How do we account for instinct?

There are two basic types of intelligence. One is a kind of prepackaged and ready-made know-how we call instinct. Fish, insects, amphibians, and reptiles appear to operate at this level. They do what they are programmed to do, and that is all they can do.

At the other end of the spectrum we find humans. People are endowed with autonomous and independent intelligence that allows us to make our own decisions. In between are a variety of mammals that use a mixture of instinct and “thought” to one degree or another. Cows, horses, cats, dogs, pigs, monkeys, and dolphins fit into this broad category.

Bees

Instinct tends to complicate the picture for naturalists. Take the bee, for example. Like all other insects, this bee is little more than a programmed robot. Yet at the same time, he possesses a highly specialized instinct. He is an instinctive engineer with extensive experience in honeycomb production.

Using 1.4 ounces of wax, the bees develop hexagonal cells built 0.073mm thick with a tolerance of plus or minus 0.002mm. This minimal amount of wax is adequate to hold four pounds of honey. Now that’s an impressive feat for an insect, doubly impressive considering its tiny brain, short lifespan, and utter lack of training. All in all, the bee’s hexagonal comb is the strongest and most space efficient structure they could build.

No one claims, unless they’re kidding, that the bee came up with the idea for the hexagonal design. They could not. They do not have an independent ability to make decisions. They just do what they are programmed to do.

The question is who or what programmed the bee’s building instinct? Since the bee was unable to program its own instinct, and everyone agrees that is the case, the only alternative is that some Outside Source has programmed the bee’s engineering talent.

What can be said about this external source? Today, no scientist can program instinct. We wouldn’t even know where to start. That implies knowledge and technology far ahead of ours. Obviously, this Outer Fountain knows some construction too.

Evidently a higher intelligence with engineering experience programmed a little of its own hexagon-building knowledge into the instinct of the bee.

Which came first, the bee or your instinct? The entire existence of the bee is centered on the construction of combs and the production of honey. As far as we know, that has always been the case. Considering that the instinctive behavior of the bee is such an intricate part of its life, it is highly likely that whoever designed the bee’s body also designed its instinct. And both were done at the same time.

Other insects

Other insects also display home-building instincts. Australian termites build tall towers. Some are twenty-five feet tall with hanging eaves that protect against heavy rains. Termites in Africa dig holes up to 130 feet in search of water.

Wasps build houses out of paper and ants excavate complex underground houses. All these insects depend on an ingrained architectural instinct, a bit of wisdom programmed by the Outer Source.

One form of instinct that we all know is migration. Mentioning migration and flocks of ducks or geese come to mind. We usually think of them in a rough “V” formation where one leg is shorter than the other. But other animals also migrate: fish, whales and insects. Insects? Yes, insects migrate. CC Williams, a British entomologist, listed about 250 migratory insects.

Monarch butterflies

In general, we can say that insect populations carry out migratory movements, heading south in early autumn and north the following spring. Individuals are likely to die en route. That being the case, it is their offspring that continue the round trip. Our information is patchy across most species, so much of what they tell us is little more than guesswork about insect migration. However, there is an exception. That exception is perhaps the most popular insect of all: the monarch butterfly.

Here’s what we’ve learned: Monarchs spend summers as far north as the Great Lakes and Canada. As summer approaches fall, large, poorly formed groups begin to concentrate for southward migration. Butterflies with wings no longer than four inches fly up to two thousand miles to southern California, central Mexico, or Florida during the winter.

Along the way, the same trees are chosen as a resting place each year. Of course, none of the insects have seen these trees before. Yet they land en masse on the same branches generation after generation, migration after migration.

Pacific Grove, California, is the winter home to many, perhaps most, of the West Coast monarchs. The entire town is a refuge for the species. In fact, it is one of the few insect sanctuaries in the world. During the month of October, several million monarch butterflies begin to arrive in this coastal town overlooking Monterey Bay. They stay until March.

Some monarchs go elsewhere. On the Monterey Peninsula, there are pockets of smaller concentrations. But the vast majority congregate year after year on the same pines in the same grove. The grove itself is nothing more than a few acres of tall pine trees by the sea.

However, Pacific Grove has been the wintering ground for monarchs every year since at least 1907, when locals began keeping records.

In the spring, these butterflies return home via the northern route, where they mate and soon after die. Are these the same insects that headed south last fall? Obviously they are. A long-term study with thousands of tagged monarchs showed that large numbers of these butterflies make the round trip, some going from Canada to Mexico and vice versa.

Interestingly, the next generation does not make this trip. Neither does the following. During the summer, two or three generations of monarchs live their short lives by mating and dying. The third or fourth generation of butterflies emerge from their cocoons in late summer.

These are generally the ones intended for the round trip south. Once again, leaderless and with no prior experience, millions of monarch butterflies will head south to their Pacific Grove winter sanctuary. Year after year, instinct leads them back to the identical trees where their ancestors spent previous winters.

It’s an interesting story and raises a lot of “why” questions. Let’s start by saying that cold weather (or maybe just shorter daylight hours) could force monarchs south. But why does Pacific Grove attract so many of these seasonal travelers? How do you find this California city? Why do they stop here instead of continuing south? Why do they choose the same trees that their predecessors chose in years past? And why do they return north in the spring?

Monarchs, like bees, termites, and wasps, are unable to think independently. They don’t plan things. They don’t set their own agenda. Every third or fourth generation responds to a detailed integrated travel diary. They go to Pacific Grove because that is the place they are scheduled to go.

They are heading north for the same reason. But who or what designed this travel program? Again, since the programmed instinct did not originate with the monarch, it had to come from an outside source. This external source shows both biological and geographical knowledge. Furthermore, this Outsider must have remarkably advanced technology to implant such a comprehensive migration program in the tiny brain of a butterfly.

The engineering talent of the bee, the architectural skills of termites and wasps, and the detailed and persistent travel itinerary of the monarch butterfly are more than just curiosities of nature. Each shows an area of ​​expertise far beyond what any short-lived microscopic brain insect could accomplish on its own.

They had help. An external source provided them with specific knowledge to perform specific tasks. What we call instinct is, in fact, a bit of wisdom programmed by the Outer Source.

Evolutionists offer no explanation for instinct. They tend to avoid the topic.