variety of objects and happenings, some of which might perhaps be just as 

 well ignored. 



Discovering the outside world and the practical meanings to us of the 

 various objects — possible utilities, possible dangers — is important in the strug- 

 gle for existence. But by itself that is not sufficient. Whatever our senses tell 

 us, it is necessary to get action, to produce some effect. Animals have always 

 impressed us with their motility. Not only do they move themselves from 

 place to place, they move other things about. They grasp, they bite, they 

 scratch and claw, they tear apart. Or they fetch and carry, build nests and 

 dams and hives. Some species of ants tend captive plant-lice. Others culti- 

 vate fungus plantations. Many animals gather more food than they can eat, 

 and store or hide some of the surplus. They hide themselves away, sometimes 

 for months at a stretch, in natural hollows or in burrows of their own making. 

 Even such going to sleep is a kind of action, for it produces the effect of run- 

 ning away from cold weather and bare pickings, like the more spectacular 

 migrations of birds. All these activities are phases of the urge to live; they are 

 aspects of a struggle, which consists of all living activities. 



Struggle Patterns We find it difficult to describe the struggle of com- 

 plex organisms, except in terms of our own activities. We say that the bird 

 (the early one, of course) catches the worm, that the fawn dashes away from 

 the hounds, that the worm swallows earth. We see "struggle" in a pattern of 

 reaching out and grasping for food or other "needs", and of running away, 

 of dodging or escaping, of thrust and parry. 



One June, along the inner shore of Cape Cod, a dark spot was seen in the 

 water, a little way off shore, a spot about as large as two or three acres. The 

 dark area was drifting in closer to shore. The darkening of the water was due 

 to millions of tiny mackerel, each some three inches long. These mackerel 

 were milling and churning about as if vainly trying to evade some pursuing 

 enemy. And sure enough, literally thousands of small squid, each about six 

 inches long, were chasing back and forth among the fishes. A squid would 

 dart forward, reverse, grasp two or three of these tiny mackerel in its ten- 

 tacles, and proceed to devour them. 



When we think of "struggle" we usually think also of its outcomes, and 

 especially of whether it is successful. Here was a struggle between the fish and 

 the squid, or between "hunger" and "self-preservation". But was the struggle 

 successful? The squid had plenty of food for some time to come, but they were 

 reducing the number of mackerel. In the absence of squid or of other enemies, 

 the mackerel might conceivably so increase in numbers that most of them 

 would die for want of food. In the absence of mackerel, however, the squid 

 would be devouring other fish, or small crustaceans perhaps. And in any case, 

 most of the squids themselves are sure to be eaten by other animals. 



Here, then, is a struggle that never ends^ — or hardly ever. And it is always 



552 



