OF THE REASON OR JUDGMENT OF THE PRINCIPLE CALLED INSTINCT.
A surgeon of Leeds, (Eng.,) says Buffon, found a little spaniel who had been lamed. He carried the poor animal home, bandaged up his leg, and, after two or three days, turned him out. The dog returned to the surgeon's house every morning, till the leg was perfectly well. At the end of several months, the spaniel again presented himself, in company with another dog, who had also been lamed; and he intimated, as well as piteous and intelligent looks could intimate, that he desired the same kind assistance to be rendered to his friend as had been bestowed upon himself. A similar circumstance is stated to have occurred to Morant, a celebrated French surgeon.
A fox, adds the same writer, having entered a hen-house through a small aperture, which was the only opening, succeeded without disturbing the family in destroying all the fowls, and in satiating his appetite with part of them; but his voracity so enlarged his dimensions as to prevent his egress. In the morning the farmer discovered the havoc of the night, and the perpetrator himself sprawled out on the floor of the coop, apparently dead from surfeit. He entered, and taking the creature by the heels, carried him out and cast him beside the house. This was no sooner done than the fox sprang up and bounded away with the speed of a racer. This was communicated by the person.
A spaniel, Obsend informs us, having discovered a mouse in a shock of corn, jumped with his fore feet against it to frighten him out; and then running quickly to the back side, succeeded in taking the mouse as he attempted to escape.
Buffon says: 'A number of beavers are employed together at the foot of the tree in gnawing it down; and when this part of the labor is accomplished, it becomes the business of others to sever the branches, while a third party are engaged along the borders of the river in cutting other trees, which though smaller than the first tree, are yet as thick as the leg, if not the thigh, of a common-sized man. These they carry with them by land to the brink of the river, and then by water to the place allotted for their building; where sharpening them at one end, and forming them into stakes, they fix them in the ground, at a small distance from each other, and fill up the vacant spaces with pliant branches. While some are thus employed in fixing the stakes, others go in quest of clay, which they prepare for their purpose with their tails and their feet. At the top of their dyke, or mole, they form two or three openings. These they occasionally enlarge or contract, as the river rises or falls. Note.—Should the current be very gentle, the dam is carried nearly straight across; but when the stream is swiftly flowing, it is uniformly made with a considerable curve, having the convex part opposed to the current.
'Ac veluti ingentem formicæ farris acervum
Cum populant, hyemis memores, tectoque reponunt:
It nigrum campis agmen, prædamque per herbas
Convectant calle augusto: pars grandia trudunt
Obnixæ frumenta humeris: pars agmina cogunt,
Castigant que moras: opere omnis semita fervet.'
Æneid, IV., 402.
'In formicâ non modo sensus sed etiam mens, ratio, memoria.'—Cic.
'Si quis comparet onera corporibus earum (formicarum) fateatur nullis portione. Vires esse majores. Gerunt ea morsu; majora aversæ postremio pedibus moliuntur, humeris obnoxæ. Est iis Reip ratio memoria cura. Semima arrosa condunt vie rursus in fruges exeant e terra. Majora ad introitum (cavernæ) dividunt Madefacta imbre proferunt atque siccant.'—Pliny: lib. XI., cap. 30.
Many birds and other animals, Buffon informs us, station a watch, while they are feeding in the fields. Whenever marmots venture abroad, one is placed as a sentinel, sitting on an elevated rock, while the others amuse themselves in the fields below, or are engaged in cutting grass and making it into hay for their future convenience; and no sooner does their trusty sentinel perceive a man, an eagle, a dog, or any other enemy approaching, than he gives notice to the rest by a kind of whistle, and is himself the last that takes refuge in the cell. It is asserted that when their hay is made, one of them lies upon its back, permits the hay to be heaped between its paws, keeping them upright to make greater room, and in this manner remaining still upon its back, is dragged by the tail, hay and all, to their common retreat.
These instances could be multiplied indefinitely; but more than sufficient have been cited. They prove in the first place, without need of argument, that animals have a language by which they apprehend each other. Concert of action and division of labor would be impossible without it. They also exhibit the exercise of memory and abstraction; and it now remains to ascertain whether their conduct was the result of reason.
If a person should take a friend whose arm had been fractured to a skilful surgeon who had before cured him of a similar wound, we should infer the following course of reasoning: First, a comparison of facts, to discover whether the injury in question was like the one he had received; the ability of this surgeon over others in such cases; and the presumption that the same skill and remedies will again produce the same effects. These are the most obvious points. The dog, in the cited case, had once been healed of a broken limb by a surgeon; and having found a mate in a like situation, took him also to the same surgeon. It is evident that his conduct was as wise as the man's. The facts and actions in the two cases are parallel; and having seen that animals obtain a perception of objects by the same agencies that man does, it only remains to ascertain whether the intermediate reasoning process between perception and action were essentially the same. Now, we cannot prove directly that the mind of another passes through any process whatever; because the proof of any process of our own mind is consciousness, which cannot go beyond us; but we can infer the train of reasoning in a given case with great correctness, taking self-knowledge as a basis; and the similarity of conduct in another, in view of premises, with what our own would have been. This is the chief criterion by which much of our daily conduct is regulated, and is the most substantial proof that can be reached. Hence, we can infer with just as much certainty that the instinct of the dog passed through the process mentioned, as that the mind of the man did in the case supposed. We can also infer it with as much truth as that instinct is susceptible of the process of memory, since the proof in both cases is drawn from facts, and on the same principles.
Again: The beaver's dam is constructed at the very place a skilful engineer would have selected for a similar purpose. This choice of one place before another is necessarily founded on comparison, which is a deliberative reasoning process. It is therefore inconsistent with an impulse, which seems to be the action suggested, by instantaneous perception and reasoning; a single, inflexible propulsion in one direction; without a careful choice, and without deliberation: hence the term impulsive cannot be applied to a large proportion of the actions of animals; and having no reason for supposing the impulses of animals supernatural, or unlike human impulses, the term itself should be abandoned as vague and unmeaning. Gnawing the large tree upon the inner side, that it might fall directly across the stream, also rises above the utmost that we can understand by an inward persuasion; for it is the incipient step, and has full relation to the subsequent work of erecting a pier. We have seen that while one part are cutting down the tree, another part go up the stream, cut smaller trees for stakes, and draw them to the water's edge; while still a third division go in quest of clay to prepare as a mortar. This completeness of plan, and combination of means to execute it, is wholly inconsistent with the common explanation of instinctive operations. Such exhibitions, as we have already remarked, are simply the workings of a certain principle they possess; performing for them the same office that mind does for man; and the true direction of inquiry is to the nature of its qualities. The actions themselves exhibit comparison, a knowledge of the adaptation of means to an end, the combination of these means in regular detail to effect the end, and the still higher intelligence of future cause and effect, as evinced by the enlargement of the water passage with the rise of the stream. These actions, then, being ascertained to be uniformly the same in a great variety of cases, and manifesting the operation of an intelligent principle in every act; and being such as in man would have been in pursuance of the processes of reason mentioned; we are clearly directed to the inference (indeed no other rational one can be made) that they compared the advantages of different places, to enable them to select the best, having reference to the construction of a dam; that they reasoned out the plan of this dam and the adaptation of certain materials to its erection; that they reflected upon the need of its convexity, the better to resist the pressure of the stream, should it be rapid; that they considered the advantages of a division of labor to expedite the work; that they understood from experience, or arrived at the conclusion by reason, that it was safer to discharge the surplus water at one opening well guarded, than over the continuous edge of the dam; and finally they had in view the uses and purpose of this dam from the beginning; and the reasoning preparatory to each successive step was as exact and efficient, with reference to the end designed and the means to be employed, as man's could have been; and was conducted in much, if not exactly, the same manner; because we can conceive of but one way in which an intelligent principle thinks.
To learn, we must derive an impression of the object or event by the senses; and then interpret its meaning by a process of the understanding. The domestic animals may be taught a variety of performances, which if done by man we should not hesitate to pronounce the result of reasoning. Ravens have been taught to sing a regular piece, involving to a certain extent the same kind of apprehension, as in instructing a child in music.[1] The parrot may be taught to speak. Falcons have been learned to hunt, under the influence of motives; a favorite dish being the reward of skilful services. The elephant, the camel, and the horse, in adapting themselves to the wants of man as beasts of burden, give constant proofs of intelligence and deliberation. Some of the most stupid animals apparently, have been taught a variety of feats under the stimulus of rewards, which raise our astonishment at their shrewdness and ingenuity. Imitation, if carefully considered, will be found impossible without the aid of a thinking principle. We know, indeed, very little of any species but our own. Their language is as vague to us as the guttural tongue of the Indian; their movements are usually unmeaning, and all but their general necessities, unknown; we are profoundly ignorant of every thing but the most general manifestations of animal life; and at the same time it must be admitted that they exhibit more intelligence in adapting themselves to, and understanding us, than we do in suiting our conduct to their apprehension.
Many animals provide magazines, on which to subsist during the winter. This appears to be the result of a long process of reasoning; of which the impossibility of obtaining supplies during such period, the amount necessary, the manner of bestowing it, and the kind of provision which is not perishable, may be the most obvious. If all these points were not heeded, the consequence would be fatal. To satisfy present hunger, a simple impulse might be sufficient; but to anticipate distant wants, the exercise of an intelligent principle is requisite. The ant, the bee, the squirrel, the rat, and the beaver, are distinguished instances of this forethought.
If the argument of Paley is sound, that contrivance forms design, and from design we infer intelligence, it applies with emphasis to all constructed animal habitations. The nests of birds, the cells of the bee, the spider's web, the mound of the ant, and the hills of the termites, may be cited. Contrivance and construction seem to be impossible without the constant exercise of a reflecting principle; while economy of labor and time indicates the correctness with which this principle directs the conduct.
Again: If the sentinel of a small party should discover an enemy approaching, he would know, should they reach the encampment, that his companions would be captured; but if he apprized them of the peril, they might escape. This is simply ascertaining the relation of cause and effect; on such conclusions he alarms his mates, and they retreat. We know that many animals not only act the same in view of similar premises, but deliberately prepare for the emergency, like a garrison, by placing sentinels on the watch: now, since their actions are uniformly the same in a great variety of cases, and exactly analogous to the actions of men under similar motives, the same inference results; that such actions in both cases were caused by a reflecting or reasoning principle; and that this principle must perform its functions in nearly if not exactly the same manner, in men and in different animals, to produce such similar conduct. As instances, parrots, jays, crows, ants, marmots, and the chamois, may be referred to.
The ancients attributed intelligence, in its purest sense, to many animals, especially to the elephant and the horse. In one of the passages quoted, Pliny, the naturalist, after describing the ingenious method of the ants, in 'shoving with their shoulders' the larger bits of grain, says: 'There is in them in every deed, reason, memory, and care;' the expression breaks out from him like an irresistible conviction. Virgil also observes that they are 'mindful of the approaching winter;' and he refers to their order, and division of labor. If inquiry should be directed to that industry which accumulates not only beyond present, but even future necessities, it could be accounted for on no other supposition, than as a consequence of reasoning upon the necessity of preparing for the day of need.
Let us turn for a moment to the fables of Æsop. It is remarkable that these first attempts at moral philosophy should have come down to us with such freshness as to be almost without the marks of antiquity; and yet one of their most interesting features is the correctness, so far as we know, with which animals have been invested with their natural characteristics. We still ask
'Astuta ingenuum vulpes imitata leonem?'
and are yet inclined to charge the raven with vanity for being cheated of her meat, as represented in the fable, by the flattery of the fox. We also admire the closing reproof: Εχεις χοραζ νους δε γε λειπει. The artifice of the creature, from his well-known habits, sits upon him with peculiar fitness; and there is nothing very incongruous in allowing him to speak it out. This incites an inquiry into the nature of cunning and artifice, by which animals evade their enemies or take their prey. The fox, for example, obtains a knowledge of external things by the same agencies that man does; and makes a ready and skilful use of such perceptions to obtain some end. When pursued, he frequently runs in the bed of some shallow creek, to conceal every trace of his scent and footsteps; or runs back upon his own track for some distance, and then branches off, to puzzle his pursuers. He evidently knows the means by which he is followed, namely, his scent or foot-prints, and he devises a plan to render them both useless. Much might be said of the artifices of different animals, to decoy and ensnare their prey. Without the aid of reason it would be utterly impossible to form such plans; and beside, from these very stratagems we infer intelligence, and intelligence is of course an intellectual emanation.
Much also might be said of the elephant: indeed, his history alone would furnish sufficient facts to elucidate the whole subject; but the unexpected length of this article prevents the insertion of only a few notices. It is said that if he has been ensnared and escapes, he is afterward very cautious while in the woods, and breaking a large branch from a tree with his trunk, he sounds the ground before he treads upon it, to discover if there are any pits in his passage.[2] He exhibits the same kind of deliberation while passing a bridge. The Indians make use of him to carry artillery over mountains. When the oxen, yoked two and two, endeavor to draw up the mountain the piece of artillery, the elephant pushes the breech of the gun with his forehead; and at every effort that he makes he supports the carriage with his knee, which he places near the wheel.[3] An analysis of these operations would result in the same inference, that such actions were in consequence of reason.
An anecdote of a bird appeared a few months since, bearing the marks of authenticity. She had built her nest by a stone quarry, and during incubation was frequently alarmed by the blasting. She soon learned that the ringing of a bell preceded an explosion, and like the laborers, at this signal she retreated to a place of security. This feat having been discovered, some spectators succeeded in deceiving her a number of times by false alarms. The imposition however was soon detected; and she did not afterward fly at the sound of the bell, unless the workmen also retired. If this incident be true, (and there is nothing improbable in it,) reasoning, and that too of no obtuse character, is as legibly stamped upon this conduct, as if the brain had been uncovered, and we had seen, were it possible, with our own eyes its secret work.
Let us proceed with this inquiry to another point. It is a well-established principle of philosophy, that all pain and pleasure are in the mind, including of course the emotions and passions. We know that animals experience not only physical pleasures and pains, but passions both pleasant and painful; as attachment, courage, fidelity; anger, cowardice, and jealousy. Their manifestation of these pleasant and painful feelings is analogous to the manifestation of the same feelings by the human species; and it proves that they are endowed with a principle corresponding to mind, which we have seen is susceptible, like mind, of such feelings.
Some of the endowments of animals are delicate, even beyond our comprehension. The bee, for instance, is never caught in a shower; but by what agencies it arrives at the knowledge of an approaching storm, we are unable to determine; and therefore we call it pure instinct, leaving the subject as blind as we found it. The solution, however, of this question, will probably be found in the superior acuteness of its senses. We are generally sensible ourselves of a coming rain, by a change in the atmosphere; then, on the supposition that the bee has the sense of touch to a very delicate degree, the apparent enigma will be unravelled. We know also that our own senses convey to us imperfect knowledge, and that our minds serve to correct and supply their deficiencies: on the other hand, animals having reasoning powers of an inferior degree, a superior delicacy of the senses supplies to some extent the difference. They undoubtedly possess a knowledge of lesser things beyond the utmost reach of human intellect; while man possesses knowledge of a higher character, and as far above their comprehension; leaving degrees of intelligence above us, and below them, equally remote from each; for there are yet as many subjects of knowledge in the infinitely small as in the infinitely great. Nature retains her perfection, whether we descend to the atom or ascend to the universe; and the analogies of nature go to prove that the animalcule whose dimensions are below the power of the microscope, has as perfect an organization, and lives as completely, as man.
Animals seem to be as amply endowed with capacities by the Creator, for their sphere of existence, as man appears to be for his; and the Deity as evidently designed their happiness, as man's. He has framed them after the same great outline, and with no greater difference in this respect than is consistent with difference of species. He has endued them with senses, and a principle to take knowledge of the impressions they were designed to convey; and He has placed the means of happiness within their reach, as well as given the power to reach them. This much is self-evident. As to the proof that the principle commonly known as instinct manifests memory and reason, the arguments employed may be obscure; but the facts themselves, on reflection, carry conviction to the mind. To account for these manifestations on any other hypothesis, would be impossible; and to draw any other inference from the facts would be equally impossible; and to pronounce all these phenomena the workings of instinct, a name without a tangible meaning; a designation that prohibits inquiry, because it pretends to furnish an explanation of itself; would be to rest for ever in profound ignorance of the whole subject, when truth might be reached by investigation.
All the intellectual manifestations of mind are treated under four general divisions. One of them is memory; and all we know of it is, simply that there is a principle within us that remembers. Animals likewise have a principle that remembers. If then this principle is a unit in man, and (by parity of reason) in animals, why does not the proof of this one quality carry the whole subject? Can it be asserted that any other principle remembers than the one that reasons? Can any distinction be taken between the dog's remembrance of his master on his return, and the remembrance of the wife? One is as absolute as the other. It is no matter how feeble the endowments of a man may be, he still possesses mind; its memory may be weak, and its reasoning power be confined to the most simple processes; but yet the principle is within him, and as no radical distinction can be made between the memory of the feeble and the powerful intellect, so none can be made between the memory of an animal and of a man.
That principle which remembers, abstracts, imagines, and reasons, is Mind.
The principle called Instinct remembers, abstracts, imagines, and reasons. Therefore, this principle is Mind.
The general deduction follows, that the same thinking intellectual principle pervades all animated existences; created by the Deity, and bestowed in such measures upon the different species as appeared in His wisdom requisite for the destiny and happiness of each; thus establishing a scale from man to the lowest orders of animalculæ; and the successive steps downward from the man of the highest intellectual range to the man of the lowest, are no farther than from the latter to the most intelligent animal; and from him successively to the lowest in the scale of intelligence. All endued with that wonderful principle, which in man, rising above the office of providing for physical wants, expends its powers on the highest subjects of knowledge, though the final cause of this knowledge is the benefit of himself or his species, while in animals, being more limited in its range, but perhaps more delicate in some of its powers, it may be employed, for aught we know, on important subjects of knowledge, tending to promote their own happiness, of a character so minute and intricate as to be beyond the utmost appreciation of the human mind; but yet as essential to their welfare as the most common principles of philosophy are essential to ours.
There is nothing unnatural in this theory; so far from it, it appears to be suggested by nature itself. We all have a living existence, and that existence to sustain and enjoy. The history of animals and men exhibits so many characteristics in common, and those more powerful characteristics which we have discovered only in men, merely serving to establish endowments stronger in degree, without warranting a fundamental distinction, a scale of intelligence from man to the most inferior animal, appears to result as naturally as a scale of intelligence among men, founded on their different characteristics. It may be said, perhaps, that some of these facts and arguments can be employed as well to prove a moral as an intellectual nature. Admitting this for a moment, it is by no means certain that they have not to some extent a moral sense; although our inquiry has no reference to this branch of the subject. Their endowments, like those of the tribes of Africa, neither improve nor degenerate materially; and who is prepared to say that a Goth or a Hun exhibited a nicer sense of right and wrong than a tiger or an elephant does? We know nothing concerning their secret relations. The order and harmony of the bee-hive, the ant-hill, the families of beavers, and flocks of birds; the apparent recognition by some animals of the right of property; will perhaps ever remain an enigma. Animals, on the other hand, of the same species, oppress each other no more than man does his fellow-man; and those of different species cannot act with greater ferocity toward each other, than they can find an example for in human conduct. We tread upon them without concern, and hunt them down for mere amusement. We prepare them for slaughter with a degree of indifference to their sufferings and death that is shocking in the last extreme. Let us not boast too much of our moral qualities, although the Deity did design that we should subsist in part upon flesh; although we have the marks of this design upon us, the same as the bear and the wolf, and have the sanction of the Scriptures; for although the final cause of this is wise, it is no excuse for cruelty; and probably an enlightened moral sense would teach us to abstain entirely from animal food, if we can live without it. We can no more say that animals were made for our convenience exclusively, than that the hare was made for the lion, or that the Deity would wish man should uproot every other species, than that the tiger should. The simple truth is, we are all alike creatures of the Deity, and subjects of His will. He designed all existence; He bestowed it; and His beneficent protection is extended alike over all His works; from man, the noblest of His creation, to the young ravens, whose cry He has admonished us He deigns to hear.
Aquarius.
October, 1843.