CHAPTER I.
INSTINCT.—THE INTELLIGENCE OF THE BRUTE AS DISTINGUISHED FROM THAT OF MAN
Closely connected with the philosophy of human intelligence is the science of instinct, or the intelligence of the brute—a subject of interest not merely in its relations to psychology, but to some other sciences, as natural history, and theology.
We work at a Disadvantage in such Inquiries.—With regard to this matter, it must be confessed, at the outset, that we work, in some respects, in the dark, in our inquiries and speculations concerning it. It lies wholly removed from the sphere of consciousness. We can only observe, compare, and infer, and our conclusions thus derived must be liable, after all, to error. The operations of our own minds we know by the clearest and surest of all sources of knowledge, viz., our own consciousness; the operation of brute intelligence must ever be in great measure unknown and a mystery to us. How far the two resemble each other, and how far they differ, it is not easy to determine, not easy to draw the dividing line, and say where brute intelligence stops and human intelligence begins.
Method proposed.—Let us first define instinct, the term usually applied to denote brute intelligence, and ascertain, if possible, what are its peculiar characteristics; we may then be able to determine wherein it differs from intelligence in man.
Definition.—I understand, by instinct, a law of action, governing and directing the movement of sentient beings—distinct, on the one hand, from the mere blind forces of matter, as attraction, etc., and from reason on the other; a law working to a given end by impulse, yet blindly—the subject not knowing why he thus works; a law innate, inherent in the constitution of the animal, not acquired but transmitted, the origin of which is to be found in the intelligent author of the universe. These I take to be the principal characteristics of that which we term instinct.
Instinct a Law.—It is a law of action. In obedience to it the bee constructs her comb, and the ant her chambers, and the bird her nest; and in obedience to it, the animal, of whatever species, seeks that particular kind of food which is intended and provided for it. These are merely instances of the operation of that law. The uniformity and universality which characterize the operations of this principle, show it to be a law of action, and not a merely casual occurrence.
Works by Impulse.—It is a law working by impulse, not mechanical or automatic, on the one hand, nor yet rational on the other. The impelling or motive force, in the case supposed, is not that of a weight acting upon machinery, or any like mechanical principle, nor yet the reflex action of a nerve when irritated, or the spasmodic action of a muscle. It is not analogous to the influence of gravitation on the purely passive forms of matter. Nor yet is it that higher principle which we term reason in man. The bird constructs her nest as she does, and the bee her cell, in obedience to some blind yet powerful and unfailing impulse of her nature, guiding and directing her movements, prompting to action, and to this specific form of action, with a restless yearning, unsatisfied until the end is accomplished. Yet the creature does not herself understand the law by which she works. The bee does not know that she constructs her comb at that precise angle which will afford the greatest content in the least space, does not know why she constructs it at that precise angle, could give no reason for her procedure, even were she capable of understanding our question. It is not with her a matter of reflection, nor of reason, at all, but merely of blind, unthinking, yet unerring impulse.
As innate.—This law is innate, inherent in the constitution of the animal, not acquired. It is not the result of education. The bird does not learn to build her nest, nor the bee her comb, nor the ant her subterranean chambers, by observing how the parent works and builds. Removed from all opportunities of observation or instruction, the untaught animal still performs its mission, constructs its nest or cell, and does it as perfectly in solitude as among its fellows, as perfectly on the first attempt as ever after. Whatever intelligence there is involved in these labors and constructions, and certainly the very highest intelligence would seem, in many instances, to be concerned in them, is an intelligence transmitted, and not acquired, the origin of which is to be sought, ultimately, not in the creature itself, but in the Author of all intelligence, the Creator of the universe. The intelligence is that not of the creature, but of the Creator.
Manifests itself irrespective of Circumstance.—It is to be further observed, with respect to the principle under consideration, that it often manifests its peculiar tendencies prior to the development of the appropriate organs. The young calf butts with its head before its horns are grown. The instinctive impulse manifests itself, also, under circumstances which render its action no longer needful. The beaver caught and confined in a room, constructs its dam, as aforetime, with whatsoever materials it can command, although, in its present circumstances, such a structure is of no possible use. These facts evidently indicate the presence and action of an impulse working blindly, without reflection, without reason, without intelligence, on the part of the animal.
Indications of Contrivance.—On the other hand, there are instances of brute action which seem to indicate contrivance and adaptation to circumstances. The bee compelled to construct her comb in an unusual and unsafe position, steadies it by constructing a brace of wax-work between the side that inclines and the nearest wall of the hive. The spider, in like manner, whose web is in danger, runs a line, from the part exposed to the severest strain or pressure, to the nearest point of support, in such a manner as to secure the slender fabric. A bird has been known, in like manner, to support a bough, which proved too frail to sustain the weight of the nest, and of her young, by connecting it, with a thread, to a stronger branch above.
These Facts do not prove Reason.—Facts of this nature, however interesting, and well authenticated, must be regarded rather as exceptions to the ordinary rule, the nearest approach which mere instinct has been known to make toward the dividing line that separates the brute from the human intelligence. They do not, in themselves, prove the existence of reason, of a discriminating and reflecting intelligence, on the part of the animal; for the same law of nature that impels the creature to build its nest or its comb, under ordinary circumstances, in the ordinary manner, may certainly be supposed to be capable of inducing a change of operation to meet a sudden exigency, and one liable at any time to occur. It is certainly not more wonderful, nor so wonderful, that the bee should be induced to brace her comb, or the spider her web, when in danger, as that either should be able to construct her edifice originally, at the precise angle employed. It must be remembered, moreover, that, in the great majority of cases, brute instinct shows no such capacity of adaptation to circumstances.
The Question before us.—We are ready now to inquire how far that which we call instinct in the brute, differs from that which we call intelligence in man. Is it a difference in kind, or only in degree? A glance at the history of the doctrine may aid us here.
Early Views.—From Aristotle to Descartes, philosophers took the latter view. They ascribed to the brute a degree of reason, such as would be requisite in man, were he to do the same things, and proceeding on this principle, they attributed to animals an intelligence proportioned to the wants of their nature and organization. This principle, it need hardly be said, is an assumption. It is not certain that the same action proceeds from the same principle in man, and in the brute; that whatever indicates and involves intelligence and reason, in the one case, as its source, involves the same in the other. This is a virtual petitio principii. It assumes the very point in question. It may be that what man does by virtue of an intelligent, reflecting, rational soul, looking before and after, the brute does by virtue of entirely a different principle, a mere unintelligent impulse of his nature, a blind sensation, prompting him to a given course. This is the question to be settled, the thing to be proved or disproved. And if the view already given of the character of brute instinct, is correct, the position now stated as possible, may be regarded as virtually established.
View of Descartes.—Descartes, perceiving the error of previous philosophers, went to the opposite extreme, and resolved the instinct and action of the brute into mere mechanism, a principle little different from that by which the weight moves the hands of the clock. The brute performs the functions of his nature and organization, just as the puppet moves hither and thither by springs hidden within, of which itself knows nothing. The bird, the bee, the ant, the spider, are so organized, such is the hidden mechanism of their curious nature, that at the proper times, and under the requisite conditions, they shall build, each its own proper structure; and perform, each, its own proper work and office. So doing, each moves automatically, mechanically.
Locke and his Disciples.—Differing, again, from this view, which certainly ascribes too little, as the opposite theory ascribes too much to the brute, Locke, Condillac, and their disciples in France and England, took the ground that the actions of the brute which seem to indicate intelligence, are to be ascribed to the power of habit, and to the law of association. The faculties of the brute, as indeed of man, resolve themselves ultimately into impressions from without. Nothing is innate. The dog scents his prey, and the beaver builds his dam, and the bird migrates to a warmer clime, from the mere force of habit, unreflecting, unintelligent. But how, it may occur to some one to ask, happens such a habit to be formed in the first place? How happens the poor insect, just emerging from the egg, to find in himself all requisite appliances and instruments for capturing his prey? How happens the bee always, throughout all its generations, to hit upon the same contrivance for storing its honey, and not only so, but to select out of a thousand different forms, and different possible angles, always the same one? And so of the ant, the spider, etc. And if this is a matter of education, as it certainly is not, then how came the first bee, the first ant, spider, or other insect, to hit upon so admirable an expedient?
The Scotch Philosophers.—On the other hand, Reid, Stewart, and the Scotch philosophers generally, departing widely from the merely mechanical view, have ascribed to instinct some actions which are properly automatic and involuntary, as the shutting of the eyelid on the approach of a foreign body, the action of the infant in obtaining its food from the mother's breast, and certain other like movements of the animal organization, which, according to recent discoveries in physiology, are to be attributed, rather to the simple reflex action of the nerves and muscles. This is not properly instinct.
Question returns.—Among these several views, where then, lies the truth? Unable to coincide with the merely mechanical theory of Descartes, or with the view which resolves all into mere habit and association, with Locke and Condillac, shall we fall back upon the ancient, and for a long time universally prevalent, view which makes instinct only a lower degree of that intelligence which, in man becomes reason and reflection? This we are hardly prepared to do. The well-known phenomena and laws of instinct, its essential characteristics as developed in the preceding pages, seem to point to a difference in kind and not merely in degree.
Reasons for this Opinion.—1. The Brute incapable of high Cultivation.—To recapitulate briefly the points of difference: If instinct in the brute were of the same nature with intelligence in man, if it were, properly speaking, intelligence, the same in kind, differing only in degree, then, it ought, as in man, to be capable of cultivation to an indefinite extent, capable of being elevated, by due process of training, to a degree very much superior to that in which it first presents itself. Now, with certain insignificant exceptions, such is certainly not the case. No amount of training or culture ever brings the animal essentially above the ordinary range of brute capacity, or approximates him to the level of the human species.
2. Brute does not improve by Practice.—On this theory the brute ought, moreover, to improve by practice, which, for the most part, certainly he does not. The spider lays out its lines as accurately and constructs its web as well, and the bee her comb, and the bird her nest, on the first attempt, as after the twentieth or the fiftieth trial. There is no progress, no improvement. Its skill, if such it may be called, is a fixture. There is nothing of the nature of science about it, for it is of the essential nature of all intelligent action to improve.
3. Does not adapt itself to Circumstances.—If it were of the nature of intelligence, it ought uniformly and invariably to adapt itself to changing circumstances, and not to keep on working blindly in the old way, when such procedure is no longer of use. It is not intelligence, but mere blind impulse, in the beaver, that leads him to build his dam on a dry floor or the pavement of a court-yard.
4. Opposite View proves too much.—It is furthermore to be noticed, that the theory under consideration, while it ascribes to the brute only a lower degree of intelligence, in reality places him, in some respects, far beyond man in point of intellect. If the instinct of the brute be intelligence at all, it is intelligence which leaves his prouder rival, man, in many cases, quite in the shade. No science of man can vie with the mathematical precision of the spider or the bee in the practical construction of lines and planes that shall enclose a given angle. The engineer must take lessons of the ant in the art of running lines and parallels. To the same humble insect belongs the invention of the arch and of the dome in architecture. Many of the profoundest questions and problems of science are in like manner virtually solved by those creatures that possess, it is claimed, only a lower degree of intelligence than man. The facts are inconsistent with the theory. The theory either goes too far, or not far enough. If instinct is intelligence at all, it is intelligence, in some respects at least, superior to man's.
For reasons now stated, we must conclude that the intelligence of the brute differs in kind, and not in degree merely, from that of man.
Faculties wanting in the Brute.—If now the inquiry be raised, what are the specific faculties which are wanting in the brute, but possessed by man, in other words, where runs the dividing line which marks off the domain of instinct from that of intellect, we reply, beginning with the differences which are most obvious, the brute is, in the first place, not a moral and religious being. He has no moral nature, no ideas of right and justice, none of accountability, and of a higher power. He is, moreover, not an æsthetic being. He has no taste for beauty, nor appreciation of it. The horse, with all his apparent intelligence, looks out upon the most enchanting landscape as unmoved by its beauty as the carriage which he draws. He has no idea, no cognizance of the beautiful. The faculty of original conception, which furnishes man with ideas of this nature, seems to be wanting in the brute. He is, furthermore, not a scientific being. He does not understand the principles by which he himself works. He makes no progress or improvement, accordingly, in the application of those principles, but works as well first as last. He learns nothing by experience. Certain grand rules and principles do indeed lie at the foundation of his work, but they have no subjective existence in the brute himself. Now the faculties which constitute man a scientific being are those which, in the present treatise, we have grouped together under the title of reflective. These seem to be wanting in the brute. He never classifies, nor analyzes, never forms abstract conceptions, never generalizes, judges, nor reasons, never reflects on what is passing around him; never, in the true sense of the word, thinks.
Further Deficiency.—Here many, perhaps most, who have reflected upon the matter at all, would place the dividing line between man and the brute, denying him the possession of reason and reflection, the higher intellectual powers, but allowing him the other faculties which man enjoys. We must go further, however, and exclude imagination from the list of brute faculties. Having no idea of the beautiful, nor any power of forming abstract conceptions, the ideals, according to which imagination shapes its creations, are wholly wanting, and imagination itself, the faculty of the ideal, must also be wanting.
The Power to perceive and remember.—But has the brute the power of perception and memory, the only two distinct remaining faculties of the human mind? If we distinguish, as we must, the physical from the strictly intellectual element, in perception by the senses, the capacity to receive impressions of sense, from the capacity to understand and know the object, as such, from which the impressions proceed, while we must admit the former, we should question the existence of the latter in the brute. To know or understand the objects of sense, to distinguish them as such, from each other, and from self as the perceiving subject, is an attribute of intelligence in its strict and proper sense, an attribute of mind. If the brute possesses it, he possesses as really a mind, though not of so high an order, as man.
The dividing Line.—Now it is just here that we are compelled to place the line of division between the brute and man, between instinct and intellect. The brute has senses, as man; in some respects, indeed, more perfect than his. Objects external make impressions upon his senses; his eye, his ear, his various organs of sense, respond to these impressions. In a word, he has sensations, and those sensations are accompanied, as all sensations in their nature are, and must be, with consciousness, that is, they are felt. But this does not necessarily involve what we understand by consciousness in its higher sense, or self-consciousness. The brute has, we believe, no knowledge of himself as such, no self-consciousness, properly speaking; does not distinguish between self as perceiving, and the object as perceived, has no conception of self as a separate existence distinct from the objects around him, has, strictly speaking, no ideas, no thoughts, no intelligent comprehension of objects about him; has sensations, but no perceptions in the true sense of the word, since perception involves the distinction of subject and object, or self-consciousness. These distinctions are lost to the brute, blindly merged in the one simple consciousness of physical sensation. He feels, but does not think, does not understand. Sensation takes the place of understanding and reason with him. It is his guide. To the impressions thus received, his nature blindly responds, he knows not how or why. He is so constituted by his wise and benevolent Maker, that sensation being awakened, the impulses of his nature at once spring into play, and prompt irresistibly to action, and to such action as shall meet the wants of the being. There is no need for intelligence to supervene, as with man. The brute feels and acts. Man feels, thinks, and acts. The Creator has provided, for, the former, a substitute which takes the place of intellect, and secures by blind, yet unerring impulse, the simple ends which correspond to his simpler necessities, and his humbler sphere.
Man's Superiority.—Herein lies man's mastership and dominion over the brute. He has what the brute has not, intellect, mind, the power of thought, the power to understand and know. Just so far as he fails to grasp this high prerogative, just so far as he is governed by sensation and its corresponding impulses, rather than by intelligence and reason, just in such degree he lays aside his superiority, and sinks to the sphere of the brute. Thus, in infancy and early life, there is little difference. Thus, many savage and uneducated races never rise far above the brute capacity, are mere creatures of sensation, impulse, instinct.
In one Respect inferior.—In one respect, indeed, man, destitute of intelligence or failing to govern himself by its precepts, sinks below the brute. He has not the substitute for intelligence which the brute has, has not instinct to guide him, and teach him the true and proper bounds of indulgence, but giving way to passion and inclination, without restraint, presents that most melancholy spectacle on which the sun, in all his course, ever looks down, a man under the dominion of his own appetites, incapable of self-government, lost to all nobleness, all virtue, all self-respect.
Memory in the Brute.—It may still be asked, does not the brute remember? It is the office of memory to replace or represent what has been once felt or perceived. It simply reproduces, in thought, what has once passed before the mind. It originates nothing. Whatever, then, of intelligence was involved in the original act of perception and sensation, so much and no more is involved in the replacing those sensations and perceptions. If in the original act there was nothing but simple sensation, without intellectual apprehension of the object, without self-consciousness or distinction of subject from object, then, of course, nothing more than this will be subsequently reproduced. Mere images or phantasms of sensible objects may reappear, as shadows flicker and dance upon the wall, or as such images flit before us in our dreams. The memory of the brute is, probably, of this nature, rather a sort of dream than a distinct conception of past events. What was not clearly apprehended at first, will not be better understood now. Failing, in the first instance, to distinguish self from the object external, as the source of impressions, there can be no recognition of that distinction when the object reappears, if it ever should, in conception. The essential element of memory, which connects the object or event of former perception with self as the percipient, must, in such a case, be wanting.
The Brute associates rather than remembers.—What is usually called memory in the brute, is not, however, so much his capacity of conceiving of an absent object of sense, as his recognition of the object when again actually present to his senses. The dog manifests pleasure at the appearance of his master, and the horse chooses the road that leads to his former home. This is not so much memory as association of ideas or rather of feelings. Certain feelings and sensations are associated, confusedly blended, with certain objects. The reappearance of the objects, of course, reawakens the former feelings. Thus, the whip is associated with the sensation experienced in connection with it. So, too, a horse which has once been frightened by some object beside the road, will manifest fear on subsequently approaching the same place, although the same object may no longer be there. The surrounding objects which still remain, and which were associated with the more immediate object of fear in the first instance, are sufficient to awaken, on their reappearance, the former unpleasant sensations.
A being endowed with intelligence and reason would connect the recurring object, in such a case, with his own former experience as the perceiving subject, would recall the time and the circumstances of the event and its connection with his personal history. This would be, properly, an act of memory.
But there is no reason to suppose that such a process takes place with the brute. We have no evidence of any thing more, in his case, than the recurrence of the associated conception or sensation, along with the recurrence of the object which formerly produced it. Given, the object a, accompanied with surrounding objects b, c, d, and there is produced a given sensation, y. Given, again, at some subsequent time, the same object a, or any one of the associate objects b, c, d, and there is at once awakened a lively conception of the same sensation y.
Summary of Results.—This is, I think, all we can, with any certainty, attribute to the brute. He has sensations, and so far as mere sense is concerned, perceptions of objects, as connected with those sensations, but not perception in the true sense as involving intellectual apprehension. These sensations and confused perceptions recur, perhaps, as images or conceptions, in the absence of the objects that gave rise to them, and as thus reappearing, constitute what we may call the memory of the brute; but not, as with us, a memory which connects the object or event with his own former history, and the idea of a personal self as the percipient. Let the object, however, reappear, and the previous sensation associated therewith, is reawakened.
This, I am aware, is not the view most commonly entertained of brute intelligence. We naturally conceive of the brute as possessing faculties similar to our own. The brute, in turn, were he capable of forming such a conception, would, probably, conceive of man, as endowed with capacities like his own. In neither case is this the right conception.