^taming aiib ITabor.' ^ LIBRARY I University (Of Illinois/ | CI.ASS. BOOK. volume:. § 158 0 34 . I Uooks are not to be taken from the Library. ^ Accessions No ^ Return this book on or before the Latest Date stamped below. H41 I ( I' V ' ''!f‘*.> *> / Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2017 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates https://archive.org/details/instinctitsoffic00chad_0 LOWELL LECTURES; 18 7 1 . INSTINCT: ITS OFFICE IN THE ANIMAL KINGDOM, AND ITS RELATION TO THE HIGHER POWERS IN MAN BY P. A. CHADBOURNE, LL.D., AUTHOR OF “RELATIONS OF NATURAL HISTORY,” “NATURAL THEOLOGY,” ETC. NEW YORK G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 27 AND 29 West 23d St. 1883 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by GEO. R PUTNAM & SONS, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. GIDEON L. SOULE, LL.D., PKINCIPAL OF PHILLIPS EXETER ACADEMT. Sir, — I dedicate these Lectures to you with grateful remembrance of your counsels and instruction, and with sincere admiration for that schol- arship and wisdom which, for fifty years, have done so much for the honor and usefulness of the Institution over which you preside. With great respect and esteem, I am most truly yours, P. A. CHADBOURNB. “ But I see another law in my members warring against the law of my mind^ and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin, which is in my members.”— Komans, chap. vii. ver. 23. ” But mind this : the more we observe and study, the wider the range of the automatic and instinctive principles in body and mind and morals, and the narrower the limits of the self-determining, conscious move- ment.”— Holmes, Autocrat of Breakfast Table., p. 95. “ As dependent upon bodily organization, as actuated by sensual pro- pensities and animal wants [man], belongs to matter, and, in this re- spect, he is the slave of necessity. But what man holds of matter does not make up his personality. * * * He is conscious to himself of facul- ties not comprised in the chain of physical necessity.” — Hamilton, Metaphysics (Bowen), p. 16. — “We can hardly find a more suitable expression to indicate those incomprehensible spontaneities themselves, of which the primary facts of consciousness are the manifestations, than rational., or intellectual In- stirwtsl'—Ibid.., p. 505. “Now it may be that what we call instinct here, has not been suffi- ciently investigated. We hear men speak of the higher instincts and of raticmal instincts. Are these, then, for the higher nature what the lower instincts are for the lower? As many view it. What is Conscience but a rational instinct., a guide without comprehension, but rational, because it reveals itself as the voice of God, which all instinct is, without thus revealing itself ? ’’—President Hopkins, Moral Science., 1st Ed., p. 214. CONTENTS LECTURE I. INTRODUCTORY. PAG* Investigations respecting the origin and destiny of man. — The central question.— Conditions of human progress. — Importance of man’s animal nature.— Comparative psychology. — Power of definitions.— Mistake in use of formulas.— Definitions of instinct. — Vital activities to be traced. — Apparent work of instinct. — Utilizes structure and function. — Includes impulse, knowledge, skill. — Natural history and speculative philosophy. — Man the perfection of the vertebrate type. — Organs put to a higher use as the nature of the being demands. — Mind and thought. — Diverse philosophical views.— Work defined.— Results to be reached. — Topics for discussion 17 LECTURE 11. OPERATIONS IN INORGANIC NATURE AND PLANT LIFE THAT SIMULATE INSTINCT. Definitions of Paley, Whately, and Hamilton considered.— The office of the physical forces. — Life, sensation, volition. — Method of discussion explained.— Positivism.— Instinct part of a series of agencies. — Life depending upon the position of the earth and the changes within it. — Geologic changes. — Activities of the plant. — Instinct-like provisions of plants. — Community of action. — Special provision of the tree for itself. — Wise economy of plants. — Movement of plants. — Special structures and functions.— Provision made by plants for their young 40 Contents. viii LECTURE III. OPERATIONS IN PHYSIOLOGY SIMULATING INSTINCT; AND THE LOWEST FORMS OF INSTINCT FOR THE WELFARE OF THE INDI- VIDUAL ANIMAL SUPPLEMENTING PHYSIOLOGY OR FUNCTION OF ORGANS. PAGE Intelligent and instinctive acts.— The tent-moth. — Animal physiology. — Structure, function, and instinct supplementing each other. — Unity from system. — Specific plans.— Servitude of plants.— Life and its phe- nomena.— Evolution of the tree. — The animal body a machine.— Its evolution from the egg. — Variables giving rise to species. — Alchemists. — Evolution of a specific form, the robin.— Growth of the bird requir- ing instinctive action. — The first instinctive act. — Selection of food. — Relation of life to the physical forces.— Doctrine of evolution.— Higher manifestation of instinct in securing food 67 LECTURE IV. HIGHER FORMS OF INSTINCT FOR THE WELFARE OF THE INDI- VIDUAL OR THE SPECIES, HAVING NO IMMEDIATE RELATION TO STRUCTURE OR FUNCTION OF ORGANS. Intelligence guided by experience.— Instinct independent.— A natural development. — Building of nests or homes.— Perfection of nest no test of the animal’s rank. — The facts of building stated. — Relation of build- ing to structure and function. — Variation in building.— Swallows. — Thrushes.— Oriole.— Black-birds. — Sparrows. — Nests from different localities. — Mr. Wallace’s theory. — Difference in building power. — Improvement by practice.— The cow-bird.— Supplementary instinct of the foster-parent— Change of instinct compared with change in plants. 93 LECTURE V. SOME MANIFESTATIONS OF HIGHER INSTINCT. — RELATION OF INSTINCT TO SPECIAL STRUCTURE AND FUNCTION. Relation of the appetites to the instincts.— Perfection of the work no proof of intelligence in the actor.— Test of intelligence.— Flexibility of instinct, — The ampelopsis. — The bean. — The potato. — The knowledge of enemies among fowls. — Common defence. — Simulation of death. — Instinct and climatic change.— The muskrat.— The partridge.— Instincts learned from observation alone.— Instincts essential to life.— Origin of Contents'". IX PAGE instinctive powers.— Hibernation. — Difficulties of the natural selection theory.— Special structures.- The rattlesnake, bee, wasp, and hornet. — Relation of instinct to color and form.— Cases cited from Wallace. — Relation of instinct to experience.— Seventeen-year locusts m LECTURE VI. INSTINCT FOR COMMUNITIES OF ANIMALS. — ITS RELATION TO THE DOCTRINE OF NATURAL SELECTION. Illustrations of the community system.— The cow-bird.— Three kinds belonging to the same species. — Necessity for slaves among ants. — The brood or annual flock. — Permanent organization.— Leaders. — Sen- tinels. — Pelicans of Utah Lake. — The beaver. — Morgan’s work. — The rank of the beaver. — The muskrat. — Variation of instinct necessary. — Complexity of work no proof of intelligence.— Consideration of theo- ries. — Accumulated work of intelligence. — Instinct like it, in effect — The honey-bee.— Bumble-bees and wasps. — Slave-ants.— Darwin’s explanation. — Difficulties. — Natural selection and variation not suffi- cient — Wallace on natural selection applied to man 137 LECTURE VII. INSTINCT CONNECTED WITH THE PARENTAL RELATION. — AS DE- MANDING CERTAIN CHANGES IN OTHER ANIMALS AND PLANTS. — AS A LAW FOR THE ANIMAL. — AS SUBJECT TO VARIATION. Effect of parental instinct.— Completes its course.— Disturbed by domes- tication. — Answering instinct of the young. — Correlation of the three kingdoms of nature. — Hibernation. — Gall-flies. — Ichneumon-flies.— Bot- fly. — Tent-moth. — Oak-pruners. — Borer. — Preservation of the fittest. — Instinct as a law. — Uniformity among animals.— Periodicity and self- regulating power of the appetites. — Instinct can be deceived.— Follows the impression of the senses. — Variation of instinct.— Production of varieties.— Definition of an instinct, and of instinct as a general term. . . 157 LECTURE VIII. HIGHER CHARACTER OF ANIMALS. — ANIMALS COMPARED WITH MAN. Knowledge from experience. — Do animals think? — Definition of thinking. — Conditions of the act to be studied. — Difficulty of the work. — Con- dition of the animal. — Physical structure and growth in men and ani- mals. — The senses in both.— Physiological likeness.— Capacity of X Contents. PAGE animals for pain and enjoyment. — Psychological effects of sensations in animals. — Fear, anger, joy, grief, shame. — The desires. — .(Esthetic nature of animals. — Animals learn by experience.— Their actions com- pared with those of man. — Taming and trapping animals. — Memory of animals. — Dreaming.— Summation of the argument. — Instinct the con- trolling power.— The rights of animals 187 LECTURE IX. INSTINCT IN MAN GROWING OUT OF HIS APPETITES. — ANIMAL IN THEIR ORIGIN. Man and ani m als compared. — Observation and study a necessity for man.— The higher ruling principle. — Free personality. — Complexity of man’s nature. — Origin and use of the appetites.— Narrow range of animal instinct in the child. — Nursing.— Fear. — Moral instincts.— Ani- mal instincts to be governed. — Marriage. — The desires. — Desire of life, of knowledge, of power, of esteem, of society. — Revolutions and reformations. — Summation of activities 211 LECTURE X. RELATION OF THE INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION TO THE RATIONAL AND MORAL NATURE OF MAN. Intuitions and instincts.— Something must be given as a basis for reason- ing and for acting.— Agricultural ants. — Belief in the uniformity of natural phenomena, from observation. — Instinct acts in reference to contingent events.— Purposes for which instinctive principles are needed by man.— The desires.— The affections.— Love of society.— Knowledge, property, power, esteem. — Faith. — Benevolence. — Need of guidance in man — The ruling power. — Conflict between the higher and lower instincts. — The comprehending power. — Difference between man and the highest animals. — “ Ought.” — Sense of obligation 229 LECTURE XL THE MORAL INSTINCTS. — OBLIGATION. Law of being defined. — Relation of men and animals to this law. — Con- ditions under which obligation arises.— Man’s freedom.— Self-denial. — Effects of ignorance.— Relation of obligation to the judgment.— Double action of obligation. — Doing right because it is right. — Obligation to do justly. — Four manifestations of obligation. — ^^Its action compared with Contents. XI PAGE the instincts.— Its relation to progress.— Moral conflicts.— Choice.— Free personality.— Accountability.— Remorse.— Man compared with an animal.— Moral powers always found in him. — The perfection and sphere of the animal.— The sphere of man’s action 256 LECTURE XII. RELIGIOUS INSTINCTS. — SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION. Summary of principles. — Their existence denied. — May be dormant. — Assert their sway.— Knowledge of God.— Instinct of a child.— Natural religion.—Revelation.— Instinct of prayer.— Of worship. — Analogous to animal instincts. — Individual accountability. — Diagram of powers. — Explanation of activities. — Choice of an ultimate end. — Provisions for every appetite and desire. — Summary of lectures.— Defects of our edu- cation. — Man’s power over the universe.— His relationship to it. — Pre- pare the way for progress. — ^The laborers needed. — Influence of names. — Transition period. — Final results of the study and control of all the powers 279 APPENDIX 305 PEEFACE. Since these Lectures were written several im- portant works have appeared that discuss many of the points here presented. It is proper to say that the outline of the Lectures was sketched in the Author’s Natural Theology published in 1867 ; and many of the discussions are here abridged be- cause presented with fulness in that work. In some places the discussion has taken the form of criticism of other works. This could not be avoid- ed without ignoring many scientific and practical questions that are now topics of universal interest. Great respect is due to the opinions of those who have carefully studied any subject, but they are to be accepted only when borne out by facts. The necessity for independent investigation and thought is constantly pressed upon us by the fact that on many subjects discussed in these Lectures, the most diverse views are held by able men who have enjoyed equal advantages for investigation. Every 14 Preface. observer and thinker may do something to settle these disputed points, but the scantiness of materi- als generally at hand and the liability to error in the interpretations of facts, should make every la- borer cautious in his own work and lenient towards the mistakes of others. It is with a deep convic- tion of the need of the hearty cooperation of the cultivators of different fields of science, especially of Naturalists and Mental Philosophers, in the full study of man, that these Lectures are presented to the public. The necessity of investigation in spe- cial departments of science is readily conceded. But if men must consume all their strength on one specialty they should remember that excellence in that is no measure of their ability to decide ques- tions in other departments. But such excellence in a single specialty, however restricted, is too often taken by its possessor and by the community as a measure of his just authority on every question he chooses to decide. Broad culture as a foundation for scientific attainments, respect for other sciences than our own and intercourse with those who view the same subjects from other stand-points than our own, are absolutely essential for safe generalizations in those complex sciences that relate to animal and rational life. If these Lectures quicken the interest of any in the study of nature or in a more thorough in- Preface. 15 vestigation of their own complex powers, so that our relations to the world shall be better under- stood, they will subserve the purpose for which they were written. WiLLIAMSTOWN, MASS., November i, 1871. SECOND EDITION. The first edition of this work was soon ex- hausted, and the author promised himself and the publishers to embody in a new edition the results reached by other investigators, as well as additions to the discussion as here presented. The pressure of official duties caused delay, and the material constantly increasing and giving rise to many im- portant questions demands separate treatment, which the writer hopes soon to give it. He finds no occasion, however, in the new facts recorded by investigators to essentially modify the statements of facts and principles here made. The work has passed under the review of those whose studies and investigations fitted them specially for pass- ing judgment upon these intricate questions, which all careful students admit to be of most difficult solution. The author is under great obligation to i6 Preface, those gentlemen who have given him their sug- gestions by private letters, as well as for the public reviews, which, so far as he has seen, have, with a single exception, been distinguished for fairness and an intelligent treatment of the subject. The author desires now to renewedly call the attention of Naturalists and Psychologists to the discussions here commenced, satisfied as he is that here is a field calling for their combined study for its successful investigation, and one worthy of their best efforts. New facts can be gathered by careful observers every year, but no new facts in kind have appeared among all the recent labors of distinguished naturalists. The origin^ office^ and limit of Instinct in animals and men are subjects still pressing upon the Psychologist as well as Naturalist for the careful consideration of both. Amherst, Mass., July I, 1882. II^STIITOT. » LECTURE I. INTRODUCTORY. Investigations respecting the origin and destiny of man . — The central question. — Conditions of human progress. — Importance of Man’s animal nature . — Comparative Psychology. — Power of Defini- tions. — Mistake in use of formulas. — Definitions of Instinct . — Vital activities to be traced. — Apparent work of Instinct . — Util- izes structure and function. — Includes impulse., knowledge, skill. — Natural History and Speculative Philosophy . — Man the per- fection of the Vertebrate type. — Organs put to a higher use as the nature of the being demands. — Mind and thought. — Diverse phi- losophical views . — Works defined. — Results to be reached . — Topics for discussion. “ What is man’s origin and what is his des- tiny,” is the opening sentence of the course of lec- tures which I had the privilege of delivering in this place five years ago. This double question is still perplexing the world. Science is delving in bone caves, and peat bogs and lake deposits for records more ancient than historic books. Every split bone and fractured flint are interrogated respecting the customs of the early tribes of men, whose era upon I8 Instmct. the earth is known only by the geologic accumula- tions above their remains, — and whose manner of life is revealed only by the remnants of their feasts and the instruments of stone buried in the caves which their owners once inhabited. Every ancient human skull is measured — as to capacity and angles — to determine the animal affinities of man. Geol- ogy and history, sacred and profane, are scanned as never before — as eagerly as though the continued existence of the race depended upon the evidence which these records can give of the manner in which man came upon the earth and of the time when he came. Bone caves become ancestral mansions, rude implements of stone the measure of man’s earliest ingenuity, and the dreariness of the glacial period the paradise to which he was welcomed. Laborers eager and zealous, claim to have already linked the human race to the stock from whence sprang the ape and gorilla, and trace through devious lines, its comparatively modern origin to the Ascidian mollusk. Others as busy and eager quite, are peering into the future to learn what the race is yet to become. They sum up the advances made by man within the historic period, and especially within the last centu- ry, and then inquire, “ What will the powers and opportunities of man do for him when he has num- bered as many more centuries upon the earth as he has already numbered ? ” Many generations must pass away before there can be any essential agreement among men who seek either for the origin or the destiny of man from the light of science. And so far as we can see, the Introductory. 19 past history and the future prospects of the race, if we are to depend upon science alone to reveal them, must always be like the bridge in Mirza’s vision that had dark clouds resting upon either end. More and more of the span of the bridge may come into view to those who gaze upon it from the hill of science, but the abutments that mark the begin- ning of the human race, and its remotest future, will be in clouds and darkness still. But there is a central question that relates to the present. What is man? If this question could be fairly answered, his origin and destiny would be in a measure deducible from the answer ; or if it should throw no clearer light upon the past, it would reveal the goal towards which man must move, or the road along which his future course must lie in pressing towards that goal. Amid all the din and clamor of science, which claims to give both the light and guidance which man needs as well as every other means of human progress, we wish to know what the HUMAN is, — what it has in common with the world below it, — what it has in its own right as its peculiar posses- sion, — what there is in man to be ruled, — what there is in him having power to rule. Again then we come to the task of analyzing human nature regardless of the sneers of those prac- tical philosophers who talk of “ the folly and heavy guessing of Metaphysics,” grouping, as they gener- ally do for their convenience, under this much abused term, all those studies that relate to the higher nature of man. If we would improve man, we must know what 20 Instinct, he is, — what powers he possesses and the law of their development. If he is a being of physical or- ganization alone, let us understand that ; and then give our whole strength to the study of physiology. If he has powers that are independent of the exist- ence of this physical organization, something added to it, let us understand that. In fine, let us try to understand every power that man possesses, its use and the condition of its best activity. Those who would reap most benefit from the laws of nature must learn what those laws are, and the methods by which variable combinations can work out new results, through invariable laws. The wise engineer while apparently contending against nature, always works with her and succeeds just in proportion as he obeys her laws. The wise philan- thropist, or social scientist, will succeed in amelior- ating the evils of society, — will elevate the race and secure its permanent progress, just in proportion as he understands the laws of human life, from its lowest manifestations to its highest, and labors to correct its mistakes by working in accordance with its own laws. The laws of human life and its conditions of progress are as fixed as the laws of gravitation and cohesion. The errors and ruin of life arise from the power of man as a free agent to trangress those lav/s. It is in the sphere of the variable, where free personality through ignorance or perverseness, fails to supply the proper conditions of progress that we find the troubles of society ; as in a fine piece of machinery, we find ruin when an ignorant engineer hitroductory. 21 so arranges the parts that the power which should form the thread and web, rends and destroys the nice adjustments of the machine itself. If a ma- chine is to do its full measure of work, its parts must so move that as little power as possible shall be lost in operating the machine itself, and its rela- tion to the work it is to perform must be as direct and as accurate as it is possible to make them. To reach this result somebody must understand the machine. The same is true in regard to man. He is a machine of the most complex nature and he is also the engineer. Of all the exhibitions of igno- rance in the world, the most common and the most disastrous in its consequences, is the ignorance of men of the right use of their own powers and of their relations to the work which it naturally falls to their lot to accomplish. We recognize man first as an animal. What- ever higher powers may dwell in the body of man that body is animal in its orgin, life and death. The higher nature of man has for ages found dili- gent students. And the body has revealed to sci- ence both the structure and function of its organs so fully that almost every tissue and vital movement are known. The welfare of the body is now gener- ally acknowledged to be a condition of mental pow- er. But the animal life and animal nature have been too often ignored or undervalued in the study of man’s higher nature. It has been deemed by some an insult to man to give him the instincts of the animal as the basis of his higher life or to as- 22 Instinct. sign them any high rank as instruments of human progress. And those who believe in the creation of man by a personal God have been slow to believe that He who took the bow in the clouds existing from the creation, as the appointed symbol of his promise to the race, has also taken animal powers in man and put them to a higher and nobler use than in any of the tribes below him. They need to study the great plan of God’s economy in creation to learn that in each new form of life, nothing new is introduced until the possibilities of the old forms have been exhausted. The hand of man is no less wonderful or noble because it is foreshadowed in- the fin of the fossil fish of the Silurian age. As in the body of man we find the same sort of/ organs as in the lower tribes but fashioned for a higher use than such animals can need, so in his supersensual nature, we find the animal powers ministering to a higher life than those tribes ever possess. If there is a Comparative Anatomy there is also a Comparative Psychology. It is only when the comparison between men and animals is ex- haustively made that we can reach that which is distinctive of man. If we can find nothing distinc- tive, then must we acknowledge him to be an ani- mal in kind differing from the others only in degree. If we would escape from this admission, we must begin by granting to his animal nature all that be- longs to it. When this is fairly done, what re- mains we may claim as distinctively human, with some hope of making good our claim. In selecting Instinct as the subject of the pres- Introductory. 23 ent course of lectures, we take that which has been considered peculiarly the characteristic of the ani- mal ; but our work will all be in the service of man. We shall inquire into the nature of instinct, that we may trace with more clearness the operation of instinctive principles in our own constitution, and be able to give them their due consideration in all our schemes of education and social reform. We meet a formidable difficulty at the very out- set in the common forms of speech and in the sci- entific definitions of Instinct and Reason. A wri- ter should use language in its common meaning if he can, and if he needs new words or new shades of meaning for old ones, he ought to explain his in- novations fully and be consistent in the use of his. new terms. But the best intentions and greatest care will seldom secure a writer from real inconsist- ency in the use of terms or from such a use of them that his meaning may not in some cases be misun- derstood, even by careful readers. When words and phrases have had a fixed meaning with us, it is difficult to constantly give a different meaning to them. There is much error in the world that passes current, because it comes to us in well-worn formu- las of speech, as counterfeit money passes among common people more readily when it has become soiled by the fingers of the hundreds it has deceived, than when it comes fresh from the printing-press. The very dirt and rents are marks of many judg- ments in its favor, and none but an expert would pronounce against the many endorsements of gen- uineness which it bears. It is to our mental gear 24 Instinct. not to say our moral convictions, like the shock of the suddenly stopping car to the body, for some bold innovator to demolish as baseless or false, some favorite definition — some good old form of speech in which our thoughts had run as in the track of truth. But this power of language has its use. When truth has taken a particular formula of words for its expression, the formula alone will often answer our purpose ; and we can use it, as does the mathe- matician his algebraic formulas, without the trouble of verifying them in every operation. It be- comes one then who enters upon any investigation or discussion for the sake of truth, to guard himself at every step, lest he be misled by old formulas or by taking advantage of accepted formulas, cover error with them, deceiving himself and perchance those whom he attempts to instruct. If his object is simply to carry a point, the more he can bring his new doctrines under old forms of speech and his errors into the formulas that custom has stamp- ed with the sanction of truth, the better will he succeed. There is at the present time much controversy in the scientific world not only because men seem determined to confine the Baconian philosophy to matter alone, but because they insist upon using the same formulas for very different elements in the great circle of truth. The sine of ninety de- grees is equal to radius, but the tangent of ninety degrees is infinite, and any mathematician who af- firms that they are equal simply because they are Introductory. 25 related to the same sector of a circle, or tries to use the formula of one for that of the other, will waste his own labors and mislead all who trust in him. There is one part of the quadrant in which the tangent equals the sine of ninety degrees, and the formula of one might be used for that of the other without essential error. But after passing that point they differ more and more in value, until at another part of the quadrant no number is suffi- ciently great to express the difference between them. The change in the comparative value of these two elements is analogous to the divergence between the different elements in man’s nature, that may, under certain conditions, be expressed by the same formulas, but which demand for their full treatment modes of thought and formulas of language widely different from each other. As I propose to lecture on Instinct it might fair ly be claimed that I should define the word at the outset. If I were to do so, few of my audience would agree with me fully. We should not agree where Instinct begins to control action nor where it gives place to another guide. Its nature and office would both be subjects of controversy. Were I to copy the best definitions ever written there is not one of them that some of us would not consider de- fective in some respects. It would either take for granted what we should not accept or it would deny directly or by implication what we are ready to as- sume as true. But we may be guided by these def- initions, provisionally, treating them like bills before 2 26 Instinct. our Legislature, which may be altered or amended even to the ‘‘ striking out of all but the enacting clause,” and substituting entirely different bills in their place. According to Paley, ’‘^Instinct is a propensity prior to experience and independent of instruction! Whately says, '‘'‘Instinct is a blind tendency to some mode of action, independent of any consideration on the part of the agent, of the end to which the ac- tion leads I' Hamilton gives this definition, '' Instinct is an ageyit which performs blindly and ignorantly a work of intelligence and knowledge! Either of these definitions will serve a good pur- pose in guiding us in our investigation. We ac- cept neither of them as complete. We shall make no attempt to define Instinct till the close of these lectures. And then probably instead of attempting a single, simple definition, as might be given of a single force or mathematical figure, we shall have to content ourselves with an enumeration of impulses and methods of action that are called instinctive, because they come neither from experience nor in- struction. We must assume that there is in the world something which we may call matter, force, vitality, sensation, voluntary action. Instinct and Reason. We will make no attempt now to draw the dividing line between them nor to determine how far one of them can be resolved into another. These may all be regarded, by some, as different manifestations of the same thing ; but good usage of language de- Introductory. 27 mands of us, or at least allows us, to use these words as the names of distinct things and as terms so well understood as to need no special explana- tion, as they are used in this discussion. Their meaning, as generally understood, is sufficiently precise for our present purpose. ^ As it would be agreed by all that Instinct lies somewhere in the field of vitality, we shall trace that in all its manifestations, that we may find just what activities there are in the plant, in the animal, and in man. Throwing aside, if possible, our pre- conceived notions of the difference between them, we will inquire What they are ? What they do ? And before our work is done, we may be able to see whether there are distinct planes of being, — planes differing in kind, — or whether all manifestations of vitality merely differ in degree ; — whether Instinct is something by itself as a distinct principle, or is a mere summation of powers acting in a specific method ; — whether it is simply an extension of phys- iological function on the one hand, or the nebulous form of intellect and reason on the other. The apparent work of Instinct, or the operation "h of the instinctive principles of action, is to fit the animal to the world ; to enable him to battle for existence, to hold his place in spite of opposing forces and enemies, — in fact, to make the forces and products of nature his servants so far as they are needful for his perfection. It secures this by put- ting him at once, by a spontaneous manifestation of impulse, knowledge and skill, into the needful re- lations to those objects in nature that are necessa- 28 Instinct, ry for his individual welfare or that of the species. It does this in many cases with almost the certain- ty of the operations of the laws of inorganic nature. Not more surely does the stone thrown into the air come to the ground, or water seek a level, than the bird knows its time for nesting and the materi- al and fashion which mark the work of the species. And when Instinct varies or is deceived, as some- times happens, it is done according to some law of the creature’s being, by the introduction of some new condition ; as the stone returning to the earth may be turned from the curve which gravitation alone would give it, by the current of wind. Instinct begins its work by utilizing structure and function of organs. Has the bird a gland for the secretion of oil ? She knows instinctively how to press the oil from the gland and apply it to the feather. Has the rattlesnake the grooved tooth and gland of poison ? He knows without instruction how to make both structure and function most ef- fective against his enemies. Has the silk-worm the function of secreting the fluid silk ? At the proper time, she winds the cocoon such as she has never seen, as thousands before have done ; and thus without instruction, pattern or experience, forms a safe abode for herself in the period of transforma- tion. Has the hawk talons ? She knows by in- stinct how to wield 'jthem effectively against the helpless quarry. But it is not structure and function alone that call instinct into play. There are certain manifes- tations of Instinct that are marvellous — manifesta- Introductory, 29 tions that never could have been suggested to us by the study of the structure or function of organs. It is a function of the salmon as of the codfish to bring forth eggs. But why does not the salmon deposit her eggs in the salt waters where she loves to swim ? While the codfish finds her breeding place in the ocean, the salmon leaves the ocean and seeks the clear cold waters of the fresh streams as the place for depositing her eggs. She selects the best place in the stream, and after covering her eggs with gravel she leaves them to the care of the elements. She has done the best in her power for them and in all this work we say she is guided by Instinct. But in due time by the same sort of spon- taneous impulse and knowledge or guidance, her young find the pathway to the ocean feeding grounds without the parent’s aid. These are fair examples of instinctive action, or of spontaneous impulse, knowledge and. skill, which are generally spoken of as the operations of some distinct princi- ple in the animal. The impulse, that arises in every one of the spe- cies at a given season of the year, or at a given pe- riod of its own development, to do the same thing — the apparent knowledge by which acts are per- formed to meet coming emergencies, the like of which the animals have never witnessed-the skill in working that comes without instruction or expe- rience — all these are inscrutible. So much of all of these, as is needful for the preservation of each species, it seems to have as an original outfit, and 30 Instinct, that IS all we can at present say. For convenience we call this summation of spontaneous powers that extend beyond physiological functions, INSTINCT. This Instinct we find utilizing both structure and function. And we also see it making a broader manifestation controlling the whole being, as when the fowl hides from the bird of prey now seen for the first time, and the migratory birds and fishes know their appointed seasons. In the manifestation of Instinct in the relation of the sexes — in the provision made by the parent in- sect for its young which it will never see — in the skill with which every organ is put to its specific use, with the same celerity and accuracy by ani- mals of the same species from age to age, we find some of’the most interesting fields of speculation. It is here that Natural History and Speculative Philosophy meet, — where they ought not to meet as opponents, — because if they do, one of them must be in the wrong, — but as allies in the search for truth, in unfolding the plan of creation, in set- ting forth its final causes and the varied relations of its parts. But if Natural History and Speculative Philos- ophy are to meet on common ground and join as helpers in a common work, each should understand the other and not despise the materials nor the processes which the other is compelled to use. As to their materials, the two departments of science differ greatly. And in the clearness and precision of its processes. Natural History can certainly claim wonderful advances within a short time. This gives Introductory, 31 it the tendency to claim superiority and to chal- lenge comparison. It is sure to come off victor, be- fore those guided by the senses alone. For while great success has been achieved in providing mate- rials for cabinets and in all fields of labor where the senses are the chief agencies employed, the whole supersensual world seems to be in a deplorable state of confusion to all,except to those philosophic minds who have the power to observe order in the midst of seeming chaos, and have also power to con- struct wholes from loose and disjointed fragments. The observers of the supersensual are comparatively few, and they are seldom young men ; for the natu- ral field of labor of the young lies chiefly in the re- gion of sensible objects. There is therefore, in general, less enthusiasm and display among the stu- dents of mind and morals than among Botanists and Zoologists. There is in the study of the su- persensual no method applicable for increasing the natural power of observation with such appliances as are always at hand for physical research and which so impress the multitude. Each observer is confined mainly to himself for his facts. The pe- riod of childhood he can explore only by the dim light of memory and by inference. In the whole realm of animated nature below him he now is, and must ever remain, entirely ignorant of sensation and will, except as he infers their nature from the study of himself and the comparison of himself with the lower orders of creation. This comparison of the supersensual in animals and man should be more thorough than any that 32 Instinct. has yet been made and its results should be honest ly accepted. The comparison of man’s anatomical structure with that of the lower orders of animals, has been most perfect and satisfactory. The whole verte- brate series is bound together with such homolo- gies of structure that no casual observer even, can fail to recognize the unity of plan. A careful ex- amination of the structure of man reveals not a sin- gle essential bone or organ that is not found in the lower members of the vertebrate group. If we take man as the perfection of the vertebrate type, then it is proper to say that every essential organ in the structure of the vertebrate animals is simply a mod- ification of some organ found in man, either in his mature or early state. This comparison has been made so many times that the results are accepted as those products of science which no man of com- mon intelligence is expected to deny. If there is doubt on any point, the materials are abundant for re-examination of the subject. Every bone, tissue and organ in the human body can be compared with the corresponding part in each one of the distinct vertebrate types within a year, by hundreds of men in different parts of the world. A new animal dis- covered can be compared with those already known and the modification of every organ be noted. This correspondence of bone and muscle seems to say that Creative Power seeks simplicity through unity of plan. He makes a hand, a foot, a wing or fin by the modification of the sam'e organ, or more Introductory. 33 strictly upon one type. So fixed is this rule that if some vertebrate, such as had never before been seen, were to be now discovered, we should feel sure that its organs of locomotion, whether for run- ning, flying or swimming, would be found to be fashioned on the type of the human foot and hand. But as regards the supersensual part in man com- pared with that in the lower animals, we find among the ablest students the most diverse opinions — some affirming that there is nothing in man not found in the lower animals,-that a dog even, has more moral nature than some men : and others of our able philosophers denying to man even the faintest manifestation of those instinctive principles of action that appear in the brutes. By some the brain is regarded simply as the organ of the mind, which as an incorporeal existence makes the brain its servant, as the engineer controls the engine, which may be broken, defective and even destroyed, while the engineer remains with all his capacities perfect. According to others, mind and thought if any distinction is made between them, are both the offspring of the brain — the result of the forma- tion and decomposition of brain cells, the manifes- tation of forces evolved by a sort of higher chemi- cal action, as heat is evolved by the union of coal and oxygen or the electrical current is set in motion by a certain interaction of metals and acids. While among those who have studied man most carefully there is an essential agreement as to the facts of consciousness, in the metaphysical conclu- sions as to the nature of being, of mind and the 34 Instinct. mental processes there is the widest diversity Nor are these speculations unimportant. They lie at the foundation of systems of education and mor- als. They influence us in training the young, and in our estimate of life; and they consequently shape the most important acts of our life. They will con- tinue to influence the world in all its great move- ments of moral and social reform. In a field where the thinkers are so divided, and where nothing but careful and long-continued ob- servation, accurate analysis and cautious generali- zations will avail, we cannot too soon begin the work nor prosecute it too zealously. If we are to reach correct results, we must here pursue the true scientific method of gathering facts and of fearlessly following the conclusion, which those facts warrant wherever they may lead. It is generally conceded, if we judge from the language used by authors, that there is found in the animal kingdom, if we include man. Instinct^ Intelligence and Reason, But when we ask. Are these distinct in kind or do they differ only in de- gree ? Are brutes possessed of instinct alone ? Has man instinct ? What acts are instinctive and \yhat are rational ? The answers that come to us show that the best thinkers can seldom agree. In the majority of cases they differ not only in their state- ments, but when those statements are stripped of all possible ambiguity, it is found that there is a real difference in belief. It is in vain for us to attempt to bring order out Introductory. 35 of this chaos by definitions or by any mere accura- cy of statement. Accuracy in language is impossi- ble while the thought is confused. And defini- tions, if they do not correspond to the thing de- fined, are a constant source of mischief. The mind, satisfied with its definition, accepts that, and too of- ten ignores the facts that ought to correct the defi- nition, or misinterprets them to bring them into unison with some favorite system or theory. Is it possible then to treat of Instinct without being misled by the word ? — without being bound by some old definition that shall threaten us with destruction when we pass its limits, as the soldier is liable to be shot when he passes beyond the dead- line of his prison grounds? We will make the attempt. If we use any definition of Instinct, we will do it only for convenience, as we have inti- mated, holding ourselves free to search for facts and to give them an honest interpretation, even if they force upon us a new definition at every lec- ture. Guizot has well remarked, when defining the word civilization, that it is the popular meaning of this word that we must investigate ; and then adds, that the common meaning of a word is much more correct than the scientific meaning which has been given by a few persons under the influence of a par- ticular fact that has taken possession of the imagi- nation. The same is true, undoubtedly, of the word Instinct. It is the popular use of the word that must for the present serve our purpose as a name for certain phenomena as a whole, but it is Instinct 3 ^ Instmct. as a fact, as revealed by these phenomena, that we must investigate. It is our work then to inquire what animals do as sentient beings, as voluntary beings, as manifest- ing sensation, choice, volition, contrivance and mem- or}q — to inquire how far an animal ever improves by experience, — in a word, to inquire what are the kinds of acts that animals perform and what are the conditions under which they perform them. Then we are to inquire what kinds of acts man per- forms and the conditions under which he performs them. When these two series of observations are placed side by side and a comparison is made be- tween them, we shall have the best conditions pos- sible for deciding what are the characteristics com- mon to both man and the lower animals, and the means of detecting any power or faculty which either possesses as his peculiar distinction. From such an examination much might be hoped for, in rendering the lower animals more subservient to us and in securing to them proper usage ; but its special use will be to give us a fuller knowledge of our own capacities and powers than could ever be learned from consciousness, or any study of man alone. No attempt will be made to gather the wonders of Instinct, many of the accounts of which were in- vented or embellished for entertaining story-books ; but the best known examples of instinctive action will be taken, such as can in most cases be easily observed in any part of the world, simply to show what Instinct is in its varied manifestations, — as a Introdiictory. 37 foundation for the comparison which we wish to in- stitute between man and the lower animals. If we mistake not, we shall find Instinct to be one of the great provisions which make the present condition of the world possible — an absolute neces- sity in animal life. It is one method of carrying out a plan, or if one objects to this phrase, it is one part of a great system which we find in operation around us. This system is a unity in its operations — so far a unity that we detect the same method in all its parts — in parts even the most remote. That we may see the relation of instinctive acts to other operations in nature and the use of Instinct itself, we shall trace the analogies of Instinct when- ever we can find them. Our scheme then will em- brace the consideration of the following topics, — 1. The operations in inorganic nature foreshad-- owing Instinct. 2. The operations in plant life simulating In- stinct. 3 . The operations in aitimal Physiology simulating Instinct. 4. Lowest forms of Instinct for the welfare of the individual^ supplementing physiology or function of organs. 5. The higher forms of Instinct for the welfare of the individual animal ; as knowing its enemies with- out experience. 6. The relation of Instinct to special structure. 7. Instinct as necessary for communities of ani- mals. 8. Development of Instinct by parental relation 38 Instinct, prompting the parent to provide for or to defend its young. g. Instincts of young anunals to bring them into proper relations to their parents and the world. Also the peculiar instinct of one stage of being as prepara- tory to another in which that instinct is entirely losty — as in the case of many insects. 10. Instinct of animals demanding certain changes in other anhnals or plants for the completion of its work. 11. Variatiofi of instinct in domestic animals and its relation to man as making such anunals useful. 12. Instinct as a law for the animal but subject to organic or functional changes in the system. Cir- ^ cumstances under which instmct may be deceived. Higher character of animals. Do they think and reason ? Have they intelligence as a guiding principle or subordinated to Distinct ? 14. Instinct in man growing out of his appetites — wholly animal. 1 5 . Instinct in its relation to the desires^ — the ba- sis of the social nature. 16. The nature of instinctive and intuitive knowledge. 17. Moral instincts. The distinction between men and animals and the directing power in both. 18. Relation of instinct to prayer ^ faith and im- mortality. 19. Relation of the subject to education^ govern- ment and social reform. While this scheme gives the outline of thought to be presented it does not in all cases show the Introductory. 39 exact order in which the topics will be discussed. As the same phenomena appear in different depart- ments of nature the same topics will appear in the discussion whenever the subject in hand aids in their illustration or needs them for its own. In such a field there is scope for the most thorough research and analysis. If we can but call more careful attention to these departments of study we may hope for much advantage to speculative sci- ence and practical life. LECTURE II. OPERATIONS IN INORGANIC NATURE AND PLANT LIFE THAT SIMULATE INSTINCT. Definitions of Paley, Whately and Hamilton considered . — The ofidee of the Physical Forces. — Life, Sensation, Volition. — Method of discussion explained . — Positivism. — Instinct part of a series of agencies. — Life depending upon the position of the earth and the changes within it. — Geologic changes. — Activities of the plant . — Instinct-like provisions of plants. — Community of action. — Special provision of the tree for itself. — Special structures and functions . — Provision made by plants for their young. In our last lecture we gave three definitions of In- stinct from writers of acknowledged authority, — Paley, Whately and Hamilton. Definitions might be multiplied, but those are as well fitted as any, for provisional use. Let us see exactly what they affirm. Paley says there is a propensity prior to experience and indeperident of in^ struction. From this we infer, that the propensity is to do something which might by some beings be learned from experience or that might be learned by them from another, by instruction. But we are not told whether the being that acts instinctively Whately's DeJinitio7i. 41 has any power of gaining knowledge by experience or from instruction, or whether it has any compre- hension of the work which it performs. In fact the definition, instead of settling any thing, is simply a dogmatic assertion from which questions branch off in all directions. And many of our best natu- ralists would begin by denying the assertion alto- gether. Whately says, Instinct is a tendency to some mode of action, and since he says it is a blmd ten- dency — we suppose he argues that the tendency comes without experience or instruction. But he adds this important element to Paley’s definition, that this tendency is independent of a7iy consideration on the part of the agent of the end to which the action leads. Here then we have another very sweeping assertion, for it puts every instinctive act on a level with the movement of water under the influence of gravitation, or the movement of particles in the process of crystallization. This assertion is not made of certain instinctive acts but of all. Accord- ing to this, whenever we decide that any act is in- stinctive, we must also decide that the animal per- forming it has no consideration of the end to which the action leads, however complex the action or wonderful the end secured. This definition standing by itself without expla- nations would give rise to as much controversy as that of Paley ; for after two men had agreed to ac- cept it they still might be very far from agreeing whether a specific act was instinctive or not. After agreeing upon the definition, perhaps the first ob- 42 Instmct. ject seen would be a flock of birds migrating north. One might affirm migration to be with birds an in- stinctive act, and therefore that the birds had no consideration of the object of their long journey, while the other might believe that they went under the leadership of old birds that had learned, by the slowly accumulated experience of the species, where the best breeding places were to be found and there- fore that the act of migrating is removed from the sphere of Instinct to that of Intelligence. But both of these authors agree in this, that In- stinct is simply a tendency. They do not speak of it as an existence, an entity, but as something like a hahit though not gained by the individual by re- peated acts, as habits are. It may be well in pass- ing to say that there are able thinkers who regard instinct as nothing more than the fixed habits of the species, accumulated and transmitted after be- coming fixed by long continuance. When we consider Hamilton’s definition we have a new element still. He says Instinct is an agent. If we understand this language at all, it implies that Instinct is an entity, something as distinct in exist- ence as an element or as Reason, to say the least. And we are inclined to think that this is the com- mon notion. We have frequent attempts made to draw the dividing line between Instinct and Rea- son, which implies that by such writers one is con- sidered as much a distinct agent or agency as the other. Both terms however are often used in a very indefinite manner. But Hamilton adds that this agent. Instinct, performs blindly a7id ignorantly Hamilton's Definition. 43 a work of intelligence and knowledge. Here we have again the assertion of entire ignorance on the part of the actor of the end in view in every instinctive act ; but that the work is still one of intelligence and knowledge. We suppose this simply means that the work performed instinctively, that is, with- out a comprehension, by the actor, of the end aimed at, is such as would commend itself to the judg- ment of an intelligent and wise being as man may become by experience and by instruction from the experience of others. We must here anticipate our discussion by saying that we believe there are such acts, and that they have their place of necessity in the great system of means by which organic beings are kept on this globe. If we commence with gravitation, the lowest and most far-reaching of all the forces that modify and control this universe, we can pass on through a series of agencies till we reach man, who has power of self-control and is able to comprehend the mech- anism of the universe. And when he, through this power of comprehension, surveys all these agencies below him in their relation to each other, he finds each one of them doing, in its own sphere, just what Hamilton asserts to be the work of Instinct. That is, in their relations to other agencies, they are do- ing just what a wise being would approve of, be- cause, by the combined action of all, results are reached that commend themselves to Reason. It is gravitation that gives form to the globe, holds it in place and moves it as a part of a system of worlds around the Sun. Cohesion cements the 44 Instinct. elements together, gathers the minerals into veins, holds the continents in place, the mountains on their rocky thrones, and by its varying strength gives the different forms of matter upon the globe. Chemical affinity, with a magician’s power, joins dif- ferent elements to produce unnumbered products, and prepare the way for life. Life itself, known only in the development of some germ, answers to the call of the forces below it, and then in turn makes them its servants, till sensation is introduced. t From ser^tion we have a whole train of reflex ac- tions and the craving of the appetites that tend to preserve the organism but are involuntary in their V action. Then one step higher we have acts which arise from spontaneous impulse, that are always de- pendent upon volition, and involve skill and adapta- tion of means to ends, but are apparently performed without any comprehension of the end, by the > actor. One step higher still we have acts that originate from some spontaneous impulse but are plainly modified by some consideration of the end or some comprehension of the results. All of these classes of acts man can see below him. And these three classes of acts have been strangely mingled together in treating of Instinct. It is not strange therefore that there have been disagreement and confusion. Most authors have started with some definition of Instinct like those given, and then have joined with it the assertion that the lower animals have no Intelligence. It is no wonder that they have found difficulty in drawing the dividing line be- The Earth. 45 tween instinctive and rational acts, even using the word rational in its lowest sense. All the agencies from gravitation to Instinct, as thus far defined, are parts of one plan, and they all do the work of Intelligence as much as Instinct it- self ; that is, a work that in the end is approved by man — the highest Intelligence on the globe. That we may see that Instinct is nothing pecu- liar as to its method of action, we shall briefly trace the action of the agencies below it that are condi- tional for its work. And we therefore invite your attention to a brief examination of the first two topics of the program presented at the close of our last lecture. The operations in inorganic nature and plant life that simulate Instinct. It was the notion of some formerly that the earth was a living thing. The balmy breezes and the storms, the ceaseless tides that mark the chang- ing level of the oceans, and the earthquakes rending the solid ground, were all the living movements of this huge Behemoth, the earth. This poetic notion has no place in the prosaic, scientific beliefs of the present day; though there was such a semblance of truth as its foundation, that much of Its lan- guage and something of its impression still remains even with the most cultivated. In figurative lan- guage we speak of the earth as our mother, and there is significance in the language as we come from her bosom, enjoy the boundless provision which she has made for our wants, and then are gathered to her peaceful rest. But it is only in po- 46 ^nstinct. etic language and by that power of association that makes a tree, a brook or the old farm-house dear to us as a friend, that we can speak of the earth as other than a clod. Through all this mechanism and the forces by which man is formed of the dust of the earth and his wants provided for, we may recognize the power, wisdom and skill of a Personal Being. We may do the same in the manifestations of ac- knowledged Instinct in animals and the affections in man ; since they all form parts of a system and of such a system as the wisdom of man approves of — such as he cannot refer to chance nor to this clod of earth, with all its elements and forces. But all such questions as to chance, design, personality and its attributes manifested through the works of na- ture, belong to Natural Theology, with which we have nothing now to do. For our present discussion we inquire simply for manifestations ; and we do not propose to trace those manifestations farther than to the agent or being in which they appear. Our first question in every case will be. What is ? not, How came it so ? How is the earth, the plant, the animal and man constituted? Not, How came they to be so con- stituted ? For the purposes of our present inquiry we may believe that all things began to exist a century ago, or that they have existed for an indefinite cycle of ages. Questions of origin are proper subjects of investigation, but they have only an incidental bear- ing upon our present discussion. Such questions may arise in the progress of our investigations, but Positive Pliilosophy. 47 we shall not seek for them nor feel bound to attempt their answer. Shall we then free ourselves of all preconceived notions of creation — of development, of Theology — of how things ought to he — or, at least, leave them for future discussion and apply ourselves to the task of learning what is — in the department of nature which we propose to investigate ? If we can do this, we shall gain for ourselves all the good which Pos- itive Philosophy has ever had to offer as a guide in science, without committing ourselves to its dog- mas. And this much should be said in favor of Positivism, that its method is the only true one for approaching every natural science. Whether the human mind can stop, or ought to attempt to stop, within the limits which Positive Philosophy pre- scribes for it, is a very different question. Will you allow me then, for convenience of lan- guage, to speak of the earth with all its elements, the stars and planets, as all acting by a power of their own to produce the varied results that are naturally ascribed to them ? But these results as- cribed to them are meaningless to us unless they have some known connection with an end. And an end or purpose either by itself or as part of a se- ries of purposes, is always apprehended by us as having relation to sentient beings. \ye recognize then in the operations of inorgan- ic nature certain provisions for organized beings — beings that can grow, flourish, languish and die. The full provision consists of a mutual adaptation of the being and the world to each other. It is a 48 Instinct. maxim accepted almost without a dissenting voice, that animals provide for themselves by Instinct. Instinct seems to be regarded as something that has power to lay the world under contribution for its possessor’s good. It has been considered quite too much by itself, rather than as a part only of that complicated series of adjustments by which liv- ing beings are kept upon the globe. How small a part it plays among the lower animals, and the rank of its work, will be best understood by understand- ing the whole machinery of which it is only one wheel — a part essential to the range of animal life upon the globe, but still utterly valueless were there not a more complicated machinery or more com- plicated parts of the same machine in constant op- eration. Instinct alone would be like the loom of the cotton-mill with no card or spinning-frame to prepare material for its work. It is in the inorgan- ic world, in the vegetable kingdom and in the anat- omy and physiology of the animal system that we find the supplementary parts of that nicely-adjusted machine which we call Nature. The earth is clothed with plants, the rivers, lakes and oceans have their share of vegetable life. And rising higher still on the land and swarming in the waters, are the varied forms of the animal kingdom. We speak of animals as adapting themselves to the world by Instinct, and of the plants as finding their places by some law of distribution. All this is true. But the immediate agencies that attract our atten- tion in both cases are only a part, and a small part, Conditions of Life, 49 of the agencies that secure the result. How futile would be the keenest Instinct of animals, and how useless all the machinery in the vegetable kingdom for the distribution of plants, if the earth itself were not a preserver of both animals and plants by the balance of its forces and the ready yielding of its elements for their protection and support ! We cannot tell what compensations there may be on other planets to make such life as our earth has possible on them, or what forms of life may be fitted to flourish under their physical conditions ; but the constitution of our earth we can understand, and the capabilities of all living forms both of plants and animals we are able to gauge. If we cannot mark the exact power of endurance of each kind, we can set a limit of cold and heat beyond which no living thing could exist. A nearness to the sun that should give us a temperature of three hundred degrees in every portion of the globe would render the existence of every known form of life now upon our earth impossible. A temperature of zero con- tinued for ages would bring all oceans to solid ice, and in the end make the earth a barren waste. Let the earth then wander from her path and approach the sun until she circles far within the or- bit of Mercury, or let her forget the centripetal force and extend her path to the outer verge of the solar system ; in one case she would become a blaz- ing ball until wrapped in the terrible mantle of oceans changed to steam ; in the other, earth and water would be changed to solid stone and the sum- mer’s cold would exceed the deadly breath of arctic 3 50 Instinct, winter in the depth of its polar night. How pow- erless every form of life would be under such chang- es ! The adaptation of the plant, the Instinct of the animal, the forethought, the wisdom and science of man would be without avail, and all forms of life would as surely perish as the nestlings of the bird or the tender infant would perish without a parent's care. The young bird just raises its head and opens its bill to be fed. Without the responsive care of the mother it must die. Little more than this act of the young bird, in the series of acts necessary for its support, is the act of the most cunning Instinct or of human wisdom itself compared with all the la- bors of mother earth to supplement their acts in sustaining life or securing enjoyment. The earth completes her circuit round the sun and gives each year the conditions of some form of life from pole to pole. She supplements, on a grand scale, the structure, function and Instinct of all the tribes that dwell upon her. No matter now how all these ad- justments were secured. Structure and function and Instinct are adapted to the conditions of the globe, and all of thpse together secure or make pos- sible the forms of life that now exist. And what a multitude of conditions must combine in the struct- ure and movements of the earth itself to foster the wealth of life which she lovingly bears on her bos- f om ! In the summer months she cares for the northern zone. She wakes to life the sleeping germs, the waiting buds and bulbs, by lengthening the day and wooing the vertical sun as the mother Provisions for Life, 51 bird with patient watching warms to life the egg within the nest. But when the sun has quickened life, the office of the earth has but just begun, as the work of the mother bird begins in earnest when the hungry brood call for food. The quickening of the thousand forms of life, from bud and root and seed seems the signal to the earth for renewed activities on every side to supply them with the means of growth. In the soil she sets to work a laboratory so wonderful that all the science of the world cannot equal the perfections of its operations. She there combines the gases, gives up the richness of her rocks and forms the food on which plants can alone exist. Then through the thousand pores she draws the food in contact with the rootlets that are eager to drink it in. In the air she brings to every leaf a supply for its thou- sand hungry mouths. At night she distills the re- freshing dew, and anon she brings up the thick wa- ter cloud that, descending in the rain, gives verdure to the field and forest and springs among the hills. Who can contem^plate the machinery by which life is sustained for a single summer and not be struck with the wonderful provisions in inorganic nature, a single one of which failing no adjusting power of animals or plants could save them? That chemis- try of soils and air, — that mechanism of attraction, — that machinery of evaporation and transportation and condensation must all be kept in constant oper- ation to secure this one result, the perpetuation of life on the globe. And how wonderfully alike is the sum of all these agencies from year to year ! 52 Instinct. The winds blow when and where they list — the days of wet and drought and heat and cold no one can foretell. But at the end of the year, the result of all these operations is found to be near the re- sult for all other years — to come so near to the or- dinary range of climatic change that it may with truth be said that seed-time and harvest never fail. Nor is the earth’s work finished when this com- plicated machinery within her soil and atmosphere has covered the fields and forests with their yearly fruits. When the plants have provided for them- selves in ways which we shall describe, through this agency of the earth, she, like a careful mother, pro- vides for their winter’s sleep. In northern climes the water takes the feathery form of snow, and like a covering of down protects the tender plants and roots so that many forms are preserved that but for this protection would be destroyed or confined to more southern lands. While northern life is sleeping, the same forces that once acted upon it are provid- ing for the southern zones. If we go back to geo- logic ages the lesson is the same. The provision was the same in kind as now appears, but each geo- logic age was itself a provision for those that were to follow — and all of them were preparatory for the present. While the earth supplied the wants of the tribes that held possession of her, in each of her unmeasured eras, she was providing as by a demi- urgic Instinct for the present generations. No matter now what were the forces employed, no matter whether all this work is the wild sport of chance or the ordaining of Infinite Wisdom. In Geologic Change. 53 either case the result is plain, and such a one that all must admit that the structure of the earth and^ all its surroundings justify themselves to reason as a fit provision for such a being as man is. As he progresses in knowledge he not only does better for himself, but he discovers new adaptations of this physical universe to his wants. Every fracture of the rocks, every folding stratum, every vein of met- al, every mineral deposit and every step by which oceans were bounded, mountain chains thrown up, water sheds determined, river channels cut and springs planted among the hills, all these labors of the earth, seem to have been as truly for her children — for every living thing — as the instinctive work of animals is for their young which they pro- vide for, though perchance are never to see. Thus far we have spoken of the earth as though caring for organic beings as the mother cares for her children. In all the changes of the earth there have been results that simulate the work of Instinct, and simulate it so closely that many changes in the inorganic world supplement the operations of life, as though the Physical Forces, Physiological Forces and Instinct took counsel together in caring for every living thing, and each took up the task at an appointed time. One responds to the other, and so completely do they do this that it is difficult in all cases to say which we should most admire in the parts they play in carrying on the work. As the young of the animal responds to the parent's In- stinct to secure its aid, so do the various tribes of plants respond to inorganic nature. 54 Instinct, In the changes of the inorganic world we recog nize no care for itself. There is nothing in itself to be cared for. We see no purpose except in connec- tion with life or in relation to it. And however vague our notion of Instinct may be, we always rec- ognize in it some purpose, and that purpose as hav- ing relation to life. We may then readily recog- nize operations in inorganic nature having reference to plants, their preservation or growth, while there is no possibility of recognizing such care in the globe itself for its own sake or for the sake of any of its parts. We do not see how Infinite Wisdom even could devise any thing for the good of inor- ganic nature or any part of it. The conditions of receiving good are found only in living beings. But in the plant, a living being, we may recog- nize a provision for itself, because in it is a life to be preserved, and certain conditions are to be secured for the best manifestation of that life. The plant also may have relations to the animal kingdom, making for it, or some portion of it, instinct-like pro- visions, as inorganic nature has made for the plant. We have here also in the plant an entirely new field of activities — those growing out of real paren- tal relation. The tree has not only to provide for itself but for the thousand young plantlets set free in its seeds, each one fitted to become a new centre of life and representative of the species. We have then in the plant all those activities that secure in the vegetable kingdom the same ends which in the animal kingdom are usually secured by Instinct — care of the individual and the production and care Adaptation of Plants. 55 of young for the preservation of the species. For convenience in illustrating these activities we shall speak of the plant as sentient. The curious processes by which every species adapts itself to the world may be structural or func- tional ; but a plan is so readily recognized and the results are reached by such complicated operations, all moving harmoniously together, that every ob- server must be struck with the close imitation of voluntary action — of instinctive foresight and skill in adapting means to ends. We have this apparent foresight and skill manifested to some extent in al- most every plant that clothes the earth, and almost every species has manifestations of contrivance pe- culiar to itself. The study of the instinct-like provisions in the growth of plants and bodies of animals will prepare us to understand that acknowledged Instinct, in its lowest forms, simply carries the work of life one step farther through volition, than mere structure and function could possibly do. The best known trees — the oak or apple — will af- ford ample illustration of provisions for themselves and young that simulate the work of Instinct. The oak, that must brave the storms for centu-V ries, sends out its thickened roots swelling high from the trunk, like buttresses to a castle wall, but firmer in position and better balanced than any ever fashioned by the wisest architect. The Eddy- stone light-house, that defies the power of the sea, was fashioned by its great builder, Smeaton, from the study of the oak. Well may this tree be taken 56 Instinct. as the symbol of strength. Every limb is banded with swollen rings of gnarled and knotted fibre. The work is done for centuries, and every year adds new supports to meet the' increasing weight from growth. But this work is all varied as the exi- gencies of the case demand. The oak upon the hill-side, exposed to every wind, builds its base broader, springs every buttress deeper, and strength- ens most the side that must bear the constant at- tack, All this is the law of its growth, says one. Certainly it is, but that law of growth provides, like the law of Instinct, for the preservation of the indi- vidual according to the conditions which are to be met. There is in the organism a certain amount of flexibility, enabling it to meet the varying condi- tions, and an actual change according to the condi- tions, as certain and complete within certain limits as though sensation and volition were agencies in the work. Every tree is a community of individuals, and the trunk is the common work of all the buds and for their use, as the coral dome is for the coral polyps, or the hornet’s nest is for the community of hornets. The coral dome is the product of growth and the nest is the work of Instinct; but they both have the same relation to a community, they are the joint product and the joint property of all the indi- viduals that labored or were concerned directly or indirectly in their production. As the coral polyp, each working for itself, aids by the law of its growth to build up a structure for the benefit of the whole colony, so do the oak buds by the law of their Instinct-like Work. growth build up the trunk and all the machinery of the roots for the benefit of the thousands of in- dividual plants or buds that make a full grown tree. In the same way, but under the impulse and guidance of Instinct, do social animals, like the hor- 9 net and beaver, build nests and dams for the com- mon good. Since the tree is fixed to one place and yet must feed mainly upon the products of the soil, it pro- vides for itself anew every year organs for feeding, by increasing its surface of root by the formation of fibrils that penetrate the soil in all directions. The food of the tree consists of the salts and gases in solution. As these substances are carried down by abundant surface rains, or drawn up by capilla- ry attraction, they cannot escape the eager rootlets that sweep the soil in all directions by their fixed net-work, as completely as the coral polyp and oth- er forms of animals sweep the waters with their ten- tacles. In the spring time also the tree puts out its wealth of leaves to gather additional food from the' air. And what ample provision is made for carry- ing on this work ! What apparent forethought and wisdom do we here find in the economy of the tree ! The leaf not only gathers crude materials from the air, but it is the laboratory in which all materials taken from both earth and air are elaborated and fitted for building up the tree in all its parts. The material that forms the leaf must itself be first elab- orated. How shall the tree without leaves clothe itself with its acres of foliage ? It does this by a fore- 3 * % 58 Instinct. sight which closely imitates the higher provisions made by Instinct. Near the close of each season there is elaborated by every tree food that is not then used but stored up in its tissues for a day of need. That time of need is the next spring, when the new generation of leaves suddenly appears, un- folding as garlands of beauty upon every tree and shrub, but having in addition to their beauty of form and color for adorning the earth, the more im- portant office of building up the tree and preparing for flowers and fruit that without the leaf would wither and fall for want of food. Now it is, as a first step in the work of the new year, that the ma- terial prepared beforehand by the tree and safely kept in its tissues during the winter months, is called into requisition for leaf-making. In vain would the spring sunshine and showers soften the sward and stimulate the buds, and quicken the roots to gather materials from the soil — the tree would die in the midst of plenty and with every outward condition in favor of its life, had it not wisely stored up material already elaborated for the making of leaves. When they are once unfolded, the earth and air are both laid under continued con- tribution to furnish all the products of the year. And when the layer of woody fibre has been added to the tree, the fruits brought to their perfection and the buds set and sealed with cunning workman- ship, the tree lays by a store of food for the growth of those buds which are to enliven another year, as certainly as the instinct-guided animal ever made provision for its young. Apparent Forethought. 59 This apparent forethought in preparing materi- als and storing them for a time of need, is not man- ifested by the trees alone, but in a greater or less de- gree it is exercised by every plant that grows — most manifest is it in those that live more than a single year. What wonders are performed beneath our very feet ! If we could look beneath the thick woven sward of the meadows, or roll back the decaying leaves of the forest, or pluck up the thickened root- stocks of the water lily and kindred forms from their oozy beds beneath the shallow lakes, we should find in every place evidence of instinct-like forethought among the plants and provision for their future wants. When the frost of autumn and ice of winter have covered the earth with death, so that to the eye there seems to be but mere remnants of wither- ed grass and herbage, we still wait in confident ex- pectation that spring will wake new forms to sud- den life from hidden germs, as by enchantment. In roots of grass and bulb of lily, in all the thousand store-houses beneath the soil, the busy, prudent plants have laid up their provisions ready for instant use — not to preserve life in winter — but for their spring’s work in bringing sudden beauty of leaf and flower upon the earth, when wakened to activity from their winter’s sleep. They answer to the call of the great magician, the sun, whose touch dis- solves as by enchantment the flinty soil and palsy- ing power of winter ; and now with eager haste they utilize the stores of food which they carefully re- served the year before, when they seemed to be liv- 6o Instinct. ing to the extent of their means. There is no such foolish extravagance, in the plant economy, as liv- ing to the full extent of income each year, except when the time has come for the plants to pass away and then with true parental Instinct they bequeath all they possess to their children ; which bequest is always found to be just enough to start the young plantlets well in life, till large enough to work and gather materials for themselves. All the wealth of beauty in early spring — the green blade of grass — ■ the fragrant Arbutus of the hill-side and the golden Caltha by the brook, — these all are the products of plant labor of the former year. These slow, secret processes are hid from the eye of the most careful observer, and they would never be known were it not for the sudden display of leaf and flower in spring time, that reveals the secret of this hoarded wealth. But there are other processes by which the plant provides for its growth and seemingly for its enjoy- ment and rest, as though it were a sentient being. > The Sun-flower turns its broad disk towards the sun that its hundreds of flowers packed in one head may bask in his light. A multitude of smaller flowers that fail to attract the attention of common observ- ers, are silent worshippers of the sun, or turn fondly towards his life giving rays. And not the flowers alone but leaf and stalk bend from the darkness to- wards the light which can alone give the conditions of life and growth. The power that turns them is no mere enlargement of cells nor change of structure as we are sometimes told, but the movement is as inscrutible as the folding of the leaf of the sensitive Fly-trap — Su n-dcw. 6i plant, or the sleep of the water lily when she folds her petals of ivory and gold, to gather new beauty and richer perfume for the morrow. There are among plants other operations whose purpose we may not be able to solve satisfactorily, while the acts or operations have all the character- istics of instinctive contrivance. What shall we say of the Catch-flies that at every joint pour out their sticky fluid that holds all the smaller insects as bird- lime spread by the fowler’s art, holds birds upon the branch? There is also the Venus’s fly-trap of our - southern states, that has a portion of its leaves fash- ioned specially for its work — the barbs all set for holding their prey — the bait poured out by the trap itself to allure the unsuspecting fly within the cruel jaws that close all the tighter for the victim’s strug- gles.* Its near relation is that gem among the flow- ers, the Sun-dew of our bogs. There is no more ' beautiful object to a Botanist’s eye than this Drose- ra rotundifolia^ that puts a garniture of ruby points upon every leaf and has every point tipped with a glittering diamond. In the sunlight it is like some precious jewel. But all this display is death for the unwary insects attracted by this tempting feast. For every diamond point is simply treacherous glue and is to the insect like the mire and quicksand to the higher animals. Every struggle makes his case more hopeless, and he is soon wound in a multitude of threads drawn from those globes of clear waxy dew that distills from the brilliant points and gives * — ^but secretes much more to digest him ! — Prof. A. Gkat. 62 Instmct. the plant its name. When the victim is fairly en- snared the leaf slowly encloses the body, taking days for the operation, and all the slender points bend towards it as though the plant were feeding like the hawk or tiger, on its prey. Near by this beautiful destroyer may often be ^ found the Pitcher -plant, Sarracenia purpurea^ of which it may be said, “ If the Drosera slays its thousands, the Sarracenia slays its ten thousands.” Where can be found such a death-dealing instru- ment? one more perfectly fitted for its work? Each leaf forms of its blade a tube or pitcher that becomes a horrid prison. Down deep in its cav- erns there is a pool of death probably supplied by the plant itself, so that the place of execution is al- most ever ready for its victim. The expanding portion of the leaf that serves as a portal to this Avernus for insects, is attractive enough and offers no resistance to the various kinds that seek the ap- parently safe and cool retreat that always stands so invitingly open. The sharp hairs upon its surface all point downwards and gradually lengthen towards the prison. But when the last row is passed there is a steep and smooth passage to that bourne from which so few insects ever return. For if by chance one can drag himself up the steep plane, he is met by those frowning palisades over which he went down with ease, now rising high, thickly set and pointing downward. Those who have gathered these plants in summer and poured out from the hollow leaves the hundreds of decomposing insects, have seen that this machinery has done its appoint- Sex among Plants. 63 ed work with the certainty of the most cunning beast of prey or the most skilful devices of men. But all the economy of the plant thus far men- tioned probably has relation to its own welfare as an individual. The imitations of Instinct are even more marked in the provisions which the tree makes for its young. In many plants this care ex- tends not only to the maturing of the seeds but in many cases to their distribution. It is a remarkable fact that in the vegetable kingdom we find the distinction of sex as well marked as among animals — the distinction mani- festing itself in some form almost to the lowest types of plant life. If we begin by recognizing the existence of a benevolent Creator, we can readily understand the final cause of sexual distinction among animals, when we estimate the revenue of enjoyment to all higher sentient beings, from the parental relation. But that the distinction of sexes should obtain in the vegetable kingdom where sen- sation even is unknown, can never be explained on the theory of benevolence in the Creator, unless we look entirely beyond plant life for the objects to be benefited by means of this relation. Such theories might be started in regard to this duality of struct- ure and nature in plants of the same species or double nature of the same plant, as would appear plausible at least to those who are ready to grant that every thing is wisely created for some purpose. But it does not come within the scope of our pres- ent subject to propose or defend any peculiar the- ories of creation. We simply take the plant as it is 64 Instinct. and trace the structure and function of organs by v/hich the young plants are matured and provided for by their parents. Among our common plants we shall find abun- dant illustrations for our purpose ; and the more com- mon the better. When the apple blossom opens in spring, the showy petals, that delight us by their beauty of color and sweet perfume, are but the out- er adorning of a much more wonderful workman- ship within the flower. In the base of that flower even now, the outlines of seeds can be found cover- ed in the minute ball of tissue destined in time to become the apple. But above those seeds rise the stamens bearing pollen and the pistils to receive the life-giving grains of dust. Lest the work should not be well performed there is honey poured out by the apple blossom as well as by thousands of other flowers, to attract the bees, that in their eager haste to gather the sweet scatter the pollen grains upon the stigmas and distribute them from flower to flower. When the pistil has conducted the sub- stance of these grains of pollen to the seed, it has at once an independent life. It is henceforth a new plant, and the whole energy of the tree is at once taxed to bring that seed to perfection and se- cure for it the conditions of independent growth. Around the germ, or in some organs connected with it, the tree stores up starch, sugar and other products fitted to support the young plantlet until large enough to gather food for itself from the earth and air. That this provision is for the young plant, is shown by the fact that if the germ is not fertil- 65 Fertilizatioli— Distribution. ized by pollen so as to have power of independent growth, the seed fails to fill. This is certainly the rule — if there are any exceptions, they are not more common than parthenogenesis in the animal king- dom. The necessity of fertilization to secure the filling of the seed, is illustrated by what occurs in many of our most useful cultivated plants, especial- ly in the Indian corn. Every silk of the ear is con- nected with a kernel ; and its office is to conduct the life-giving portion of the pollen that may chance to fall upon it to the kernel hidden in the husks be- neath. If it does the work, we have the golden rows well filled. But for every thread that fails, a vacant place is found upon the ear in harvest time. The kernel fills with food fitted for the support of the living germ within it. And all that wealth of food for man so abundantly produced each year— the rich harvest of grain that gives stimulus to trade and commerce because so essential to the daily sup- port of animal life, is but the provision which the plants have made for their young. But when the seed is filled the young plantlet is simply provided with means to start in life — its final welfare depending upon its finding a congenial soil. To secure this, special provision has been made by many plants for the distribution of their seeds. To some seeds balloons of down are fixed by which they are lifted by the winds and scattered broadcast over the land. Others, like those of the Elm and Birch, have a web or circular wing — others still have prongs with barbs that fasten upon men and animals and thus they are distributed by un- 66 Instinct. willing agents. The Mistletoe supplies its seed with a glue that holds it to the branch where alone its parasitic life can be sustained. The student of Botany is amazed at the wealth of invention mani- fested in this machinery of plants to secure the dis- tribution of the seeds. The plume, the barb, the hook, the spring, the wing in countless modifica- tions are all employed according to the needs of the plant. But instinct-like provisions made by plants are not always for the benefit of themselves or their young. Plants become protectors as well as sup- porters, of many of the insect tribe. The Gall-fly has but to deposit its eggs upon the leaf or branch of the Oak, and the tree, like a careful nurse, makes as ample provision for the young insect as is ever made by animals under the guidance of Instinct for their own young. The tree forms a gall or oak-ap- ple which serves as a home and feeder for the imma- ture insect. This provision is not made for one in- sect alone but for many, and a like provision is made in some form by a multitude of plants. In every case the provision is adapted to the habits of the insect and is always the same in kind for the same species. What is more curious than to see the Oak using its own resources to build a house and furnish food for the insect cast upon its care ? The Golden- rod and Potentilla in their swollen stems, the Wil- low and the Spruce in their false cones oftentimes with an insect under every scale, show in different ways this protecting care of plants towards their insect foes. LECTURE III. OPERATIONS IN PHYSIOLOGY SIMULATING IN- STINCT ; AND THE LOWEST FORMS OF INSTINCT FOR THE WELFARE OF THE INDIVIDUAL ANI- MAL SUPPLEMENTING PHYSIOLOGY OR FUNC- TION OF ORGANS. Intelligent and Instinctive Acts . — The Tent-Moth. — Animal Phys- iology. — Structure, Function and Instinct, supplementing each other . — Unity from system. — Specific Plans . — Servitude of Plants . — Life and its phenomena . — Evolution of the Tree . — The animal body a Machine. — Its Evolution from the Egg . — Variables giving rise to Species. — Alchemists. — Evolution of a specific form, the Robin. — Growth of the bird requiriiig Instinct- ive Action . — The first Instinctive Act. — Selection of food-. — Re- lation of Life to the Physical Forces. — Doctrine of Evolution . — Higher manifestation of Instinct in securing food. We shall not fail to acknowledge Intelligence wherever we find it. And any act performed be- cause an end is comprehended by the actor as de- sirable, and because the act is comprehended as a means to secure that end, we regard as an act of Intelligence, whether it is performed by an animal with two feet or four. 68 Instinct. But we believe it can be shown that there are many acts performed by sentient beings, that, as means to ends, are the perfection of wisdom, while there is no comprehension on the part of the actor of the end to be reached, or of his act as a means to secure the end. Such acts are truly instinctive according to the substance of the definitions we have quoted ; or better still, according to the pop- ular meaning of the word instinctive. Take for one single illustration, the Tent-moth, that is so in- jurious to our apple trees. There is not one of them alive in New England this winter month. But prob- ably it would not be difficult to find a bunch of its eggs glued to an apple twig. And when the young leaves begin to expand, a brood of young caterpil- lars will be ready to feed upon them. They will work together and spin a web or tent for their con- venience, making it larger as they need more room. And’when their feeding days are over, they will de- sert the web and each finding a secure place will prepare a cocoon for transformation. All the work of the colony goes on as regularly and with the same certainty in its methods and results as the growing of the leaves, or flowers, or apples upon the tree where it is found. There is no instructor of the young brood, for all the parent moths died the year before. They have no chance to copy. They have impulse and guidance, and do just what it is best for them to do for their own good and to continue the species. They do this without expe- rience and without instruction, and all colonies do exactly the same thing. These are the acts of wis- Intelligence, 69 dom and intelligence to which Hamilton refers as being performed while the actors are as ignorant of the end to be accomplished as the water-wheel is of the machinery it sets in motion. To prepare the way for the consideration of these truly instinctive acts, that display a wisdom not found in the actor but which is often ascribed to him simply because the acts are voluntary, we have introduced inorgan- ic nature and plant life, to show that in them we have just such operations as are performed by ani- mals through those acts that are truly instinctive, though often cited as evidence of intelligence and wisdom in the actors. We propose to continue these illustrations of instinct-like operations in plant life and that part of animal life, where volition can have no agency, until we reach that point where the simplest voluntary act is introduced to carry the work of life one step farther than it is possible for it to be carried by structure and function alone. From that point we shall find the instinctive princi- ples of action widening and producing more and more complex results until Intelligence is intro- duced ; and this is introduced chiefly as a means of securing enjoyment, and to carry the being, as in the case of man, into regions entirely above mere physical life, for it is impossible for the mere con- tinuance of physical life to be better cared for than it is by Instinct alone. In our last lecture we referred especially to those physiological changes within the plant by which it provides for itself to meet the change of 70 Instinct. seasons, and secure the best condition of growth. In all these physiological functions and adaptations to heat and moisture, darkness and light, we saw adaptation of means to ends such as justified itself to the Reason of man. They all had special refer- ence to the welfare of the individual plant. No careful observer can fail to see adaptation in the parts of a plant working out as specific results as are ever ^een accomplished among animals or men. Whatever his theoretical notions of inorganic na- ture may be, as of something formed and controlled b}^ physical forces working under laws of mathe- matical exactness, or of species among organic beings as the “ survivors of the fittest ” in the great strug- gle for existence, he must recognize among plants an adaptation of parts to produce specific results — results necessary for the existence and well being of the plants themselves as individuals and species. No one pretends that there is any power of percep- tion, any sensation or volition connected with the plant, and yet operations are carried on by it pre- cisely as though sensation, perception and volition were all present. If we now consider the animal body alone, as far as anatomy and physiology can go, or rather physiology — for that explains the growth — we shall find that it involves the same kind of operations as are in the tree, but more complicated, rapid and mar- vellous in their results. In connection with all these operations in the animal body there may be sensa- tion, but perception and volition have no more to do directly in building up the animal system than Structure and Function. 71 they have in arranging the fibers of the Oak or the angle of its branches with the trunk. We now wish especially to call attention to the instinct-like operations of vitality in building up individual structures — arranging all their parts and bringing them into harmonious action. The function of an organ is often what it is, or rather becomes useful to the being on account of the structure of the organ itself or of some part connected with it. Of what use would be the func- tion of the stomach for secreting gastric juice, were the stomach not connected with an apparatus for supplying it with food and also with other organs for the distribution of the nutriment to different parts of the body? What benefit the synovial fluid, if there were no joint to be lubricated by it ? We see structure and function within the ani- mal body producing certain results for the body it- self and for the species. In plants, and some of the lowest forms of animals perhaps, the work is com- pleted by these two agencies alone. But when any being is of so high a type that structure and func- tion alone cannot complete the work, then we find Instinct added to act as the handmaid of these two primitive workers, to supply materials or to give a wider range of activities, and finally to bring enjoy- ment to the individual through its activities. We find Structure, Function, and Instinct in its lowest form, all working together in the same line, appar- ently for the same purpose, or if for different sim- ple, subordinate purposes, to secure the same com- plex end. The most careful study of these three 72 histinct. agencies in every species only impresses us more fully with the conviction, that they are the three agencies supplementary to each other by which an- mal life is sustained and has secured to it, its infinite variety of expression. Nothing can well be more unlike than the species that make up the great branches of the animal kingdom. But structure, function and instinct are as perfectly adapted to secure the welfare of individuals belonging to one branch as to another. We may also consider a more complex plan of which these three agencies are but one part. For when we consider the struc- ture, forces and operations of the inorganic world, the structure and function of plants as a whole and the relation of their parts to each other, — the struc- ture, functions, instincts and relations of animals, the plan or system seems to be the same in kind as we see in a single individual or species, but more far-reaching still, embracing as it does the three kingdoms of nature as though they formed an or- ganized whole. But the oneness never impresses us as arising from any likeness of the things among themselves but from the peculiar relationship of the most diverse things to constitute one system, that brings the idea of unity necessarily to every mind that comprehends its parts, relations and opera- tions. Within this one comprehensive plan, by which all beings seem to be related for their mutual good, we may consider the various subordinate plans for specific purposes. These impress us more strongly perhaps because they are specific, especial- ly if they are so different from the general plan as special contrivances. n to be unexpected, as the oil gland in the fowl ; or if the obvious relation is between two objects hav- ing no organic relationship, as the reciprocal effect of animals and plants upon the atmosphere for the mutual benefit of each, or the peculiar structure of many flowers in their relation to the structure of the bee that is to fertilize them. What contrivance of Instinct or Wisdom ever impressed one more than the structure and function of so many Orchid flowers as shown by Darwin, by which the parts are as accurately fitted to the head of the bee as are the parts of a complicated lock to its key ? Or who would expect that a plant should have a structure or function, or both combined, for destroying in- sects? We find these two elements combined in different ways, but each method of operation is as complete for the purpose as any work of Instinct. We are more impressed perhaps, by these specific arrangements for some purpose that has no obvious relation to the good of the being in which it is found. We are not only impressed with the idea of contrivance, but of servitude when we see plants making special provision for their insect foes, pro- viding them at their own expense, with food and shelter. We cannot help remarking, in passing, that such provisions are an injury to the species in which they occur; and therefore so far as these provisions are concerned, such species exist not through Natural Selection, but in spite of it. When treating of plants in the last lecture, we spoke of the instinct-like provisions in them as man- 4 74 Instinct, ifested mainly in their outward organs, or in the function of the mature organ. But a like control- ling power is manifested in building up every part of the plant, so as to form a complete whole, of com- plex parts. And of this power we propose now to speak. In the living plant or animal, even of the lowest type, we seem to have an immaterial entity — an essence to which we refer the peculiar charac- teristics of these organic beings. In the mineral kingdom we find the force of cohesion giving us dif- ferent forms of crystals from different elements or compounds ; but here in the organic kingdom we have life^ a something which we hardly dare to de- fine, in these days of the conservation and unifica- tion of forces — but it is a something that from es- sentially the same elements, gives us the myriad forms of plants and animals, from the humblest Algae to man himself. If we cannot fully under- stand and define this agency, we can enumerate some of its results. It is from the careful study of these alone that we can hope for more knowledge of the agency itself. We 7iow see this ageyicy man! fested in the production of distinct forms or kinds of beings. For each kind there is also a plan of struct- ure common to all individuals of that kind. Each in- dividual produced by this principle has a cycle of op- erations that brhigs the being to individual perfection, then to weakness, then to death, followed by the de- struction of the body by chemical agencies. Before death cornes in regular order of nature by the comple- tion of the cycle of changes, there is some relationship of that being to the origin of another of the same kind Life as a Builder. 75 to continue after the first has passed away. This power then builds up the individual, and from that individual originates another, and so on, giving us the parental relation. In every vegetable and ani- mal this power presides, giving rise to certain activ- ities, which we sometimes call life — or better per- haps, we regard the activities as the evidence that the principle of life is there, and we do this neces- sarily from our notion of causality. That we do not regard this agency as always active when it is pres- ent, is evident in our experiments in the sprouting of seeds. We apply certain conditions to call this agency into action, and not to create the agency it- self. The agency once inactive in the germ, under certain conditions, is called into activity and gives a specific result — or rather a long train of results which, from observation on other germs of the same kind, can be predicted beforehand. This train of results consists in building up by evolution, a com- plicated structure from a single cell of simple struct- ure ; in watching over that structure to secure its welfare by adapting its parts and operations to the world, in the same manner as the more general forces of the universe seem to have arranged and prepared the materials of the earth for the intro- duction of the living principle itself. We can sum up by saying that this force or principle is so far uniform in its operations as to give us the simplest notion of life, which all have, although they may not be able to define it. And this principle that impresses us as one, under the name of life, mani- fests itself under hundreds of thousands of the most ;6 Instinct, diverse forms of matter composed of the same ele- ments, and takes for its cycle of operations a single day as in the lower algae, or centuries, as in some of the higher animals. If asked now for the origin of this principle, or of its relationship to the great forces of nature, we are at present, as utterly at a loss to account for them as we are to account for gravitation itself or for the law of its action. We can neither deduce this principle from the analysis, nor synthesis of the forces of the inorganic world. We see that they are conditions for its activity, but this no more shows that it is a modification of them than it follows that because water is the condition of the life of the fish, the fish is therefore a mod- ification of that element. It is a characteristic of this principle in all its manifestations to demand and use as a means of putting forth its activities, the different elements and forces of the inorganic world. If asked for the origin of organized beings we come back in all our investigations where we want something given to begin the work with ; as much so, as we need in Geometry axioms that can- not be demonstrated. When Mr. Huxley has car- ried us back to Protoplasm, we feel that we are as far off from the goal as ever ; and although some men stand franticly pointing into the dark, declar- ing that the chasm between vitality and physical force has been bridged over, we refuse to budge an inch till we see the bridge, and much prefer to be shouted at and even pounded as stubborn, than to follow a logic that does violence to every principle of sound reasoning, both in its assumed data and in its Life as a Builder. 77 conclusions. And in passing, it is well to remark that there are many points decided authoritatively by scientific men, that common men can judge of as well as they. Because one man knows more of fossil reptiles than another, it does not follow that the latter must accept all the conclusions of the former on every subject. If one does not understand fos- sil turtles, he may be able to understand a fair argu- ment and to detect bad logic. It has more than once happened that very able and learned compar- ative anatomists have fancied that they have found the head of an animal where nature placed his tail. But this entire misconception in regard to the structure of an animal, is nothing compared to the arguments that are often accepted because present- ed by able men, — arguments in which every prin- ciple of sound reasoning is reversed, and impassable chasms are bridged over with assertions. Dismissing for the present further speculations as to the origin and nature of life, since they are only incidental, we will confine ourselves to its phe- nomena, and especially, for the present, to those phenomena that, like the operations of Instinct, in- dicate a plan in building up a structure and keeping it in repair, as well as skill in executing the plan. We confine ourselves now to what takes place with- in the organism by evolution. And we shall find a seeming contrivance and skill shown in the selection and arranging of the materials so that the structure produced indicates a purpose in its several parts and as a whole, and the harmony of the whole is heightened by the function of each part being in 78 Instinct. accordance with the plan. The perception of this plan is a necessary result when certain relations of the parts are perceived. Let us now briefly examine the structure of a tree as produced by evolution from the seed. The origin of every tree, as is agreed by all Botanists, is a single cell ; or if you prefer to start one step above, it is from a germ, with power of independent life, from the union of cells or their contents. From that minute point starts the Oak with all its compli- cated and orderly distribution of material. One who has taken the acorn from the parent tree, knows be- forehand into just what form the soil around the acorn and the gases in the air will be moulded under the guiding power of the germ which he plants. He knows beforehand what will be the mathematical relation of the leaves to each other, the form and flavor of the acorns which the tree will produce, and he knows that all these parts will be taken from the same soil and air that close at hand are furnishing the materials for a beech, a maple and a pine, per- chance. How inscrutable it is that one portion of that Oak should seek the darkness, plunging down and spreading in every direction where the light cannot come, while another portion as persistently pushes into the sun-light ! But after we understand the plan of the tree, we understand that this polarity is necessary for its well being. The presiding power or organizing force had taken care that all parts should be disposed aright to carry out the plan. How strange, also, that from the subdivision of Method of growth. 79 one primitive cell, thus forming in the beginning, cells alike so far as we can see, that we should have the proper division of wood and bark and leaves, with their wonderfully complex structure of cells and vessels all arranged for the service of the tree and with power to act so that each should do its part in the complicated machinery of plant growth. But the plan of the tree seems to need all this, and the invisible agency, at the proper time, gives to these cells of common origin the form, position and property, which should make them a fit part of the complex whole. When the proper time comes, the buds all appear in mathematical order upon the limbs, and some of those buds put forth flowers and all the machinery of fruiting, as well as leaves. Look at the thousands of trees and other plants that adorn our fields and forests, and see the plan of each and the skill with which that plan is execu- ted in every outward organ — the plan and execu- tion being the result of that principle within, which secures these varied forms and processes through the agency of matter and the physical forces, as the engineers use power from the same water-wheel and materials from the same store-house, to turn out the diverse products of a varied industry, — cloth and nails and chairs and guns, — according to the design and skill of the workmen in combining the mate- rials for some definite purpose. We may be told that one part of the plant structure is produced by shortening an axis, and another by the infolding and modification of a leaf, and so on through all the morphology of the plant 8o Instinct. Suppose we grant all this, as we are ready to dO; the wonder still remains that the axis was shorten- ed and the leaf infolded and modified exactly as in the operations of Instinct, to produce just the re- sult needed for the welfare of the tree as an individ- ual or member of a species — to say nothing of the original production of the axis and leaf to be so modified. In the bodies of animals the ministration of this selecting and arranging power as manifested by the function of organs, is of the same kind as seen in plants, but the operations are more rapid, more complicated and wonderful. In the full grown animal we have a machine, and the higher the ani- mal the more diverse the parts and complex the machine. The parts are made of different materials and diverse in form, but all nicely adjusted to each other for a purpose — or for many subordinate pur- poses, to secure the highest perfection of the individ- ual and the continuance of the species. The body of man or of one of the higher animals impresses us at once as a work of design, but of such design as we see accomplished by Instinct. We can trace the whole process by which the body of any of our higher animals is built up. And we see the same sort of contrivance in the formation of parts, wis- dom in selecting materials, and the same sort of skill in manipulating them that we see in the operation of the highest Instinct among bees and birds in the construction of honey-comb and nests. The grow- ing of this machine, after it is once formed with its EvollUiofi. 8i apparatus all complete, is wonderful enough, but there is something more wonderful, if possible, than the mere growth; it is the original structure of the machine, — the evolution of a complex organism from a mass of matter having no trace of organs, — through the agency of a principle within the matter itself. In the egg of the bird, which is even more complex than the eggs of most other animals, we see a yolk surrounded by the albumen or white. To the eye, unaided by the microscope, there ap- pears one nearly homogeneous semi-fluid body sur- rounded by another. The microscope reveals but little more — certainly it reveals nothing in the egg that suggests the form or the organs of the bird that is to come from it. The warmth of the moth- er bird, or an equal amount of warmth from any other source, is all that is needed, and in a certain number of days, varying with the species, there comes from that egg a bird perfect in all its parts. The yolk and white have disappeared. Instead of them you have bone and muscle and feathers, or- gans of sense and digestion, and the whole compli- cated machinery of a living animal. Now within that egg was an artificer that for want of a better name we call life. And the pro- cess of this artificer’s work we can watch from day to day and from hour to hour, if we choose to do so, and trace every step from the segregation of the yolk and faint outline of a living form up to the completion of the work. But the term life is generic, if we consider only 4 * 82 Instinct, the constant results produced by it. All life does not build up birds any more than all insects build honey-comb. Life has as many specific characters as there are distinct forms of living beings. We are not now discussing the question how these differences came to be, but simply call atten- tion to their manifestations. We have life a con- stant quantity, as we should express it in mathe- matics, and we have joined to this a vast number of variables which give us the forms of life as manifest- ed in distinct kinds. These kinds have not only life in common, but even the variables have some- thing in common, so that the kinds can be arranged into groups according to the similarity of these va- riables, giving us GENERA, FAMILIES, CLASSES, and finally two kingdoms, animal and vegetable, founded mainly upon the variable, se^isation. We do not wish here to be understood as en- dorsing the view that these variables are constantly changing or liable to change. We only speak of them as variables because they are the cause of dif- ferences in forms, all due to one great underlying principle which we call life, which no one fully un- derstands, but the distinctive phenomena of which every intelligent person understands as well as he does the phenomena of gravitation. We regard these variables as the same in kind as those that give rise to the different kinds of matter, or at least strongly analogous to them. We have the generic notion of matter gained from certain properties that must be present to give the notion of matter at all, and then the variables that give the different kinds Chemical Elements, 83 of matter. The variables in this case are fixed so that probably no man now believes that Sodium and Potassium ever change, one into the other, or Iron into Manganese, or Silver into Gold, though there is great likeness between some of these ele- ments, so great, that some eminent men have be- lieved either that all kinds of matter are modifica- tions of one element, or that each group of elements is a modification of one element. A crude belief of this kind was the foundation of the labors of the old Alchemists. It is certain that the likeness of the elements to each other is such that they can be formed into groups by a truly natural classification as can the kinds in the kingdom of life. The most accurate modern research among the elements, has but satisfied the best minds of their distinctness and that the Alchemists were not only pardonable in being misled by such a mistake but that the mis- take itself arose from careful study and great knowl- edge of the elements which they experimented upon. If those who hold that the variables that make the different kinds in the organic kingdom are of such a nature that we can regard these kinds all as modifications of one original simple form — if those who hold this view should in the end find that their theory is as unfounded as that of the old Alchemists proved to be, we can yet see that this mistake, if mistake it proves to be, has arisen from a most intimate acquaintance with the objects treat- ed of ; and we shall be as thankful to them for their great contributions to science directly and indirectly as we are to the Alchemists for the acids and other 84 Instinct. important agencies and information which they be- queathed to modern chemistry, which certainly would have been far behind its present state had not the transmutation theory kept so many experi- nenters for ages eagerly at work. But let us return to the variables in the king- dom of life. In the egg of the Robin, we have not only life but we have in consequence of a fixed va- riable, if I may be allowed the expression, that par- ticular species of bird^ There was life — that could be understood as a distinct thing — and this life was finally to manifest itself fully in the production of the Robin in distinction from some other kind of bird. Not only are the notions of life, and animal life, and bird life, entirely distinct from the specific no- tion of the Robin, but they can all be reached by the inspection of the embryo bird by every person capa- ble of comprehension at all, before the specific char- acters of the Robin would be so marked as to be perceived by the best naturalist in the world who had studied only the adult bird from which the common notion of the word Robin is derived. But the Robin was from the first potentially present in the egg. The materials in the egg do not differ, so far as we can see, either in structure or composition, from the materials in many other eggs ; but there is an artificer there such as is found in no other kind of egg. He can build a Robin from the mate- rials and nothing else. This artificer needs a cer- tain degree of heat for his work. The heat may come from the mother bird, from a bird of any First instinctive Act. 85 other kind, or from a stove. Heat from the same source may call into activity the latent principle in a hundred kinds of eggs at the same time, as the heat from the sun is the condition for the germina- tion and growth of the thousand kinds of seeds that develop into plants ever}^ year. It is plain that heat and all the other physical forces have no formative power over organic beings to determine kinds, as these forces exert, or may exert, exactly the same influence over organic beings that in the same place are developing the most diverse forms and proper- ties. But this artificer in the Robin’s egg, being fur- nished with the proper conditions from the inorgan- ic world, the same exactly as must be furnished in the nests of other kinds for the production of young, selects the materials, joins them together in a certain order, and on a given day presents us with a work as perfect as can be made from the mate- rials in the egg. We have a bird fitted for inde- pendent life, and the bird is of a specific kind, — the Robin. The work now commenced must go on under the same guide or builder while it goes on at all, but the material is all used up. The young bird at once seeks food ; if in no other way, by opening its bill to receive it from the mother. It has the appetite arising from the function of its body to impel it to some action, and it is guided in performing the right action without observation or instruction but by a tendency and power of direction that were ready when needed ; and for the origin of this power we 86 Instinct. search in vain in the history of the species. Such a tendency and power are a part of Instinct. This instinctive act of raising the head and opening the bill was needed, and needed at once. Death would come without this simple action on the part of the young bird, in spite of its mother’s efforts. It was as needful for the first young bird that ever existed as for one to-day, It is here — it is present in every young bird on the globe that is hatched in so im- mature state as to be unable to walk. And here we see the first connection of Instinct with the instinct-like processes below it. There is simply a movement of the head to bring it into re- lation with something outside of the body. All else is dependent upon the Instinct of the mother bird that supplements this opening of the bill by supplying the young bird with the proper food. And this raising of the head and opening of the bill is no more comprehended by the young bird than he comprehended the distribution of material that forms his head or bill. It is an act performed by all young birds as soon as hatched and therefore can have no relation to experience or instruction. But in the case of those birds like our domestic fowls, that are hatched in a more mature state, the first instinctive act is much more complex. The young bird must select and pick up the first particle of food it ever receives. The very first act of taking food is as complicated in its nature as any subse- quent act of feeding can be. This complex act is performed by the bird by the same sort of law as its blood circulates or its feathers grow. Growth. 87 The food gathered either by the young bird or supplied to it by the mother contains the same ma- terials as are found in its own body just formed from the egg, because Instinct guides in its selection. Physiological function of the mother supplied the egg from which the body of the young bird was formed, and now her Instinct leads her to supply, through volition, her young with additional substance of the same kind. The Instinct of the young bird and that of the mother both join to bring more material within the working sphere of the same artificer that first formed the bird from the materials in the egg. But how unlike in appearance from the substance of the egg, are the grain and insects now supplied to carry on the work ! But Instinct recognized them as proper materials before chemistry was known, and from these materials, that inscrutable something that formed the bird within the egg now carries on its work to completion. It enlarges bone and muscle and feather. This is growth, which at first sight seems a simple matter compared with the evolution of a perfect bird with all its complex tis- sues and system of vessels from a single cell, but in reality it is just as difficult of comprehension, or rather just as far beyond our comprehension as the other. The materials used we understand perfectly, and the process of digestion and distribution we are able to trace very fully. We see in the process the action of chemical affinity and mechanical forces ; but while all this knowledge is a great gain to us it is not all. We no more feel that we know it all now than we did before Chemistry and Physiology 88 Instinct. were studied. We see chemical action and mechan- ical structure and osmose just as far as our best glasses will carry us, — but we see certain results which we cannot find in these agencies any tenden- cy even to produce, except as they are servants to prepare and distribute materials. The organizing force itself and its wise action in building up the or- ganism are no nearer our comprehension than they were before Spencer and Huxley wrote. Growth in a complex being requires selection of material in proper kind and quantity to be carried to certain places, and there to be molded into certain forms for a certain purpose, in a self-acting machine hav- ing power of rapid and complex adjustments to the constantly varying conditions of the inorganic world and all organized beings with which it comes into any relation. It is not enough that Lime and Iron and Silica are carried to certain places, but they are selected in proper quantities and carried where they are needed for a specific purpose ; and there they are mingled with other materials according to the office they are to perform, and then are molded into bone and feather, beak or talon, as the case requires, according to the leading idea of the machine in which the work is done. All this is entirely differ- ent from the work of Chemistry or Mechanics, — so very different that we see no more tendency in Chemistry and Mechanics to set this machine in motion and preside over its operations, even with the aid of all the favoring conditions of the universe, than we do in a finely adjusted machine to start it- self. The origination of organized beings through Functional Action. 89 the direct agency of physical forces and perpetual motion, seem to us to stand on the same plane sci- entifically considered. But if one doubts this or can see farther and discern a transmutation of forces unperceived by common minds, still the fact remains that there is something within the living body that works with a purpose in regard to the whole struct- ure at any given time, for its preservation and also for the continuance of the kind. It not only selects proper materials for its work, but it stores up ma- terial for use at certain times, as fat in the fall of the year for the use of hibernating animals, and lime in crustaceans to suddenly form the new shell when the old one is cast. It thickens the covering for winter and throws off hair and fur when they are no longer needed. When bones are broken or wounds formed, it sets in motion machinery to re- pair the damage. In all this we see going on with- in the body perpetually the same sort of work that we find going on out of the body through that agen- cy which we call Instinct. And however diverse these bodies are in structure and the function of their organs, we find the Instinct connected with each, fitted to carry out to perfection the work be- gun within the body where the senses and volition of the animal have no agency in the operations. We can say of every animal that we find its Physi- ology and Instinct working together, one always supplementing the other so far as Instinct is need- ed to secure the life of a single animal or the con- tinuance of the kind. And so far as we can see, the structure, function 90 Instinct, and lowest form of Instinct by which the animal takes food, propagates its species and cares for its young till they are able to care for themselves, — all these must have been present from the beginning of each species as it now exists. If present species have been derived from other species, then Struct- ure, Function and Instinct, must have moved on in every \change in the individuals that survived, so as to be properly called the ancestors of the present species. It is only fair to remark that this is no argument against evolution of species from one form, if we suppose this evolution provided for in the beginning and all these activities arranged to come into play at the same time and work together, as the parts of a clock are so arranged by its maker that the hand shall point to the figures and the hammer give the corresponding number of blows — or as all the or- gans of a flower are so arranged as to act their part at the proper time for the fertilization of the seed. Having made these general statements in regard to the connection between the instinct-like opera- tions of physiology and Instinct itself, we may en- large more upon the method in which Instinct takes the first step in securing the welfare of the individ- ual. We have already referred to the Instinct of the young bird which enables the mother to provide for it. The peculiar Instincts of the young we shall refer to in another connection. We speak now of the adult in his simplest act for the preservation of his own existence. The selection of food is the sim- plest instinctive act that has relation to the whole Seciirmg Food. 91 complex organism, and it is the lowest that involves any exercise of the senses as a condition for the ex- ercise of the Instinct. This selection of the propel kind of food may come to be essentially connected in the adult with very complex activities and animal powers of a high rank. In the lowest forms of entozoa there seems to be no volition in taking food, so far as we can see, even in the adult. The food is simply absorbed. The coral polyp also is stationary, as is the oyster, and both must feed upon materials brought to them by the waters, though very likely there is volition ex- ercised by both animals in the process of selecting materials from the waters. But the most wonder- ful part of these animals, that which evinces the most evident design — the coral cells that form the coral branch or dome, and the pearly shell — are the simple products of growth, — volition neither origin- ates nor changes them. In higher animals we find Instinct manifested not only in selecting food from materials presented, but in seeking for it and secur- ing it. To do this, it is sometimes necessary that the Instinct of one animal shall take advantage of or circumvent the Instinct of another. The Bald eagle takes advantage of the Instinct and labor of the Fish-hawk to procure fish for himself by rob- bery. The Arctic Jager obtains its food by per- secuting the Gulls. And a Southern Gull steals from the Pelican. The cat tribe know without in- struction how to watch for prey. Those animals that must feed in winter when no food can be ob- tained know how to gather in stores, though they 92 Instinct. may never have seen a winter. Those that sleep in winter, simply prepare a nest. In both cases, In- stinct supplements function. Migration from place to place, as the supply of food changes, is the meth- od of solving the same question for many birds. Function thickens the coat of the animal for winter This provision is just as needful as any thing In- stinct can do, but Instinct is not burdened with any thing that function can perform. All that relates to providing food in the first instance is left to In- stinct. That action of the system by which it lives upon the fat stored up in the fall and the change that takes place in hibernation by which the ex- penditure of material is lessened, are certainly func- tional changes. These are instinct-like provisions of the system ; but the securing of the food in the first instance was done by a principle that supple- ments structure and function ; and this principle is something entirely different from them, and some- thing that no structure or function of the animal system would suggest the existence of, except as we have learned by observation that there always is in the animal a directing power which we call Instinct, to supplement the structure and function of organs and thus to complete the work commenced in the body. LECTURE IV, HIGHER FORMS OF INSTINCT FOR THE WELFARE OF THE INDIVIDUAL OR THE SPECIES, HAVING NO IMMEDIATE RELATION TO STRUCTURE OR FUNCTION OF ORGANS. Intelligence guided by experience. — Instinct inaependent. — A natural development . — Building of nests or homes. — Perfection of nest no test of the animaVs rank . — The facts of Building stated . — Relation of Building to Structure and Function . — Variation in Building. — Swallows. — Thrushes. — Oriole. — Black - birds. — Sparrows.-^ Nests from different localities. — Mr. Wallace's The- ory). — Difference in Building Power. — Improvement by Practice. — The Cow-bird. — Supplementary Instinct of the Foster-parent. Change of Instinct compared with change in plants. Is that Instinct or Reason? is the common ques- tion, when an animal performs some act that com- mends itself to the Reason of man. Where we find animals adapting means to ends, the conclusion is often reached that there is Intelligence to guide the act, when the very wisdom of the act proves it to be instinctive, — that is, an act performed without any comprehension by the actor of the end to be reached. Pure Instinct works out the wisest results with the certainty almost of the operations of the physical forces of nature. And because these re- sults are wise, in the sense of being adapted to se- cure the welfare of the actor, and because volition 94 Instinct, is brought into play, it is a very natural thing to re- fer such acts to Intelligence in the actor, which adapts means to ends through a comprehension of both ends and means. Great confusion has arisen from a failure to understand that the first introduc- tion of Intelligence, while it widens the sphere of action, always renders wise results less certain in the beginning than they are in the sphere of pure Instinct. Instinct can be cheated, as we shall show, at the proper time, but it is only in the sphere of Intelligence that mistakes and blunders are the common result, until experience whips the being of Intelligence into the right road. Pure Instinct needs no experience. It goes before to preserve life until knowledge from experience is possible. And in this work of preserving life where experi- ence could not be secured, it often performs wise acts, — just such acts as in beings of Intelligence are performed only after individual experience or in- struction from the experience of others. We must throw aside at once then that notion that an act of wisdom and intelligence is absolute proof that the wisdom and intelligence reside in the actor. That question can only be determined by considering the conditions under which the act is performed. The best corrective to these hasty conclusions that have been formed respecting the nature of Instinct in animals, from the kind of acts it secures, is found in the careful study of those operations performed by plants ; because in them, there is no danger of being misled so as to ascribe wisdom to the actor. This is one reason why we have pointed out so Supplementary Work, 95 many of these peculiar processes in the vegetable kingdom. The same instinct-like processes were traced in the evolution of animals, that we might find the exact point where Instinct comes in to car- ry on the work which the structure and function of organs both demand. We cited as the simplest in- stance of Instinct, the act of the young bird just from the shell, that lifts its head and opens its bill to receive the food needful to carry on the work thus far carried on by the use of the material in the egg. The material in the egg was just sufficient in quantity and had the proper proportion of elements to form the bird. The young bird came from the shell with a structure capable of receiving food, with an appetite to demand it and with an Instinct to receive it from the mother as in the case of the Robin, or to select and secure it for itself as in the case of the young of the domestic fowls. And these three agencies. Structure, Function and Instinct, were all ready to enter upon their joint action at the same time. And the nature or complexity of the Instinct varies with the complex- ity of structure so as to exactly supplement it. If this were not so the animal must die. So the won- ders of Instinct are no greater than the wonders of physiology in preparing and distributing food for the building up of the system, or the wonders of the eye that is ready for seeing without any knowl- edge of optics on the part of its possessor. Instinct, pure and distinct, in all its complexity, is as natural a development according to fixed law, as wings or teeth or claws according to the wants of the ani- 96 Instinct. mal, — and the origin and development of one is just as far beyond our comprehension as the other. The taking of food is a prime necessity for every animal. The necessity begins almost at the instant independent life begins. It returns with regularity or at least with absolute certainty so long as the vital functions continue their normal activity. And any failure to meet the demands of the appetite for food and drink prevents all development and ordi- narily brings speedy death. The necessity for building nests or homes has no such immediate relation to the organization of the animal. And in the work of building we are intro- duced at once to the higher and more complex acts of Instinct. In the case of many animals, the building is sim- ply a contrivance for rearing young ; the home never being used except for the production and care of the young, and therefore not being any thing growing out of the constant necessities of the indi- vidual, as is the taking of food. Some animals never build at all, either for themselves or their young, as is the case with most fishes as well as with many of the larger quadrupeds ; and even some birds lay their eggs upon the bare rocks or grass. There are examples enough from all depart- ments of the animal kingdom, in different parts of the scale of rank, to show that building is by no means a prime necessity even for the care of young. And it is further to be remarked that the skill in building is by no means in proportion to the rank of the animal in the intelligence of its acts in regard Homes of Animals. 97 to other things. In fact those animals which in their structure and mental qualities seem to approach nearest humanity, either build in a very rude man- ner or not at all. In many cases the skill to build seems to be greater as the animal is lower in the scale. Certain it is, that the nest is no test of the capability of the animal in any other direction. It seems to be something which the animal has the impulse to build and the skill to build because it needs it for its own welfare or that of the species, as the silk worm winds the cocoon for a tomb in which to pass to a higher condition of life. There are certain things in reference to this ten- dency to build and the skill in doing the work that are not only curious but may have an important bearing upon the theories respecting the origin and development of animals. 1. We find in some cases the building material wholly or partially secreted from the body of the builder, — as the silk with which the different spe- cies of spiders weave their webs or form their curious nests, and the wax for the Honey-bee’s comb. In the case of many other animals the sizing or cement is apparently furnished from the body of the build- er, as in the case of hornets and wasps of various kinds that make paper and the hardest kind of paste-board of woody fiber. The American Swift or Chimney-Swallow, also glues together the sticks to form its nest with a cement from the glands of its throat. 2. Among animals very nearly allied there is 5 98 Instinct, great diversity of building as is seen especially among bees of different kinds ; as the Honey-bee with its waxen wonder and the Bumble-bee with her few uncouth cells, chiefly the deserted cocoons of her brood. The Carpenter-bee and others give still more diverse methods. Among the wasp tribe v/e find those that build with woody fiber and others that build with clay. And both of these materials are wrought into varied forms by differ- ent species of the wasp tribe. 3. The building is sometimes the work of the male alone, as in the case of the Sticklebacks among fishes ; and sometimes of the female alone, as the nest of the Paper-wasp prepared for the first brood of workers in the spring ; and sometimes it is the joint labor of both male and female, as among miost birds. And then in other cases, all the care of building belongs to a set of workers that never produce young themselves but seem to have their whole en- ergy concentrated on the work of providing for and defending the young of others. The White-ants and Honey-bees are the best examples of such builders. 4. Those animals that show the greatest range of building power are those that build in the rudest manner ; and those animals that attract the great- est attention by their complicated and skilfuly constructed homes, are those that work almost with the exactness of machinery. Impulse to Build. 99 5. When we find different methods of building practised by the same animal, we generally observe the same uniformity in carrying out each of these methods, as we find among animals having only one method. The house of the Muskrat, built of mud and reeds in shallow waters, and the burrow of the same animal where he can find steep banks, are two methods by which he adapts himself to the differ- ent conditions of the places he inhabits ; but each method is as uniform, in itself considered, as though that were the only method practised by the ani- mal. In a certain sense, the structure of an animal’s organs and the functions of his body have a relation to the home he prepares, for it is by structure alone or structure and function combined that he is ena- bled to build at all. But the impulse to build in the large majority of cases is one that has so remote a relation to the structure of the animal or his wants, and his ability to build so far transcends what we should expect from an examination of his structure, that we could never tell beforehand how any ani- mal would build. Nothing can well be more unlike than the homes of animals that we should naturally expect would build in the same manner. We see no tendency in the function of produc- ing young even to originate the impulse to build or to give the skill to build the numerous kinds of nests found in the animal kingdom. In some cases we see the need of the nests and dens if the young are to come to maturity at all with any degree of 100 Instinct. certainty ; but the need arising from certain condi- tions does not in any manner account for the origin of the impulse to do a given thing, or the marvel- lous skill often manifested to meet the conditions which the necessity imposes. If we consider the nests of birds for instance, which are the animal homes best known to us, they nearly all are made simply for the care of the young; but no one could tell from the examination of a bird, what materials it would select for its nest, its method of combining them or the position of the nest. Birds very nearly allied differ much in their habits of nesting, and yet in each case the nest is so uniform in its structure and surroundings as to be in general characteristic of the species. That is, birds of the same species, under the same circum- stances, build with like materials and in like posi- tions. Any departure from the common method of building in any given locality will be found, on careful examination, to be very slight, and to be so uniform in the variation, according to the surround- ing conditions, as to appear to be a manifestation of a wider range of Instinct than had generally been attributed to the bird, rather than a result of intel- ligent contrivance, as is seen among men. The va- riation in the form of nest once seen can be described as the certain work of the animal when circum- stances demand or favor the change ; the new man- ifestation of instinctive knowledge and skill being made in a specific method to meet the new condi- tions. We need only call attention to a few of our well Swallows. lOI known birds to show that each species instinctively gathers the same materials for its nests, combines them in the same manner, and selects for its nests similar positions ; and also to show that birds of the same family, and even of the same genus, differ more from each other in all these particulars, than many birds do that are far removed from each other, ac- cording to the structure of organs and apparent ability to build. One of the Swallow family, like a skilful mason, fastens its nest of mortar against the frame-work of the old barn ; another, with the same materials, fash- ions a more curious nest still,beneath the eaves of the same building, — both species preferring these places, when they can be found, to such places as they are compelled to setect beyond the habitations of man. Another Swallow makes her grassy bed in a hollow tree, another digs deep holes in steep sandy banks, for its young. The so called Chimney-swal- low finds its favorite home in hollow trees or in the chimney of the farm-house, where it plasters its hard nest of sticks against the mason work with a cement secreted from its own body. If we class this bird near the Night-hawks, as some do, the difference in nesting is as marked, for the Night-hawks can hard- ly be said to form nests at all. No examination of these birds would enable the best Ornithologist in the world to predict what materials would be used for the nest of each, the form of the nest, or its position. The facts can be learned by observation only. But when the habits of each species, in nesting, have once been learned, they are always 102 Instinct. given in describing the bird as something so con- stant from generation to generation, as to be worthy of study as characteristics of the species. Among the Thrushes, the well known Robin builds its rude nest of mud and grass in almost any elevated place, while other birds of the same ge- nus, as the Brown thrush, use no mud in the con- struction of their nests and often place them upon the ground. The brilliantly colored Oriole weaves her pendant nest upon slender, drooping branches. The nearly allied Crow-blackbird builds its nest entirely unlike this, of coarse materials, on the most solid basis it can select, while the Cow-black- bird, like the European Cuckoo, never builds at all; but deposits its eggs in the nests of other birds that its young may be cared for by them. Most of our sparrows build simple nests upon the ground, while the Chipping-sparrow, like the Canada Bunting, is known as “Tree-sparrow,” and also as “ Hair-bird,” because it generally builds in trees and lines its nest with hair. What can be more curious, or mark more strong- ly the peculiar nature of Instinct, than that thousands of birds of the same kind should form nests of the same pattern, selecting materials of the same kind for the different parts, when no possible reason can be given why another form would not do as well for the bird and be as easy for her to build ! It is true, when we examine nests of the same species in different localities, that we find difference in material, difference in the perfection of the work, Uniformity of the work. 103 and difference in the position of the nests. But when we have discounted all these differences, there remains a permanence of type to the work of Ifi- stinct in each species, almost equal to the perma- nence of structure, size, color and other character- istics that mark the species. So that we may fair- ly say that the uniformity of Instinct in the work of building, approaches the uniformity of physical function in giving character to the animal. We have here then two very distinct statements to make that seem borne out by careful observa- tion. First, — That in the same species there is in general great uniformity in all the elements of building, as to materials, form, skilful work and posi- tion. And, Second, — That birds so nearly allied as to be- long to the same family, and even the same genus, build in such diverse methods that their nests have little or nothing in common, except that they are nests. If we start with the assumption that each fami- ly of birds came from one ancestor, it is perplexing to understand how the slight differences of struc- ture which mark the distinction between many spe- cies, should be accompanied by such change of In- stinct that there should be such great diversity in building among birds of nearly allied species inhab- iting the same district ; and yet such great uni- formity and permanence of method among birds of the same species. That the Baltimore Oriole should always hang 104 Instinct. its nest as it does, or that the Chipping-sparrow should line its nest with hair, and so on of the pe- culiar characteristics of the nests of hundreds of birds, are things which cannot be satisfactorily ac- counted for, by any appeal to the force of habit or any thing connected with the physical nature of the bird. It has been noticed by Mr. Wallace, in his val- uable contribution to Natural History,* that birds generally build with the materials most convenient for them ; and this is undoubtedly true as a gener- al proposition, as it is true that they eat the food most convenient for them. And they select for their breeding-places regions where the conditions of building and feeding are best for them. This selection of localities by long journeys even, is a part of their instinctive work. But it is not true that birds select the most convenient material for building to any such ex- tent as to lead us to infer that they learned to build with any particular materials simply because they were abundant. For different kinds of birds living in the same region, build their nests upon very different plans, and very many of them build of materials that are by no means abundant. It is difficult to tell why the Great-crested Fly-catcher uses the cast-off skins of snakes in building its nests ; but, certainly, it is not because they are the most abundant materials that it can find. If the exact material the birds wish for cannot be found, they select that most like it as a substi- * “Natural Selection/’ p. 215. Wallace s Theory. 105 tute. The materials are then woven in a manner peculiar to each species, so that the nest of the bird, in very many cases, can be as certainly known when found deserted as it would be with the bird upon it. And when a new bird is discovered and its nest is found, that is described with nearly the same expectation on the part of the Naturalist that all other birds of that species will nest in the same manner, as that they will produce eggs of the same size, form and color. The character of the nest depends not only upon the material used but upon the form and the method in which the mate- rial is combined. The theory is broached by Wal- lace,* that the young bird studies the nest, and so builds by imitation. To say nothing of the want of observation which he shows in talking of the young birds as coming back to the nest, which sel- dom, if ever, happens among birds that build open nests, as the large majority of birds do,— he seems to overlook the fact that skill in combining the ma- terials for the nest, is the marvel. It is not so much that the bird knows how the nest is made as that she is able to make the nest at all, — especially that certain kinds of birds are able to build such com- plicated nests the first time the attempt is made. Let Mr. Wallace study the nest of a Baltimore Oriole or of a Chipping-sparrow twice as long as the young birds remain in it, even counting the days before their eyes are open, and let him then go to work with all the implements the most skilful mechanic * “ Natural Selection,” pp. 223-3. 5* io6 Instinct. can furnish, — let him work a month, and if he can produce as good a nest as the bird will build in a week with its beak and claws, we will listen patient- ly to the arguments to prove that birds learn by observation to build nests. We can hardly do so now. But it is said that some nests of the same spe- cies are better built than others. Certainly. Sometimes undoubtedly it is impossible for the bird to find the best materials; sometimes there may be structural difficulties in the bird that inter- fere with skilful work, and it would certainly be dif- ferent from any thing else in nature if we did not find birds of the same species differing somewhat in the nest-building power, as they do in size, beauty of plumage and power of song. It is possible that there is real improvement by practice, as Wilson long ago suggested, but there are no facts that are conclusive proof of it. And after discounting all differences found among nests of the same species, we have still remaining in the manufacture of some nests, manifestations of skill that no human work- man can approach with the same materials. A careful examination of the nests of birds will con- vince any one that there is given to each species, without experience or instruction, a tendency to build nests, that arises as spontaneously as hunger arises at stated times from waste of tissue. There is also an impulse to select certain materials for the dif- ferent parts of the nest ; and this impulse is as fixed as is the law of growth which gives to the bird a certain color or thickness of feather, both of which Intelligence, 107 may vary according to the different conditions of the bird. And lastly, there is the skill to combine the materials ; and this comes by the same sort of law as that by which the talons of the bird of prey are fitted for their work, or ornaments of color and form of feather are so skilfully arranged on birds as to challenge the admiration of the greatest mas- ters of art. The perfect form of beak and talon and the ornamentation of feathers are the result of growth ; but because the work of building nests in- volves volition^ the same sort of wisdom and skill are often referred to the bird as would be found in a human being who could perform the same work. But a human being having Intelligence, that is, the power of comprehending the relation of means to ends, would be compelled to study and work long to gain the knowledge and skill which the bird has as an original gift — as it has fine feathers without borrowing them and artistic ornaments without la- bor or price. Intelligence, wherever found, has the blessed privilege of laboring in order to learn, and the condition of enjoyment through learning, never ends; but the knowledge and skill of Instinct come without effort. There is no joy in acquiring and no basis for self-improvement from Instinct alone. The animal doomed to live under the guidance of Instinct alone, has its knowledge and skill at the appointed time as regularly and as spontaneously as hunger or thirst. That birds may have a ray of Intelligence we shall not here pretend to deny. When we come to trace out the relation of instinctive acts to the io8 Instinct, work of Intelligence, we may be ready to grant to some of them a good measure of Intelligence. What we wish now especially to controvert, is the doctrine that all Instinct is the result of observa- tion, either of the present races or of past races, from which the fixed habits have been transmitted, or that high wisdom and skill manifested in an act, are any certain proof of comprehension on the part of the actor. One of the most conclusive arguments against this doctrine, that birds build nests by observa- tion or the study of the nest in which they were hatched, is found in the habits of the Cow-bird {Mo- lothrus pecoris) already referred to. This bird nev- er builds a nest at all. The young Cow-birds wake to life in all sorts of nests where their mothers de- posit their eggs, — in Ground-sparrows’ and Tree- sparrows’ nests — in Warblers’ and Vireos’ nests. Now according to the observation theory, we ought to find these birds building nests; and such nests as each one was raised in. But we find Instinct as- serting its sway. In the spring time we see hun- dreds of these birds in New England congregating together — not with the birds in whose nests they were hatched. We find them with a note of their own and in spite of their opportunity of observa- tion and in spite of the care of their foster-parents, we see these perverse birds refusing to build nests of any kind, but putting out their own young to be cared for by other birds, just as their own parents did. They follow the habits of their parents. Defective Instinct Supplemented. 109 although they never saw them, and perversely throw aside all the instruction of their foster-parents, which they enjoyed oftentimes to the detriment or destruction of the rightful birdlings of the nest. We here observe two things that impress us with the blindness as well as certainty with which Instinct operates, when performing those works which often appear so wise. The Cow-bird simply finds a nest, deposits an egg and leaves it to its fate. The Instinct of the mother stops there ; and the whole race of Cow-birds would speedily become extinct if this apparently defective Instinct were not supplemented by the Instinct of the foster- mother that broods upon the egg as though it were her own, and then feeds the strange bird hatched from it, until it becomes twice her own size, it may be, and entirely unlike her own young. Though this young intruder often pitches all the rightful occu- pants of the nest upon the ground to die, yet the foster-mother does not generally detect the imposi- tion practised upon her. If her Instinct were not at fault there would soon be an end of Cow-birds. But if Cow-birds are to exist at all, then the perfection and wisdom manifested in the foster-mother’s In- stinct consists in the certainty of her being de- ceived and thus doing for the Cow-bird the work which its parent refused or failed to do for it. In a certain sense the nest-building Instinct of birds is connected with the function of producing young ; but the connection is very remote compared no Instinct. with the connection between hunger or thirst and the Instinct that enables the animal to satisfy the appetites. At the proper time the bird returns, it may be from the south, to its proper breeding-place, chooses its mate, if that were not done before the journey commenced, and in due time commences the work of nest building. The peculiar nature of Instinct is shown first in this, that the bird builds its nest before it is really needed, and also in the materials selected, their skilful arrangement and in the form and position of the nest ; ail constant or very nearly so, in the same species. All the differences that have been pointed out in nests of the same species of birds are not greater than can be pointed out in the habits of the same species of plants^ by which ^ through some law of their growth, they adapt themselves to the conditions of the place where they chance to grow. We are prepared to say then that while we do not deny a degree of Intelli- gence, even to birds, we regard their most perfect and wonderful works, those often referred to as proofs of Intelligence, to be the products of Instinct that works by a wisdom of which its possessor has no comprehension. LECTURE V. SOME MANIFESTATIONS OF HIGHER INSTINCT.— RELATION OF INSTINCT TO SPECIAL STRUCT- URE AND FUNCTION. Relation of the Appetites to the Instincts. — Perfection of the work no proof of Intelligence in the Actor . — Test of Intelligence. — Flexi- bility of Instinct . — The Ampelopsis . — The Bean . — The Potato , — The K7iowledge of Eneynies among Fowls. — Common defence . — Simulation of death. — Instmct and Climatic change . — The Musk- rat . — The Paj'tridge , — Instincts learned from observatio7i alone. — Instincts essential to life. — Origin of instinctive powers. — Hi- bernation. — Difficulties of the Natural Selection Theory. — Special Structures . — The Rattlesnake, Bee, Wasp and Hornet . — Rela- tion of Instinct to color and form. — Cases cited from Wallace.—^ Relation of Instinct to Experience. — Seventeen-year Locusts. We have thus far treated of Instinct chiefly as sup- plementing structure and function of organs, either directly or indirectly. There is a certain function of the stomach that produces the sensation of hun- ger. Instinct takes up the work and allays this craving by supplying the materials that satisfy it, — and the materials that satisfy it in each animal are the materials fitted to prolong his life and build up the body. This chain of m^eans is complete. The links all join together — they are links of physi- cal necessity, if the animal kingdom is to be kept on this globe. In hundreds of kinds of animals they arc II2 Instinct. as ready to do their appointed work the instant the animal bursts from the egg, as they are at any sub- sequent period of life, as in the case of the majority of insects and fishes that never know a parent’s care. It is sometimes said that hunger is instinctive. A careful consideration of the activities will show this statement to be an abuse of terms. Much con- fusion has arisen by confounding the appetites with the Instincts or from a misapprehension of their relations to each other. The appetites proper, as the appetite for food, arise directly from the func- tional action of some organ. The functional action of the stomach, for instance, producing hunger, calls Instinct into play to procure the proper food. And this may be said of the appetites, that they are the condition for the activity of certain Instincts calling them into play to carry out to completion the work, to which the appetites furnish the first im- pulse ; that is, the continuance of the individual or species. Some of the works that have their origin in an impulse of appetite are so complicated that they give rise to whole series of acts involving a varied and wonderful adaptation of means to ends, as is the case among birds in all their work of rear- ing young referred to in the last lecture. But so long as the same results are reached by the same means by thousands of individuals without experience or instruction, we have no ground for inferring that there is comprehension of means and ends in the actor. In fact the more complex and perfect the work per- formed, provided it is pe7formed withoid instruction or chance for experience, the more certain it is that Self-adjusting Power, 113 such work was blindly performed under the control of some law of life, as certain in its action, and yet as free from wisdom or contrivance in the actor, as the growth of organs or the activity of the organs when the good of the being demands it. Intelli- gence in the actor works by no such uniform meth- ods. But it is said there is not only adaptation of means to ends among animals but such a variation of action according to the change of conditions as to show comprehension on the part of the actor. If there is truly comprehension and specific ac- tion in consequence of it, showing that means and ends and their relation to each other are all under- stood by the actor, then we plainly have intelli- gence. But in many cases there is no proof of com- prehension where it is claimed. It seems to be the nature of Instinct to vary within certain limits to meet the change of conditions in the world around it, as the balance-wheel of the watch, made of differ- ent metals, adjusts itself to almost continual change of temperature so as to give uniform results in the movement of the watch. It is the office of Instinct to do a certain work to keep the animal in the world. To do this it must vary somewhat in its action ac- cording to external conditions, but no more, nor in a more wonderful manner, than the organs or func- tions vary in their activity in both animals and plants, to meet the change of conditions in the world around them. Does not the eye adjust itself without Intelligence, to the change of light within certain limits? Does not the coat of fur thicken Instmct. 1 14 upon animals as winter approaches, to be thrown off again, without volition, when the warmth of spring makes it no longer needful, but a burden? Even among plants, we find such change of action according to surrounding conditions, that nothing would save them from being charged with acting by contrivance and forethought, except that they are plants. If a Woodbine [Ampelopsis quinquefolici) can find a support on which it can wind its tendrils, it will do so, like the Grape-vine and many other climbing plants ; but if it can find no such support, it will fasten the ends of its tendrils against the smooth walls by broad disks and thus hold itself in place. This beautiful vine was evidently made to climb walls ; and within certain limits, its method of growth changes to meet the circumstances of the case. A bean, which must climb, hunts for a pole by causing the terminal bud to describe larger cir- cles as the vine lengthens. It will find the pole on one side of the hill as well as on the other within certain limits, — that is, if the pole is near enough for the vine to reach it before its weight brings it to the ground. It will, even then, often make a sec- ond attempt from its new centre of support. The eyes or buds of the potato may be pointed towards the centre of the earth, but when the sprouts start they will bend and, avoiding all obstacles that op- pose them within certain limits, will push their way to the light. These and a multitude of other plants not only show adaptation of means to ends in their mode of growth, but the mode of growth va- ries according to the conditions in which the plant Higher Mariifestations. 1 1 5 is placed. In the animal kingdom there are just as plain cases of variation of method where no com- prehension can be fairly inferred, but where it is often presumed to be present simply because the acts are voluntary. We have here another illustra- tion of the value of a more careful study of plant life and the functional changes of the animal king- dom to adapt its members to the conditions, of the world, in correcting many hasty conclusions and in leading us to study the conditions of any act more carefully than is generally done, before we refer its wisdom or the contrivance manifested by it, to the comprehension of the actor. We have perhaps sufficiently considered the Instincts as ministering to the demands of the ap- petites. But there are instinctive acts that have no possible relation to the appetites or any function of organs, so far as we can see. They arise from some power of knowing, or mode of acting, given to the animal as its original endowment, such as could be gained by man only from experience or instruc- tion. The fear of a particular enemy is an exam- ple, as the fear of birds of prey by our domestic fowls. Fear of danger is an Instinct common to all animals as well as man ; and a bird may certainly learn by experience, that certain things are danger- ous. In all cases where an animal learns by expe- rience, there may be a claim set up that there is Intelligence ; though here there is great need of caution, as many cases of apparent learning from experience can be fairly brought under that princi- ple of Instinct, which we have already explained, Instinct, 1 16 by which it varies within certain limits, to meet change of condition in the world around it. But the peculiar fear which all grain-eating birds have of hawks, even when they are seen for the first time, is marvellous. The domestic fowls always know their enemy, — raise the cry of alarm, — and even the young chickens rush to cover. Young birds of other kinds, in the nest, unable to fly and as 5^et having no experience of evil, shrink with wild ter- ror from a hawk. The fact that the fowl knows every bird of prey at first sight, as something to be specially dread- ed, is a thing that marks the manifestation of Instinct as peculiar ; and for the existence of this peculiar terror no rational account can be given, except that this instinctive dread is an original endowment of the fowl, without which the species would be de- stroyed. All attempts to resolve it into habit or experience, seem to us to utterly fail, as we shall at- tempt to show in a future lecture. It is one of the original outfits essential for the preservation of the species, and therefore could no more be left to experience than the Instinct for selecting food could be left to experience. There is not only instinctive recognition, by the fowl, of the hawk as an enemy, but Instinct also makes every fowl a sentinel for all the rest of the flock. The first one that sees the enemy does not seek its own safety alone, but instantly raises the cry of alarm, which all its fellows, even the youngest, instantly understand. That note is like no other, but it is common to all fowls when Fear of Eyiemies. 117 the enemy is seen. This peculiar fear, the note of warning, the instant recognition of it by all oth- ers, and the impulse to hide when the alarm is sounded, are, taken together, a perfect adaptation of means to ends ; such as might be arranged among men by agreement. But here we find this social machinery in operation at once among all fowls. Each one acts its part instinctively, with the same precision and certainty as its hunger comes to aid in the preservation of its life, or its wings grow in the best mechanical form for flying. Among grain-eating and insect-eating birds there is also a common call or warning note, heeded not by one species only but by many, when there is common danger from birds of prey. It is not an uncommon thing to see hawks chased by several kinds of birds at the same time, especially the spar- row hawks, that are dangerous to the small birds. A most remarkable instance of this united action of the different species of birds in protecting each other, came under my own observation. A small owl was fastened near a house in daytime, and was accidentally seen by a robin, that raised the alarm of danger. Instantly, from all directions, the note was answered, and birds of different kinds were seen flying towards the spot. Within five minutes, more than fifty birds, representing fourteen differ- ent species, were in the tree and doing what they could to drive away or torment their common en- emy, the owl. There are other methods of saving life by in- stinctive acts, that are so uniform and yet vary so ii8 Instinct. much in details to suit particular cases, that they are worthy of study, as parts of that complex ma- chinery by which nature provides for her species, so that they may have a fair chance in the struggle for existence. The simulating of death is a common instinctive act with many animals. If we referred this device to any comprehension of means to ends by the ac tor, it would, in its different manifestations, be rank- ed with the most adroit cunning among men. But the varied conditions under which this instinctive act is manifested, forbid our referring it to any thing but an original gift, as free from contrivance on the part of the actor as is his form or color. The sim- ulation of death is common to many of the insect tribe and to the Opossum, whose success in the trick is so well known as to make his name a by- word. We find the same simulation of death among the young of some species of mice, so long as they are helpless, while the Instinct seems to be lost when they are old enough to care for themselves in other ways. Before their eyes are open, they will go through all the contortions of dying animals, and finally put on the perfect semblance of death. When we consider the low rank of the Opossum, the most successful counterfeiter of death among adult vertebrates, and also that this device is most com- mon among insects, and is also found among the helpless young of some animals, we shall see that this apparent cunning and contrivance are sim- ply capabilities given to compensate for the want of other powers, and that they are the result of spon- Climatic Change. 119 taneous impulse, saving the animal, he knows not how. There are many instinctive powers ascribed to animals the existence of which is not certainly es- tablished — as the power of perceiving the change of weather. Some animals may possess this power as an Instinct, but there is need of more observation on the point, before it can be accepted as estab- lished. Undoubtedly they are influenced by cli- matic change, as men are, and many of them proba- bly to a much greater degree ; but a careful exam- ination may show that many acts now referred to Instinct, are simply the result of physical exhilaration or depression, through climatic influence, and that these are therefore reflex, rather than instinctive, acts. Certain it is, that Instinct is not a perfect guide in reference to climatic change ; for many an- imals perish every year because heat or cold, or moisture or drought, are more severe than their In- stinct had provided for. Under the impulse of the Instinct of migration, birds often come north in spring to perish by storms of snow and cold, which would not happen if Instinct were the perfect weath- er prophet which it sometimes has the credit of being. It is supposed by some, that the severity of the coming winter can be predicted from the character of the walls of the houses which the Muskrats build. After carefully observing the work of these ani- mals for more than twenty-five years, and compar- ing the predictions with the results, I cannot be- lieve that the Muskrat knows any thing, beforehand, 120 histmct. of the severity of the winter or the height of the coming freshets. He certainly makes serious blun- ders. He sometimes builds his house where the water leaves it in winter and the frost renders it useless. And, again, he builds it where the freshets overflow it and compel him to shift for himself among the ice and water. The Muskrat provides for winter as many other animals do, but the un- certainty of the season is a condition which seems to be an important element that he has to contend with in his struggle for existence. The thickness of the walls of his house, according to which the severity of winters is predicted, seems to depend upon the condition of the weather while the house is building, rather than upon any foresight of its builder as to the coming winter. As the Muskrat cannot control the height of the water, as does his cousin the Beaver, he is often compelled to add to his house as the water rises and then again as it re- treats, while he makes his canals and approaches deeper. He is often kept at work upon his house till winter closes in. What affects one lodge is like- ly to affect all more or less, in the same region ; and thus in meeting the exigencies of the case, from day to day, these animals have had credit for a fore- sight which they do not possess. The safety of all species is that their Instinct provides for the average season, — our protection against many animals, that is, against their too abun- dant increase, is that their Instinct fails to make provision against the extremes of seasons. When certain insects become abundant, it often happens The Partridge, I2I that a single season rids us of the pest because their Instinct fails to meet the exigency of the case. The common Partridge, or Ruffed Grouse of our forests, knows how to protect itself from severe winter weather by plunging beneath the light snow. Its Instinct leads it to take advantage of the non-con- ducting power of the snow to sleep in warmth and comfort, while the storm is raging above. This act is beautiful in its relation to the welfare of the bird, and shows that Instinct is here wiser in its action than the Intelligence of some men, who perish from cold when they might protect themselves perfectly with a covering of snow. But while the Instinct of the Partridge teaches her to protect herself from the storm by plunging beneath the snow, it does not teach her that the falling snow may turn to rain and be succeeded by cold ; which sometimes happens, so that the poor bird is imprisoned by the hard crust, to die of hunger or be dug out by some prowling fox that thus finds a Partridge ready trap- ped for him. It is not uncommon to find the evi- dence of such mistakes of Instinct, or want of in- stinctive foresight, in our New England forests late in winter. The Instinct of the bird which leads her to seek protection in the snow, is upon the whole, good. It contributes to the comfort and safe- ty of the species, while it sometimes works injury to the individual bird. This is another example of the great law of nature, that there shall be a con- stant struggle for existence — that no individual of any species, can be perfectly protected against acci- dents and early death ; and that Instinct itself, 6 122 Instinct, which is sometimes called “ unerring,” may be the means of destroying its possessor, by the very agen- cies which it calls into play to preserve him. The power of some animals to find their homes when carried from them under such conditions that they cannot observe, and even to take a straight course towards them, is generally acknowledged. It is contended by some that the Carrier Pigeon is guided by sight, while others deny it. While we believe some animals have this instinctive power, it is difficult to determine the facts in the case by ob- servation. And if established, they would be only one more illustration of the principle already consid- ered, that animals have, as an original gift, all those powers needed for their mode of life. The many points in regard to which we are still in doubt respecting the habits of our most common animals, show that we still have need of Hubers and Wilsons to study every species. Not only do our story books, but our school books, abound in state- ments that nature refuses to endorse. And learned writers often trust to such unreliable statements, or ignore the facts that contradict some favorite defi- nition or theory. Fortunately for our purpose, there are examples enough to illustrate every point we wish to make, that are repeated from year to year, so that they can be studied by every careful observer. In the manifestations of Instinct last considered we see evident relation to the welfare of the indi- vidual or the species to which it belongs. These Instinctive powers give such ability to act as expe- Necessity of Observation. 123 rience might be supposed to give ; but the ability being needed before it could be gained from expe- rience, it appears as part of that outfit with which the animal is sent into the world. But the princi- ples of action in many of these cases, are of such a nature that there is nothing in the organization of the animal to suggest their existence. We learn of their existence only by observation. There is nothing in the structure of birds to indicate to us with any certainty where they will build, or the form of their nests. We know that the fowl gives the cry of danger at the sight of the hawk, and that its young seek cover at the alarm, because we have seen the frightened brood thus guided by Instinct. We readily see the wisdom of the thing, but it is impossible to learn from the structure of the ani- mal that it will perform these particular acts, as we could infer from the talon and beak of a new spe- cies of hawk that it would live on flesh, or from the structure of the web-foot that its possessor would seek the water. Instincts that minister directly to the appetites, are common to all animals as an absolute necessity to them. They must act promptly, or individuals must perish, until the species disappears. Instincts that protect animals from their most fatal enemies are common to many species, ready to spring into action the instant the enemy is per- ceived, even for the first time. And such an In- stinct seems to be almost as essential to the preser- vation of some species, as are the Instincts that minister to the appetites. 124 Instinct. It may not be out of place to refer in this con- nection, to the bearing of some of the facts thus far considered on the origin of these powers which an- imals possess, as well as upon the origin of the spe- cies themselves. If we adopt the theory of transmitted skill gained through the experience of previous genera- tions, which has much that is plausible in its favor, we are forced to the conclusion that there have been ancestors of our wild animals of very great ingenuity in devising and executing plans, and that these ingenious beings have appeared in great num- bers among the insects ; and we are also troubled to see how the species, in many cases, continued upon the earth till these ingenious beings appeared whose wisdom and contrivance, inherited by their descendants, seem now absolutely essential for the continuance of the species from one generation to another — in many cases, for their continuance for a single year. If we appeal to Natural Selection, as is now fre- quently done, we have indeed a powerful agency to work with ; but will it do the work we need to have done? Natural Selection, granting all that is claimed by those who invoke its aid for the solution of all problems in regard to the habits and struc- ture that characterize species of animals, — Natural Selection is simply “ the preserving of the fittest!' It does not give a characteristic to any animal, but sim- ply preserves him through the agency of some charac- teristic which he already possesses. Natural Selec- tion does not give to the animal the power to hi- Hibernation. 125 bernate, for instance ; but the most it can do, is to preserve those animals that already have this pow- er in the greatest perfection. But in the conditions of hibernation we find an exceedingly complicated machinery for the preservation of animal life, vary- ing much according to the species. There is a chain of agencies of which Instinct is only one link. Hibernating animals of the higher rank, feed upon food that is abundant in the autumn. Their appe- tite is then voracious, and fat accumulates to an un- wonted degree. So far. Instinct has no part in the work except in the procuring of food. But now it comes in as chief actor, to impel and guide the ani- mal in preparing a nest or retreat for his winter’s sleep. When this is done, function takes up the entire work again, lessens the rate of breathing and lowers the whole vital activity, so that the animal lives for months without eating, and yet comes out in good condition when nature has once more spread a table for him. In the case of other ani- mals, especially in the case of some reptiles and in- sects, there is complete torpor. But in every case we see these agencies. Instinct and Function, work- ing together, or rather working in succession, each supplementing the other. It may be said that cold has a tendency to lower vitality, and so by degrees these functional changes are produced and the animal, or more strict- ly the species, forms a habit which we call Instinct But if we go to certain hot countries where great heat and drought are combined, we find animals secre- ting themselves by Instinct and becoming torpid in 126 Instinct. summer, as they do with us in winter. The exact counterpart of hibernation is there repeated under entirely different conditions. Instinct is as perfect in its work there as here. Its object in both coun- tries is to aid in saving the animal when his food fails and the extremes of climate are too severe for him. It does its work well ; but it would utterly fail in both hot and cold countries, if the functions of the animals did not supplement it in producing those remarkable changes in vital activity, render- ing multitudes of animals here torpid in winter, and there in summer. Instinct has not only to meet these different conditions, but it must vary in both places, in many ways, to meet the wants of different species of animals. And in this whole work of hi- bernation, — if it be proper to apply this term to the change that occurs in hot countries, — in all this work of hibernation, which is a wonder in itself, we find Instinct true to its character as thus far traced, as an agency spontaneous in its action supplement- ing the physiological agencies, to preserve the indi- vidual and species. If now we claim that all these hibernating ani- mals are what they are because Natural Selection has been going on from age to age until only those are left that Structure, Function and Instinct all combining, have adapted to the conditions of the world in the northern regions and under the equator, the question still returns. How were the species pre- served till these changes in action were all brought into harmony with each other and with the world without — until adaptations were secured that sin- Natural Selection, 127 gly or in a long series, seem now essential to the very existence of the species ? Another question also arises ; how were the changes which have resulted in these complex adap- tations inaugurated ? If we refer all these results to accidental changes accumulating in the right di- rection, we confess it would be as easy for us to be- lieve that the words of a book might be formed in order by a series of accidental positions of type thrown from a box. If we refer any of these nice adjustments to the comprehension and contrivance of animals in the first instance, then we are called upon to recognize in the ancestors of the present races a power of comprehension which these races do not now possess — a comprehension equalling that power in the best of the human species ; for no man can claim that he could better adjust these activities of the animal with the forces of the inor- ganic world, than they are now adjusted. And these adjustments were complete as they now are before men could understand the work even. And it must constantly be borne in mind that to explain these results through the agency of Nat- ural Selection, we must see how it could secure not only all the difference of Instinct that there is in the world, by the accumulation of changes all working out a specific result, and the difference of form and internal structure by like accumulated changes ; but we must see how it can secure all of these at the same time^ so as to produce the specific forms in their wonderful variety and the specific instincts in their complexity, and yet bring structure, func- 128 Instinct, tion and Instinct to harmonize in every one of the hundreds of thousands of species, — and each indi- vidual, through these combined agencies, into the best relations with the world in which it lives. In addition to this, before we can accept Natur- al Selection as the chief agency in the production of species, we must see how all the species were kept in existence while those slow changes were taking place which now give the species character and upon which their existence seems to depend. The explanations of the best masters, after giving them the benefit of every fact they present, leave many, perplexing difficulties, in regard to such re- lationships as we have already referred to. The problem will become more difficult as we advance. Some of its difficulties are well illustrated by the examples under the next topic, — The Relation of Instinct to special structure and fuyiction. If we accept Natural Selection as the means of securing the special adaptations of instincts and in- struments which we see among animals, we must grant that in every case, there was at the beginning, an instrument and an instinct to use it effectively ; because an instrument without the corresponding instinct would be of no advantage to the animal, but a dg^mage. Where we find special structures or special functions and corresponding instincts, we must grant the co-existence of both and the con- joined action of both, before Natural Selection could possibly have any influence to preserve either The Rattle-Snake. I2g of them in the species, or the species themselves through their action. Without attempting, at this point, to discuss the questions that might arise as to the origin of the conjoined structure, function and Instinct, we pro- ceed to call attention to a few facts that illustrate the subject, and at least show more fully than has thus far been done, the diversity of action of the instinctive principle, and also how Instinct supple- ments structure and function of organs, in higher planes of action than the mere securing of food. We take as our first illustration that dreaded reptile the Rattle-snake. We here find, first, the grooved or perforated fang, — its point sharpened like a chisel, on the most approved principles. This instrument is folded away when not in use, but un- sheathed and in position the instant it is needed. As the tooth grew, all the straps and springs need- ful for its most effective use grew with it. At its base grows a gland secreting a deadly poison ; and the opening of that gland is through the hollow tooth. When the tooth makes its wound, the same motion that drives it home, injects the poison. The whole machinery is perfect. Structure and function both agree in a complicated but perfect manner. The result of their combined action, is death to the victim. Now comes in the third element which we call Instinct, guiding the voluntary action of the snake. The tooth and the poison would have no terror for us, were it not that the snake will strike and do it effectively without instruction ! But the rattle of this reptile is another peculiar 6 * 130 Instinct. contrivance related to its Instinct. The rattle gives a note of warning to animals. It is of no apparent use to the snake, as it ought to be according to the Natural Selection theory ; but, on the other hand, it is likely to bring death to its possessor by giving notice to its enemies of his presence. If the rattle is beneficial to the snake, it appears when least need- ed, for when the snake is young and most likely to be injured by its enemies, it has no rattle. The rattles grow as the fangs grow, that make him dan- gerous to other animals and to man. We find this instrument of warning and the Instinct to use it given to this snake that, on account of its great numbers and wide distribution, would be exceeding- ly dangerous without them. In this reptile then we have the perforated tooth with all its complicated adjustments, the deadly poison to accompany it, the rattle to give warning as he becomes dangerous to other animals, and an Instinct to bring into effective action all these spe- cial structures and functions. In the Bee and Wasp and Hornet, we have the instrument for defence, the poisonous secretion and the Instinct to render them effective. But in the Honey-bee, we have much more than these provis- ions for defence. Its Instinct leads it to store hon- ey for use in winter. We pass now the complicated but special apparatus that enables the Bee to gather the honey, to consider the conditions that enable her to store it. After being gorged with honey, she secretes scales of wax under the rings of the body. This substance, essential to the economy of Bees — Wasps — Hornets. 1 3 1 the bee-hive, is not produced by any work of In- stinct but by a peculiar function of the body Those scales of wax the Bee softens, undoubtedly, by another peculiar secretion ; and then fashions them into a cell that has challenged the admiration of the world. Let us trace this process through. There is an Instinct for gathering honey and, answering to it, an instrument just fitted for drawing it up from the nectaries of flowers. There is also a sack for hold- ing it and for producing certain changes in it. There is an Instinct for storing this honey and a substance secreted that can be molded into cells to hold it. There are instruments given for using the substance to the best possible advantage, and In- stinct to guide in the best use of both instruments and the substance. Instinct comes in at the proper place to link all these agencies together. Let a single link be wanting and all other parts of the chain are useless as a means of preserving the spe- cies. And complicated as this whole process is, it is only a part of the connected series of functional and instinctive adjustments absolutely essential to Hon- ey-bee life, as the species now exists. Among the Wasps and Hornets that build nests and cells of woody fibre, we might trace out the re- lation of Instinct to structure and function, showing results almost as curious as those already consider- ed. In fact, instances almost without number can be given in every department of the animal king- dom where structure and function, either separately or combined, are joined with an Instinct that gives 132 Instinct, them their whole value in securing the welfare of their possessor. Among spiders we find, perhaps, the best il- lustrations of the great diversity of the results pro- duced by the joint action of these three agencies, in animals very nearly allied. A whole lecture might be given in showing the varied uses to which different species of spiders put this web-making se- cretion which is common to nearly the whole spider tribe. We have webs of a multitude of forms — fine threads, as treacherous snares — curious nests lined with satin, and homes beneath the water ; be- sides sacks and covers, from the thinness of gauze to the thickness of paper, to protect their eggs and young. The problem does not seem to be ; In how few ways can Instinct avail itself of function to pro- vide for the family of spiders ? but rather. In how great a multiplicity of methods ? — as though diver- sity were the object aimed at ; and yet each meth- od would challenge our admiration, if all spiders in the world were found using that alone. In this connection we cannot fail to notice the relation of Instinct to form and color. It is well known that many wild animals corres- pond in color very closely to the coloring of the earth and herbage where they live. Among the higher animals, especially among birds, every care- ful observer has noticed that many of them seek those places where their colors will best harmonize with the surrounding objects. The Grouse, already referred to, so closely resembles in color the with- Color and Form, 133 ered leaves among which she places her nest, that the keenest eye seldom discovers her. Though one of the wildest of birds, she settles herself upon the nest and seems to trust in the deceiving power of her feathers, and so remains quiet until the foot of the intruder is almost upon her. The Ptarmigan Grouse of Greenland and the Sage-hen of our Rocky Mountains are both beauti- ful examples of what the united action of color and Instinct can do to protect the bird. I have fre- quently seen both of these birds light, and yet have been entirely unable to distinguish them from the surrounding vegetation until some movement of the bird aided the eye. There is also change of color from summer to winter and the instincts of the animal are in harmony with these changes for its welfare. But it is among insects that this correlation between form and color and Instinct, is most readi- ly observed and most wonderful. There are insects that simulate leaves so closely that they deceive careful observers. Mr. Wallace gives an interesting account* of insects that imitate, in their structure and color, decaying and diseased leaves. And In- stinct here aids in the work of deception ; for these insects fasten themselves upon limbs in such places and in such positions as withered leaves would nat- urally be found in. A spidert is also found, accord- ing to the same author, that resembles a bud in appearance, and his natural place of concealment is * “Natural Selection,” pp. 59-61. f Ib. p. 99. 134 histinct. in the axil of a leaf, just where a bud would be found. But every observer of our own insects has seen among them examples of this correlation of In- stinct with form and color. Some of our caterpil- lars have the color and form of short sticks. They, in case of danger, fasten themselves upon a limb and extend the body so that men and birds are both deceived ; so completely do color, form and position mimic a dry stub upon the bush. The cu- rious thing is, no matter now how it has been se- cured, that Instinct should come in among butter- flies, spiders, caterpillars and hosts of other animals to complete the work of deception, which is begun by color and form, simulating the common appear- ance of leaves in all their changes and flowers and buds and sticks. In every step that we have taken in this investi- gation, we have found Instinct becoming a part of a more complex system of agencies, but still filling a place which function of organs alone could not possibly fill — securing results that might be obtain- ed through experience and instruction by some an- imals if there were any way to provide for the con- tinuance of the race of animals until experience could be gained. But in the case of those animals that could possibly learn by experience, something must go before it. There must be impulse and so much of guidance as to preserve the animal till ex- perience can come to his rescue. But with many animals knowledge from experience is impossible, Seventeen-year Locust. 135 because there is occasion for performing the most important acts only once in a lifetime, and that too under such conditions as to make it impossible that the actors should learn from others. In such cases we find Instinct ever ready to do its work — a work sometimes so complex as to require careful study on the part of man to understand it. This point can perhaps be made plain by a single illustration. The Cicada or Seventeen-year Locust is so called because it appears only once in seventeen years. The insects deposit their eggs in the limbs of trees and die. The young grubs find their way to the earth and there mine in the dark for seventeen years, when they come forth for their few days of life in the sunlight. When they come out they are to deposit their eggs and do all the work which their ancestors did seventeen years before. They do the work but once in a lifetime, but every move- ment goes on in perfect order, as though experience and instruction both had done their perfect work on beings capable of comprehension. They copy exactly the work done by their ancestors seventeen years before, when they themselves existed only in the eggs. We have thus far found Instinct as meeting the demands of appetite — as protecting its possessor from special enemies, and as taking its place, with color and form and function, as a higher agency for preserving the life of the individual and the species. We have found nothing yet to indicate that it is an entity, a thing by itself, as it is often represented to be, — a possession which animals have in common. 136 Instinct, It seems rather to consist of a summation of spon- taneous activities which animals possess in different measure and of different kinds, according to the sphere they are to occupy. LECTURE VI. FNSTINCT FOR COMMUNITIES OF ANIMALS. — ITS RELATION TO THE DOCTRINE OF NATURAL SE- LECTION. Illustrations of the Community System . — The Cow-bird , — Three khuis belonging to the same species. — Necessity for slaves among Ants . — The brood or annual flock. — Permanent organization. — Leaders . — Sentinels. — Pelicans of Utah Lake . — The Beaver. — Morgan's Work . — The Rank of the Beaver . — The Muskrat . — Variation of Instinct necessary. — Complexity of work no proof of Intelligence . — Consideration of theories. — Accumulated work of Intelligence. — In- stinct like ity in ejfect . — The Honey-bee. — Bumble-bees and Wasps . — Slave-Ants. — Darwin's Explanation. — Difficulties. — Natural Se- lection and Variation not suflicient . — Wallace on Natural Selec- tion applied to man. In almost every manifestation of Instinct thus far introduced, the act has been one for the preserva- tion of the individual or species, but such as the in- dividual could perform for itself. A single pair at most, caring for their young, in all their instinctive acts would represent not only so many individuals but the species as a whole. We began, however, to see the introduction of another principle, when we found adults uniting in action to aid each other; one species of birds even calling to their aid others, of different species, against a common enemy. And when we found a system of instinctive acts, by which alarm-notes are sounded 138 Instinct, by birds for the benefit of their fellows, and safety thus secured to the flock, we began to see the community system, which prevails extensively in the animal kingdom and gives rise to very distinct and complex manifestations of Instinct. When the community system becomes promi- nent, a single animal, or a single pair, often be- comes a very imperfect representative of the spe- cies, if we wish to study the whole work of Instinct. Individuality is lost in the machinery of the com- munity. And so far does this system prevail among some species, that a single male and female cannot possibly care for their young. In more than one case the species could not possibly exist without the aid of individuals from other species. In such cases, the dependent species have an Instinct to secure the services of other laborers and thus supplement their own defects. In the case of the Cow-bird, already referred to, the species would perish were it not for the work of other birds in hatching and feeding the young Cow-bird. But so far as we can judge, this defect- ive care of the Cow-bird for her offspring arises en- tirely from the action of its Instinct, — defective ac- tion when taken by itself, but effective when we consider its relation to the Instinct of other birds whose work it secures. We see nothing in the or- ganization of the bird to prevent it from nesting and rearing its brood like other birds. But lower in the scale of being, we find three kinds of animals belonging to the same species — the males, females and neuters — all needful for carrying on the work Flocks, 139 of life. And in some communities of Ants, the in dividuals of another species are needed to make the system perfect. That is, the first species could not exist at all were it not that their Instinct enables them to supplement their own defects by making slaves of individuals from other species able to do their work for them. We announced in the begin- ning of these lectures that we should make no at- tempt to collect and rehearse the wonders of In- stinct. Our object is to bring up for consideration those examples of instinctive action known to every Naturalist, or such as all persons may see if they choose to. We are therefore compelled to refer briefly to points that might be illustrated by many examples. There are among animals certain instincts that either grow out of the relation of the sexes or are indirectly connected with it. Thus we have the flock or brood for a single season, or so long as the young need the parents’ care. This Instinct is an entirely different thing from that which prevails in the community proper, which ministers to the good both of the individual and of the species, not through any relation of the sexes or of parents to their young necessarily, but by the organization of a complex community of adults that may have no relationship to each other except that they belong to the same species. The simplest form of such communities is found among common birds and beasts that associate in flocks. These, as Sheep, Antelopes, Crows and Pigeons, might do very well as individuals ; and a single pair can, not only, care 140 Instinct. for their young without aid from others, but at the time of rearing young, the flock is generally broken up, each pair caring for its own. It is after the breeding season is over and the young are able to shift for themselves, that flocks and herds are form- ed among many of the social birds and beasts. This may, in some cases, be done simply from love of society. Here the work of Instinct seems to be simply to increase enjoyment. But in very many cases, perhaps ultimately in all, there is a certain organization of the flock; and that organization is made in some w'ay subservient to the welfare of the individuals, as such. The most simple case of united action, is in following a leader. There seems to be, in flocks of animals of various kinds, some in- dividual that leads either in migration or in de- fence. This leader is generally the most powerful male of the flock. But another advantage to the individual, from the flock organization, is seen in the selection of sentinels, that are posted to give warning, while the others feed. Among common fowls, each one is ready to give warning of danger ; but among many wild animals there is often co5p- eration according to a system, and a very excellent system too. Crows and Pigeons may be seen watch- ing upon the trees, while their fellows feed in the meadow. At the approach of danger, these senti- nels raise the alarm which is the signal understood by every one of their mates. Those that watch in the beginning, are from time to time relieved, while others mount guard in their places. It is impossi- ble to tell how it is arranged, that the distribution Care of Young, 141 of labor shall be just ; but a careful watching of the flocks, shows that there is a regular system for change of sentinels. Major Stansbury* gives us an account of the young Pelicans at Utah Lake being watched over by one old Pelican, while the others were engaged in fishing. Each sentinel or guard, was regularly relieved, in turn, by another taking her place. Here the community system was introduced among these birds for the purpose of caring for their young. But as he found one old Pelican, though blind and unable to fish for himself, still sleek and apparently well cared for by his fellows, it is fair to infer that the community system, among these birds, secures to some extent, mutual aid among adults. I have myself seen something of this communi- ty of action, in the care of young, among the Arctic Tern on the coast of Greenland. One little grassy island, that I had the opportunity of watching for eight days, was entirely occupied by Tern. They made no nests, but deposited their eggs among the grass. The island fairly swarmed with their young, from those just out of the shell to those of full size, ready to fly. The old birds made common cause against any intruder ; and it was settled by obser- vation, that they did not always feed their own young. Three difierent adults were seen feeding the same young bird that had been placed upon a rock by himself. All the young seemed to be well cared for ; but how the favors of the old birds were * Ex. Doc., No. 3 Senate, Sp. Sess. 1851. 142 Instinct, properly distributed, among such a scrambling mul- titude of young, is a mystery. As a farther illustration of the advantage to the individual, from the community, we have animals that build together and enter upon extensive works for the common good.. The Beaver is generally con- sidered as the best example of animals of this kind, — at least among the vertebrates. There is hardly an animal on the globe that offers more curious instinctive habits for study ; and hardly one that has been more misrepresented in our popular works. The wonderful instincts of the Beaver, make up an interesting part of those story books where fact and fiction are mingled together ; though the facts, if fully stated, would be more wonderful than any fiction. The world is indebted to Mr. Lewis H. Morgan, of New York, for a work on the Beaver, that is a model for all to study, who would investigate the habits of any animal. He has swept away a mass of rubbish that we used to be taught ; and has sub- stituted in its place the plain facts gathered by years of personal observation among Beaver-dams and lodges. He not only describes what he has seen, but he brings before us copies of Beavers’ works, by photographing them as they are found. His facts are reliable — his speculations based upon those facts may, of course, be accepted or re- jected by any one, according to his estimate of the proof presented to establish each point. Mr. Morgan grants that the Beaver is a social animal, but he denies that Beavers work as organ- The Beaver. 143 ized colonies, as it has generally been supposed they do. He seems to think that they work as families ; but that each family is quite distinct in all its works from every other family around the pond. He supposes that a Beaver-dam is generally begun by a single pair, and that it grows by the labors of all the Beavers inhabiting the pond in after years ; but that each Beaver works by himself, in making the additions or repairs, except where a great inju- ry calls many to work at the same time. Then they do not come as an organization under leaders,* but each does the best he can. He certainly makes out a very clear case of the community sys- tem, so far as the inmates of a single lodge are con- cerned ; — and the impression is left on some minds that there is something like concerted action on the part of all the families, inhabiting a pond, for the preservation of the dam. Certain it is, that members of each lodge do their part of the work, whether they do it in concert with the others or not ; and they do it in such a manner that the re- sult is the same as that of organized action. We find dams, and lodges, and burrows for escape. There is a straight entrance to the lodge for the in- troducing of wood, and an abrupt entrance with winding channels, for the escape of the occupants, in case of danger. There is the cutting of timber, sometimes of trees two feet in diameter. Wood is stored up beneath the waters for winter food ; but how it is kept under the water, no one can yet tell with certainty. The refuse wood, after the bark is removed, is preserved for repairing the lodges and 144 Instinct. dams. In fact, the whole social economy of a Bea- ver colony, is as perfect as though they worked by an organization like that of the hive-bee ; and the facts as detailed by Mr. Morgan, are certainly as wonderful as any fictitious story of Beaver sagacity ever printed. When we read the book we wish that every animal had such a historian ; that we might know something more of this world of ours than we do, and have reliable materials when we wish to investigate any question respecting the habits of the beings around us. But when our author begins to speculate in re- gard to the mental powers of the Beaver, we feel called upon to dissent from many of his conclusions, while accepting the facts that he uses, as estab- lished. After acknowledging that the Beaver stands very low in his physical organization, he ranks him very high in Intelligence, on account of the complexity of his works and their adaptation to his wants. And by intelligence here is meant simply the pow- er in the actor, of comprehending means as securing an end desirable and good for himself, in all his re- lations; in distinction from that voluntary action that secures the same kind of good for the actor, where comprehension on his part, is plainly out of the question. The same course of reasoning, by which the power of comprehension is ascribed to the Beaver, on account of the complexity of his works and their adaptation to his wants, would place the Honey-bee high in the scale of free intel- ligence. There is, indeed, mote variation in the Uniformity of the work. 145 work of the Beaver to meet different conditions of life, than the Honey-bee is called upon to exhibit. But the uniformity, with which Beavers do their work in any given place, and their uniform change of method under different conditions, seem to point to that variation of the instinctive principle, to which we have already referred, rather than to free intelligence, — a variation no greater than is found even in the growth of plants, to adapt them to dif- ferent conditions of life, but which, because in ani- mals it is connected with volition, is very likely to be regarded as a sufficient proof of comprehension in the actor. The Muskrat, which is nearly allied to the Bea- ver, has the same sort of variation in his habits to meet the conditions where he is placed. But the variation is so uniform that the animal is plainly under some guiding power which is to him a law of action. Muskrats, whose ancestors have for gener- ations burrowed in the banks of the stream, will at once begin to build houses, if a dam is raised so that they can no longer burrow. And those houses will be built like all other Muskrat houses, the world over. That is, there will be that generic likeness which shows that the lodge is built under the im- pulse and guidance of some principle entirely dif- ferent from the power of comprehension and con- trivance, seen among men. Since it is impossible that all animals of the same species should find places exactly alike to build in, the impulse and guidance, which for a better name we call Instinct, would be folly itself, if it did not vary sufficiently 1 146 Instinct. to meet the conditions of the case, under all ordi- nary circumstances. Therefore on the theory that Beavers are guided by an Instinct that directs with- out intelligent comprehension, on their part,of means and ends, it is not strange that their houses grow thicker and larger as they grow older; and that repairs and changes are made as the number of occu- pants increase. The uniformity in the character of their work, under similar conditions, is certainly in favor of the theory of guidance by Instinct. And the very complexity of the works, upon which Mr. Morgan bases his argument for the high rank of the beaver in free, self-conscious Intelligence, we regard as an argument against it, because we have complexity with such uniformity. In proving In- telligence to be the controlling agency in contriving and carrying out all these complex works, he seems to prove too much. For if we refer all the works of the Beaver to Intelligence, of the same kind as man possesses, we must concede to him abilities very nearly, if not quite equal to those of man, for planning such works. For he would be a wise man that, having only the Beaver’s instruments to work with, could do his work. In fact all his works, that we do understand, we approve of as the best that could be done, even by us, to reach the same ends ; and he does some things that the wisest man does not yet know how to do. There is com- plexity and uniformity under similar conditions, — variation in the work of the whole species when the circumstances demand it, and yet under all these conditions, a uniform method of adapting means to Question of Origin, 147 ends in the best manner. If all this comes from Intelligence in the actor, he is certainly of high rank. Among all the animals thus far mentioned, the community might be considered an entirely acci- dental thing; though in this case, the organization of the community, manifested in the appointment of sentinels and the notes of alarm, must be consid- ered the complicated mechanism of Instinct in many, working together for the good of the indi- viduals composing the community; or, if the or- ganization be regarded as the outgrowth of expe- rience and the result of contrivance to meet the exigencies of the community, we must be ready to concede to all these animals as well as to the Bea- ver, a high degree of Intelligence and the power of adapting means to ends as perfectly as is ever done among men for such purposes ; and we must also grant them high powers of generalization and induction and as plain principles of prudence, as men ordina- rily manifest. Nor does it change the question to say that this provision made by flocks is now me- chanical, but the result of habits acquired gradual- ly long ago under conditions of danger and need. If there is found among any species of social ani- mals an organization by which, as a community, they are provided for or guarded against danger by sentinels and signals, which can be referred to their Intelligence at all, as a system marked out by them from the comprehension and adoption of a plan, then that plan was worked out by the flock which we see before us, or it was worked out by some in- 148 Instinct. dividual of that flock and impressed upon the oth* ers by a system of instruction, or it was worked out at some time, by some ancestors of the present flock, and continued till it became a habit of the whole species to operate according to this plan. A thing must be done for the first time before it can become a habit ; and it must be often repeated, before it can become a habit for the individual even ; and much longer before the habit could become heredi- tary, if at all. So that the doctrine that Instinct is formed through the influence of the experiences and habits of ancestors, only removes the difficulty one step farther back. Nor does it change the matter to say that the result we now see is the ef- fect of minute changes brought about through great cycles. Each change was a step, and when the process was complete through many steps, it represented the same powers in the species as though the steps had been taken in a generation. A cotton-mill is the result of great experience con- tinued through many generations of men ; and it also represents the contrivance of hosts of men in the present and past ages to meet the wants which experience suggested. But the cotton-mill to day, is as truly a product of human thought, as though the present generation had built one now for the first tim'e. And the first machine invented showed the same kind of power in the inventor as the last and most complicated. So we say that these manifestations of Instinct among social animals, taken as a whole, or divided into the greatest num- ber of steps possible, must be the result of impulse Communities, 149 and guidance given to animals just as we now see them manifested, or they show the same high pow- ers in kind, in the animal, as the man possesses who studies them and approves of them as the perfec- tion of wisdom for the individual animal and the flock. But we now come to consider certain social ani- mals that cannot exist, except as communities. There is, in some species, such difference in struc- ture and function and Instinct in individuals of the same communities, that there is a division of labor marked out and made necessary by the very nature of these individuals. The peculiarities found in some species that make the organization of the com- munity most efficient, are destructive to isolated individual life. Of such animals, the Honey-bee is a good ex- ample and the best known. We have in this spe- cies, the Queen-mother, the drones or males, and the workers ; in the latter of which there is no power of reproduction. Without the Queen-moth- er there could be no continuance of the species, as she alone produces all the eggs for the swarming hive. The Queen and the drone, it would seem, would alone be sufficient to secure the continuance of the species. But not so ; for they do not even collect honey for themselves, to say nothing of their numerous progeny. To complete the organ- ization of the hive, there must be another class, the workers, which shall collect food and do all the work of building for themselves, the Queen and young. The conditions for an organized commu- 150 Instinct. nity are now complete. The great mass of individ- uals in the hive, gain their reputation for industry by working for the common good, — for Queen and drone and young, — as well as for themselves. And to this complicated organization, the instincts of each individual are adjusted, so that each performs its part, as each organ of the body performs its of- fice, or each official would perform his part in a per- fectly organized kingdom. Among Bumble-bees and Wasps we find differ- ent kinds of individuals in the same community as in the Honey-bee hive, but these communities continue only a single season. The fertile females alone survive the rigors of winter, while the multi- tude die and the old nests are deserted never again to be inhabited. These mothers, that are to preserve the species, hide away in secure resting-places, till spring calls them forth to commence alone the founding of new colonies. Different species of the common Ant, as well as the so called White Ant, afford marked illustra- tions of this diversity of structure, function and In- stinct in members of the same species, for the good of the community. It has been known since the time of Huber the younger, that some species of Ants make slaves of the neuters of other species. The Red Ants of Europe {Formica rufescens) not only make slaves of the Brown Ants {Formica fiisca), but are entirely dependent upon them, being utterly unable to take care of themselves. We here see a need so imper- ative that this whole species of Ants would die in Darzvin s Theory. 151 a single year without the Instinct of making slaves and what would their slaves be worth if they had not the Instinct to do the work? And yet they are always fresh importations and, being neuters, have no power to reproduce their kind and trans- mit the habit of being a slave, as an Instinct. Darwin has acknowledged all these facts in his work on the origin of species.* With his accus- tomed thoroughness, he set himself to verify the statements of other Entomologists by his own ob- servations. After satisfying himself of the facts, he goes resolutely at work to make this state of things appear consistent with his theory ; though he con- fesses that at first it seemed fatal to it. After a careful examination of his arguments to show that all these differences might have been secured by Nat- ural Selection, we are compelled to say that not only does he seem to fail in fairly meeting the objections that he himself acknowledges to lie against his theory, in these phenomena of social insects, but many more objections and more perplexing, must arise in the mind of every naturalist who has so far studied the facts in the case, as to be able to fairly bring them to the test of Mr. Darwin’s theory ; or rather to test the theory by them. Mr. Darwin thinks the wonderful Instinct of the Honey-bee, by which it builds cells that he ac- knowledges could not be improved upon, might be accounted for in this way.f The making of wax takes a great deal of honey ; and so it would come * “ Origin of Species,” 5th Am. Ed., pp. 225-332. f Ibid., pp. 333, 234. 152 Instinct. to pass that those swarms of bees which build with the least wax, would have most honey left for win- ter, and so be most likely to live. The best build- ers would in this way, be preserved, while all the poor builders would, in time, die off. Here it will be observed that the theory does not go back far enough to account for the whole case. At most, it simply offers an explanation of the preservation of those swarms made up of the best builders. But we want to know how the bee became a builder at all? and how the In- stinct to build cells and the function of secreting wax fitted for the work, began together ; and how the Honey-bee got along before it had either the function or the Instinct, both of which now seem essential to its very existence? Then we have also to observe that it is the neuter bees that secrete the wax and build the cells ; and since these neuter bees are sterile, the characteristics they possess and the skill they acquire, cannot be transmitted. All the bees that build cells and gather honey, have de- scended for thousands of years, at least, from pa- rents that never did any thing of the kind. Now this, Mr. Darwin would probably say, is a case of correlation.* That is, it is true the parents do not do these things, but these powers of the neuters are so correlated to the needs of the com- munity, that the whole species become good builders by Natural Selection, because those swarms alone are preserved where such neuters are produced as get along with little wax and consequently with little * “ Origin of Species,” 5tli Am. Ed., pp. 227, 228. Selection Theory applied. 153 loss of honey. He makes his explanation of the existence of the Instinct that constructs hexagonal cells, all turn on the fact that the bees must live over the winter. But let us consider the work of the Wasps in the light of this theory. They do not use up honey in making their cells, and they do not live over the winter, so that Natural Selection has no chance to preserve the best builders through any such means as might be urged in the case of the Honey-bee. The Wasps perish every fall, excepting a few fertile females that desert the nest and live in some hiding- place, as we have before explained, to commence the new colonies the next year ; and yet several species of Wasps and Hornets build six-sided cells, like the Honey-bee. There is nothing here that aids at all, in the selection theory, even as Mr. Darwin has attempted to apply it to the Honey-bee.* Both of the means through which he attempts to show that Natural Selection acts in saving skilful builders, — the saving of honey in making cells of the best pattern and the necessity of the honey so saved, for winter use, — are here wanting ; and yet the Wasps are as skil- ful mathematicians as though the existence of the species depended upon the angle of the cell ! The plain truth is, we have Bees and Wasps building in many different ways. Each method is connected with a peculiar structure and a whole train of Instincts. Besides, the whole doctrine of correlation, that seems to be solely relied upon to '' Origin of Species,” Stii Am. Ed., pp. 223, 224. 154 Instinct, explain the perfection of the different kinds of in- sects found in such communities as we have described, has no sort of application to the slave Ants. They do their work perfectly, supplementing the defect- ive organization and Instincts of their masters ; but they are neuters, and never reproduce their kind ! and the communities from which they are stolen can- not be affected in any way by the stealing of their young, so as to cause them to produce this remark- able set of slaves just fitted in structure and Instinct to do the work which their captors must have done for them, in order to live. While acknowledging the powerful influence of Natural Selection in preserving the fittest, if we were called upon to work out a problem in creation that should make the belief in the origin of species by Natural Selection impossible, we should be un- able to suggest a single change in the relation of the social insects as a whole, that would make a stronger case against such an origin of the species than we have in the relations now existing in many of the communities already considered. These re- lations seem to us more opposed to the theory of origin of species through selection, than any thing found in the physical organization of man even ; and in reference to the human species, Mr. Wallace, one of the originators of the theory, acknowledges that it fails to satisfy him fully.* There is no dispute about the facts — no dispute about the fact of variation, no dispute about the important influence of Natural Selection. But that * “ Natural Selection,” pp. 332-350. Accidental Variation. 155 any given result in animal life, such as is seen in the complex societies of social insects, can be accom- plished by these agencies working even for untold ages, does not follow. Some results may follow, but they must be such as these agencies have some competency to produce ; and we must have some reasonable account of the origin of certain elements of the animal economy, as well as of their modifi- cation. But it is asked at once. If you grant ^‘acci- dental variation” *and indefinite periods of time for the work of selection, have you not the elements of working out any supposable result ? We answer, No. We can understand that a painter by throw- ing his sponge, in anger or desperation, upon his picture, might accidentally paint the foam upon the mouth of the dog with a naturalness that his pencil had failed to give. We can believe that this has been done. But now if we were told that a picture, like one of Landseer’s or Rosa Bonheur’s, could be made by throwing paint sponges against a canvas an indefinite number of times, we should not be- lieve it ; even if the experiment could be tried every day for millions of years. And although we can * We use the words “ accidental mriation” to signify any change that may occur in an organic being under new condi- tions — any change not specially provided for in his plan of de- velopment — any change by which individuals depart from the normal type of the species. It is in this way that we under- stood Mr. Darwin to use the words, and in the same way, we understand Mr. Wright to use them, in his defence of Darwin, written since these Lectures were delivered. (North Am, Rev., July 1871.) No one who understands Mr. Darwin, would accuse him of using the word “ accidental ” in any such sense as to imply any denial of causality. 156 Instinct, readily believe that type might be so thrown by accident as to form a word, we could not on that account believe that a single page could be printed in that way, making an intelligent story, even if the experiment could be tried every day for a geolog- ic age. If it is said we ought to believe in such results, from the elements of variation and indefi- nite time, we cannot help it. We are satisfied that with the same data to rely upon, all men will not reach the same conclusions. It is possible that this may be partly the result of training, and it may arise from a constitutional difference among men in weighing proof. Probably we shall have to wait a long time for Natural Selection to give us a race of men, who shall have powers of observation and reasoning so nearly alike, that they shall all reach the same results on such subjects. In the mean time, it becomes every one, who treats of such sub- jects at all, to make sure of his facts, to meekly fol- low any theory sustained by the facts, and resolute- ly oppose any, that seems to him inconsistent with them. LECTURE VII. INSTINCT CONNECTED WITH THE PARENTAL RELA- TION. — AS DEMANDING CERTAIN CHANGES IN OTHER ANIMALS AND PLANTS. — ^^A LAW FOR THE ANIMAL, — AS SUBJECT TO VARIATION. Effect of Parental Instinct. — Completes its course. — Disturbed by Domestication. — Answering Instinct of the young. — Correlation^^ of the three kingdoms of Nature. — Hibernation. — Gall-flies. -flch- neumon-flies. -^Pot-fly. — Tent-moth. — Oak-pruners. — Borer . — Preservation of the fittest . — Instinct as a Law. — Uniformity among Anbnals .-—Periodicity and Self-regulating power of the Appetites. — Instinct can be deceived. — Follows the impression of the senses . — Variation of Instinct. — Production of varieties. — Defini- tion of an Instinct., and of Instinct as a general term. We have already referred, incidentally, to some of the manifestations of Instinct connected with the parental relation. But there is in this relation, so much of antagonism to common instincts, as to make it worthy of separate consideration. In many cases, the character of the animal, while it has young, seems to be entirely changed. Often the most timid animals become brave in de- fence of their offspring, and the welfare of the indi- vidual is sacrificed for the good of the species. We may announce it as the general law of all the in- stincts connected with the reproduction of young, that they are exercised at the expense of the indi- 158 Instinct. vidual. In the case of some of the lower animals, as insects, this effect is so marked that death almost immediately follows, after provision has been made for the continuance of the species. And among mammals of every grade, not only is the production of young a draft upon the animal powers, but the maintenance and defence of the young, lead animals to encounter many dangers* to which they would not otherwise be exposed. [The instinctive love of life, even, is often held in abeyance, by the instinct- ive love of offspring ; so that animals expose them- selves to death, in defence of their This instinct, that leads to the care of the young, continues in full force while they need the care. But in the case of some animals, that have been carefully observed, it has been found that there comes a time, when this instinct is , so to speak, — when the mother will drive from her the young, which, a few days before, she would have risked her life in defence of. It is interesting to see the entire change that takes place, sometimes, in a single day. As long as the hen appears with ruffled feathers and an angry sounding cluck, she is ready to fight for her chickens ; but all of a sud- den, her feathers are smooth, her voice changes from the cluck to a musical note ; and then she fiercely drives her young from her. Her Instinct has now completed its round. Every peculiar in- stinct of motherhood appeared, as the production of young and their protection required it. Each one appeared in connection with certain bodily functions, over which she had no control. I When Influence of Domestication, 159 the functi ons ^ ased, the special instincts ceased with them. Her Instinct is, henceforth, exercised in the constant labor of self-protection and self-sup- port, till a new round of duties begin, with the mak- ing of a new nest. In the unnatural conditions under which many/ of our domestic animals are kept, this instinct, that leads to the production and care of young, is appar- ently modified, or kept in abeyance, by some stronger instinct or change of function, that we do not understand. Certain animals, as Elephants and X Eagles, never produce young while under the con- trol of man ; and in other cases, certain instincts, that continue to act to some extent, are weakened and rendered irregular in their action ; as in the case of fowls, which produce eggs, but never brood ; and sheep that will not own their young. When we consider how dependent Instinct is upon function, and know how domestication inter- feres with the natural habits of animals, and also that the selection exercised b^ man, often comes in to secure conditions of life that never would oc- cur under the influence of Natural Selection, we shall be prepared to find many seeming anomalies of Instinct among our domestic animals. These anom^ies may give us important information, as to the original habits of these animals, or as to the plasticity of their natures in the hand of man. There is now, in Natural History, no more inter- esting field of observation than that offered by our domestic animals, — no one, that promises more ad- vantage to science, or to the money interests of the i6o Instinct. community. But of the variation of Instinct un- der domestication and its relation to man, we shall have occasion to speak again. I All Instinct, on the part of many animals, would, / loe useless in providing for their young, were there' not an answering Instinct on the part of the young,! that brings them into proper relation to their pa- rents, or to the world, in those cases where paren- tal care cannot avail for them. The cry of danger, from the hen or partridge, /would be of no avail to save her scattered brood, were there not an answering Instinct in the young, that instantly recognizes the note of warning, and impels them to seek cover. They fly /rcm the mother and hide themselves ; as though conscious that she cannot protect them from the bird of prey, without exposing herself to death. Among our highest domestic animals, the mam- mals, the care of the dam would fail to provide for } the young, were there not an Instinct which leads the young to seek the udder. Here is the milk se- creted ; and it is the food, and the only proper food, for the young. And they seek it for them- selves ; for not one of these hoof-bearing mammals, could feed its own young ; or, in any direct way, aid the young in feeding ; and the same is true of wild animals, that have the same structure. The young of such animals, must feed themselves, with- out aid or instruction. They must feed themselves at once, or die. There never was a time when those animals could care better for their young than Prompt Action Required. i6i now. Their very existence is proof of Instinct as a gift, and not as the result of experience, — an In- stinct, as perfect in the beginning as now ; for an experience, without the Instinct first given as a condition, is impossible, from the very structure of those hoof-bearing tribes, which can give their young no aid whatever, in securing food. Among birds, as we have noticed in another coiinection, we have beautiful examples of the in- stinct of the young responsive to the instinct of the mother. Many birds are hatched in a very imma- ture state. They can neither fly, nor walk, nor see. iVll they have strength to do, is to raise the head and open the bill ; and this they all do every time the mother lights upon the nest. They do it at once ; it is all they need to do ; but this they must do, or die. There is no time for them to learn by experience, — they must be ready to do the right thing at once^ of their own accord. And there was no better chance for any ancestor to learn by expe- rience. This habit, common to all kinds of young birds hatched in an immature state, could not be an acquired habit ; but must be something given as independently of any agency of ancestors, as the growth of bone or the arrangement of muscles.^'" A marvellous thing it is, that the mother bird, when the brood is numerous, should be able rightly to divide her favors. If she is guided by sight at ^11, there must be wonderful acuteness of vision, ^hat enables Woodpeckers and Wrens, in their cov- ered nests, and Kingfishers and Bank-swallows, in their deep holes in the earth, to discern one of their young from the other. Instinctf Although there is much connected with this subject that we cannot understand, there are cer- tain facts, such as we have referred to, plain to ev-. ery observer, showing a wonderful correlation of instinctive action between the parent and its young. This correlation commences immediately on the hatching of the young bird, and it is common to thousands of kinds of birds, under a variety of con- ditions. Many illustrations of the same principle can be found among the invertebrate animals ; and with some of them, this principle of correlation of I i- stinct is of wider application, — a third element oft<‘n comes in to act, as will appear in considering i:\e following topics : 1. Instinct of animals requiring certain change!-, in other kinds of animals, or in plants, for the com- pletion of its work, 2. The peculiar instinct of one stage of being as preparatory to another, in which that instinct is en- tirely lost ; as in the case of many insects. Every plant has certain relations to the inorgan- ic world, as we have pointed out in a previous lec- ture. There is a correlation of its changes and developments, both as to time and conditions e- quired for them, with the changes in the inor- ganic world. The animal kingdom, as a whole, not only de- pends upon the vegetable, but it is fitted to the vege-- table kingdom, in many respects, as that is related to the inorganic world,. Important physiological changes in animals, as well as change of instinct, or Changes zvitJi the Season. 163 rather quickening of instinct in special directions, correspond with certain changes in the vegetable kingdom ; without which, these changes in the an- imals would be meaningless, useless, or even de- structive to them. The animals th^jiibernate, find food, such as they use, most abundant in the fall ; and at the same time, there seems to be a physiological change, by which the animal lays up an extra store of fat in its tissues, to keep the lamp of life burning dur- ing winter. If this change is not provided for in the animal’s system, by physiological action, then he has the Instinct to hoard fopd, and has activity enough in winter to live upon it. The instincts of migratory birds, change with the season ; some of them returning while snow and ice are abundant ; so that they are evidently driven north by a quick- ened instinct, rather than enticed by green fields and sunny skies. All the birds bring forth their young at that season when their food is abundant, and when there will be time for the young brood tp mature, before the change of season can make its demand upon them. The wild goose must make her way to the lakes of the far north, in season to rear her brood, and have them full fledged and strong of wing to join in that grand procession towards the south, in autumn. All these adjustments, by which the animal kingdom struggles successfully’ for existence, de- pend upon the fact that the quickening of func- tions, and of special instincts needful to carry on 164 Instinct. the work to completion, correspond with the changes in the inorganic world and vegetable kingdom. These general adaptations of living things to the changes of the earth, and the correlation of the changes among the different orders of living things are much more common and marked than is gener- ally supposed. Every change seems to be a part of a series of machinery adjusted and set in motion according to a plan ; and such a plan, that every wheel must move with a given velocity, and start and stop at a given time, or loss and ruin follow. But in addition to these general adaptations, by which all beings in the wor]|d seem to be more or less dependent upon others, there are certain spe- icial relations of animals to plants and of anii^als Ito each other, secured by Instinct, that strike us in the same manner, as special “Structure in animals and plants themselves. There is a whole tribe of insects, to which we have before referred, that make galls upon plants, or check the growth of the axis of plants in some peculiar manner. The Gall-fly deposits an egg upon the leaf or twig, ac- cording to her habit ; and then her work ceases. Now the tree takes up the work — forms a house for the young insect and provides it with food ; until, at last, the perfect insect makes its way through the walls of the house, into the open air. This is an entirely different thing from those many cases, where the egg is simply deposited so that the young can find proper food; as in the case of the Tent- moth, that deposits eggs upon Apple or Cherry twigs ; or of the Carrion-fly, which deposits her eggs Plants as Foster-parents^ 165 upon flesh or fish. The action of securing food, in both of the latter cases, is entirely on the part of the young insects ; that is, they simply eat the sub- stance as they find it, though not specially prepared for them, as the Oak-gall is, for its inhabitant. The Apple-trees are sufferers only in the loss of leaves destroyed, before they have done their work for the trees. There is no evidence of any relation of the tree to the insect, except as being its appropriate food, and in putting out its leaves at the right time ; that is, before the eggs of the insect hatch. But in the case of the Oaks, the Roses, the Spruces and Golden-rods, and many other plants, there is a posi- tive marshalling of the powers of the plants to pro- vide both food and lodging for the young insect. And they do this work in as regular a manner as they form leaves or flowers. These plants act as foster-parents ; and in sup- plementing the work of the parent insect, they per- form the exact office of working bees in the Hon- ey-bee hive. * ^ There are ichneumon insects, and parasitic flies, that sting the caterpillars of certain moths, but do it in such a way that the caterpillar lives and eats, \ until his enemies have come to maturity at the expense of his life ; or, at least, of his power to rise into a higher life. It is no uncommon thing for a collector to find a caterpillar bearing numerous small cocoons ; — the work of his enemies, that have wasted his life, — or to open a cocoon, and in place of the chrysalis, to find very many smaller objects : the young of insects, which have been provided for Instinct, 1 66 by the joint products of the body and instinct of the cocoon-builder. The parasites fed upon the chrysalis of the insect, and they were protected, dur- ing their transformation, by the cocoon which he had prepared for his own transformation. The common Bot-fly is another example of the dependence of one animal upon another, for the completion of the work, which its Instinct has be- gun. This fly deposits her egg upon the hair of the horse, where it is held by a glue that instantly hard- ens. If the work were left where the mother leaves it, there would soon be an end of the species. But she deposits her eggs, instinctively, on such parts of the body of the horse that he will swallow more or less of them. When the eggs or larvce have reached the horse’s stomach, they have found the proper place for development, — a place which the in- sect ’mother cannot reach, and having no connec- tion with the parts where the eggs are deposited. But the fly, as though understanding the whole process and the calculation of chances, puts her eggs in such a position, that enough of them shall reach their place of development, to keep the spe- cies good. The wonderful processes by which the entozoa find their appropriate place of development, in all their stages of growth, are analogous to this ; but are too intricate for use here as illustrations. We have in the Bot-fly, another manifestation of Instinct, that is difficult to be reconciled with that theory which resolves it into fixed habits form- ed by the experience of past "generations ; or to 6 ; Experience not its Origin. i tendencies inherited through any means. The egg is deposited by the mother, and she soon dies. It is then removed to the stomach of the horse, where it wakes to life and spends the first stage of its ex- istence. It has never had any connection with the leg of a horse, except as an egg. Before it comes into the world, to act as a fly, all the former race of Bot-flies are dead. It must begin its work for itself ; and it goes, not where it began life, for that is impossible ; but, to the place where it was depos- ited as an egg. So if we refer Instinct, in this case, to experience in the present race or past races, the experience begun and treasured up, must have be- gun in the egg ! We have a multitude of examples, of instinct of this kind, which moves on changing, as the young changes from the egg to maturity ; with no paren- tal care to aid it, and no parental example for imi- tation. The eggs of the Tent-moth are its only repre- sentatives in the spring of the year. But the thou- sands of young insects from these eggs, all start off in the work of feeding and web-weaving and migra- ting from the web, and cocoon building, just as all others of the same kind have done every year be- fore. And yet, no parent has ever seen its young, and no young has ever seen a parent, or any of its works. The Oak-pruners deposit their eggs on the branches of the oak ; and the young insect grows and cares for itself until the proper time comes for its transformation. Then it cuts the limb between Instinct. 1 68 itself and the tree, so that its branch may fall to the earth, where it goes through its transformations. All the thousands do exactly the same things, as all previous generations have done before them. The Apple-tree Borer deposits her egg in the bark and there leaves it. The Borer mines in the wood, feeding and growing for months. But be- fore the time of transformation, it prepares its hole, so that it can easily escape into a world, where it has never been, and from which, up to that time, it has tried to escape. It has never seen the outer world nor known a parent’s care, nor one of its kind ; but it comes forth fitted for its work, not only by structure but by Instinct to guide, — to guide it perfectly, in entirely new relations to the world, and in the use of organs it never before possessed. The being bursts into life with nothing to learn, fully prepared to act its part, — and it is absolutely necessary that it should be thus provided for ; be- cause it has neither the time nor the conditions for obtaining its needful knowledge, as intelligent be- ings must obtain theirs. It is plain, from these cases and the hundreds like them, which might be cited, that animals come into the world with all their instinctive capacities ready for action, the instant they are needed. And this instinctive outfit, being essential at once to the continuance of life, could not have been acquired by any changes resulting from experience or observa- tion, by themselves or their ancestors. The instinct of the young is supplemented, in many cases, it is true, by the instinct of the parent. Preservation of the Fittest. 169 But in those species, where the young is thrown upon the world without a parent’s care, its Instinct is sufficient to guide it, the instant it is hatched. And the Instinct develops as a guide to the ani- mal, just as his organs become fitted for action. The Instinct, in every case, changes as the condi- tions of life change by development ; whether the changes are gradual or sudden, — ^ that the most complex and wonderful manifestations of these orig- inal principles of action, are found among the lower tribes of the animal kingdom. Multitudes of insects commence life in the earth and in the water. Some of them spend years, mining in the ground, or hiding among the rocks and mud of brooks and* lakes. They have organs and instincts that fit them for such life. But the day comes, when they suddenly pass to a higher life of the air. There is oftentim’es as complete change of instincts, as of organs, — but both are just fitted for the new life of their possessor ; each supplementing the other. The machine and guiding power are ready at the same time. When, now, appeal is made to the ^'■preservation of the fittest f amidst infinite ^variation of forms, as accounting for the present perfection of relation among all these beings, to each other, and to the world, in which they live, we reply, as in a former lecture, that we are in want of some fitness to begin with ; before there can be variation, and the “ fittest ” be preserved. Preservation is one thing, — the production of something to be preserved, is an- 8 170 Instinct. other, — especially, where the thing preserved can be preserved only by means of its own characteris- tics — through its own struggle for existence. We are now prepared to see in what respect histinct is a law for the animal. We have seen from our discussions thus far, that something must be given to every animal as its out- fit in starting in the world. There must be not only impulse, but there must be a certain amount of knowledge and skill possessed by the animal, when it comes into the world, just as necessarily as it must have a stomach and lungs. If any object to the terms, knowledge and skill, because the ca- pabilities are not acquired, they cannot deny the ex- istence in animals of these capabilities, that take the place of acquired knowledge and skill among men. I conceive that the knowledge and skill, which the young animal comes into the world with, differ no more from that which he gains in after life, from experience, than his stomach and lungs at the first moment of life differ from the same organs after they have grown by the process of taking food. The young animal comes into the world with organs all fitted for a certain work, and with knowledge and skill to fit him for that work, — that is, to main- tain his place in the world. Nature seems to give him, at birth, as little as possible of both bodily and mental powers ; using the word mental as including all the activities involving volition. But she acts wisely, and gives the animal bodily and mental powers sufficient for the conditions in which it Uniformity mnong Animals. 171 first wakes to life. If it is to have a parent’s care, then it has powers of body and mind just sufficient to supplement the parent’s labors. If it is one of a race which never see their parents, then it has greater gifts to begin with ; and fights its own bat- tles, from the first moment of conscious existence. It knows how to meet any emergency and perform every needful work, as well as though instructed in the best polytechnicf^hools, and aided by a centu- ry of experience. When we consider the whole history of animals, one of the first things that strikes us, is the great uniformity that appears among those of the same kind, when left to the^mselves under favoring condi- tions. When we compare animals with the human ^species, we see a uniformity in all the manifesta- tions of being, on the one side, that could be secured only by a controlling fo\-ce, uniform in its nature and operations in each species ; and on the other, a diversity, that seems to originate from a force having some peculiarity in every individual case. It is a matter of great interest to trace the cause of this uniformity on the one hand, and of this di- versity, on the other ; and to this investigation the remaining lectures will be chiefly devoted. But for the present we wish to consider briefly the uniformity of individuals in the same species of animials ; and leave the question of diversity among men, even of the same family, for future considera- tion, when we have more materials bearing upon the subject. We have already seen that Instinct, in its sim- 1/2 Instmct. plest form, supplements structure and function ; and that Instinct varies in every animal, as the structure and function of his organs change. These three elements then being the same in thousand? of individuals of the same species, we shall have a constant resultant in each one of them, unless ex- ternal circumstances come in as a disturbing ele- ment. These three elements are so strong in their combined action, in every animal, that they shape his life, — experience is not able to turn him from the course along which they impel him. Experi- ence may do much for the higher animals, — it may keep them from danger, add to their enjoyment of life and improve them in many ways ; but it can never turn them from that course, along which the functions of organs and the original impulse and guidance of Instinct, carry them. We see nothing in animals of the same species, that renders them unlike each other in following the impulses arising from the function of their or- gans. — The animal seems, in this respect, to be pas- sive in the formation of its controlling impulses ; and he follows the great impulses of his nature, freely, and without consideration of the remote consequences. That nature of the animal, which leads him to take into consideration only the pres- ent, the surrounding circumstances for the moment, will secure a uniformity not to be expected in man, who brings in to modify every activity, the memo- ry of the past, the accumulated experience of men in all ages, and the expectation of the future, with all its uncertainties, which never can affect an ani- 173 Influence of Experience, mal, since they cannot be comprehended by him Just in proportion as we find men leaving out of consideration the experience of the past and the prospects of the future, do we find almost a brute- like uniformity of action among them ; as is seen in the lowest savage tribes; and just in proportion as we see among animals, any mingling of the mem- ories of the past with their present impressions, do we see a want of uniform action among members of the same species. All that we can then say is, that in animals, structure, function, and that part of Instinct which supplements them, are so strong that they move on together, giving the same re- sults in all animals of the same species ; or so near- the same results, that the changes produced in instinctive life by experience, as peculiar to each animal, are as the perturbations of the planets in their course, so small that they do not interfere with the general result ; and unless the perturba- tion occurs in the same quarter and is often repeat- ed, it never accumulates to a sum sufficient to at- tract attention, except by the most careful inspec- tion. We speak now of animals in their free state ; and not of that abnormal condition to which the influence of man may reduce them. The result is uniform, because all the influences of experience are, with animals, mainly subordinate to that high wisdom, which we call Instinct ; a wis- dom given to the animal for his guidance, doing the work which the human race can do only by hard experience and patient thought. When will man reach Jike uniform and happy results for him 174 Instinct, self, through that free Intelligence, by which he must guide himself, or fall below the brutes ? As a means of rendering results almost mechan- ically uniform among animals, even when they fol- low their impulses, we find the most important functions only periodically active ; and so far as we know, no harm comes to one animal more than to an- other, while in his natural state, from following the impulse of his appetites to the full extent of their demand. He can be deceived, as we shall show; but he is injured by being deceived, thus gratifying his appetite on the wrong substance, and not be- cause he indulged his appetite to too great an ex- tent. In man, the appetites have but a slight self-reg- ulating power, — they need control and restraint from their possessor, — while among animals they are per- fectly self-regulating by the periodicity and strength of the functions that originate them. And as in- stinctive action, so far as the appetites are concern- ed, simply supplements function, of course it never goes beyond the proper bound ; because the appe- tite gives it no occasion for going beyond that bound. What we mean then when we say that Instinct is a law for the animal is, that those original princi- ples of action in him, which were given as his first outfit in life, always control him in the main ; expe- rience doing but little in directing the course of life, though it may do much in conducting it to a suc- cessful issue in that course. The instinctive prin- ciples guide the animal in its action, to that which Impulses Independent of Organization. 175 is in harmony with his physical constitution, — to the true end of his being, — or if they lead the indi- vidual to injury, it is for the benefit of the species. But although Instinct gives great uniformity of results, it is not perfect ; that is, it is not infallible. It may be deceived, and so deceived as to cause the destruction of its possessor. The impression often prevails, that Instinct is, in some cases at least, an impulse that leads to the right action directly ; without the secondary aid of the senses. The im- pulses that lead animals to perform certain opera- tions, as migrating, and the storing of food for winter, are perhaps of this nature ; though a more careful examination of the subject may enable us to trace, even here, some direct relation between changes in nature and the act of the animal. But so far as our present knowledge goes, the action of birds in migration, and, especially, the action of fishes, like the Salmon, that pass from the ocean to fresh water to spawn ; and also the action of animals which lay up stores of food for winter, — all these, and like action of animals, seem to originate from some impulse arising from their organization, independently of the senses. And if we say that the impulse is pro- duced by some relation of the external world to the animal’s organism, still, we have this fact remaining, — his always doing a specific thing involving con- trivance, — to be accounted for. Even if we grant that the Salmon remember that they were hatched in the river, we have still to account for their going back there to deposit their eggs ; and for their de- 1/6 Instinct. positing them in their proper places, caring for them as all other Salmon have done before ; although not one of them ever saw the work done, as must be the case when a stream is stocked, for the first time, by eggs carried there from some other place. But in general, we can trace the direct relation between the instinctive act and the impression made upon some sense. In all cases, where the acts depend upon the impressions made upon the senses, the act is performed when the impression is made ; and in accordance with the impression, although the impression maybe made in such away as to entire- ly deceive the animal . ) There is in must animals, certainly in some of them, very great power of dis- cerning through the senses those characteristics that are desirable or undesirable in an object ; but when you imitate, in any way, those character- istics, they act. Hence arise many cases of appar- ent reasoning, that are nothing more than the vari- ation of the action of Instinct to secure a given re- lation of the animal to the world around him. Flies lay eggs upon the Carrion-plant,* because its odor has the same relation to their sense of smell, as the odor of putid flesh, upon which their young can feed ; but they make a mistake, because their young cannot live upon the flower. Very young birds, when any sound is made upon the edge of the nest, open their bills, — as readily to the boy that comes to rob the nest, as to the mother that comes to feed them . The instmctive act^ essential to life^ is linked to the sensation of sound. The hen is cheated by the * Kirby. Bridg. Treat. Mistakes of Instinct, 1/7 crystal of salt which is poison to her, and eats it, mistaking it for the grain of quartz, that is neces- sary to her, for the process of digestion. Here the Instinct of eating gravel, which is very curious in itself, is linked to a certain impression upon the sense of sight. The whole process of cheating animals to cap- ture them, depends upon the fact that the purely, instinctive notions of the animal, arise from a certain relation of external objects to its senses j, as truly as those notions that may come to it in conse- quence of experience. The sense of smell is the occasion of mistake by the fly ; the sense of sight, of mistake by the fowl, when she swallows salt in- stead of gravel ; and she is deceived by the sense of hearing, when she hides at the cry, like that of the hawk, though the sound may be made by a mocking-bird, or by man. These are only exam- ples ; many of which will occur to every observer. Those given are enough to show that Instinct does not correct the senses, or render them more acute ; but that instinctive acts, such as we have mention- ed, always have a certain relation to the impres- sions made upon the senses. Many of the mis- takes of Instinct, so called, are the indications that we have in many acts, especially among the higher animals, something more than Instinct, — at least, a limited range of that principle of Intelligence be- longing peculiarly to man, which works out the noblest results, but is liable to mistakes, until ren- dered safe in its action by long experience. If Instinct is the controller of animal activity, 8 * 178 Instinct. the question naturally arises, How far, and under what conditions is it subject to variation ? There is a tendency in almost all plants and an- imals, if not in all, to vary from one exact type, giving rise to varieties. The extent to which this variation may go, is at present one of the disputed points among naturalists, and one which it is very difficult to settle. All readily acknowledge that species vary so as to give . a multitude of varie- ties ; as in the case of the common apple and oth- er cultivated fruits; while some hold to the dis- tinct origin of species themselves, and others re- gard them as simply permanent, well marked va- rieties. Without entering into this discussion fully, which our present purpose does not require, there are certain things in regard to this variation of species, upon which most naturalists seem to be agreed. 1. Variation may take place in any plant or an- imal in a manner and from causes quite beyond our comprehension ; that is, apparently from some original constitution of the being. 2. Rapid variation is in general, most common among the higher groups of plants and animals; especially among those most useful to man. 3. When the process of variation has com- menced in any kind, we naturally expect from our observation, that instances of variation in that kind will become increasingly common. This may explain the reason for our finding so much variation among our best cultivated plants Qualities of Inst met. 179 and domestic animals. They have been under the influence of man so long, and so many new forms have been preserved, that permanent characteristics are not to be e'xJpected ; as in nature, where only those types are preserved, which can fight their own battles in the world. 4. There is a tendency for any characteristic, brought out by variation, to be propagated and finally to become fixed, so that it is sure to appear in the young of the parent possessing that charac- teristic. The tendency to exhibit peculiar characteris- tics, is, perhaps, most marked, or, at least, most noticeable, in respect to s^ize and color. But there are great variations in the super-sensuous nature of animals. Docility, viciousness, stupidity, and most other characteristics, that we see in different de- grees among men, we also see in different degrees, among animals of the same species. And these characteristics are as likely to be transmitted, as is peculiarity of form or color. But docility, vicionsness and stupidity are not instincts at all. They simply mark qualities of the instincts, or their degree of perfection ; if they can be referred to Instinct at all. We believe that those qualities belong chiefly, if not wholly, to In- telligence, or the capacity of the animal to under- stand the relation of his acts as means to ends. Certain it is, that by training and care in selection, we can secure habits or tendencies in breeds of an- imals, as well as we can secure difference of form. In this respect, we see no difference between men i8o Instmct. and animals. Men vary in the powers of mind, — even members of the same family are often quite unlike in temper, taste and ability. But we do not speak of this difference among men, as any proof that one possesses powers, in kind, that the other does not possess ; but that one possesses a degree of power and quality of temper which the other does not have. There has been much confusion in reasoning, in regard to the super-sensuous nature of animals, because so many have decided, at the outset, that they are here in a field entirely different from that found in the study of man ; and because qualities of powers or faculties, have been treated as new powers, or as something having a tendency to pro- duce new powers. Qualities may give the being new power, but not new powers or faculties. The new power comes from the better use and greater strength of old powers. But in addition to these qualities that make a difference between individuals of the same species, and which vary in the same individual,, in different periods of life, we have taught in these lectures, that Instinct varies in its manifestations in the same individual to meet the different conditions of life ; as plants vary by the law of their growth, for the same purpose. That original impulse, knowledge and skill, which are possessed by the animal with- out experience, and which we have called INSTINCT, are excited to action by the circumstances in which the animal is placed. It often happens, that an animal is so situated that it lives easily by the ex- Variation of Instinct, i8i ercise of only a part of this original gift ; while a change of circumstances will instantly call the rest of the knowledge and skill into play. Those who see the change for the first time, wonder at what seems to them manifestations of wisdom on the part of the actor. Mistakes have been made in the study of animals, from want of careful observa- tion in regard to the nature and conditions of such changes in instinctive action. It is probable that instincts may be strength- ened in certain directions, and weakened in others, and changed in quality. If this cannot be done di- rectly, it certainly can be done indirectly, by affect- ing the functions of the body, which are the chief agencies in bringing the instincts into play, and af- fecting their strength and quality. There is great plasticity in the organic and su- per-sensuous part of the lower tribes even ; sufficient to give them a fair chance in the world ; and when we come to the higher animals, we have a still greater plasticity of nature; so that qualities and habits can be secured and transmitted, as tenden- cies at least, from one generation to another. This is so well understood by breeders that they will, in time, secure almost any form or color which they desire, — not because they have any power to change these directly, but because they take advan- tage of the tendency in all animals to vary and to inherit the peculiarities of parents. In like man- ner, any peculiar manifestation of an instinct can be fixed by selection in breeding. The breeder is at- tracted by some habit of an animal, which would I82 Instinct. be desirable. That is to him a hint. That ani- mal is preserved ; and the chances are that some of its young will manifest the same characteristics, perhaps in an increased degree. The selection goes on in this direction for generations, — every thing in other directions being rejected and every thing in that direction being preserved, — until the peculiar characteristic is fixed ; sure to appear in every one of the variety or breed. This may ex- plain the difference between Shepherd-dogs, Point- ers, Bull-dogs and other breeds. It is not certain however, that all our dogs came from the same original stock. It is to be noticed that this variation in Instinct, is according to a definite plan. Change of Instinct in strength or quality, seems to be accompanied with a corresponding change of structure. The two move on together, by some inscrutable law. The savage temper of the Bull-dog is accompanied with a ponderous jaw and enormou-s strength of muscle. The keen scent of the Blood-hound and the struc- ture for running all harmonize with his instinct for following the prey. The Spaniel and Newfound- land dog readily take to the water ; and their web- feet fit them for this element. The Instinct, which leads the fowl to sit upon her eggs, is always connected with a peculiar phys- iological change in the body. That change seems first to awaken the instinct and bring it into play. There is an unnatural heat of the body, — a change in the temper of the fowl, and a disregard of dan- ger In fact, the whole nature of the animal seems ConnectioJt with Fimction. 183 to be changed by some law of its being, as its feath- ers grow or drop off, at particular seasons. This physiological change and the manifestation of the instinct to brood, come after a certain number of eggs are laid, called a '■'nestF But it has been found that these ^^nests ” vary in number ; and by continued selections, breeds have been secured that never brood. The valuable characteristic of constantly producing eggs, is secured ; but there would be the loss of the breed, were it not for the care of man. In consequence of the abnormal conditions, to which domestic animals are subjected, we must ex- pect great confusion in the manifestations of their natural habits. There are great modifications of Instinct, as we find among dogs, modifications of the original Instinct, in particular directions, inten- sified by habit and rendered constant by careful breeding. There is no more difference in the In- stinct of the different kinds of dogs, then there is in their structure. And as all the different forms of dogs are seen to be modifications of one type, so their instincts appear to be modifications of the nor- mal instincts seen among those dogs which are sup- posed to be near the original type. The relation of function to Instinct is much more intimate than is generally supposed, so that the ac- tion of one may be mistaken for that of the other. The wonderful instinct of the hound is often refer- red to as enabling him to track his prey, even upon the dry earth. It is not Instinct, at all, that enables him to do this. It is function, — the delicacy of the organ of smelling. He has the Instinct to follow his 184 Instinct, prey, as the common dogs have, but he is able to follow his prey when they are baffled, only by a more delicate function of one special sense. In- stinct leads the common dog to hunt for his mas- ter’s track ; but it is function that enables him to find it. All the reciprocal influences of structure, fu-nc- tion and Instinct on the being, under the varied conditions to which our domestic animals are sub- jected, W‘iTl never be understood until they have been studied long, with great care. It is in this field of observation, that we look for the most in- teresting results, in determining the limits ofvaria- tion in the whole structure and nature of the ani- mal. Conceding the great changes that have taken place in the modifying of forms and Instincts, we see nothing yet that indicates the production of a new Instinct ; and we can never be sure that an in- stinct is lost simply because it does not act. An instinct may lie dormant for generations because there is no occasion for its activity ; but sheep warn their fellows of danger, and cows hide their calves when the occasion comes for calling the old instincts into play. And the calf, stupid as he is, knows his part of the performance in hiding, as well as though trained in the best schools ! We have thus seen the wide application of these spontaneous activities. They increase in number and complexity according to the nature of the be- ings in which they appear. They appear when they are needed, and they^ pass away when there is no longer use for them. They save the individual Dejinitions. i8S and the species ; and this they do by working won- ders; but if they did not perform these wonders; the species could not exist, as they are. Each step makes it plainer to us, that we have not here a distinct principle or an agent, as Hamil- ton calls it ; ^ but that "ajt Instinct is simply an iin~ pulse to a particular kind of voluntary action zvhich the being needs to perform as an individual or represen- tative of a species ; but which he could not possibly learji to perform before he yieeds to act. And the gen- eral term, INSTINCT, includes all the original impulses^ — excepting the Appetites^ — and that knowledge and skill, with which ariimals are e^idowed — which experi- ence may call into exercise, but which it does 7iot give. All of these are given to an animal in proportion to his need — according to the conditions under which he is to start in life; and not at alHin pro- portion to his rank in the scale of being. And all attempts to fix the rank of an animal by means of the number and perfection of those principles of action, utterly fail. It is just as logical to argue that a Sea-urchin is nearly allied to man in structure, because his spines have ball and socket joints, like the limbs of man, as to argue that an animal is near man in Intelligence, because his instinctive acts imitate the intelligent acts of man. If we accept the account thus far given of the nature of instinctive acts, we must be prepared to recognize Intelligence as reaching much lower in the scale of being than it has generally been sup- posed that it does. And by intelligence, we mean Metaphysics, Bowen’s Ed., p. 505. Instinct, 1 86 here, simply, the power in the actor of comprehend- ing ends as desirable, and his own acts as means to secure those ends. Intelligence carries on the work by experience which was begun by Instinct. An intelligent act can be distinguished from an in- stinctive act only by the conditions under which it is performed. They may both be exactly the same in form and in their relation to ends. LECTURE VIII. HIGHER CHARACTER OF ANIMALS. — ANIMALS COM- PARED WITH MAN. Knowledge from Experience. — Do animals think? — Definition of thinking. — Conditions of the act to be studied. — Difficulty of the work. — Coridition of the animal. — Physical structure and growth in Men and Animals. — The Senses in both. — Physiological like- ness. — Capacity of Animals for Pain and Enjoyment. — Psycho- logical effects of sensations in Animals. — Fear, Anger, Joy, Grief, Shame . — The Desires. — AEsthetic nature of Animals. — Animals learn by expenence . — Their actions compared with those of man . — Taming and trapping Animals. — Memory of Animals. — Dream- ing. — Summary of the Argument. — Instinct the controlling pow- er . — The Rights of Animals. Animals are plainly guided by some principle of voluntary action, which secures complicated results necessary for their well-being, before they can have experience, or instruction. These voluntary activ- ities, rising above the functional activities, but working in harmony with them, without experience, or instruction, on the part of their possessor, secure the welfare of the individual, and the continuance of the species. These activities, taken together, constitute INSTINCT ; as that word is generally un- derstood. And Instinct, as thus defined, is un- doubtedly the sole guide of many of the lower tribes. We judge so, because they do not appear to have the conditions for an experience ; and yet i88 Instinct they accomplish their work perfectly, and in the same manner, wherever found. But so far as expe- rience is possible, the animal seems to be as de- pendent upon that, as is the human race itself. The self-directive, voluntary activities seem to be confined, in every species, to the narrowest sphere of action possible, consistent with the wel- fare of each species, under its ordinary conditions of life. In addition to those actions which are plainly instinctive, — because performed at once, in the same manner, by all members of any given species, — we see animals performing other acts, in the same line, or connected with them, that seem plainly to de- pend upon acquired knowledge. We perform the same kinds of acts, as many an- imals perform, not only because we have been taught by others, who have also been taught or aided by experience, but we do them understand- ingly : comprehending the relations of means to ends ; knowings feelings willing. We form plans, and execute them for our pleasure. The mistakes of inexperience, we correct by observation ; and we daily become more skilful in any work we do. All these acts and results mark us as “ thinking beings,” as this phrase is generally understood. Within certain limits, the higher animals appear to learn by the same process as we do, and to act with the same comprehension of means and ends. The question then naturally arises, Do any animals pos- sess a mental, or super-sensuous, organization like that of a man, in kind ; so that any of their acts, are Thinking. 189 the result of choice, as related to some end compre- hended by them as desirable ? In other words, do animals comprehend relations, and then act for the purpose of securing pleasure, by adapting means to ends ; or are they impelled to all acts, for their pres- ervation and productive of pleasure to them, by a blindly working force, that gives law to their vol- untary acts, with no aid from any of those powers, that are the chief distinction of man ? Are animals, in any proper sense, thinking beings ? The answer to this question can be given, not by considering the nature of any act alone, but the conditions, un- der which the act is performed. For purely in- stinctive acts manifest as much wisdom, as any in- telligent act possibly can, in aiming at the same re- sult. We must also agree as to what is meant by thinking ; or else, while we agree as to the mental status of animals, we may continue our war of words, simply in defence of our definitions. We have had of late, the question proposed ; What is it to think? And we have had answers given, that all thought involves processes beyond the powers of animals, and therefore that they do not think. This is a short way of disposing of the matter ; and most questions can be disposed of in the same manner. If a man starts with a given definition of thinking, declaring that it always in- volves certain elements, and then denies that ani- mals ever have those elements, because he accounts for all apparent manifestation of these elements in them, by some low form of association of ideas, the argument, with him, is ended, of course. We Instinct. 190 believe that animals have elements of thought which some have denied to them. We know, cer tainly, that animals act as though they had notions of time, space and causality. But it can never be conclusively proved that they have them, we readi- ly admit. To be explicit, let us define “ thinking,” as we now intend to use the word. If any object to the definition, they will understand our meaning. When any being performs an act, to secure pleas- ure or avoid pain, because he comprehends his act as a means to secure the end, we consider that think- ing is involved, — of course, it often rises into high- er planes than this, as philosophical thinking ; but we consider that it begins, wherever beings act from any comprehension of means and ends. That animals perform acts, which seem to imply thought, no one will deny ; purely instinctive acts, and even the movements of plants, seem to im.ply thought, where there is no sensation even. If we detect Intellect in animals at all then, it will not be, because they perform certain acts ; but it will be, because they perform these acts under the same conditions, and by the same means, or methods, as men perform them. We must direct our attention then, mainly to the conditions under which the acts of the higher animals are performed. We are now called upon to enter one of the most difficult of all fields of observation, and to com- pare objects that elude the grasp of every sense. Those who have attempted to compare their own sensations and conceptions with those of others, Sensations Compared. 191 know how difficult the work is. Even in regard to our sensations, or sense-perceptions, we can never be sure that ours correspond with those of another person, under the same conditions. You and your friend look at a flower, and agree that it is yellow ; but it does not follow that you both have the same color-sensation. It simply follows, that each of you has the same sensation, that has been produced in him, by all objects which he has been taught to call, yellow. But, as a matter of fact, when your friend says he perceives a yellow color, he may have just the same sensation, as you have, when you call the color, blue. It is not probable that it is so, but it is not possible for the best physicist, or metaphy- sician in the world, to so make the comparison, as to be sure that two persons have sensations alike, when they give the same name to the sensations. There is, indeed, one strong argument against the likeness of sensations, which bear the same name, in different individuals ; that is, the different effect of these sensations upon the sensibilities. Two per- sons agree as to a color ; but one likes it, another dislikes it. They agree as to the name of an odor or taste ; but they disagree, as to the effect of that odor or taste, upon themselves. It is certainly a fair question ; Does not the different effect of a taste, or odor, or color, on different individuals, im- ply that each produces a different sensation upon one person from what it does upon another ? These inquiries are started here, to show the inherent dif- ficulty of comparing the sensations and mental oper- ations of different individuals, if one is disposed to 192 Instinct. be sceptical, or to insist upon absolute proof of their agreement or likeness, in any given case. The proof of identity of sensations and sense- perceptions, can be only inferential, strengthened, indeed, by our belief in the uniformity, which we see running throughout our physical structures, so far as the examination can be made, by the aid of the senses. Because animals cannot speak, it seems, at first thought, a more difficult thing to compare man with an animal, than it is to compare man with man. And so it is, in some respects ; as the men- tal operations can best be revealed through lan- guage, and some of them, only in this way. But the difference, in the two cases, is by no means so great as it, at first, appears. We must in both cases, infer the correspondence of sensations and men- tal states, by certain effects. Man can aid us by language ; but, on the other hand, an animal has no metaphysical theory that comes in to disturb his sensations, or his acts, as consequent upon those sensations. So it may fairly be assumed that the honesty of an animal, in acting free from all theo- ries, and all knowledge that he is under examina- tion, may be a fair offset against the gift of speech, as an aid in investigating the sensations and con- ceptions of our fellow-men. As our object now is. to make a fair comparison of man with the highest and best known, of the lower animals, we begin with their bodies. The structure of all vertebrates is essentially the same, and varied, only in accordance with the Animals and Man Compared, 193 conditions of life, in each species. There is, also, likeness of substance. If we take a human bone and one from a dog, and analyze them, we find them, thioughout of the same chemical composition. The bones grow, and the tissues are combined, in es- sentially the same manner in both. The differences are merely specific, but the generic character of bone is constant. If we compare the muscles of both, the same is true. Not only are the muscle of a dog and that of a man alike in their general structure, action and use, but they are composed of the same materials, and they grow in the same man- ner. The nervous systems of both have essential- ly the same composition, as they have the same structure and the same use. So, throughout, our comparison will hold, until we satisfy ourselves that, in any one of the higher vertebrate animals, we find the same kind of materials organized in the same manner, and for the same uses, as in our own bodies. Growth, decay, life and death are essen- tially the same, in all the higher animals, as in man. Now let us advance a step, and compare the senses and sensations of both. We have no sense which we do not find in some animal ; and the senses of animals, so far as we can judge, are affected in the same way as ours are, by the same objects. They may have some of the senses more acute than ours are, but they differ from ours, only in degree ; as the senses of men differ in strength and delicacy. So far as we know, no animal has a sense that dif- fers from ours, in kind. If we examine the phenomena of the senses in 9 194 Instinct. detail, we shall find the animal affected by colors, odors and sounds, as readily as men are. He may like what a man dislikes ; as men may be affected, in different ways, by the same odor or taste. If we judge, as we do in every other case, it must be plain to every observer, that animals have the same kind of enjoyment and suffering, through the senses, as men have. To heat and cold, hunger and thirst, food and poison, sickness, pain and death, they have the same bodily relations, in kind, as we our- selves. So far as sensation has its recoil, in mus- cular or physiological effects, there is great simi- larity, if not identity, of effect. Those, who deny that the lower animals suffer as men do, bring forward no valid argument in fa- vor of their doctrine. It is clear assumption, from some notion of what they think ought to be, — a method of procedure utterly unworthy of any searcher for truth. Besides, they seem to forget that the same arguments, which are used to show that the dumb animals do not suffer, but only ap- pear to suffer, — if accepted, would prove that these animals have no enjoyment, when they seem to be happy, but only manifest the appearance of happi- ness. So far as the argument, for the benevolence of Deity, is concerned, it seems quite as worthy of His character, that He has created the lower ani- mals with the capacity for suffering and enjoyment, as that He has denied them both, and introduced a dumb show, that means nothing, simply to keep up appearances! We doubt not, the verdict of every thinking man, who takes time to study and Enjoyment — Su ffering — Fear. 195 observe, will be, that animals have great capacity for physical suffering and enjoyment ; and that this capacity is greatest in those animals that are the companions of man, depending upon him for much of their enjoyment, and receiving from him, through ill temper, thoughtlessness, or neglect, the cause of almost the entire sum of their suffering. So per- fectly adjusted do their powers seem to be, that, were they treated as well as we know how to treat them — though much remains to be learned of their proper treatment, as well as of our own, — their lives would be almost uninterrupted scenes of en- joyment ; and they would contribute far more to the aid of man, than they now can. But let us now consider what may be called the psychological ef- fects of sensations, as manifested, or made known to us, through the muscular and nervous systems. An object known to man to be dangerous to him, or supposed to be dangerous, causes fear ; and the emotion of fear has its natural language, which the whole body speaks. The emotion is manifest- ed by a certain action of the muscles, producing a peculiar movement or fixedness of the eye, trem- bling, and unusual tones of voice. These same ef- fects are all produced upon animals, by objects eith- er dangerous to them, or to which they are unac- customed. They are frightened, under exactly the same conditions as men are frightened ; in many cases, by the same objects ; and the effect of the fright upon them, as manifested by the muscular and nervous systems, is precisely the same as upon man, — and the actions of the animal, when he is 96 Instinct. frightened, have the same relation to his ordinary actions, as we observe in the case of men. We have intimated that animals know certain enemies, by a special instinct, such as men do not possess ; but that question is not now under discussion. The question is, as to the animal’s having the emo- tion of fear, from any cause ; and as to the likeness of that emotion, to the emotion of fear in man. Animals fear things that cannot injure them, — they judge, and very often misjudge. A horse is frightened at an old newspaper, fluttering in the street, or at a sudden light or sound, when no dan- ger is near. He, to all appearances, has weak judg- ment. He, like man, tries to avoid danger ; but he is deceived by the semblance of the thing, as chil- dren, or timid and ignorant men are. Then a word from his master re-assures him ; if he has one, in whom he has confidence. Consider, also, the emotion of anger. It is manifested in animals, under the same conditions, as in man. Take from a man, by force, that which he desires to keep, and he is angry, — so is a dog. The emotion of fear may be brought in to control the natural effects of anger, in animals as well as in men. Anger has the same effect upon the nervous and muscular systems of each. The eyes glare, the muscles become tense ; there is an eagerness to fight, — to injure the aggressor, — and there seems to be an insensibility to suffering, from wounds and bruises. The tone of voice, in both men and ani- mals, is changed by anger ; and the change in both cases produces the same quality of voice. The emo- Emotions. 197 tion of anger is, then, we may fairly infer, alike in both, — in its cause, and in its effect on the motions of the body, its position, the voice and the act. If we consider the emotions of joy, grief and shame, we shall find the similarity to hold. In the dog, at least, the animal most easily studied, we find them all manifested for like causes, and by like motions of eye, head, limb and tone of voice, as in man. A guilty dog drops the head and cannot look his master in the eye, — he manifests a sense of shame, when he is blamed, so that he thinks his master judges him guilty, or worthy of punishment. He watches the eye and voice of his master, for the first indication of returning favor, and expresses his delight as plainly as actions alone can express an emotion. These higher animals even know how to interpret the motions and tones of voice, that indi- cate some of these emotions in men, when they themselves are not directly concerned. In the appetites and simple emotions, we can, then, make no distinction, in kind, between an ani- mal and a man. The more closely we press the ex- amination, the more marked does the likeness appear. When we come to consider those instinctive im- pulses called desires, as desire of life, of property, of knowledge, of esteem and of power, the exami- nation becomes more difficult. The animal seems to fear a death, of which he could have no knowl- edge ; and he fights for his own property, if it is only a bone. He curiously tries to investigate the na- ture of new objects, and unaccustomed sounds, if 198 Instinct. they do not arouse his fear, so as to overcome his curiosity. But all these actions are so constant, and so essential to his well-being, that we might expect they would be manifested by each animal of the higher types, as a necessary condition of life. In their operation, there is but little that simulates love of life, love of property, and love of knowledge in man ; the difference, however, seems to be in the degree, or extent of these desires. But the desire of esteem is as well marked in animals as in man. Words of approbation seem as grateful to one as to the other ; and both plainly do acts for the sake of the praise, and then come to seek their reward. The desire of power is as well marked, but may perhaps be referred to those characteristics, which are essential to the animal’s well-being, so that it is very difficult to point out its likeness to the desire of power in man. When strange dogs, or cattle, come together, the first thing that is to be settled, if they are near the same size, is, which is the bet- ter dog or ox of the two, with teeth or horns? If the weaker one plainly gives up, the larger will, sometimes, be satisfied with his acknowledged supe- riority. But generally, there must be a battle. When two men come together, it is the same, whether in the ring, in the senate chamber, or in the parlor. They measure each other’s strength, and there is a constant struggle till one yields. Among animals, and men of muscle, the battle can be seen ; but, in many cases, among men, the bat- tle is only known to the two combatants. It is generally said of man, that he has the de- Social Natures. 199 sire for society. Society is so essential to his high- est development, that it has been called a condi- tion of his being, rather than a desire. But proba- bly there is to man an enjoyment in society which is ultimate. He is a social being, — society is desired for its own sake. The same thing is true, also among animals. Horses, cattle, sheep and dogs, appear to seek each other’s company, not only for the sake of defence, but simply for the sake of com- pany. It may be said that dogs seek each other’s company, by a remnant of the old, wolf instinct, that led them to hunt in packs. But this theory will not account for their play and gambols togeth- er, after they become acquainted. Nor will it ac- count for the social nature of such herb-eating ani- mals and seed-eating birds, as never hunted in com- pany and never attempt defence in concert. There is love of company, in one animal, as mani- fested for another of the same kind, and also for men, and for animals of different kinds, after the emotion of fear is overcome. Shall we deny to animals an .Esthetic nature? Here, most of all, we need language to aid us. Let us be sure of our facts, and accept them as a basis for sound inference, instead of trying to explain them away under the influence of some favorite theory. To the sound of music, most of the higher ani- mals seem attentive. They mark diflerences of sound, that often escape the notice of many men. The dog will distinguish the sound of his master’s 200 Instinct. sleigh-bell, as soon as its tinkle can be heard. The horse keeps step to the music, and learns to obey the bugle note. Singing birds accompany musical instruments, and imitate their sound, and the songs of other birds, to perfection. From this power of accurately discerning sound and the accompanying actions, we have fair ground for inferring that many of the higher animals not only distinguish musical sounds, but enjoy them. That wealth of melody, which fills our fields and groves, is sweet to the ear of man ; but the songsters do not wait his coming, to begin their concert. “ Is it for thee, the linnet pours his throat ? Loves of his own, and raptures, swell the note.” That animals are sensible of beauty of form and color, it would be difficult to prove. It is, certainly, some argument in its favor, that they are most beautiful, in form and color, when they choose their mates. That they admire the landscape, over which they wander, or gaze from the giddy Alps, with the emotion of awe, or wonder at their sublim- ity, is something which we can never know. These high emotions can be revealed only by the face and tongue of man. But it is sometimes said that all this enjoyment, which comes to animals through the senses, arises from a low form of activity which betokens no intelligence or thought. Do animals reason ? After eliminating all instinctive acts, which simulate the rational acts of men, do we find that animals perform any acts, by the use of the same powers, and in the same manner, as men do. Learning from Experience. 201 under the guidance of Intelligence ? If they do not, then we must acknowledge that there is introduced into the works of nature, a false show, which is ut- terly abhorrent to our notions of truthfulness, and subversive of confidence in all our reasoning from natural phenomena. Animals, certainly, learn by experience, and often guide their lives as wisely by it, as most men do. Birds fear hawks instinctively ; but they learn, by experience, that man and many other things are to be dreaded, and the conditions under which they are most dangerous. The crow learns that men walking alone, are apt to be dan- gerous ; and that when riding, they are compara- tively harmless. He soon allows the train of cars to thunder by him, while he sits by the road side, as unmoved by its roar, and fire, and smoke, and engineers, as he is by the clouds that pass over him. He has learned that locomotives, and the men on them, are not dangerous to crows. The elephant, that has broken through a bridge, fears to trust himself upon another, until he has satisfied himself that it is safe. Old animals learn to fear dangerous things, which young animals may be destroyed by, and to disregard other things, that frighten the young. There is, in this respect, a very wide range of experience for many animals. The same kinds of animals vary in their knowledge, ac- cording to their age and opportunity of learning, as men do. Probably there is no such thing as stupidity in Instinct proper. It is a difficult question to settle; but we judge so, on account of the great uniformity 9 ^ 202 Instinct, in the work of those animals, like bees and silk- worms, the work of which must be entirely instinct- ive. Natural selection would secure uniformity, within certain limits ; and there probably is, as we have before suggested, the same sort of variation of Instinct, in the same species, as there is of or- ganic structure ; but so far as we can judge, the dif- ference, in the work of insects of the same kind, seems to arise from some disease or trouble with the functions of the body; and not with the In- stinct, as a giriding power. But there certainly are intelligent, and stupid animals, — animals without experience, and those with an experience, which they turn to good ac- count. Horses and dogs differ almost as much, in their ability to learn from their own experience, or to be taught by their masters, as men do. But, it is said by some, that this apparent learn- ing, from experience and observation, is only a low form of association of remembered sensations and is never connected with real thinking. As an asser- tion, this statement can have but little weight ; and, as a proposition, we have yet to see it sustained by any satisfactory proof. We see the same effects in animals, which we know come from thinking in us, — we see that certain acts of theirs are the same as we perform, and we find the conditions so entirely the same in both cases, that we feel called upon, in all honesty, to infer thinking in the animal, until we can find an argument against it better than those that consist in denial, or which start from premises that beg the whole question. Tarning a7td Ti'appmg. 203 The whole process of taming and training ani- mals depends upon the fact that they learn by ex- perience. When a wild squirrel is first caught, he trembles with fear, and his heart throbs, as your own would, at the roar of a lion in the jungle, or the war-whoop of the savage close at hand. He de- fends himself instinctively, with all his power, and with the weapons nature has given him. Now put him in a cage, and daily feed him, and treat him kindly, if that is possible while he is caged. By de- grees, he trusts you more and more, until he is tame, and trusts you implicitly. His instincts are not changed. He still fears what he considers danger- ous ; but he has learned, by experience, that you are not dangerous, though he once judged you to be so. The whole art of trapping animals consists in deceiving their judgment. This judgment is to a certain degree, instinctive, as we have shown ; but it certainly is not entirely so, in the case of the higher animals. They become cunning as they are hunted. No animal knows instinctively, that iron is dangerous ; as may be readily proved. Rats will run overall sorts of iron utensils, until one is caught in a trap ; and after that, his fellows generally give that particular piece of iron-mongery, a wide berth. If it persistently remains at the rat-hole, and snaps up a few, which have not learned the danger, that hole will be deserted, as a dangerous place for rats. A fox learns that a trap is dangerous only when it is set ; and, sometimes, the trapper has to match his wit against that of the fox, and often finds him- 204 Instinct. self outwitted in the end. The fox will dig out his trap and spring it, and then take all the bait Such old fellows have been caught by turning the trap upside down, so that the fox was evidently caught, as he dug under the trap, to spring it. When an animal thus gives a trapper extra trouble, he knows well before it is caught, that it is an old one, — one which, in addition to the instinctive cun- ning and knowledge common to the species, as their necessary outfit in life, has a good fund of ex- perience gained, as men gain theirs, by hardships and dangers. There is one fact connected with the fear of enemies among animals, that is worthy of attention, though we do not feel sure, at all, that we have any satisfactory explanation for it. That individual animals should become wild, by being hunted, is easily accounted for ; but all the animals of a particular district soon become wild after men begin to hunt there. The character of the whole species, in that place, seems to be changed. This is observed to be true, even, of fishes. When the western counties of Massachusetts were first settled, the trout were easily taken in the streams ; but now their whole character seems to be changed, to a degree very difficult to be accounted for, on the theory of individual experience ; so that we are driven to the conclusion, either that there is a method of communication among these low ani- mals, or that the timidity of the parent, acquired from danger, and a particular form of danger, is very readily transmitted to the young. This latter Difference in Habits. 20 ^ explanation seems the most plausible : and it will probably be found that those low animals, to which is denied the power of transmitting knowledge to their descendants, by tradition, have given to them a physical susceptibility, so that the benefits of ex- perience are transmitted to the young, in regard to those things needful for the preservation of the spe- cies. This would be in harmony with the general plan of creation, as manifested in other provisions for the preservation of the species, by the plasticity of their nature ; and it accounts for the observed facts in domestication, and among the wild animals. One has only to visit the coast of Iceland, where the Eider-ducks are protected by the inhabitants, and the coast of Greenland, where these birds are hunted by the Esquimaux, to see the marked dif- ference in their habits, in the two places. In Ice- land, they are almost as tame as domestic fowls ; while in those parts of Greenland, where they have been hunted, they are among the most wary of birds. We simply call attention to the subject, and leave it for future observers to give us suffi- cient data for determining, with certainty, the true cause of that sudden change in all the animals of a region, after a new form of danger appears among them. If animals learn by experience, this fact alone would settle the question of memory. But facts are abundant showing that animals remember faces even, and that for years. They often remember what happens but once ; nor does this process of memory seem to be a mere bald association of 2o6 Instinct, ideas, connecting persons and places with pleasure and pain, only when those persons or places are again perceived by the senses. There are some facts which seem to show that there is, in the ani- mal, a sphere in which mental reproduction is as independent of sensible objects, and as perfect, as in man. The hound, that has been hunting, often dreams of the chase. His limbs move, and he barks and pants for breath, in his eagerness. If now he is suddenly awaked, it is amusing to see him rapidly glance around him, as though looking to see where the game has vanished. After, apparent- ly, satisfying himself that it was only a dream, he settles back, for a second sleep, with all the gravity of a man. From all these facts, we infer that through the senses, men and the higher animals have the same kind of sensations, — that pleasure and pain are brought to both, through the nervous system, under similar conditions. That they have the same kind of emotions, is inferred, because the same manifestations through the physical system, that indicate fear, joy, anger, and shame in us, are seen in them, under just such circumstances, as would call forth those emotions in man. In a word, then, the appetites and desires, so far as we can trace them, in men and animals are alike. Animals remember places, persons, and events. They love and hate. Harsh words and blows repel them, and often render them vicious. Kind words and good treatment will secure their confidence, good service, and affection. They learn much from The Governing Principle. 207 their own experience ; and, especially, they are able to come into such relations to man, as to com prehend his desires and perform his commands. All these operations certainly involve thinking, as we have defined the word, and as it is generally used. If we accept some different definition, — one that eliminates all these elements, or which intro- duces such elements as cannot be indicated by any of these manifestations, of which dumb animals are capable, let us know just what this definition is. When we have the definition, it will be for the one giving it to show, by something more than mere asser- tion, that animals are excluded, even according to his own definition, from the list of thinking beings. What then, in the animal, is the governing prin- ciple? We say. Instinct, or the spontaneous, self-directing activities, in distinction from free In- telligence, a degree of which animals possess. This we attempted briefly to show in the last lecture ; and shall more fully illustrate, when treating of man. But at this point of the discussion we wish to say, that while we concede Intelligence to the higher animals, in distinction from Instinct, we find noth- ing in them that can control Instinct, or any power by which the animal may be said to control its own destiny. One instinct may, from certain circum- stances, control another; as when parental love overcomes the fear of danger ; but when we consid- er the acts of animals, as a whole, we find them so completely under the dominion of the instinctive principles, that the results are almost precisely the same in all the thousands of a given species. It is 208 Insthict. this control of Instinct, making Intelligence a ser- vant^ rather than accepting it as a master^ which gives the uniform plane to the life of animals, of the same species, when left to themselves. This con- trol of Instinct, as being the leading power in the animal, is so apparent, that it probably accounts for much of the reluctance, on the part of many, to rec- ognize Intelligence in animals at all. It is natural to think of Intelligence, wherever it is present, as ruling Instinct ; because it thus rules in man. But because Intelligence in animals, takes its place as a servant, under the control of Instinct, it has, in many cases, been entirely overlooked, or its exist- ence denied. It has been taken for granted, that Intelligence must rule, wherever it is present. In water, there is cohesion sufficient to form a liquid, but gravitation rules ; and the current of water moves on as this force determines. Cohesion plays a subordinate part, and only enables gravitation to give the water greater power, as it moves. When cohesion increases, by the fall of temperature, gravi- tation still acts upon the particles, but it no longer controls their movements. The icicle holds firmly in its place, the frozen river refuses to flow, and crystals of ice shoot upward, in mockery of gravita- tion. In water, cohesion is the servant of gravita- tion ; in ice, it becomes its master, though it can never escape wholly from its power. So, Intelligence in the animal, like cohesion in water, must bend all its energies in obedience to the instinctive principles, which control the actions of animals, as gravitation does the particles of water. But in man, Intelli- 209 Rights of Animals. ^ence has become like cohesion, in ice and in the solid rock, which keeps them in form, and gives strength to the iron, and beauty of form to the crys- tal, in spite of gravitation, though they never escape wholly from its power. From this capacity of animals for suffering and enjoyment, we infer that they have rights, though this is denied, on technical ground, as their power of thinking has been denied. Animals have the right to get all the good out of life they can, in subordination to the higher be- ings placed over them. It is said animals have no conception of such rights, and therefore cannot have them. That they have no such conception remains to be proved ; but in the mean time, we appeal to the sense of kindness implanted in their masters, till that is blunted by brutality, or a phi- losophy that has little to recommend it. An invasion of their right to enjoyment, they instinctively repel. And the natural feelings of men, cry out against any wanton infliction of pain upon dumb animals. Those who torment them, are always cruel to men. The laws justly protect them against cruel masters ; and in these laws, the com- munity recognizes the rights of animals. Such laws ought to be better enforced than they are. The bodily suffering of animals may not be as keen, as that of a man, — if it were, they could hardly endure, as long as they do, all the cruelties practised upon them, through thoughtlessness, pride, anger and avarice. Instinct. 210 is difficult to prove that there is, in the an- imal, any sense of injustice, though there are man- ifestations that look as though there might be. In some cases, the punishment he inflicts, is not for defence, but, plainly, on account of some long re- membered abuse. But so helpless are animals, against the cruel wrongs practised upon them, that their sufferings, for the moment, make every honest man indignant, almost every time he passes through the streets. One would be glad to believe that an- imals are spared suffering from a sense of injustice — that keenest pang which man is called upon to endure. LECTURE IX. INSTINCT IN MAN GROWING OUT OF HIS APPE- TITES. — ANIMAL IN THEIR ORIGIN. Man and Animals compared. — Observation and study a necessity for Man . — The higher Ruling Principle. — Free Personality. — Com- plexity of Man s Nature. — Origin and use of the Appetites. — Nar- row range of A nimal Instinct hi the child. — Nursing. — Fear.— Moral Instincts. — A nimal Instincts to be governed. — Marriage.— The desires. — Desire of Life, of Knowledge, of Power, of Esteem, of Society. — Revolutions and Reformations, — Summation of Activities. Man is called a rational being, in distinction from the brutes. He is certainly entitled to this distinc- tion, as a being in whom Reason ought to control all the activities. Has he Instinct, — the same in kind as we have found among the lower animals ? We have attempted to show that animals have In- telligence ; but Intelligence subordinated to their Instinct, which always controls, so that almost uni- form results are secured, among animals of the same species, when left to themselves. It has so long been taken for granted, by a large class of writers, that animals possess nothing but Instinct, to account for their actions, that the assertion, that they pos- sess Intelligence, shocks many, as an attempt to break down the distinction between man and brutes. 212 Instinct. And the assertion, which we now make, that man has a wider range of Instinct than any other animal on the globe, may be regarded as another attempt to break down the distinction, upon which we pride ourselves. We make no attempt to break down distinctions. We wish to find them, where nature has placed them, — as we mark distinctions in a nat- ural classification, — and not to invent distinctions, or make them where they only seem to exist, on account of some accidental characteristic, as is done in artificial systems of classification. If man has, in him, something higher than an animal, it does not destroy his animal nature ; but it is something added to that nature. This animal nature of man, we are first to consider ; for it is an essential part of us, while we remain in this world. We have already shown that the bodies of the high- er animals are essentially the sam'e as those of men. The bones, and muscles, and nerves, in both corre- spond ; modified only according to the habits of each. We are of the earth, as well as they. We have no element, in our bodies, not found in theirs. Our bodies are subject to the same laws as theirs, in every respect, except as they have given to them certain changes of activities, to fit them for special modes of life, as in the case of hibernation. We find in ourselves, no new law of physiology. Every effort costs the waste of tissue, in the ox which turns the furrow, and in the husbandman, who holds the plough. Hunger, thirst, weariness and sleep come to both alike. That the human body is all animal, there can be no doubt. And, as an Impulses. 213 animal, man has precisely the same instincts, in kind, as other animals ; and to the number and de- gree, that he needs them, according to the same principle, which we have found to prevail among the lower animals. We have found Instinct to be simply a method of action, involving impulse to per- form the act, and knowledge and skill enough, with- out experience, to supplement a parent’s care. We have found that nature gives just as little Instinct as possible everywhere ; and leaves as much to ex- perience as possible, without endangering the loss of the species. If she gives more instinctive knowl- edge to the young of any kind, it is because she gives less to the parent ; giving most of all to those young, which never know a parent’s care. Now, applying these principles rigidly to man, as an ani- mal, we should expect him to possess animal in- stincts, mainly as impulses. We should expect him to have little of instinctive knowledge or skill, be- cause the parent is able to supply both, and has the natural affection, or instinctive love, to ensure the proper action, or the best action according to her judgment./ She is guided mainly, by experi- ence. Instinct never gives her perfect knowledge and skill, as it sometimes does the lower animals. The whole machinery of man’s nature, is so ar- ranged that observation and study have always been demanded, and always will be demanded. While the instincts of the child and parent commence in im- pulses, just as they do in all other animals, the knowledge and skill are left to be acquired. And this knowledge can be increased, from generation 214 Instinct. to generation. Here, then, in what, at first sight, might seem to be the imperfection of the animal instincts in man, we find the intimation of his high nature, — his capacity for improvement, and the ne- cessity for it, — and also the intimation that Intelli- gence must guide him, even as an animal ; for his instincts, which are mainly impulses, only lead or drive him to ruin, unless they are directed and con- trolled. Intelligence here must be the master of instinctive action, and not its servant, as among the lower animals. It is in the supersensuous part of our being alone that we must look for something different in kind^ from what we find in animals. That we shall find such a principle, we have no doubt ; because we see in man results which mere animal powers show no tendency to reach. This principle is that, in man, which is highest in kind, and which ought to rule his whole being. It should be autocrat among the powers. It should, from its throne above in the higher nature, rule all below, — making Intellect it- self an instrument, — as bodily instincts rule in the animal. The instincts of the animal grow out of his bodily organization — and, so far as the animal is concerned, they begin and end with that. The higher power in us, which should rule the body, sometimes demands of a man, that he rise above every animal instinct, and give up even life itself, although there may be none to admire or recount his deeds. He may be so true to himself, as to de- liberately accept of death — die for the truth. With every man, is the choice between the rule Mmgling of Activities, 215 of his higher, and lower nature. Though walled around by fate, or the laws of nature in the world without, and the laws of nature in his own structure and animal instincts, there is yet left to him, a throne of sovereignty, — which he may mount, if he choose, — from which, he declares what powers in him shall be servants, and which masters, for the time. He appoints the bounds of each, or he could not be a responsible being. Here we come to the mystery of free personality. The instinctive powers of the higher nature, are ever present in man, and their agency is so intimate- ly blended with the agency of the animal instincts, — sometimes wisely controlling them and sometimes basely yielding, while they run riot and defeat the very ends for which they were given, — that it is al- most as impossible to separate the activities of the two natures in man, as to discern with the unaided eye, the yellow red and blue, that are woven togeth- er in the sunlight. We need a psychological prism, which shall completely untangle the web, and show the animal and the image of God, that together make up this complex being, man. In the animal, all is beautifully simple. Every impression, from without, awakens impulses which he may follow to the full demand of his nature, with profit either to himself or his species. His simple nature is self- poised. If harm comes to him, as an individual, it is in following an instinct, which he was made to follow, and which will, upon the whole, bring good to his race, when followed to its full demand. But , every impression in man, that wakens the animal 2I6 Instinct, instincts, wakes with them, a watchful guardian, which was appointed to give them their bounds, and tell them when to act, and when to remain in quiet, though their strength may be that of Titans. As we enumerate the animal instinctive princi- ples in man, let it be understood then, that we re- gard them as constantly modified by a higher con- stitution, or principle of action, of which we shall in the future speak. As we compared animals with men, to show that they have something of that Intelligence, which appears full-orbed in man, so now we must compare men with animals once more, to show that our life begins on the same plane with theirs. The frog and the fish both begin their lives as animals of the same kind. The young frog is, to all appearances, a fish ; but there is in him, from the beginning, a principle of organization that will in the end, give him lungs, and enable him to live in the upper air ; while the fish must continue to breath by gills, dur- ing his whole life. So man begins his life, to all outward appearances, as the lower animals begin theirs, — more helpless, indeed, because his helpless- ness is supplemented by the enduring love and care of the mother. The occasion for most of the lower forms of activity, in animals and men, are the appetites, as we have shown. They arise as naturally, from the phys- iological condition of the body, as hair grows upon the head or nails upon the fingers. It is as difficult to account for the origin of one of these, as for that of the other, and no more so. There are connected Relation of the Young to the Mother. 217 with the body still other forms of impulse and guid- ance, that secure purely automatic, or reflex action. But in the appetites, we find the first provision for those constantly recurring activities, which lead to definite, voluntary action, and are plainly provided for the preservation of the individual and the spe- cies — so powerful in their demands, that they can- not be forgotten, nor be neglected without produ- cing suffering and injury. When Appetite calls. In- stinct answers by some voluyitary act. The nature of that first instinctive act varies as much as the de- gree of perfection of organs, with which the animal comes into the world, and for the same reason. The bodily organs of the animal vary just in propor- tion to the ability of the mother to take care of him ; and the same is true of his instincts. Each animal, from the lowest to man, has just enough of organization and of Instinct, to supplement the care which the mother is ready to bestow upon him ; and this care of the mother, depends upon the struct- ure and functions of her body and her instincts. Among the fishes, or most of them, no parent’s care is needed. The organization and instincts of the young fish are sufficient to preserve life from the be- ginning. As soon as the material in the egg is con- sumed, from which the fish was hatched, he is ready to hunt food for himself. As the period arrives, when other instincts are needed, they appear, as the dif- ferent parts of his body appeared in the egg, at the proper time. Many insects come into their highest form, with organs and instincts perfect, from the first moment 10 2I8 Instinct. of that life. Birds that cannot fly, walk, or see when they are hatched, have mothers, which build nests, in anticipation of their coming, and have the in- stinct to bring them the food they need. The chickens and young partridges leave the nest at once, pick the food which the mother finds, and often find it for themselves. They gather under the wings of the mother for warmth, and sometimes for protection, but rush from her in such danger as she cannot protect them from. The Opossum and all the marsupial tribe, have young more immature than other animals, but the mother has a pouch, in which they are securely carried. Their imperfect development, at birth, is just supplemented by this curious special struct- ure in the parent. These are instances for illus- tration, but the result may be summed up thus : The structure and Instinct of the young at hirth^ and the structure and Instinct of the mother combined^ are just sufficient to give the young a fair chance m the worlds so that the species may be preserved ; — one of these elements supplements the other. If the chances are still largely against the individual, so that the species would seem to be in danger, then the number of individuals from a single parent is increased. The same law holds in general, in the human race. The child is one of the most helpless of all beings, as it commences life ; and it is dependent upon the care of others much longer than any other animal with which we are acquainted. But its long years of helplessness are provided for in the natural 219 Reflex Actions. love of parents, and the common feelings of hu- manity and considerations of the public good. These all become strengthened in man, just in pro- portion as he rises above the condition of an ani- mal. But what of the child’s animal instincts? They are brought within the narrowest limits, but appear in regular order as he develops, as we have seen to be true of all other animals. At the demand of appetite, the child is as ready to nurse, as the young bird is to raise its head for food. — This, we consider a purely instinctive act. We know attempts have been made, by very high authorities,'^ to show that this act of the child is not instinctive, but simply a reflex action, — in the beginning, entirely involun- tary. We cannot believe this, at all. But if it could be proved, it would only show that in the hu- man species, a reflex action is provided for, which simulates and takes the place of Instinct, in the lower animals. If the act is not instinctive, it is certainly lower ; as all reflex actions are lower than instinctive, and supplementary to them, in both animals and men. As soon as the child can discern, it instinctively fears danger, before it can possibly have learned, by experience, that there is danger. It fears a strang- er’s face, and clings to its mother for protection, be- fore it has any rational ground for fearing any one. It has, like an animal, instinctive dread of danger, but it has not yet learned what is dangerous. It needs a mother’s care ; but all her cautions in * Maudsley, p. 63 ; and others. 220 Instinct. childhood, would have little effect, were it not for this instinctive fear. This supplements her care, and instructions, — it is all that gives her warnings any weight, until later, the child’s instinctive love for her, and love of approbation and reward, lend their aid ; and finally, the high Instinct of his moral nature, of which “ OUGHT ” is the natural expression, is ready to take the helm. Henceforth his activities may be ruled by this higher nature, as the animal’s are from his lower. He will make mis- takes, even while that rules ; but he can grow in knowledge evermore, while the animal, having knowledge sufficient to secure life, given to him without experience, can never make acquirements higher than his bodily instincts can use, in their narrow round. When, later in life, the son seeks a wife, and the daughter leaves her home, and goes forth to cast her lot, for life, with a comparative stranger, we see an exhibition of Instinct that is a marvel — one that often defies all the dictates and controlling power of boasted Reason. It is all very well and right to talk of sensible marriages ; and of law, as regulating marriage ; that is all right ; because man is made to control his animal instincts — to bring one into subordination to another. And his in- stinct to form Society, and protect it, so as to secure the good of the whole, leads him, through the agency of his higher intellectual and moral na- ture, to prescribe certain rules by which individual instincts shall be governed. By prescribing rules for the animal instincts, and by punishing the unre- Control of Instincts. 221 strained action of those instincts as a crime, man shows at once, that his governing power is higher in kind, than his animal nature. But if he is wise, he never attempts to entirely check an instinct, but he directs it into the right course and then favors it, to Its full activity, in subordination to Reason. And the right course of the appetites and instincts in man, can only be learned by experience. And just in proportion as there is ability to learn by experience, is there chance for loss before the ex- perience comes. Liability to suffering from igno- rance, and ability to improve by experience, are as necessary polarities, in the same being, as capacity for suffering and enjoyment are necessary polarities. As much as one is diminished, so much is the other weakened ; as by weakening the polarity of one end of a magnet, you weaken the other at the same time. As, in man, the ability to profit from expe- rience is at its maximum, because he can avail him- self of the experience of others in the past as well as present, so is the danger of loss from ignorance, in following the instincts which in him, are simply impulses, and never fully directive, as they are among the lower animals. They are powerful — must be heeded — but in general need instruction and law to direct them ; both of which, to be of any value, must be simply the echo of experience. They never will be perfect, till they are the true echoes of the best possible experience. So then marriage, high and holy as it is, around which all that is most lovely, and pure, and sacred on earth, centres, has its origin in the instinctive 222 Instinct. nature of the race — in the same instincts, that ap- pear in all the higher animals, which even there are so beautiful that the philosopher is made to say, — “ In parental care and nuptial love, I learn my duties from the dove.” Those who think the instincts of humanity are to be ignored, in the relation of the sexes, forget that man has an animal nature ; and those who think the instincts are a sufficient guide, forget that he belongs to that noble class, who are permit- ted to learn, and to become wiser by new experi- ence in every generation. They both shoot wide of the mark, — or, to use another figure, while they are looking at the same shield, they are gazing upon opposite sides ; and while they thus stand, there is no chance for agreement as to all the devices and inscriptions which the shield bears. The DESIRES are generally regarded as distinct from the Instincts. There is certainly no ground for this distinction, if we consider their method of action, and remember that some instincts involve impulse as well as guidance. Some of the desires have the same relation to the welfare of the being, as the appetites have; that is, — they are impulses to action — instinctive impulses — the foundation of both instinctive and intelligent acts. Their action is often complex, and often intertwined with the action of the acknowledged appetites and instincts But the confusion has arisen, mainly, from regard- ing Instinct as a distinct thing, rather than as a Desires. 223 certain method of action common to all classes of powers, in all beings with which we are acquainted, either as the sole condition of their life, or the first condition of their intelligent action. The desires are thought to belong to the mind, rather than to the body; and this is undoubtedly true of some of them, for they neither originate from any func- tion of the body, nor have special reference to its welfare. It is their method of action, which we now consider, and not the plane or sphere of their activity. But then we find a certain similarity of action running through every plane of being. The tree must feed, digest and assimilate, — so must the body of man, — so must his mind, — so must his moral nature. There is a wonderful similarity run- ning through the whole, in the substratum of each new plane ; though something new may be added, as we go up from plane to plane. Man is made up of layers, like the geologic strata. As we come up through the formations of the earth, new forms of life appear, higher and better than those before ; but they are cast according to the same types that we found below. There is unity of plan, though no necessary connection of actual relationship, of one form with the other. So man, in his unity, like the globe, appears in stratas, — vegetative life, animal life, intellectual life, moral life, — all proceed- ing with so much similarity of action, that it is not strange, these stages are considered by some, as simply different degrees of development of the lowest ; as man himself is regarded by some, as the offspring of some lower animal. 224 Instinct. The desire of life, which is sometimes placed above the instincts, as belonging to the mind, is certainly one of the lowest of the instincts, in the sense of being the broadest, and as being only an impulse. It gives rise to a whole series of definite instinctive acts among animals, and of rational acts, among men, which tend to preserve life. This is true, to some extent, of the remaining desires, — desire of knowledge, desire of power, of property, of esteem, and of society. These are the basis of the social nature of man. The last leads him to seek society, the others tend to regulate society, — are impulses and hints for experience to build upon. “ Men,” says Emerson,* “ as naturally make a state, or a church, as caterpillars a web ; ” and this is true ; because the impulses and the hints are in them. But while the caterpillars have, for them- selves, one best form of web, which appears as reg- ularly, with each new, uninstructed and inexperi- enced brood, as the number of rings in their bod- ies, or the color of the hairs and spots that cover them, man is left to work out the best form of state-web or church-web, for himself ; by entangling himself and fellows, in all sorts of make-shifts, which may be a curse to him, or may be well enough, in one age or one part of the world, but perhaps are no more fitted for him as he grows, than the bark of the young sapling is fitted for the trunk of the full grown tree. The bark of the tree, and the web of both state and church, must * “ Conduct of Life/’ p. 176. Progress, 225 be rent and thrown off, while larger bark, and more enlightened forms of government, in state and church, take their place; unless they can all grow in time to save the rending. They must all yield to the demands of that expanding organism, which they were made to serve ; be it the tree-trunk, or society. Revolutions and reformations are the rending of the old exuvice of state and church, under the promptings of a higher life. This tran- sition period, necessary for more perfect growth, is the most critical time for animals and men. The first impulse then, to every voluntary act in man, that is necessary to preserve the life of the individual, the continuance of the species and the formation of society, seems to be as purely instinct- ive, as any act of an animal. But the impulse, to all these acts in man, must be limited, and, in most cases, directed in him, by some higher principle, which can act rightly only in the light of experi- ence ; while in the animal. Instinct not only gives the impulse, but is self-directive, and self-limiting, or is limited in its action by the vegetative func- tions of the body. The animal, in a state of na- ture, finds his highest perfection in going just as far as Instinct and function of organs will allow. Man, giving himself up to such influences, without the guidance and limitation, which his intellect- ual nature affords, and which his moral nature demands, sinks below the brutes, as a matter of course. We have thus far used the word INSTINCT for 226 Instinct. convenience, nearly in the sense given by Whately as a blind tendency to some mode of action inde- pendant of any consideration, on the part of the agent, of the end to which the action leads. This is as good a definition as any that has been given, but it does not cover the whole ground of instinct- ive action, as we have shown more than once, dur- ing the course of these lectures. It is well for us at this point, to enumerate all the powers or activ- ities, which we have now found in the higher ani- mals and man, which they have, to some degree, in common. It is in this way only, that we can point out the true nature and sphere of Instinct in both, and this we desire to do, whether we are able to give a single definition which will be satisfactory or not. 1. We find Physiological agencies, by which the body is built up and repaired, and provision made for the reproduction of the species. These agen- cies belong to the vegetative life of the animal and man ; volition has no direct control in any of their operations. They supply the conditions for voluntary action. 2. We find a sensitive nature, by which the ani- mal is brought into relations to the world, by sen- sation and sense — perception. This is the true an- imal nature. 3. We find certain reflex actions, the result of stimuli acting upon the vegetative and animal na- ture. They are involuntary movements required for the benefit of the body — as winking, coughing, sneezing, and the like. Products of Instinct. 227 4. We find the appetites, which arise from the functions of organs, but are powerful stimuli to action. All these are conditions for voluntary activity ; and upon these the instincts, including the desires, begin to appear, — and they involve several distinct things, as follows : a. — Impulse^ arising beyond the sphere of the ap~ petites^ — as the impulse to migrate and to store food for winter, — also the desires, so-called. b. — Knowledge without instruction or experience^ for meeting the dema 7 ids of the appetites and desires^ and for doing all those things essential to the con- tinuance of the race. c. — Knowledge arising independently of the ap- petites^ — as recognition of certain enemies without instruction, or experience. d. — Skill without mstruction or practice^ — to carry out the plans necessary to meet the demands of the appetites and other impulses required for the exist- ence of the species. These three distinct things are involved in the manifestations of those activities, which are togeth- er labelled Instinct, — Impulse, knowle dge -exidi skill , — they are all given, as needed to begin life, — as or- gans are given for the same purpose. These pro- ducts of the animal’s being determine nothing of his rank. They simply say, “ We are here, because this animal 7 nust live — we are here to 7 neet the condi- tions of his life, till he has a chance for experience. If he is not to have that, we must go farther and do 228 Instinct. the whole work ; and do it so that the wisest being on the globe cannot improve upon our work^ though we zvork through BEES and SPIDERS and WORMS — the lowest forms that live. Next above the instincts, we have found Intelli- gence, which enables the actor to comprehend the probable results of his own acts before they are put forth. It may rise much higher than this, but here its work begins. All these activities and powers here enumerated, we find in man and in the high- est of the lower animals. So far, certainly, the an- imals differ from each other, and from man, only in degree. But while all these activities take their rise in the animal nature, they shoot up higher in man, and so interweave themselves with every no- bler power, that we shall find them constantly re-ap- pearing, as we consider the higher nature of man. So intimately blended are the natural affections with the moral nature of man, that even the natu- ral affections of animals, which give them a social nature, have been referred to by some, as proof of a moral nature in them. We hope to make plain the distinction between these two natures, before the close of these lectures. LECTURE X. RELATION OF THE INSTINCTIVE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION TO THE RATIONAL AND MORAL NA- TURE OF MAN. Intuitions and Instincts. — Something must be given as a basis for Reasoning and for acting. — Agricultural Ants. — Belief in the uni- formity of Natural phenomena, from observation. — Instinct acts in reference to contmgent events. — Purposes for which Instinctive Principles are needed by man . — The Desires . — The Affections . — Love of Society. — Knowledge, Property, Power, Esteem. — Faith . — Benevolence. — Need of gtddance in man . — The Ruling Power . — Conflict between the higher and lower Instincts . — The Comprehend- ing Power. — Difference between man and the highest animals . — “ OUGHT.” — Sense of obligation. That man would have animal instincts, as an im- pulse at least, we should expect, since his body has essentially the same structure, and the same rela- tions to the world, as have the bodies of all the higher animals. It now comes in order for us to inquire, if there is Instinct, or any principle of ac- tion like Instinct, reaching into his rational nature ; in virtue of which nature, he is wont to claim great superiority over the lower animals, and difference from them in kind. We are also called upon to trace more fully than we have done, the connection between the animal instincts and this higher nature of man, that we may learn how far they are modi- 230 Instinct. fied by it, and to reach, if possible, that guiding and controlling power for all the activities, of which we have spoken. It is generally conceded by Psychologists, that man, as a rational being, has certain intuitive no- tions in regard to being, quantity, causality and the like. It belongs to Mental and Moral Philos- ophy to treat of these notions fully. But we are here called upon to mark more clearly, than we have done, the difference between Intuition and an- other principle in the higher nature of man, which seems to be the same in its method of action as ac- knowledged Instinct. Intuitions belong to us as ra- tional beings simply; Instincts, as beings called upon to act. We believe some things instinctively , and some things intuitively. The words have been often used interchangeably, though, in general, they have been so used as to show that there ought to be a difference between them. We will start with a distinction, which we trust our past and future discussions will, when taken together, show to be a just one. Instinct belongs to beings, as acting, and so relates to the nature and possible combination of things, and the order of events. Our knowledge of these, and of our right relations to them, even in the highest realm, is secured partly by instinct- ive action ; and necessarily so, because Instinct gives all that is necessary for action, which we can- not learn by observation and experience, — all that is necessary as a basis for experience, as well as the impulse to perform certain acts. Intuition. 231 Intuition, on the other hand, relates to ab- stract truth, to all that is necessary as a basis for correct reasoning, and for conducting the process, — whether in the field of pure intellect or morals. What we know intuitively, will always be true. What we know insthictively , is true only because this order of things is what it is. What we know intuitively, we cannot believe to be different from what it is, — it is in this sense, necessary truth. What we believe instinctively, might be different from what it is — it is contingent. Instinct, then, has the same relation to action that Intuition has to thought, or the logical pro- cess. In all reasoning, something must be given as known. If this were not done, no reasoning would be possible. In acting, something must be given as an impulse and as an initial directing power, or knowl- edge from experience would be impossible, — there would, in our actions, be no relation to the universe in which we are placed. The use of Instinct to animals and men, is to give them impulses to action, and guidance in spheres where the appetites, as functional, cannot reach, to start them in the right direction, and to add impulses on the way, at the same time giving such knowledge and skill as could not be gained by experience, — or perhaps better, to secure from them such action as could not otherwise be secured, without such an experience as would be destruc- tive to such beings, and thus be constantly defeat- ing the end for which they were made. We can best illustrate this principle by referring once more 232 Instinct. to examples in the animal kingdom already men- tioned. The fowl has an instinctive fear of death, of which it knows nothing as yet. Fear is given to secure the requisite action, without experience, because the experience of death would be final, — there would be, after that, no chance left to profit by the experience. Therefore a fear is given to act instinctively, just as though the animal had learned all the terrors of death, by experience. Certain animals, also, are thrown upon the world without any parental protection. All such animals act, from the beginning, in securing food and car- ing for themselves, as though they had already learned many things by experience. The young Salmon wakes to life far up in the cold waters of the mountain streams, perhaps. There is no pa- rent, and no fish of experience there to guide him, or from which he can learn. At least, if he learned from the fishes in the river at all, it would be to remain there. But when the proper time comes, all the thousands of young Salmon start for the sea as their appropriate home, although .they have never seen it. They act exactly as though they had had experience of the provisions of the sea for their use ; and it is necessary for their well- being that they should so act. So much of im- pulse and direction must be given to them, if the species is to exist at all. The fowl, also, has not only the generic fear of death, instinctively, which is common to all animals, but it has an instinctive fear of certain things which might produce death. The fowl, that has never seen a hawk, and can Uniformity of Nature. 233 know nothing of his nature from experience, is convulsed with terror at the sight of him. This enemy is known instinctively, because it is so dead- ly an enemy that knowledge by experience would be impossible to the fowl ; or, at least, destructive to the species. It is necessary for the preservation of the species, that a fowl should fear a hawk in- stinctively, as well as that it should fear death in- stinctively ; and so it has the fear of both, as an original outfit. The abstract notion of cause and effect, and of their necessary relation to each other, is intuitive. This notion is necessary for some of the highest processes of reasoning known to man, if, indeed, we could have any notion of such processes without the gift to us of this primary knowledge. But that belief in the uniformity of nature which in- fluences action, is not intuitive — it is partly instinct- ive and partly from experience, in both man and animals. Instinctive knowledge or belief, as a ba- sis of action, is given to both, just as far as it is needful for commencing the work which experience can complete, without involving the absurdity of destroying the species in gaining the experience. And therefore Instinct gives m.uch more impulse and guidance in regard to nature, to animals, than it does to man, and much more to some species of animals than to others. Facts illustrative of this statement will occur to every observer ; but it may not be amiss to discuss still farther the relation of instinctive knowledge to that learned from expe- rience, in regard to operations in nature. 234 Instinct. Belief in the connection of cause and effect is, as we have said, intuitive ; and we can never tell with certainty, that an animal has such a notion. It is the general opinion that he has not. But he comes, at once, into a world that makes an im- pression upon his senses, and he acts instinctively as though he believed that there is something without him which causes the sensations. He be- lieves instinctively in an external world, if we can judge any thing by his acts. But all that we are sure of is that his acts are correlated to the world. Undoubtedly, it is true of man, that he has an instinctive belief in the uniformity of nature’s laws. But the belief that any particular event, the ris- ing of the sun, for instance, will continue to occur, as it has in nature, is an entirely different thing. Probably, in man, such belief always comes from experience. It may be given to an animal without experience, when it is needful for him, or rather, for the species. Men plant in spring, expecting a harvest in autumn. The harvest may fail, and a particular experience is needed in each new place, and with each new kind of seed, to learn the best time of planting, and the best methods of culture, to secure a crop. Probably the use of seed, by men, for planting, is entirely the result of observa- tion. Give any man a new seed, and he may be unable to secure its germination even ; or, if it ger- minates, it may fail to produce fruit, because he does not understand its nature. It is plain that man has no instinctive knowledge to guide him in securing a crop. In the only case known in which Uniformity of Nature. 235 animals, the ^^Agricultural Ants'' * of Texas, raise, as well as harvest, a crop, the entire process is so complex, and yet uniform in all places, that it seems wholly the work of Instinct, as does also the care of other species of Ants for their herds of Apli- ides.\ The expectation that there will be rain or snow in their season, probably every one will believe to be founded on observation and experience. More persons would differ as to our belief in the uniform order of the seasons, and the stated return of day and night. But little thought will convince us that these are as truly contingent, as is the com- ing of rain and snow. The cycles are so great, that we do not note the irregularity of their return ; but we see agencies at work that might change them all, and probably are changing them all. Our intuitive belief in the relation of cause and effect, remains ; but we learn by experience alone, the results which the causes now acting in nature pro- duce. What has been always uniform in our ex- perience, we expect will continue so. Now it is necessary for some animals, that they should act, not only as though they possessed this generic belief in causation, but that they should also act in reference to contingent events, of which they have had no experience. This is also a very impor- tant point in the argument. The Squirrel, that has never seen a winter, lays up food in autumn when, from its abundance everywhere, it would seem that * “Homes Without Hands,” (Wood), pp. 370-372. f Kirby and Spence, 7th. Ed., pp. 335, 336. 236 Instinct. he had least need of doing it. Something like this is seen in all the provisions the animal makes for the change of seasons, and in the provisions which Nature makes for him. Physiological action pre- pares his body with a warm coat, as winter ap- proaches. And if his food must fail in winter, and it is of such a kind that he cannot store it up, then Nature brings upon him a sleep, which saves food, and lasts till her table is spread for him again, in spring time. The physical systems of animals and their in- stincts then, do have relation to the periodicity of these common, contingent events in the order of nature. They are adjusted to the length of the year, and even to the angle of the ecliptic with the equator. Such a relation is necessary for the very existence of many animals. There is no proof that Nature makes any special provision in man for the change of seasons. But she has given to his system a wonderful power of self-adjustment, in meeting changes of climate at all times, with great rapidity. Man was made to have continuous summer or winter, as he might choose, or part of each ; and to learn, by experience, the kind and amount of clothing fitted for him. Mr. Wallace speaks of it as a strong argument against the theory that man originated from the lower animals, by natural selection, that no hair is ever found upon his back, where the longest and most vigorous hair is found upon the lower animals.^ * " Natural Selection/’ p. 345. Purposes of Instincts. 237 It is also true, that there is no more hair upon northern than upon southern races. As Nature makes no provision, in the system of man, for change of seasons, but leaves him entirely to experience as a guide, so, probably, she denies to him any pro- phetic instinct, such as she gives to certain animals, by which they provide for the winter, that they have never seen the like of. We have now come to a point in the discussion, where we shall best be able to trace the instinctive principles in the whole nature of man, by enumer- ating the purposes for which these principles are needed by him. They will, on examination, we think, be found to be the necessary conditions : — 1. For life — that is, the continuance of the in- dividual and the species. 2. For progress^ of the individual and race — that is, as the basis or condition of experience. 3. For benevolence — including under this term all disinterested labor for individuals and for society, as a whole, from natural or moral impulses. 4. For worship — including all specific acts, that acknowledge God and duties towards Him, or rela- tions to Him, distinct from all other relations. The instinctive principles, which secure these purposes, may be simply conditions, or occasions of specific actions ; or they may be self-directive and self-controlling in the performance of specific acts, as manifested in some animals ; or they may be mainly impulsive and directive, but needing con- trol and limitation in their action, by some higher principle, that uses them as servants. And some 238 Instinct. of them may serve more than one of these pur- poses. The instincts of the animal, so far as they seem to relate to his own welfare, appear to be confined main- ly, if not entirely, to the first class, — those that pre- serve life, — securing to him, of course, so much enjoy- ment as comes by the normal activity of his powers which never secure progress through the agency ot their possessor alone. There the animal stops ; but these instincts of the first class, in man, are but the stepping-stone to a higher nature, to the very sum- mit of which, like principles of action, seem to be needed, and to exist. Certain it is, that man has the power to throw down over these instincts, which he has in common with the brutes, so much of his higher nature, that they become dignified, lovely, and the source of happiness, reacting upon, and aiding all that is above them ; or he may aban- don these instincts to their own uncontrolled ac- tion, so that they shall work out a degradation im- possible among the brutes. We have spoken of the appetites as the first condition, of the exercise of those instincts, which tend to preserve life. There may be certain reflex- ive acts which have been mistaken for instinctive, but probably all will agree that a truly instinctive act involves volition in some stage of its history. Every voluntary act that aims at some relation with the external world, would seem to involve some notion of the existence of such a world. We re- gard this notion of the existence of an external world as given, as the instincts are, — the essential Primary Beliefs, 239 outfit of every man and of every animal in which there is truly voluntary action, seeking relations to the world. Not that we suppose that animals or infants ever enunciate this truth of the existence of an external world to themselves, or have any theories or ideas respecting it, except that the belief is always present, as an element in the im- pulse to every voluntary act seeking an end in the world without the actor. Belief in the uniformity of Nature’s laws, that is, that gravitation, or cohe- sion, or a specific kind of matter, under the same conditions, will always produce the same results, we are inclined, also, to regard as an original gift. It may be found that the idea of causality is all that is constant, and that the rest of this belief is partly instinctive and partly inductive, the propor- tion that is instinctive varying according to the im- perative demands of the animal, as we have al- ready seen is the case, in reference to those events in Nature that are contingent, depending upon the condition of the causes necessary to produce them. At least we are compelled to treat all men, and all animals that we desire to make useful to us, as though they had either instinctively, or as an in- duction, a belief both in the existence of an exter- nal world and also in the principle of causality, in all the operations of nature. So much for the con- ditions of all voluntary action from the lowest to the highest. Experience, as a guide, rests upon them and would be useless without them. But such conditions of action are not impulses to action ; and these we want. The Appetites we 240 Insttfict. have, but they are not always broad enough for all the wants of the being, and therefore instinctive impulses are found, which have no direct connec- tion with the Appetites, though they may work in the same direction with them, or supplement their work. And among these instinctive impulses, we reckon the Desires^ so called. It has been well said by President Hopkins that the desire of happiness is generic. It is interwoven with all other desires. It is, in this respect, like the desire of life, which in- volves the fear of death — though probably the de- sire of happiness, in man, is broader than the desire of life, even. The desire of life may be lost, but the desire for happiness cannot be. Perhaps how- ever, that a strict analysis would show that the de- sire of life is only lost, so far as it is judged to be a condition of suffering, rather than of enjoyment. And that the prospect of happiness, through life> must be lost, before life can be given up, without some higher purpose than the suicide has. The desire of life and the desire of happiness are the two great under-lying instincts into which all others seem to strike ; or rather, all other instincts are the special methods of securing the demands of these, to the individual or the species. The relations to life and happiness, of the things instinctively aimed at by any being, are by no means always perceived by that being. This we have illustrated by many examples during this discussion, showing it to be an essential characteristic of an instinct, that it shall act promptly, and as though directed by In- telligence, where the good of the being absolutely Demands of Civilization. 241 demands it, though the being, in which it acts, even man himself, may be as ignorant of any reason for its acting, as he is of any reason for sleep or hunger, except that they come in consequence of a certain constitution that he has, he knows not how. Of the instincts which belong to the first class, that have the Appetites as their basis, which are common to animals and men, we have already treated very fully, so far as they act by themselves. We propose here only to call attention to the peculiar action of these instincts in the human spe- cies, as needing direction and limitation, from some principle distinct from themselves, and higher. The appetite for food is given to man, as to all other animals ; but the choice of food, its produc- tion, preservation and preparation, are, with man, things to be learned by observation and experiment. Here he stands upon entirely different ground from any of the lower animals. Great advances have been made within a century, in our ability to prop- erly administer to the demands of the appetite for food. Millions of acres of our domain, have been devoted to these experiments, and we have but just begun to learn what is best for men to eat, to meet the demands that are made upon them, and to ward off the diseases to which they are exposed. While man lives like an animal, this is a simple matter; but under a high civilization, it is complex and demands for its treatment, powers entirely dif- ferent from any thing that we can call instinctive. And civilization is the true state of man, so that II 242 histinct. the appetite for food, which, in the animal, will take care of itself, — in man, becomes the occasion of study, of experiment, and of discussion. It not only aids in building up the body, but it calls upon the mind for counsel, as to how it may best perform its work. In all that relates to the sexes, we recognize strong impulses from Appetite and Instinct, but in every direction see the need of control and restraint from some power entirely distinct from the appe- tite, or the instincts connected with it. To say nothing of the mistakes of marriage, where even Reason and Pride are not strong enough to prevent wretchedness, we often see the instinct- ive love of parents ruining their children, in its blind efforts to secure their good. Conjugal, pa- rental, and filial affections are as purely instinctive in men as in the brutes, and belong primarily to the animal nature — have their first impulses from that. But in man, they may be the source of suffering and degradation, defeating the end for which they were given, or they may extend much farther than it is possible for them to, among animals, and be lifted up into a sphere of beauty and permanence, un- known to animal life ; mingling with all the in- stincts and powers of that higher nature, by which they must be controlled, if at all. Husbands and wives, parents and children ! We have but to look abroad in the world to see that the relations which these words suggest, pro- duce the greatest blessings and the greatest suffer- ings which this world knows, — and that all the suf- Need of Law. 243 faring, which we most deplore, comes from ignorance and want of control of those appetites, passions, and impulses which in animals are self-directive, but in man must be put under restraint and guid- ance from something entirely beyond their own sphere. We hear much about civil laws as regulating these matters. And here we see the need of it ; because these instincts are not self-regulative in man. They are to be governed by Reason and Con- science ; and because these are too weak in many individuals, there must be law, which is the expres- sion of the public reason and conscience, called into requisition to secure the best interests of all. And the only hope for proper laws, is in an enlightened conscience in the majority. But to untangle this snarl of the past genera- tions, will require much time and patience ; and we fear it will not be made straight till much more mischief has been done, and men learn from a long, sad experience, what the true bounds of these in- stinctive principles in man are, and have wisdom and moral strength to give these principles that guidance and limitation, which they have no power to give themselves. Distinct from the instincts, that secure the fam- ily relation, we have also considered the desire for society, which may be called an instinct. It is to some extent ultimate in its action, as securing en- joyment to men and animals, in virtue of their very constitution. But in man, this desire secures the conditions for the operation of those instincts of the 244 Instinct, second class, by which the progress of the race is mainly secured. Society is, certainly, a necessary condition for the exercise of some of the instincts of this class, as will be readily seen, when they are mentioned. Prominent among the desires which belong to this second class, that secure progress, are the de- sire of knowledge, the desire of property, of power and of esteem. The desire of knowledge, of prop- erty, and of power, in a certain degree, may be ne- cessary for securing life, or the best conditions of liv- ing. But in man, the impulse in each of these de- sires, certainly, goes beyond what the preservation of life demands ; and plainly points to progress of the individual and the race, as its final cause. That desire ofknowledge which leads to study and in- vestigation for its own sake, prepares the way by years and ages of toil, observation and experiment, for those grand discoveries in science and practical applications of science, that now make the globe and all its forces, the servant of man. The steam- boats, telegraphs, and other marvels of our age, come to us as the fruit of study, that had no prom- ise of reward when the work was done. Love of knowledge led men in the past, and is still leading them, where there is no prospect of gain. But on the other hand, the desire of property obeyed in other individuals, has given that accumulation of capital which makes these grand enterprises of our day possible. Love of esteem in man, seems main- ly for the benefit of society in securing from each 245 Faith. one, those acts towards society and each member of it, which shall be best for both. These desires differ greatly in their strength, as a whole, or in their comparative strength, even in members of the same family. They may be strengthened by exer- cise, but are never weakened by it. One of them may be brought to the aid of the other, or be made subservient to it, as when knowledge is sought for the sake of the power it will give ; or knowledge, property, and power are all sought for the sake of the esteem they will secure. Either of these in- stincts may become the master, and all the others ready servants ; but the one that is master has no power of rightly controlling or limiting its own ac- tion even. The controlling and limiting power is still beyond. Very different in its action from the Desires, but standing high, as an instinctive principle of progress, is Faith^ or confidence in persons. It may be shaken, or directed in its action by experience, but it does not come from experience. So strong is it, that no amount of suffering from lying and deceit, will destroy a man’s trust in the words of all his fel- low-men. It is natural for him to believe them, and to trust them, as soon as the time comes when it is necessary that he should trust them. In child- hood the trust is mainly centred on the parent, or the one in the parent’s place, as it is best for the welfare of the child it should be. Although we may say, in our haste, that all men are liars, we naturally trust men, till we have been often deceived ; and then we distrust them only 246 Instinct. when we think they have some motive for deceiv- ing us. We find also another principle of action that secures progress, though the impulse to the action, in some cases at least, seems to be Benevolence, — the object of which is to secure happiness. We re- fer to the disposition of men to do what they can for the generations that are to come after them, without any reference to direct relationship. We are disposed to think the impulse is an instinctive one, which becomes strengthened and directed by specific, benevolent, social instincts. All such ac- tion is so opposed to selfishness that we must look to see it constantly repressed, and warped from its free exercise. Its existence, as a distinct principle, may be doubted ; for the instinct, if it be one, is complex in its action, and in many cases, may be so intertwined with, or obscured by, the action of other instincts, as to be lost sight of. Man desires to be remembered ; and it may be said this desire leads him to do what shall be bene- ficial to the coming generations. Undoubtedly this is so, but in addition to this mode of gratify- ing the love of esteem, there is, probably, an in- stinct that leads him to do work for those whom he has never seen, and who will never hear of his name. The old man plants trees, the fruit of which he never expects to pluck.” And he does this without any necessary relation to family connec- tions, though these may come in with their influ- ences, to strengthen and direct this impulse. Self-Regulation, 247 We recognize this principle in our building, and public enterprises, and in our laws, which secure property for generations, and make permanent cor- porations. This instinct might be reckoned as belonging to the third class, which are benevolent in their action, as we have already intimated, as well as to the sec- ond ; for the division we have made cannot be sharply defined, as many of the desires and prin- ciples of action have several relations ; and any one of them can be made the servant of another, as has been shown. But among the instinctive principles, which are strictly benevolent, are pity and mercy. In our investigations thus far, we have found, in animals, all that they need for working out the best results, which it seems possible for such beings to reach. They have impulse, guidance, and limita- tion of action secured in the very nature of their ap- petites and instincts. Each one of these is so far self-regulative, as to make it best for the individ- ual or the species, that it shall have activity un- controlled by any power beyond its own sphere. The best condition which we can conceive of for an animal, when free from the disturbing influences of domestication, is to let him have an abundance of every thing needful to him, and then let him have entire liberty to follow every impulse. Not so with man. We have found in him strong impulses, — impulses and instinctive prin- 248 Instinct. ciples of action of as wide a range as any animal has, — and more still remain to be considered. We find, as yet, nothing to direct and limit these impulses, to secure the highest good of man. We can hardly think of a worse condition for man, than to supply him with every thing needful for him, and then for him to give himself up, as animals may, to every impulse. The voice of the whole thinking world is, that there must be in man a power of self-control, — something outside of these activities, of which we have been speaking, — some- thing that experiments with them, observes their action and determines their proper sphere of ac- tion, allowing one to act, and keeping another in abeyance, in spite of its clamors ; in fact, ruling them, and making them its servants. This higher power seeks for, and determines the Law of Lhn- itation, so fully explained by President HoPKINS. This law is, that every power in ina7t must be used so far ^ and only so far^ as it is a condition of activity for the next higher power. This limit of action for each power, the man must himself determine. And when that has once been determined, the high^ ruL mg power within him, confines each of these ser- vants to its own place, and exacts of it the la- bor required for the good of the whole. — It may learn much from these servants skilled in their own departments of labor, but it never should lose con- trol of them. In that man, where this ruler is well informed, and uses the power which rightful- ly belongs to him, there is the order, harmony, happiness and progress of a well-ordered king- 249 The Higher Nature, dom. But where the ruler is misled by ignorance, or fails through weakness or negligence, to control his subordinates, there is riot, waste, rebellion and ruin. We speak of this higher naUire, which rules in man as 07 ie^ and so it is one, as something added to the animal nature ; but it mvolves distinct methods of activity^ which our present purpose does not re- quire us to fully analyze. We shall only speak of this higher nature in man as ruling the lower ac- tivities, and trace instinctive impulses into it, and beyond it, into the strictly religious nature ; in both of which, these principles appear abundantly, thus giving a whole field of instinctive activities in man, which either never exist in the lower ani- mals ; or, if they exist in them, they are beyond our power of discovery. The instincts of the higher and lower nature of man are in constant conflict, because the lower are not limited, but are constantly pushing beyond their proper bounds, as they never do in animals. If the higher gain the day, man is worthy of the place he was made to fill, as the image of God and ruler of the globe, — having dominion over all its creatures, and over his own animal nature. But if the animal instincts take the control, there is no limit to his possible degradation. The animal powers of man must be governed, then, because they are not self-regulative. They must be limited, and directed in their action, by some power or set of powers above them. This power the man has ; or more strictly, he has a com- 250 Instinct. binatlon of powers, which makes him a ruler of him- self, through the sovereign act of a free personality. The very fact that his lower propensities, — the Appetites and Instincts ^ — are not self-regulative as in animals, but are capable of terrific power, even destructive power, when left to themselves, shows them to be admirably adapted for service. No matter how powerful any agency is, if it be directed and controlled. The more powerful it is the bet- ter. Steam, and gunpowder, and gravitation are powerful. How destructive they are in their un- controlled action ! How they crush and rend and kill ! But the steam, when controlled, bridges the ocean, brings distant cities together, and, in the workshop, does the labor of millions of men. Gun- powder levels the mountains, and opens the riches of the mines. Gravitation crowds the waters through the wheel, and gives us a power that needs no fire nor fuel for its continued strength. What these powerful agencies are as servants, when con- trolled and directed by bands of iron, the animal instincts are when under control of that power in man, appointed to give them law. What, now, are the powers which this ruling principle in man must have, or rather, that the man must have, in order to rule himself? We will not attempt an enumer- ation of them singly, for that would carry us on to the ground of the Mental and Moral Philoso- pher, where contests are always raging in regard to definitions and the classification of the powers. We shall speak of these powers, singly or in groups, ac- cording to their office in this governing work. Power of Comprehension^ 251 And first of all, as a means of rightly performing this work, there must be Comprehension. The man must, by some power or set of powers, be as capable of understanding all his own powers, from the low- est to the highest, in their capabilities, and uses, as he is of comprehending any thing in the world with- out him, upon which he can experiment to advan- tage. This comprehending power must, also, be able to give to the man an understanding of his relations to the world, — to make him a progressive being, this power must furnish the means of constantly adding to his knowledge — of widening its own sphere, and improving its own action. The full comprehension of all the powers, activ- ities and impulses, and of the relations of the man possessing these to the world, is the highest intel- lectual act possible, so far as the well-being of the man himself, in this world, is concerned. It is a thing so seldom done, that it is no wonder that, “ Know Thyself,” should, for so many ages, have been considered one of the wisest of all sayings ; and that the practice of the precept, should be con- sidered wisdom itself. This precept has, perhaps, never been perfectly obeyed, either in the knowing of one’s self or in the action, which seems to be necessarily implied, as the result of knowing. And as society becomes more complex in its organiza- tion, and the relations of every man become more widely extended, this knowledge of self as related to the world, becomes more difficult. Perhaps the difficulty of the problem increases as fast as the 252 Instinct. means are provided to aid in its solution. It can only be approximately solved, at mature age, and af- ter careful education, for its solution requires trained powers and knowledge acquired by the experience and observation of ourselves and others. On this account, it is a natural thing for man to remain under parental control, till this condition of acting is reached. Nothing but a felt necessity for this, would justify the long minority of young men. They must be controlled by others, and be fur- nished with knowledge by experience, and observa- tion and instruction, because they have neither suf- ficient knowledge nor self-control, insdnctively, as animals have, to enable them to reach the best re- sults, when left to follow every natural impulse. This power of comprehension is generally exer- cised in a very imperfect manner, in the act of establishing those relations with the world, which naturally determine the direction of a man’s activ- ities for life. Even under the best conditions of society, the impulses are often followed blindly for awhile ; and then comprehension comes in, and find- ing the work well begun, completes it, — or, finding it wrongly commenced, abandons it and begins anew ; or makes the best of a bad case, too far gone to be rectified. In other cases, it never does its appropriate work ; and the man floats through the world like a stick of drift-timber. In other cases still, where there is clear comprehension of rela- tions and powers, and of desirable results, there seems to be too little ability to restrain or con- trol the lower powers, and make them servants ; Prudence. 253 and the man is driven in this direction or in that according to the subordinate impulse that has usurp- ed supreme power. The man is made a curse to the world, and a ruin, by being under the control of some appetite or instinct, which he knows he ought to control, or which the common judgment of the world declares he ought. We begin at this point to see what a wide difference there is be- tween man, — when we consider his whole nature, — and the highest even, of the lower animals. For the perfection of animals, no such power of com- prehension, as we have described, is needed. Their relations to the world are simple, and are fixed in the best manner by impulse. The relations of man, on the other hand, are of the most complex nature, so that it may be said, that each man has a mission, something to do in the world different from what every other one has to do. New spheres of activity open before him, and as he enters each, there has often to be an entire new use of some lower activity, or an entire new adjust- ment of all the lower activities, — some being re- pressed which were formerly stimulated, and others brought into activity that were formerly kept in abeyance. Now we can conceive of a being having all the lower activities, and the comprehension, that be- longs to man, simply as a rational being, and these powers alone, with will. Such a being, with the capacity of enjoyment and suffering, through the sensibility connected with all these lower activities, would become, in his highest estate, a prudent be- 254 Instinct. ing. Every act would be from his judgment of expediency in promoting pleasure or avoiding suf- fering. Everything would be reduced to the level of that action, by which a man cuts his wood in season to have it-dry in winter, or puts his kindling in betcer shape and provides it in larger quantities, as the clouds and winds betoken increased cold. If he acted for children or friends, it would be from a natural impulse alone, as animals act in caring for their kind. With such beings the word ex- pedient would be the highest in enforcing action ; but, OUGHT, with the signification it now has, would be unknown. Now, in man, we find another wonderful im- pulse to action making a part of his higher nature, and by which all the lower instincts and powers maybe intensified in action, or be kept in abeyance. This is Obligation, or the Sense of Obligation. It is not only ultimate, like the impulses of the lower nature, but it is the highest impulse — ultimate in our analysis of man, as a moral being. As it be- longs to man to comprehend the action of all his lower powers, and the use and proper limit of each one of them, this higher impulse grapples on to every one of them to restrain or quicken them. If, now, the knowledge of man were perfect, this Sense of Obligation would be a sure guide, and every act in accordance with its impulse would be the best possible. If the will were strong enough to secure every act that Obligation demands, man would be a perfect being. Mistake in action would be im- possible. Perfect comprehension of the best rela- Law of Man's Being. 255 tions, a sense of obligation to act in accordance with these relations, and strength of will to carry out the demands of Obligation, would be as perfect an outfit for man as we find in the animals, in their self-limit- ing and self-directing instincts. This outfit would be perfect in its action, but occupying a field where un- limited progress would not only be possible, but the natural result. It is the belief of many that man was created in this state. However that may be, he is in no such condition now. He makes sad mistakes, when he does the best he knows ; and he weakly, or perversely, gives up to impulses which he knows ought to be restrained. If we were to judge by the results of human life alone, we should conclude that there is no law of man’s being. For nothing can be greater than the differences of char- acter between men of the same city and, oftentimes, of the same family. Searching for a law among so many discordant elements, to one compelled to judge of man’s nature only from these results which he daily sees, would seem, at first, to be a hopeless task. Is man then without a law of his being which may guide him in his higher life ? While animals have a law within them, which is like gravitation to the planets that guides them forever in their or- bits, has man no impulse which will tend to direct his course? Are the best specimens of humanity, after all, only accidents? We think not. And we think that law and guide of action within man will be found in THE SENSE OF OBLIGATION, when considered in all its demands, and in relation to all the other provisiohs made for him. LECTURE XI. THE MORAL INSTINCTS — OBLIGATION. Law of Being defined. — Relation of Men atid animals to this law . — Conditions under which Obligation arises. — Man's Freedom. — Self- denial. — Effects of Ignorance. — Relation of Obligation to the Judg- ment. — Double action of Obligation. — Doing right because it is Right. — Obligation to do justly. — Four Manifestations of Obliga- tion . — Its action compared with the Instincts. — Its relation to Pro- gress. — Moral Conflicts. — Choice. — Free Personality. — Accountabil- ity. — Remorse. — Man compared with an animal. — Moral powers always found in him . — The perfection and sphere of the Animal . — The sphere of Mari! s Action. We have traced the instinctive principles, in man’s animal nature, to find their method of action, and the means by which they are controlled. We have found these principles in him, capable of terrific power, and fitted by this power for efficient service, if they can be rightly directed. To find a control- ling power for them, we are compelled to pass be- yond the animal instincts themselves, to a higher nature. As the agency to enable man himself to guide and limit the action of his animal instincts, he needs a Comprehending power., to show him the relation of all his acts to results, and the relation of all subordinate results, to his highest good. He needs the power of Choice, — when different ends are comprehended, — in addition to that executive vo- Law of Being Defined, 257 lition, which he has, in common with the brutes, — and, last of all, he needs the Sense of Obligation^ as the highest possible impulse to action. It was suggested, in the last lecture, that we should find in the sense of obligation, considering all its demajids and relations^ the true law of human action, as we find in the lower instincts, the law of animal activity. And by the law of action, for any being, we mean that within him^ which guides^ or tends to guide him^ to that end for which he was made. So men, as well as animals, have within them an impulse urging them to seek the end for which they were made, only men are left to learn what that end is, from the study of the impulse, and to guide themselves towards it, by the use of all their high- er powers, — while the guidance to the animal comes from his organic development, and is towards an end, of which he knows nothing. We see, on every hand, the sufficiency of the instincts, as a guide to ani- mals ; while in man, these same instincts need con- trol from some power beyond them. If we find Obligation to be such a controlling power, either alone or with the aid of other powers, we shall be satisfied. It is not with us a question, now, how animals or man came by any of these powers. It is a ques- tion of possession, and of the nature and value of the possession. Let us now try to find the facts in the case, without being bound by any preconceived notion or favorite definition. In the first place, when two courses of action are 258 Instinct. open before us, so that we can contemplate them and their results, there may arise a sense of obliga- tion, for us to enter upon one course rather than the other. This sense of obligation may be entirely dis- tinct from any notion of expediency or pleasure to ourselves. It is undoubtedly true that the highest expediency and pleasure will ultimately be found in the line of obligation ; but a conviction of this, is not necessary as a condition for the impulse of obliga- tion. But it is also to be said that obligation al- ways demands the good of the higher nature, when that is discerned, and the good of the higher nature never conflicts with the good of any other being. The impulses of the animal nature impel us where present pleasure or animal enjoyment can be secured, — oftentimes against the good of others, — but obligation may demand that every good of our lower nature, even life itself, be sacrificed for the good of our higher. That is, the sense of obliga- tion, so far as it acts from our contemplation of good, always demands that the animal in us be the servant of the human. This sense of obligation is ever urging man on to discover the true end of his being and to attain it. But he has the power of going against this im- pulse, and of yielding himself to any one of the lower impulses of his nature, or we should not have true freedom ; and he often goes against it, through ignorance or perverseness, in various wa3^s, or we should have as uniform results in human life as among animals. Animal life reaches its end by a Obligation. 259 self-adjusting machinery so powerful as to control the animal. It is left to man alone to discover what the end of his being is, and then to act in conform- ity with the law that guides him towards that end, or against that law. Man is under obligation to promote the great- est good of all beings, himself included. To yield obedience to this demand of obligation is one of the great acts of life, and one demanding what is called great self-denial ; for it involves a constant struggle with all the lower propensities of our nature. Wise self-denial — all that is ever demanded and all that it is right for a man to make — is the control of any appetite or impulse when it conflicts with a higher good. This, even, may be like cutting off a right hand or plucking out a right eye. But another great difficulty arises here, which follows every man through life, — the want of knowl- edge, which shall enable him to act in conformity to that high law of his being, which he knows to be good, and to which he. may desire to conform. The same thing is illustrated in the case of his body. He is compelled to suffer many things, — pain and sorrow and early death, — because, per- chance, he ignorantly builds his house where poi- sons exhale from the earth. He may know that there is a law of health, but in attempting to follow it, his ignorance leads him into all sorts of pitfalls. Has man then no guide towards the end of his being, before that end is comprehended as one se- curing the greatest good ? We believe that the sense of obligation not only gives impulse to action, 26 o Instinct, but that its tendency is to secure right action, even amidst the most disastrous mistakes of ignorance. This we think will appear before we close the dis- cussion. And we now proceed to consider this sense of obligation still farther, in its subordinate operations to secure conformity to what would be its first great command, if man had wisdom enough to discover his true end from the beginning. In the first place, the sense of obligation always arises to do a specific act, when that act is judged by us, to promote any end, the seeking of which obliga- tion commands. It is no proof that the act will aid in securing the end, because the sense of obligation arises to perform it. If it were, man would need no aid from knowledge to guide his conduct in seek- ing any end that he knows to be good, — he would guide himself perfectly by the sense of obligation alone. All mistakes in seeking such an end would be impossible ; and growth in knowledge would be useless as an aid in guiding moral action. There are those who make this fatal blunder in life. They satisfy “ conscience^' and through ignorance of re- lations commit hideous wrong, and call it God’s ser- vice. Men may feel under obligation to do most wicked things, when they are ignorant, because the sense of obligation was never given to take the place of. knowledge, or to be any excuse for igno- rance. The sense of obligation, as securing specific acts, has a certain fixed relation, then, to the cojnprehend- ing power ^ or the judgments formed through the agency of that power. Let the judgment decide Obligation, 26 1 that a specific act will promote the great end, which it is the law of man’s being to seek, and the sense of obligation to perform that act arises at once. The action of obligation is, in this sense, an- alogous to the action of the lower instinctive im- pulses. We have shown that they have a certain relation to the impression made upon the senses. Make a certain impression upon the senses of an animal, and the instinctive act follows, though its results may be the worst possible for the being. Animal Instinct was made to depend upon the senses for its light, or condition of acting, where it has any relation to the senses at all. In like man- ner, when the relation of a certain act, to the great end of our being, is judged to be direct, by the com- prehending power of man, the sense of obligation to perform that act, arises at once, though the per- formance of it may, through ignorance of relations, involve the worst possible consequences. From this, it is plain that the impulse of obligation has the same relation to the comprehending power of man, that ordinary instinctive impulse has to sim- ple sense-perception in animals. Obligation then, we may regard as the great moral, instinctive impulse, that drives us to act in securing the greatest moral good at which man can aim, as the lower instinctive impulses drive animals and men to act to secure physical life, which to them, as mere animals, is the greatest good, as it is the condition of all good to them. Both animal Instinct and the Sense of Obliga- tion depend for their light, or condition of action. 262 Instinct. upon other powers. If it is instinct that preserves an animal, it is also true that it is through his in- stincts that we most easily destroy him. Deceive his senses, and he will destroy himself, by his own instinctive act. That which was made to preserve him, becomes the surest means of his destruction. So the worst acts the world has ever witnessed, have been performed under the stimulus of Obliga- tion, arising from mistaken views of relations. The persecutions, the burnings and stonings, — the mar- tyrdoms in all ages, — are the horrid work of this highest instinct, guided by ignorance. It is like the power that drives the engine safely on its way, when the road is in perfect order, but which brings ruin and death, when the rails are broken or misplaced. Obligation demands results in accordance with the great end of man’s being, which it constantly en- forces, and ever keeps potentially present as the basis of every act ; as the love of life is present as the basis of every lower instinctive act. But it has, of itself, no power to comprehend the relations which will secure the best results. For this light, or con- dition of right action, it must depend upon the com- prehending power, whether that be INTELLECT, REASON or MORAL REASON, or all of these combined. But this action of Obligation alone would plain- ly be defective as an aid in reaching the great end which it commands us to seek. It can go with safe- ty, only as the comprehending power furnishes the conditions, and this furnishes the conditions by in- vestigating all agencies, and the tendencies of all courses of action ; that is, the great work of the Double Work of Obligation. 263 comprehending power, is to gather knowledge from every source open to it, to enable it to furnish the right conditions, so that every act, which Obligation demands shall be towards the great end which it constantly impels us to seek. If knowledge were perfect, so that the exact relation of every act to the great end of life, were fully understood, the machin- ery would be perfect, as we have said. But there is great ignorance of the relation of acts to results, and of results to the chief end of life. If the whole work of obligation, as a means to this end, were ' simply to impel to acts in view of perceived rela- tions, it is evident that a man might remain in ig- norance, and still obey the voice of Obligation, while constantly working against the supreme end which she commands him to seek. Obligation might be constantly commanding him to do specific acts, contrary to her original and generic command, as though a father who had commanded his son to raise wheat, should then command him to sow the seed on ground unfit for that kind of grain, or to sow in midsummer, or to parch the seed before sowing. Plainly, if man were left with a constitution like this, the worst consequences would follow practical- ly, and Reason would never justify the Creator in giving such a constitution to any being. But now we find Obligation doing another work, which has a tendency to correct this defect, so that its work can be justified by Reason. While it acts, in view of relations discovered by the comprehend- ing power, and of results which that power declares 264 Instinct. to be in the direction of the great end first com- manded, it also demands of the comprehending power that it do its work in the most faithful man- ner. While Obligation must have light from the comprehending power, it does not wait for that light to come or not, as some lower impulse may determine, but with royal voice, it demands more light every instant of time, — it demands all the light the comprehending power can give, — it will be sat- isfied with nothing less, and it increases its demands, as the capacity of the comprehending power in- creases, when used in the best manner possible. Can any thing be more beautiful than this double action of obligation in the system of means ? It does not make man a perfect being, as to knowl- edge, but it is beautiful, as the means of constant progress towards perfection. There is resting upon man, evermore, the obligation to do right, and to secure knowledge, that he may know what right is. But are we done with Obligation yet? We think not. In its action just referred to, we have taken it for granted that the action was based upon the decision of the comprehending power, — wheth- er correct or not, — that the result aimed at was in the direction of the great end of life, the end for which man was 7nade. But it must be plain to ev- ery one, that we are not compelled either to make broad generalizations, to understand the great end of life, or the relation of every act to the greatest good of all men, or the glory of God, before we have the impulse of Obligation to act, this fact has been clearly seen by moral philosophers, and it has Doing Right because it is Right. 265 been fully considered by them. Obligation is found enforcing certain subordinate acts, as those of jus- tice, mercy and truth, even when the good secured by them is not taken into account ; and we even find it enforcing certain acts, as those of justice or honesty, when the act cannot be justified to Reason, at the time, as producing or tending to produce, the greatest good. And, undoubtedly, on this ac- count, has arisen much controversy about “ doing right because it is right"' It means, we suppose, that the sense of Obligation impels us to perform certain acts, that may seem at the time opposed to the greatest good, if we mean by that the greatest happiness of all. That it does this, we suppose all will admit. A single illustration will show the prin- ciple. If I have property in my hands belonging to a rich man, who can never need it — who already has more than is needed by him, so that my judg- ment and the judgment of others, himself included, is that he would be happier if he had less, and I am in want so that the property would add to my hap- piness, there is yet a sense of justice, which prevents my appropriating the property. I feel under obli- gation to restore that property to him, though I need it for my comfort, and he does not need it for his. That sense of obligation to return him his own, does not yield to any prospect of advantage to me in retaining it, until a new principle comes in — the saving of life. I feel under obligation to save that, at the expense of all property that I can use, wheth- er my own or another’s. Now that sense of justice, and the accompany- 12 266 Instinct. ing sense of obligation to do justly, are so essential to the welfare of such a being as man is, and so es- sential as a part of the means for carrying out that social and moral system which the highest Reason justifies, that they seem to be both given to man to secure the action which is right in reference to his highest end, even when there is no conception of the good which they were intended to produce, — as the instincts were given to the lower animals, to secure certain actions essential to the life of the individual or species, though the animal could have no conception of the relation of the act to the ulti- mate end to be attained. It is this kind of impulse, from a sense of obliga- tion to perform certain acts, the good of which we do not see, and which the judgment, at the time, even pronounces against as a means of producing the greatest happiness, that probably gives rise to the notion that we feel under obligation to “do right because it is right.” It is plain that we feel under obligation to do certain acts^ for the doing of which we can give no reason except that we feel the obligation. And we shall find all such acts to be of so fundamental a character, that it would be ruinous to any system of moral government, if not destruc- tive to the race, to leave them to arouse the sense of obligation only when the production of good is asserted of them by the judgment. But the acts that follow this sense of obligation thus originating, are, in their relation to a moral system, and the highest end of man as connected with that system, like those instinctive acts in the lower animals, Manifestations of Obligation. 267 without which the species could not exist, and the necessity of which it would be impossible for them to learn from experience. It is difficult to see how acts thus performed, are higher in their nature than those that are preceded by Obligation founded on comprehension of relations and rational choice. We thus have these four possible manifestations of obligation. First, — A s requiring man to choose the end for which he was made, when that is comprehended. Second, — As impelling him to every act that is judged to be a means of securing that end. Third, — Impelling to certain acts when no re- lation is, at the time, perceived between them and that ultimate end which, when comprehended, obli- gation commands us to seek. Fourth, — As laying its constant and ever in- creasing demands upon the comprehending power to furnish the best conditions for its action. In all these respects its analogy to animal In- stinct is very striking and beautiful, — Obligation having for its aim the spiritual, or higher life of man, as the instincts of animals relate to the phys- ical life. First, — The leading instinctive impulses of an- imals, are those which demand the preservation of life — the life of the individual and the continuance of the species. Second, — There is an instinctive impulse to do all things that are seen to be connected with the preservation of the individual or the species. 268 Instmct. Third, — There is an impulse to do certain acts which, as the animal performs them, have no per- ceived relation to the end to be secured by them. Fourth, — These instinctive impulses make con- stant demands upon the senses to furnish the light, or condition which they need for their best action. It may aid us in making the comparisons, to bring the different points together. 1. Obligation is given to secure the perfection of the higher life of the individual and the race, which is the highest good to both. Instinct of animals, is to secure the preserva- tion of physical life, which is the greatest good to them, and the condition of all good. 2. Obligation impels to every act that se- cures, or is judged to secure, the highest good of the individual or race. Instinct impels to every act that tends to se- cure the life of the individual, or species. 3. Obligation impels to certain acts, though they may not be seen by us at the time, to lead to the greatest good. Instinct impels to certain acts not seen by the animal, at the time, to have any relation to the con- tinuance of life. 4. Obligation depends upon the comprehend- ing power for its light, or condition for right action. Instinct depends upon the senses for the con- ditions of its action. This is another of those marked instances where the method of action continues the same in Obligation ayid Animal Instinct. 269 different planes of activity, even when the powers acting in one plane are entirely distinct, in kind, from those acting in the other. Obligation and animal Instinct differ, especially in this, that obligation depending for its conditions on the comprehending power, is fitted for an unlim- ited range of progress ; or the being possessing it has progressive capacity constantly increasing in the individual and gaining new light from genera- tion to generation, and from the observation and experience of thousands, at the same time, — while animal Instinct, having its condition from the bodi- ly senses, has but limited range in the individual, and the individual can gain nothing from those that have gone before him, and but little from those associated with him. There is connected with animal Instinct, no such system of progress as is connected with Obligation, if there is any at all. We have, thus far, spoken of the impulse of Obligation, as though men follow it as certainly as animals follow the impulses of their Instinct. But this is far from being the case. If they did, there would be a uniformity of moral action, and of re- sults in the higher life of man, that would approach the uniformity of animal life secured by Instinct. The moral acts of men would differ only as their knowledge differed. They might make mistakes but intentional wrong-doing would be impossible. Man has a truly animal nature with all the im- pulses of animal appetites and instincts. He has, also, this higher nature, in which the sense of Ob- ligation is the great impulse. As this higher na- / 270 Instinct, ture in man is the natural ruler of the other in him,- there is often conflict between them. The lower impulses draw in one direction, while Obligation forbids the advance, or even demands an entirely different line of action. If this were not so, man would know nothing of those moral conflicts which he now finds going on within him. An animal may, by its nature, be impelled or compelled, to fight another ; but as a moral being, a man’s se- verest battles are with himself, — between his high- er and lower nature. When the lower impulses are in one direction, and the impulse of Obligation in another, the con- dition of CHOICE is presented. And rational choice is involved, in every act which follows the Sense of Obligation, whe7i that arises from a comprehension of results. As the first demand of Obligation is that the highest end of man should be chosen, when that end is comprehended, so the first ration- al, generic choice is the choice of that end, as the goal towards which every power must press. That act of choice declares that the lower nature shall, henceforth, be the servant of the higher, — it shall be well used, that it may be a good servant, but the doom of its servitude is pronounced, once for all. The man henceforth rules himself, — all the animal nature within him is in subjection. Such a choice is the act of Free Personality. It cannot be illustrated, because there is nothing else like it. It is the only point of true freedom. It is known by consciousness alone. Every act of choice, both generic and specific, may be in the line that Obli- Ground of Accouyitability, 271 gation requires, or it may be opposed to it. Every choice involving Obligation, or subsequent to the impulse of Obligation, whether in accordance with it or against it, is a decision between the higher and lower nature, and determines which of them shall, for the time, rule. It is in the power of this intelligent choice^ that we discover the highest free- doMj the 07ily true freedo^n^ a7id it is here that we see the ground of man s accountability . The impulse of Obligation being given to se- cure the right, or most effective, use of all our pow- ers, it may extend to every act towards ourselves, our fellow-men and God. As it is ultimate, in the sense of having no impulse to action higher than itself, it has connected with it a fearful power, by which it enforces its commands. It has nothing above it to restrain its action ; and it never needs restraint, but only light, that it may act in the right direction. Then the best results come from the full measure of its activity. In this respect, it is, in its action, analogous to the instincts of animals, which unconstrained work out the best results for them, provided the senses furnish the proper con- dition of action. As there is nothing above Obligation to restrain it, so there is nothing to aid it as an impulse. It secures its own effective action only by its own constitution, if at all. Remorse is the recoil of this great impulse to action, in the higher nature of man, when its action is thwarted by the power of the lower instincts, which were not made to rule. If any act is contrary to the demands of Obliga- 2/2 Instinct, tion, the punishment that follows is quick and in- tense. If the act is as Obligation demands, there is, at the time, no recoil, although the act, through ig- norance, may produce the worst results. There may be sorrow for the unfortunate results, but no remorse. But if the judgment, afterwards, decides that the ignorance which caused the evil was un- necessary, then remorse follows, as though the Sense of Obligation had been violated at the time of per- forming the act. For it is a part of the office of Obligation, as we have shown, to secure from the comprehending power all the light it can give. There must be an apprehension of one’s rela- tion to an act, before Obligation can arise. Then there must be consciousness of the Obligation. Conscience then, or moral consciousness^ grasps by an intuitive comprehension every relation of man to every act involving choice between the im- pulses of the higher and lower nature ; and in con- nection with every such act contrary to the sense of Obligation, there comes the punishment of re- morse, which we conceive to be the dreadful recoil of this highest moral impulse. Obligation, when it is defied and thwarted in its legitimate work. It is Conscience or moral consciousness, that makes the torments of remorse possible; and if one chooses to regard obligation and remorse both as the work of Conscience, we do not object, as we are seeking for facts, and not for theoretical divisions or defini- tions. We are now prepared to state the difference be- tween a man and an animal, as we have found them Characteristics of Man. 273 in our analysis, up to this point. It consists in three things. In man we find — First, — A comprehending power, that surveys the universe, and all the capacities of its possessor, in relation to that universe. Second, — A sense of Obligation to do certain acts, and to refrain from others, — this sense arising spontaneously, in view of certain relations or re- sults, and being distinct from those impulses of the affections or desires, which may belong to an ani- mal. Third, — The power of choice, that gives, by its generic action, individuality of aim for a life- time ; and, in specific acts, determines whether the higher or lower nature of man shall rule. These three powers, with executive volition, make man the ruler of the world and the shaper of his own destiny, so far as choice and attempts are con- cerned. These three powers are all that we have yet found distinctive in the higher nature of man. If animals have either of them, we look in vain for the proof of it in the whole range of the animal kingdom. It is claimed by some that animals have these powers, but the proof offered is not satisfactory. The beauti- ful action of the natural instincts, as the social in- stincts, and parental instincts, — is often triumphantly referred to as proof of the moral nature of animals; but a full analysis of these instincts shows that they occupy an entirely different sphere from the three powers we have mentioned. In man these natural in- 12 * 274 Instinct, stincts call the moral nature into action, it is true ; but in the animals, they need neither guidance nor restraint from obligation or any thing above them, as we have shown. But an animal may have, and probably does have, other emotions which are so intimately related to the moral nature, as instruments, as to be readi- ly mistaken for its essential powers, or character- istics. An animal may have the emotion of pity, and also an impulse that secures justice, so far as it is essential to animal life. They, certainly, instinctive- ly act as though they had such emotions. It may be that they have only a simple impulse, that secures the proper action, while in man, there may precede every one of his acts, comprehension, the sense of of Obligation, and choice. If we say that Obliga- tion can only follow comprehension of ends, then we must allow that the simple impulses, which se- cure justice, truth and the like, are in the same line as Obligation would require, were there compre- hension of the results, and so like it in every re- spect as to be distinguished from it with great difficulty. If animals have a comprehension of moral rela- tions, with the accompanying sense of Obligation, and that consciousness of the comprehension of relations and sense of obligation, which is Conscience itself, or the product of Conscience, we see no proof of it. We 'can account for all their actions, perfectly, by referring to some lower principle of instinctive impulse, which in them is self-directive. Cause of Wretchedness, 275 All men give evidence that they have all these ele- ments, which can be reckoned as belonging to con- science. They may be in a wretched state of ac- tivity, through ignorance ; or the scale of humanity may be so low that animal impulses seem to have the entire sway, and thus moral distinctions may have made no impression on the language of de- graded tribes. But this no more proves that these moral powers are not present, than the absence of algebraic language and methods, among ignorant men, is proof that such men have no power to generalize in numbers. Whenever search has been made for the elements of conscience in man, they have been found. They are at least potentially present, as the blade is present in the grain of corn. The work of missionaries in all parts of the world abundantly proves this. We see, then, that the moral nature of man is all that it could be, and leave him a free and pro- gressive being. All the wretchedness of the world comes from two things, ignorance of the relations of acts to the great end of life^ and that strange perverseness which leads men to choose against the sense of Obli- gation. If both of these evils were remedied, man would still be a free, progressive being, as new re- lations and conditions of activity opened before him ; but his choices always being according to Obliga- tion, and his comprehension of all new relations being perfect, his course would be like that of a ship, when it moves in a direct line from port to port ; while now he is at best, like a ship that makes its 2/6 Instinct. way midst fogs, and darkness, and adverse winds. And, too often, the pilot deserts the helm, leaving the ship to float, as the winds and currents chance to move. This condition of the race, all see and ac- knowledge. As to the final result of this condition, and as to the remedy for it, there is great disagree- ment. It does not come within our province to seek for a remedy, or to declare that none is need- ed. It was our business in making this survey of the instinctive principles, to find their position in man, as a being able to guide himself, through his higher nature, — to contrast his condition with that of animals, which are guided by tho^e appetites and instincts which man is called upon to guide and limit in himself. Here, then, we close our discussion in relation to man, as belonging to this world alone. He has a physical system, with senses and reflexive move- ments, as the animals have. He has appetites and instincts like theirs in kind, but differing from theirs in degree, as theirs differ among the various species. He has instincts also, — such as we see no trace of in them, — which relate to the progress of society. He has a comprehending power capable of under- standing his relations to the universe, and the pow- er of choice in selecting his line of action, in the world. He has, with this power, the Sense of Ob- ligation, which impels him to act, and punishes him if he does not ; and at the same time it impels him to obtain the knowledge necessary for reaching the results that secure the highest good. He suffers Man and Animals Compared, 277 from ignorance ; and this shows that he is not a perfect being now, even in the agencies which se- cure progress. His nobleness is seen in the outfit given him, which forbids him to remain in ignorance, and enables him to improve by the experience and labors of all the generations before him. The perfection of the animal will appear in ev- ery one of the species, if his activities have full play. That there shall be such uniformity of excellence, among members of the human race, if not impossi- ble, is something for many generations yet to come to aim at. There have, thus far, in every age, been those whose higher nature ruled. They might be wanting in some kinds of knowledge, but they had reached the highest plane of action which it is pos- sible for man to reach. There have been others, who have given themselves up to their bodily appe- tites and instincts. This is the lowest plane of ac- tion to which man can sink. He is then vastly lower, in his actions, than the brutes can be, be- cause his animal propensities have no such limita- tion and self-guidance, as theirs have. The works of an animal are for himself and those associated with him, or to spring from him. The works of man are for generations to come, and often for those of foreign and even hostile nations. The animal acts best when he acts as his appetites and instincts impel. Man feels all these impulses, and has, in addition, the Sense of Obligation, as an impulse, that may work with them or against them ; and which he must obey, in all its commands, or suffer its immediate and terrible punishment. 278 Instmct, When we have considered the religious instincts of man, we can mark other differences between him •and the highest of the lower animals, as we shall then have other elements of character that belong only to him. LECTURE XII RELIGIOUS INSTINCTS. — SUMMARY AND CONCLU- SION. Sumjnary of principles . — Their existence denied. — May be dormant.— ‘ Assert their sway. — Knowledge of God. — Instinct of a child . — Natural Religion. — Revelation. — Instinct of Prayer. — Of Wor- ship. — Analogous to Animal Instincts. — Indiindual Accountability, — Diagram of Pozvers. — Explanation of Activities. — Choice of an Ultimate End. — Provisions for every Appetite and Desire. — Sum- mary of Lectures. — Defects of our Education. — Man’s power over the Universe. — His relationship to it. — Prepare the way for Pro- gress . — The Laborers needed. — Influence of names . — Transition Period. — Final results of the study and control of all the Powers. We have considered man in his animal nature, as possessing appetites and instincts which act with- out a guiding power in them or among them. We have also shown the relation of this animal nature to a higher nature, which is fitted to control it, and has, as its own possession, the means — by automat- ic powers and free-personality — of controlling itself. All of these powers thus balanced, would justify themselves to Reason, if this world and the physi- cal life of man were their only sphere of action, and the limit of their duration in each individual. But there is a whole group of emotions, aspirations and impulses, which seem to be meaningless, if man’s conscious activity is limited to the duration of his 28 o Instinct, physical life, and there is no Intelligent Being above him who has personal relations to him. It is in order now for us to enumerate these act- ive principles, of what may be called the Religious nature of man, in distinction from his Moral, and to point out their analogy to the lower instinctive principles. It is the work of the Natural Theolo- gian, to interpret these principles fully and to pro- nounce upon their value or worthlessness to man. These instinctive principles are — 1. Belief in some supernatural being — or beings. 2. Belief in accountability, or relationship to that being in such measure as for good or evil to come from it. 3. Belief in immortality, and the continuance of this relation after death. 4. The Instinct of prayer, as a means of estab- lishing relations with this being. 5. The Instinct of worship, including the emo- tion of veneration and its expression. The existence of these beliefs and impulses as something essential to humanity, has been denied, and they are in some cases so dormant or weak through the degradation of the man, that like some of the lower instinctive principles, they do not make themselves known to observers till the proper con- ditions are applied for bringing them into special activity. In proof of their universality, we can only appeal to the present condition of the race.* These principles assert their sway over those who, as speculative philosophers, have denied their * See Appendix — Note A. Existence of God. 281 existence, and they appear in some form in every religion from the highest to the lowest. And when men wonder at the number of religions and the ab- surd notions connected with religious practices, they would do well to remember that all these are man- ifestations of the instincts or impulses of a religious nature. They prove that man has such impulses. And that is all we wish now to show. We are not called upon to show that these impulses are either useless or of the highest importance, though we are permitted to state our belief that they are the high- est instinctive impulses of our nature, — that Obli- gation enters this field to strengthen every impulse to action — and that one of the most reasonable of all things, from the analogy of nature, is to expect that the means of satisfying these instincts will be provided for man. This instinctive belief in the existence of a God, has never of itself proved to be directive, so as to give a knowledge of God directly, that Reason could approve of. The knowledge of God, so far as man has gained it for himself, has come from the com- prehending power, — either from that portion of it called Pure Reason, evolving necessary notions of an absolute, perfect being ; or it has come as a ne- cessary induction from the contemplation of the works of nature, including the constitution of man. From this intellectual notion of God, there would be gradually gained by the study of God’s works, a knowledge of his character ; and from that charac- ter, inferences could be rationally drawn as to his relations to man and what he would do for him. 282 Instinct. The probability of a Revelation in words, would be settled, and the proper tests of such a Revelation would be determined. So that, in the end, man’s Reason would be satisfied as to the existence of God, His character, and relations to man, and the nature and extent of His Communications to him. All such knowledge would be of slow growth, and it is evident that if religion depended solely upon such knowledge, it could only be in the later and more perfect forms of society that an adequate knowledge of God could be reached, or that a Rev-' elation could be so tested by Reason as to be ac-, cepted on rational grounds. But in distinction from all this, there is in man the Instinct of a child, or of a dependent towards some Unseen Power. This instinct manifests itself as a power in all races of men, so that religion does not begin as a product of Reason, or as a result of induction from the study of the works of nature. This impulse, or this instinctive belief, has been so strong as to give rise to the numberless gods of the heathen, and to belief in oracles, auguries, signs and visions, for the guidance of man. They have all been believed in, because they are such mani- festations in kind as this instinct leads man to ex- pect. They have been accepted in all their crudi- ties, because the comprehending Power of man has not done its appropriate work in giving the light and guidance to this instinct, which it ought to furnish. It plainly has but two methods of giv- ing light on this subject. The first is through the Prayer — Worship, 283 study of nature, — or Natural Religion; and the second through Revelation, which it can test, as to its source, and consequent validity. It would lead us too far from our subject to follow the baffled strivings of this instinct, in seeking by itself alone the satisfaction of its own» yearnings. But there are certain beliefs joined with this instinct that are like special instinctive impulses. The first is the belief in accountability to this unseen Being ; and the second is belief in immortality, which carries the accountability beyond this life. The third manifestation of instinct correlated with the belief in God, and accountability, — or of His personal relation to us, — is Prayer. The instinct of prayer is the most manifest of all the religious in- stincts, and is more nearly self-directive than any other of them ; and it is so strong, that, at times, it breaks through every philosophical theory of ne- cessity, or pantheism, or atheism itself. But in the addition to the impulse of prayer, is that of adoration, — of worship. There is in this no ser- vile fear ; but there may be awe. There may be no desire of favor, but a pouring out of the soul, in adoration and praise, which has no end beyond what is found in the act itself, as meeting a demand of our nature. It is the gratification of an instinct, which forms a part of the original constitution of man. In all these things, — belief in God, in immortal- ity, in accountability, and in having the instinctive impulses of prayer and praise towards ayi unseen Be- ing, — man stands alone, so far as we can judge. 284 Instinct. These instinctive beliefs and the instinctive actions are strongly analogous to some found in the lower animals, and almost a perfect type of the instincts of a child towards a parent. But having reference to an unseen Being and reaching towards another life, they are peculiar. They are, however, in this, analogous to the instincts of such animals as pro- vide for the future, of which they can know noth- ing by inference, either from their own past exper- ience, or from any knowledge gained from those of their kind. The analogy holds in regard to action respecting an unknown future, but these principles and the instincts, in other respects, are entirely un- like. The latter relate to the continuance of the species, or the comfort of the individual, while the former relate to accountability , — individual account- ability to God , — which Webster said was the greatest thought he ever had. We have reached, then, in the instincts of the religious nature, the origin of the highest thoughts, and the most powerful im- pulses to action through love or fear. And as un- derstanding gives direction to these impulses, by itself or through revelation, we find the authority of obligation joined with them to secure them from defeat by the lower nature. We are now prepared to give a diagram that shall aid in showing the comparative condition of all the powers possessed in common by men and ani- mals — it being understood that the word “ IN- STINCT” only marks the beginning that kind of activity which is continued in some form among all the higher powers. Diagram of Powers. 285 V u c: •c (U a. X W «+- o Will ^ Impulses Conditional for Experience. Conditional for Insticctive Action. .2