In many cases it is impossible to decide whether certain social instincts have been acquired through natural selection, or are the indirect result of other instincts and faculties, such as sympathy, reason, experience, and a tendency to imitation; or again, whether they are simply the result of long-continued habit. So remarkable an instinct as the placing sentinels to warn the community of danger, can hardly have been the indirect result of any other faculty; it must therefore have been directly acquired. On the other hand, the habit followed by the males of some social animals, of defending the community and of attacking their enemies or their prey in concert, may perhaps have originated from mutual sympathy; but courage, and in most cases strength, must have been previously acquired, probably through natural selection.
Of the various instincts and habits, some are much stronger than others, that is, some either give more pleasure in their performance and more distress in their prevention than others; or, which is probably quite as important, they are more persistently followed through inheritance without exciting any special feeling of pleasure or pain. We are ourselves conscious that some habits are much more difficult to cure or change than others. Hence a struggle may often be observed in animals between different instincts, or between an instinct and some habitual disposition; as when a dog rushes after a hare, is rebuked, pauses, hesitates, pursues again or returns ashamed to his master; or as between the love of a female dog for her young puppies and for her master, for she may be seen to slink away to them, as if half ashamed of not accompanying her master. But the most curious instance known to me of one instinct conquering another, is the migratory instinct conquering the maternal instinct. The former is wonderfully strong; a confined bird will at the proper season beat her breast against the wires of her cage, until it is bare and bloody. It causes young salmon to leap out of the fresh water, where they could still continue to live, and thus unintentionally to commit suicide. Every one knows how strong the maternal instinct is, leading even timid birds to face great danger, though with hesitation and in opposition to the instinct of selfpreservation. Nevertheless the migratory instinct is so powerful that late in the autumn swallows and house-martins frequently desert their tender young, leaving them to perish miserably in their nests.[118]
We can perceive that an instinctive impulse, if it be in any way more beneficial to a species than some other or opposed instinct, would be rendered the more potent of the two through natural selection; for the individuals which had it most strongly developed would survive in larger numbers. Whether this is the case with the migratory in comparison with the maternal instinct, may well be doubted. The great persistence or steady action of the former at certain seasons of the year during the whole day, may give it for a time paramount force.
Man a social animal.—Most persons admit that man is a social being. We see this in his dislike of solitude, and in his wish for society beyond that of his own family. Solitary confinement is one of the severest punishments which can be inflicted. Some authors suppose that man primevally lived in single families; but at the present day, though single families, or only two or three together, roam the solitudes of some savage lands, they are always, as far as I can discover, friendly with other families inhabiting the same district. Such families occasionally meet in council, and they unite for their common defence. It is no argument against savage man being a social animal, that the tribes inhabiting adjacent districts are almost always at war with each other; for the social instincts never extend to all the individuals of the same species. Judging from the analogy of the greater number of the Quadrumana, it is probable that the early ape-like progenitors of man were likewise social; but this is not of much importance for us. Although man, as he now exists, has few special instincts, having lost any which his early progenitors may have possessed, this is no reason why he should not have retained from an extremely remote period some degree of instinctive love and sympathy for his fellows. We are indeed all conscious that we do possess such sympathetic feelings;[119] but our consciousness does not tell us whether they are instinctive, having originated long ago in the same manner as with the lower animals, or whether they have been acquired by each of us during our early years. As man is a social animal, it is also probable that he would inherit a tendency to be faithful to his comrades, for this quality is common to most social animals. He would in like manner possess some capacity for self-command, and perhaps of obedience to the leader of the community. He would from an inherited tendency still be willing to defend, in concert with others, his fellow-men, and would be ready to aid them in any way which did not too greatly interfere with his own welfare or his own strong desires.
The social animals which stand at the bottom of the scale are guided almost exclusively, and those which stand higher in the scale are largely guided, in the aid which they give to the members of the same community, by special instincts; but they are likewise in part impelled by mutual love and sympathy, assisted apparently by some amount of reason. Although man, as just remarked, has no special instincts to tell him how to aid his fellow-men, he still has the impulse, and with his improved intellectual faculties would naturally be much guided in this respect by reason and experience. Instinctive sympathy would, also, cause him to value highly the approbation of his fellow-men; for, as Mr. Bain has clearly shewn,[120] the love of praise and the strong feeling of glory, and the still stronger horror of scorn and infamy, “are due to the workings of sympathy.” Consequently man would be greatly influenced by the wishes, approbation, and blame of his fellow-men, as expressed by their gestures and language. Thus the social instincts, which must have been acquired by man in a very rude state, and probably even by his early ape-like progenitors, still give the impulse to many of his best actions; but his actions are largely determined by the expressed wishes and judgment of his fellow-men, and unfortunately still oftener by his own strong, selfish desires. But as the feelings of love and sympathy and the power of self-command become strengthened by habit, and as the power of reasoning becomes clearer so that man can appreciate the justice of the judgments of his fellow-men, he will feel himself impelled, independently of any pleasure or pain felt at the moment, to certain lines of conduct. He may then say, I am the supreme judge of my own conduct, and in the words of Kant, I will not in my own person violate the dignity of humanity.
The more enduring Social Instincts conquer the less Persistent Instincts.—We have, however, not as yet considered the main point, on which the whole question of the moral sense hinges. Why should a man feel that he ought to obey one instinctive desire rather than another? Why does he bitterly regret if he has yielded to the strong sense of self-preservation, and has not risked his life to save that of a fellow-creature; or why does he regret having stolen food from severe hunger?
It is evident in the first place, that with mankind the instinctive impulses have different degrees of strength; a young and timid mother urged by the maternal instinct will, without a moment’s hesitation, run the greatest danger for her infant, but not for a mere fellow-creature. Many a man, or even boy, who never before risked his life for another, but in whom courage and sympathy were well developed, has, disregarding the instinct of self-preservation, instantaneously plunged into a torrent to save a drowning fellow-creature. In this case man is impelled by the same instinctive motive, which caused the heroic little American monkey, formerly described, to attack the great and dreaded baboon, to save his keeper. Such actions as the above appear to be the simple result of the greater strength of the social or maternal instincts than of any other instinct or motive; for they are performed too instantaneously for reflection, or for the sensation of pleasure or pain; though if prevented distress would be caused.
I am aware that some persons maintain that actions performed impulsively, as in the above cases, do not come under the dominion of the moral sense, and cannot be called moral. They confine this term to actions done deliberately, after a victory over opposing desires, or to actions prompted by some lofty motive. But it appears scarcely possible to draw any clear line of distinction of this kind; though the distinction may be real. As far as exalted motives are concerned, many instances have been recorded of barbarians, destitute of any feeling of general benevolence towards mankind, and not guided by any religious motive, who have deliberately as prisoners sacrificed their lives,[121] rather than betray their comrades; and surely their conduct ought to be considered as moral. As far as deliberation and the victory over opposing motives are concerned, animals may be seen doubting between opposed instincts, as in rescuing their offspring or comrades from danger; yet their actions, though done for the good of others, are not called moral. Moreover, an action repeatedly performed by us, will at last be done without deliberation or hesitation, and can then hardly be distinguished from an instinct; yet surely no one will pretend that an action thus done ceases to be moral. On the contrary, we all feel that an act cannot be considered as perfect, or as performed in the most noble manner, unless it be done impulsively, without deliberation or effort, in the same manner as by a man in whom the requisite qualities are innate. He who is forced to overcome his fear or want of sympathy before he acts, deserves, however, in one way higher credit than the man whose innate disposition leads him to a good act without effort. As we cannot distinguish between motives, we rank all actions of a certain class as moral, when they are performed by a moral being. A moral being is one who is capable of comparing his past and future actions or motives, and of approving or disapproving of them. We have no reason to suppose that any of the lower animals have this capacity; therefore when a monkey faces danger to rescue its comrade, or takes charge of an orphan-monkey, we do not call its conduct moral. But in the case of man, who alone can with certainty be ranked as a moral being, actions of a certain class are called moral, whether performed deliberately after a struggle with opposing motives, or from the effects of slowly-gained habit, or impulsively through instinct.
But to return to our more immediate subject; although some instincts are more powerful than others, thus leading to corresponding actions, yet it cannot be maintained that the social instincts are ordinarily stronger in man, or have become stronger through long-continued habit, than the instincts, for instance, of self-preservation, hunger, lust, vengeance, &c. Why then does man regret, even though he may endeavour to banish any such regret, that he has followed the one natural impulse, rather than the other; and why does he further feel that he ought to regret his conduct? Man in this respect differs profoundly from the lower animals. Nevertheless we can, I think, see with some degree of clearness the reason of this difference.
Man, from the activity of his mental faculties, cannot avoid reflection: past impressions and images are incessantly passing through his mind with distinctness. Now with those animals which live permanently in a body, the social instincts are ever present and persistent. Such animals are always ready to utter the danger-signal, to defend the community, and to give aid to their fellows in accordance with their habits; they feel at all times, without the stimulus of any special passion or desire, some degree of love and sympathy for them; they are unhappy if long separated from them, and always happy to be in their company. So it is with ourselves. A man who possessed no trace of such feelings would be an unnatural monster. On the other hand, the desire to satisfy hunger, or any passion, such as vengeance, is in its nature temporary, and can for a time be fully satisfied. Nor is it easy, perhaps hardly possible, to call up with complete vividness the feeling, for instance, of hunger; nor indeed, as has often been remarked, of any suffering. The instinct of self-preservation is not felt except in the presence of danger; and many a coward has thought himself brave until he has met his enemy face to face. The wish for another man’s property is perhaps as persistent a desire as any that can be named; but even in this case the satisfaction of actual possession is generally a weaker feeling than the desire: many a thief, if not an habitual one, after success has wondered why he stole some article.