these occur, as, for example, when a man in falling mechanically puts out his hands to save himself. "In these cases," Descartes said, "I have clear evidence that the nervous system acts mechanically without the intervention of consciousness, and without the intervention of the will, it may be in opposition to it." Why, then, may I not extend this idea further? As actions of a certain amount of complexity are brought about in this way, why may not actions of still greater complexity be so produced? Why, in fact, may it not be that the whole of man's physical actions are mechanical, his mind living apart, like one of the gods of Epicurus, but unlike them occasionally, interfering by means of his volition?
And it so happened that Descartes was led by some of his speculations to believe that beasts had no soul, and consequently, according to his notion, could have no true mental operations, and no consciousness; and thus, his two ideas harmonizing together, he developed that famous hypothesis of the automatism of brutes, which is the main subject of my present discourse. What Descartes meant by this was that animals are absolutely machines, as if they were mills or barrel-organs; that they have no feelings; that a dog does not hear, and does not smell, but that the impression which thus gave rise to those states of consciousness in the dog gave rise by a mechanical reflex process, to actions which correspond to those which we perform when we do smell, and do taste, and do see. Suppose an experiment. Suppose that all that is taken away of the brain of a frog is what we call the hemisphere, the most anterior part of the brain. If that operation is properly performed, very quickly and very skillfully, the frog may be kept in a state of full bodily vigor for months, or it may be for years; but it will sit forever in the same spot. It sees nothing; it hears nothing. It will starve sooner than feed itself, although, if food is put into its mouth, it swallows it. On irritation, it jumps or walks; if thrown into the water, it swims. But the most remarkable thing that it does is this—you put it in the flat of your hand, it sits there, crouched, perfectly quiet, and would sit there forever. Then if you incline your hand, doing it very gently and slowly, so that the frog would naturally tend to slip off, you feel the creature's fore-paws getting a little slowly on to the edge of your hand until he can just hold himself there, so that he does not fall; then, if you turn your hand, he mounts up with great care and deliberation, putting one leg in front and then another, until he balances himself with perfect precision upon the edge of your hand; then, if you turn your hand over, he goes through the opposite set of operations until he comes to sit in perfect security upon the back of your hand. The doing of all this requires a delicacy of coördination and an adjustment of the muscular apparatus of the body which are only comparable to those of a rope-dancer among ourselves; in truth, a frog is an animal very poorly constructed for rope-dancing, and on the whole we may give him rather more credit than we should to a human dancer.
