The Story of the Mind

J >> James Mark Baldwin >> The Story of the Mind

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5. There is every reason to think, moreover, that the tendency to
imitate is itself instinctive. Young animals, notably the monkey and
the child, fall spontaneously to imitating when they reach a certain
age. Imitation shows itself to be instinctive in the case of the
mocking bird, the parrot, etc. Furthermore, the mechanism of this
function of imitation is now very well known. The principle of
psychology recognised above under the phrase Kinaesthetic Equivalents,
teaches us that the idea of a movement, coming into the mind through
sight or some other sense, stirs up the proper apparatus to bring
about the same movement in the observer. This we see in the common
tendency of an audience to repeat the gestures of a speaker, and in
many similar cases. When this principle is extended to include all
sorts of experiences besides those of movement, we have what is
generally called Imitation. Moreover, every time that by action the
child imitates, he perceives his own imitation, and this again acts as
a "copy" or model for another repetition of the act, and so on. This
method of keeping himself going gives the young animal or child
constant practice, and renders him more and more efficient in the acts
necessary to his life.

6. It is evident what great profit accrues from this arrangement
whereby a general instinct like imitation takes the place of a number
of special instincts, or supplements them. It gives a measure of
plasticity to the creature. He can now respond suitably to changes in
the environment in which he lives. The special instincts, on the
contrary, are for the most part so fixed that the animal must act just
as they require him to in this or that circumstance; but as soon as
his instinct takes on the form of imitation, the resulting action
tends to conform itself to the model actions of the other creatures
which set "copies" before him.

These more or less new results due to recent research in the province
of Instinct have had direct bearing upon theories of the origin of
instinct and of its place in animal life.

_Theories of Instinct._--Apart from the older view which saw in animal
instinct simply a matter of original created endowment, whereby each
animal was made once for all "after his kind," and according to which
there is no further reason that the instincts are what they are than
that they were made so; apart from this "special creation" view, two
different ideas have had currency, both based upon the theory of
evolution. Each of these views assumes that the instincts have been
developed from more simple animal actions by a gradual process; but
they differ as to the elements originally entering into the actions
which afterward became instinctive.

1. First, there is what is called the Reflex Theory. This holds that
instincts are reflex actions, like the closing of the eye when an
object threatens to enter it, only much more complex. They are due to
the compounding and adding together of simple reflexes, in greater and
greater number, and with increasing efficiency. This theory attempts
to account for instinct entirely in terms of nervous action. It goes
with that view of evolution which holds that the nervous system has
had its growth from generation to generation by the continued reflex
adjustments of the organism to its environment, whereby more and more
delicate adaptations to the external world were secured. In this way,
say the advocates of this theory, we may account for the fact that the
animal has no adequate knowledge of what he is doing when he performs
an act instinctively; he has no end or aim in his mind; he simply
feels his nervous system doing what it is fitted to do by its organic
adaptations to the stimulations of air, and earth, and sea, whatever
these may be.

But it may be asked: Why do succeeding generations improve each on its
parents, so that there is a gradual tendency to perfect the instinct?

The answer to this question brings up another great law of
biology--the principle of Variations. This principle states the common
fact that in every case of a family of offspring the individual young
vary slightly in all directions from their parents. Admitting this, we
will find in each group of families some young individuals which are
better than their parents; these will have the advantage over others
and will be the ones to grow up and have the children of the next
generation again, and so on. So by constant Variation and Natural
Selection--that is, the "Survival of the Fittest" in competition with
the rest--there will be constant improvement in the Instinct.

2. The other theory, the rival one, holds that there are some
instincts which show so plainly the marks of Reason that some degree
of intelligent adjustment to the environment must be allowed to the
animal in the acquiring of these functions. For example, we are told
that some of the muscular movements involved in the instincts--such,
for example, as the bird's nest-building--are so complex and so finely
adjusted to an end, that it is straining belief to suppose that they
could have arisen gradually by reflex adaptation alone. There is also
a further difficulty with the reflex theory which has seemed
insurmountable to many of the ablest psychologists of animal life; the
difficulty, namely, that many of the instincts require the action of a
great many muscles at the same time, so acting in "correlation" with
or support of one another that it is impossible to suppose that the
instinct has been acquired gradually. For in the very nature of these
cases we can not suppose the instinct to have ever been imperfect,
seeing that the partial instinct which would have preceded the perfect
performance for some generations would have been not only of no use to
the creature, but in many cases positively injurious. For instance,
what use to an animal to be able partly to make the movements of
swimming, or to the birds to build an inadequate nest? Such instincts
would not be usable at all. So we are told by the second theory that
the animals must have had intelligence to do these things when they
first acquired them. Yet, as is everywhere admitted, after the
instinct has been acquired by the species it is then carried out
without knowledge and intelligent design, being handed down from
generation to generation by heredity.

This seems reasonable, for we do find that actions which were at first
intelligent may be performed so frequently that we come to do them
without thinking of them; to do them from habit. So the animals, we
are told, have come to do theirs reflexly, although at first they
required intelligence. From this point of view--that although
intelligence was at first required, yet the actions have become
instinctive and lacking in intelligent direction in later
generations--this is called the theory of Lapsed Intelligence.

This theory has much to commend it. It certainly meets the objection
to the reflex theory which was stated just above--the objection that
some of the instincts could not have arisen by gradual reflex
adaptations. It also accounts for the extremely intelligent appearance
which many instincts have.

But this view in turn is liable to a criticism which has grown in
force with the progress of biological knowledge in recent years. This
criticism is based on the fact that the theory of lapsed intelligence
demands that the actions which the animals of one generation have
acquired by their intelligence should be handed down through heredity
to the next generation, and so on. It is evident that unless this be
true it does no good to the species for one generation to do things
intelligently, seeing that if the effects on the nervous system are
not transmitted to their children, then the next and later generations
will have to start exactly where their fathers did, and the actions in
question will never become ingrained in the nervous system at all.

Now, the force of this criticism is overwhelming to those who
believe--as the great majority of biologists now do[1]--that none of
the modifications or so-called "characters" acquired by the parents,
none of the effects of use or disuse of their limbs, none of the
tendencies or habits of action, in short, none of the changes wrought
in body or mind of the parents during their lifetime, are inherited by
their children. The only sorts of modification which show themselves
in subsequent generations are the deep-seated effects of disease,
poison, starvation, and other causes which concern the system as a
whole, but which show no tendency to reproduce by heredity any of the
special actions or functions which the fathers and mothers may have
learned and practised. If this difficulty could be met, the theory
that intelligence has been at work in the origination of the complex
instincts would be altogether the preferable one of the two; but if
not, then the "lapsed intelligence" view must be thrown overboard.

[Footnote 1: The matter is still under discussion, however, and I do
not mean in any way to deny the authority of those who still accept
the "inheritance of acquired characters."]

Recent discussion of evolution has brought out a point of view under
the name of Organic Selection which has a very fruitful application to
this controversy over the origin of instincts. This point of view is
one which in a measure reconciles the two theories. It claims that it
is possible for the intelligent adaptations, or any sort of
"accommodations," made by the individuals of one generation, to set
the direction of subsequent evolution, even though there be no direct
inheritance of acquired characters from father to son. It proceeds in
the case of instinct somewhat thus:

Suppose we say, with the first theory given above, that the organism
has certain reflexes which show some degree of adaptation to the
environment; then suppose we admit the point, urged by the advocates
of the lapsed intelligence theory, that the gradual improvement of
these reflexes by variations in the endowment of successive
generations would not suffice for the origin of instinct, seeing that
partial instincts would not be useful; and, further, suppose we agree
that many of the complex instincts really involved intelligent
adaptation in their acquisition. These points carefully understood,
then one new and further principle will enable us to complete a theory
which will avoid the objections to both the others. This principle is
nothing else than what we have seen already--namely, that the
intelligence supplements the partial instincts in each generation and
makes them useful in the respects in which they are inadequate, and so
keeps the young alive in successive generations as long as the
instinct is imperfect. This gives the species time gradually to
supplement its instinctive endowment, in the course of many
generations each of which uses its intelligence in the same way: time
to accumulate, by the occurrence of variations among the offspring,
the changes in the nervous system which the perfect instinct requires.
Thus as time goes on the dependence of each generation upon the aid of
intelligence is less and less, until the nervous system becomes
capable of performing the function quite alone. The result then will
be the same as if the acquisitions made by each generation had been
inherited, while in reality they have not. All that this theory
requires in addition to what is admitted by both the historical views
is that the species be kept alive long enough by the aid of its
intelligence, which supplements imperfect instincts, to give it time
to produce sufficient variations in the right direction. The instinct
then achieves its independence, and intelligent supervision of it is
no longer necessary (see Fig. 1).

[Illustration: FIG. 1,--Origin of instinct by Organic Selection: _A
n_, perfect instinct. 1, 2 ... _n_, successive generations. Solid
lines, nervous equipment in the direction of the instinct. Dotted
lines, intelligence supplementing the nervous equipment. The
intelligence is relied upon to keep the species alive until by
congenital variations the nervous equipment becomes "perfect."]

This theory is directly confirmed by the facts, already spoken of,
which show that many instincts are imperfect, but are pieced out and
made effective by the intelligent imitations and acquisitions of the
young creatures. The little chick, for example, does not know the
value of water when he sees it, as essential as water is to his life;
but he depends upon imitation of his mother's drinking, or upon the
mere accident of wetting his bill, to stimulate his partial instinct
of drinking in the peculiar fashion characteristic of fowls, by
throwing back the head. So in other functions which are peculiar to a
species and upon which their very lives depend, we find the delicate
adjustment between intelligent adaptation by conscious action and the
partially formed instincts which the creatures possess.

In the theory of Organic Selection, therefore, we seem to have a
positive solution of the question of the origin of instinct. It is
capable of a similar application in other cases where evolution has
taken certain definite directions, seemingly guided by intelligence.
It shows us that mind has had a positive place in the evolution of
organic nature.

* * * * *

_Animal Intelligence._--Coming to consider what further equipment the
animals have, we light upon the fact just spoken of when we found it
necessary to appeal in some measure to the animal's Intelligence to
supplement his instincts. What is meant by Intelligence?

This word may be used in the broad sense of denoting all use of
consciousness, or mind, considered as a thing in some way additional
to the reflexes of the nervous system. In the life of the animal, as
in that of man, wherever we find the individual doing anything with
reference to a mental picture, using knowledge or experience in any
form, then he is said to be acting intelligently.

The simplest form of intelligent action in the animal world and that
from which most of the higher forms have arisen is illustrated in the
following example: a chick will peck at a strange worm, and, finding
it unpalatable, will then in the future refuse to peck at worms of
that sort. This refusal to do a second time what has once had a
disagreeable result is intelligent. We now say that the chick "knows"
that the worm is not good to eat. The instinctive action of pecking at
all worms is replaced by a refusal to peck at certain worms. Again,
taking the reverse case, we find that the chick which did not respond
to the sight of drinking water instinctively, but had to see the
mother drink first, acted intelligently, or through a state of
consciousness, when it imitated the old hen, and afterward drank of
its own accord. It now "knows" that water is the thing to drink.

The further question which comes upon us here concerns the animal's
acquisition of the action appropriate to carry out his knowledge. How
does he learn the muscular combinations which supplement or replace
the earlier instinctive ways of acting?

This question appears very clearly when we ask about the child's
acquisition of new acts of skill. We find him constantly learning,
modifying his habits, refining his ways of doing things, becoming
possessed of quite new and complex functions, such as speech,
handwriting, etc. All these are intelligent activities; they are
learned very gradually and with much effort and pains. It is one of
the most important and interesting questions of all psychology to ask
how he manages to bring the nervous and muscular systems under greater
and greater control by his mind. How can he modify and gradually
improve his "reactions"--as we call his responses to the things and
situations about him--so as to act more and more intelligently?

The answer seems to be that he proceeds by what has been called
Experimenting. He does not simply do things because he has
intelligence,--simply that is, because he sees how to do them without
first learning how; that is the older and probably quite erroneous
view of intelligence. The mind can not move the body simply by its
fiat. No man can do that. Man, like the little animal, has to try
things and keep on trying things, in order to find out the way they
work and what their possibilities are. And each animal, man, beast, or
bird has to do it for himself. Apart from the instinctive actions
which the child does without knowing their value at all, and apart
from the equally instinctive imitative way of doing them without
aiming at learning more by the imitations, he proceeds in all cases to
make experiments. Generally his experiments work through acts of
imitation. He imitates what he sees some other creature do; or he
imitates his own instinctive actions by setting up before him in his
mind the memories of the earlier performance; or, yet again, after he
has struck a fortunate combination, he repeats that imitatively. Thus,
by the principle already spoken of, he stores up a great mass of
Kinaesthetic Equivalents, which linger in memory, and enable him to
act appropriately when the proper circumstances come in his way. He
also gets what we have called Associations established between the
acts and the pleasure or pain which they give, and so avoids the
painful and repeats the pleasurable ones.

The most fruitful field of this sort of imitative learning is in
connection with the "try-try-again" struggles of the young, especially
children. This is called Persistent Imitation. The child sees before
him some action to imitate--some complex act of manipulation with the
hand, let us say. He tries to perform it in an experimental way, using
the muscles of the hand and arm. With this he strains himself all
over, twisting his tongue, bending his body, and grimacing from head
to foot, so to speak. Thus he gets a certain way toward the correct
result, but very crudely and inexactly. Then he tries again,
proceeding now on the knowledge which the first effort gave him; and
his trial is less uncouth because he now suppresses some of the
hindering grimacing movements and retains the ones which he sees to be
most nearly correct. Again he tries, and again, persistently but
gradually reducing the blundering movements to the pattern of the
copy, and so learning to perform the act of skill.

The massive and diffused movements which he makes by wriggling and
fussing are also of direct use to him. They increase remarkably the
chances that among them all there will be some movements which will
hit the mark, and so contribute to his stock of correct Equivalents.
Dogs and monkeys learn to unlock doors, let down fence rails, and
perform relatively complex actions by experimenting; persistently
with many varied movements until the successful ones are finally
struck.

This is the type of all those acts of experimenting by which new
complex movements are acquired. In children it proceeds largely
without interference from others; the child persists of himself. He
has greater ability than the animals to see the meaning of the
completed act and to really desire to acquire it. With the animals the
acquisitions do not extend very far, on account of their limitation in
intelligent endowment; but in the training of the domestic animals and
in the education of show-animals the trainer aids them and urges them
on by making use of the associations of pleasure and pain spoken of
above. He supplements the animal's feelings of pain and pleasure with
the whip and with rewards of food, etc., so that each step of the
animal's success or failure has acute associations with pain or
pleasure. Thus the animal gradually gets a number of associations
formed, avoids the actions with which pain is associated, repeats
those which call up memories of pleasure all the way through an
extended performance in regular steps; and in the result the
performance so closely counterfeits the operations of high
intelligence--such as counting, drawing cards, etc.--that the audience
is excited to admiration.

This first glimpse of the animal's limitations when compared with man
may suggest the general question, how far the brutes go in their
intelligent endowment. The proper treatment of this much-debated point
requires certain further explanations.

In the child we find a tendency to act in certain ways toward all
objects, events, etc., which are in any respect alike. After learning
to use the hands, for example, for a certain act, the same hand
movements are afterward used for other similar acts which the child
finds it well to perform. He thus tends, as psychologists say, to
"generalize," that is, to take up certain general attitudes which will
answer for a great many details of experience. On the side of the
reception of his items of knowledge this was called Assimilation, as
will be remembered. This saves him enormous trouble and risk; for as
soon as an object or situation presents itself before him with certain
general aspects, he can at once take up the attitude appropriate to
these general aspects without waiting to learn the particular features
of the new. The ability to do this shows itself in two rather
different ways which seem respectively to characterize man on the one
hand and the lower animals on the other.

With the animals this tendency to generalize, to treat objects in
classes rather than as individuals, takes the form of a sort of
composition or direct union of brain pathways. Different experiences
are had, and then because they are alike they tend to issue in the
same channels of action. The animal is tied down strictly to his
experience; he does not anticipate to any extent what is going to
happen. He does not use one experience as a symbol and apply it
beforehand to other things and events. He is in a sense passive;
stimulations rain down upon him, and force him into certain attitudes
and ways of action. As far as his knowledge is "general" it is called
a Recept. A dog has a Recept of the whip; so far as whips are not too
different from one another, the dog will act in the same way toward
all of them. In man, on the other hand, the development of mind has
gone a decided step further. The child very quickly begins to use
symbols, words being the symbols of first importance to him. He does
not have, like the brute, to wait for successive experiences of like
objects to impress themselves upon him; but he goes out toward the
new, expecting it to be like the old, and so acting as to anticipate
it. He thus falls naturally into general ways of acting which it is
the function of experience to refine and distinguish. He seems to have
more of the higher sort of what was called above Apperception, as
opposed to the more concrete and accidental Associations of Ideas. He
gets Concepts, as opposed to the Recepts of the animals. With this
goes the development of speech, which some psychologists consider the
source of all the man's superiority over the animals. Words become
symbols of a highly abstract sort for certain classes of experiences;
and, moreover, through speech a means of social communication is
afforded by which the development of the individual is enormously
advanced.

It is probable, in fact, that this difference--that between the
Generalization which uses symbols, and mere Association--is the root
of all the differences that follow later on, and give man the
magnificent advantage over the animals which he has. From it is
developed the faculty of thinking, reasoning, etc., in which man
stands practically alone. On the brain side, it requires special
developments both through the preparation of certain brain centres
given over to the speech function, and also through the greater
organization of the gray matter of the cerebral cortex, to which we
revert again in a later chapter. Indeed, looked at from the side of
the development of the brain, we see that there is no break between
man and the animals in the laws of organization, but that the
difference is one of evolution.

Later on in the life of the child we find another contrast connected
with the difference of social life and organization as between the
animals and man. The animals probably do not have a highly organized
sense of Self as man does; and the reason doubtless is that such a
Self-consciousness is the outcome of life and experience in the very
complex social relations in which the human child is brought up, and
which he alone is fitted by his inherited gifts to sustain.

_The Play of Animals._--Another of the most interesting questions of
animal life is that which concerns their plays. Most animals are given
to play. Indeed that they indulge in a remarkable variety of sports is
well known even to the novice in the study of their habits. Beginning
when very young, they gambol, tussle, leap, and run together, chase
one another, play with inanimate objects, as the kitten with the ball,
join in the games of children and adults, as the dog which plays hide
and seek with his little master, and all with a knowingness and zest
which makes them the best of companions. The volumes devoted to the
subject give full accounts of these plays of animals, and we need not
repeat them; the psychologist is interested, however, mainly in the
general function of play in the life of the individual animal and
child, and in the psychological states and motives which it reveals.
Play, whether in animals or in man, shows certain general
characteristics which we may briefly consider.

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