Dogs And Boys

( Originally Published 1885 )

DID you ever think how much like boys are ? Perhaps you think they are not much alike. If so, it may be only because you have not carefully considered the points in which they are similar.

Let us, then, first try to find out in what ways dogs and animals generally are like boys or mankind.

1. In the first place dogs have the faculties of perception, like men. They smell, taste, hear, feel, and see as well or better than any of us. What a wonderfully acute sense of smell they have ! A friend of mine had a dog, which was generally confined at home when the master went down town, but one day he broke away and took the scent, looking for his master. He followed him by a circuitous route, through many different streets, until he came to the building where the master was. Here he followed him upstairs, and through several rooms, till he stopped at a closed door. When this door was opened he went in and found his master, and exhibited great joy at his success. We cannot, for a moment, pretend to equal the dog in the acuteness of our sense of smell. And what a keen, quick, intelligent eye a dog has !

2. They have consciousness, and here we must include attention and reflection as well.

3. Then they are endowed with memory, which faculty closely resembles the same attribute in mankind.

These three sets of powers, dogs and the higher animals generally plainly enjoy in common with human beings. No argument is needed to prove it. It is not usually denied.

4. But they have, also, the reasoning faculty. Many remarkable stories are told to illustrate this statement. Take up any book of anecdotes of dogs, or horses, or elephants, and you will find it filled with incidents which prove that these animals reason, and that they reason with much force and sagacity. I have time to give you but one instance, which I believe has never been published.

A friend of mine had a large, shaggy dog, of native breed. One day this dog accompanied his master to a town half a dozen miles away. On his return, just as they entered a village two miles from home, Carlo found a nice bit of fresh meat, which had probably dropped out of a butcher's cart as it passed over the rough, stony road.

The dog, of course, picked up the meat, and carried it along in his mouth. But, now, to his logical powers there appeared a difficulty. He must soon pass through the village, where, as he well knew, there lived many naughty, unprincipled, selfish, hungry curs, not one of which was his particular friend. These hungry dogs would discover his prize, and would at once be seized with an uncontrollable desire to possess it. They would all join in an attack upon Carlo, and, in defending himself, he would be obliged to drop the meat, and some lucky fellow would immediately snatch it up and run away with it. At any rate, though he did not say as much, these thoughts appeared to run through Carlo's head, and he at once acted upon them.

As he passed up the hill, just entering the village, he found by the roadside a large piece of heavy wrapping paper. After spreading out its folds with his paws, he carefully laid upon it his choice piece of meat, folded over it the paper, first on this side, then on that, and then taking it in his mouth, he passed quietly through the village in safety. No one of the many dogs he chanced to meet appeared to suspect the precious burden he carried ; and the wagging of his tail, after leaving the village behind him, manifested his own hearty appreciation of the success of his stratagem.

5. Need I stop to argue the question with you, that dogs have imagination, Is it not apparent to every one. Horses, too, sometimes fear what they imagine is an evil coming upon them, more than a real danger which seriously threatens them. You may, by playing upon the imagination of these faithful animals, deceive them and cause them to fear where there is no danger, but only the suspicion of danger.

6. I will not take time to prove that they are endowed with the ordinary passions, and appetites, and emotions, and sensibilities which characterize the human species. They love and hate, they fear and dread, they manifest anger and revenge, and often are skillful in inflicting punishment upon their tormentors.

We must conclude, therefore, that the higher orders of animals, nearest mankind, are possessed of the same physical nature, and have similar intellectual capacities. They may, perhaps, be considered quite similar to the human race, and the difference between boys and dogs may, therefore, appear to be rather difficult to define or even to discover.

But do not be deceived. Differences do exist, and they are very important ones. It is true that dogs have bodies, with feet, and eyes, and ears ; they have minds and can perceive, remember, and reason. The intellectual difference would appear one of degree rather than of kind. Yet one essentia. point of distinction is found just here.

1. Whatever man learns he may transfer or transmit to the next generation. Brutes cannot. If one invent a steam engine or a telephone, he can transmit the knowledge thus gained to those who come after, so that no one need waste time and thought in again inventing the same thing. Not so the dog. He can never transfer or transmit to another what he has learned. There may be an intellectual difference in dogs or horses, but it is one of degree rather than of kind. "Blood will tell" in the lower orders, as in man. The differences in breeds are as marked and as clearly manifest in animals as are families and races among mankind. But nothing can be found to contradict the statement made above, that brutes cannot transmit intelligence. If a dog is taught a trick, his descendants must be taught it in just the same way.

2. But the great, the essential difference between the highest type of the brutes and the lowest man is the following : Man every-where has a conscience, the brute has none. Man alone, of all the animal creation, is endowed with the moral sense. That moral sense is conscience.

But you say, "Animals have this moral sense."

"Do they?"

" Oh, yes ; I have a dog that always shows it when he has done wrong. He will look sheepish, and show plainly that he knows he has done wrong, and expects a whipping. Then, when he is whipped, he will come up so penitently and lick your hand, as much as to say, 'I am very sorry, and won't do it again."

"Let us examine the case a little. What does he do ? Give an example of his wrong doing."

" Oh, well, for instance, he will steal meat, when he can, and run away with it."

" You have whipped him for it repeatedly, I suppose ? "

" Yes, I have."

"Well, let me suggest a change in your programme. You whip him for not stealing when he has a chance, and when he does steal praise him, and pat him on the head, and call him a good dog. Soon he will learn that you want him to steal, and expect him to do it. Then, when he has stolen a bit of meat he will bring it to you and wag his tail, expecting to be praised for his smartness. He will very soon forget that it is wrong to steal."

The truth of the matter is that he learns readily whether you wish and expect him to steal or not. He does what he knows you wish and expect him to do. It is the whipping or the praise that he is looking for. He has no idea of the right and wrong in the case. This is shown conclusively in this way : There is no uniformity in the case of all dogs by which they are impelled to show apparent guilt or innocence, in every case, for some particular act, irrespective of previous training. That is, they may at any time be taught to look fora whipping for doing any particular act, in which case they will slink away looking guilty ; or they may be taught to expect to be praised, in which case they will appear to have done a right and acceptable thing, and will expect to be commended for it, because they have received commendation before for the same act. They appeared guilty in the other case simply because a whipping had hitherto followed the act they had now done. Their highest idea of right and wrong was simply rewards and punishments as an expected sequence of the act performed.

But what is conscience ? Various definitions of this faculty have been given, and I suspect very erroneous ideas prevail extensively as to its office and functions. Many suppose conscience tells us what is right; but, unless I am greatly mistaken, this faculty has no power whatever to answer the question, " What is right ? " or the other question, " What is wrong ? " We determine what is right or what is wrong by judgment, our reason, our prejudices, our early education, and in various other ways. Conscience tells us two things : —

1. There is a moral character to voluntary actions. In other words, there is a right and there is a wrong. Some things (if we only knew what) are morally right, and other things are morally wrong ; and this in the very nature of things.

2. There is a moral responsibility. We ought to do the right (when we have found out what is right), and we ought to avoid the wrong. It is the sense of " oughtness," as Joseph Cook calls it. We have this faculty to tell us that voluntary actions have a moral character ; not to tell us what the moral character of a particular act is, but that it has a character, either right or wrong, and that when we have found out what this character is, we should then act accordingly. If it is right we should do it ; if it is wrong we should not do it. Besides, conscience does one more thing for us :

3. It approves us when we have done what we believe to be right, and it condemns us when we have done what we believe to be wrong.

Accept this definition of conscience, and it is always infallible. The great mistake is in supposing that conscience tells us what is right. A little thought will, I think, convince any one that people are much influenced in respect to what is right and what is wrong by their early training, by their surroundings, by what others in whom they confide believe to be right or wrong. But in their best estate and condition their true guide should be the dictates of their reason and judgment. In fact, the reason and judgment are given us to investigate, weigh the evidence, and determine the moral character of every act. Then, when these faculties have pronounced upon the quality of an act, the conscience steps up and says (if it be a good act), "Do it, do it ; you ought to " ; but if it is pronounced wrong, then, " Do not do it ; you ought not to." When conscience has been obeyed it approves us, when violated it condemns us.

It follows, without saying, that we should exercise the utmost care to learn what is right. We are too often influenced by prejudice and preconceived notions and biases. When we do not and cannot know, we accept the dictum of parents and teachers, and other friends, in whose judgment we have confidence. But whenever it is possible for us to do so, we ought to examine, investigate, exercise our reason, our judgment, " prove all things," and then " hold fast that which is good." I suppose I must add, that in many things we are all more or less influenced (especially women) in determining what is right or wrong by an intuition, which is not easily accounted for. And it is often found that the moral instincts are quite as reliable as the most profound convictions evolved from the careful utterances of reason. It is often said that in matters of conscience the first thought is the best and should be followed, but the second in matters of judgment. The obvious explanation of this is that our reason is so easily warped and twisted by our desires, that we are apt to bring the judgment to coincide with our wishes. Hence, the old adage, " The wish is father to the thought."

There are, then, two important points of difference between dogs and boys, or between animals and men. But they are vital points. They make the difference heaven-wide ; they unfold for mankind an endless series of progressive movements onward and upward ; discoveries, inventions, accumulation of knowledge and wisdom, and advancement limitless and measureless. They reveal to us, through conscience and its moral responsibility, an immortality of endless happiness within our reach, if we will but put forth the hand and grasp it.

Measure, then, if you can, the vast difference between the highest brute and the lowest man. Then attempt to span the gulf which separates that lowest man, the most ignorant and degraded, from the highest and noblest specimens of our race. Who can bridge the chasm? Who can adequately conceive the contrast? Who can possibly estimate the great distance, in this life or in the life to come, between a degraded victim of vice and crime and a noble, educated, cultivated soul, filled with all good motives, purposes, and actions ?

When we consider, therefore, that we are the architects of our own fortunes ; that the future, for time and eternity, is to be shaped by our own conduct ; that here we are on probation, in a state of trial ; that all possibilities are within our reach ; that even our powers of greatness and goodness are practically limitless ; that " where there is a will there is a way," how strongly should it stimulate us to the putting forth of our best powers to achieve all that is within our reach, to elevate ourselves in the scale of humanity to the highest possible point !