and, in 1920, the first
President of the newly established Psychology Section of the
British Association for the Advancement of Science.
The purpose of this paper is not to celebrate Morgan's
achievements, however, but to examine his role in the
transformation that occurred in both biological and
psychological thought, from Darwinism to neo-Darwinism -- the
negation of Darwin's revolutionary challenge to the mechanistic
assumptions of traditional science through the assimilation of
Darwinism to that very scheme (Boakes, 1984; Johnston, 1995;
Richards, 1987). Morgan did not initiate these changes and, in
several important ways, sought to counter them. And yet he
proved pivotal in a largely negative way. His most active years
as an animal researcher coincide almost exactly with the most
critical period of this transformation (i.e., from Darwin's
death in 1882 to the rediscovery of Mendel's laws at the
beginning of the 20th century). He was transitional, in two
senses. Historically, as the most prominent animal researcher,
the period of his most active research intervened between
Romanes' "animal psychology" and Thorndike's "animal
behaviorism." Intellectually, the tensions played out during the
process of transition pervaded his own thinking. It is as though
he could never reconcile the conflicting influences of his two
mentors: Huxley's mechanistic, even Cartesian, reading of Darwin
and his promotion of Darwinism in the cause of the
professionalization of the "scientist," and Romanes' organic,
even psychological, vision of the biological order and his
gentlemanly respect for the "amateur."
Lloyd Morgan's Canon
Morgan was committed to the idea that animal consciousness is
biologically significant. As he put it, an animal is no "mere
puppet in the hand of circumstances" (Morgan, 1894, p. 338):
The pendulum swing of opinion has, under the teaching of
Professor Weismann, swung so far in the direction of the
non-acceptance of the hereditary transmission of characters
individually acquired through intelligent adjustment or
otherwise; that the part played by consciousness in the
evolution of the higher and more active animals is apt to pass
unnoticed or unrecorded. It is well, therefore, to put in a
reminder that a great number of animals would never reach the
adult state in which they pass into the hands of the comparative
anatomist save for the acquisition of experience, and the
effective use of the consciousness to which they are heirs; that
their survival is due, not only to their possession of certain
structures and organs, but, every whit as much, to the practical
use to which these possessions are put in the give and take of
active life (Morgan, 1900, pp. 310-311).
Morgan went further. Animal mentality, he argued, is a positive
factor in the evolutionary process (Morgan, 1896, 1900, 1909;
Baldwin, 1902; Belew & Mitchell, 1996; Braestrup, 1971; Hardy,
1965; Richards, 1987). According to the theory of organic
selection, developed conjointly with J. M. Baldwin, H. F.
Osborn, and E. B. Poulton, individually acquired "modifications"
not only change the context of subsequent natural selection but
do so in such a way that "congenital variations" coincident with
those modifications would be favored. In effect, natural
selection takes on an intelligent direction:
There is . . . a way in which, when natural selection is
operative, intelligence may serve to foster congenital
variations of the required nature and direction. We must
remember that acquired habits on the one hand, and congenital
variations on the other, are both working, in their different
spheres, towards the same end, that of adjustment to the
conditions of life. If, then, acquired accommodation and
congenital adaptation reach this end by different methods,
survival may be best secured by their cooperation. . . . Any
hereditary variations which coincide in direction with
modifications of behaviour due to acquired habit would be
favoured and fostered. (Morgan, 1900, p. 115).(2)
[In short, Morgan insisted upon a role for animal mentality and
intelligence in evolution. His credentials as a "true Darwinian"
(Romanes, 1895) would thus seem unquestionable. Yet there were
several developments in his work that nevertheless helped
transform the post-Darwinian study of animal activity from a
science based on the idea of human-nonhuman continuity to one
committed to discontinuity.
The first of these paradoxical
developments concerns Morgan's so-called canon, which he first
presented at the International Congress of Experimental
Psychology held in London in 1892 (Dixon, 1892), and later
published in his book, An Introduction to Comparative Psychology
(Morgan, 1894, p. 59). According to Morgan's canon, in no case
is "an animal activity to be interpreted as the outcome of the
exercise of a higher psychical faculty, if it can be fairly
interpreted as the outcome of one which stands lower on the
psychological scale" (Dixon, 1892, p. 393). Morgan's
contemporaries, and most later authors, have understood the
canon as insisting upon the almost complete elimination of the
use of psychological language in relation to animals and an
extreme appeal to the principle of parsimony. Yet its purpose
was quite the reverse.
Prior to the canon, Morgan had been engaged in a protracted
dispute with Romanes regarding the latter's proposal for an
"animal psychology." Morgan's initial, firmly held position was
that a psychological treatment of animal activity was
methodologically impossible. But he came to change his mind, and
the canon represents Morgan's eventual acceptance of Romanes'
project (Costall, 1993). Far from prohibiting the psychological
description of animal activities, the canon was intended to
provide a framework for a psychological approach to animals.
When Morgan realized his intentions were being misinterpreted,
he added the clarification that "the Canon by no means excludes
the interpretation of a particular activity in terms of the
higher processes, if we already have independent evidence of the
occurrence of these higher processes in the animal under
observation" (Morgan, 1903, p. 59). Nor, contrary to most
accounts, was the canon, in any simple sense, an appeal to the
principle of parsimony -- an invitation to be economical with
the truth. As Morgan insisted, "Surely the simplicity of an
explanation is no necessary criterion of its truth" (Morgan,
1894, p. 54). His serious point was that there were very good
Darwinian reasons for supposing that animals should vary in the
nature of their mentality. The canon was, therefore, Morgan's
attempt to put "anthropomorphism," the psychological approach to
animals, on a secure scientific footing (Costall, 1993).
The extent to which the intentions of Morgan's canon have been
misinterpreted is astonishing. One recent author has even
transformed the canon into a (misspelt) ecclesiastical title,
referring to a "Cannon Lloyd Morgan -- A Pioneering
Primatologist" (Baron-Cohen, 1995, p. 121)! There have been
numerous attempts over the years to set the record straight, in
one way or another, about Morgan and his canon (Burghardt, 1985;
Costall, 1983; Dewsbury, 1979; Gray, 1963; Nagge, 1932; Newbury,
1954; Rollin, 1989, 1990; Singer, 1981; Terrace, 1984). If,
however, the immediate purpose of Morgan's canon was to
underscore the continuity of human and nonhuman animals, was
Morgan entirely innocent of any involvement in the process that
eventually led to the rigid commitment within science to
discontinuity? Why, for example, did Mills, writing very shortly
after the publication of the canon, complain that Morgan was
becoming "more and more in sympathy with the destructive school"
(Mills, 1899, p. 271)?
The main problem with Morgan was that, in a time of radical
intellectual transition, he was unclear, perhaps even to
himself, about his intentions. Furthermore, in relation to the
canon, he seems to have been rather evasive about its origins in
his disputes with Romanes. Morgan never acknowledged his
acceptance of Romanes' idea of an animal psychology and,
somewhat ungraciously, left Romanes to discover for himself that
Morgan had finally come round to his way of thinking. When
Morgan's Springs of Conduct (1885) appeared, Romanes, who
reviewed the book for Nature, noted that Morgan had once taken
"exception to the study of animal intelligence and mental
evolution in animals, on the ground that it is impossible to
obtain any verified knowledge of brutes, seeing that we cannot
directly interrogate them upon the nature of their feelings or
mental states." But, as Romanes went on to observe, Morgan had
evidently changed his tune in the light of the correspondence
they had been conducting through the pages of Nature:
The discussion . . . appears to have had the effect of somewhat
modifying his original views; for these, as now stated in his
book, are not so severely skeptical as they were when stated in
these columns. That is to say, he now appears to recognize the
possibility of comparative psychology as a science, although its
subject-matter is necessarily restricted by the inadequacy of
our "ejective" knowledge of animal intelligence." (Romanes,
1886, p. 437)
After Romanes' death, Morgan did his best to suggest that the
main purpose of his canon had been to counter Romanes'
anecdotalism (Morgan, 1932, p. 264). Yet anecdotalism had hardly
been the issue in his early disputes with Romanes (indeed
Romanes needed few lessons from Morgan on the subject of
experimentation). The serious issue that had separated Morgan
from Romanes, prior to the canon, was Morgan's resolute
insistance on the very impossibility of making inferences from
what animals do to what they feel or think and, hence, of an
animal psychology. The canon was meant to help resolve this
methodological impasse (Costall, 1993). And it is important to
be clear that its logic applies as much to experimental data as
to anecdotal evidence, since the fundamental problem identified
by Morgan is precisely the same: How to go from "body story" to
"mind story." By linking the canon to his antipathy to
anecdotalism, however, Morgan managed to make it seem an
essentially destructive, rather than constructive, proposal -- a
rejection of Romanes' approach rather than a qualified
acceptance of the idea of an animal psychology.
"Animal Behavior" and "Trial-and-Error"
If the canon backfired, with a little help from Morgan himself,
so did two of his terminological innovations. The first concerns
his extension of the term "behaviour" to animals. Morgan's book,
Animal Behaviour, published in 1900, was the first book ever to
use this title and, more importantly, one of the first
scientific works to extend the term "behavior" to animals in a
sustained way. [The use of this term with reference to animals
was not entirely unprecedented. For example, Wesley Mills used
the term "behavior" in relation to animals in a paper he
published in 1887 (Cadwallader, 1984); and, earlier still,
Darwin himself made reference to the "behaviour of two
chimpanzees . . . when they were first brought together"
(Darwin, 1872, p. 213).]
Originally, "behavior" had referred to how people conduct
themselves in society, and this original moral sense is still
apparent in the expressions "misbehavior," and "behave
yourself!" In the middle of the nineteenth century, "behavior"
was first extended, not to animals, but to the description of
physical and chemical processes, in order to convey a sense of
their orderliness, though clearly not their intentionality or
morality (Ardener, 1973; Williams, 1983). Thus, when Morgan came
to talk of "animal behavior," the word "behavior" had already
become radically ambivalent in its meaning. Morgan was well
aware of this ambivalence, as he took care to explain at the
outset of his book:
We commonly use the word "behaviour" with a wide range of
meaning. We speak of the behaviour of troops in the field, of
the prisoner at the bar, of a dandy in the ball-room. But the
chemist and the physicist often speak of the behaviour of atoms
and molecules, or that of a gas under changing conditions of
temperature and pressure. . . . Frequently employed with a moral
significance, the word is at least occasionally used in a wider
and more comprehensive sense. When Mary, the nurse, returns with
the little Miss Smiths from Master Brown's birthday party, she
is narrowly questioned as to their behaviour; but meanwhile
their father, the professor, has been discoursing to his
students on the behaviour of iron filings in the magnetic field;
and his son Jack, of H. M. S. Blunderer, entertains his elder
sisters with a graphic description of the behaviour of a
first-class battle-ship in a heavy sea. (Morgan, 1900, p. 1.)
Unfortunately, despite his evident sense of the profound
ambiguity of "behavior," Morgan chose to keep his options open
with "a wide and comprehensive sense" (Morgan, 1900, p. 1) and
failed to take a clear stand on the question of animal
consciousness:
Thus broadly used, the term in all cases indicates and draws
attention to the reaction of that which we speak of as behaving,
in response to certain surrounding conditions or circumstances
which evoke the behaviour. . . . From what has already been said
it may be inferred that our use of the term "behaviour" neither
implies nor excludes the presence of consciousness. (Morgan,
1900, pp. 2-3)
"Animal behavior" proved an unfortunate combination of terms.
Rather than the residual, positive human connotations of
"behavior" rubbing off onto animals, the traditional, negative
connotations of "animal" came further to devalue the concept of
"behavior." As a result, not only has psychology become deprived
of one of its most potentially significant terms, but also
"behavior," in its modern impoverished, though still somewhat
ambivalent, sense (cf. Danziger, 1997, pp. 92-3), has become
basic to the reformulation of Cartesian dualism: Animals merely
"behave," whereas humans not only "behave" but also think.
Indeed, although in his theory of organic selection, Morgan
insisted that mind existed within the natural order and made a
difference, he nevertheless retained in his discussions of
methodology an essentially Cartesian conception of mind as an
"occult" entity, concealed within the body. He regarded "mind
story" and "body story" as logically separate, a view that
largely dominates current discussions of anthropomorphism both
pro and con (Mitchell, Thompson, & Miles, 1997; cf. Crist, 1994;
Shapiro, 1997). Morgan shared Romanes' view that we can know
about the mind of another human or other animal, if at all,
solely in an indirect and unreliable way, by "projecting" onto
the other's behavior one's own introspective states:
For me, the plain tale of behavior, as we observe and describe
it, yields only, as I have put it, body-story and not
mind-story. Mind-story is always "imputed" insofar as one can
put oneself in the place of another. And this "imputation," as I
now call it, must always be hazardous. But we can in varying
measure reduce its hazardry insofar as it may be checked by an
appeal to one's own first-hand experience under introspection
(Morgan, 1932, pp. 249-50).
Morgan's application of the term "trial-and-error" to animals
(Morgan, 1896), suffered a fate similar to that of "behaviour."
When Alexander Bain introduced the term to psychology in 1855,
it had defined a very high grade of human problem solving in
which various options are tried out, in a more or less
systematic way, to test their appropriateness for the task at
hand: "An inventor or a creative artist needs, according to
Bain, first a command of the elements to be used, and second a
'feeling of the end to be served' and good judgment of when the
end is satisfactorily attained" (Woodworth, 1950, p. 747).
"Trial-and-error" had already been somewhat relegated in its
status in later editions of Bain's own writings (Still, 1988),
before Morgan came to apply the term to animals. Curiously, when
explaining what he meant by "trial-and-error" (while at the same
time warning of the perils of anecdotalism), Morgan himself
repeatedly resorted to anecdote, about how his dog had learned
to escape from the front garden having once inadvertently lifted
the latch of the gate with his head. Morgan was prepared to
credit his dog with having a definite purpose in mind, but not
with any intelligent command of its actions, other than to
"select from a number of relatively indeterminate activities
that one which experience proves to be effectual" (Morgan, 1894,
p. 162, emphasis added). Although Morgan deemed such low-level
functioning to be "the very essence of intelligence" (Morgan,
1894, p. 154), his formulation of trial-and-error, by denying
any understanding of means-ends relations, opened the way for
later theorists to devalue, yet further, the meaning of "animal
behavior," by treating its very purposiveness as an illusion,
the outcome of an entirely automatic process of reinforcement.
Disqualifying the Non-Scientists
So far, Lloyd Morgan could be regarded as undermining the
principle of animal-human continuity largely despite himself. In
one respect, however, he was intent upon promoting division, as
one of a new generation of students of animal activity, keen to
set themselves above anyone else who might have claims to
possess specialist knowledge about animals. In so doing, Morgan
and his peers stand in stark contrast with earlier writers, such
as Darwin, Romanes, or Lubbock (Lord Avebury), who eagerly drew
upon a wide range of experts (pigeon fanciers, animal trainers,
hunters, pet owners), and who, although they conducted careful
experiments, did not make a fetish of the activity. [On
Lubbock's increasingly precarious position as both an amateur
and a "serious" researcher, see Clark (1997).]
"The experiment," elevated to the status of an exclusive source
of knowledge, has proved a surprisingly effective device for
psychologists to distance themselves from other would-be
experts. As George Miller once put it, some psychologists "would
not believe that people have two arms and two legs unless you
could do an experiment proving it" (quoted in Baars 1986, p.
217). Although, Lloyd Morgan certainly made a point of noting
the lack of experimental evidence forthcoming from the
non-scientists to support their claims about the abilities of
animals, it was his young American disciple, Edward L.
Thorndike, who took things to their nihilistic extreme,
disregarding even his scientific peers. As Wesley Mills wearily
complained, "Dr. Thorndike has not been hampered in his
researches by any of that respect for workers of the past of any
complexion" (Mills, 1899, p. 263). [Jonçich Clifford (1984), in
an excellent biography, portrays the young Thorndike as a
guileless opportunist, relishing the notoriety of his doctoral
dissertation on cats.]
Morgan did not share Thorndike's extreme position on
experimentation, and even criticized the artificiality of his
experiments, noting that "a sturdy and unconvinceable advocate
of reasoning (properly so-called) in animals may say that to
place a starving kitten in the cramped confinement of one of Mr.
Thorndike's box-cages, would be more likely to make a cat swear
than to lead it to act rationally" (Morgan, 1898, p. 249). Yet,
in line with his early teacher, the middle-class outsider,
Huxley (Desmond, 1994), Morgan was eager to promote the
professionalization of science and the rise of "the scientist."
Morgan's objection to non-scientists entering the debate about
the capacities of animals seems primarily to have been that they
were unqualified. He could be remarkably emphatic, even
offensive, about this. In a review of a book by Garner on the
speech of monkeys, he rounded on the poor author, ridiculing him
for his "popular and chatty anecdotes, with reflections thereon
suitable for the delectation of elderly spinsters." Having
challenged Garner's scientific credentials by, in effect,
questioning his masculinity, Morgan delivered his verdict:
There is no evidence in his book that he has, by a careful
training in psychology, earned for himself the right of
expressing a scientific opinion on this difficult question.
(Morgan, 1892, p. 509)
While the amateur experts on the abilities of animals were being
dismissed as sentimental old women (regardless of their sex)
and, hence, inherently unreliable, the credibility of mothers
(though, significantly, not fathers) was being similarly
attacked within the new science of child psychology on the
grounds of their emotional involvement with their offspring. In
the case of child psychology, however, the male scientists faced
a serious complication: The power of the mother and the nurse in
the Victorian household in controlling access to "the pass-key
to the nursery," and in limiting the kinds of experimental
interventions that could be inflicted on the child (Sully, 1895,
pp. 17-18; Sully, 1881; Riley, 1983).
Of course, the early students of animal behavior also
encountered some problems gaining access to animals. They did
not usually have the continual supply of animals (typically,
rats, cats, or monkeys) that are available to the modern
researcher; presumably, when attempting to study other people's
pets, they had to seek informed consent. The following project,
outlined by Romanes in a letter to Darwin in 1881, however,
seems to have been hardly designed to win the whole-hearted
approval of the cat-lovers, or cats, of Wimbledon:
I have got a lot of cats waiting for me at different houses
around Wimbledon Common, and some day next week shall surprise
our coachman by making a round of calls upon the cats, drive
them several miles into the country, and then let them out of
their respective bags. If any return, I shall try them again in
other directions. (reprinted in Ethel Romanes, 1896, p. 107)
The dismissal, within the two new sciences of animal psychology
and child psychology, of those who could not be trusted as
dispassionate observers, was not restricted to non-scientists.
It included other scientists, untrained in psychological method,
who were prone to relate too closely to the objects of their
study. Morgan's statement of the canon is immediately preceded
by a discussion of the disqualification of many apparent
"experts" to engage in animal psychology:
There are, I am well aware, many people who fancy that by the
objective study of animal life they can pass by direct induction
to conclusions concerning the psychic faculties of animals. All
that is necessary, these people will tell you, is to observe
carefully, and to explain the actions you observe in the most
natural manner. "In the most natural manner," here means and is
equivalent to, just the same way as you explain the actions of
your human neighbours and acquaintances. And these human actions
are explained on the assumption that your neighbour is actuated
by motives and impulses similar to your own. . . .
There can be no question that the interpretation of the actions
of animals as the outcome of mental processes essentially
similar to those of man amply suffices for practical needs. The
farmer, the keeper of a kennel, the cattlebreeder, the
gamekeeper, the breaker-in of horses, all the practical men who
are employed in the breeding, rearing, and training of animals,
and the great number of people who keep animals as pets or in
domestic service find a somewhat rough and ready interpretation
amply sufficient for their purposes in hand. . . . But for the
scientific investigator thorough and accurate knowledge of and
training in psychology is of at least co-ordinate importance
with accuracy of objective observation.
Unfortunately many able men who are eminently fitted to make and
record exact observations on the habits and activities of
animals have not undergone the training necessary to enable them
to deal with the psychological aspect of the question. The
skilled naturalist or biologist is seldom also skilled in
psychological analysis. Notwithstanding therefore the admirable
and invaluable observations of our great naturalists, we cannot
help feeling that their psychological conclusions are hardly on
the same level as that reached by their conclusions in the
purely biological field (Morgan, 1894, pp. 50-52).
Within scientific discourse, a dichotomy between two ways of
knowing, involvement versus detachment, has become entrenched --
one which, in turn, underpins a stark division between two kinds
of objects of knowledge. On the one hand, there are certain
people, who can safely be treated by scientists as "one of us."
On the other hand, there are animals (and also, perhaps,
non-civilized adults and children), who, scientifically
speaking, are to be known solely at a distance, exclusively as
strangers. In effect, a methodological double-standard has
become established that reinforces the very distinction it
pretends to clarify. The unilateral application of Morgan's
canon as well as the exclusion of "non-expert" evidence solely
in relation to animals begs, rather than answers, the question
of the mental discontinuity, or otherwise, of animals and
humans. This crucial point, somewhat lost on modern
psychologists, did not entirely escape the notice of Morgan's
contemporaries:
Skepticism of this kind is logically bound to deny evidence of
mind, not only in the case of lower animals, but also in that of
the higher, and even in that of men other than the skeptic
himself. (Romanes, 1883, p. 6; Holmes, 1911, p. 234; Romanes,
1884).
This unilateral skepticism, adopted in the name of science,
gives rise to a fundamental contradiction in our scientific
practice. For it is not simply that scientists when off-duty
seldom relate to animals in a clinically detached way either
outside or inside the laboratory (Still, 1987). As Hebb (1946)
and many others since have stressed (Wieder, 1980), such
"non-expert" knowledge of animals is typically the essential
precondition for their treatment as objects of detached
scientific investigation.
Conclusion
Lloyd Morgan did not mean to promote animal-human discontinuity;
neither, as an evolutionary thinker, did he wish to argue for
identity. Nevertheless, he seems to have been unusually
accident-prone. Despite his better intentions, the canon
backfired, and his attempt to extend the terms "behaviour" and
"trial-and-error" to animals proved, in the longer-term,
divisive. But it was the attempt by Morgan and his peers to
disparage, not animals directly, but rather the knowledge claims
of those who live and work most closely with them that is
perhaps most basic to the persistence of the anti-Darwinian
notion of the discontinuity of humans and animals. The
resolution of this curious paradox of post-Darwinian science
will require, however, not just an epistemological and political
re-evaluation of our so-called "scientific" and "non-expert"
knowledge of animals, but also a rejection of the Cartesian
assumptions that, despite Darwin's radical challenge, continue
to structure much of modern science and make animal psychology
(and, indeed, human psychology) seem such a hazardous affair (Costall,
1996).
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Notes
1. Correspondence should be addressed to Alan Costall,
Psychology Department, University of Portsmouth, King Henry
Street, Portsmouth, PO1 2DY, U.K., or by e-mail to costalla@psyc.port.ac.uk.
An earlier version of this paper was presented at "ISAZ '96: The
Animal Contract," International Society for Anthrozoology,
Downing College, Cambridge, July 24-26, 1996. I am grateful to
Ann Richards and Paul Morris for their helpful comments. I also
appreciate the very helpful comments of the three anonymous
referees, one of whom alerted me to Darwin's early use of the
term "behavior" in relation to chimpanzees.
2. The theory of organic selection was, in fact, a coalition of
different ideas from its "independent" discovers. Morgan's main
contribution seems to have been the proposal that congenital
variations would specifically follow the direction taken by
intelligent modifications. Baldwin emphasized the importance of
social transmission in spreading intelligent modifications
throughout a group, and hence consolidating the changes in the
context of natural selection operating upon congenital
variations. Although Morgan insisted that the capacity to
undergo modifications should be regarded as heritable, he
nevertheless subscribed, at least in his formulation of the
theory of organic selection, to a stark dichotomy between
individually acquired modifications, on the one hand, and
congenital variations on the other. According to Morgan,
modifications, being individually acquired, were not themselves
subject to selection; rather organic selection served to replace
such modifications by heritable variations. Contrary to the
claims of many later commentators, however, neither Morgan or
Baldwin regarded this process of replacement as involving a
single mutation, but rather, a gradual process of selection.
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