nd of
bee, the Anthophora. Its larva, after long waiting, springs upon the
male Anthophora as it goes out of the passage, clings to it, and remains
attached until the "nuptial flight," when it seizes the opportunity to
pass from the male to the female, and quietly waits until it lays its
eggs. It then leaps on the egg, which serves as a support for it in the
honey, devours the egg in a few days, and, resting on the shell,
undergoes its first metamorphosis. Organized now to float on the honey,
it consumes this provision of nourishment, and becomes a nymph, then a
perfect insect. Everything happens _as if_ the larva of the Sitaris,
from the moment it was hatched, knew that the male Anthophora would
first emerge from the passage; that the nuptial flight would give it the
means of conveying itself to the female, who would take it to a store of
honey sufficient to feed it after its transformation; that, until this
transformation, it could gradually eat the egg of the Anthophora, in
such a way that it could at the same time feed itself, maintain itself
at the surface of the honey, and also suppress the rival that otherwise
would have come out of the egg. And equally all this happens _as if_ the
Sitaris itself knew that its larva would know all these things. The
knowledge, if knowledge there be, is only implicit. It is reflected
outwardly in exact movements instead of being reflected inwardly in
consciousness. It is none the less true that the behavior of the insect
involves, or rather evolves, the idea of definite things existing or
being produced in definite points of space and time, which the insect
knows without having learned them.

Now, if we look at intelligence from the same point of view, we find
that it also knows certain things without having learned them. But the
knowledge in the two cases is of a very different order. We must be
careful here not to revive again the old philosophical dispute on the
subject of innate ideas. So we will confine ourselves to the point on
which every one is agreed, to wit, that the young child understands
immediately things that the animal will never understand, and that in
this sense intelligence, like instinct, is an inherited function,
therefore an innate one. But this innate intelligence, although it is a
faculty of knowing, knows no object in particular. When the new-born
babe seeks for the first time its mother's breast, so showing that it
has knowledge (unconscious, no doubt) of