Man’s Helplessness at Birth
Family life is a product of memory, for the mate and offspring are re-cognised; therefore it always implies some degree of intelligence. The young are watched and protected, and taught by the higher animals. Opportunities are thus afforded of learning about the world, and more particularly of acquiring the traditions, the stored experiences, of the race. With the opportunity to profit by experience comes the ability to profit by it, and with the latter a gradual decay of instinct. Intelligence is substituted, more or less, for unthinking impulse. All the instincts are not lost, but in the higher animals we find no such elaborate innate impulses as in the lower. “Sitaris” is able to fend for herself from the first; but just in proportion as animals are highly placed in the scale of life, so they are helpless at the beginnings of consciousness, but correspondingly capable later. A young pig can run as soon as it is born, but the acquirements of the most learned pig are small compared to that of a dog, which, though more helpless than the pig at birth, is so teachable that he becomes the companion of man. Our domestic animals are all teachable, otherwise we could not tame them.
Of living beings man is by far the most helpless at birth. He cannot even seek the breast. In him instinct is at its minimum. For him more than any other animal prolonged and elaborate tuition is necessary; but so vast is his memory, and so great his power of utilising its stored experience, that in later life he is beyond comparison the most capable of the inhabitants of the earth. Compare what even a dull man knows, including the words of a language and its inflections and articulations, with what is acquired by the cleverest dog, and the immensity of the difference is at once apparent. We may take a solitary frog and rear him from the egg in an aquarium. If, subsequently, we remove him to a pond, he will take his place with his fellows at once. He has little, if anything, to learn. Instinctively he knows his food, and how to seek it; his enemies and rivals, and how to escape or fight them; his mate, and how to deal with her; and she knows how to dispose of her eggs. But how forlorn and helpless would be a man reared from infancy in a dark cell out of sight and sound of his kind, and then turned into a world where his experienced fellows struggle for existence!
Fear is the Result of Experience
Traditional knowledge—knowledge, that is, imparted by one generation to the next—is common enough amongst the higher of the lower animals, and forms no inconsiderable part of their mental equipment. Thus we may see the hen teaching her chickens how to seek food, and the cat instructing her kitten how to ambush mice. Birds and mammals inhabiting desert islands have none of that fear of man which in our country they acquire from dire experience. We have a saying, “as wild as a hawk”; but Darwin relates how he almost pushed a hawk from its perch with his gun in the Galapagos Islands. Round our coasts the sea-birds are exceedingly shy; in a harbor they feed from the hand. Formerly the Arctic seals, impelled by fear of bears, inhabited the outer margin of the floes; at the present day they have retreated from the more dangerous neighbourhood of man to the landward edge. Antarctic seals, harried by the great carnivora of the ocean, are watchful in the water; on land or on the surface of the ice, where till lately they met no danger, they may be slaughtered like sheep in a shambles. They are capable of profiting by experience; but they are slow to learn, and can acquire but little. Judged by our human standard, they are very stupid. The means of escape adopted by Arctic seals, and the means of capturing them, the ships and guns adopted by man, furnish a measure of the intellectual difference.
Slavery in the World of Insects
When animals are social, and so have the opportunity of learning, not only from their parents, but from other members of the species, the power of making useful mental acquirements is correspondingly great. It reaches a remarkable degree of development even amongst insects, some species of which live together in great communities. Young ants, for example, are tended with anxious care. It is said that they are led about the nest and instructed by older individuals. They are reported to be playful. Most significant of all is the fact that some species have the habit of capturing slaves belonging to other species, which they take as pupæ, never as adult ants, and to whom, as they develop, they teach their duties. The slaves are neuter individuals, and have no offspring, the supply being maintained by fresh captures. It follows that the slaves must learn their work, and therefore that their performance of it is not instinctive, but intelligent.
It is a fair inference that many of the so-called instincts of ants are really acquired habits, bits of knowledge and ways of thinking and acting which are handed down from one generation to the next, not by actual inheritance, but traditionally and educationally, just as children receive from us language, or religion, or a trade. Indeed, there is reason to believe that the power of making mental acquirements has evolved to a greater degree in the favourable environment of the ant-nest than among any other species except man.
Man’s Essential Instincts
The instincts of man, though comparatively few and simple, are yet essential to his existence. He has the instinct of hunger and the instinctive recognition of food as food, the instincts to sleep periodically, to rest when tired, and to sport when rested, the instincts of curiosity and imitativeness, and the deferred instincts of sexual and parental love, and perhaps one or two others. All these innate impulses he shares with the lower animals, but those which impel him to store and use his vaster memory are more developed in him than in any other type. Thus the instinct of sport urges him, not only to develop his limbs, but, through experience, to acquire dexterity and much besides. The little girl turns naturally to her doll, which she handles as she will her baby. The play of a boy as naturally involves contests, which foreshadow the grimmer battles of adult life. As he grows older the character of his sport changes. More and more it becomes an appeal to the wits, an appeal to wider experience and a means of adding to it.