UNTAUGHT WISDOM 



How animal knowledge differs from human knowl- 

 edge is well illustrated by one of the solitary wasps 

 that Sir John Lubbock tells about. When this wasp 

 lays an egg, she knows whether the egg will produce 

 a male or a female; the female grub needs more food 

 than the male, and the wasp always puts five insects 

 by one, and ten by the other. And yet are we to be- 

 lieve that she counts in the human way? I cannot 

 believe that she does. I cannot believe that she has 

 any knowledge, in the human sense, about the sex 

 of her eggs. She does this thing as automatically 

 and imfailingly as a machine. Remove any of her in- 

 sects, and she does not miss them. 



How the lower forms of life — ants, bees, bugs — 

 know what they seem to know is a mystery. They 

 know without having to learn as we do. They know 

 from the egg. If any of them had the gift of reason, 

 they would have to learn in the human way, they 

 would have to travel the painful road of experience, 

 and suffer defeat many times. But they know not 

 defeat, they know not failure, they know neither the 

 perplexities nor the triumphs of reason, any more 

 than the elements do. Their wisdom comes into the 

 world with them, and is much older than they are. 



How the sacred beetle knows that the grub 

 which hatches from its egg in the chamber under- 

 ground, will need air, and plans her cradle accord- 

 ingly; how the wasps and solitary bees happen to 

 be such expert anatomists that they know the 

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