The movements of the human body may, none the less, be divided into two classes, which we may call respectively “mechanical” and “vital”. As an example of the former, I should give the movement of a man falling from a cliff into the sea. To explain this, in its broad features, it is not necessary to take account of the fact that the man is alive; his centre of gravity moves exactly as that of a stone would move. But when a man climbs up a cliff, he does something that dead matter of the same shape and weight would never do; this is a “vital” movement. There is in the human body a lot of stored chemical energy in more or less unstable equilibrium; a very small stimulus can release this energy, and cause a considerable amount of bodily movement. The situation is analogous to that of a large rock delicately balanced on the top of a conical mountain; a tiny shove may send it thundering down into the valley, in one direction or another according to the direction of the shove. So if you say to a man “your house is on fire”, he will start running; although the stimulus contained very little energy, his expenditure of energy may be tremendous. He increases the available energy by panting, which makes his body burn up faster and increases the energy due to combustion; this is just like opening the draft in a furnace. “Vital” movements are those that use up this energy which is in unstable equilibrium. It is they alone that concern the bio-chemist, the physiologist, and the psychologist. The others, being just like the movements of dead matter, may be ignored when we are specially concerned with the study of Man.
Vital movements have a stimulus which may be inside or outside the body, or both at once. Hunger is a stimulus inside the body, but hunger combined with the sight of good food is a double stimulus, both internal and external. The effect of a stimulus may be, in theory, according to the laws of physics and chemistry, but in most cases this is, at present, no more than a pious opinion. What we know from observation is that behaviour is modified by experience, that is to say, that if similar stimuli are repeated at intervals they produce gradually changing reactions. When a bus conductor says, “Fares, please”, a very young child has no reaction, an older child gradually learns to look for pennies, and, if a male, ultimately acquires the power of producing the requisite sum on demand without conscious effort. The way in which our reactions change with experience is a distinctive characteristic of animals; moreover it is more marked in the higher than in the lower animals, and most marked of all in Man. It is a matter intimately connected with “intelligence”, and must be investigated before we can understand what constitutes knowledge from the standpoint of the external observer; we shall be concerned with it at length in the next chapter.
Speaking broadly, the actions of all living things are such as tend to biological survival, i.e. to the leaving of a numerous progeny. But when we descend to the lowest organisms, which have hardly anything that can be called individuality, and reproduce themselves by fission, it is possible to take a simpler view. Living matter, within limits, has the chemical peculiarity of being self-perpetuating, and of conferring its own chemical composition upon other matter composed of the right elements. One spore falling into a stagnant pond may produce millions of minute vegetable organisms; these, in turn, enable one small animal to have myriads of descendants living on the small plants; these, in turn, provide life for larger animals, newts, tadpoles, fishes, etc. In the end there is enormously more protoplasm in that region than there was to begin with. This is no doubt explicable as a result of the chemical constitution of living matter. But this purely chemical self-preservation and collective growth is at the bottom of everything else that characterises the behaviour of living things. Every living thing is a sort of imperialist, seeking to transform as much as possible of its environment into itself and its seed. The distinction between self and posterity is one which does not exist in a developed form in asexual unicellular organisms; many things, even in human life, can only be completely understood by forgetting it. We may regard the whole of evolution as flowing from this “chemical imperialism” of living matter. Of this, Man is only the last example (so far). He transforms the surface of the globe by irrigation, cultivation, mining, quarrying, making canals and railways, breeding certain animals, and destroying others; and when we ask ourselves, from the standpoint of an outside observer, what is the end achieved by all these activities, we find that it can be summed up in one very simple formula: to transform as much as possible of the matter on the earth’s surface into human bodies. Domestication of animals, agriculture, commerce, industrialism have been stages in this process. When we compare the human population of the globe with that of other large animals and also with that of former times, we see that “chemical imperialism” has been, in fact, the main end to which human intelligence has been devoted. Perhaps intelligence is reaching the point where it can conceive worthier ends, concerned with the quality rather than the quantity of human life. But as yet such intelligence is confined to minorities, and does not control the great movements of human affairs. Whether this will ever be changed I do not venture to predict. And in pursuing the simple purpose of maximising the amount of human life, we have at any rate the consolation of feeling at one with the whole movement of living things from their earliest origin on this planet.
[CHAPTER III]
THE PROCESS OF LEARNING IN ANIMALS AND INFANTS
In the present chapter I wish to consider the processes by which, and the laws according to which, an animal’s original repertoire of reflexes is changed into a quite different set of habits as a result of events that happen to it. A dog learns to follow his master in preference to anyone else; a horse learns to know his own stall in the stable; a cow learns to come to the cow-shed at milking time. All these are acquired habits, not reflexes; they depend upon the circumstances of the animals concerned, not merely upon the congenital characteristics of the species. When I speak of an animal “learning” something, I shall include all cases of acquired habits, whether or not they are useful to the animal. I have known horses in Italy “learn” to drink wine, which I cannot believe to have been a desirable habit. A dog may “learn” to fly at a man who has ill-treated it, and may do so with such regularity and ferocity as to lead to its being killed. I do not use learning in any sense involving praise, but merely to denote modification of behaviour as the result of experience.
The manner in which animals learn has been much studied in recent years, with a great deal of patient observation and experiment. Certain results have been obtained as regards the kinds of problems that have been investigated, but on general principles there is still much controversy. One may say broadly that all the animals that have been carefully observed have behaved so as to confirm the philosophy in which the observer believed before his observations began. Nay, more, they have all displayed the national characteristics of the observer. Animals studied by Americans rush about frantically, with an incredible display of hustle and pep, and at last achieve the desired result by chance. Animals observed by Germans sit still and think, and at last evolve the solution out of their inner consciousness. To the plain man, such as the present writer, this situation is discouraging. I observe, however, that the type of problem which a man naturally sets to an animal depends upon his own philosophy, and that this probably accounts for the differences in the results. The animal responds to one type of problem in one way and to another in another; therefore the results obtained by different investigators, though different, are not incompatible. But it remains necessary to remember that no one investigator is to be trusted to give a survey of the whole field.
The matters with which we shall be concerned in this chapter belong to behaviourist psychology, and in part to pure physiology. Nevertheless, they seem to me vital to a proper understanding of philosophy, since they are necessary for an objective study of knowledge and inference. I mean by an “objective” study one in which the observer and the observed need not be the same person; when they must be identical, I call the study “subjective.” For the present we are concerned with what is required for understanding “knowledge” as an objective phenomenon. We shall take up the question of the subjective study of knowledge at a later stage.
The scientific study of learning in animals is a very recent growth; it may almost be regarded as beginning with Thorndike’s Animal Intelligence, which was published in 1911. Thorndike invented the method which has been adopted by practically all subsequent American investigators. In this method an animal is separated from food, which he can see or smell, by an obstacle which he may overcome by chance. A cat, say, is put in a cage having a door with a handle which he may by chance push open with his nose. At first the cat makes entirely random movements, until he gets his result by a mere fluke. On the second occasion, in the same cage, he still makes some random movements, but not so many as on the first occasion. On the third occasion he does still better, and before long he makes no useless movements. Nowadays it has become customary to employ rats instead of cats, and to put them in a model of the Hampton Court maze rather than in a cage. They take all sorts of wrong turnings at first, but after a time they learn to run straight out without making any mistake. Dr. Watson gives averages for nineteen rats, each of which was put into the maze repeatedly, with food outside where the rat could smell it. In all the experiments care was taken to make sure that the animal was very hungry. Dr. Watson says: “The first trial required on the average over seventeen minutes. During this time the rat was running around the maze, into blind alleys, running back to the starting point, starting for the food again, biting at the wires around him, scratching himself, smelling this spot and that on the floor. Finally he got to the food. He was allowed only a bite. Again he was put back into the maze. The taste of the food made him almost frantic in his activity. He dashed about more rapidly. The average time for the group on the second trial is only a little over seven minutes; on the fourth trial not quite three minutes; from this point to the twenty-third trial the improvement is very gradual.” On the thirtieth trial the time required, on the average, was about thirty seconds.[3] This set of experiments may be taken as typical of the whole group of studies to which it belongs.
[3] Watson, Behaviorism, pp. 169–70.
Thorndike, as a result of experiments with cages and mazes, formulated two “provisional laws,” which are as follows: