THE ANIMATE WORLD
(_a_) INTRODUCTORY
The third section of the second part of the _Syntagma_ has two ‘membra’
dealing with natural objects (rebus terrenis) in general. We have
discussed the former part, and can now proceed to the second. The
distinguishing characteristic of the subject-matter is Life, in the sense
which is implied by the title Animate as opposed to all the previous
existents which have been classed as Inanimate. The highest class of
Inanimata comprised Plants: the specific difference which brings us to
the next highest stage is the appearance of Sensibility. The name Animal
is given διὰ τὴν αἴσθησιν πρώτως (II. 193), hence we shall not object
to including under this title those forms of organic life which have
only the rudimentary sensibility shown in reaction to touch, namely
Zoophytes (Plantanimalia), to which we can ascribe only Tactus, and
(perhaps) its localized form, Taste. With this general determination of
what constitutes an Animal, we may proceed to classification. The stars
and the gods we may neglect, in spite of Plato and Aristotle: we have
then terrestrial creatures left: of these there are many traditional
classifications.
(1) The division into Rational and Irrational is bad: for it introduces a
negative class, and does not exclude immortal beings who might certainly
be rational.
(2) An obvious division would be according to mode of motion, _e.g._
the classes Volatile, Natatile, Gressile, Reptile, Tractile, Immotum;
but this is unsatisfactory, since the classes overlap, and there seems
to be no principle of division. The question indeed arises whether a
classification which serves all purposes can be found. Generally we
classify to suit some particular purpose (pro occasione petimus): we
choose as our basis, mode of generation, distribution of parts, habits
(mores), nature of food (ratione victus), or even the locality in which
the creatures are found. In such cases the end must justify the means,
but no one of these can claim to be a final and universally valid
classification. Gassendi finally adopts the division into Sanguinea and
Exsanguia, acknowledging its many faults, but finding it more adapted
than any other to comprehend such a large and various range of objects.
In spite of scholastic objections we do finally adopt a _negative_
classification: Gassendi realises that such a dichotomy may fail in
face of species which are neither, and weakens his position in so far
as he seems to intend, not so much to classify all animals as to make a
classification under which the animals are to be subsumed, whether they
will or no. It is essentially a scholastic trait to make the law first
and then adapt nature to it. The scheme of classification which guides
the author through the remainder of this book is so hopelessly out of
touch with our conceptions that it may be consigned to oblivion: his
treatment of the subject is an excellent example of his discursive style.
He ranges from the elephant to the fly, quotes authors innumerable,
discusses the probability of Centaurs and Sirens, and grants respectful
consideration to derivations of names too ludicrous to be any longer
amusing.
The Second Book opens with a formidable collection in two chapters
of all the names of the parts of the human frame and of those parts
which are found in animals, but not in man. This too is a mine of
curious information, but hardly such as would justify reproduction. The
construction of the sense organs we shall consider later, and pass over
the rest in silence.
(_b_) ON DESIGN IN NATURE
Under the heading ‘Use of the parts in Animals’ Gassendi elaborates his
views on the teleological question. Epicurus, in accordance with his
theory of atoms and their fortuitous concourse, had denied that the
parts of the body were differentiated for definite purposes. Eyes were
not made for seeing, nor ears for hearing: if the contrary is asserted,
it will follow that hearing existed before the ear, seeing before the
eye, which is nonsense: and Epicurus finally leaves the differentiation
of organs unexplained, but accounts for difference of function by
supposing that the application of the Soul to the organ results in an
activity determined by the nature of the organ (_e.g._ seeing, when the
application is to the eye, and so on). This conclusion may be briefly
stated by saying that the function is the effect and not the (final)
cause of the organ. Against this Gassendi argues at great length; but in
spite of the clearness of his statement he seems to have overlooked a
rather obvious confusion, for, if we speak of the eye, the ear, or the
nose, we naturally think of them as differing, because we think of their
correlatives in perception (sight, hearing, smelling). If we resolutely
exclude all ideas of the sensations, and consider only the organ as a
mere compilation of atoms, the position of Epicurus reduces itself to
the unprovable proposition that movements of different kinds of atomic
groups are different kinds of movement. This is not quite such a quibble
as it appears: for we have to remember that Epicurus was not thinking of
an organism differentiated by the action of an environment which is the
ground of variety in experience, but of an organism which is in itself so
differentiated as to be able to produce variety in the experience of a
Soul which is a unitary thing going out to its world.
While accepting the general theory of Epicurus, Gassendi declines to
commit himself to a reign of chance. His remarks are an instructive
comment on a stage of thought which so nearly arrived at truths only
recently appreciated. He recognises that natural selection (natura
electionis capax. ii. 228) has determined what forms shall survive: from
the innumerable host of the created only some survive, ‘illas puta quas
contigit habere parteis sic constitutas ut nactae fuerint accommodatum
ad sui ipsarum conservationem generationemque consimilium, usum.’ Galen
is quoted as the authority for an opinion held by Epicureans that the
tendons of the hand are strong, not _for_ use but _from_ use. Thirdly,
the question is raised, if rain falls on the crops by design, why does
it also fall on the sea and the rocks? We have here three distinct
questions—first, as to creation; secondly, as to development; lastly, as
to God.
(1) The question of creation is taken as wholly distinct from that of
development: as the point cannot be settled, Gassendi thinks it best to
ascribe creation to God, rather than chance.
(2) The remarks on development must be considered carefully, else it
is easy to attribute to the writer a position far beyond his actual
attainment. Instances are quoted of adaptation to circumstances, as
the hardening of the soles of the feet in people who go barefoot:
cases of useless parts in creatures are noted, as, _e.g._, cur mares
quoque expertes lactis mammas haberent. But in neither case is the real
significance apprehended: for Gassendi never seems to regard development
in a way that would admit of new species arising; nor does it occur to
him that a structure that has no function indicates a radical process
of change. He was open-minded enough to admit that a useless appendage
was no credit to Providence, but the idea that development from one form
to another might be indicated by stages in which rudimentary organs
survived, belongs to a scheme of the universe not revealed to Gassendi.
For Gassendi, as for Epicurus, all process and becoming virtually ceased
when the world as it now is began to be. The primeval matter—the
atoms—might of course produce new forms; but practically it is assumed
that the number of successful possibilities is now exhausted. In this way
an evolutionary is combined with a static view of nature.
(3) In dealing with the question of a Creator, Gassendi is not so
hampered by the claims of orthodoxy as on some other occasions. His
middle course is not only suitable to his orthodoxy, but philosophically
possible. We must not admire the temple and ignore the architect,[67]
and as some creative power, both wise and intelligent, has to be
acknowledged, it matters little whether we call it nature or God. Mingled
with the rhapsody which proclaims the Creator we find some shrewd
remarks: the order of the Universe compels us to see behind it a mind;
but the compulsion is aesthetic, and the assertion of God rests on faith
rather than argument: the crude teleology which has raised such bitter
discussions is annihilated by the remark that function and organ cannot
be separated: one does not come before the other either logically or in
the time order, and the creature cannot be considered in abstraction from
the world in which he lives. Thus Gassendi avoids the dogmatic tone of
Lactantius, and preserves his faith without sacrificing his reason, while
his assertion that current teleology is based on a false abstraction
marks an enduring distinction between those who acknowledge the fitness
of things and those who would advance beyond the given data to prove
special design.
To make Gassendi’s position clearer, I may add the following quotation
from Wallace, _Epicureanism_ (p. 115):
‘Throughout the whole of his explanation of the origin of the earth ...
Epicurus is careful to exclude any reference to divine action. There was
no design, no plan determining beforehand the process of evolution, and
adapting one part of the cosmic structure to co-operate with another....
In all its phases teleology is extruded. The very animals which are
found upon the earth have been made what they are by slow processes of
selection and adaptation.... Plants and animals have the same source as
rocks and sands. It is from the seeds or elements contained in the earth
that the animals have in some strange maternal throes (as Lucretius
somewhat figuratively puts it) been evolved in their season: they have
not fallen from heaven. The same naturalistic explanation is given of
the special endowments of human beings. The organs of sense were not
given us ready-made in order that we might use them: that which is born
in our body, on the contrary, generates for itself a use. The structure,
for example, which we call the eye was not given us as an organ of
vision: it arose, we need not enquire too curiously how, and it was
found to be useful for the perception of objects in the light. Whether
this use by degrees created an organ more and more appropriate for its
purpose—function, as it were, perfecting the organ—is a point apparently
not discussed by Epicurus.’
Thus much about Epicurus. As regards Gassendi, we may say that he does
consider the last point mentioned as omitted by Epicurus, and this
has led him to see that there is a relation between the organ and its
function which is not expressed in a doctrine of chance. In order to
understand Gassendi, we must keep in mind that there are three distinct
points of view. (1) We may rely on chance: this excludes creation and
design. (2) We may say that the organ was designed for its function.
This sounds reasonable enough if taken with the significance that the
terms would have in modern parlance. In the language of _this_ period
it implies that the function existed before the organ, that there was a
_seeing_ which was literally antecedent to the being of the eye. This
was easily shown to be absurd. In modern evolution we have a totally
different scheme, the two factors given us in, _e.g._, Spencer’s account,
are the sensitive material and _light_: in this scheme it is light which
exists before the eye; in the other scheme we have _sight_ in place of
light, which makes all the difference. (3) We may refuse to accept chance
and decline to say that each organ was specially created, but declare
that the result proves that there is design enough in the universe to
make possible those combinations of matter which are required for these
functions. If it were a case of all chance, we might have only organs we
did not want, _e.g._ eyes in a world without light. Selection can remove
those organs we do not use, but it could not create others. On the other
hand, if Providence controls every detail, the design would be better
than it is!
(_c_) THE THEORY OF THE SOUL
Gassendi discusses the nature of the Soul, not, as might have been
expected, in direct connection with his psychological theory, but between
the discussions on the parts and the generation of animals respectively.
This will however be justified when we understand the sense he attaches
to the term Anima.
Primarily, it is the specific difference which distinguishes the Animal
from the inanimate and from plants: for little as we may know about it,
the soul of the animal is assuredly something very distinct from that
soul which we may concede to plants. Gassendi holds a modest opinion of
his own ability and the value of the discussion. We cannot expect, he
says, to learn the nature of the soul: it will be enough to know what has
been said about it; the Church alone gives us certainty on the subject.
With this tribute to orthodoxy, the philosopher proceeds with the
perilous theme in a manner which his contemporaries must have regarded as
dangerous free thinking.
We are accustomed to confine psychology to the study of phenomena in
some degree intellectual.[68] The mediaeval thinker avoided this path
to error by keeping two terms for all that we include under the name
‘Soul.’ For the intellectual agent the term Animus is used: Anima is a
more comprehensive term, and may be translated ‘principle of life.’[69]
The historical discussion is, as usual, a splendid display of erudition:
one chapter deals with those who consider the soul incorporeal, another
with those who regard it as corporeal. If it be regarded as incorporeal,
it may be either substance or attribute, _i.e._ either an ‘existens
quidpiam in se,’ or a form, quality, accident, or inseparable adjunct.
Pythagoras, Plato, and the Platonists are mentioned as authorities
for the view that it is a substance, while to those who regard it as
an attribute belong Aristotle and all who define soul as a harmony
(Dicaearchus, Asclepiades), a theory best known by the argument of
Simmias in the _Phaedo_, though others seem to have given it a different
phase by speaking of it as a harmony of the senses or a temperament.
The variations of the theory that the soul is corporeal are scarcely
worth recapitulating. Gassendi notes that no one ever thought it of the
nature of earth—air and fire were the more usual analogues—and quotes
the well-known theories of early Greek philosophy. More important than
these is the view that the soul was a ‘spiritum ex sanguine factum’: so
Virgil says, ‘purpuream vomit ille animam,’ and in the Bible we read,
‘Vox sanguinis fratris tui clamat ad me de Terra!’ St. Augustine thought
the authority of the Scriptures indecisive, for blood might be taken not
as identical with, but symbolic of, the soul: as the ‘sedes immediata’
of that all-pervasive principle of life. The ancients too seem not to
have meant sanguis, but rather ‘sanguinis flos,’ which is a possible
interpretation of ‘spiritus ex sanguine factus.’ Galen and Hippocrates
supported this view, which ranked as the ‘scientific solution’ of the
problem; and here we have the origin of those ‘vital airs’ which played
so large a part in mediaeval psychology.
Gassendi is satisfied that the Anima is corporeal: the inheritance of
certain characteristics (non lineamenta corporis solum sed etiam nota
animae), the fact that soul and body may be similarly affected, that
what nourishes the outer nourishes also the inner man—these facts and
the authority of the fathers settle the question. It is characteristic
of Gassendi to settle one point at a time: so far we conclude the soul
to be corporeal, _i.e._ substantial, not mere quality or disposition
or symmetry of material parts, but itself a ‘principium agendi.’
The ‘materialist’ to-day inclines to make the soul a non-entity, an
epiphenomenon. Gassendi argues that it does act, and because it acts
it must be itself a reality, a thing not a shadow, substance not mere
relation (as in a ‘harmony’). This decision that Anima is under the
Category of corpus, does not decide what kind of corpus it is: so long
as it is not mere quantity or quality or relation it _must_ be corpus.
Modern arguments turn mainly on the question whether a soul is body or
spirit: Gassendi’s primary task is to decide whether it is something or
nothing: whether the something is bodily matter or non-bodily matter
is a question of secondary importance. An examination of the views of
Epicurus leaves him with no satisfactory position:[70] he feels moreover
the danger of dealing with the Anima in any way that might bring him
into collision with ecclesiastical authority: he chooses therefore to
express himself de anima brutorum, though it is not the anima but the
animus which makes the crucial distinction and superiority of man.[71]
The following data seem certain: the anima is collateral with life; vita
est quasi praesentia animae in corpore: and therefore neither cor nor
sanguis can be identified with it, since these may remain unimpaired
after death. Secondly, it is aliquid pertenue, and in fact not an object
of the senses at all: it can be perceived only by reason which deduces
its actuality from the necessity of finding a principle of motion and
nutrition. The deduction is not criticised by Gassendi, but is obviously
faulty: the proof says, ‘when the soul is in the body the functions are
possible: when it departs, they are impossible,’ a use of the deductive
canon which assumes that existence of the soul is previously established.
Thirdly, soul cannot be either a Form or a harmony of elements, for
it must be an active principle, and if we call it Form or Harmony it
becomes a mere relation. Thus we arrive at the definition that Anima
is very slender substance as it were the flower of matter, with a
specific habit or disposition or symmetry of its parts: as substance its
extreme mobility qualifies it to be the principle of all action, and
its particular symmetry determines the quality or mode of activity. It
is in fact, ‘corpus, id tamen tenuissimum’; the physical body is massa
corporis crassioris, and it is only relatively to the crass body that we
call the Anima ‘incorporeal.’ Again, as substance it is a contextura of
very subtle atoms, which maintains its unity though extended throughout
the body, the heat of the body depends on it, and therefore it must be
of the nature of fire, which is also proved by the necessity of heat for
digestion and nutrition. This is the reason for the circulation of the
blood, namely to prevent it from coagulating and cooling; this process
causes a distribution of heat from the heart, while the action of the
lungs cools the heat and provides an escape for smoky vapours. The
expansive power of heat explains the efficiency of the soul: we shall
not marvel that the elephant can be moved by its soul if we remember the
force which heat can impart to a cannon-ball! The cold-blooded animals
offer a problem which is solved by the concept of ‘insensible heat,’ and
we need not be troubled about the fish, for they seem to lack the right
ventricle which is the place of heat (in quo calescere incipiat) and the
lung which carries off the adverse humours: hence the fire is somewhat
dulled in them (calorem obtundat). Gassendi will not endorse the opinion
ascribed to Empedocles that fish from excess of heat took to the water
refrigerationis gratia!
(_d_) THE ANIMA HUMANA
The human soul might well be regarded as differing from that of animals
in degree only. The objection to this is that it would place the brute
creation on the same scale as man, and make their equality with man
possible. The ecclesiastic mind therefore prefers to assume that only the
human soul is qualified to receive ‘supernatural gifts,’ and deduce from
that potentiality a distinction of kind. At the same time it had to be
admitted that the human soul has a sentient and a vegetative capacity,
and is in part dependent on natural generation, so that any explanation
which is to be satisfactory must allow for both aspects. Two theories
hold the field: the first declares the soul to be a simple substance with
dual functions, viz. the inorganic, or those which require no organs
(_e.g._ Intellection and Volition); and the organic, which requires
bodily organs (_e.g._ Nutrition). This soul, they say, is put in the
body by God ready equipped with its faculties: authorities have differed
in the explanation of the process which results in the presence of the
soul, some ascribing it to a direct act of God, others to an evolution in
which the vital seed acts as a medium. The second theory declares that
the soul is not simple but twofold, having a rational and an irrational
part. This is more in conformity with theology; and the unity is not more
incomprehensible than the unity of soul and body, which we are accustomed
to accept without demur.
Gassendi adopts this position; but it is impossible to avoid feeling that
he regarded the question as one of small philosophical importance, or
at least a point at which right reasoning must conform to orthodoxy. On
the other hand, apart from opinions on its origin and destiny, the human
soul must be a separate subject of enquiry in so far as it furnishes
rational phenomena which are not available from other sources. Gassendi
tells us nothing of the nature of the ‘Anima humana’ in the sense in
which he determines the nature of the ‘Anima brutorum’: he seems to have
thought that the distinctive features of man belonged to the Animus; and
while he is incapable of generating from the corporeal soul of animals
the incorporeal soul of man he suggests that the combination of corporeal
and incorporeal soul in man is no more or less difficult than the union
of corporeal soul and crass matter in the brute. It would seem therefore
that man only differed in the degree to which he is divine; and as
Gassendi asserts that all life is divine in its degree, it is difficult
to avoid the conclusion that he views the whole scale of being as having
differences of degree only.
When in _Physicae_, III. 4. 4, he discusses the generation of animals
he makes the Anima a continuous existence, so that birth is not a stage
giving Anima, but a stage in the history of Anima—a stage at which it
becomes individualised, as the Anima of a plant individualises itself
when an offshoot becomes an independent existence (II. 279). The rational
part, being given by God, cannot of course share this continuity:
none the less there is no period when a soul destined to be rational
is without rationality, the organs of intellectual activity may not
be developed, but these are necessary, ‘ut operari anima, non item ut
inesse possit.’ Thus he renders the distinctive birth of the rational
soul unprovable, and even asserts that its emergence at some definite
time in the history of the foetus or the child would be a case of ex
nihilo quid;[72] but surely the phrase, ‘corporis expers a Deo creetur
infundaturque in ipsum corpus,’ either implies absolute creation or means
nothing at all.
My view of the point is that Gassendi purposely states the received
dogmas, with respect, and at the same time intentionally reduces them to
futility. Whatever the value of this view may be, it is derived from a
careful study of his writing, and I conclude that Gassendi’s real view
of the soul makes it one in all entities, from the stones to man, but
with such obvious distinctions of degree that it is no loss practically
to admit differences of kind: the common denominator cannot be shown;
and just as a scale of colours is only a scale if we look at it from the
point of view of vibrations, but in itself has differences of quality, so
life has differences of quality which cry aloud for reduction to unity,
but cannot be reduced until some other term is found, such that degrees
of life can be formulated as its powers. One such ‘other term’ we have
always with us, viz. Motion: it is not the least interesting part of our
work to watch the extent to which Gassendi employs it.[73]
(_e_) THE BASIS OF PSYCHIC LIFE
Faculties are natural, vital, and animal: of the animal faculties some
are cognitive, and the most fundamental is the sensitive. The word
sensus may mean the faculty or the function, the power of feeling or
the state of feeling. We have four terms, sensus, cognitio, perceptio,
apprehensio: perception, apprehension, and knowledge, if taken in the
widest sense, mean the same. Sensus and cognitio denote a more explicit
state, _i.e._ a relation of subject and object in which the two are
distinguished: perceptio and apprehensio are used for a more implicit
state, _i.e._ for what goes on in the subject, whether consciously
recognised or not. This is made clearer by an example: suppose a magnet,
a flint, and some iron to be together in one place: the iron has a
perception of the magnet which the flint has not: again, suppose a
goat and a fox to be standing under one tree: the goat perceives the
tree (assuming it to have edible foliage) but the fox does not: these
are parallel cases, and yet neither is an example of what we usually
mean by sensation. Suppose we say ‘is vero est sensus qui finiri solet
facultas percipiendi objecta sensibilia’: we then have a definition
which defines both the faculty and the object: consequently relativity
is introduced, and we must admit sensibility everywhere: if you say the
magnet has not sensus, the answer will be it has sensus for its own
particular sensibilia, as the oyster and the monkey in their degree. As
there is then no justification for limiting sense to man we must accept
this result; but we may distinguish general from special sensibility.
The former may be defined as any motile response, and covers the case of
all objects not animal—especially magnetic bodies and plants: the latter
is sensibility as we know it. There is a distinction between these, and
therefore it is confusing to speak of the relation of inorganic things
as antipathy or sympathy. Sense taken universally is the capacity for
affinities or simply natural affinity: Sense taken specially is not
merely a faculty of receiving species, but a reaction in which we know
what the species is a species of. This might be called a teleological
distinction, for Gassendi recognises that as reactions all sensibility
might be reduced to a capacity for reaction to an appropriate stimulus:
it would thus be reduced to a mode of motion, and he says it must be
taken ‘primum universe pro quacumque facultate rei cuilibet naturaliter
insita ad percipiendum aliquid, cuius perceptione seu mavis apprehensione
moveatur.’ In recognition of this he adds that the sensus in animals is
one with the vis motrix corpusculorum movendi sive agendi facultas (_De
Sensu Universe_, ch. I.). This activity is not transeunt but immanent,
and is a disturbance[74] of the ‘sensitive’ organ.
It is obvious from what is said above that Gassendi opposes those who
translate lower functions into higher. He will not allow that all ‘motile
response’ is sensation. This point is so vital to the understanding of
Gassendi and has been so consistently misunderstood (from my point of
view), especially in reference to the magnet, that I feel justified in
adding still another note to what has been said elsewhere.
I will quote first a passage from _The Atomic Theory of Lucretius_, by
John Masson (1884), p. 141, part of a note entitled ‘Note on Professor
Clifford’s theory of mind-stuff as anticipated by Gassendi’: ‘again,
because all living things, even the meanest, those spontaneously
generated, come from seminal molecules, each after its kind, which
have existed either from the beginning of the world or from a later
time, ‘for this reason it cannot be said that conscious things come
from non-conscious, but rather from particles, which, though they do
not actually possess consciousness, nevertheless actually are or do
contain the elements of consciousness (principia sensus).’ Are not these
‘elements of consciousness’ contained in Gassendi’s molecules much the
same as Clifford’s simple elementary feelings or Mind-Stuff? Gassendi
does not, it is true, say that every separate atom contains an element
of sensation. In reality, by his distinction between prima materies or
non-conscious atoms, and secunda materies or molecules which possess
in a faint form the rudiments of sensation, he does not at all escape
the difficulty of the origin of consciousness, which indeed he, like
Epicurus, very slightly realises.’
My objection to this as an interpretation of Gassendi is as follows. The
mind-stuff theory starts from the top and asserts that the mind is made
up of parts, each of which is in its own nature mental: it is a theory of
the evolution _of_ mind. Gassendi, on the contrary, only tries to work
out the analogical relations of natural forms so as to show the evolution
_to_ mind. In the mind-stuff the common denominator is mentality: in
Gassendi it is motility. Clifford is far nearer Leibnitz than Gassendi,
and Gassendi is a long way from Leibnitz. The difference finally lies in
the view one takes of the concept of potentiality, and as we have pointed
out this is a concept to which Gassendi takes objection. On Masson’s own
showing the ‘particles do not actually possess consciousness’: he does
not seem to have understood that Gassendi would not entertain the idea of
potential presence, and therefore the statement that the particles do not
possess consciousness ‘actually,’ means that they do not possess it at
all. As I have tried to show, Gassendi, for better or for worse, prefers
to take it that the peculiar properties of each degree of organic life
cannot be found in the parts as they are before they are found in the
synthesis of the organism, but supervene on the fact of that synthesis.
The effects are data to be co-ordinated, not explained. Gassendi would
have said of nature as a whole what James says of mental phenomena, that
the square of _a_ plus that of _b_ is not the same as the square of (_a_
+ _b_).
This point is, I am afraid, somewhat laboured. In excuse I plead that it
is vital, and has not been understood by those who refer to Gassendi.
As a rule we are told that ‘at any rate Gassendi says the magnet has
feeling,’ so we may consider the evidence on this point and take the
conclusion as proving the general position. In the chapter on Gravitation
we have the problem of attraction on a large scale: Gassendi discusses
it on the analogy of the magnet, and we read, ‘attractionem verbo fieri
a Terra, corpusculis missis, quibus illiciat lapidem, eadem ratione
qua et magnes emittit quibus pelliciat ferrum’ (I. 345). This, be it
remembered, is stated in explicit opposition to the idea that the stone
has any feeling after the earth, or any knowledge where the earth is.
On page 337 we read, ‘videlicet praeter moralem metaphoricumque motorem
(the reference is to Aristotle’s idea of that which moves as end only)
quaeritur quod sit in unaquaque re quae per se agit ac movetur principium
actionis seu motionis primum. Neque enim cum puer ostenso pomo ad ipsum
currit, requiritur solum quae metaphorica sit motio, qua pomum puer
alliciat, sed maxime etiam quae sit intra ipsum puerum physica seu
naturalis vis qua dirigitur ferturque ad pomum.’ This vis physica cannot
be aroused by any but a physical effluxus, and the movement of that which
wants to that which is wanted is primarily due to an actual physical
relation. Add to this what is said in the preceding paragraph and it will
be clear, I think, that Gassendi is not trying to prove that the magnet
has a kind of feeling as we know it in consciousness, but that the common
denominator of the whole scale is motile response: whether it is felt
or not depends on whether it occurs in a consciousness that can feel or
in that which cannot. I may add in confirmation of this, that those who
attribute sense to the magnet should also say the earth has sense: which
is a phase of the doctrine of anima mundi expressly rejected by Gassendi.