Almost all birds take great trouble to ensure the sanitation of the nursery, and are diligent in their care of the health of the young. All the excrements are removed from the nest, a task that is rendered easy, as the droppings of the young are enclosed in a white, film-like envelope or capsule. A most careful search is made at the bottom of the nest for these capsules by the parents whenever they come to feed the young. Do they fail to find the expected capsules, one or other of the parents after the feeding will tap, tap on the anus of the young birds as if to remind them of a duty neglected.[42] This is, perhaps, the most extraordinary example of parental care that I have been able to discover. One wonders how far this apparent recognition of the necessity of regular habits and cleanliness is instinctive, or how far we may grant to these parents some direct realisation of the dangers arising to their children from neglect and a dirty nursery.

It must not, however, be thought that all birds are good parents. In some species there would seem to have been a revolt against family ties and the duty of caring for the young. The common cuckoo and some other cuckoos are well-known examples. Among them, the mother, as every one knows, always lays the eggs in the nest of some other birds, and the young cuckoo, when it is hatched, would seem to have some knowledge of its precarious position as a stranger. It creeps under the nestlings of its foster-parents, and, by a violent effort, raises them one by one on its hollow back and jerks them out of the nest, so securing undivided attention in its alien nursery. A similar parasitic habit, not yet so firmly established, is found among the cow-birds of the Argentine. Mr. W. H. Hudson has seen the mothers trying to build nests and failing to do this, as if they were struggling to regain a dying instinct. The females flutter about the mud-nests of the oven-birds, and whenever a chance presents itself will dart in and lay their eggs. Other cow-birds make no effort at all in nest-building, and always lay their eggs in the occupied nests of other birds, and, as their eggs develop very quickly, the intruders hatch out before the true children of the nursery and rob them of their parents’ care.

What do we learn from this? That neglect on the part of the mother—any shuffling out of her duties, thereby placing the care of her children on the shoulders of other parents, leads to crime and disorder in the social organisation.

Some birds are content with very little care for home-building ready for their eggs. Birds belonging to many different species make nurseries in hollow trees, caves, burrows or natural cavities, sometimes lining them with leaves and feathers to make them soft, but sometimes even neglecting this care. The New Zealand kakapo or ground parrot, to take one instance, hides in any hole it finds and lays its eggs there without any preparation; the kingfisher, again, digs out a hole in the ground, or occupies one that it finds. Emus scrape a shallow hole in the ground and do not cover the eggs. The cassowary scrapes together a rude pile of leaves and mould on which she lays the eggs. Some of the megapodes or bush turkeys bury their eggs in the sand, and then take no further trouble about them, leaving incubation to the chance warmth of the sun. Others build enormous heaps of decaying leaves, forming a hot-bed from natural fermentation, by which the chicks are hatched out with no trouble to the parents. The young of the megapodes are the only living birds that are hatched out able to fly at once and ready to take care of themselves. It would appear that neglectful parents foster self-development in the children.[43]

Where the mother broods alone over the eggs it sometimes happens that the father-bird takes no interest in the family. The polygamous gallinaceous birds appear to be without, or to have lost, the paternal instinct. Peacocks, pheasants, turkey-cocks, and barn-door cocks do practically nothing for their families, and while the mother-birds’ care in feeding and guarding the young is untiring, the fathers are running after amorous adventures. The conduct of the male turkey is even worse, for, prompted by jealousy, he will often attempt to devour the eggs, and the young are protected from his attacks only by the mothers uniting together in troops. Here we see the exact opposite conduct in the two sexes from that in such a family as the sticklebacks, where good fathers replace bad mothers. But the same result follows. In either case the neglect of parental duty by one or other parent is a source of weakness to the family and increases the risks to which the young are exposed.[44]

I must insist on how strongly conduct is affected by the conditions of the home; and any change of habits will directly modify parental behaviour. Thus an animal habitually domestic may easily change under the pressure of external causes. Thus wild ducks, though good parents and strictly monogamous, and very highly developed in social qualities when in the wild state, become indifferent to their offspring and loosely polygamous under domestication.[45] Civilisation, in this case, depraves the birds as often it does men. But the examples of bad parents among birds are few in number.

I will end this chapter by relating, with as much detail as is possible, the curious family history of the Adélie penguins;[46] as these birds have developed some interesting and startling experiments in nursery care and parenthood. The penguins live in large social colonies. It should be noted first that the death rate among the young birds is enormously high, as happens invariably where the single family is replaced by great breeding colonies.

Yet the penguins are self-sacrificing parents. Year by year in the month of October they return to the same breeding-ground, having travelled many hundreds of difficult miles, and urged by a mysterious nostalgia that their children may be born in the same home. The first duty is to take possession of one of the old stone nests, or to scoop out a new hollow in the ground. Here the hens sit by the future home, and wait for proposals from the cocks. The advance is made by what appears to be a symbolic action and the cock places a stone at the hen’s feet. But often the hen answers never a word. Bloody duels are fought between rival suitors to arouse her passion and prove the vigour of her mate.

Both birds work at the home-making, repairing an old nest or forming a new one, which is made of rounded stones. The cock collects these, and it is interesting to note what would seem to be an æsthetic taste in these bird-builders; certain painted pebbles, provided by the explorers for the use of the birds, were in great demand, the colour red being preferred to green.

During the first days of wedded life the conflicts between the cocks continue, and the chosen cock maintains his rights by driving off all interlopers; but later, when the pair settle down to the serious duties of the family, they live in peace and are perfectly faithful to each other. Not until the eggs have been laid does either parent go to feed; the shortest period of total abstinence from food being about eighteen days and the longest about twenty-eight days—a fine example of parental sacrifice. Then one of the birds marches off to the water for a holiday, which may last from seven to ten days, after which it comes back to give the other bird its turn. When the young penguins are hatched the parents share in the work of feeding and guarding them, and relieve each other at frequent intervals. The bird who goes to feed always returns heavily burdened with provisions, and its always quaint shape becomes grotesque, when so laden with crustaceans that it has to lean backwards to keep its balance. Sometimes a bird will try to carry too much, with the result that it tumbles over and loses the entire load. The young chicks feed in the same way as the young cormorants, by thrusting their heads into the parent’s gullet.

Though both birds work together and with the same zeal, it must be noted that the mother’s guard over the young is more strict than is that of the father. When the mother is sitting, nothing, not even a wrangle with her next-door neighbour, will induce her to move from her post. Whatever happens, there she stays until her turn for relaxation comes. But the cocks are more easily led astray. Their combativeness causes them to forget family affairs. Often much harm is done by these quarrels in the crowded rookery, which occur frequently and in spite of the protests of anxious neighbouring parents, who are seen trying to make peace.

The most curious habit of these delightful birds has still to be recorded. They have developed a taste for games, such as leaping, diving and boarding the ice-floes. These amusements are indulged in by the adults, who band themselves in large companies, and play occupies much of their time. To gain the necessary freedom for this fun from their homes, and without leaving the chicks to perish, a most instructive device has been evolved by the penguin parents. The birds with young families “pool their offspring” in groups, which are left in charge of a few conscientious birds, both cocks and hens, who act as nurses; they ward off the attacks of the sukas, and keep, or try to keep, the chicks from wandering. The holidaying parents bring food at intervals—when their consciences smite them—and they remain faithful to their own crêches.

This is, I think, the earliest example of what must be regarded as a premeditated experiment in co-operative child-rearing. For the parents it doubtless has many advantages. These remarkable birds certainly appear to find a quite unusual joy in life: we read of the ecstatic attitudes they will frequently assume and the weird “chant de satisfaction” which they utter during play when all is well with their world. Yet the fact, already noted, must not be overlooked that the death rate in the rookery is enormously high; indeed, a frightful mortality often overtakes the young chicks when left by their parents. The children pay for the escape on the part of the parents from the sacrifice parenthood must entail.

I have a further case to record of a different experiment in co-operative parenthood, in this case necessitated through the severities of the struggle of life. In the same antarctic regions where the Adélie penguins make their home there dwells another penguin, the great emperor penguin. This bird has a sad history; never, during the whole course of its life, does it touch dry land; the vast ice-fields form its only home, and it has to brave the perils of the open water in its search for food. Under such circumstances the struggle for life is severe, and the parent-birds have the greatest difficulty to rear the young. In these ice-nurseries, incubation in the usual manner in a nest is impossible; a new and curious method is adopted. Each mother lays but a single egg, which is placed for warmth and safety in a “brood-spot” situated at the back of the feet, where it is covered by the overlapping feathers of the abdomen. Even this care is not rewarded always, and many of the eggs perish.

Owing to the difficult incubation, a large percentage of brooding birds are left without eggs and young. And the curious thing is that this loss seems to increase the desire for offspring, until the parental instinct becomes a tormenting passion. This is what happens. Each childless bird strives to adopt a child from the more fortunate parents; and this leads to a competition in parenthood, which of its kind is without parallel.

Not only the duty of incubation, but afterwards caring for the young chicks, is carried out not by one bird only, but by a dozen or more, which stand patiently round for a chance to seize either a chicken or an egg. Nor is it, as might be expected, the mothers alone who are seized by the passion of thwarted maternity; the fathers help their childless wives in their efforts to steal offspring. Every bird, male as well as female, has developed the “brood-spot,” and has the same bare patch of skin at the lower part of the abdomen against which the egg, when possessed, is pressed for warmth.

It is from such an example as this that we may come to realise the extraordinary power of parent-hunger. Consider these penguin mothers and fathers clamouring and fighting for the possession of a child. With them the parental instinct has gained fierce strength from being thwarted. Is there not here yet another lesson for us to learn?

CONTENTS OF CHAPTER VI
PARENTHOOD AMONG THE HIGHER ANIMALS
THE FIXING OF THE PARENTAL INSTINCT IN THE MOTHER

CHAPTER VI
PARENTHOOD AMONG THE HIGHER ANIMALS
THE FIXING OF THE PARENTAL INSTINCT IN THE MOTHER

One of the difficulties that has met me in my studies of the family among the animals is that, as we ascend the scale of life, there is a moral retrogression in fatherhood—at least, that is how it appears to me. There are, as far as I have found, no examples among mammals, the highest and last group of the animal kingdom, of devoted fathers undertaking the sole charge of the young, and few where the father even shares with the mother to any extent in the work connected with the upbringing of the family. The egoistic desires seem to increase in the males, with a corresponding weakening of their interest in the family and willingness to participate in its duties. The young are carried by the mother alone, they are protected chiefly by her; the father takes no part in the nursery cares, and rarely does he help in providing food for the children. The family is maternal, the female—the mother—its centre; the male is bound sexually to the female, but apart from this his connection with the family is slight; we find him most frequently following personal interests.

In contrast with the conduct of the fathers in the families we have so far examined among the birds, reptiles, fishes and insects, with whom the father’s solicitude and sacrifice for the young equals and, in some cases, rivals that of the mother, this complete paternal indifference is really very startling. It demands our attention.

What factors have brought about this reversal, which at first sight appears so strange? Why is it that the parental instinct diminishes in the father and is now fixed in the mother? It is, however, easy to understand this change if we consider what now happens, and the changed conditions under which the young are born. The mammals do not lay eggs like bird and reptile mothers, but each mother retains the eggs within her body, and so secures for the young warmth and protection far more certainly than would be possible in the best-contrived nest or home.[47] But this has led to changed habits. No nest or brooding-home has to be made, and the same preparations for the family, which hitherto have united in work the father with the mother, are unnecessary. Again, food has not now to the same extent to be collected and stored in readiness for the future needs of the children. The embryo, living within the body of its mother, gains the food for its growth directly from her blood. The connection between mother and child now is closer; her condition and health become of direct importance for the welfare of the young. At the same time the importance of the father is sharply lessened. This is plain. The early stages of mother-care, instead of being conscious and external acts regulated by special circumstances and often modified to meet different needs, now become part of the unconscious functions of the body of the mother—the child is an extension of herself. The advantage to the offspring of this change from external to internal protection is great, in the added safety thereby gained from fixed functions over the habits that might be slurred over, bungled or forgotten. I think, however, that there is a corresponding loss—that parenthood becomes more possibly irresponsible and, at the same time, individualism becomes stronger. Birth, with narrowed opportunity for intelligent adaptation, is more of an unconsidered incident; I mean that before it occurs it demands much less from the parents in sacrifice and in work. This is certainly the case with the father, whose part in gaining offspring is reduced to a single momentary act, and one, moreover, that is prompted by the fiercest egoistic desire.

But I think, too, there is a deterioration, though much less in degree, in the quality of motherhood. The preparation made for the birth of her children by the mammal mother is very slight, indeed, in many cases the mother appears to be unaware of the approaching event until the actual birth begins. Here is an account of a langur monkey, whose first baby was born in the London Zoological Gardens, at which event the mother seemed to be utterly surprised. The birth took place at night, and the mother, from the marks in the cage, must have dragged up and down the new, astonishing object. But by the morning she had grown accustomed to the baby, and held it pressed closely to her breast, from time to time thrusting the head outwards and eagerly looking at it. For several weeks the baby never left her, and she showed endless curiosity and pleasure in it, ceaselessly examining it, turning it over, stroking it and keeping it clean with her hands. She was jealous of visitors, and when they came near to the cage she would turn round so as to hide the baby from them. The father, in case of accidents, had been taken away and put in the adjoining cage, which was shut off by a piece of canvas. He made a hole in this, and from time to time, especially when the mother or baby made any noise, he would raise the torn flap and peep through.[48]

It must be remembered that among the mammals it is the rule for the young to be suckled by the mother, a mode of feeding already foreshadowed by many bird parents and some insects. But with them the special nursery food is prepared from their own food by incessant work, undertaken, as a rule, by both parents. The act of suckling, on the other hand, occurs without conscious work, and is a function in which the father has no concern whatever.

I have no facts to trace the steps whereby this function of maternal feeding was developed and established, but I would suggest that, apart from the advantage to the young of a special diet, the immense labour entailed on the parents in obtaining food—the foraging over wide areas and the carrying of the provisions back to the nursery—made it a question of economy; and that the mother, as more usually being with the young, was the parent who came without conscious effort to prepare for them in her body this early nourishment.

It is plain that the bond between the mother and offspring would be greatly strengthened; they would be dependent upon her alone, and drawing life from her body, she would become increasingly conscious of them during a much longer period. The emotional quality of affection really develops now. The suckling is a continuation of the organic relation by which the child is born of the mother’s body; now the child exists through her, and becomes, so to speak, a habit which grows up out of her own individuality. I lay stress upon this fact: the maternal feeding is the beginning of a new period in the growth of motherhood, and is the foundation of the indestructible bond between mother and child.

We see, then, the reasons for the curious and sudden deterioration in fatherhood; the father has, as it were, been pushed out of his earlier position of service. Now that there is no nursery to be built, and the mother is the sole feeder of the young during their period of greatest helplessness, the father loses his interest in the family. Our interests and our habits are fixed by whatever occupies our attention. Freed from the first and most important care of the young, the male is severed from the family and its duties, and his attention, thus set free, turns in new directions and centres upon himself. In this connection we have, I would suggest, an explanation of the greater variability of the male as well as of his more violent passions. Instead of a working partner with the mother, sharing in her sacrifice for the welfare of the family, he is a member apart; he grows larger than the female, becomes masterful, pugnacious, jealous of her and of the young: a fighting, egoistic specialisation. He is still attached to the female, but he seeks her to satisfy his sexual needs, he less frequently remains with her as a domestic partner, relieving her in connection with the rearing of the young.[49]

This is the general condition among the mammals. It is the rule that the young are tended by the mother during the period of their youth. At birth they are usually helpless, and often are born before the eyelids have opened and while the body is yet naked, or but scantily clothed. But there are degrees of helplessness, determined, it would seem, by the conditions of the environment and habits of the parents. The maternal care is greater or less in accordance with the needs of the young. The period of youth is much longer, and increases as we ascend in the scale of life. The great apes, for instance—the gorilla, the orang and the chimpanzee—take from eight to twelve years to grow up, while baboons and common monkeys take from three to eight years, and the little South American monkeys and lemurs two to three years.[50] In connection with this longer childhood we find an increased mental growth; the years of youth are the time in which the brain cells increase in size and co-ordinate with the rest of the body. And the longer the period of youth the more perfect is the brain. Thus the helplessness of the young stands in direct relation to the increased vitality shown by the adults. It is also the strongest factor in developing and fixing the maternal instincts.

The young do not leave their mother until they are well ready to start life on their own account; then they are thrown into the world. Till then they are cared for. Freed of any duty of finding food, and very seldom having to defend themselves, they have time to experiment and learn from experience. The instincts in this way become educated, their rigidity is destroyed, and more and more they are controlled by memory and experience—the stored-up results of experiment. The purpose of youth is to give time for this.

The number of the young is now very greatly reduced, and the small families are protected by the mothers, in some cases assisted by the fathers. The maintenance of the species by the production of enormous families has ceased. Some of the small rodents, it is true, breed several times in the course of the year, and there are other fecund mammals, such as pigs, which give birth to many young in one litter. But these are rare exceptions. The usual number of young is two or three at a birth, and the higher in the scale of mammalian life the smaller is the family.[51]

There is a fact that must be noted here. A curious perverted instinct is not uncommon among mammal mothers, though rare with the monkeys. In the first day or two after birth a mother will kill and eat her young. I had a bitch who once did this: the first time she had a family she ate all her puppies in the first night; afterwards (I mean when for a second time she had puppies) she was a good and fond mother. I think this habit of maternal infanticide must be connected with that change, of which I have spoken, whereby the early stages of brood-care are carried on without the direct consciousness of the mother. The children do not enter into her experience because she has not had to work for them. She eats them as she would eat any other helpless thing. In a carnivorous mother especially this habit is not surprising; it happens almost always with young and inexperienced mothers. And I think it shows that maternal care is not so instinctive as we are led to believe, but is the result of, and directly dependent upon habit and the attention being fixed on the family.

In all the carnivores the young are born helpless, usually blind, though new-born lions can see; they remain with their mother for a period varying from a few weeks with the smaller creatures to even more than a year. Sometimes the father stays loosely attached to the family. The large predaceous creatures cover great distances in search of prey. There is, however, a stationary home lair in a well-concealed place, to which the mother always returns with food. She takes scrupulous care to keep the nursery clean, and she carefully looks to the needs of her young family, licking them with her tongue, until they are old enough to perform their own toilet or lick and clean each other. Before they are weaned they are allowed to scrape off fragments of flesh from the mother’s food, so that they may become accustomed to their future food. At the same time they are taught the elements of stalking, in play-lessons with the mother’s tail and paws. Later they are taken out by the mother, sometimes by both parents, on foraging expeditions. Family parties of lions, for instance, often have been seen by African hunters.

The fathers do little for the young families. Sometimes they afford protection in fighting and driving off enemies; it is important, however, to note that this service to the family seems to be prompted by jealousy and aggression, and must be considered as an expression of the egoistic instincts rather than connected with parental solicitude.

Among the mammals polygamy is frequent, and there are cases of the most brutal promiscuity, where the males and females unite and separate at chance meetings, without any care for the family arising in the mind of the male. Polygamous unions are especially common among species with sociable habits who live in hordes. Sociability probably arises through individual weakness. Animals that are badly armed for fierce combats, and that have, besides, difficulty in obtaining food are glad to live in association. Thus the ruminants live in hordes or polygamous groups, composed of females and young subject to a male who protects them, expelling his rivals, and being a veritable chief of a band.[52]

The conditions of the nursery and early life of the young are changed necessarily by these different habits. In the first place, the ruminants are wanderers, and travel long distances in search of food and water. Thus there is no permanent home and no nursery, and the mothers make no preparation beforehand for the young. They retire for a few minutes to a thicket, where they drop the calves or lambs. Families are small, and one is the usual number at a birth. The young are not born helpless, as is the case among the young carnivores where there is a settled nursery, but are clothed, have their eyes open, and their senses are very alert. In a very short time, almost as soon as their mother has licked them clean, they are ready to follow her; and they join the herd, if the animals are gregarious. The mothers show marked affection to the young, but it would seem to be the business of the young one rather to follow and stick to the mother than for the mother, as amongst the carnivores, to take the lead in the affections. There is no real training of the young by the mother. Sometimes, if there is a herd, the males will combine to defend the group of the females and their young; but more frequently there is a family party, consisting of one or possibly two males, with their several wives and children.[53]

Many different animals live in this manner in familial groups. The moufflons of Europe and of the Atlas, for instance, form polygamous social groups in the breeding season.[54] Among the walrus, the male, who is of a very jealous temperament, collects around him from thirty to forty females, making altogether a polygamous family sometimes amounting to a hundred and twenty individuals.[55] Again, the male of the Asiatic antelope is inordinately polygamous; he expels all his rivals, and forms a harem numbering sometimes a hundred females. It should be noted that polygamic régime does not appear to lessen the affectionate sentiment in the females towards their tyrant lord. There are many examples of the most oppressed females being faithful wives. And so much is this so that the conclusion is almost forced upon us that the female animal likes servitude.[56]

There is a wide range in the form of sexual association practised by different species. The carnivorous animals, as a rule, live in couples; this is done, for example, by bears, weasels and whales. But this is not an absolute rule, for the South African lion is a polygamist, and is usually accompanied by four or five females.[57] Sometimes species that are very nearly allied have different conjugal customs; thus the white-cheeked peccary lives in social groups, while the white-ringed peccary lives in couples.[58]

Permanent unions are formed, especially among the anthropoid apes. Thus strictly monogamous marriages are frequent among gorillas and orang-utans, and any approach to loose behaviour on the part of the wife is severely punished by the husband.[59] The ouanderoo (Macaque silenus) of India has only one female, and is faithful to her till death.[60]

But polygamy is frequent. Savage tells us that the Gorilla guia, for instance, forms small hordes, consisting of a single adult male, who is the despotic master of many females and a certain number of the young. We find both the matrichate and the patrichate family; but whatever the form of sexual relationship practised, the father has always much less affection for the young than the mother. Among the mammals this is universal.

The females among the mammals being smaller and less powerful than the males, no sexual association comparable to polyandry is possible. Yet in justice it must be noted that the desire for sexual variety is not always confined to the males. A female will sometimes take advantage of the moment when the attention of her lord and master is entirely absorbed by the anxiety of a fight to run off with a young male. Even among species noted for their conjugal fidelity this will happen. The male animal has no monopoly in sexual sins.[61]

The polygamous families of monkeys are always subject to patriarchal rule. The father is the tyrant of the band—an egoist, who spends his time in fighting and in love adventures. Any protection he gives to his wives is in his own interest and to keep them bound to himself. He neither makes the home nor feeds the young. Often he is a disturber of the family peace. He will, on occasion, show jealousy of his own sons, whom he expels from the band as soon as they are old enough to give him trouble; his daughters, in some cases, he adds to his harem.

Even in monogamous species, where the male keeps with the female, he does so more as chief than as father. He takes little interest in the nursery. At times he is much inclined to commit infanticide and to destroy the offspring which, by absorbing the attention of his partner, thwart his amours. Thus among the large felines the mother often is obliged to hide her young ones from the male when he stays with her, in order to prevent his devouring them.[62]

Again, among the even-toed ungulates (pigs, peccaries and hippopotami) we find marked maternal affection and care. Little pigs are feeble at birth, and are sedulously guarded by their mother. A hippopotamus baby (the family usually consists of one only) stays with its mother for a long time, probably several years, and when the mother goes to and fro to the water to feed, the little one rides on her back. The fathers take no notice at all of the young. The odd-toed ungulates (horses, asses and zebras, and the tapirs and rhinoceroses) live in herds. The young are active soon after birth and able to follow their mothers, who have great affection for them. The males will protect the females and young when the herd is attacked if a fight is unavoidable, but they prefer to seek safety in flight. The fathers do not appear to have any affection for the young.[63]

Among the numerous classes of rodents, where the young are born naked, blind and helpless, the whole duty of their upbringing is undertaken by the mother. “I do not know of any instance,” states Mr. P. Chalmers Mitchell, “in which the male takes care of the young; generally they either neglect them altogether, or attack them and persecute them.”

From such pictures as these the position of the father in the family will readily be seen. No longer bound by domestic ties to the young, he knows no duty to the family except the rule of jealous ownership. How complete is the change in the family organisation. How sharp is the contrast between these indifferent males, jealous and fighting, and the devoted fathers among the birds, fishes, reptiles and insects, uniting with the mothers as working partners in the home-making, food-providing, and all the care of the young. The father is now alone—separated from the family, banded with other males. And do you not see how this change, and the indifference of the males to any interests but their own, have forced the mothers into closer union with the family? The male strength, the gorgeous display of sex-charms, the fierce fighting for prey and for love, are now markedly developed. But this polygamous jealousy and egoism acts really for the advantage of the females. It is the egoistic male conduct that forces altruism upon them. I attach great importance to this. I maintain that the forcing out of the father from his service and earlier important position of a worker in the circle of the family served as a means to the end of deepening and fixing the maternal instinct in the mothers. What was lost for fatherhood was gained for motherhood. Self-sacrifice became once and for ever the supreme joy and privilege of the female.

We have found the clue we were seeking.

Further than this I must not go. The first part of my inquiry has come to an end. There is little more that I need to say. It may seem to the reader that the animal family, in a book written to establish the duties and rights of human motherhood, has received too much attention. To those who hold this view I can say only that I do not agree with them. In forethought and sacrifice for the well-being of the young—the devotion of the father as well as of the mother—these pre-human parents do not yield precedence to many human families. They deserve our attentive study. But I have no hope, nor much desire, to convince those of an opposite opinion, who hold that we are so much higher and different from the animals that we can learn nothing from them. To all such I would recommend again that they leave this section of my book unread.

There is, however, another objection that may be raised. It may be thought that too much stress has been laid on the father and his connection with the family, that my choice of illustrations has been biased, and cases taken in which the father’s devotion is unusually prominent. This I have done. And I have done it of fixed purpose. In the first place, I desired to prove the error in the common opinion that the parental instinct has at all times been the endowment of the female, stronger in her than in the male. I wanted it to be known that in the beginning of the family the father was as true a parent as the mother, his devotion sometimes being greater than hers. Then, secondly, I hoped, by means of the insight that the many and great changes in the past conditions of the family afford us, to establish the close connection which does at all times exist between parental devotion and the duties performed in feeding and caring for the young. The parent who sacrifices most is the parent who loves most. Some of the suggestions I have made may be more or less open to question, but not a few, I think, are true in the light of the facts that cannot be questioned. I am fully aware of the omissions and inadequacy of my summary; probably I have made mistakes. I think this could not have been prevented. Much ground had to be covered. The illustrations I have been able to give of each stage in the history of parenthood are few, compared with the rich number that might be studied. I have made no attempt at completeness, nor have I tried to set up any exact order of behaviour. Life is too full of surprises for such arbitrary theories. I have, however, tried to make clear certain ideas that have forced themselves very strongly upon my attention during my own studies.

We have seen the maternal instinct in the making, and we have come to understand the strong force of this impulse, which finds its expression in so many diverse ways. There is much that we cannot understand. But this is largely because we know so little. We have, I hope, gained a clearer view; we have learnt many things that may cast forward suggestions for the solving of our own sexual, domestic and social relationships. The facts which I have recorded are, I trust, sufficient for this purpose: I hold that the following general conclusions may be drawn from them—

Regarding the care of the young as the moving force in developing the intelligence of the parents, I have accepted the truth, which it is the chief purpose of my book to make plain, that the individual exists for the race. Other personal things may be important, they may be profoundly important, but they are not primary—not one with the forces that do not change. The individual is primarily the host and servant of the seed of life. Birth is the essential fact underlying all experience.

From this service to the future arises the family and the home. And with the appearance of the family, new habits are necessarily formed, and these act in developing the higher sides of mental and emotional life. Co-operation, friendship and love which is not sexual attraction find their first beginnings in the limiting by the parents of their desire to look after themselves, to satisfy their own appetites and provide for their own needs. The mere toleration of the young is the start in a new life. There follows a mutual joining in work with the necessity and opportunity of modifying instinct by practice. In this way a direct push forward is given for the development of intelligent conduct. An immense advance, then, is gained from the association of the young with the old in the family tie.

In the cases we have examined, we have seen that the same end is not gained always in the same way. Nature has no fixed rule for the family. The contrasts and paradoxes of animal family life are numerous. We have watched the development of the parental intelligence in many family groups; we have seen that there is no fixed order in the relations which exist between parents and offspring. All arrangements are good on the one condition that they succeed in serving the family and preserving its life.

To produce large families, making little provision for them, is a wasteful and improvident way of maintaining life. This spendthrift fashion of reproduction was the early method. To limit the number of the family and to cherish and protect the young, not throwing them upon the world until they are well fitted to make a brave fight against its dangers, is the later, wiser and safer way. We have noted devices of this kind in each group of the animal kingdom, but parental care becomes more and more complete as the scale of life is ascended. Not only are the numbers in the family reduced, but the period of youth becomes longer. The protected young are permitted a longer time in which they have the opportunity of learning to live.

The importance of the form of union or marriage between the parents and of the kind of home must be considered. We have found that polygamous fathers and polyandrous mothers care little for the young. The withdrawal of the interest and care of either parent is a source of weakness which can be compensated only by an added devotion on the part of the remaining parent.

We have noted the withdrawal of the father from active work for the family. This came with the greater importance of the mother, which itself was not the result of any conscious act. It was a necessary step, following the change from external to internal protection, whereby the young are retained within the body of the mother. Animal parents do not teach us that mothers are always more devoted and self-sacrificing than fathers. Sometimes, indeed, the contrary would appear to be true. Even the mother’s instinct to protect and serve the young, which seems to increase as we ascend the scale towards human parentage, must, I think, be regarded as an extended egoism. Formed in her body and fed from her sustenance, the young are a part of her individuality, and her solicitude for them is but a wider caring for herself.

There are many surprises in animal parenthood. The conduct of the parents may vary within very wide limits, and all kinds of devices are employed by different parents to ensure the well-being of the family. Solicitude and sacrifice for the young are common, but indifference also occurs; and there are unnatural parents of both sexes who shirk family duties. We have found, indeed, the suggestion of all the virtues of human parents as well as many of their sins, every form of devotion and intelligent parenthood as well as examples of folly and neglect.

We have observed the greatest difference in particular in the conduct of the father as regards his participation in the work of building the home and in feeding and rearing the young. Thereby we have learnt that a psychic metamorphosis of the male may occur, causing him to fulfil the duties of the mother, and that accompanying this is an alteration in the character of the female which completely transforms her sexual nature.

An attempt was made to solve this riddle of sex. It seems probable that changes in function, by which is meant changes in the form of union and conditions of the family—as when one sex, for some reason or other, performs the duties usually undertaken by the other sex—may profoundly alter the sexual nature of the individual and modify the differences which tend to thrust the sexes apart. We cannot know with any certainty. Yet I can see no other interpretation of these curious instances of sexual transformation, and, if I mistake not, it may be possible in this way to cast a light on one of the most difficult problems with which we are faced to-day.

I have asserted again and again that the strength of the parental instinct is dependent directly on the opportunities for its expression; which is to say that the parent who tends and feeds the young is the parent who loves the young. We may go further than this. There is no such thing as instinctive motherhood. The emotional quality of affection comes later than the birth of offspring, and is not dependent on any instinctive feeling in the mother. It is the consequence and not the cause of parental care. So true it is that sacrifice and forgetfulness of self is the basis of affection.

The most important result that we have gained from our inquiry is a knowledge of the close connection which exists between the care of the young and the character and conduct of the parents. You will see what this implies. The essential fact for the male and the female—for the mother and also for the father—is a development of responsibility in fulfilling duties to the family. Neither sex can keep a position apart from parenthood. Just in so far as the mother and the father attain to consciousness and intelligent sacrifice in their relation to their offspring do they attain individual intelligence, development and joy. To me, at least, this is the truth that stands out as the lesson to be learnt from these pre-human parents.

PART III
THE PRIMITIVE FAMILY

“Round the fundamental facts of parenthood and the dependence of the breeding mother woman has built up the tissue of customs and conventions called ‘home,’ which expanded in ever widening circles became society.”—E. Colquhoun.

CONTENTS OF CHAPTER VII
THE MOTHER IN THE PRIMITIVE FAMILY