Thought without Words

Abstract

THE interesting discussion between Mr. Francis Galton and Prof. Max Müller on this subject will doubtless raise many questions in the minds of those who have paid some attention to the habits of animals. I have been asking myself whether, if Prof. Max Müller is right in his conclusion—“Of course we all admit that without a name we cannot really know anything” (an utterable name, I presume), and “one fact remains, animals have no language”—animals must not, therefore, be held by him incapable of knowing anything. This would bring us to the question whether animals know in the same manner as men, or in some other manner which men do not understand. Now, I think—at least it is as strong a conviction as I am capable of entertaining—that animals not only know, but deal with the materials of knowledge—facts—in a manner quite indistinguishable from the manner in which I mentally handle them myself. Thus, I place an animal in circumstances which are quite unfamiliar to it, and from which it is urgently pressed to escape. There are two, or perhaps three, courses open to it; one being, to my mind, patently the most advantageous. It tries all of them, and selects that which I should have chosen myself, though it is much longer in coming to its conclusion. Here the animal has the same facts as the man to deal with, and, after consideration and examination, its judgment precisely corresponds with the man's. I cannot, then, find it possible to deny that the mental operations are identical in kind; but that they are not so in degree can be demonstrated by my importing into the situation an element foreign to the experience of the animal, when its failure is certain. It makes no difference whether the animal is under stress, or acting voluntarily. It may frequently be found to choose the method which most recommends itself to the man's judgment. Every student of animals is familiar with numbers of such cases. Indeed they are constantly being recorded in the columns of NATURE, and abound in all accepted works on animal intelligence. I am quite prepared to admit that where there are two or more courses open to it the animal will occasionally select that which presents the greatest difficulties, and labour most assiduously to overcome them, sometimes trying the remaining courses and returning to that which it first chose. Darwin gives a good example of the honey-bee (“Origin of Species,” p. 225, edition 1872). But no one will be surprised at imperfect judgment or vacillation of will in an animal, when such are common among men.