MIND OR INSTINCT. AN INQUIRY CONCERNING THE MANIFESTATION OF MIND BY THE LOWER ORDERS OF ANIMALS.

Cowper.

The cultivation of the intellectual endowments of man has raised him to such a degree above the other orders of animated existence, that he claims the exclusive possession of the Thinking Principle; forgetting, while he surveys the monuments of human intelligence, that they are but the evidence of his advancement from the savage state; and that while he remained in that primitive condition he might be considered, in fact, as many degrees below his present position in point of mental capacity, as above that of the most sagacious animals;[A] forgetting also that had he continued in a state of nature, like some of the tribes of Africa or America, leaving others to judge of his intelligence from the rude vestiges of his civilization exclusively, they could scarcely attribute to him more intellect than they would to the beaver, or even to the ant.

Animals, unlike men, do not improve materially in different generations, because they generally require no artificial means to promote their happiness; neither have they the gregarious principle to the same extent as man; but some of those which have, exhibit the extraordinary intelligence which will presently be cited.

The object of this inquiry is to ascertain, by the examination of facts, whether the principle called Instinct manifests the same intellectual qualities as Mind, without having any reference to its moral attributes. It is not claimed that each one possesses that rare combination of mental properties which distinguishes the human species; but merely that there is a similitude in the intellectual operation of memory, in men and in animals; the same of abstraction, of imagination, and of reason or judgment, though possessed among all in different degrees, and under different modifications.

The word Instinct is employed to designate the exhibitions of animal nature in their endless varieties. It is a principle which performs the same office in regulating their conduct, that the mind of man does in directing his. It is usually defined, an inward persuasion, a spontaneous impulse, prompting animals to provide for their safety, and administer to their wants; but in certain cases the term has been ennobled by the substitution of sagacity, intelligence, cunning, when the gleamings of intelligence have been too certain to be misunderstood. The truth is, as of the human mind, we know nothing of its essence, of its ultimate nature; and our investigations, as in mind, must be limited to a knowledge of its properties or qualities.

This inquiry, then, will be confined to the intellectual qualities of Instinct; and if, from facts carefully examined, it can be deduced that an animal remembers, we must from necessity concede to his instinct the quality of memory; or if he exhibit an exact knowledge of means and their end, by applying the means to effect the end, we must attribute to his instinct the quality of judging; and the same of other instinctive operations.

It is important for even a tolerable elucidation of this subject, to present the utmost number of ways in which the manifestations of instinct are analogous to the manifestations of mind, as exhibited by the human race; and in doing this, no apology is deemed necessary for the introduction of numerous instances from Natural History, and from common observation.

I. OF THE MEMORY OF THE PRINCIPLE CALLED INSTINCT.

Illustrations.—In autumn, says Huber, honey has been placed in a window, where the bees resorted to it in multitudes. It was removed, and the shutters closed during winter; but when opened again on the return of Spring, the bees came back, though no honey remained; undoubtedly they remembered it; therefore an interval of several weeks did not obliterate the impression they had received.—Selections from Em. Nat's, but entitled Buffon's Nat. Hist., Vide V., 137.

A sailor who had been strolling round Wombwell's menagerie, loitering here and there to identify some of the animals with those he had seen in far distant climes, was attracted by the strange noise of a tiger, who seemed irritated beyond endurance. Jack sought the keeper, to inquire the cause of so singular a display of feeling, which became more boisterous the nearer he approached the animal. The keeper replied that the behavior of the tiger indicated either that he was vastly pleased, or annoyed; upon this the sailor again approached the den, and after gazing at the animal a few moments, during which he became frantic with seeming rage, discovered him to be the same animal brought to England under the special care of the weather-beaten tar. Jack was now as delighted as it appeared the tiger was in recognizing his old friend, and he desired to enter the den, for the purpose as he said of 'shaking a fist' with the beautiful animal. The iron door was opened, and Jack was permitted to enter. The affection of the animal was now shown by caressing and licking the pleased sailor, whom he seemed to welcome with the heartiest satisfaction; and when the honest tar left the den, the anguish of the creature appeared almost insupportable.—London Journal. Buff., II., 88, a like case.

A dog one afternoon was passing through a field near Dartmouth, England, where a washerwoman had hung her linen to dry. He stopped and surveyed one particular shirt with attention; then seizing it, he dragged it away through the dirt to his master, whose shirt it proved to be.—Buff., I., 290.

Warren Hastings, Governor-General of India, having dismissed the keeper of one of his elephants, the animal refused obedience to any other, and finally escaped to the wild herd. Ten years afterward the old keeper of the elephant found him in a keddah, and he instantly submitted himself to him.—Buff., N. H., II., 190.

We need seek no clearer evidence of memory in its purest sense, than these instances afford. They are the strong arguments of fact, and need but a momentary examination. Instances however can be found, in which the memory of instinct is even more powerful and retentive than the memory of mind. The homeward flight of the carrier-pigeon is a consecutive remembrance of places; and who, unaided, could retrace his steps for hundreds of miles, after one outward passage? Instances of local memory are familiar to all. The fox remembers his burrow; the bird her nest; the bee its hive; for, if they did not recall the fact of having occupied these places before, they would be found as frequently in the burrow or hive of another as their own; whereas common observation teaches the contrary. The parrot also, and the jay, have been noted for their memory. The cat and the pet sheep distinguish their favorite in the family from day to day; while the dog welcomes the return of his master with manifestations of remembrance as conclusive as the remembrance of the child or the wife.

Our knowledge of the qualities of instinct is derived from actions only; of mind, from words and actions. But these qualities can be inferred as legitimately from the latter, under proper restrictions, as from both; and if we should investigate the properties of mind from the actions of men exclusively, we could not arrive at them with any greater certainty than we can at the properties of instinct.

From the above illustrations, (if they were needed,) the conclusion is irresistible, that Instinct remembers; and all the phenomena of this memory are identical, both in analysis and synthesis, with the phenomena of memory in the human mind. No shade of distinction can be taken, except it be in the degree of strength; and on these terms, while the mass of animals would fall below man, some would rise above him.

II. OF THE PROCESS OF ABSTRACTION BY INSTINCT.

Illustrations.—The beavers begin to assemble in the month of June or July, in order to form a society, which is to continue for the greatest part of the year. They arrive in numbers from every side, and presently form a company of two or three hundred. The place of meeting is commonly the place where they fix their abode, and this is always by the side of some lake or river; if it be a running stream, which is subject to floods and falls, they then set about building a dam, or pier that crosses the river, so as to form a dead water in that part which lies above and below. This dam or pier is often four-score or an hundred feet long, and ten or twelve feet thick at the base: the part of the river over which this dam is usually built, is where it is the most shallow, and where some great tree is found growing by the side of the stream. This they pitch upon as proper for making the principal part in their building; and though it is often thicker than a man's body, they yet instantly set about gnawing it down.—Buff., II., 24. Note.—This is fallen across the stream. They then sharpen stakes, and fix them in the bed of the stream, the upper end resting against the tree.

The fox usually digs his hole in the edge of a wood, or the side of a bank; and in the vicinity of a farm-house. He chooses a dry and secluded spot, preferring a sandy soil.

The tigress, to oppose the daring invaders of her den, braves every danger. On such occasions she pursues the spoiler with an enmity the most inveterate; and he, contented to lose a part in order to save a part, is frequently obliged to drop one of her cubs. With this she immediately returns to her den, and again pursues him; he then drops another; and by the time she has returned with that, he generally escapes with the remainder.—Buff., II., 81.

By the process of abstraction, facts are separated from their original relations, and some of them contemplated apart from the rest. For example: a stream is considered with reference to its width, depth, and rapidity, or rather each property in its turn. In the familiar instance of the fox, we invariably find his burrow in a dry and secluded place; and in a sandy or earthy soil, unless it be in natural crevices. From these facts the inference necessarily results, that he had examined the location with reference to each of these requisites separately; unless instinct can entertain two questions at the same instant, which is above the power of mind; otherwise, his habitation being destitute of one of these essentials, would be useless, and the poor fox be doomed to toil in blind experiment, until chance directed him to a place which combined these and numerous other elements of convenience which the dainty creature might desire, and of which we can have no knowledge.

The beaver, in selecting a site for his dam, furnishes a stronger and more interesting specimen of the abstract reasoning of instinct. The depth, width, and rapidity of the stream; banks sufficiently high to prevent an overflow; the tree upon its edge; the vicinity of food, and materials for their work; all these are to be considered in turn; and if any of these requisites are deficient, a new place must be sought. If instinct proceeded at random, the multitude of disadvantages would preclude success; their labors might be cast away upon a stream too deep and rapid, or too wide, or in a barren region. But it is asserted that instinct spontaneously impels all animals to the end they seek; than which nothing can be more irrational. It is endowing them with a principle which leads unerringly to results that man might fail to ascertain by the aid of science. It is in effect endowing them with a principle higher than mind; partaking something of Deity itself. When man's attention has been arrested by their ingenuity or intelligence, he has passed them over as the workings of mysterious instinct; and indifference has led him into such absurdities. We have seen, on the authority of naturalists, that the beaver's dam is always found at a place which furnishes certain natural advantages. Let us now institute a comparison. A student wishes to study Algebra; we next see him with a slate, algebra, and pencil in hand. The three, with reference to the end designed, make but one object or means; and the inference is natural, that he had abstractly considered the office and necessity of each. On the other hand, the beavers announce their intention of building a dam, by assembling in June and forming a company. We next see them cutting a tree to fall across the creek. The tree, and the width, depth, and nature of the bed of the stream, make but one object or means, as in the other case; and the inference is equally natural and necessary, that they had abstractly considered these elements of fitness, before they selected this particular site, in preference to another.

Comparison is also involved in this selection of a place; and in the execution of the work, reasoning upon the relations of things, as distinguished from a consecutive consideration of their properties. Figure, motion, rest, space, and number are abstract terms. A case in number only has been referred to. It would be a singular supposition, that the dam did not know the number of her offspring, if the proof, from the well-known habits of the tigress, could not be furnished.

Again: the eagle builds her nest on the most rugged cliff, and in a region scarcely inhabited by man, her only formidable enemy. She might find a lofty cliff, with the plains below teeming with population, or an uninhabited region without a cliff; neither of which would answer; and to determine whether a given place combined these requisites of safety, she must consider it with reference to each of these properties separately; which would be the simple process of abstraction. The arrangement of objects into genera and species being a higher process, and the useful result of abstraction, the inquiry might be extended to ascertain, if possible, whether animals ever exhibit such classification in practice.

It is a matter of common observation, that the fox in his excursion will run through a flock of sheep, among cattle, or swine, or birds; but the human species, of whatever sex or age, and dogs, of whatever size or variety, he never approaches; and if he suddenly encounters either, he turns with alarm. By this it appears that he attributes hostility of feeling to the human family; and a disposition not very amiable to the canine species, his hereditary enemy. But horses, sheep, and oxen he considers inoffensive, and trusts himself freely among them.

Judging from actions, (to which we are confined,) the manifestations of instinct in the cases cited, are exactly analogous to the manifestations of mind, under similar circumstances; and had man exhibited such conduct, we should without hesitation pronounce it the consequence of abstract consideration. Now, since we know nothing of the ultimate nature of mind, or of instinct, and hence cannot establish a fundamental distinction between them; and since the manifestations of both are alike, in view of similar premises; it follows, that we can no more deny the quality of abstraction to one than to the other.

III. OF THE IMAGINATION OF THE PRINCIPLE CALLED INSTINCT.

Imagination is regarded as one of the highest of the mental faculties; but since it is manifested in thought rather than in actions, an additional difficulty is presented of discovering the exhibitions of this quality, by animals. It will therefore be a doubtful undertaking, to furnish proof that instinct is endued with this creative ability 'to fabricate images of things that have no existence;' and an approximation only can be expected.

The young dog exhibits his native fierceness while shaking a stick; does he not for the time raise an image of some other animal with whose properties he invests it? The same of a cat, while in the act of crouching and springing to seize a pebble. On a kindred principle, the mere boy rides his willow pony, and the infant Miss hushes her doll to sleep.

The proximate causes of playfulness in youth are the pictures raised in the mind by the fancy or imagination. This faculty, says Kaimes, 'is the great instrument of recreation.' The mind is exhilarated by the cheerfulness with which surrounding objects have been invested by its touch; and the sports of childhood, together with the gayety of youth, are mainly referable to its activity. It is not uncommon to discover the boy and his spaniel at play with a ball as a go-between. The beautiful animal, with open mouth, pricked up ear, and eyes sparkling with vivacity, now eagerly watches every motion of the ball, and of his play-mate, and now seeks for either or both, in their hiding-place. It would be difficult to determine from their actions, which exhibited the quickest perception, the most ingenuity, or the most ardent relish for the amusement. A similar playfulness is seen in most young animals. The manifestations are alike in both; hence the causes cannot be very diverse.

The birds of the air constantly change their habitations in the same latitude, as well as migrate from South to North, and back again. If they did not picture to themselves images of other regions, more beautiful, more abundantly supplied with the means of subsistence, and more agreeable in climate, where is the motive to change? Hunger with them is a motive to exertion, and danger, to flight; but they could have no conception of another place, unless by imagination they might, from the scenes around them, picture another, with more of such parts as were desirable, and less of such as were not; and this would be an inducement to depart; but if they could picture no such prospect, the principle of self-preservation would prompt them to remain. To fabricate such a picture is the exact office of Imagination, and is its best definition.

A bright and still summer morning fills the mind with pleasant images, and the effect is cheerful looks and conduct. The matter-of-fact man, however, with little imagination, would be indifferent; while the poet would surrender himself to the inspiration of the scene. The birds also 'sing out their thankfulness,' and express enjoyment of the scene, by their merry notes. The very formation of song seems to be an imaginative art. On the other hand, a dull morning not only hushes the vocalist of the grove, but fills the mind with unpleasant reflections. And as Imagination 'bodies forth the forms of things unknown,' we are seized with uneasiness, and perhaps with melancholy.

Animals are known to dream, from physical indications during sleep, especially the dog. We see him agitated in every limb, and uttering low, angry growls. He sees nothing in reality; but the imagination must have created images in his instinct of real scenes, probably of conflict, as his movements would lead us to infer. The fact that some animals dream is as well understood as that the phenomena of dreaming are treated in intellectual philosophy as some of the singular results of our mental constitution.

We are forced to see the analogies between the manifestations of mind and of instinct; and any candid observer will find it as difficult to detect a distinction, (except in the degree of power,) as to prove that these analogies do not exist. The strong and uninterrupted current of analogies in animal life, also, which subsist between man and the various species of animals, furnishes an indirect support to the views hitherto advanced. They have the senses, natural affections, and propensities, in common with man. In some they excel. They are 'hurt by the same weapons, and warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer.' They have also bone, muscle, and nerve; the vital fluid, and the organs of circulation, operating in such as possess them, on the same principles as in man. They have the brain; and so situated with reference to the organs of sense as to derive their knowledge of external objects by the same physical agencies that he does. They experience hunger and thirst, pleasure and pain; and some of them exhibit courage and fear; pride, anger, envy, jealousy, and hatred: others,

The existence of these functions, properties, appetites, and passions is freely admitted; the proof being drawn from physiology on the one part, and their actions on the other; and yet it is as evident, and as easy to prove, that an animal remembers as that he hears; that he exercises reason in given cases, as that he sees; and as easy that he has imagination, as that a majority of the human race possess it, seeking for the proof in their actions exclusively.

Let us now consider for a moment the manner in which a knowledge of external objects is attained. The eye is directed, for example, to a dangerous animal. Its image is imprinted upon the retina of the eye; and this impression having been conveyed by the optic nerve to the brain, which is the organ of the mind, the mind has then a perception of the animal; upon this perception, reflection ensues; of its power to destroy; its menacing attitude; the necessity and means of escape. A dog likewise directs his eye to the same animal; an image is formed upon the retina of his eye, and this being conveyed by the optic nerve to the brain, which, by parity of reason, is the organ of the principle called instinct; instinct also has a perception of the animal. The modes thus far are perfectly analogous; but here inquiry has rested; and man absolutely denied that instinct could make a rational use of the perception, which he could not deny it had obtained. He did not or would not reflect, that if the Deity had bestowed upon animals an eye of wonderful mechanism like his own; an optic nerve and brain, and a principle to take knowledge of impressions conveyed to it by the organs of vision; together with all the other senses requisite for perception; some of them most delicate, others most powerful; there was no reason why he should render them nugatory by denying to this principle the ability to reflect upon such perceptions and arrive at conclusions. He did not consider that the dog discovered the object in question to be dangerous as quick as he did; and exhibited this conclusion by fleeing as soon as he; but insisted, in the face of unyielding facts, that a blind, unfathomable impulse urged the creature to escape, while the man arrived at the same determination by a most simple process of reasoning.

In another and concluding number, the reason or judgment of the principle called Instinct will be considered at large.