And then as to numbers of other cries, etc., too numerous to mention; such as the chirping of sparrows on the approach of rain, the moaning and whining of animals in pain, the cackling of the hen after laying an egg, etc.,—all these arise doubtless from bodily sensations, and may be termed the language of the involuntary or automatic part of the organic mind.
Second—The language of the instinctive mind.
I have above briefly spoken of the language expressive of the bodily sensations, and have termed it really the automatic language of what I call the “organic mind,” or “vital force.” Now we must speak of the language capable of being used by the “instinctive mind”—a language, I believe, that is sometimes involuntary or automatic, but which at other times is under the voluntary control of such kind of will, judgment, and choice as is capable of being exercised by the creature according to its mental endowment as decreed and specialized.
Thus, by sounds or gestures, or other modes, animals, birds, insects, etc., can express fear of danger, friendliness, hatred, anger, triumph, etc.; and in some instances, as in the bee, can communicate such special information as that the “queen is dead,” etc.
See two dogs meet: they evidently quite understand each other, and by wagging of tails and bright glances, or the reverse; and a cheerful bark or a savage snarl, can quickly intimate whether a gambol or a fight is to result. No doubt, as in man, this result will be greatly guided by the state of the bodily sensations (digestion, etc.), and as to age and natural character; but yet the dogs’ communications, we may be sure are only concerning pure animal sensations or concerns, and never assume an intellectual character, such as, “How is your beloved mistress?” etc.
Then look at the watchful bird on the tree-top, or the sentinel bull on the hillock; each can sound the alarm, because its intuition or its experience tells of danger. And then look at a party of rooks holding a palaver; who can doubt but that in some way they communicate certain feelings and perhaps ideas? And so as to hosts of other birds and beasts; but then their mental processes cannot possibly—for reasons which I have repeatedly given—be considered as of an intellectual sort like that of man, indeed it very probably may be of so different a kind to ours that we can not even guess at the nature of it.
I have not space to illustrate all the visible manifestations of the different phases of mind in animals, but to mention only one other, who can doubt but that in regard to triumph after a victory, the cock when he gets on an elevation and crows must experience some of the pride of conquest, and must have a sort of conception of the abstract idea of exultation in regard to his courage and prowess?
And yet although, as in my opinion, we must not delude ourselves by thinking that the foregoing are simply produced by reflex actions arising only from bodily sensations; so we must not equally be misled by supposing that such results arise from intellectual reasoning. No! in my opinion, although all these acts and sounds are performed, and produced, in some measure—and in some measure only—according to the dictates of a sort of conscious will; and a sort of abstract reasoning (in some cases), yet they can only occur, or be done, strictly according to the caliber, and quality, and specific endowment of the kind of non-intellectual mind with which the creature has been gifted by God—a caliber, and quality, and specific sort of mind which I will not pretend to be able, in any way, to explain the nature of, or essential mode of working.
Those who employ their time ill are the first to complain of its shortness. As they spend it in dressing, eating, sleeping, foolish conversation, in determining what they ought to do, and often in doing nothing, time is wanting to them for their real business and pleasures: those, on the contrary, who make the best use of it have plenty and to spare.—La Bruyère.