I must bespeak your attention to a circumstance connected with the subject of this letter, which merits particular consideration: I mean the gradual change that takes place in the nervous system when insects undergo their metamorphoses; so that, except in the Orthoptera, Hemiptera, and Neuroptera Orders, in which no change is undergone, the number of ganglions of the spinal chord is less in the imago than in the larva. There seems an exception indeed to this rule in the case of the rhinoceros-beetle, in the larva of which there is only one ganglion, while in the imago there are four[121]. But as this one ganglion occupies the whole spinal marrow, it is really of greater extent than the four of the imago; so that even in this case there is a concentration of the cerebral pulp. In some cases, as in Dytiscus marginalis, and Hydrophilus piceus[122], the imago has only one ganglion less than the larva, but more generally it loses four or five. Dr. Herold has traced the gradual changes that take place in the spinal marrow of the common cabbage-butterfly (Pontia Brassicæ), from the time that it has attained its full size to its assumption of the imago. Of these I shall now give you some account.
In the full-grown caterpillar, besides the brain there are eleven ganglions, the chords of the four first internodes being double, and the rest single: from each ganglion proceed two pairs of nerves, one from each side. In this the lobes of the brain form an angle with each other[123]. In two days the double chords mutually recede, so as to diminish the interval between the ganglions, and the single ones have become curved: thus the length of the spinal marrow is shortened about a fourth, and the fourth and fifth ganglions have made an approach to each other[124]. On the eighth day, when the insect has assumed the pupa but remains still in the skin of the caterpillar, the flexure of the internodes is much increased; the first ganglion is now united to the brain, and the fourth and fifth have joined each other, though they are still distinct; the spinal marrow has now lost considerably more than a third of its length[125]. On the fourteenth day, the internodes, except the double ones, have become nearly straight again; the fourth and fifth ganglions have coalesced so as to form one, and the sixth and seventh have each lost their pairs of nerves[126]. Shortly after this, these last ganglions have nearly disappeared, and the chords of the three first internodes have again approached each other[127]. The next change exhibited is the absorption of the first ganglion by the brain, the union of the chords of the first internode, which is now straight, the approximation of the second and third ganglions, and the enlargement of the one formed by the union of the fourth and fifth, at the expense perhaps of the sixth and seventh, which have now intirely disappeared, and in their place is a very long internode. These united ganglions retain the pairs of nerves they had when separate[128]. Just before the assumption of the imago, the direction of the lobes of the brain becomes horizontal, the second and third ganglions unite, and the internode between the third and fourth is shortened[129]. Lastly, when the animal is become a butterfly, the second and third ganglions have coalesced, and are joined to that formed by the union of the fourth and fifth; a short isthmus or rather constriction, with an orifice, being their only separation: each of these united ganglions send forth laterally four pairs of nerves[130]. In his figure, Dr. Herold has not represented the orifice for the passage of the gullet, but doubtless one exists, which for an animal that imbibes only fluid food is probably very minute. In Hypogymna dispar, we learn from Cuvier, this orifice is of that description, and of a triangular shape[131].
It can admit of no reasonable doubt that one of the principal intentions of these changes is to accommodate the nervous system to the altered functions of the animal in its new stage of existence, in which the antennæ, eyes, and other organs of the senses, as well as the limbs and muscles moving them, and the sexual organs, being very different from those of the larva, and if not wholly new, yet expanded from minute germs to their full size, may well demand corresponding changes in the structure of the nervous system by which they are acted upon.
But are these changes also concerned, as Dr. Virey conjectures, in producing that remarkable alteration which usually takes place between the instincts of the larva and imago? In order to answer this question, it will be requisite first to quote the ingenious illustration with which this able physiologist elucidates his ideas on this point. "The more readily," he observes, "to comprehend the action of instinct, let us compare the insect to one of those hand-organs in which a revolving cylinder presents different tunes noted at its surface, and pressing the keys of the pipes of the organ, gives birth to all the tones of a song: if the tune is to be changed, the cylinder must be pulled out or pushed in one or more notches, to present other notes to the keys. In the same manner let us suppose that nature has impressed or engraved certain determinations or notes of action, fixed in a determinate series in the nervous system and the ganglions of the caterpillar, by which alone she lives, she will act according to a certain sequence of operations; and, so to speak, she will sing the air engraven within her. When she undergoes her metamorphosis into a butterfly, her nervous system being, if I may so express myself, pulled out a notch, like the cylinder, will present the notes of another tune, another series of instinctive operations; and the animal will even find itself as perfectly instructed and as capable of employing its new organs, as it was to use the old ones. The relations will be the same; it will always be the play of the instrument[132]."
This illustration is doubtless at the first glance very striking and plausible: but a closer examination will, I think, show, that, as in so many other instances in metaphysical reasoning, when fanciful analogies are substituted for a rigid adherence to stubborn facts, it is satisfactory only on a superficial view, and will not stand the test of investigation; and as this is a question intimately connected with what I have advanced on the subject of instinct in a former letter, I must be permitted to go somewhat into detail in considering it.
To prove his position, Dr. Virey ought at least to be able to show that, whenever a change takes place in the instincts of insects in their different states of larva and imago, a corresponding change takes place in the external structure of the nervous chord. But what are the facts? In three whole orders, viz. Orthoptera Hemiptera, and Neuroptera, as mentioned above[133], the structure of the nervous chord is not changed; and yet we know that many tribes of these orders acquire instincts in their imago state altogether different from those which directed them in their state of larvæ. A perfect Locust, for instance, acquires the new instincts of using its wings; of undertaking those distant migrations of which so many remarkable instances were laid before you in a former letter[134]; and, if a female, of depositing its eggs in an appropriate situation. But if such striking changes in the instinct of these tribes can be effected without any perceptible alteration in the structure of the nervous chord, it is contrary to the received rules of philosophical induction to refer to this alteration the changes in the instincts of other tribes where it is found. Is it not far more probable that this alteration has in fact no connexion with the changes of instinct, but is solely concerned with those remarkable changes in the organs of sense and motion, which occur in the larva and imago states of the orders in which it is observed? In a common caterpillar, the form of the body, the legs, the eyes, and other organs of the senses, all strikingly differ from those of the imago; whereas, with the exception of the acquisition of new wings, a perfect locust differs little from its larva: so that we may reasonably expect a corresponding change, such as we find it, in the structure of the nervous chord of the lepidopterous insect, not called for in that of the neuropterous species, in which accordingly it does not take place.
This reasoning, in opposition to Dr. Virey's theory, that the changes of instinct depend on the altered structure of the nervous system, becomes greatly strengthened when we advert to the higher classes of animals, which surely in any investigation of the nature of instinct ought to be closely kept in view; for the faculty, though often less perfect in them than in insects, is still of the same kind, and may consequently be expected to follow the same general laws. In a young swallow, for example, all its instincts are not developed at once any more than in an insect. The instinct which leads it to migrate does not appear for some months after its birth, and that of building a nest still later. But we have not the slightest ground for believing that these new instincts are preceded by any change in the structure of the great sympathetic nerve, or of any other portion of the nervous system: and the same may be said as to the sexual instincts developed in quadrupeds some years subsequent to their birth. If, then, these remarkable changes in the instinct of the higher classes of animals can take place independently of any visible change in the nerves, what substantial reason can be assigned why they may not also in the class of insects?
On the whole, I think you will agree with me, that there is nothing in Dr. Virey's hypothesis which should lead me to alter the opinion I have already so strongly expressed in a former letter[135], as to the insufficiency of the mechanical theories of instinct hitherto promulgated, adequately to explain all the phenomena; and unless they do this they are evidently of small value. Such theories as I have there adverted to may often seem to be supported by a few insulated facts, but with others, far more numerous, they are utterly at variance; and, to omit many other instances, I am strongly inclined to doubt the possibility of satisfactorily explaining the variety of instincts exercised by a bee[136], or the extraordinary development of new ones in particular circumstances only[137], on any merely mechanical grounds.
And after all, even suppose it could be demonstratively shown that every instinct is as clearly dependent on secondary causes, as I have formerly admitted that some doubtless seem to be, yet what would this teach us as to the essential nature of instinct? We have advanced indeed a step; but still, as I have before observed in referring to the theories of Brown and Tucker, we have only placed the world upon the tortoise, and instinct, as to its essence, which is what we want to detect, is as mysterious as ever: just as, though we can clearly prove that the mind is acted upon by the senses, yet this throws no light upon the essential nature of the mind, which we are forced to admit is inscrutable, as if to teach us humility, and prevent our vainly fancying, that though allowed to discover some of the arcana of nature, we shall ever be able to penetrate into her inmost sanctuaries.
That Dr. Virey should regard instinct in insects as purely mechanical was the natural consequence of his denying them any portion of intellect; but his opinion cannot I think be consistently assented to, if it be the fact, as I have just shown[138], that they are not wholly devoid of the intellectual principle. Whatever is merely mechanical, must, under similar circumstances, always act precisely in the same way. An automaton once constructed, whilst its machinery remains in order, will invariably perform the same actions; and Des Cartes, when he had constructed his celebrated female automaton, imagined that he had irrefragably proved his principle, that brutes are mere machines. But if, instead of losing himself in the wilds of metaphysical speculation, he had soberly attended to facts, he would have seen that the instinct of animals can be modified and counteracted by their intellect, and consequently cannot be regarded as simply mechanical. Though the instinctive impulse of an empty stomach powerfully impel a dog to gratify his appetite, yet, if he be well tutored, the fear of correction will make him abstain from the most tempting dainties: and in like manner a bee will quit the nectary of a flower, however amply replenished with sweets, if alarmed by any interruption. The ants on which Buonaparte amused himself with experiments at St. Helena, though they stormed his sugar-basin when defended by a fosse of water, controlled their instinct and desisted when it was surrounded with vinegar[139]: and in the remarkable instance communicated to Dr. Leach by Sir Joseph Banks, the instinct of a crippled spider so completely changed, that from a sedentary web-weaver it became a hunter[140]. There is evidently, therefore, no analogy between actions strictly mechanical and instincts, which, though they may often seem to be excited by mechanical causes, are liable to be restrained or modified by the connexion of the instinctive and intellectual faculties[141]; and while we are ignorant how this connexion takes place, it is obviously impossible to reason logically on the subject.