Now what are thought and reason if the processes that were going through this cat’s mind were not both one and the other?  It would be childish to suppose that the cat thought in words of its own, or in anything like words.  Its thinking was probably conducted through the instrumentality of a series of mental images.  We so habitually think in words ourselves that we find it difficult to realize thought without words at all; our difficulty, however, in imagining the particular manner in which the cat thinks has nothing to do with the matter.  We must answer the question whether she thinks or no, not according to our own ease or difficulty in understanding the particular manner of her thinking, but according as her action does or does not appear to be of the same character as other action that we commonly call thoughtful.  To say that the cat is not intelligent, merely on the ground that we cannot ourselves fathom her intelligence—­this, as I have elsewhere said, is to make intelligence mean the power of being understood, rather than the power of understanding.  This nevertheless is what, for all our boasted intelligence, we generally do.  The more we can understand an animal’s ways, the more intelligent we call it, and the less we can understand these, the more stupid do we declare it to be.  As for plants—­whose punctuality and attention to all the details and routine of their somewhat restricted lines of business is as obvious as it is beyond all praise—­we understand the working of their minds so little that by common consent we declare them to have no intelligence at all.

Before concluding I should wish to deal a little more fully with Professor Max Muller’s contention that there can be no reason without language, and no language without reason.  Surely when two practised pugilists are fighting, parrying each other’s blows, and watching keenly for an unguarded point, they are thinking and reasoning very subtly the whole time, without doing so in words.  The machination of their thoughts, as well as its expression, is actual—­I mean, effectuated and expressed by action and deed, not words.  They are unaware of any logical sequence of thought that they could follow in words as passing through their minds at all.  They may perhaps think consciously in words now and again, but such thought will be intermittent, and the main part of the fighting will be done without any internal concomitance of articulated phrases.  Yet we cannot doubt that their action, however much we may disapprove of it, is guided by intelligence and reason; nor should we doubt that a reasoning process of the same character goes on in the minds of two dogs or fighting-cocks when they are striving to master their opponents.

Do we think in words, again, when we wind up our watches, put on our clothes, or eat our breakfasts?  If we do, it is generally about something else.  We do these things almost as much without the help of words as we wink or yawn, or perform any of those other actions that we call reflex, as it would almost seem because they are done without reflection.  They are not, however, the less reasonable because wordless.