Animal Life and Intelligence

by C. Lloyd Morgan

External aspect:	Physical stimulus	→	interneural processes	→	activities.
Inner aspect:	Accompanying consciousness	←	mental states	→	accompanying consciousness.

The physical stimulus and the resulting activities are occurrences in the external world, and more or less lie open to our view. But the intervening physical and physiological neural processes are hidden from us. As occurring in ourselves, however, the mental states which are the inner aspects of these neural processes stand out clearly in the light of consciousness. When, therefore, we are watching the life-activities of others, we naturally fill in between the physical stimulus and the activities, not the neural processes of which we are so ignorant, but mental states analogous to those of which we are conscious under similar conditions. Thus we leap from the physical to the mental, and back again to the physical, as represented by the diagonal lines in the above scheme. And there can be no objection to our doing so if we bear in mind that we are thus changing our point of view.

The human organism, then—for at present we may regard the matter from man's own position—is a wonderfully delicate piece of organization, with mental (inner) and physical (outer) aspects. It is in a condition of the most delicate equipoise. Under the influence of a perception associated with an appetence, or of a conception accompanied by a desire, it is thrown into a state of unstable equilibrium; the performance of the action which leads to the fulfilment or satisfaction of the appetence or the desire restores the stability of the system. The instability is caused by the conjoint action of an attraction towards some state represented as desirable, and a repulsion from the existing state which is relatively undesirable. In some cases the attraction, and in others the repulsion, is predominant. When we are in an uncomfortable position, the discomfort is predominant, and we seek relief by changing our attitude. When the bright sunshine tempts us to go out for a walk, the attraction is predominant. But if the uncomfortable attitude is enforced and prolonged, we have a mental representation of the relief we long for; and this is attractive. And if we have work which keeps us indoors, the irksome restraint brings with it an aversion to our present lot.

Inseparably associated with the appetence or aversion there is a representation of the activity which constitutes the fulfilment of the emotion. On the physiological side this is probably an incipient excitation of the muscles or other organs concerned in the requisite actions. The miser's fingers itch to clutch the gold, the possession of which he desires. Our muscles twitch as we long to join in the race or the active contention of a game of football. Our horse grows restive as the hunt goes by. Our dog can scarce restrain himself from racing after the rabbits in the park. Under the influence of emotion, then, the body is prepared for activity, the organs and muscles are beginning to be innervated, and, if the appetence or desire be sufficiently strong, the appropriate actions are initiated, and the organism tends to pass from the state of unstable equilibrium arising out of a pressing need to the stable condition of satisfied appetence. The function of the will in this process we shall have briefly to consider presently.

Let us here notice, with regard to the activities, what we have before seen with regard to the process of perceptual construction. We there noticed that, at the bidding of a relatively simple suggestion, a complex object may be constructed by the mind. This presupposes a highly complex mental organization ready to be set in motion by the appropriate stimulus. The organization has been established by association and through evolution in the individual and his ancestors. It is the same with the activities. They, too, are the outcomes of associations and experiences established and registered during generations of ancestral predecessors. At the bidding of the appropriate stimulus arousing impulse or appetence, a train of activities of great intricacy may be set agoing with remarkable accuracy and precision. It is true that a certain amount of individual education is required to draw out and establish the latent powers of the body, as also of the mind; but the ability is inborn, and only requires to be cultivated. Every one of us inherits an organization rendering him capable of performing a vast amount of mental construction and a great number of bodily activities. All he has to do is to learn how to use it and to make himself master of the powers that are given him.

At first, the acquisition of this mastery over the innate powers, even in the performance of comparatively simple muscular adjustments, may require a good deal of attention and practice. But, as time goes on, the frequent repetition of the ordinary activities of everyday life leads to their easier and easier performance. In simple responsive actions the appropriate activity follows readily on the appropriate stimulus. And, ere long, many acts which at first required intelligent attention are performed easily and without consciousness of effort or definite intention. A close association between certain oft-recurring stimuli and the appropriate response in activity is thus established, and the action follows on the stimulus without hesitation or trouble. With fuller experience and further practice in the ordinary avocations of life, the responsive activities link themselves more and more closely in association, become more and more complex, are combined in series and classes of activity of greater length and accuracy, and thus become organized into habits. Under this head fall those activities which we learn with difficulty in childhood, and perform with ease in after-life. At first voluntary and intentional, they have become, or are becoming, through frequency and uniformity of performance, more or less involuntary and unintentional.

"The work of the world is," we are told, "for the most part done by people of whom nobody ever hears. The political machine and the social machine are under the ostensible control of personages who are well to the front; but these brilliant beings would be sorely perplexed, and the machinery would soon come to a standstill, but for certain experienced, unambitious, and unobtrusive members of society." So is it also in the economy of animal life. The work of life is—to paraphrase Mr. Norris's words—for the most part done by habits of which nobody ever thinks. The bodily organization is ostensibly under the control of intellect and reason; but these brilliant qualities would be sorely perplexed, and the machinery would soon come to a standstill, but for certain unobtrusive, habitual activities which are already as well trained in the routine work of life as are the permanent clerks in the routine work of a Government office.

The importance of the establishment of these habitual activities is immense. As the muscular and other responses of ordinary everyday life become habitual, the mind is, so to speak, set free from any special care with regard to their regulation and co-ordination, and can be concentrated on the end to be attained by such activities. The cat that is creeping stealthily upon the bird has all her attention rivetted on the object of her appetence, and has not to trouble herself about the movements of her body and limbs. When the swallows are wheeling over our heads in the summer air, their sweeping curves and graceful evolutions are not the outcome of careful planning, but are just the normal exercise of activities which from long practice have become habitual. To swim, to skate, to cycle, to row, to play the piano or the violin,—all these require our full attention at first. But with practice they become habitual, and during their performance the attention may be devoted to quite other matters. This is a great gain. Without it complex trains of activities could not be performed with ease by man or beast.

When once habits have been firmly established, their normal performance is accompanied by a sense of satisfaction. But if their performance is prevented or thwarted, there arises a sense of want or dissatisfaction. The pining of a caged wild animal for liberty is a craving for the free performance of its habitual activities. In an animal born into captivity the craving is probably less intense, though, for reasons which will presently become evident, it is presumably by no means absent. Animals are, to a very large extent, creatures of habit. Much of the pleasure of their existence lies in the performance of habitual activities. Our zoological gardens, interesting as they are to us, are probably centres of an amount of misery and discomfort, from unfulfilled promptings of habit and instinct, which we can hardly realize.

From habitual activities we may pass by easy steps to those which are instinctive. Both habits and instincts, or, to use a more convenient and satisfactory mode of expression for our present purpose, both habitual and instinctive activities, are based upon innate capacity. But whereas habitual activities always require some learning and practice, and very often some intelligence, on the part of the individual, instinctive activities are performed without instruction or training, through the exercise of no intelligent adaptation on the part of the performer, and either at once and without practice (perfect instincts) or by self-suggested trial and practice (incomplete instincts).[IN]