III. OF THE IMAGINATION OF THE PRINCIPLE CALLED INSTINCT.
Imagination is regarded as one of the highest of the mental faculties; but since it is manifested in thought rather than in actions, an additional difficulty is presented of discovering the exhibitions of this quality, by animals. It will therefore be a doubtful undertaking, to furnish proof that instinct is endued with this creative ability 'to fabricate images of things that have no existence;' and an approximation only can be expected.
The young dog exhibits his native fierceness while shaking a stick; does he not for the time raise an image of some other animal with whose properties he invests it? The same of a cat, while in the act of crouching and springing to seize a pebble. On a kindred principle, the mere boy rides his willow pony, and the infant Miss hushes her doll to sleep.
The proximate causes of playfulness in youth are the pictures raised in the mind by the fancy or imagination. This faculty, says Kaimes, 'is the great instrument of recreation.' The mind is exhilarated by the cheerfulness with which surrounding objects have been invested by its touch; and the sports of childhood, together with the gayety of youth, are mainly referable to its activity. It is not uncommon to discover the boy and his spaniel at play with a ball as a go-between. The beautiful animal, with open mouth, pricked up ear, and eyes sparkling with vivacity, now eagerly watches every motion of the ball, and of his play-mate, and now seeks for either or both, in their hiding-place. It would be difficult to determine from their actions, which exhibited the quickest perception, the most ingenuity, or the most ardent relish for the amusement. A similar playfulness is seen in most young animals. The manifestations are alike in both; hence the causes cannot be very diverse.
The birds of the air constantly change their habitations in the same latitude, as well as migrate from South to North, and back again. If they did not picture to themselves images of other regions, more beautiful, more abundantly supplied with the means of subsistence, and more agreeable in climate, where is the motive to change? Hunger with them is a motive to exertion, and danger, to flight; but they could have no conception of another place, unless by imagination they might, from the scenes around them, picture another, with more of such parts as were desirable, and less of such as were not; and this would be an inducement to depart; but if they could picture no such prospect, the principle of self-preservation would prompt them to remain. To fabricate such a picture is the exact office of Imagination, and is its best definition.
A bright and still summer morning fills the mind with pleasant images, and the effect is cheerful looks and conduct. The matter-of-fact man, however, with little imagination, would be indifferent; while the poet would surrender himself to the inspiration of the scene. The birds also 'sing out their thankfulness,' and express enjoyment of the scene, by their merry notes. The very formation of song seems to be an imaginative art. On the other hand, a dull morning not only hushes the vocalist of the grove, but fills the mind with unpleasant reflections. And as Imagination 'bodies forth the forms of things unknown,' we are seized with uneasiness, and perhaps with melancholy.
Animals are known to dream, from physical indications during sleep, especially the dog. We see him agitated in every limb, and uttering low, angry growls. He sees nothing in reality; but the imagination must have created images in his instinct of real scenes, probably of conflict, as his movements would lead us to infer. The fact that some animals dream is as well understood as that the phenomena of dreaming are treated in intellectual philosophy as some of the singular results of our mental constitution.
We are forced to see the analogies between the manifestations of mind and of instinct; and any candid observer will find it as difficult to detect a distinction, (except in the degree of power,) as to prove that these analogies do not exist. The strong and uninterrupted current of analogies in animal life, also, which subsist between man and the various species of animals, furnishes an indirect support to the views hitherto advanced. They have the senses, natural affections, and propensities, in common with man. In some they excel. They are 'hurt by the same weapons, and warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer.' They have also bone, muscle, and nerve; the vital fluid, and the organs of circulation, operating in such as possess them, on the same principles as in man. They have the brain; and so situated with reference to the organs of sense as to derive their knowledge of external objects by the same physical agencies that he does. They experience hunger and thirst, pleasure and pain; and some of them exhibit courage and fear; pride, anger, envy, jealousy, and hatred: others,
'Attachment never to be weaned or changed
By any change of fortune: proof alike
Against unkindness, absence, and neglect;
Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat
Can move or warp; and gratitude for small
And trivial favors, lasting as the life.'
The existence of these functions, properties, appetites, and passions is freely admitted; the proof being drawn from physiology on the one part, and their actions on the other; and yet it is as evident, and as easy to prove, that an animal remembers as that he hears; that he exercises reason in given cases, as that he sees; and as easy that he has imagination, as that a majority of the human race possess it, seeking for the proof in their actions exclusively.
Let us now consider for a moment the manner in which a knowledge of external objects is attained. The eye is directed, for example, to a dangerous animal. Its image is imprinted upon the retina of the eye; and this impression having been conveyed by the optic nerve to the brain, which is the organ of the mind, the mind has then a perception of the animal; upon this perception, reflection ensues; of its power to destroy; its menacing attitude; the necessity and means of escape. A dog likewise directs his eye to the same animal; an image is formed upon the retina of his eye, and this being conveyed by the optic nerve to the brain, which, by parity of reason, is the organ of the principle called instinct; instinct also has a perception of the animal. The modes thus far are perfectly analogous; but here inquiry has rested; and man absolutely denied that instinct could make a rational use of the perception, which he could not deny it had obtained. He did not or would not reflect, that if the Deity had bestowed upon animals an eye of wonderful mechanism like his own; an optic nerve and brain, and a principle to take knowledge of impressions conveyed to it by the organs of vision; together with all the other senses requisite for perception; some of them most delicate, others most powerful; there was no reason why he should render them nugatory by denying to this principle the ability to reflect upon such perceptions and arrive at conclusions. He did not consider that the dog discovered the object in question to be dangerous as quick as he did; and exhibited this conclusion by fleeing as soon as he; but insisted, in the face of unyielding facts, that a blind, unfathomable impulse urged the creature to escape, while the man arrived at the same determination by a most simple process of reasoning.
In another and concluding number, the reason or judgment of the principle called Instinct will be considered at large.
[OCTOBER.]
BY H. W. ROCKWELL.
'The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrub the jay,
And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the gloomy day.'
Bryant.