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The Expression of Emotion in Man and Animals

C >> Charles Darwin >> The Expression of Emotion in Man and Animals





[9] I am much indebted to Mr. A. H. Garrod for having informed
me of M. Lorain's work on the pulse, in which a sphygmogram
of a woman in a rage is given; and this shows much difference
in the rate and other characters from that of the same woman
in her ordinary state.

The heart no doubt will likewise be affected in a direct manner;
but it will also in all probability be affected through habit;
and all the more so from not being under the control of the will.
We know that any great exertion which we voluntarily make, affects the heart,
through mechanical and other principles which need not here be considered;
and it was shown in the first chapter that nerve-force flows
readily through habitually used channels,--through the nerves of
voluntary or involuntary movement, and through those of sensation.
Thus even a moderate amount of exertion will tend to act on the heart;
and on the principle of association, of which so many instances have
been given, we may feel nearly sure that any sensation or emotion,
as great pain or rage, which has habitually led to much muscular action,
will immediately influence the flow of nerve-force to the heart,
although there may not be at the time any muscular exertion.

The heart, as I have said, will be all the more readily affected through
habitual associations, as it is not under the control of the will.
A man when moderately angry, or even when enraged, may command the movements
of his body, but he cannot prevent his heart from beating rapidly.
His chest will perhaps give a few heaves, and his nostrils just quiver,
for the movements of respiration are only in part voluntary.
In like manner those muscles of the face which are least obedient
to the will, will sometimes alone betray a slight and passing emotion.
The glands again are wholly independent of the will, and a man suffering
from grief may command his features, but cannot always prevent
the tears from coming into his eyes. A hungry man, if tempting food
is placed before him, may not show his hunger by any outward gesture,
but he cannot check the secretion of saliva.

Under a transport of Joy or of vivid Pleasure, there is a strong tendency
to various purposeless movements, and to the utterance of various sounds.
We see this in our young children, in their loud laughter, clapping
of hands, and jumping for joy; in the bounding and barking of a dog
when going out to walk with his master; and in the frisking of a horse
when turned out into an open field. Joy quickens the circulation,
and this stimulates the brain, which again reacts on the whole body.
The above purposeless movements and increased heart-action may be
attributed in chief part to the excited state of the sensorium,[10]
and to the consequent undirected overflow, as Mr. Herbert Spencer insists,
of nerve-force. It deserves notice, that it is chiefly the anticipation
of a pleasure, and not its actual enjoyment, which leads to purposeless and
extravagant movements of the body, and to the utterance of various sounds.
We see this in our children when they expect any great pleasure or treat;
and dogs, which have been bounding about at


[10] How powerfully intense joy excites the brain, and how
the brain reacts on the body, is well shown in the rare cases of
Psychical Intoxication. Dr. J. Crichton Browne (`Medical Mirror,'
1865) records the case of a young man of strongly nervous temperament,
who, on hearing by a telegram that a fortune had been bequeathed him,
first became pale, then exhilarated, and soon in the highest spirits,
but flushed and very restless. He then took a walk with a friend
for the sake of tranquillising himself, but returned staggering
in his gait, uproariously laughing, yet irritable in temper,
incessantly talking, and singing loudly in the public streets.
It was positively ascertained that he had not touched any
spirituous liquor, though every one thought that he was intoxicated.
Vomiting after a time came on, and the half-digested contents of his
stomach were examined, but no odour of alcohol could be detected.
He then slept heavily, and on awaking was well, except that
he suffered from headache, nausea, and prostration of strength.
the sight of a plate of food, when they get it do not show their
delight by any outward sign, not even by wagging their tails.
Now with animals of all kinds, the acquirement of almost all
their pleasures, with the exception of those of warmth and rest,
are associated, and have long been associated with active movements,
as in the hunting or search for food, and in their courtship.
Moreover, the mere exertion of the muscles after long rest
or confinement is in itself a pleasure, as we ourselves feel,
and as we see in the play of young animals. Therefore on this
latter principle alone we might perhaps expect, that vivid pleasure
would be apt to show itself conversely in muscular movements.

With all or almost all animals, even with birds, Terror causes the body
to tremble. The skin becomes pale, sweat breaks out, and the hair bristles.
The secretions of the alimentary canal and of the kidneys are increased,
and they are involuntarily voided, owing to the relaxation of the
sphincter muscles, as is known to be the case with man, and as I have
seen with cattle, dogs, cats, and monkeys. The breathing is hurried.
The heart beats quickly, wildly, and violently; but whether it pumps
the blood more efficiently through the body may be doubted, for the
surface seems bloodless and the strength of the muscles soon fails.
In a frightened horse I have felt through the saddle the beating
of the heart so plainly that I could have counted the beats.
The mental faculties are much disturbed. Utter prostration soon follows,
and even fainting. A terrified canary-bird has been seen not only to
tremble and to turn white about the base of the bill, but to faint;[11]
and I once caught a robin in a room, which fainted so completely,
that for a time I thought it dead.


[11] Dr. Darwin, `Zoonomia,' 1794, vol. i. p. 148.

Most of these symptoms are probably the direct result,
independently of habit, of the disturbed state of the sensorium;
but it is doubtful whether they ought to be wholly thus accounted for.
When an animal is alarmed it almost always stands motionless for a moment,
in order to collect its senses and to ascertain the source of danger,
and sometimes for the sake of escaping detection. But headlong flight
soon follows, with no husbanding of the strength as in fighting,
and the animal continues to fly as long as the danger lasts,
until utter prostration, with failing respiration and circulation,
with all the muscles quivering and profuse sweating, renders further
flight impossible. Hence it does not seem improbable that the principle
of associated habit may in part account for, or at least augment,
some of the above-named characteristic symptoms of extreme terror.


That the principle of associated habit has played an important part in
causing the movements expressive of the foregoing several strong emotions
and sensations, we may, I think, conclude from considering firstly,
some other strong emotions which do not ordinarily require for their
relief or gratification any voluntary movement; and secondly the contrast
in nature between the so-called exciting and depressing states of the mind.
No emotion is stronger than maternal love; but a mother may feel the deepest
love for her helpless infant, and yet not show it by any outward sign;
or only by slight caressing movements, with a gentle smile and tender eyes.
But let any one intentionally injure her infant, and see what a change!
how she starts up with threatening aspect, how her eyes sparkle and her
face reddens, how her bosom heaves, nostrils dilate, and heart beats;
for anger, and not maternal love, has habitually led to action.
The love between the opposite sexes is widely different from maternal love;
and when lovers meet, we know that their hearts beat quickly,
their breathing is hurried, and their faces flush; for this love is not
inactive like that of a mother for her infant.

A man may have his mind filled with the blackest hatred or suspicion,
or be corroded with envy or jealousy, but as these feelings do not at once
lead to action, and as they commonly last for some time, they are not shown
by any outward sign, excepting that a man in this state assuredly does
not appear cheerful or good-tempered. If indeed these feelings break out
into overt acts, rage takes their place, and will be plainly exhibited.
Painters can hardly portray suspicion, jealousy, envy, &c., except by the aid
of accessories which tell the tale; and poets use such vague and fanciful
expressions as "green-eyed jealousy." Spenser describes suspicion as
"Foul, ill-favoured, and grim, under his eyebrows looking still askance,"
&c.; Shakespeare speaks of envy "as lean-faced in her loathsome case;"
and in another place he says, "no black envy shall make my grave;"
and again as "above pale envy's threatening reach."

Emotions and sensations have often been classed as exciting or depressing.
When all the organs of the body and mind,--those of voluntary and
involuntary movement, of perception, sensation, thought, &c.,--perform
their functions more energetically and rapidly than usual, a man or animal
may be said to be excited, and, under an opposite state, to be depressed.
Anger and joy are from the first exciting emotions, and they naturally lead,
more especially the former, to energetic movements, which react on the heart
and this again on the brain. A physician once remarked to me as a proof
of the exciting nature of anger, that a man when excessively jaded
will sometimes invent imaginary offences and put himself into a passion,
unconsciously for the sake of reinvigorating himself; and since hearing
this remark, I have occasionally recognized its full truth.

Several other states of mind appear to be at first exciting,
but soon become depressing to an extreme degree. When a mother
suddenly loses her child, sometimes she is frantic with grief,
and must be considered to be in an excited state; she walks
wildly about, tears her hair or clothes, and wrings her hands.
This latter action is perhaps due to the principle of antithesis,
betraying an inward sense of helplessness and that nothing can be done.
The other wild and violent movements may be in part explained
by the relief experienced through muscular exertion, and in part
by the undirected overflow of nerve-force from the excited sensorium.
But under the sudden loss of a beloved person, one of the first
and commonest thoughts which occurs, is that something more
might have been done to save the lost one. An excellent
observer,[12] in describing the behaviour of a girl at the sudden
death of her father, says she "went about the house wringing
her hands like a creature demented, saying `It was her fault;'
`I should never have left him;' `If I had only sat up with him,'
" &c. With such ideas vividly present before the mind,
there would arise, through the principle of associated habit,
the strongest tendency to energetic action of some kind.

As soon as the sufferer is fully conscious that nothing can be done,
despair or deep sorrow takes the place of frantic grief.
The sufferer sits motionless, or gently rocks to and fro;
the circulation becomes languid; respiration is almost forgotten,
and deep sighs are drawn.


[12] "Mrs. Oliphant, in her novel of `Miss Majoribanks,' p. 362. All this
reacts on the brain, and prostration soon follows with collapsed muscles
and dulled eyes. As associated habit no longer prompts the sufferer
to action, he is urged by his friends to voluntary exertion, and not
to give way to silent, motionless grief. Exertion stimulates the heart,
and this reacts on the brain, and aids the mind to bear its heavy load.

Pain, if severe, soon induces extreme depression or prostration;
but it is at first a stimulant and excites to action, as we see when we
whip a horse, and as is shown by the horrid tortures inflicted in foreign
lands on exhausted dray-bullocks, to rouse them to renewed exertion.
Fear again is the most depressing of all the emotions; and it soon
induces utter, helpless prostration, as if in consequence of,
or in association with, the most violent and prolonged attempts to escape
from the danger, though no such attempts have actually been made.
Nevertheless, even extreme fear often acts at first as a powerful stimulant.
A man or animal driven through terror to desperation, is endowed with
wonderful strength, and is notoriously dangerous in the highest degree.


On the whole we may conclude that the principle of the direct
action of the sensorium on the body, due to the constitution
of the nervous system, and from the first independent of the will,
has been highly influential in determining many expressions.
Good instances are afforded by the trembling of the muscles,
the sweating of the skin, the modified secretions of the alimentary
canal and glands, under various emotions and sensations.
But actions of this kind are often combined with others,
which follow from our first principle, namely, that actions
which have often been of direct or indirect service,
under certain states of the mind, in order to gratify or relieve
certain sensations, desires, &c., are still performed under
analogous circumstances through mere habit although of no service.
We have combinations of this kind, at least in part, in the
frantic gestures of rage and in the writhings of extreme pain;
and, perhaps, in the increased action of the heart and of
the respiratory organs. Even when these and other emotions
or sensations are aroused in a very feeble manner, there will
still be a tendency to similar actions, owing to the force
of long-associated habit; and those actions which are least
under voluntary control will generally be longest retained.
Our second principle of antithesis has likewise occasionally
come into play.


Finally, so many expressive movements can be explained, as I trust
will be seen in the course of this volume, through the three
principles which have now been discussed, that we may hope hereafter
to see all thus explained, or by closely analogous principles.
It is, however, often impossible to decide how much weight ought
to be attributed, in each particular case, to one of our principles,
and how much to another; and very many points in the theory
of Expression remain inexplicable. CHAPTER IV.

MEANS OF EXPRESSION IN ANIMALS.

The emission of Sounds--Vocal sounds--Sounds otherwise produced--
Erection of the dermal appendages, hairs, feathers, &c., under
the emotions of anger and terror--The drawing back of the ears
as a preparation for fighting, and as an expression of anger--
Erection of the ears and raising the head, a sign of attention.


IN this and the following chapter I will describe, but only in
sufficient detail to illustrate my subject, the expressive movements,
under different states of the mind, of some few well-known animals.
But before considering them in due succession, it will save much
useless repetition to discuss certain means of expression common
to most of them.

_The emission of Sounds_.--With many kinds of animals, man included, the vocal
organs are efficient in the highest degree as a means of expression.
We have seen, in the last chapter, that when the sensorium is strongly
excited, the muscles of the body are generally thrown into violent action;
and as a consequence, loud sounds are uttered, however silent
the animal may generally be, and although the sounds may be of no use.
Hares and rabbits for instance, never, I believe, use their vocal
organs except in the extremity of suffering; as, when a wounded hare
is killed by the sportsman, or when a young rabbit is caught by a stoat.
Cattle and horses suffer great pain in silence; but when this is excessive,
and especially when associated with terror, they utter fearful sounds.
I have often recognized, from a distance on the Pampas, the agonized
death-bellow of the cattle, when caught by the lasso and hamstrung.
It is said that horses, when attacked by wolves, utter loud and peculiar
screams of distress.

Involuntary and purposeless contractions of the muscles of the chest
and glottis, excited in the above manner, may have first given rise
to the emission of vocal sounds. But the voice is now largely used
by many animals for various purposes; and habit seems to have played
an important part in its employment under other circumstances.
Naturalists have remarked, I believe with truth, that social animals,
from habitually using their vocal organs as a means of intercommunication,
use them on other occasions much more freely than other animals.
But there are marked exceptions to this rule, for instance, with the rabbit.
The principle, also, of association, which is so widely extended in its power,
has likewise played its part. Hence it follows that the voice, from having
been habitually employed as a serviceable aid under certain conditions,
inducing pleasure, pain, rage, &c,, is commonly used whenever the same
sensations or emotions are excited, under quite different conditions,
or in a lesser degree.

The sexes of many animals incessantly call for each other during
the breeding-season; and in not a few cases, the male endeavours
thus to charm or excite the female. This, indeed, seems to have
been the primeval use and means of development of the voice,
as I have attempted to show in my `Descent of Man.' Thus the use
of the vocal organs will have become associated with the anticipation
of the strongest pleasure which animals are capable of feeling.
Animals which live in society often call to each other when separated,
and evidently feel much joy at meeting; as we see with a horse,
on the return of his companion, for whom he has been neighing.
The mother calls incessantly for her lost young ones; for instance,
a cow for her calf; and the young of many animals call for their mothers.
When a flock of sheep is scattered, the ewes bleat incessantly for
their lambs, and their mutual pleasure at coming together is manifest.
Woe betide the man who meddles with the young of the larger and
fiercer quadrupeds, if they hear the cry of distress from their young.
Rage leads to the violent exertion of all the muscles, including those
of the voice; and some animals, when enraged, endeavour to strike
terror into their enemies by its power and harshness, as the lion
does by roaring, and the dog by growling. I infer that their object
is to strike terror, because the lion at the same time erects
the hair of its mane, and the dog the hair along its back, and thus
they make themselves appear as large and terrible as possible.
Rival males try to excel and challenge each other by their voices,
and this leads to deadly contests. Thus the use of the voice will have
become associated with the emotion of anger, however it may be aroused.
We have also seen that intense pain, like rage, leads to violent outcries,
and the exertion of screaming by itself gives some relief; and thus
the use of the voice will have become associated with suffering
of any kind.

The cause of widely different sounds being uttered under different
emotions and sensations is a very obscure subject. Nor does
the rule always hold good that there is any marked difference.
For instance with the dog, the bark of anger and that of joy
do not differ much, though they can be distinguished.
It is not probable that any precise explanation of the cause
or source of each particular sound, under different states
of the mind, will ever be given. We now that some animals,
after being domesticated, have acquired the habit of uttering
sounds which were not natural to them.[1] Thus domestic dogs,
and even tamed jackals, have learnt to bark, which is a noise
not proper to any species of the genus, with the exception
of the _Canis latrans_ of North America, which is said to bark.
Some breeds, also, of the domestic pigeon have learnt to coo
in a new and quite peculiar manner.

The character of the human voice, under the influence of
various emotions, has been discussed by Mr. Herbert Spencer[2]
in his interesting essay on Music. He clearly shows that the voice
alters much under different conditions, in loudness and in quality,
that is, in resonance and _timbre_, in pitch and intervals.
No one can listen to an eloquent orator or preacher, or to a man
calling angrily to another, or to one expressing astonishment,
without being struck with the truth of Mr. Spencer's remarks.
It is curious how early in life the modulation of the voice
becomes expressive. With one of my children, under the age
of two years, I clearly perceived that his humph of assent was
rendered by a slight modulation strongly emphatic; and that by a
peculiar whine his negative expressed obstinate determination.
Mr. Spencer further shows that emotional speech, in all the above
respects is intimately related to vocal music, and consequently
to instrumental music; and he attempts to explain the characteristic
qualities of both on physiological grounds--namely, on "the
general law that a feeling is a stimulus to muscular action."
It may be admitted that the voice is affected through this law;
but the explanation appears to me too general and vague to throw much
light on the various differences, with the exception of that of loudness,
between ordinary speech and emotional speech, or singing.


[1] See the evidence on this head in my `Variation of Animals
and Plants under Domestication,' vol. i. p. 27. On the cooing
of pigeons, vol. i. pp. 154, 155.

[2] `Essays, Scientific, Political, and Speculative,' 1858.
`The Origin and Function of Music,' p. 359.

This remark holds good, whether we believe that the various
qualities of the voice originated in speaking under the excitement
of strong feelings, and that these qualities have subsequently been
transferred to vocal music; or whether we believe, as I maintain,
that the habit of uttering musical sounds was first developed,
as a means of courtship, in the early progenitors of man,
and thus became associated with the strongest emotions of which
they were capable,--namely, ardent love, rivalry and triumph.
That animals utter musical notes is familiar to every one, as we
may daily hear in the singing of birds. It is a more remarkable
fact that an ape, one of the Gibbons, produces an exact octave
of musical sounds, ascending and descending the scale by halftones;
so that this monkey "alone of brute mammals may be said to
sing."[3] From this fact, and from the analogy of other animals,
I have been led to infer that the progenitors of man probably
uttered musical tones, before they had acquired the power
of articulate speech; and that consequently, when the voice
is used under any strong emotion, it tends to assume,
through the principle of association, a musical character.
We can plainly perceive, with some of the lower animals,
that the males employ their voices to please the females,
and that they themselves take pleasure in their own vocal utterances;
but why particular sounds are uttered, and why these give
pleasure cannot at present be explained.


[3] `The Descent of Man,' 1870, vol. ii. p. 332. The words
quoted are from Professor Owen. It has lately been shown
that some quadrupeds much lower in the scale than monkeys,
namely Rodents, are able to produce correct musical tones:
see the account of a singing Hesperomys, by the Rev. S. Lockwood,
in the `American Naturalist,' vol. v. December, 1871, p. 761.

That the pitch of the voice bears some relation to certain states of
feeling is tolerably clear. A person gently complaining of ill-treatment,
or slightly suffering, almost always speaks in a high-pitched voice.
Dogs, when a little impatient, often make a high piping note through
their noses, which at once strikes us as plaintive;[4] but how
difficult it is to know whether the sound is essentially plaintive,
or only appears so in this particular case, from our having learnt
by experience what it means! Rengger, states[5] that the monkeys
(_Cebus azaroe_), which he kept in Paraguay, expressed astonishment
by a half-piping, half-snarling noise; anger or impatience,
by repeating the sound _hu hu_ in a deeper, grunting voice;
and fright or pain, by shrill screams. On the other hand, with mankind,
deep groans and high piercing screams equally express an agony of pain.
Laughter maybe either high or low; so that, with adult men, as Haller
long ago remarked,[6] the sound partakes of the character of the vowels
(as pronounced in German) _O_ and _A_; whilst with children and women,
it has more of the character of _E_ and _I_; and these latter vowel-sounds
naturally have, as Helmholtz has shown, a higher pitch than the former;
yet both tones of laughter equally express enjoyment or amusement.

In considering the mode in which vocal utterances express emotion,
we are naturally led to inquire into the cause of what is called
"expression" in music. Upon this point Mr. Litchfield, who has long
attended to the subject of music, has been so kind as to give me
the following remarks:--"The question, what is the essence of musical
`expression' involves a number of obscure points, which, so far as I
am aware, are as yet unsolved enigmas. Up to a certain point, however,
any law which is found to hold as to the expression of the emotions
by simple sounds must apply to the more developed mode of expression
in song, which may be taken as the primary type of all music.
A great part of the emotional effect of a song depends on
the character of the action by which the sounds are produced.
In songs, for instance, which express great vehemence of passion,
the effect often chiefly depends on the forcible utterance of some one
or two characteristic passages which demand great exertion of vocal force;
and it will be frequently noticed that a song of this character
fails of its proper effect when sung by a voice of sufficient power
and range to give the characteristic passages without much exertion.
This is, no doubt, the secret of the loss of effect so often
produced by the transposition of a song from one key to another.
The effect is thus seen to depend not merely on the actual sounds,
but also in part on the nature of the action which produces the sounds.
Indeed it is obvious that whenever we feel the `expression'
of a song to be due to its quickness or slowness of movement--
to smoothness of flow, loudness of utterance, and so on--we are,
in fact, interpreting the muscular actions which produce sound,
in the same way in which we interpret muscular action generally.
But this leaves unexplained the more subtle and more specific
effect which we call the MUSICAL expression of the song--
the delight given by its melody, or even by the separate sounds
which make up the melody. This is an effect indefinable in language--
one which, so far as I am aware, no one has been able to analyse,
and which the ingenious speculation of Mr. Herbert Spencer as to
the origin of music leaves quite unexplained. For it is certain
that the MELODIC effect of a series of sounds does not depend in
the least on their loudness or softness, or on their ABSOLUTE pitch.
A tune is always the same tune, whether it is sung loudly or softly,
by a child or a man; whether it is played on a flute or on a trombone.
The purely musical effect of any sound depends on its place
in what is technically called a `scale;' the same sound producing
absolutely different effects on the ear, according as it is heard
in connection with one or another series of sounds.

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